#touch latches and push hinges

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Another Heartbeat

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, captivity, elements/suggestions of feederism behaviour, breeding, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You get your valentine's surprise.

Based on responses: Lap sitting, breeding, creampie, plus size reader, being carried

Characters: Steve Rogers

This is #2 of the Valentines Roulette stories

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You wince as the light aches in your eyelids. You stay hidden behind them as you raise your hand shakily. Your lashes wet with tears as you search for the strength to open them. You hunch down and slump further into the corner. 

“Sweetheart,” his deep timbre fills the cramped space. “Hey, are you awake?” 

You sense him come closer. You don’t have the voice to answer him. Are you awake? This feels like another rotten nightmare. 

“Sweetheart?” His shadow dulls the glare shining through the open door. Open... there was a time when all you did was stare through the dark and pray for those hinges to turn. “It’s a special day.” 

He touches your shoulder. You flinch. He curls his hand around your arm and slides you against the wall to sit straight. He catches your head as it bobbles on your neck. 

“You can behave, can’t you?” His thumb brushes your cheekbone and he cooes at your witless murmuring. “I know you can be good for me. You have been.” 

Your eyes are like marbles, threatening to roll back. The days, weeks, months, however long, blend together in blackness. The only light comes through when he slides back that narrow latch and pushes through the tray. A thick bitter smoothie and bland food. Nothing sugary or processed. You eat it or... 

You shudder as your teeth ache at the memory of the metal clamp pushing open against them. The strain of your esophagus and the churning of stomach acid. No, you eat on your own and it keeps him happy. Nice, even. 

“Alright, let’s get you ready, sweetheart,” he slips an arm behind you and another under your knees. He lifts you effortlessly. “Oh, sweetie,” he purrs, “you’re so...” his hand squeezes along your hip. “Soft.” 

The food comes like clockwork. You clear the tray and push it back every time. You feel it engorging you, adding to the cushion around your hips and belly. Even your chest feels bigger. 

He carries you into the light. You turn your head and hide your face against his hard chest. If you open your eyes, they’ll burn out of the sockets. It’s too bright. You cradle your face as all of your trembles. 

“I know, sweetheart, gotta build up your strength,” he coaxes. 

The motion of the world around you adds to the dizzy spin in your head. You lean into him as you feel like you might fall out of his grasp, even as he holds you snug. He finally puts you down. You fold over your lap instantly and he pushes you back up. 

“Work with me,” he pets your hair. 

You tense and quiver as you hold yourself up. You stopped standing up a while back, stopped trying to get any sort of exercise in that space. A cell. The prison he made for you. 

“Alright, we’re going to get you cleaned up.” 

His knuckles brush down your temples and cheek, then along your neck. He follows the silhouette of your body along your shoulders and arms. He gently reaches behind your neck to untie the knot behind it. He peels away the open back linen gown. 

You shiver as your head hangs like a boulder. 

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he says. 

You shudder and ball your hands. You exhale as your eyes singe with the effort. You have to obey or... 

You whimper as you pry your lids open. He cradles your chin and forces your head up. Tears roll out and flow down your face. Everything around you is harsh yet fuzzy. 

“I know, sweetie, gotta adjust,” he stands and lets you go cautiously.  

You quake as you lean back against the cold tank of the toilet. He turns and dims the lights. You let your head sink again and watch the tile. The last time you saw those dainty blue diamonds, there was water splashed all around, your body was thrashing, your voice shrill and dry. 

You jolt as you come back to the present. He lowers you into the tub as hot water laps down from the faucet. The steam rises around you in a cloud as he helps you recline against the porcelain.  

His deep voice rises from his large chest. You stare at his shirt. He sings as he washes you with a cloth, suds foaming round his thick fingers. Your eyes creep up to thick beard along his jaw. His eyes are as bright as gems as they focus on his task. Everything is bright.��

And heavy and rough. Just the cotton is enough to make your skin crawl. After so long in desolation, it’s like sandpaper. His voice is low but rattles your eardrums. The song plucks at your brain but you can’t place the memory. 

What was before? 

“Till the end of time,   Long as stars are in the blue,   long as there’s a spring,   a bird to sing,   I’ll go on loving you.” 

You close your eyes and moan. He clucks. 

“No, don’t go to sleep,” he bids. 

Your eyes snap open. He continues his work. When he’s done, he lifts you out, leaning you against him as he wraps you in a towel. There’s a warm smell wafting from your skin. 

He dries you meticulously and replaces the towel with a robe. He takes you to a new room. He sits you at a table with a framed picture of a woman above it. You blink as he moves beside the woman. It’s not a picture. It’s a mirror. 

Is that really you? 

He moves behind you and tugs at your hair. He pauses to check something as he arranges it. Some sort of instruction? Then he shifts you to face him. He uses pencils and brushes on you; tugging at your eyelids and spinning a wand against your lashes. 

He puts you to face the mirror again. You look shinier. You? That’s you? 

He dresses you in red. A plush cloud of fabric in light layers, with roses on the bodice, a short robe with puffed sleeves. He guides you before a bigger mirror. Tall. He stands behind you as he makes you look. 

“You’re gorgeous, sweetheart,” he drags his hands up and down your sides. “You ready for your surprise?” 

You mouth the words. You don’t think you can speak. He smiles and sits you on the cushioned stool again. 

“I almost forgot about me.” 

He leaves you and opens the closet. You watch his back. He’s so big. Tall, broad shoulders, thick hands. 

Your eyes list to the door. You can’t stand without him. You press your soles to the floor and your calves shake. No, you won’t get very far. 

“I can hear your excitement,” he turns with hangers hooked over a finger and taps on his chest with the other. “Sweetheart, you’re going to love it.” 

He goes behind a folding screen painted with golden feathers. You can see his head above it as he changes. He emerges, knotting a patterned silk tie over his crisp white shirt. The jacket is a pale shade of grey that somehow makes his eyes bluer. 

He nears and bends to check himself in the mirror. He combs his long hair back. His thick strands and beard don’t match the formality of his attire. 

“Come on, sweetheart.” 

He stands straight and bends his arm. You stare at it before your head clicks. He helps you stand and loops your arm through his. He walks you into the hallway. Your legs wobble dangerously. 

He stops you before a closed door. There’s a small wooden sign hung on it that shows a stork. You frown. You wonder what it means. You waver as you expect him to put you back into the dark. You step back on your heel and whimper. 

“Sweetie, you’re being good. You can stay out.” 

He turns the crystal door knob. Something about the decor feels so... out of time. He pushes the door inward and unhooks his arm from yours. He guides you by your shoulders into the room, staying behind you. 

The first thing you see are balloons. Big round balloons with pink ribbons and bows attached to them. The latex shines in shades of rose, blush, and ivory. They’re tied to the furniture that fills the room. 

The walls are painted in shades of pastel, one is a forest scene with critters and birds behind branches and stones. There’s a dresser and a table with a pad on top. A chair and a matching ottoman, a rug that looks softer than a cloud, and at the center of it all, a crib. Above hangs a mobile with stars and moon. 

“Happy Valentine's, sweetheart, you’ve been so good,” he praises as he trails his touch down your arm and takes your hand. He draws you around the room. “You like it?” 

Your stomach stirs uneasily. You nod despite the violent tide inside you. This isn’t right. What is this? 

“I knew you would. And you can help finish it. The little things. You know, I don’t have a good eye for the details,” he turns you to take it all in. The windows. There’s no sunlight coming in. Are they even real windows? They are just frames nailed to a wall. 

“Come on,” he brings you to the chair and he sits. He tugs you by the hand. You nearly collapse. “Right here.” 

He pats his thigh. You turn and he helps you sit. He pulls you against him to recline as the back lowers with his lean. He extends his legs onto the ottoman, yours with them. 

He sighs as you lay atop him. He traces the length of your arms then feels along your torso, squeezing the padding along your stomach and chest. You squirm uncomfortably. 

“You been eating good. Drinking your smoothies. Getting your vitamins,” he says. “I can see how good you’ve been.” 

His hands stop on your thighs. He rubs the fabric then slowly drags it up with his fingers, crumpling it high above your naked legs. He tickles you and you wince as he kneads you more firmly. 

His hand trails beneath the bunched skirt and he pets long your curly patch of hair. You hold your breath and tense. He pushes his fingertip between your folds and your voice trickles out in a squeak. 

He rubs you as your insides squirm. You shift and he spreads his other hand across your stomach to still you. You slicken beneath his teasing touch. Your legs fall apart as he pushes his hand further back. 

He exhales over you and drags his hand around your thigh. He slides it under you and his knuckles press into you as he plucks at his pants. He pushes his fly open as you wriggle against him. He shifts you up his body as his other hand dips down to your pelvis. 

He angles you down as he guides his tip long your cunt. You arch your back as he wet himself with your juices. He delves into you slowly and you latch onto his wrist. You convulse as he gets deeper and deeper. 

He rolls his hip, gliding out and back in. You clench around him and measure your breath around the tension in your muscles. He pushes in and you whine. He keeps a slow, even tempo as he stretches a finger down to toy with your clit. 

“I was reading a lot. They say it’s better when you cum. To make sure it takes.” 

His words confuse you. You can barely think as he makes his long thrusts. You brace the armrest as he unravels you tilt by tilt. 

He swirls his fingers as a fiery cluster blooms in your core. You push your feet down around his, digging into the cushion of the ottoman. You strain and writhe as your voice breaks through the brittleness of your throat. You twitch as the heat within unfurls into icy tendrils. 

He hums as he urges you through but doesn’t let up. He pumps into faster as his fingers keep their tempo. The layers of clothes build a fire between you, raising a sheet of sweat over your skin. He groans as he fucks you from below. 

His feet slip from the ottoman as it slides beyond his height. He plants his soles on the floor, rutting up into you as your legs splay wide. Your body bounces helplessly and you cling to the chair and moan, drowning in the shallowness of your breath. 

“I can feel how ready you are, sweetheart,” he grits through his teeth. His hand roves up to your chest and he squeezes, your nipple throbbing tenderly. “You’re going to be a good mommy.” 

You shudder and gasp, your ribs wracking in dread. He groans and fucks you harder, puffing over your hair. 

“Sweetie, are you ready? Tell me you’re ready? You gonna make me a daddy?” 

You gulp and cough, head lolling as you cling onto his arm. He hammers into you harder and harder. 

“Tell me,” he snarls. 

“Y-y-yesssss,” you rasp from your tortured through. 

He grunts and spasms, a warmth flooding inside you as his pace turns wild. You close your eyes and they sting with another swell of tears. The painted walls, the glowing the balloons, it’s all so much worse than that black cell. 

[darlinluxx]

— 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐏 | 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐎 ౨ৎ

↳ pairing : natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

fluff

warnings : mentions of cigarettes, mentions of alcohol, mentions of nightmares

𝐓he latch clicks so softly you almost miss it. your breath hitches in your throat anyway. you’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours, wishing sleep to come, but every creak of the house, every rustle outside the window, has you jumping.

your heart hammers against your ribs as a dark shape detaches itself from the inky silhouette of the tree outside. it’s a familiar shape, one that’s etched into your memory. relief floods through you, so intense it’s almost dizzying.

“Nat?” you whisper, barley audible.

the shadow freezes, then a muffled voice answers, “yeah, it’s me. open the window.”

you scramble to your feet, the familiar ache of your loneliness momentarily forgotten. the cool glass presses against your palms as you push the window up with agonizing slowness. the hinges groan in protest, a sound that feels deafening in the quiet of the night.

“sorry.” you whisper, your voice barely a breath.

a grin flashes in the dim moonlight as Nat hauls herself over the sill, landing with a practiced ease that speaks of many clandestine visits. she’s wearing her usual uniform of dark jeans, a band t-shirt, and a leather jacket that smells faintly of cigarettes and pine needles. just the smell is enough to ease the tension in your shoulders.

“took you long enough.” she teased, her voice low and husky.

you roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. “the window’s old, what do you want me to do?”

Natalie steps closer, the moonlight catching her silhouette. her eyes, usually sharp and guarded, are soft and crinkled at the corners. “i want you.” she says, her voice dropping to a near whisper.

your stomach flips. you’ve been seeing Nat for months, but the pull she has on you still catches you off guard. the way she looks at you, like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, makes you feel seen in a way you never have before.

she reaches out, her fingers brushing against your cheek. they’re calloused and rough, but the touch is gentle. “you okay?” she asks, her brow furrowed with concern. “you look tired.”

you lean into her touch, closing your eyes for a brief moment. “just missed you.” you admit, the words barely escaping your lips.

Natalie’s hand moves to the back of your neck, her thumb tracing circles against your skin. “i missed you too, doll.”

she pulls you closer, and the cold fear that’s been clinging to you all day begins to dissipate. you bury your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the familiar scent of her — cigarettes, leather, cheap alcohol, and something uniquely Natalie.

“nightmare?” she murmurs into your hair.

you nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. you don’t have to explain it. she just knows. she always does.

Nat leads you to the bed, pulling the covers back with one hand. she doesn’t ask you what the nightmare was about. she doesn’t need to. she knows the shadows that creep into your dreams, the ones that whisper of the past, the ones that still haunt both of you.

you climb into bed, shivering despite the warmth of the blankets. Natalie slides in beside you, pulling you close until she’s spooning you, her arm a heavy, comforting weight around your waist.

“better?” she asks, her voice laced with concern.

you nod, pressing closer to her warmth. “yeah. better.”

the world outside feels less scary with her here. the house creaks, the wind howls, but here, in this small circle of her arms, you feel safe. the tight knot in your chest loosens, and you finally allow yourself to relax.

she’s your anchor, your lifeline in a sea of chaos. you breathe in her scent, the familiar comfort of her presence, and close your eyes.

the anxieties of the day slowly melt away, replaced by the steady rhythm of her breathing. you might not be able to control the nightmares, or the world outside, but in this moment, with Natalie beside you, holding you close, you know you can face anything.

sleep finally comes, a sweet, dreamless oblivion, guided by the soft beat of her heart against your back. you are finally, blissfully, at peace.

[peachy-panic]

Shared Sessions: Week 1, Part 1

Grayson & Elijah cautiously give this group therapy idea a shot.

WARNINGS: Therapy setting, anxiety, past captivity

Grayson was the first to arrive at Dr. Collins’s office. Years of learned punctuality were not to be undone by a spiraling downfall to rock bottom, it turned out. 

A week out of the hospital, he was still struggling to find his footing. He only left the house for his mandatory therapy sessions, and even then, it was only under the guardianship of his parents. He wasn’t sure if it was because they could sense his anxiety about going outside, or if they expected him to steer his car into the first big tree he came across. He didn’t plan on asking. 

Today, though, a chaperone was a necessity. Grayson wasn’t sure his shaking hands would have had the dexterity to so much as start his car, let alone make the drive to Dr. Collins’s office on his own.

