#wanted to tug that braid and bite his biceps

[whimsyvixen]

So what do you think about Lord Raiden from Mk11? He's 7ft tall.

He also has a cute ass younger brother named Fujin.

You don't have to draw them or whatever I'm just curious what you think about em 😏

I love him to pieces but it's Fujin that won my heart 💙 🌪️ 💙

[luvv4j4ybe11]

✧Summary~ Neteyam sees how well you act with children and it makes him think of how good you’d be with your own children.

✧Warnings~ Lots and lots of dirty talk, talk of impregnation, unprotected sex, p in v, breeding,mating press, rough sloppy sex, dom!neteyam, sub!reader, and I think that’s it. Lmk if I missed anything, enjoy love<33

✧Translations- Yawntu-beloved, ma’evenge- my girl

✧For best experience, listen to this song😉

All it took was for neteyam to see the way you acted so motherly to your baby sister, feeding her, playing with her, holding her on your hip while you did some chores that gave him the primal urge to stuff you full of his cum and give you a child of your own.

He walked over to you quickly, braids swinging from side to side fluidly. “Yawntu! I haven’t seen you all day!, how-“ “I need you.” He states lowly, looking at you with lust filled eyes. “Teyam I’m kinda doing something right now-“ you remark, signaling to your baby sister that was sitting comfortably in your lap playing with her toy as you were making a necklace for Neteyam.

“I’ll ask kiri to come and watch her.” He says quickly, wrapping his large hand around your bicep. And as if on cue, kiri and your sister tsireya walk in.

“Hey, y/n” kiri says as she walks over to you and your sister, tsireya trailing close behind. “Sister! How’s she been? Did she say anything yet?” She questioned, picking your sister up from your lap.

You chuckle at her questions, opening your mouth to respond but neteyam is quicker than you. “She’s good. Me and y/n need to go so can you guys watch her?” He says calmly, tugging you up quickly so you’re standing next to him.

They both shake their heads yes before turning their attention back to your sister. Giving neteyam the chance to tug you out of your families marui.

You can barely keep up with his long strides,basically jogging behind him to keep up with him.“Neteyam! What’s your issue?” You say angrily, his demeanor slowly started to piss you off.

He stops walking abruptly, making you collide with his strong back. “Ow! Neteyam what the fuck?” You bark, eyebrows furrowed and tail swishing in an agitated manner. He ignores your question as he turns around, scooping you up from the ground effortlessly and place you over his shoulder. “You’re slowing me down.” He states plainly. Tone husky and accent thick. Which told you how aroused he really was.

You stayed silent the rest of the walk, trying to ignore how he’d brush his fingers up against your needy pussy every once in awhile. When you finally get to your marui he slams the makeshift door shut. Throwing you on the bed gently before climbing on top of you, kissing you heatedly.

“Wanna get you pregnant..” he mumbles into the kiss gravelly, roughly grinding his hard-on into your clothed cunt.

The friction from the cloth makes you bite your lip, already losing your mind in the pleasure. But you still try to pull yourself back to your reality.

“Yawntu, I don’t think we’re ready to-“

“Please baby. Please. You act so well with children and so do I, we both have basically raised our siblings so who says we can’t raise our own children?” He argues, leaving you opening and closing your mouth searching for a response but you’re completely dumbfounded. His logic was something you couldn’t argue with.

He bucks his hips into your cunt, making you moan softly. “Fuck! Fine ok! I want your babies Neteyam, please!” You whine, the words making him growl deeply.

Both of you take off your loincloths in record time, desperate to feel each other. He shoves two of his fingers into your cunt, stretching you out for him. Making you grab his wrist to pull it away.

“Uh-uh. I want you now.” You say seductively, spreading your legs wider to give him room. His breathing gets heavier at the sight infront of him, making him grab your hips harshly. Lining his tip up with your throbbing cunt.

“So desperate for me, aren’t you babygirl?” He says before slamming into you, making you both moan loud and wantonly. His pace is slow and deep, hitting your sweet spot perfectly every time.“Fuck ma’evenge.. wanna see you all swollen and pretty so bad. Gonna look so~hah fuck~ gonna look so good with my baby inside you.” He babbles, cock twitching at the thought of you like that. Making your walls flutter around him and your moans and whines get louder.

He places your legs on your sides, holding them in place. Bending you in ways you never knew you could be. The new angle pushes him deeper inside of you, making the coil in your stomach snap immediately.

He lets out a guttural growl at the feeling of your pussy spasming around him, causing him increase his pace. Sending your fast, deep strokes. You shake and whimper as he uses you, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes. “Te-yam..pl-pleasee!” You shriek, voice bouncing from his ruthless thrust.

He throws his head back, lost in the tightness of your pussy and the sound of your moans. “Nah babygirl, you wanted this remember? Don’t whine now because I’m giving you exactly what you want.” He teases, cocking his head to the side causing his braids to fall in front of his face and a smug smirk to go with it all.

You whine pathetically at his words, cunt squeezing him hungrily. His thrust start getting sloppier and his moans and growls turn more guttural the more your cunt gets somehow tighter around him. Making him lean down to kiss you passionately, cadging your head between his strong arms.

He leaves a trail of kisses from your jaw to your neck, licking and sucking into your skin slowly. “Want everyone to know who you belong to, ma’evenge. Want everyone to know whose name you scream every night. Who leaves you a shaking mess because of how hard he makes you cum” he says seductively, pushing his body into yours. Desperately trying to rub his scent all over you and get deeper inside of you.

The feeling of him stretching your cunt beyond her limits and his words is what pushes you over the edge, your whole body shaking in his grasp.

“Fuck pretty girl, gonna stuff you so full of my cum it’s gonna be dripping down your legs for days. Want that baby? Want everyone to know how much of a slut you are for me you let me knock you up?” He rambles, the obscene squelching from your pussy filling both of your ears.

“Mhm! Please! Want that s’bad, teyam!” You slur, officially drunk on his cock. He groans deeply at this, the noise going straight to your cunt. Your whines feeding his primal urge to stuff you to the brim,mark you, and scent you.

You claw your nails into his back when you feel your orgasm hit you like a wave, spraying your essence all his dick and lower abdomen. The sight and feeling is enough for him to spill his cum into your fertile womb,thrusting in you periodically to make sure you’re filled.

He leaves a row of bites on your shoulder and neck, licking and sucking each one when he was done.

“Now you really belong to me, ma’evenge.”

A/N~ I NEED HIM INSDIE OF ME SO BAD HELP😩 writing this made me so incredibly horny I physically cannot rn. I hope y’all enjoyed this tho😋 stay safe and hydrated bbys🩷

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Taglist: @pandoraslxna @plooto @neteyamswillow @neteyamlove69 @neteyamsyawntu @tallulah477 @alexxie @aperiraa @urlocalgayblueberry @somedays-i-just-feel-bad-bitch @km-ffluv @marcelruizboba @koalalafications @rihnnx @skywonder @hotdsworld

[strangersatellites]

Eddie’s zoned out as he prattles off care instructions and wraps up the man’s (very strong) bicep, careful to tug it tight enough as to not hurt him. 

He’s distracted. Has been for the better part of the past hour. 

Steve’s been the ideal client. Perfect, he might even say. 

Hardly nervous at all as he climbed into the chair and made himself comfortable. No flinching at the needle, and he’s been as easy-going as anything. 

His eyes were heavy lidded and fluttery as the needle pressed into his skin, a soft smile gracing his face as he watched his spitfire little girl flip through Eddie’s books for a design she liked. 

“You find anything you like, baby?” He asked.

Eddie took a pause to peek up at the little redhead across the room. Her hair in two little braids, eyebrows furrowed, and tongue poked out in concentration.