Grayson’s mother had even had the good grace to keep her opinions to herself on the drive over. Not that he didn’t know them anyway. Not that she and his father hadn’t made themselves abundantly clear leading up to the appointment on how poor an idea they thought it was for Grayson to share a joint session with “that boy.”

It was one of the first times Grayson Dawning ever raised his voice at his parents. He had left their stunned faces in the dim lighting of the dining room and slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, wishing grimly for the lock that had been removed during his hospital stay. 

They hadn’t brought the session, or Elijah, up again after that.

A few minutes before the top of the hour, Grayson sat in his usual corner of the couch in the office, hands twisting in his lap. If his more-than-normal nerves or lack of sleep were apparent to Dr. Collins, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he settled into the armchair across from him, crossing one leg over his knee. 

“How are you feeling about today?” he asked.  

A couple weeks ago, Grayson might have tried to conceal his vulnerability behind a mask. Recent events had left him too tired for pretending. 

“Scared,” he replied. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Is there any specific element of today that frightens you most? Something that stands out?”

Oh, sure. The possibility that Elijah bails and never speaks to him again. The possibility that he shows up and confirms Grayson’s worst fears: that he does, in fact, hate him for every part he played in his torment. Hearing Myles Voss’s name spoken between them for the first time since they returned. Addressing Grayson's attempt. Bringing up what happened on—

“Grayson?” Dr. Collins pulled him out of his spiral. He was using his firm voice—the one he used when Grayson was starting to fall too deep inside his own head.

Grayson blinked a few times, curling his fingers into the fabric of his sweatshirt. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” his doctor said. 

He nodded, relieved to have been spared from answering, but the reprieve was short-lived. A hesitant knock on the door turned him to stone where he sat. 

Dr. Collins rose gracefully and crossed the room in a few short steps. Grayson heard, rather than saw, the door latch release, a slight squeal in the hinges. 

“Elijah,” Dr. Collins greeted through an audible smile. “Welcome. It’s good to see you again.”

“Sorry I’m late,” was the first thing Elijah said. The sound of his voice—a bit winded, faint—unlocked Grayson’s muscles enough to glance up at the clock on the wall. It was only two minutes after. “I, uh. My mom had to take the car to work, and the bus was running behind.”

Grayson winced. He remembered, in the hospital, how Elijah flinched away when the nurses and staff brushed too closely, on guard against every potential touch. He couldn’t imagine how difficult public transit might have been.  

“It’s no problem at all,” Dr. Collins said warmly. “We were only just sitting down. You can hang your jacket here, if you’d like.”

Grayson willed himself, at last, to look in Elijah direction’s. 

Elijah pushed back a rain-speckled hood, freeing the few damp tendrils that escaped the bundle of hair at the nape of his neck, and shrugged out of the sleeves. Grayson took in the sight of him: black jeans that fit more loosely than they probably should have and a zip-up sweatshirt with thumbholes cut out of the sleeves. His fingers moved in quick, fidgeting movements that mirrored Grayson’s own anxiety. When Elijah  turned from the coat rack to face the room, their eyes met.

In a blink, it was as if every inch of progress they had carved inside the hospital walls had existed in a vacuum. The half-lucid hugs and promises, the familiarity of company and the attempt at shared humor—all of it swept away like ashes in the clarity of the outside world. 

In the hospital, Grayson had felt so sure that talking with Elijah, that airing out the festering wound between them, was the way to move forward. Now, in the light of day, doubt ate away at his optimism, a hungry, gnarled beast in the pit of his stomach. 

What if he had made a mistake that they would both now pay for? He had hoped his days of hurting Elijah were behind him. 

This was a bad idea bad idea bad idea—

“Hey,” Elijah spoke first. 

Grayson swallowed a lump that felt a lot like the start of a scream. “Hi.”

Dr. Collins let a few seconds of quiet play out between them, then cleared his throat. “Please, make yourself comfortable, Elijah. Can I get you anything? Water, tea, coffee?”

Elijah shook his head. “No. Um, thanks. Is here okay?” he asked, pointing to the far end of the sofa from Grayson. 

“There is fine. Wherever you’d like.”

There weren’t many other options for sitting in the small room—had the room always felt quite so small?—other than the plush carpet beneath the couch, but Grayson didn’t think they would get off to a very good start if he sat on the couch while Elijah sat on the floor, at his feet. If, though, for some reason he was more comfortable on the floor, Grayson could offer to sit down there with him, keeping enough space to—

Elijah’s weight sank into the cushion on the far side, leaving one space between them and putting Grayson’s internal spiral to rest. 

Get it together. Keep it together.

“Thank you both for being here today,” Dr. Collins said, taking his seat once more. “I understand this year has not been an easy road, and I can only imagine that agreeing to meet in this setting was not a decision either of you took lightly. I want to remind you that the two of you are in charge of what happens inside this room. Anything you say will be strictly confidential.” 

The doctor looked to Elijah, and Grayson could see the way he shifted under the attention in his periphery. 

“Elijah, I understand that you’ve been seeing someone on your own. I will not share anything from this session with your doctor without your explicit request.”

“Okay.” Elijah’s voice cracked on the first attempt, so he repeated it, slightly stronger.

“Okay,” Dr. Collins echoed with a smile. “Let’s begin.”

TBC

****

TAG LIST: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @distinctlywhumpthing @diyalogues @finder-of-rings 

@dont-touch-my-soup @wicked-whump @scp-1296 @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @melancholy-in-the-morning 

@whumpcereal  @reflected-pain  @pigeonwhumps @canislycaon24 @flowersarefreetherapy 

@there-will-always-be-blood @whatwhumpcomments @starsick1979 @roblingoblin285 @defire 

@3-2-whump  @hellodecisionparalysis

[superblysubpar]

#82 from the first smut prompt list SCREAMS enemies to lovers hate fucking with either steve or eddie. bonus points for rockstar!eddie or king!steve

Hello lovely! SO. This dialogue actually fit perfectly in a little thing I'm working on - not quite hate fucking, but I've got this little modern!eddie one shot that's almost done. He's not quite a rockstar, but he does play with his band still from time to time. Anyways, enjoy the 500ish word teaser of it and let me know what you all think! Ready for the oneshot? 👀

Pushed up against the brick, barely a block down from the bar, and he had his tongue licking into you. A hand on your hip that dared to rise higher and higher, rucking up your sweater until his nails could scratch your side, till his fingers could rest against your ribs, thumb playing with the lace he found. His other palm was flat against the cold stone, legs spread wide, taking up space and caging you in. 

His lips were sure, warm, tinged with the bourbon of his cocktail and the cigarette you interrupted. They moved over yours gracefully, silky and smooth, parting your mouth easily and swallowing your sigh. The sort of kiss that felt like your lips touched something electric, a quick prick of a shock straight down your spine until you felt warmth flow through your body, surging and shooting across your veins. Passion and confidence explode out of him as he keeps kissing you like his life depends on it, pulling your bottom lip between his and tugging, teeth biting into the soft skin a little mean. Underwear growing far more damp than you were expecting it to tonight, wet lace and cotton sticky with arousal. 

Your palms pressed against his chest, feeling the smooth and hard pecs beneath the black cotton shirt, and you can’t help but wonder how many more tattoos like the ones that disappeared under his sleeves lie beneath it. He releases your lip with a pop, breathing heavily and giving you another quick peck as your fingers descend, scratching as they go and making him shiver. 

He noses at your cheek, lips ghosting over your jaw as you breathe heavily, chests bumping as you both catch your breaths. Your fingers reach the hem, tugging it free from where it’s tucked behind the handcuff belt buckle. His hand has dropped, toying with the edge of your skirt, fingers daring to skim the thigh beneath it and he swallows harshly as they trail higher. The skin beneath your tights has erupted in goosebumps and you shake your head, laughing breathlessly.

“I…what the fuck am I doing. I don’t like you. You’re not my type.”

He smirks, fingers landing where your body wanted him most, feeling how wet you are, the damp patch on the outside of your tights. He chuckles as your body arches against the brick at the press of one finger, then two, and the gentle circles he makes against your clit sending your stomach into knots even through the layers. 

A kiss pressed to the hinge of your jaw, nose dragging down your neck as his open mouth leaves a trail of hot breath and more goosebumps and your hips circle his wrist, pressing down onto his fingers with more weight. 

“Really? Because your pussy’s saying something different, sweetheart.”

Groaning at his crude comment, it quickly turns into a whine as his mouth latches onto your neck. His lips pressed gently in a kiss before his teeth tug at the skin between them, your fingers pull at his belt loops, needing more. 

Fuck, maybe Robin and Steve were right about this after all. 

[firstelevens]

if you're still taking prompts! sambucko + 20. things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear

20. things you said that I wasn't meant to hear

Sam is humming as he comes up the porch steps, grocery bags in one hand and his keys in the other. He'd had a full day of errands planned, but then he ended up picking up ice cream at the grocery store, and it was just too hot to chance leaving it in the truck while he ran into the hardware store. He isn't complaining: the past week has been so full of missions and meetings that an afternoon lazing on the couch--preferably with Bucky, whose lap cat tendencies mean he won't need much convincing--sounds perfect.

He's just unlocked the front door, the hinges and latch now smooth and soundless after this morning's WD-40 application, and nudged his way inside when he hears Bucky's voice carry down from the kitchen, sharp and tinged with worry.

"Yes," he hisses at whoever's on the other end, "I know I said I'd owe you one. But right now isn't-"

Bucky breaks off as the other person speaks, and Sam tries to remember who Bucky might owe a favor to that would inspire this kind of venom.

"Of course it was worth it," snaps Bucky. "Keeping Sam safe will always be worth it. That's why I'm not getting caught up in this shit again, not when-"

Sam feels a tightness rise up in his throat. What does Bucky mean? What did he keep Sam safe from? They haven't been in the field together for a year now, and the only thing threatening Sam in Delacroix is all the grandmas in the parish asking when he and Bucky are going to get married.

"I know," Bucky is saying, his voice tight now. "I get it, but can it be literally anything else? I'll be muscle if you need it, I'll handle acquisitions, I'll- fuck, I'll do fucking wetwork if that's what it takes. Please, Sharon."

God, of course it's Sharon. Sharon the all-too-connected spy, Sharon the strangely influential black market dealer, Sharon the fucking Power Broker. It had broken Sam's heart a little bit, when Valentina Fontaine threw that in his face months ago, and it takes a lot for Sam to keep quiet now, forcing himself to listen instead of storming over there and grabbing the phone to tell Sharon she can fuck right off.

Bucky owes a favor to Sharon Carter, Sam thinks dully. Bucky owes a favor to Sharon Carter and it's Sam's fault, and now Bucky is going to have to do something he thought he'd walked away from in order to repay it.

Suddenly, all Sam wants is for this phone call to end. He knows that Bucky will have to get back in touch with her, that wriggling out of a deal with the devil isn't nearly this easy. He can't bring himself to care. Before he can think twice, he pushes open the front door again, making sure to knock into the door frame with his bags, and then lets it shut with a slam.

"I'm home!" he calls out. "I might've derailed the whole day by buying ice cream."

There's an abrupt silence from the kitchen, followed by Bucky mumbling an, "I'll call you back."

By the time Sam comes into the kitchen, Bucky is leaning back against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest and an almost- believable smirk on his face.

"I don't remember ice cream being on the shopping list," he says. "Remind me again, who's the person who acts like sticking to the grocery list is a matter of national security?"

"You're saying that like you haven't seen how the boys act when they find sugary cereal in our kitchen," says Sam. He tries to infuse it with the usual teasing tone, but it feels like it falls flat. "Are you gonna help me with those bags, or what?"

"Maybe I just like watching the way your muscles flex when you hold them."

Sam should have a quip for that, but instead he just sets the bags on the island. He busies himself rummaging for the ice cream and keeps his eyes down as he says, "I didn't interrupt an important phone call, did I? You can call back if you want; there's not that much stuff here."

"It was nothing," says Bucky, suddenly much closer than he was a moment ago. Sam can feel warmth at his back before a pair of arms closes around his waist, pulling him upright. Sam doesn't think he imagines the way Bucky's heart picks up when he adds, "Just Val with another mission. It's like she's got a sixth sense for the worst possible times."

"Wouldn't surprise me," says Sam, grateful that Bucky can't see his face. He settles his hands on top of Bucky's because he doesn't know how else to keep them from shaking. "Will you be gone long?"

"No," says Bucky, after a second's hesitation. He tucks his face into the spot where Sam's shoulder meets his neck, nuzzling into the curve of his throat. "Back before you can miss me, I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," Sam says, willing his voice not to break.

"I'm counting on it," says Bucky, and holds Sam a little closer.

[zellink]

all the bells say - chapter 7: Fireside

a pre-calamity zelink longfic. [M-rated // chapter 7 of 28 // Act 1 of 5]

>>Read chapter on AO3 or start from the beginning >>here

Chapter excerpt:

She retrieves the sheets of schematics for Vah Rudania from her pack and studies them intently. Her eyes read the words, scan through the drawings, but none truly register in her head. Her brain is scattered in pieces, stuck on those hinges and latches where his fingers once pressed and pushed. Though she supposes, if she were even more scattered and truly out of her mind, she’d storm out of this room and grab him by the shoulders. She’d have to endure the painful jolt of electricity that would surely spark from touching him, but she’d weather through it just to tell him that he’d never need to check for weak points ever again. Because the fault in this villa is not the possibility of an intruder; it’s his presence.

>>Read chapter on AO3

[jammed-out]

Hypnovember Day 29 - Happily Ever After

(CW: male to female transformation, identity rewriting, noncon)

The door to the tower flung off its hinges as Sir Gwain burst into the final room. His armor burnt and scratched. In his hand, a sword, broken and reforged together, the cracks across it marking the battles long past. He reached up, removing his helmet. Fresh stubble clung to his face. 

The early morning light shone through the dusty curtains covering the window. It illuminated the mostly empty room. There, sleeping on the four post bed, lay Prince Lan, dressed in his royal robes. A shimmer shone over his body, the curse that kept him preserved. 

Sir Gwain reached into his belt and removed the dagger tucked safely inside. It shimmered in the light, the magic causing the blade to glow with iridescence. Slowly he approached the bed. He raised the dagger, his hand slowly tracing a small cut just above the princes’s bare skin. It cut, barely breaking the skin, drawing no blood. A small, ghostly scar running over where the blade touched. 

The prince did not stir. The effects of the blade’s magic immediate. Where soft skin once sat, new pockets of fat and flesh began to grow. His chest swelled outward, two large breasts beginning to grow. The noticeable bulge in his pants began to shrink, flattening down. His waist began to shrink, hips pushing outward. Long blonde hair burst free from his head, billowing outward in rich curls. The outfit began to shift as well, his princely robes turning into a large flowing gown. Even now, after many uses, Sir Gwain still marveled at the dagger’s powerful magic. He carefully tucked the dagger away, locking it within its sheath. He made sure it was latched before leaning down. His hand cupped the former prince’s face. Their lips connected, a soft and tender kiss to seal in the magic. 

Immediately the shimmer of the curse began to break. The former prince, now princess, stirred. Their eyes opened gracefully as they awoke after their long slumber. They yawned and wiped their eyes, brushing away the edges of sleep.

“Princess. I have awoken you from the curse that has kept you trapped in this tower.” Sir Gwain said sitting on the edge of the bed, his armor banging against itself as he did.

“Princess?” The girl said confused. “But I thought-” She scratched her head, fingers tangling in the long curls.

“Yes. Princess Lani. Perhaps your mind is still confused after your long slumber.”

Princess Lani mouthed her name over and over. It sounded correct to hear it, but it felt slightly strange to think about it. It was as if she couldn’t remember anything about herself, and the things that she did, felt wrong.

Sir Gwain watched the confusion on Lani’s face. She was not the first “princess” he had awoken from a curse and would not be the last. Each one always had the same reaction of confusion as their memories began to rewrite themselves.

“Where am I good knight. And who are you?”

“Why I, I am Sir Gwain, your betrothed. Tell me princess, do you remember what happened to you?”

Princess Lani shook her head. She slowly pushed herself up to sit next to the knight. Her hands toyed with her dress, the fabrics and colors seemed so much more vibrant now, and everything felt so much softer under her hands.

Gwain took her hand, letting her fingers trail over the cold metal. “You were placed under a sleeping curse by a foul witch. Only I, after venturing far and wide over many years, was able to find and save you with our true love’s kiss.”

Lani’s eyes perked up brightly. “True love….” She turned to look at the knight. Her vision began to cloud as feelings of adoration and love began to bubble up inside of her chest. She couldn’t remember meeting the knight or even falling in love with him, but she knew that it had happened. They were in love, true love and she would stand by his side forever.

“Yes my darling. Come now let us go collect the reward from your family. I’m sure they miss you dearly.”

“My family?” Lani muttered the words letting them roll off of her tongue. She didn’t remember them much, but it was becoming clearer by the second. As if her memories were parting through the fog of sleep.

“Yes. And then afterwards we will return to my castle, where you will meet my family, and all of my other wives. Don’t worry, by then everything will make so much more sense.” Princess Lani found herself nodding along. Everything Sir Gwain said made so much sense. He was so smart and perfect, and her true love. With him, she could finally find her happily ever after.

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

Hope you enjoyed that. I’ll be following @h_sleepingirl prompt list for the entire month because I really like a couple of the prompts on the list. You should also definitely check out and support them.

You’ll also be able to find all of my writings under the tags on my page. Hope you enjoy and see you tomorrow!

[birgittesilverbae]

bealil wot au snippet that ig I never posted

//

Jagged pain rippling through Lilith's head, hot and aching and sudden, wakes her. She sits bolt upright, pushes away the tangled fabric of her bedroll, and presses her thumbs into her temples. It won't soothe the hurt, she knows, because it's not hers, but the motion is habitual all the same. 

She's on the road again within fifteen minutes, bedroll bundled behind her saddle, eating cold porridge from a tin cup as she directs Raf with her knees. The pain has dwindled into a dull throb across her shoulders, her back. Torture, then, in one form or another, she muses, trying to hold her thoughts in that cool, detached space. She feeds the rage that's built up overnight into the flame, stokes it with fear and hatred and longing until the rest of her mind is calm, the distractions burned away to bare rock by the fire. 

Beatrice is still in the same location, unmoved in the past days that Lilith has been both conscious and healthy enough to travel. Her left arm still hangs limp at her side, and her ribs ache at every shift in the saddle, but those are minor complaints when held up against the reality of the situation.

Lilith had failed, and Beatrice had been taken. She's had nightmare after nightmare about the sparkle of a long length of silvery chain under the noonday sun, tying Beatrice to one of those women with lightning-panelled skirts. 

The miles pass slow beneath her as she rocks back and forth in the saddle, struggling to stay upright while Raf navigates the rutted path with ease. Most of the food stores had been lost in the struggle, or left in the packs on Beatrice's mount, taken with the strangers when they'd–

Lilith grits her teeth and clings to the pommel of her saddle. 

//

Lilith fumbles with the collar, searching desperately for the latch, as Beatrice's hands clench in the front of her stolen dress.

"Lil," Beatrice says, and it's terrified and lonely and Lilith wants to tear out the throats of every single person who's made her Aes Sedai into something small.

"It's me," Lilith soothes, briefly skating her thumb across the hinge of Beatrice's jaw. "I'm here, Beatrice. I've got you."

A latch gives way beneath her touch, and the collar falls from Beatrice's neck. Lilith flings it away and bundles Beatrice into her arms, cradles the back of her neck as Beatrice presses her face to Lilith's chest. 

"We need to go, darling. Can you stand?"

"I can." Beatrice rises easily, no guarding to her movements, and Lilith tucks that realisation away for closer perusal later. Had they healed her, then? "I'm fine, Lil," Beatrice continues, obviously anticipating the train of thought. "They don't hurt damane except in self-defence. Not physically. It would be like kicking a dog. We don't know enough to understand what we're being punished for."

She's not fine. The bundle of emotion in the back of Lilith's head is curled in on itself, swathed in a dark fog that leaves no space for awareness of anything but distance and direction. Lilith's jaw goes tight. "Let me in," she says softly, trailing her fingertips along the arch of Beatrice's cheekbone, yellowed with the last remnants of a bruised eye. "Beatrice, let me in."

"Not yet," Beatrice replies sharply. She pulls away from Lilith's touch, her face darkening. "Let me attend to this first."

[karlakattz]

Written for @sterekweekly #explore

Or read here:

He mouthed along the jawline, eyes closed, his entire focus on the feeling of the beard making his lips tingle and tickling his skin. When he reached the ear, he took a moment, pressed a featherlight kiss on the earlobe and let out a soft exhale. The shudder he got was the response he aimed for and he smiled to himself.

Stiles slowly shifted further down, making a stop at the neck next. The werewolf underneath him trembled as he nuzzled the sensitive area between ear and collarbone. He pressed his lips down and gently sucked, regretting that no matter how many hickeys he'd produce, none of them would stay to mark what was his.

Despite not being a wolf, Stiles was nearly as obsessed with smells as his boyfriend, and he took his sweet time of sniffing, licking and biting where he knew it'd drive his mate crazy.

Stiles was in no rush on this Sunday morning, although the sun was already high in the sky, shining through the blind windows of the loft.

Both men slept in late, exhausted after yesterday's fateful events.

The pack had been to Deaton's Den, a werewolf-friendly club on the outskirts of Beacon Hills. Although, considering the music being not that loud and the lack of flashing strobe lights to protect sensitive supernatural ears and eyes, it probably could be classified more as a pub than a club. It had been just like any other random Saturday night until one asshole hadn't taken Stiles' explicit 'no' for a no. He'd rather not think about what might have happened if Derek hadn't ripped the toilet cabin door off its hinges and stormed in like berserk, eyes red and beta shifted.

Stiles recalled the talk that had followed, a long overdue conversation where they finally admitted their feelings. In the john of Deaton's club of all places. Not quite the romantic scenery Stiles had dreamt of for years, but as soon as Derek had kissed him, the surroundings had become nonrelevant anyway.

They had spent the night together and with every caress, Derek had erased the touch of the other wolf. He was just so Derek in the best possible way. Possessive and yet careful, rough but also sweet and loving. It was the best sex Stiles ever had. Not that there was a long list of ex-lovers, but he was certain it couldn't get any better than that.

Except, it had been all about Stiles and now it was his turn to give everything back to his wolf. Finally, he got to worship that glorious body as it should be.

He squeezed those perfectly shaped pecs and stroked with his fingertips through the hair. Derek stiffened ever so slightly underneath him but made no move to stop him, so Stiles went on by kissing down to the chest, rubbing his nose through the black curls, trailing sweet pecks to the left nipple, where he gently nibbled the bud before he latched on and sucked.

His hands found their way up to the shoulders, relishing how broad, strong and toned they were. The biceps were next. So thick that Stiles would need both hands to wrap his fingers around them. Jesus Christ. They weren't just a show-off of Derek's strength. They were visible proof of his commitment to his alpha role, his dedication to protecting his pack, and his determination to push himself further every day. Stiles has never met anyone with more self-discipline than Derek.

His forearms told a different story, his wrists especially. They were delicate, just a little thicker than Stiles', and he couldn't help but think how that contrast was almost like an analogy for the man itself. Because Derek was more than just a mindless muscled hunk, and no matter how hard he tried to hide his sensitive side behind a wall of wit, sarcasm and rudeness, the pack knew better. They had seen him.

Stiles had seen him.

It's why he loved him.

That Derek's personality came in the form of a Greek God was just the best bonus. Well, Stiles surely won't complain about that.

He let go of the nipple and laid his head on the chest to listen to the heartbeat. Stiles' hands found Derek's and he intertwined their fingers, thumbs stroking lovingly over the back of his mates' hands. He felt hairs there, too, a soft down, and he smiled to himself.

With his eyes still closed, he just basked in the sunlight, warming his skin. And with the hot running werewolf underneath him, Stiles went lax. Yeah, he thought, this had to be the best place in the whole world right now.

After a moment of peaceful silence, he shifted and wanted to continue his exploration of Derek's body.

He buried his nose in the soft chest hair again and trailed slowly down south, making sure to tickle his wolf with his breath to make him squirm. The tiny sounds he got in return were beautiful.

The defined abs received some extra smooches before Stiles' tongue poked playfully into Derek's belly button. He felt the alpha dick twitching and Stiles glanced at it, seeing it hardening, and his mouth watered. He had always assumed Derek was big down there, but Jesus Christ. His still sore hole reminded him of how big his boyfriend was. Last night, he hadn't gotten a good look, but he certainly had felt every inch. Now though, he could finally get his visual fill of what had been the main star of his long-lasting fantasies.

Stiles couldn‘t wait to suck Derek off.

Until now, sex hadn't been the purpose of his caress. It had been more of a taking in, mapping out. Feeling. Reassuring himself that this was happening, that he and Derek were together. As, like, a couple. Who did couply things like lazing around in bed on a Sunday morning and rubbing their naked bodies against each other.

Now that he saw Derek getting hard, he smelled his heady scent of growing arousal and also the remains of last night's jizz which they only wiped away with Derek's undershirt in post-coital bliss... now Stiles wanted more.

Fuck, that thick cock and the heavy balls, framed by a wild patch of black hairs, were like a piece of art.

He let go of Derek's hands and shuffled on all fours to get in a better position.

"You don't have to," cut Derek's voice through his thoughts.

He sounded tense, and Stiles' dreamy bubble burst with one heartbeat. He blinker and looked up to check in with his mate, expecting to meet warm green-hazel eyes, but Derek stared at the ceiling instead.

He seemed uncomfortable.

From one second to another, Stiles' insecurities kicked in because all the time he had thought, Derek would enjoy this just as much as he did, but that was not the case.

"You don't want me to?" he blurted out and hated how unsure he sounded.

Maybe Derek had second thoughts. Maybe Derek regretted last night's actions. Maybe he wanted to go back to being just friends.

Stiles couldn't do that. It wasn't an option for him. Not after last night.

It'd crush him. The mere thought of it made his stomach churn.

Derek lifted his head and finally looked at him. "Don't be daft, idiot!" he said, almost annoyed, and Stiles wanted to sob in relief.

Never had he been happier to get insulted.

"Course I want it." Derek hesitated and bit his lip. His head flopped back on the pillow and he let out a sigh. "I'm just too lazy to get up."

Stiles tilted his head and frowned. "Get up?" Had he missed something?

"You know to..." Derek flailed his arms in the general direction of his crotch.

The frown on Stiles' forehead deepened. "No?" he said carefully. "I don't know, actually?" He peered at the cock, wondering what Derek meant.

"Get ready!" the wolf finally spit out, exasperated.

Oh?

Oh.

"Oh," Stiles said intelligently and his body went burning hot in one second. "Hey, yeah, okay. I just wanted to blow you, dude, but if you want anal, yep, that's fine, Mini-Me is totally up for that, too." Derek abruptly sat up, while Stiles went on rambling. "I didn't know you'd bottom, what with the alpha thing and all, but fucking hell, yeah. Okay. Fair warning though, this might be just a quickie because, Jesus, have you seen your ass..." Stiles shook his head and sucked in a breath, leaking precum from just the sheer imagination of fucking Derek. Fucking hell. "God, I dunno how long I can hold back-"

Derek slammed a hand right across Stiles' mouth and everything he wanted to add ended in a muffled noise. They stared at each other with wide eyes.

"First of all," Derek said and raised his pointer. "Don't call me dude. Especially not when you're talking about us having sex. What the hell is wrong with you, Stiles." His eyebrows underlined the seriousness of his words.

Stiles nodded frantically. He totally could do that. There were better pet names available anyway like Boo-Boo or-

"Second," Derek interrupted his train of thought and slowly released Stiles' mouth from his grip. "I didn't mean get ready for anal." He gave Stiles a stern look, and just hearing the word anal coming out of Derek Hale's mouth, made Stiles giggle.

"What did you mean then?"

That uncomfortable expression was back on the wolf‘s face. He pulled a face as if he had licked a lemon. "You know, like, shaving."

Stiles stared at him, dumbfounded. "Okay, but you don't have to." He briefly looked down at Derek's now flaccid dick and the bush of dark curls. "If it makes you feel better then yeah, I understand, but you really don't have to because of me."

"You don't mind?!" Derek sounded surprised.

"Uh, no?" Stiles smiled at him. "I like your hot, sexy wolfy body just like it is."

Something, an emotion Stiles couldn't place, flashed over Derek's face before he shifted his expression to neutral again. And then he quickly turned away, averting Stiles' eye.

That's when the penny dropped. "Oh my God, someone said something to you in the past, didn't they?" As soon as he said the words out loud, he was sure he was right.

Stiles had a good guess of which of the three girlfriends would be the one who gave Derek the complex about his hair. He didn't say her name out loud, it wasn't necessary. Fuck, did he hate her so much right now.

He put his hand on Derek's jaw and gently turned his head back to look at him. The wolf's face was stoic as ever, but his eyes betrayed him. "I'm not her, Der." Stiles leaned in and kissed him softly. "I love you, everything of you."

Derek's breath hitched.

"Too early?" Stiles bit his lip.

Damn, they only got together about 9 hours ago. But still, it felt right. Stiles loved Derek for fucking years.

"Stiles." Derek looked like he wanted to say more, but nothing came out of his mouth and he looked almost pained. Instead, a low whine escaped his throat.

Stiles rested his forehead against his boyfriend's. "It's okay," he whispered, and he truly meant it. "Can we go back to where I tried to make you feel good?" he asked seductively. "Let me show you, how much I love your body?" He pulled back, wriggled his eyebrows and started grinning.

Derek snorted. God, Stiles loved the sound of his laugh, loved how Derek closed his eyes briefly, scrunched his nose and showed his bunny teeth. He'd make Derek laugh a lot more in the future, Stiles secretly vowed to himself.