“No, I wanted a dinosaur but these are all flowers and stuff,” She pouted.

Eddie huffed a quiet laugh. 

“Tell you what kiddo,” He stole a glance at Steve, blissed out in the chair. “Since your dad has been such a good sport and you’ve been so good, I’ll draw you up a dinosaur when we’re finished okay?”

Max’s eyes lit up and she giggled behind her hands and nodded.

Now that Steve’s tattoo is done, a pumpkin on the inside of his bicep, he sits up and calls her over.

“Come see, pumpkin.”

And Eddie hadn’t asked, but now, as he watches her bounce across the room and gasp at her dad’s tattoo he feels his face split into a smile.

“Daddy it's me!”

Steve laughs and it's so so lovely. He drops a kiss to the top of her head before he stands. 

“It is you, bug.”

Eddie peels off his gloves and puts his hands on his hips.

“Alright miss lady. Let’s draw you a dinosaur. What kind are you thinking? Stegosaurus, pterodactyl?”

She jumps up with her arms bent to her body and roars. 

“I’m a T-Rex!”

Eddie laughs and gets settled at his table. 

“Alright firecracker, let’s draw you a T-Rex.”

*****

After he’s sketched the outline, a little cartoon dinosaur, he runs it through on his temporary tattoo sheet and sets to “prepping” his station.

He sprays down the chair and tugs on more gloves.

He sits on his stool and pats the chair. 

“Come on up Red.”

She squeals and runs over and Steve hoists her up onto the chair.

In the meantime, Eddie rolls over to his mini-fridge in the corner and grabs the cold rag he’s had in the freezer.

He can hear Steve whisper as he tucks a loose hair behind her ear. 

“You excited, huh? My brave girl.” 

And Eddie’s heart melts. 

He rolls back over and puts on his serious face. 

“Okay Max. You’re gonna feel a sting but you’re a tough girl, aren’t ya?”

She furrows her brows and nods. She rolls up her own sleeve. 

“I’m strong!”

He can’t help but smile. 

“You sure are. Look at those muscles!”

He peels off the plastic covering the ink. 

“Where do you want to put it?” He asks.

She pats her upper arm.

“Here. Just like daddy!”

Eddie grins again and Steve is biting back a smile from his spot behind the chair. Eddie sends him a wink and watches the flush bloom across his cheeks.

“You ready, Red?”

Her focus face is back and she nods resolutely.

Eddie lines up the sheet and sticks it to her arm. She turns her head back towards Steve.

“Daddy? Will you hold my hand?”

As if Eddie’s heart wasn’t already a puddle on the floor.

“Here we go, sweetheart,” Eddie says as he presses the cold rag to her skin.

He hisses through his teeth and grimaces like he’s in pain. He holds back a laugh as she puffs out her cheeks and visibly squeezes her dad’s hand.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Steve tells her. 

She lets out a sharp little breath as Eddie shifts and presses the rag back against her skin. 

She looks up towards him and giggles. 

“It’s not that bad. I’m tough like daddy.”

He flops the rag back down on his tray and goes to peel the paper away from her skin.

“Yes you are!” He says as he smiles down at her cute little dinosaur, “Do you like it?”

She looks down at it and squeals. 

“Look daddy! Look!”

Steve hoists her up onto his hip and swings her around, giggles filling the space and Eddie’s heart. 

“I love it, pumpkin! You’re the coolest little girl in the whole world!”

He puts her down and she runs around the chair to where Eddie is peeling off his second set of gloves and bumps right up next to him. He furrows his eyebrows and goes to ask what’s wrong when he’s interrupted.

“Look dad! Just like Eddie!”

And now that he looks at it he sees it. Max’s dinosaur is in the same place as her dad’s tattoo. But it’s in the same place as Eddie’s dragon too.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Like Good Neighbors Do

A/N: It's officially the last day of @nestaarcheronweek. It's definitely sad to see a great week of content come to an end, but I hope everyone has enjoyed it as much as me :) @dustjacketmusings and the bookclub get full credit for this idea, and I would like to thank all 200 of you who voted in my poll to decide who should break their face. In the end, I did decide maybe they both should be shirtless after all ;) Enjoy!