Stiles did show Derek how much he loved his body.

Twice.

Derek let Stiles top a week later. It was the first time he bottomed. Both weren't virgins by any means, but so many things they were about to explore together.

[vmsplus]

When we need to choose the appropriate kitchen wall cabinet for our homes, we know our choice is as important as our kitchen designs. We add aesthetic value to it, make it functional, we keep it clean and sanitised (utensils).

These wall cabinets are sometimes called” upper cabinets” or “uppers” and possess the most flexibility in design — multiple widths, various heights, glass door options, and custom depth options.

Today’s market is overflowing with many different wall cabinet designs, so finding the right cabinet that suits our tastes and lifestyles is difficult.

So what will be the deciding factor in the feel of our kitchen? When it comes to decor, every wall cabinet has different door shutters, laminate finish, and colours that will make you overwhelmed with choices.

The design of a wall cabinet in the kitchen has an important role in deciding your kitchen’s overall feel and look. When choosing the cabinet you will install, consider the kitchen glass shutter design, external finishes, functionality, and colour choices.

Here are some designs for the kitchen wall cabinet that you can choose from:

1. Two-toned kitchen cabinets are a hot trend right now, as most homeowners tend to add a touch of personality to their kitchens. For example, the combination of black and white is classic and looks stunning. Other popular colour combinations include; blue and white, green and white, and grey and white, among others.

2. Kitchen wall cabinets with glass doors

provide a modern look while bringing an element of brightness to the kitchen space. The transparent glass panels allow a full view of the cabinet’s interior. This means that you do not have to open the glass door entirely. You may also use frosted glass for easier maintenance or if you want a little sense of privacy in the cabinet contents.

In some places, this type of cabinet with glass doors is called a curio cabinet. Its purpose is to hold and display your curiosities, such as your china collection, or your porcelain figures.

3. Frameless glass cabinets comprise a sheet of glass that can serve as the door shutter. Use a combination of stainless steel hinges and a generous amount of frameless glass to give your kitchen a sophisticated look. This cabinet design uses a magnetic push latch to open and close.

4. Kitchen overhead cabinets are the staples of kitchen aesthetics. They are an essential feature or element of every kitchen landscape. This cabinet design is a great way to add much storage to a confined kitchen. These overhead cabinets can hold plates, coffee mugs, glassware, and even dry goods such as coffee, tea, spices, honey, sugar, butter, bread, and more. You can also use a part of it as a makeshift medicine cabinet.

5. Glass wall cabinets kitchen reflect natural light in and around the kitchen. If your kitchen is slightly darker or has shadows, this wall cabinet can make it airier, lighter, and brighter.

6. You will love a sliding door kitchen wall cabinet design. It has a beautiful formal touch for an open floor layout. It ensures that your essentials remain privy while allowing your home to shine perfectly.

The driving force of interior design is creativity. Before you implement a kitchen idea, the next best thing to do is find something that gets you going and then work on it. You might get your inspiration from something you subconsciously picked up or saw in a movie while having your morning walks or doing anything you love.

VMS Trade Link is the country’s top choice in kitchen cabinetry, and we would like to help you with your cabinet needs. Installing your preferred cabinet design will sort out all your storage problems. However, you might still need a professional eye on this. Why not reach out to us at VMS? Our team of experts will happily guide you in making your best wall cabinet purchase.

[grubbion]

This reminds me of a story I once heard. Never written down, never documented, but passed on from family member to coworker to friend. Passed on by memory, and by spoken word.

It lives on in how you hear it, and interpret it.

It’s the story of the door. This door exists. I know it does. Because I’ve touched it. I’ve tried to open it.

The door resides deep in your thoughts and minds, and in a cave. Locals warn that the cave leads to hell. Legion says the cave is full of screams of the dead. It is a rather windy cave so I understand how they might think the sound of wind rushing through the various caverns and paths would sound like screams.

The singular instruction to finding the door,l is follow the screams. Follow what you hear and not what you see. In the dark pitch of the cave you may see things that are not what you’re looking for. Just keep the door in your mind and you will find it.

Just the sight of the door can change your life. The image is foretold to be burned into your memory. Each door you see after will resemble the door deep down in the cave. From a hinge, the knob, a panel that was cut out in such a way, you will see the door in every other door you find. But the sight of the door is life changing.

As if a fissure split the earth in two, a towering straight as plum crack opens upward for as far as you can see in the dark. And not 10 feet from the face is a door. Reaching upward as far as the crack. The door was warm and loud. It sounded like there was a maelstrom of noises on the other side. It sounded like crowds and crowds of people, screaming, and pushing, and shoving, and forcing one another aside to get to the door.

It sounded like there was a city on the other side waiting for the door to be opened. Waiting for someone, or something on the other side to finally turn the knob or move the latch or release a lock that would allow the tsunami of bodies to fall through and come out of the hell they are in.

Was this the door to hell, was this a door to a vast and open corridor that has more wind and more screams and more darkness? What was on the other side of this door that should not exist? In a cave that I should not have venture into alone.

As I touch the door I know deep down in the darkness I have in myself, I wanted the door to just crack a little. Only enough to see what’s on the other side.

The door moved. The door cracked just a little. Enough for me to see the other side. Enough to see a long corridor with a door in the distance. A door that has voices screaming through it. Sirens going off. Loud cheers as I hear “the door has opened a crack!” Their door has cracked open just a far as mine.

Before I could make out anything else over the cacophony coming through, I fell backwards and ran as fast as I could back to the surface. I ran until I couldn’t breath right over the pain in my side.

But the cave was very windy. And the turns didn’t look the same going up as they did going down. The cave walls all look the same.

But the door was calling me. It was calling someone. Something. To open it. Open it more than a crack. Open both of the doors more than a tiny crack. But I could not find it. I could no longer follow the screams. I was lost in a doorless cave.

There's a door somewhere that's been closed forever. As long as people can remember, the first records of its existence, it's been closed. And even in the first records of its existence, people were watching it, waiting for it to be opened.

It's a massive door, in an underground chamber, the room its in is the largest room on earth. It's beautiful and ornate, and so strangely alien. After the initial hallway the room with the door is the only room in the chamber, like it's the entrance to a massive complex that humanity will never see. It's architecture is like no known culture, there are carvings on the walls of animals that don't exist, and writing in a language nobody knows. Some think that it's the work of aliens, some think it's the work of an advanced ancient culture, others that it's the work of beings from another dimension. Scientists and historians find all of those possibilities disturbingly possible.

There are tons of theories as to what's beyond the door. Every single religion that has come in contact with the door has managed to tie it into its mythology, especially ideas about the end of the world. And secular conspiracy theorists love it just as much. There are theories that the door will lead to hell, and that the rapture will start when it opens, theories that the door is where the messiah waits, or where God's body on earth is. There are theories that behind the door lies the secret of eternal life. Theories that aliens will open the door when they're ready to contact humanity. Theories that behind the door are the secrets to the universe, that it'll usher in a new age of humanity when opened. Theories that there's treasure behind the door, or technology that will change the way humanity lives. But there is one throughline amoung almost all theories, at least those belived by those invested in it, which is that they believe the door will open soon, and that those who see it opened will benefit the most. And there's been theories like this for thousands of years.

People of all religions will save up to make holy pilgrimages to the door, skipping meals, depriving their children of toys, so they can sit in front of the door for a few days, hoping to be the ones to see it open, returning home disappointed. There are conmen who'll sell the smallest things from the door, from water thats touched it, to pebbles that have fallen off of it, and people will believe it'll heal the sick, or work miracles. In ancient times conquerors would go to the door, making such a big deal out of it being in their lands. In modern times a small republic of a few thousand people, as old as the first world war, controls the territory of the door, they do their best to let people of all walks of life come to it, and try to stop any single group from dominating the space.

And of course there are people who live near the door. The entrance to the chamber is now surrounded by a modern city, and the room the door is in, and the hallway before it, are so large that they basically contain an entire town/neighborhood. The people who live in the room of the door are all those who are waiting for it to open (and a small population of people making good money off of them). They all have their own sections within the giant room, from evangelicals waiting to see Jesus behind the door, to alien theorists waiting to see the secrets of the stars, to new agers waiting for the opening of the doors to enter earth into a new era. The underground town is one of the most crowded places on earth, and as long as you're outside you can see the doors. Basically everyone who lives there thinks it's the only place they can ever be, as dark as it is down there they need to live where the doors will soon open. Some even go so far as to never leave the room even temporarily, many people living and dying in this one underground room, never being anywhere else, never seeing the sun. When those who where born in the room grow up to move somewhere else, abandoning their hopes of seeing the door open, their parents grieve as if they've lost their chance at salvation, and mourn them as if they were dead oftentimes.

Trying to get very close to the door is nearly impossible. It gets more and more crowded the closer you get to the door. And the space where it's close enough to actually touch the door is constantly covered with people, you have to sift through the thickest crowds on earth to get close enough to touch it, and people, thinking it has mystical properties, will. People have been trampled to death trying to touch that door. The entire underground town is unreasonable crowded, but nothing comes close to that small sliver of space where the door can be touched.

Science has had a rough relationship with the door. In older times people have tried to open it. The last time it was tried was when it was under British rule in the 19th century. It didn't go well. They might be able to do more now, but most of the people the door is important to don't want them to. There was a scientist who was beaten to death by an angry mob in the 1970s for suggesting there might he nothing more then an empty room behind the door, not even that it was likely, juet that it was possible. Science has spoken little on the door since then. And the government that has the territory of the door now does not allow any door based science to occur.

The reason why I bring all of this up, is that a few days ago the doors opened just the slightest amount. Not enough for anyone to step through, but enough to be noticeable. It's so hard to see through, but reports are starting to come in. They say that behind the door is a short hallway, and at the end of the hallway is another set of doors, of similar size and shape, waiting just as patiently to open.

[safequeersex]

San Francisco Dining Room

[k9wa]

༊*·˚ CHERRY HILL. featuring haruchiyo sanzu, manjiro sano, kazutora hanemiya.

∴ SYNOPSIS : the dreadful reasons that, despite the home you find in one another, you fight.

∴ CONTENT : angst, fighting, general shitty relationship things, sanzu is toxic, mikey is a mess, kaz needs a therapist, gn reader (no referring pronouns.)

∴ NOTE : i love my babygirls but i also love the way they r all very intricate and flawed characters :] big fan of how this came out i hope you enjoy!!

༉‧₊˚. HARUCHIYO SANZU.

── his empty promises.

⠀

“baby, plea—”

“fuck you.” 

sanzu trailed you through your apartment's hallways, his heavy footsteps echoing through the otherwise quiet home. maybe you shouldn’t have let him inside after he showed up at roughly four in the morning, however, there was something about sanzu haruchiyo, such a big dog with such a mean bite, leaning against your door frame like a sad puppy, that always had you undoing the latch against your better judgement.

maybe you just preferred the peace of mind from knowing he was passed out in your living room rather than one of his clubs, or the floor of his office.

“just talk to me for a minute.” 

“i’m not in the mood for your bullshit apology right now.”

“i know you’re pissed–”

“don’t try to level with me. either leave me alone or go the fuck home.”

“just listen to me for five minutes!”

sanzu continued to plead as he trailed behind you, all you wanted was to get into your room and lock the door, so you could deal with him in the morning, while he wasn’t still coming down from the high that sparked such an issue in the first place.

“listen to you what, lie to me more? ill pass.” sanzu gritted his teeth at how you hadn’t even bothered to turn around to talk to him. 

you finally reached your room, but before you got the chance to close yourself away in it, sanzu stuck his leather shoe tight in the gap between the wooden frame and the door. with a heavy heart, alongside an equally heavy sigh, you looked up at him. 

his sclera were red, and dry, the beautiful pink hair he always prided himself on found a chaotic pattern around his bangs, and there were those sad puppy dog eyes he always managed to trap you in. 

he sets the bait,

“please.” 

you eye the trap.

“...five minutes. that's it..” 

the creak of the hinges is music to his ears as you open the door to allow him inside. he follows you to the bed and gets comfortable beside you, reaching a hand over to run his fingers along your knuckles. he snapped to grab your hand before you’re able to pull it away from his touch.

“i didn’t mean to blow up on you.” you’re silent. “was just– way too fuckin’ high and lost my temper.”

sanzu put his free hand on the small of your back, a gesture intended to bring you some form of comfort, yet it only made you feel trapped. he drops his head onto your shoulder. 

“‘m sorry. you know i love you.”

did you?

“‘m gonna do better, from now on. promise.”

he’s not, nor will he ever.

“you know y’mean the world t’me.”

he’s still slurring his words.

“haruchiyo–” he brings your hand up to his cheek and kisses your palm. 

you knew he was just hungover, that the only reason his touch with you was so tender and desperate was due to the lack of dopamine flooding his brain. 

so why did it feel so good? why was his skin so warm, his grip so welcoming?

why were you running your thumb across his cheek, and bringing a hand to push the hair out of his eyes? 

“you make me wanna be better.” his lips ghost the skin of your neck. “i’ll be better. i fucking swear.”

you know in a barely week he’ll be back in your arms, swearing up and down that this time is the last, that you’re everything to him, with you arguing back that his actions showed the opposite.

so why did you believe him? 

you eye the trap.

“okay.” you lifted his head, and kissed the dried sweat on his forehead. 

“i believe you.”

he’s got you, hook line and sinker.

༉‧₊˚. MANJIRO SANO.

── his destructiveness.

⠀

mikey wasn’t like anyone you had ever been with.

mikey didn’t shout, or raise his voice at you, he never raised his hand as a threat.

when mikey was upset, he acted like you didn’t even exist to him.

no phone calls, no texts, he’d walk right past you without so much as a glance, as if you were a spirit haunting the bonten corridors, invisible to the men who inhabited them.

this went on until you would finally break, until you were apologizing for things you didn’t even do. or sometimes the ladder, the bottled up emotions would explode all at once. 

in those moments, mikey would hit back, and he hit hard.

“you just— can you be an adult about this? do you have to do this every time you get pissed off for god knows what reason??”

you shouted at the man sat way too calmly in front of you. he, like several times before, hadn’t talked to you in days, and your over-stretched bubble of emotions had finally burst. 

“will you stop yelling?”

“no!”

why should you? you had every right to be pissed. 

“i’m not gonna stop yelling until you finally tell me what the fuck your problem is!” 

you’re pacing around the floor of his office, talking frantically with your hands. mikey’s jaw clenches as he stares up at you from his chair, through heavy eyelids. 

mikey didn’t shout, or raise his voice at you, he never raised his hand as a threat.

mikey hit you where it hurt. 

“what my problem is..?”

he placed his palms on his desk, a feeble attempt at grounding himself. he felt the words bubbling up in the back of his throat, they stung, they were acidic.

mikey was destructive.

he burned all his bridges, save for you. sometimes he felt that maybe, you should join his friends as just another person in his past.

where mikey went, destruction followed.

“you’re insufferable. that’s what my problem is.”

your pacing came to a steady stop, the words begin to bounce around in your head. 

“…what?” you practically muttered.

“why are you even here? do you really think i give a shit about anything you’re even saying right now?

do you, honest to god, think i don’t have anything more important to do? huh?”

mikey saw the way you shrunk, and in the back of his mind, in the deepest, darkest corner, he wanted to stop. he wanted to stand up and apologize, to kiss all over your face the same way he did when you were upset as teenagers, just to make you smile.

alas, he wasn’t a kid anymore, and that corner of his brain was just too deep, and too dark.

“is that really how you feel?”

your tone was so different than it was just seconds ago. mikey bit the inside of his cheek, and the look on your face somehow shone a light into that closed off, foggy section of his head.

“…just go home.”

maybe he didn’t want to burn his bridge with you, maybe that’s why he hadn’t. you were his light at the end of his tunnel vision.

you blinked away the tears building up on your lower lashes. 

“okay, fine.” 

you walked calmly to pick up your bag off the lounge chair you’d thrown it on.

“i'll be there if you wanna talk.”

you shouldn’t have given him the option, he thought. he doesn’t deserve your willingness to hear him out, to forgive him.

manjiro didn’t respond as he watched you walk out, he saw the way your head hung low, the light in your eyes dulled.

god how he wished the destruction that trailed him would finally throw him a bone, just this once.

༉‧₊˚. KAZUTORA HANEMIYA.

── his demons.

⠀

“dunno why you’re here.”

the smell of cigarette smoke filled kazutora’s sinuses, the butt of his smoke hung from his lips as he nursed the filter. his eyes held a visible cloudiness as he looked over the city, leaned lazily over the railing at the top of his apartment building.

“because i don’t wanna fight anymore.”

you hated the feeling of his back towards you, the aura you could practically see covering him, it was dark, like a thick tar was coating his soul. 

kazutora had so many mental wars he fought each day, and as much as you wanted to help him through them, sometimes all you could do was sit and wait for a letter home from your soldier.

he fought his battles, and he did it well. yet kazutora was human, and he just couldn’t keep shaking the inevitable shell shock.

“so go home then.”

kazutora had a switch in his brain that, most of the time, was off. that was when you experienced the version of him you had fallen for in the first place, his usual clumsy, sweet self. you weren’t sure why it happened, nor what would cause it, if anything specific at all, but every so often he would wake up and the switch would be turned on. 

cue, hanemiya politely telling you to fuck off on his roof top.

“‘tora, please.”

it was important to try not to take anything he said in those times of instability to heart, you knew he wasn’t himself, that a fog was floating around his head.

“leave. seriously.”

kazutora in that moment wanted nothing more than for you to leave and forget he even existed. 

he hated himself, and hated the things he’d done in his past even more. the domino effect of disaster he started single handedly.

kazutora was a forest fire, the flames that endlessly spread, and overtime burned down all the beautiful greenery that surrounded him. he couldn’t stand to watch himself turn you to ash as well.

“i’m not going—”

“for fucks sake—leave! just—just go home! or to chifuyu’s or fucking somewhere that isn’t here!” 

he couldn’t face you, couldn’t look into the eyes he so desperately wanted to never be tainted by the sins following him ever again. 

“‘tora—”

“don’t. please don’t.”

kazutora could hear ringing in his ears, and pressed his palms into his eyes. he could feel himself becoming undone at the seams.

it subsided for just a moment when he felt your arms around his waist, your head rested on his back.

“fine, i'll go home. you can come talk to me when you’re ready.”

it took all of his self control not to turn around, not to hug you and beg you to help him, to do something about the black sludge in his brain he could never seem to wipe away. 

he was silent as you pulled away, he could hear your footsteps get further.

“i love you, okay?”

all kazutora could think is how he wishes you didn’t.

ˎˊ˗ masterlist.

ˎˊ˗ send me an ask!

[prouvaireafterdark]

For a Kiss So Fatal and So Warm

Here’s my take on Louis’ first night as a vampire, inspired by the AMC trailers and spoilers/speculation I’ve picked up along the way (that will almost assuredly be canon noncompliant the minute episode 1 airs lol) 

For context, if that matters to you, this fic runs on the assumption that Louis and Lestat were already involved romantically and sexually when Lestat turned him.

Also, I just think it’d be neat if they fucked in Lestat’s coffin, so I had to give the people (me) what they want :) Hope you enjoy!

Also on AO3!

***

It was ironic, really, that in the end all Louis had needed to do to truly appreciate the beauty of life was die.

He walked through the familiar streets of New Orleans with his maker by his side, experiencing all his city had to offer as if for the first time. He absorbed every detail with startling clarity and wonder: the stars sparkling like diamonds in the sky above, the curious thrum of electricity from the street lamps, the chaotic melodies of jazz musicians still crooning well into the early morning. Even their shoes hitting the rough cobblestones underfoot held some small fascination, each sharp sound echoing in his ears, a novelty.

Most enchanting of all, perhaps, was the way Lestat’s curls bounced with each step, shining in the moonlight like spun gold. Louis couldn’t stop looking at them. He wanted to reach out and touch them, wondered if they would feel even softer than he remembered as they slipped through his fingers. 

Lestat caught him staring and smiled at him wolfishly, excitement bursting in his pale blue eyes. In a fit of impulse, he grabbed Louis’ arm and pulled him into a dark, deserted alleyway with a celerity no human could ever hope to match. 

Louis gasped in surprise as he was crowded up against the brick wall behind him and Lestat caught the sound eagerly with his mouth. Louis melted against him with a soft groan, Lestat’s kiss overwhelming him like never before. His mouth felt more sensitive now, every brush of Lestat’s lips a revelation, and pressed this close he could hear the beating of Lestat’s heart, feel the blood rushing beneath his palms as he cupped the sides of his neck to pull him closer. 

It ignited within him a lust unlike any he’d ever experienced, and before he even realized what he was doing his mouth had slipped from Lestat’s lips to the hinge of his jaw before finally dipping down to latch onto his throat. His fledgling fangs ached as his mouth opened over his maker’s thundering pulse, and Louis was helpless in the face of such powerful instinct.

Lestat moaned, loud and unabashed, as Louis finally sank his teeth into his neck, his right hand flying up to cradle the back of Louis’ skull. 

The blood that poured into Louis’ mouth was rich and warm, as intoxicating as it had been the first time he’d tasted it earlier this evening. The pleasure he felt as he drank was immense, transcendent—similar in intensity to when Lestat had made love to him and yet so different, so utterly beyond description.

Lestat was enjoying himself too, if the way he gasped in his ear and rolled his hips against him was anything to go by, but he only let Louis drink for a short moment longer before he started to push him away. 

Louis resisted him, holding fast to the back of his neck with one hand, the other wound tight around his waist as he drank from him greedily. 

“That’s enough, Louis. You’ve had enough,” Lestat said, voice strained, his grip on Louis’ arms like iron, and the words washed over Louis’ mind like a bucket of ice water. 

He let go of Lestat instantly, breathing hard as he leaned back against the wall behind him. 

“I’m sorry,” Louis apologized, brow drawn in shame even as his eyes were still transfixed on Lestat’s neck. He watched the wound he’d left there slowly close, until it was as if it had never been there at all. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You don’t?” Lestat asked, an amused lilt to his voice as he looked at him, a mischievous glint in his eye. He reached up to wipe away an errant drop that has escaped Louis’ mouth with the pad of his thumb before licking it suggestively off his own finger. “If only the night was still young, Louis. I have so much left to show you.”

Heat kindled low in Louis’ belly as he tracked the movement of Lestat’s tongue—until his words registered and he realized what Lestat was really saying. 

His thirst was sated for the moment, having just had his fill of Lestat’s immortal blood, but Louis knew that, as his maker and his mentor, Lestat intended to show him how to kill. 

It was one thing to drink from Lestat in the heat of the moment, Louis thought—and even that he had not managed without guilt—but to hunt and murder an innocent human being? Contrary to Lestat’s insistence that Louis would feel differently once he was turned, that he would shrug off his human sense of morality along with his mortal coil, in this moment, the very idea of such an act still turned his stomach.  

His expression must have betrayed the battle within him because Lestat laughed suddenly, shaking his head as one would at the charming naivety of a child. Louis’ mood soured further at the sound, but Lestat either ignored it or didn’t notice as he took Louis by the hand.

“Come now, mon chéri,” he said, threading their fingers together. “Dawn approaches.”

Louis followed without comment and in mere minutes they had made it back to Lestat’s hotel and were walking down the hall toward the door of his suite. 

Lestat pulled him inside without delay and Louis hardly had time to hang his coat by the door before he was being ushered through the sitting room toward Lestat’s bedroom.

The room looked just as it had the first time he’d entered it, decorated with opulent wallpaper, ornate wood furniture, intricately patterned oriental rugs, and a large four-poster bed against the far wall, its soft bedding still undisturbed. Lestat had spared no expense when choosing his accommodations, it would seem. 

As he studied it all with new eyes, Louis recalled how he had felt when Lestat had first pressed him back against those sumptuous pillows, his cool lips scorching a path down the column of his throat. Louis had been aflame with desire, desperate to be embraced and unmade in some permanent, life-altering way. He had longed for the sweet release of oblivion in any form it could come—even death, in his darkest moments.

With a strange sense of detachment, Louis wondered at the irony with which God had seen fit to answer his prayers, somehow granting him nothing and everything of what he had once so dearly desired. 

No, not God, Louis reminded himself suddenly as Lestat closed the door behind them and crossed the room to pull the shutters closed tight over the windows. I have a new maker now.

They dressed quickly for bed, Louis in a set of burgundy satin pajamas borrowed from Lestat’s own wardrobe. He was momentarily distracted by the silky feel of the fabric against his skin, and so when he looked up to find his devil of a lover kneeling beside the bed as if in preparation for prayer, he nearly choked on a laugh.

Lestat was not praying, however. Louis watched as he pulled a large wooden box from under the bed.

No, not a box, Louis realized as he took in its distinctive, tapered shape. A coffin.

“What the hell is a coffin doing under your bed?” Louis wondered aloud, his voice raised in alarmed confusion. Had it always been there? 

“Where else would a vampire sleep that is safe from the sun?” Lestat asked, as if the conclusion was obvious.

Fear rose up within Louis at the grim sight it made, but the feeling was hollow somehow too, without the teeth it once had when he had been a living man. Lestat continued, unbothered.

“We’ll have to steal another one when we wake tomorrow evening so you can have one to yourself,” Lestat said, lifting the coffin’s lid to reveal the lush, satin interior, “but we’ll manage well enough in here for now, I think.”

“You want both of us to sleep in there?” Louis asked, as the absurdity of Lestat’s words hit him. It had been built for only one occupant, after all, and in life Louis had never been fond of tight spaces. “You cannot be serious. We’ll suffocate, if the lid will even close on us.”

Lestat smiled up at him from the floor, his pale lips stretching wide over his teeth.

“Mortal fears are for mortal men, my dear Louis,” he answered, his tone somehow managing affection and condescension at the same time. “You would do well to remember that, now that you no longer are one.”

They were hardly words of comfort, and when Louis’ anxiety did not appear assuaged, Lestat stood up and reached for his hand. 

“You will be perfectly safe in there with me,” he assured him, quite serious, until another shark-like grin overtook his face. “I even promise not to bite. Unless you ask, of course.”

The corner of Louis’ mouth lifted in spite of himself, and something restless in his chest calmed at Lestat’s touch even in the face of his ridiculous teasing. How confusing his feelings for this man could be.

Lestat released his hand and climbed inside the coffin, lying down flat on his back with his head resting on a satin pillow. Louis stared at him a moment, trying to figure out how best to configure their bodies in such a tight space, until Lestat found the end of his patience.

“Sometime tonight, please, Louis,” he huffed from inside the coffin, his left arm raised in invitation. “Unless you’d like us both to burn.”

Louis took the hint. There was a narrow space to Lestat’s left, so he lowered himself down into the coffin and settled there, half on top of Lestat’s chest, with their legs tangled close together. Once Louis’ head was resting comfortably on Lestat’s shoulder, he finally pulled the lid of the coffin closed.

As the light faded into darkness, Louis expected the sense of unease he had felt just looking at the coffin to grow, but it did not. In fact, his mind was not at all troubled by the darkness nor the satin-lined wood caging him in mere inches from his body. 

Instead, like a moth to a flame, he found his attention once more drawn to Lestat. His awareness narrowed to all the points they were touching; the warmth of Lestat’s body beneath him, the soft wiry hair tickling his palm where it peeked out from the neckline of his white tank top, the gentle stroke of his fingers against Louis’ lower back as they worked their way under the hem of his shirt. Such wonderful sensations they were, and Louis could feel himself beginning to get lost in them until Lestat’s voice cut through the dark.

“Not so bad now, hm?” he said, low and sensual as ever as he covered the hand Louis had placed on his chest with his own. 

“No,” Louis admitted, spreading his fingertips so Lestat could thread their fingers together as he so often loved to do. 

It wasn’t bad at all, actually, being held by Lestat, feeling the tenderness of his touch in the dark, but Louis couldn’t tell him that—Lestat’s ego was big enough already and this new sleeping arrangement of theirs would truly become intolerable if he allowed him to become any more smug over having been right.

Instead, he gave in to the urge to press a kiss to Lestat’s neck. He could smell Lestat’s blood flowing through his veins, and the longer his lips lingered there, the more he could feel his pulse begin to quicken. The terrible rhythm of his heart called to something deep inside Louis, but the base impulse that had driven him to bite Lestat earlier had shifted, taking on a new yet familiar shape now that his thirst for blood was quenched. 

Indeed, it was a different sort of impulse, though no less base, that drove him now to let his lips part so he could taste the salt of his skin as he kissed him there again. Lestat’s throat rumbled under his mouth as he chuckled.

“Insatiable,” Lestat murmured, sounding inordinately pleased by the fact, even as he added, “You had better keep those fangs to yourself tonight, Louis. I don’t have much blood left to give you.”

“You liked it, though, didn’t you? When I bit you before?” Louis asked, his lips still brushing against his neck as he thought of how Lestat had felt in his arms for that brief moment. He wanted to do it again, to feel Lestat writhe in ecstasy against him as his blood filled his mouth. 

“Yes,” Lestat sighed, and at his admission, Louis couldn’t resist parting his lips to nip at his neck with blunt teeth this time, a mere imitation of what he had done to him earlier. 

Lestat groaned all the same, arching his neck up to Louis’ mouth. Desperate the hear that sound again, he bit down a little harder, just short of drawing blood, before he soothed the tender spot with his tongue. 

Lestat rewarded him for his effort with a French curse moaned low in his ear as his hips rocked upward against Louis’ thigh, seeking out whatever friction he could get on his rapidly hardening cock. The corner of Louis’ mouth turned up with quiet satisfaction—for once, he felt as if Lestat was at his mercy, and not the other way around.

“Why?” Louis asked, partly to draw this out a little longer and partly because he was curious. The gratification in the act of biting was obvious—he had experienced it himself—but to be bitten? It seemed contrary to what little Louis understood of his new condition.