Link to AO3

Cassian tugs at the waistband of his shorts, shifting and maneuvering the fabric until it lies just how he wants it across his hips. Low enough that it shows off his v lines, but high enough that he won’t get any angry calls from the Neighborhood Watch Group. He turns slightly in front of his bedroom mirror, examining how the hem of his shorts fall, admiring how the red fabric sits on his thighs. His quads are definitely on full display. It’s perfect. Maybe he’ll have to thank Mor for this Solstice gag gift after all.

He grabs a hair tie from his dresser, scraping back the curls of his hair and pulling them into a messy bun away from his face. He pads down the stairs and grabs his shoes next, lacing them up quickly and heading for the door. Before his hand closes around the doorknob, though, a thought strikes him. He quickly drops to the ground and does a dozen push-ups, rolling onto his back and doing a quick set of crunches next. He hops back to his feet, glancing down at his chest, his abs, flexing his arms to look at his biceps. It definitely did the trick. He’s ready now.

With a determined nod, Cassian yanks open his front door and jogs down the front steps of his porch. He turns right when he reaches the sidewalk, keeping his pace light, almost slow. He makes sure he keeps his head forward, doesn’t turn to look, doesn’t give himself away, no matter how much the desire to thrums beneath his skin. But he still checks, out of his periphery. He still waits to catch a hopeful glimpse of her staring.

Maybe today her jaw will slacken at his apparel of choice for his run. Maybe he’ll even get to hear the sound of her gasping softly floating on the breeze as he runs past her house. Maybe, if he’s really lucky, she’ll call out his name. He’d love to hear his name fall past those lips again. They can chat again. Start with menial stuff like the warm weather. Cassian can ask her what book she’s reading today. She’ll ask if he wants to come inside and—

Cassian is so caught up in the web of images his mind has begun to spin that it takes him a moment too long to realize that the porch next door is actually empty. She’s not there.

Nesta Archeron isn’t there.

Cassian stops and turns to face the house completely, frowning. It’s near identical to his own, pale blue siding to his yellow, and on her porch, a swing dangles from two chains hooked to the ceiling. And every Saturday, ever since the days have gotten longer, ever since the weather has turned from cold and biting to warm and breezy, Nesta has spent her afternoons sitting on that swing with her legs curled up and a book balanced on her knees. It’s given Cassian the perfect excuse to see her recently, to talk to her, to continue their neighborly games.

To say that Cassian has been a goner for Nesta Archeron since the day she moved in last fall, would be an understatement.

He still remembers that first day. He had seen the moving truck pull up first, and then he’d seen the most gorgeous woman he’d ever laid his eyes on. Her face was all cool and cutting angles, eyes piercing even from his window next door, a willowy dancer build clear beneath her sweater, as she strode up the front walkway of the house, shoulders back and head held high. Her hair looked like burnished gold in the low, autumn sun, braided around her head like a crown. And she had looked like a queen, barking orders to the movers about what to put where.

Cassian had walked next door the next day, ready to use being a good neighbor and welcoming her to the neighborhood as the perfect excuse to talk to her, to learn her name. She’d taken one look at the plate of cookies in his hand and asked him what was wrong with him, informed him that no sane person actually liked oatmeal raisin cookies. It had lit a fire that blazed through Cassian’s veins that he still had yet to douse, that left him going back for more. He lived for the spark that glinted in her blues before she rolled them. Lived for the way the corner of her lips would twitch up with a hidden smile before she scoffed. Lived for the teasing and the taunts and the way his chest felt the first time he made her laugh.

And now, she’s not even here to appreciate his outfit. Or lack thereof.