“The sharing of blood,” Lestat began after a moment, sounding out of breath, his accent more pronounced, “is the highest form of intimacy for our kind.”

Our kind, Louis thought, his mind abuzz with questions. Were there others like them, then? He would have to ask Lestat about it later.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Louis asked, recalling the agony of his own transformation just hours ago. 

“Exquisitely,” answered Lestat, and before Louis could ask him anything more, he pulled him into a bruising kiss.

Louis kissed him back with equal fervor, luxuriating once more in the feeling of Lestat’s lips moving insistently against his own. Had they always been so soft, so warm? Or were Louis’ colder now, more sensitive? Whatever the reason for it, Louis gave himself over to the sensation, content to be pulled in by the all-consuming tide of Lestat’s desire. 

Each kiss bled into the next, a series that felt as endless as the sands of time now that Louis had no real need to catch his breath. It wasn’t until he felt impatient fingers beginning to unbutton his shirt that he pulled away, looking down at Lestat through the dark.

“I thought dawn was approaching,” Louis teased as Lestat shoved the offending garment off his shoulders. “Are you sure we have time?”

“Shut up, Louis,” Lestat said without an ounce of heat, his nails dragging deliciously against his newly bare skin as he tried to touch Louis everywhere at once. “You started this.”

“Then let me finish it,” he replied and, with uncharacteristic boldness, reached down to pull at the drawstring of Lestat’s pajamas.

Lestat eagerly lifted his hips to help him push them down as far as he could get them. His cock sprang up against his belly, already hard and leaking when Louis wrapped his fingers around him.

Lestat let his head drop back onto the pillow as he moaned, expressive as ever, and Louis followed him down to flick his tongue into his open mouth as he began to stroke him, swiping his thumb through the fluid welling up at the tip and spreading it down the length of his shaft to ease the way. 

Every movement of his hand elicited some reaction from Lestat—a hitch in his breath, a soft curse, the bite of his fingernails along Louis’ back or shoulders—and when he moaned again the sound of it traveled through his throat to Louis’ mouth as he sucked a fleeting bruise onto his skin. 

It frightened Louis as much as it exhilarated him, how Lestat came alive under his touch, how it set his own heart on fire to be with him in such an intimate way. For so long, Louis had run from his desire for other men, had carried the shame of it with him every day. He lived in fear that God would one day strike him down for the thoughts in his head, but here, in the quiet dark, with Lestat gasping his name against his cheek and pushing his borrowed pajamas roughly off his hips, it was easy to forget that this was a sin.

Bare below the waist now, Louis rolled his hips forward to grind himself against the hard plane of Lestat’s belly where his shirt had ridden up, his cock aching for attention. Lestat licked his palm before he reached down to take him in hand and Louis moaned sharply against his neck at the relief his touch brought. 

With the coffin still closed, they had barely any room to move at all, but it was enough for Louis to rock his hips back and forth, to drag his cock through the tight channel of Lestat’s fist. They moved in tandem, giving and taking their pleasure in turn, and Louis burned with every twist of Lestat’s wrist, with every feverish kiss he pressed to his mouth. His heart was pounding against his ribs, blood rushing in his ears, nearly but not quite loud enough to drown out all the perfect little sounds Lestat kept making in the back of his throat.

Lestat stiffened beneath him suddenly, his cock twitching hard in Louis’ grip as he came with a loud, desperate moan. He hardly gave himself a moment to bask in it before he let go of Louis’ cock, just long enough to swipe his fingers through his own release and grab hold of him again. 

It was a heady assault on his senses—the wet glide of Lestat’s fist over his cock, the scent of blood and sweat and sex surrounding them both. Louis was coming before he knew it, pleasure twisting hot in his gut as he spilled over Lestat’s fist, adding to the mess. Lestat worked him through it, milking him for all he was worth until Louis hid his face in his neck and grabbed his wrist to stop him, whimpering from overstimulation.

In the wake of such a powerful orgasm, Louis was exhausted, his limbs heavy and warm, but Lestat only let him rest for a moment before he was pushing on the lid of their coffin and urging Louis to sit up. 

The air was cool on his bare skin as he leaned back on his knees, the waistband of his pajamas still pulled taut around his thighs. The first thing he noticed was that the room was a little brighter than it was when they’d first entered it, the faintest light of the early dawn beginning to bleed through the edges of the shutters. 

The second was that Lestat looked thoroughly debauched beneath him, his belly a sticky red-tinged mess of come and sweat. He was so beautiful it stunned him for a moment, and the self-satisfied smile Lestat gave him when he caught him staring again made his stomach swoop. 

Louis continued to watch Lestat as he stripped off his ruined tank top and used it to clean them both up—first himself, of course, and then Louis—before dropping it over the side of the coffin to be dealt with later. They would both need a bath when they awoke, but for now Louis was content to kick his satin pajamas off the rest of the way and let Lestat pull him back down on top of him.

Lestat wrapped his arms around Louis once more when the coffin’s lid fell back into place, drawing idle patterns with his fingertips across his shoulder, then the ridge of his spine, and the dip of his lower back. 

As Louis gave in to his exhaustion and let his eyes drift close, he felt the curve of Lestat’s smile against his forehead as he kissed him one last time.

“Bonne nuit, mon amour,” Lestat whispered, his breath a gentle caress against his skin. “When you wake, New Orleans will be ours for the taking.”

Though he gave no indication that he had heard Lestat, Louis’ heart sank with guilt at the insinuation behind his words. 

He lay awake another moment more, and as the paralysis of sleep finally claimed him, he sent a prayer for God’s forgiveness for all of the horrors tomorrow was sure to bring.

[bump1nthen1ght]

At the End of the Day

Pairing: Gender Neutral!Reader/Non-Binary Tentacle Monster (It/It’s pronouns used)

Genre: Fluff, First Times, Comfort

Warnings: Explicit Content up ahead (18+ only!), Tentacles, Slight mention of Aphrodisiacs

Word Count: 2904 Words

Summary: After an exhausting day at work, you find some unexpected comfort from under your bed

Request :Omg I love your Forest Fun fic💕 Could I req a NSFW with a tentacle monster, monster under your bed? I was thinking of a lonely reader, meeting their under the bed mate one night where they were hang their hand off the bed, hoping for a monster to hold it and love them, AND IT DOES! Tysm I love your writing!!!

You officially concluded it was a bad day when you collapsed on your bed at 12 AM, too tired to sleep and too dehydrated to cry your feelings out.

You had been on your feet for nine hours, been screamed at for three, and had barely had time to heat up a cup of ramen noodles before almost passing out from exhaustion. Not even the comfort of a screen could help, having forgotten to record the newest episode of your favorite show and having left your phone charger at home all day.

All in all, you 're having a bad time.

You sluggishly pull up your blankets, only in your underwear because putting on pajamas was too much work, and are left to look at your ceiling.

The bed is cold, not yet warmed by your body heat, and the sheets feel a little itchy. You groan, wondering if one thing, one thing, could go right today.

It’d be nice if you had someone to cuddle. Maybe a pillow would suffice, but it’s the thought of someone’s soft touch, playing with your hair, the sound of their heartbeat against your ear. Someone to massage out the stress from your back and shoulders, and remind you that everything would be alright; Whispering promises of a better tomorrow.

But that doesn’t just happen overnight.

You throw your hands over your face, groaning into your palms as you beg your mind to just let you sleep. Dragging your fingers down your cheeks, you let out a pitiful whine before you flip over to your stomach and try to find comfort that way.

You stuff your face into your pillow, one hand dangling off the side of your bed, fingers just barely brushing the carpet. You trace patterns into the fabric, wondering how nice it would feel to be wrapped in something that warm and cozy. Something big enough to envelope you whole, pinning you to the bed. Something with nice warm hands to fill yours, that will pet the back of knuckles and kiss them goodnight. Something that would travel up your wrist, hot and sensual, leaving a trail of warm ooze that-

Wait.

What the fuck.

Your hand jerks upwards, the liquid now running down your forearm glistening. You pull your face out your pillow and throw yourself to the other side of the bed, eyes racing back and forth across your room.

It’s the same as before, only moon light shining through your window and the low hum of your fan accompanying it. You take another look at your hand, streaks of slime dribbling down the sides. It’s warm, the consistency of aloe vera, and sort of smells like...vanilla?

With your heart pounding, you slowly inch over to the side of your bed, not daring to look too far over, too afraid of what you might see.

You fly backwards when the tip of something black and shiny comes up and over your sheets, tentatively tapping the side. It looks like it’s feeling around for something.

Was it looking for you?

You freeze as the tentacle reaches farther and farther up the sheets, thrashing around as you avoid it’s touch, until another one joins it in the search. You don’t move an inch, fearing any shifting of the blankets would alert the creature to your presence.

The tentacles reach about half-way across the bed, almost brushing against your toes, when they freeze. You hold a breath and watch them slowly slink back underneath, wondering if now is the time to lose your shit.

A pair of eyes-wait, no, two pairs of eyes peer up from the side, glowing yellow in the dark. Their pupils expand as they take in the darkness, darting around until they see you, curled up against the corner of your headboard.

There’s a soft churring noise, like the startup of a vacuum or the sound of birds singing. A tiny tentacle comes up, sheepishly tapping the sheets as the creature stares at you.

“....Alright?” It murmurs. It’s voice is scratchy, like it’s trying to make sounds it never has before.

“What?” Your mouth, barely making a whisper. The tentacle points to your hand, still covered in ooze.

“Smelled...sad.” The creature sniffs, slightly raising it’s head so you can see the bottom half of its face. It resembled that of a human, but the mouth extended all the way back to it’s jaw, hinged like a snake. You can see several rows of sharp teeth and the purplish tongue that comes out and wets it’s...lips? “Thought….I could help.” The tentacle draws a circle into your bed covers, the creature's eyes darting away as it’s skin flushes an even darker black; Indigos and deep violets highlight the contours of it’s face. “Don’t like it...when you are sad….”

You think you’ve lost your chance to have a breakdown, your mind already switching to numb out the wave of realizations you are going through right now. All you can focus on are the bashful look on the creature's face, the way it’s tentacles nervously tuts back and forth, and how warm your hand felt in its embrace. How nice it felt.

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You mutter, finally able to make proper words. “I appreciate it.�� You unconsciously rub your thumb over the palm of your slick hand, noting how hot it still is, how it relaxes your muzzles like a warm bath.

The creature just nods, resting it’s chin on the bed.

“Feeling...better?”

You shrug. “Uh...a little bit. A good hand-hold is always nice.”

At that, the creature perks up, and you can see some more tentacles come up the bedside. They beckon you to come closer, massaging the mattress and somehow leaving no trails of their slime. The creature swallows, rubbing the back of its neck.

“...Could make you feel….really good….If you...want.”

Your eyebrow quirks, the cogs of your brain working extra slow tonight. But the way the creature flushes, the way it’s tentacles writhe so sensually, you soon start to get the picture.

A logical person might have said no. Might’ve screamed, thrown on the light, and barricaded their bedroom. Probably called the authorities, or animal control.  

But isn’t this what you’d been asking for? And they were sweet enough to pick you up when you were down. Even asked for your permission afterwards, and made a conscious effort to not make a total mess of your bed.

Maybe it’ was the nine hours of pure hell, maybe it’s the fact it’s the most physical contact you’ve had in months, but there’s a part of you that really wants to say yes.

And it’s probably the sleep deprivation that makes you actually do it.

“Yeah. I-I think I would like that.” You slowly unfurl yourself, the creature's face lighting up as you slowly crawl over to it. It’s tentacles thrash around unabashedly, some too eager to even wait for you to get closer, tickling the tops of your knees and nipping at your fingers. You giggle as one finds a ticklish spot. “What’s your name?” You whisper, falling into the soft touches of it’s tentacles as you get closer and closer to the creature’s face. It’s still flushed purple, it’s eyes racing over your body.

“Ghitir.” It croaks, taking a deep breath as your oversized night shirt slips down your shoulder, exposing your skin to it’s greedy eyes. It’s flattering, how much it wants you.

You pull down your collar even more, letting it fall past your collarbone and show just a peak of your chest. A tentacle has begun crawling up your leg, the thick ooze leaving a warm trail along the outside of your thigh, and you gently grab it. Ghitir shudders as you stroke your thumb over the tentacle, feeling the way it’s muscles push against your palm.

It’s hot breath brushes across your face as you look into its four eyes, not realizing how close you had gotten to it. Your eyes fall it’s mouth, where it’s long tongue darts out for a second.

“My name’s _____.” You punctuate the sentence with a kiss, one which Ghitir reciprocated hungrily. It’s tongue along your lips before darting into your mouth, your hands running up the back of its neck as you sink deeper into the feeling.

The tentacles have grown bolder, several now pushing past the bottoms of your pajama shorts and others going under your shirt. One slides up the center of your chest, it’s tip barely touching your nipples as the others run along your pelvis. You can feel slime drip down your behind as several caress your ass, pulling the fabric of your shorts higher and higher as they squeeze. The liquid has gotten even hotter, making your skin buzz and tingle.

All the sensations come together in a perfect tidal wave, so much so that even the rubbing of your pajamas against your crotch has you keeling into Ghitir, thrusting your hips against your mattress. Ghitir churrs, pulling it’s tongue out of your mouth to lather your jaw and neck in kisses. There’s a slight sting as you feel claws dig into your lower back, your hazy eyes glancing downwards to see Ghitir’s four, vaguely humanoid-arms, push you closer to it’s body. It pants and yanks on the shirt fabric, urging you to take it off. You do so in one quick motion, but before you let Ghitir lunge for another kiss, you yank it’s shoulders upwards and onto your bed, revealing all of its body to you.

It’s torso and arms connect to a mass of rolling tentacles, big and small, all of which latch onto you as you fall back onto the bed. Some squirm under your waistband, pushing your shorts and underwear past your crotch and down to your thighs. You shimmy your legs and kick them off your ankles, a shiver running down your spine as cold muscle presses up against your sex. Ghitir leans down into the crook of your neck, exhaling hot breath as it’s cold skin presses into your chest. Your nipples pebble and you run your hands down it’s back, nails digging into it’s clenched muscles.

Ghitir’s tentacles rub your crotch, undulating while one slinks down to your entrance. Beads of liquid smear off of it and into your skin, it’s tip just ghosting over your hole. The knot in your stomach burns hotter, your crotch thrusting upwards, trying to catch that fleeting sensation. But Ghitir is focused on covering your neck and shoulders in sloppy kisses. Sweat drops down your neck and it licks up toward your jaw, shuddering a groan from the taste.