Cassian’s eyes dance around her porch, looking for a clue that maybe she just stepped inside for a moment, but there’s no book sitting on the swing, no glass sitting on the small outdoor side table. The only thing on Nesta’s porch is a small package placed just beside the door. It has Cassian’s frown growing. Maybe she’s not home?

With a soft sigh, Cassian turns back on the sidewalk, prepared to finish his run regardless, but he barely makes it a step before he recognizes the small, dark colored sedan in the driveway. It’s Nesta’s car, which means she’s definitely home. He glances back toward the front door again. Should he wait her out? He doesn’t want to look like a creeper, doesn’t want her to step outside just to see him standing here dumbly.

He huffs and shakes his head, picking up the pace and starting into a full run after all.

The entirety of the eight mile loop Cassian does on the weekend, he thinks about Nesta. Maybe she’ll be back out on her front porch when he heads back toward his house. Maybe it’ll be better if she sees him after his run anyways. He’s certainly worked up a sweat under the afternoon sun. He just hopes his hair hasn’t gotten too unruly and frizzy from the exertion. But of course, the entire idea relies on Nesta being on her porch when he gets back.

So as Cassian starts on the final two miles of his run, he starts to formulate a backup plan, starts to think about what he’ll do if Nesta isn’t on her front porch. It would be so easy, an easy story, an easy lie. She’d never know, and he could still talk to her today. By the time he’s jogging past Nesta’s still empty porch, the decision is made.

He takes a moment to breathe, to cool down his thundering heart after his run. One last deep, heaving breath, this one more for nerves than anything, and he rolls his shoulders, walking up the front path and the front steps to Nesta’s house. He glances over both shoulders, ensuring there’s no neighbors lurking, watching, and when he’s sure the coast is clear, he bends down and grabs the package waiting for Nesta. He tucks it neatly under his arm, clears his throat, and raises a fist, knocking on her front door.

Hello, Nes. Your package accidentally got delivered to my house.

Hey, sweetheart. Looks like the mailman got the address wrong.

I have your package. Can I come in?

As the seconds continue to tick by in silence, Cassian frowns. He tries knocking again, but still, there’s no answer. He leans over to peek in one of the front windows, squinting through the pane and trying to spot any hint of golden brown hair, of blue eyes.

“Nesta, it’s Cassian. Are you here?” Cassian tries calling through the door.

He waits another minute before stepping back down off the porch. He follows the large, round pavers that are inlaid in the grass around the side of the house. He’s just reached the fence that winds around Nesta’s backyard, reaching over the gate to unlock and open it, when he finally spots her.

Nesta has a blanket strewn out in the grass under the sun. She’s laying on her stomach, knees bent and legs swinging back and forth aimlessly while she reads the book perched between her hands. She has on a pair of black biker shorts, the fabric tight and short where it rides up her thighs. Cassian’s eyes trace the line of her body, along her legs, over her ass, up her back.

His attention snags on her hair, on the fact that her hair is down. It’s the first time he’s ever seen it this way, falling in soft waves over her shoulders and down her spine. It’s beautiful and steals the breath straight from his lungs, his heart skittering between his ribs. He wonders what it would take for Nesta to let him run his fingers through those strands.

Before Cassian can truly spiral about seeing Nesta with her hair down, she pushes up onto her left hand. She uses her right hand to brush her hair over her shoulder and to her back, and Cassian realizes that she isn’t wearing a shirt. She isn’t wearing anything other than those black biker shorts. He takes in her full breasts, the perfect size to fit in his large palms, and his mouth goes dry. He wants to feel the weight of them in his hands, wants to knead them, wants to get his mouth on those dusty rose nipples.

The next thing that Cassian knows, he’s losing his balance. He must have unlatched the lock without realizing, must have put too much weight onto the gate in his dazed state, because suddenly the ground is coming to meet him. He tries to splay his arms, but with the package still in his grasp, he can’t quite brace himself. His face smacks straight into one of the stone pavers, and Cassian swears that he can hear the distinct crunch of his nose. Pain flares and radiates across his face, and he lets out a pained groan, rolling onto his side and clutching at his nose.