Your head is hazy and your eyes have a hard time focusing, but you're able to feel your way to a tentacle, grabbing it by the thickest part and rubbing your thumb up it’s side. Ghitir lurches forward, it’s tongue lolling out with a shaky squeal. The tentacle teasing your entrance seizes, pressing up against the sensitive skin but not quite pushing through. You move your hand farther up the tentacle, squeezing intermittently before you reach the tip. You brush the pad of your index finger over it and a drop of slime drips down your wrist. One pair of Ghitir’s hands has moved down to your hips, it’s claws slightly pinching your skin as you press your finger down on it’s tip. It bites back a groan, rolling it’s lower half into the bed when you lick a stripe up the tentacle. It’s slime isn’t salty like human sweat, but sweet, almost like nectar.

You press your abdomen upwards, pressing kisses against the tentacle, your other hand grabbing another and half-hazardly jerking it up and down. Drool is dripping down Ghitir’s face, it’s eye’s locked onto you. You wink, erotically sticking your tongue out as you lick up, and up, and up, until just the tip rests on your bottom lip. With a tentative lick, you open your mouth wide and suck down the tentacle like a lollipop.

Ghitir’s forehead falls against yours. It’s tentacles convulse as you suck in your cheeks and move your head up and down, the tentacle in your mouth slowly stirring to action. It massages your tongue, shyly moving further and further into your mouth. Drool and Ghitir’s slime drips down your jaw as you let it slacken, the tentacle quickly hitting the back of your throat. The tip presses against your gag reflex, pulling back quickly once it hears you choke. But you give Ghitir a thumbs up, keeping a tight suction around the tentacle as it gently begins to face fuck you.

You can feel Ghitir’s hand’s shaking as it pounds your mouth, releasing more and more slime as it shudders inside your lips. You stop moving your head, letting Ghitir thrust into your mouth at it’s own pace, and reach forward and feel around for the tentacle pressed against your crotch. Your vision is dotted with black spots, but you eventually find the tip pressed so close to your entrance, pulling and urging it forward. Your eye’s shift toward Ghitir, it’s face locked onto the way you take it’s tentacle in your mouth. It’s tongue is hanging out of it’s mouth, cheeks nearly glowing with it’s bright blush, but it’s coherent enough to understand what you want.

The tentacle slithers out of your hand and presses against your soaked hole, dripping with it’s slime and your sweat. The tip finally pushes past your entrance and you can feel your eyes roll backwards as it stretches you open.

The tentacle is slightly smaller than the one in your mouth and although the pressure is relieving, it still leaves you wanting more. You jerk your hips forward, asking for it to punish your hole like it’s punishing your mouth. Ghitir nods, one of it’s hands stroking the side of your jaw as another tentacle slips inside of you, twisting with it’s twin and pressing against your walls. You moan once more, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. The sensations are overwhelming, deliciously overwhelming.

The tentacles inside your curl around each other, searching for that sensitive spot inside you. The tentacle in your mouth starts to thrust erratically, more and more slime coating the back of your throat as it begins to spasm. You clamp your lips around the base, coating it in your saliva as it nears it’s climax.

Your legs feel shaky and buzzed, your movements uncoordinated as you focus on breathing and chasing your own orgasm,The pair of Ghitir’s hands on your hips help your lower half hump against its tentacles. With a yelp and quick jolt of your body, Ghitir realizes it’s finally found the perfect spot, the one that has your toes curling and your eyes rolling backwards. The tentacle in your mouth slows down, edging itself on your tongue and your lips, but the tentacles down below pick up the pace. They pull out until only their intertwined tips remain, right before surging back inside you.

Your bed springs squeak as Ghitir continues to pound you into the mattress, it’s free pair of hands roaming and groping all unattended parts of your body as you throw your hips upward with every thrust. It pinches your nipples and lays wet kisses all down your collarbone, your chest coated in slime, saliva, and sweat. The tentacle continues to just rub itself all over the inside of your mouth, shaking as it teases itself nice and slow. Tears drip down your face as you feel the rubber band snapping, the fire in your belly about to combust. You moan around the tentacle, gurgling a couple of “Yes, yes, yes!”

Ghitir purrs as your body begins to seizing up, it’s claws digging into your pelvis as the tentacles pick up their speed. The tentacle in your mouth retracts, gushes saliva and slime falling out of your mouth. But Ghitir quickly replaces it with its tongue, petting the side of your face as you make out.

There, there, there, right there, right there- The moan you let out is almost a scream, punctuated by a strong “Oh fuck!” as hot streams of Ghitir’s cum flood your insides. The smaller tentacle spasms, squirting it’s juices all over your sweaty chest as Ghitir bites its lip with a groan. You can feel your body slacken, your chest heaving as you collapse into your sheets, leaving only tiny kisses against Ghitir’s lips. It follows you as your head sinks into your pillow, finally pulling away to let you catch your breath.

Ghitir rests its forehead against the center of your chest, its tentacles slowly slithering out of you, dripping slime all over your bed. Its chest is still alight with a purple blush, their body shaking from all of the exertion.

You find yourself stroking the side of their face, mind still fuzzy as you trace the contours of their cheekbones and enjoy the unusual texture of it’s skin. Ghitir’s four eyes peak open, just as delirious as you are.

“Thanks.” You suck in a deep breath, “That was...amazing.”

It smiles, nuzzling its cheek into your stomach, a small purr rumbling through you.

“No...problem..”

Ghitir’s tentacles lay sprawled out below you, lazily petting your calves and feet as Ghitir draws lazy circles into your stomach.

In no time at all, you fall asleep.

[maybe-your-left]

Bed Bug - Part 3 of 3

Summary: Kylo rolled off the edge of the bed, somehow landing on his feet with his hard dick still hanging out of his pants. You watched with your mouth opening and closing like a trout, and he turned to you. Making a mocking crying face, complete with fingers trailing his cheeks with tears, “Oh, you poor baby! Never had to wait for something in your life, come on. Let's get you dressed for class and then we will see if you get to cum today.” 

the lizard is a bearded dragon bby

Enjoy Part 1 and Part 2 before reading! along with my College Kylo Ren Masterlist

Come over. 

Who is this? 

🐸 

Okay? 

Come over. 

Wanna cuddle. 

Kylo? 

No its someone else. 

🐸 

How’d you get my number? 

I borrowed it. 

Picking u up. B ready. 

“Who the hell invited Kylo over? He just drove onto the grass again.” 

You groaned from your bunk bed, letting your phone fall on your freshly washed face. It was Monday evening, you had things to do tomorrow… these things didn’t include getting dicked down by the frat king. 

Even though you’d thought about it, after doing the walk of shame at the Sunday meeting yesterday. All the way back to your lonely table, while he high fived everyone he could touch on the way back. Explaining how you ‘choked on his dick like a champ’ to the brothers, Kuruk gave you a look you didn’t trust when he heard it. 

Bazine and Kaydel were dead silent on the way back, and you ran upstairs to your room with your tail between your legs. 

You didn’t do anything wrong! It was justified, there was nothing more to happen- 

“Don’t make me climb up there,” Kylos voice boomed through your inner monologue. 

You peered over the edge of your top bunk, looking down towards your door frame. Filled by his beastly body, dressed in maybe his version of pajamas? It was almost past nine-maybe he had a normal bedtime on weekdays? 

His plaid lounge pants looked comical on his long legs, Bazine pushed him into your room. Your dorm mate got out of her bottom bunk, mumbling something about getting a snack. 

Kylo watched her squeeze past him, before moving directly to the edge of your bed. His head clearing over the mattress as you were wedged between the ceiling and your covers. 

“Hi,” you whispered, smushing your face into your pillow. 

“Hi cutie,” his nose scrunched as he smiled, “I came over.” 

“I see that.” 

“I thought you were gonna come to my place first,” he sighed, gripping the metal frame with his large paws. You watched his fingers flex over the wimpy casing holding you in the air, he could probably rattle it free from its hinges if you upset him. 

Rolling carefully to your side, you reached a hand out to touch his hair. Clean, extra soft like a kitty cats tummy, he pressed his forehead into your palm. Sighing again, “Think I can fit up there?” 

“Nope.” 

He shrugged, “That’s too bad.” 

You were pushed rather violently to the back wall of your bed in a rush. The bed creaking loudly as he hoisted his body over the edge, squishing himself between the ceiling and your claustrophobic form. You pressed both hands on his chest, pushing hard, “Stop! What are you doing!? Its gonna collapse.” 

“Bummer,” he wiggled his shoulders, digging into your covers like an animal. “Then you’d have to come sleep at my place… don’t want that.” 

He groaned into your pillow, “Your shampoo smells so fucking good babe…” Taking another strong whiff, “We gotta get you some of that for my place.” 

“What are you talking about?” you slumped, defeated, into the crevice between your bunk and the wall. He had cocooned himself into the top layer of your duvet, chest down on the XL-twin mattress… 

“Shush-I’m tryna sleep like you normally do,” he growled, “It’s kinda nice? Like I'm on a cloud…” his hand darted out from the mass of blankets, latching to your waist and pulling you into the depths. 

“Give me a good night kiss.” 

You rolled your eyes, wrapping yourself in the covers as best as you could. Overheating already from the furnace his body heat made in your small sanctuary. You brought your cheek to his shoulder, burrowing into his nest, “Where’s your face?” 

“Right here,” his chin jutted forward. Lips pursed for you to smack one on him, “Kiss me, then we can power nap before we go to my place.” 

“Kylo I’m not coming over,” you groaned, “I have classes in the morning…” 

“So do I but that doesn’t mean I’ll be going to them? Come on, just give me a kiss. I’m all comfy now and don’t want to have to roll on top of you for one.” 

His eyes opened up, glaring as he made smacking noises with his mouth. Repursing them over and over, what the hell, you quickly pressed your lips to his. 

Overcome with his taste for the third time in two days, your heart fluttered as he smiled into you. Breathing hard through his nose before kissing you back a few times. Humming in contentment, “Good, let’s go to sleep.” 

———— 

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP 

You groaned, a heavy weight pressed on your chest. Caging your arms to your front, you tried to wiggle your shoulders out of your blanket coffin. 

Finding it near impossible, somehow you’d managed to fold yourself under your mattress? 

There was no other explanation. 

You retraced your steps from the evening before, you woke up, went to class, studied downstairs with your sisters, had a big dinner, showered, and laid down… 

And then… 

“Will you turn that fucking thing off before I throw it at the wall?” Kylos gruff voice startled you. 

Gasping as his cheek came to rest on top of yours, swiping a thumb along your bottom lip. Pressing on your pout a few times before dipping it inside, your tongue instinctively lapping out to taste him. 

He purred into your hair, “Good girl, now let’s snooze a little more and then I’ll fuck you real good.” 

“Ky-lo,” you mumbled, squirming underneath his form, your alarm still blaring overhead. “Get off of me.” 

“Hmm,” he clucked his tongue, pressing his thumb inside your mouth more so you’d suck on it. “I don’t think so.” 

“Will you guys shut up? His snoring has been rattling the bed all night?” 

Both you and Kylos heads lifted up in unison, oh. Your roommate came back? The bed creaked underneath you both and out she rolled, slamming her palm on your alarm clock to shut it off. 

“You guys suck-I’m leaving for class.” 

“But… you’re in your pajamas?” you croaked, embarrassment flooding your cheeks, “He can get up, don’t leave!” 

Kylo grunted, “Like hell I am, I have a raging hard on right now I’m not getting up until it’s dealt with.” He looked down at you, eyebrows raised, “So she can leave or stay and watch the show.” 

The door slammed shut, there’s your answer. Kylo hummed with pleasure, peppering kisses all over your sweaty forehead from being crushed all night. He was only supposed to stay for a few hours, and yet you were lulled to sleep by his warmth. 

His nose crunched against your forehead with each kiss, stubble scratching your face over and over until he made his way down to the corner of your mouth. Pausing, “Do you care about morning breath or what?” 

“I…” you exhaled deeply, giving in, “It’s fine…” 

“Don’t act so sad, you’ve been curled up against me all night. I’ve been waiting to have those sweet lips on me again,” he licked his lips. Puckering dramatically before blowing a raspberry on your mouth. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at his corniness, humming back into his touch. Still crushed underneath him, his lips attached to you. Moaning obscenely when his tongue hit your palette, surprised that he wormed his way in there so fast. 

Rutting hips trapped you underneath, you placed your sweating psalm on his shoulder. Strong muscle flexing underneath you as the incriminating sounds of the bunk started creaking under the weight of both of you. 

Muffled by your mouths swapping together, your eyes shut in bliss. Letting him happily take the lead for whatever he wanted, your class could wait… 

Kylos lips popped off yours, panting on your temple as he reached a hand between your bodies. Angled on his shoulder, “Gotta move,” he grunted, “There we go, kept crushing my fucking dick against you.” 

Your face scrunched, about to protest when he ground down again and oh that felt good. His hard cock was pressing right against the apex of your thighs. Rubbing along the length of it between your flimsy fabric pajamas, you let out a soft sigh as he rocked back and forth. 

Met with a grin, “That feel nice? I can feel your hard little clit.” He kissed at the edge of your jawline, peppering the skin with sloppy, wet pops before nibbling down the column of your throat. Rocking getting harder against your wetting shorts. Your excitement begging to rub between your thighs onto his plaid bottoms. “Kylo, I think I’m gonna…” 

“Already?” he panted, “Doesn’t take much to get your little engine running. Shit, lets get some skin to skin.” 

Kylo sat back on his knees, his head hitting the ceiling in a loud thump. But he didn’t seem to care, unbuttoning the front of his bottoms to reveal his purpling hard cock. Pumping with one hand while the other shot out to grab the crotch of your pajamas. You gasped as his finger hooked underneath, skimming your wetness, “Ah-oh my god…” you whined. 

They were yanked down your legs, he swore under his breath when your knees knocked together to try and not ri[ them in two. Your legs fell back open, your slick cooling under his scrutiny, Kylo launched forward. His hot cock fell between you with a grunt and a gasp between you both, your wrapped a hand around the base of his neck. Fingers ripping into the long hairs that stuck to his nape, your legs already shaking from the oncoming orgasm that threatened to happen premature. 

You couldn’t believe he was on top of you, naked cock rubbing on your pussy. Kylo growled in your ear, “Hot pussy, I bet I could slip right in baby. You want that?” 

“Yes…” you teeth chattered together as you thought about clamping down on his length. You’d probably cum before he even got started. 

Kylos hips rocked against you, the head catching on your wet entrance a few times while he groaned into your neck. 

“I don’t know, baby.” 

He rubbed his cheek against your forehead, stubble scratching slightly from his overnight stay. You whimpered as the very tip of his slipped inside you for a moment, you felt all his muscles tense in the effort to not ram inside you. Why wasn’t he? Your brain fumbled through various questions while he popped out of you, only to find the spot once again where your bodies were menat to be connected. 

You jumped at the feeling of fingers on your clit, fumbling with it for a moment before they pinched at the hard nub. Yelping out while he shushed you, your legs bent in on themselves, toes skimming the ceiling in an effort to hold off on cumming, you wanted him inside you! You panted as he stroked up and down and back and forth. Humping the lenght of your right inner thigh with his precum staining the skin. 

“Kylo-please just fuck me.” 

He shook his head, bringing you in for a swift kiss before taking his fingers off your clit. Spitting in his palm while you laid there with an open mouth in awe. Your pussy tingled at the thought of him shoving his spit laced cock inside your waiting channel…”Kylo!” you ground out, “Just do it!” 

“I don’t think your desperate enough. I’m not sure if you just want to cum or if you really really want me to ram my cock,” he paused at the word, pinched hard enough for more wetness to slip out of you, “So hard inside your tight little pussy. I think you’ll just have to wait.” 

“Wait-what?” you babbled, rutting your hips up in the air to catching his fingers in a pathetic chase of release. You brought a hand down to try and help yourself, but only were smacked in response. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.” he stared at you sternly, “You’re not going to cum until I say so. And I think its about time for us to get up,” he swiped across your pearl, “And for us to go to class.” 

“But,” you started, shushed by his wet fingers on your lips. 

“Nope, don’t beg, its a turn off.”

Kylo rolled off the edge of the bed, somehow landing on his feet with his hard dick still hanging out of his pants. You watched with your mouth opening and closing like a trout, he turned to you. Making a mocking crying face, complete with fingers trailing his cheeks with tears, “Oh, you poor baby! Never had to wait for something in your life, come on. Lets get you dressed for class and then we will see if you get to cum today.” 

______

You got dressed together. 

Correction, Kylo dressed you in the clothes he wanted you to wear. Just to make sure you didn’t get any chance to get away and rub one out in the bathroom. He trailed right behind you everywhere throughout the sorority house. Smiling and saying good morning to all the girls that he passed in the halls while you stormed from room to room, irritated that he was saying hello to all the girls who he had fucked. 

While he left you hanging on the very edge, he was literally inside you and he did nothing! 

It was his idea in the first place, why did he change his mind? 

You thought over it while you brushed your teeth, together, at the same sink in the womens only restroom. Every one of your sisters giving you the stick eye when they saw Kylo looming behind you in the mirror with his own toothbrush that he had grabbed from Bazines old stash. 

Apparently, your president had been snecking him in for a long time and he had an abundance of clothes and toiletries throughout the house. Which he pointed out to you while you sulked, even Bazine got to fuck him… 

“Come on,” he whined, grabbing your forearm as you tried to get away for the tenth time this morning, “Let me drive you to class.” 

Kylo tried dragging you closer to his lexus parked on the front lawn. You scoped out the car, luxury, and practically brand new judging by how clean it was on the outside. Complete with two anime women stickered to the back windows. Their big tits right in whoevers face that pulled up next to him, you yanked particularly hard. 

“No, I want to walk. Leave me alone, Kylo.” you growled. 

He raised his hands, a scowl painting his face at your vicous tone. You regretted bursting at him, but you weren’t going to give in just because he knew you were upset. 

“Fuck-okay,” he placed his hands on his hips, “You’re sure a little bitch when you aren’t fucked. Do I need to come over there and spank you?” 

You flushed at that thought, he had dressed you in a short tennis skirt with no shorts underneath. He could easily lift you over his thigh and smack your skin until it blistered and bruised and you were writhing in his lap for more. You shook your head in protest, he wouldn’t dare. 

“I’m not-” 

“You think I won’t?” Kylos eyebrows shot up, moving in closer with calm steps, “Baby, I’ll make it impossible for you to sit in your lecture without thinking of my bare hand on your abused ass. You want that? Right here on the lawn?” 

You looked around, embarrassment coloring your cheeks when you saw all your sisters staring and dunking down from the windows. A few of them on the front porch looking the other way, even the houses on your block and across the street were watching the display between you and Kylo. You couldn’t imagine him doing that in front of all of them… 

“Are you going to be good and get in the car?” 

You nodded silently, shuffling to the passenger side of the car. Kylos long arm opened the door for you, pushing your head down to duck into the seat. He even buckled you in, you sat in silence while he peeled off the grass in a loud rev of the engine. 

“Thats a good girl.” 

______

Am I coming over today? 

You had sent the text. 

You’d been thinking about it all morning and throughout both your lectures, barely taking any notes despite it being your favorite classes to attend. All you could think about was your morning, and the absolute whiplash Kylo had given you with him feelings and desires, then calling you names when you didn’t get what you wanted. 

A few of your sisters had texted you saying that thats normal, Kylo was just strange. They all were surprised he hadn’t left you alone yet, apparently he was notorious for hitting it and quitting it. But he hadn’t even hit it! 

Typing, the little dots appeared and your heartrate picked up. What would he say? 

Why? 

Your forehead scrunched in irritation, what did he mean? You decided to be as straightforward as possible, tired of the games. 

What do you mean?

Aren’t we supposed to sleep together?

Who said that? 

Its not like we had a contract. 

But.

Look its Monday Xi, I have plans. 

Oh.

Your heart sank. 

Guess you were the exception to his hitting it and quitting it rule, he just wanted to quit it. 

Shit, babe. 

You can come over. I just have a date I can’t miss. 

Be here at 4. 

A date? 

What did he mean by date? 

Was he seeing someone?? 

Your heartbeat picked up intensely, thumping loud enough for you to feel it almost burst through your chest. What did that even mean? He had plans with someone, but still wanted you to come over? 

You thought about it the entire rest of the day, while you were standing in circles with your friends. Holding a cup of coffee in your hand, almost slack with your grip when youw atched the man himself walking in with other sisters, laughing and touching their shoulders. His eyes flashed towards you and you melted when he winked at you before moving on with his business. 

After catching a ride with a friend, you were standing at the front door of the frat house. Pushing on the open door like it was last time. Did they ever shut it? Was anyone else home? You’d seen Kylos car parked sideways in the driveway, but no one else was greeting you. 

Your popped your lips a few times, debating on if you should just leave, maybe call and say it wasn’t going to work out between the two of you. 

Its not like he was that into you-

“Xi,” Kylos voice boomed from up the stairs, footsteps fast as he came down, with a giant lizard on his shoulders. “You came, hi baby.” 

He came over despite you recoiling at the jarring display of the animal climbing over his shoulders and rubbing against his raised hand. Pressing a quick kiss on your cheek before he raced back up the stairs. 

Yelling as you followed up behind him, shivering as you thought about the animal. “Come on, I have a thing to do.” 

You rolled your eyes, he probably brought you here to babysit the crazy thing hanging on him, you’d just leave it while he was away. Maybe that would show him that you didn’t care-

His room was a mess. 

Clothes thrown everywhere, piles on the floor, around black furniture. A desk in the far corner, with a large gaming computer on top that glowed blue and red, a gaming chair that was black and red piled with books that looked liek they had been heavily read. The closet was open, with a dresser inside it with all the drawers half closed and plenty of trinkets and trophies on top. 

You looked around to the other side of the room, aside from his probably king sized bed being made. It was still just as messy, A large tank on top of another table, complete with a little habitat and sunning bed. A few stickers littered the tank but you couldn’t make out what they said. But they were pink and flowery… 

“Um…” 

Kylo turned to you again, holding the lizard away from you, “Sorry, I tried to clean but I didn’t have a lot of time between class and then I have to make this call… Um this is my lizard.” 

“I see that.” 

He held the thing out with both hands cradling it while it blinked at you. You squinted at it, noticing a small baby pink harness on its body. 

You were about to ask about it when his phone started ringing, he quickly turned away and threw the lizard on his lade bed, it curled into a small ball like a cat in a patch of sunlight. He pulled his phone into a stand, turning on his mounted TV, revealing the FaceTime screen from someone named-Booger? 

“Should I leave?” 

He shoot you a weird look, “What? No? Just sit down and be comfy, this will only be a little bit.” 

The TV loaded the other person, Booger apparently. A grainy image taking forever to connect while you tentatively sat on the edge of the bed, backpack slumping off your shoulders to the floor, you looked cautiously towards teh lizard. It paid you no mind other then what sounded like a purr in approval. It was a scaly cat, thats what you’d decided. 

Static crackled startling both of you while Kylo smacked the side of his sound bar, “Boog! Can you hear me? Fucking stupid thing, I need to buy a new one…” 

“Yeah I hear you.”  

A mans voice came through, along with the image of the person in question. A scrawny looking blonde kid, you squinted at the loading frame, dressed in what looked like school gym clothes? You scanned it more for clues, seeing glasses framing a large nose, and a skinny face, down to another lizard in the lap of whoever it was. 

He kinda looked like Kylo… 

“Xi,” Kylo turned around, moving to pet his lizard, “This is my little brother, Matt.” 

“Hi.” 

You waved a hand, relief singing through your veins, it was a facetime date with his brother. Not a real date with another person… you introduced yourself, relaxing back. 

Kylo picked up his lizard, cradling it like it was a baby, “We talk every Monday to let our girls see each other, and to catch up.” 

“Girls?” 

“This is Kira.” Matt lifted up his lizard, like it was a dog or cat under its armpits. The thing just licked its snout, Kira, was wearing a gemmed harness. 

“And this is my baby girl, Rey.” Kylo lifted the lizard in your face, met with another blank stare from one eye while the other stared into the distance. 

You breathed another sigh of relief, looking over at the tank to see the name Rey in pink bubble letter stickers. Along with a leash and maybe other pink collars hanging behind the tank, you chuckled a little as the boys launched into conversations about how the other was doing. Lizard maintenance, and when they would see each other in person again. 

Blacking out while it happened, you busied yourself with doing homework and typing up lecture notes you’d missed while in class today. 

There was something so domestic about it, you felt warm and fuzzy as Kylo leaned back into you while he listened to his brother talk about his day and the hardships he was going through being forced to go to weightlifting with his friends. 

You scratched at his scalp while he lectured Matt about body fitness and how he wasn’t supposed to sit at the computer all day. Which he countered with how Kylo sounded like a parent and not his big brother who plays video games with him. 

About an hour and a half had gone by before Matt was supposed to go to dinner with their parents. A few times you noticed someone walking back and forth behind the couch Matt was sitting at, maybe that was Kylo’s mom or dad? 

Kylo had said goodbye, putting away Rey before turning to you and cagin you in with an arm on both sides of your body. 

“Hi, baby.” 

“Hi, Kylo.” 

He leaned it, slowly shutting your laptop as he pressed his body on top of you. Kylo brought his lips to yours while you giggled as he got closer, pushing your items aside to fall towards the edge of the mattress. Pressing quick kisses to the corners of your mouth, “I missed you today, you looked soc ute int he outfit I picked out.” 

You shrugged, pressing his chest away from you, “You saw me thought, and didn’t say hi…” 

“I was busy with greek council shit, I can’t be next to you all day. Even though I’d want that.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

He kissed your forehead, pressing more of his weight on top of you. Your legs splayed out on either side of his thighs as he sagged, “Of course I do, I like you Xi. A lot. Wanna be with you all the time.” 

Your heart sang at that, flushed at the confession, fingers digging into the fabric of his sweater. You nuzzled your face into the warmth of his neck. Voice muffled, “I think I like you too.” 

Kylo purred at your words, pushing you back into the pillows on his nicely made bed. “Good, or else this would be awkward.” 

Suddenly he was on you again, kissing you with a passion that made you almost choke on his long tongue slithering across your own. Pulling on the edge of your shirt and quickly throwing it off your scrambling arms, revealing your push up bra he had insisted you wear. Because he liked how your tits looked in it. 

“Fuck, look at you.” 

He licked his lips, leaning down while your hands buried themselves in his long hair. Planting hot, suctioning welted on your heaving chest, canines scraping while you grabbed at his sweater to divest him off like your own. Revealing his broad chest, the same one you’d been thinking about since the last weekend when he was stark naked for your eyes to dance around his frame. 

Kylo pushed off your, mouth glistening with spit from his affections. He quickly dropped his pants with a clatter of his belt, yanking his boxers down his strong thighs and to his ankles. You couldn’t believe he was already naked before your very eyes, he nodded towards you. 

Quickly, you stood before him, unzipping your tennis skirt for it to pool on the floor with all his other clothes. Dropping your thong and bra with the rest when he launched at you, bodys clashing together in a passion youd never felt before. You felt yourself be lifted from the floor as he spun you around. Falling together into the bedding, you straddled his form, rubbing your slicking pussy along the length of his hardening cock. 

He groaned at the friction, you revelled in the roll of his eyes from the pleasure. You could get used to that look, Kylos paws fell to your waist. Pinching at the rolling skin as you leaned forward to latch your lips together. You swapped back and forth delicious salvation while you rocked your hips. 

Kylo rolled the two of you over, your head against the far wall of his bed. He grinned above you, moving his hands down to yank your legs open further. 

You gasped as he spat on your clit, “You’re just so wet, I bet I can slip right in. Can’t I?” 

“Yeah,” your voice warbled. 

“Lets see,” he shuffled forward on his knees, bringing his cock right into your entrance. Thrusting forward slightly, popping the seal of your wetness with a slick slurp of fluids. You whined, “Please-Kylo.” 

You were aching from being denied earlier today, desperate for him to have his way with you. It was something you know you couldn’t leave here without, Kylo nodded. Wrapping a palm around your mouth, spelling it off so no noise could make it out. 

“Can’t have you screaming, the neighbors already hate me.” 

You were going to protest, but the scream creeped up on you when he jammed his hard cock inside you in one swift thrust. Completely engulfing your pussy with its hot, probably more than ten inches, meaty girth, He didn’t let you relax, swiftly plunging in and out of your candy coated center over and over again while the bed rattled your brain. 

Bouncing around and held in place by just his hand on your mouth, your arms failed to latch onto anything to keep you from jostling. Your tits swinging with every grunted thrust. You wailed behind the palm, laving at it with your tongue, Kylo slipped two fingers inside your mouth. 

“Yeah-” he panted, “Fucking suck on them.” 

You doubled down your efforts, letting him jam them down your throat. Little noises fitting through the gasps while he panted above you. Eys snapping open and shut, you watched with dreamy eyes at his sweat beaded down his face to dripped off his nose to fall on your steaming skin. 

“Rub your clit baby, I’m so close,” he panted, “You’re too tight.” 

Your let out a muffled okay, swiping down on your hard clit in time with his grunting thrusts. 

“There it is,” Kylo groaned long and loud, looking at the wall abov eyou for a moment while his thrusts slowed down, “Cum for me baby, cum on your daddy’s cock!” 

You exhaled hard through your nostrils, rubbing harder as your crested the edge of your release. Gushing around his length as he buried it deep inside you, his throat catching on a groan as he came inside you in pulsing rhythms. Thrusting shallowly while you miliked his cock for every bit of his essence. 

Kylo placed his forehead on your bare shoulder, panting in hot breaths. Whispering out what a good girl you were, how hot you were, hot tight your pussy was, kissing a line towards your lips. Peppering your face with doxens while he thrusted in and out of you for the last time, your collective fluids gathering underneath you with a wet plop. 

He panted, smiling at you with a goofy grin as he cradled you towards his chest, pressing a few kisses on your forehead when he whispered…

“I hope you know you’re my girlfriend now.” 

_______

:)