“Cassian?”

Cassian blinks open his eyes to find Nesta now standing above him. She has one arm crossed across her chest, covering herself, her face bewildered as she stares down at him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Nesta demands, face twisting into a scowl.

“Package?” Cassian wheezes out, just the one word sending another jolt of pain through his face. He pulls himself up into a sitting position, blood beginning to trickle between his fingers.

“You’re bleeding all over my patio.”

“So sorry, sweetheart,” Cassian drawls, pressing against his nose to try and stop the bleeding. “Any chance you have a towel handy?”

Nesta scoffs and rolls her eyes, but she vanishes inside her house. When she steps back outside again, Cassian is only slightly disappointed to see that she’s thrown on an oversized tee, but she tosses a dish towel at him. He balls it up and presses it against his nose, mopping up the blood as best he can.

“So, do you plan on telling me what exactly you’re doing in my backyard?” Nesta asks again, crossing her arms.

“I was just bringing you your package…” Cassian starts, pulling the towel away enough that he can see how bad it is.

“The package you stole, you mean? I have a Ring camera.”

Cassian winces and instantly regrets it. “Was just trying to help, sweetheart.”

Nesta hums, but it’s clear from the sound that she doesn’t quite believe him. Her eyes narrow, eyebrows dipped low, as she assesses him, as her attention sweeps over his frame. Cassian watches the exact moment she realizes his current state of dress. Those blue eyes widen slightly, lips pinching together for a moment. The smallest dusting of pink scatters across her cheeks, and her throat works as she swallows.

A smirk starts to tug at Cassian’s lips, pride swelling in his chest at his having an effect on her, at his shorts working after all, but it’s another movement that he instantly regrets. Slowly, he lifts his fingers to his nose, carefully pressing and feeling along the ridge.

“I think it’s broken,” Cassian murmurs, dropping both his hands back into his lap. “How does it look?”

“Do you want me to be honest or do you want me to lie?” Nesta taunts, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow. “It’s certainly an improvement to your face.”

“What if I wanted you to be honest?”

Nesta scoffs and shakes her head, but even with the pain making his eyes water, Cassian can see the barely concealed amusement in her face. The way her eyes glint extra blue under the sun, the way she presses her lips more firmly like that will fight back the fond smile.

“Glad to see that despite breaking your nose, your ego is still fully intact.”

“I heard women like a rugged man with scars. Isn’t that what’s in all those smutty books you’re always reading?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I’d certainly love to help you reenact one.”

Nesta throws her head back, and there’s Cassian’s favorite sound. Light and breathy, her laugh is truly his favorite melody. It takes the pain of his broken nose to stop his wide grin in response, but there’s no stopping the way his heart swells, the warmth that blooms through his veins, twining like vines around his limbs just like that sound.

“You’re insufferable,” Nesta teases, although there’s no real bite behind the words.

“Any chance of you helping my insufferable self to the ER? I don’t think I can drive.”

“Fine, but if you bleed all over my car too, I’ll kill you.”

Carefully, Cassian pushes himself back up to his feet. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

Thankfully, the ER isn’t too busy, and they don’t have to wait too long before Cassian is taken back. They reset the bones of his nose and splint it, the nurse carefully taping and bandaging everything in place once the doctor is finished.

“The doctor prescribed some painkillers, and you can ice it for the swelling, but you should be all set,” the nurse explains, handing over the script to Cassian. “You just need to sign the discharge papers, and then your girlfriend can take you back home.”

“Oh, I’m not—”

“Thank you,” Cassian cuts Nesta off, nodding to the nurse who offers one last friendly, if not a bit awkward, smile before vanishing to grab the paperwork. He can feel Nesta glaring at him now, but he lets her stew another few moments before finally turning to her. “I should thank you too, for driving me.”

Nesta’s gaze softens then. “Well, I couldn’t just leave you to bleed out in my backyard, could I? I was being neighborly.”

“You should let me properly thank you too,” Cassian dares to push, smiling when Nesta fondly rolls her eyes.

“Why do I have the feeling your idea of ‘properly thanking me’ involves some sort of innuendo?”

“Oh, no. We’d save that later. I was actually just thinking dinner? I’ll cook and everything. You wouldn’t even have to leave your house.”

Cassian watches, entranced as Nesta’s eyes narrow slightly, as her bottom lip finds home between her teeth. Say yes, say yes, say yes, echoes like a chant, a prayer, inside his mind. It’s a plea that thrums in time with the pounding of his heart. With every second that passes, he feels like he can’t breathe, anticipation prickling along his skin, squeezing inside his lungs.

“Alright, but I expect dessert too.”

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog​ @lifeisntafantasy​ @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl​ @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld​ @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust​ @a-trifling-matter​ @blueunoias​ @kookskoocie​ @cassiansbigwingspan​ @unlikelypersonalknight1​ @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard

[sungbeam]

𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

assassin(?)lee know x reader

0.9k words, angst/tension, whump/patching them up au (thus, descriptions of blood, stitching, injury), if ur squeamish about needles in skin then prob don't read, reader uses a claw clip, one (1) curse word, barely proofread as usual

Lee Minho knew he had to stop barging in like this, but his apartment was always so cold and quiet. Dressing his wounds and enduring the stinging bite of rubbing alcohol had become so dull and lonely when he was the one doing it. He hated the look on your face as you stood between his legs, though—hated the carefully blank expression on your face riddled with undertones of worry and anger and melancholy. 

But for one thing, it was something. And he would settle with something over nothing. 

"I have to put stitches—"

He gave a small nod. "I know." You opened your mouth to add something, but he cut you off, "I know it's gonna hurt a bit. I can handle it."

You looked like you were about to protest, but must have reconsidered, and only pursed your lips and shook your head. Tendrils of hair fell in your face, the little strands having fallen out of the claw clip you'd pinned the rest of your hair up with. His fingers ached to brush them out of your eyes, if only to see you better. 

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath as the needle pierced his skin and you suppressed your wince. His hand tightened against the bathroom sink next to where he sat on the lid of the toilet. 

Your head tilted slightly, as if silently saying told you so. 

He hated how you wouldn't say anything unless it was necessary. He didn't know what to speak to you about, though. Oh, hey. How was your night? How was mine? Oh, well, I got beat up a bit but I took care of them, don't worry. 

Like that would make you feel any better. 

His eyes remained pinned to your face, watching the pinch between your brows deepen as you carefully threaded the needle through his skin, tugging the opposing sides of the slice on his bicep closed. He had a feeling you wanted to make it hurt just a little as pay back, but he never felt more than what was necessary. (For some reason, that made him feel worse.)

A sigh fell from your lips after slicing the end of the thread and knotting it. Your fingers were stained red and brown from his blood, and a little bit had been smudged onto your cheek, too. 

Minho reached up with his good arm and gently cupped the side of your face, making you stop for a second. His thumb rubbed away the blood. "You had a little…"

"Yeah," you whispered, threading your needle with a new length of thread, "thanks."

Yeah, he screwed up badly. 

"This one's going at your brow bone," you told him, eyeing the nasty gash in the space above his well-sculpted eyebrow. 

He hummed. Right. The fucker who'd done that one in particular had received a matching slice. 

You stepped back in the space between his thighs, inching closer until you hovered over him. His eyes closed delicately as you tilted his chin upward, your warmth radiating in his vicinity, so close and present. His hands found your hips to ground himself, to anchor himself. Feeling you there just… kept him from slipping. 

When you'd finished with the couple of stitches there, he forced his hands to drop from your hips to let you wash your hands. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You asked. Bags hung beneath your eyes, face haggard and exhausted. He imagined he didn't look much better. 

How can I not look at you? Minho swallowed. "I'm sorry."

You walked back over to him, stood before him, and then braided your arms over your chest. There was a good amount of space between you two now; nothing like the brief intimacy of before when you had to be close in order to ten to him. "You don't have to be. I told you I would help you out."

"I know." It was one of the few times he took someone's offer to lend a hand seriously. And maybe that was because he wanted to be selfish for just once in his life. Minho braced his good hand against the counter next to him and stood, lucky enough to gain balance with the blood rushing to his head. 

You lurched to help him, warm hands around his waist and wrist. 

"I just…" Maybe there was something wrong with him. Well, there was definitely something wrong with him, but he couldn't imagine why he suddenly could not find the words to tell you how much he appreciated you. 

You were helping him into your bedroom and the smell of your shampoo filled his nose like chloroform lulling him to sleep. His head hit the pillow; you were tucking the blanket over his chest. (What had he done to deserve you?) "You're tired," your voice was small as you said this for him, like putting the words in his mouth. 

"You're not staying?" He croaked, watching your back turn to him and toward the door. 

God, his chest ached worse than all of the injuries he had accumulated tonight. The longing made his throat clog up, his brain muffle, his heart pound—it was the distorted sound of drums beating in his ears—or was that the blood?

Your hand lingered on the light switch. "Good night, Minho."

The light flickered off and the door was shut. He hadn't gotten the chance to say thank you.

skz m.list

permanent taglist: @tayunji @im-a-big-mess @honeyhuii @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @rnjfy @jaehunnyy @kpopjackie @spiderrenjunfics @justanotherkpopstanlol @liamsholygrail @jodidann @super-btstrash-posts @hibernatinghamster @bigballsz @shakalakaboomboo @ashxxkook @haylstoney @kpop718 @ethereal-engene @kim-jvnkyu @noa-record @meowmeowisdaname @niinjo

[kassandras-one-braincell]

Kassandra x Fem!Reader - The Most Peculiar Wingman

Can be found on AO3 here.

Summary: You recently moved into a new flat and you’re hearing some rather unusual sounds from your next-door neighbour’s abode. You’re worried the mysterious woman next door is involved in something dangerous. Kassandra is worried that you’re the landlord about to bust her for her lease violation.

(Sorry if you don’t like coffee and/or you speak fluent Greek.)

Word count: 2568

.

Damn, you’ve lucked out with your new flat. The area is pleasant, the décor is tasteful – the windowsills could use a bit more greenery, but you’ll get to that – and the letting agent wasn’t a dick. Zero hassle with bills, minimal scuffs on the walls…it’s bizarre how simple your moving process has been.

But nothing can be perfect, can it?

Over the few days you’ve lived in your new home, you noticed some rather disconcerting sounds coming from the apartment next door. Nothing that disrupts your sleep, thankfully, although your post-unpacking nap was interrupted by a very loud thud against the thin wall connecting the two flats. Thumps, crashes and very disgruntled cursing in a language you can’t quite place tend to crop up in quick succession once or twice a day. Today, though, the odd sounds seem to be omnipresent.

The strange symphony is starting to get alarming; you’re beginning to ponder if the seemingly perpetually angry woman next door is involved in violence…or, forbid, organised crime? That would certainly explain the forceful thuds and grumbling. God, what if she manages to rope you into her shenanigans? What if she is armed?

After a loud bang and an exasperated “oh, fuck you” reverberates into your apartment, you decide to investigate.

Anxiously, you pop on some slippers and step into the hall, locking the door behind you (‘I’m not about to get robbed less than a week after moving,’ you think to yourself, ‘Oh, shit, I need to get insurance…’). Stomach churning with speculation, you make the arduous four-metre trek to your neighbour’s door. Biting your lip, you rap your knuckles against the wood.

A chorus of panicked shuffling echoes through the door, causing your throat to tighten. Footsteps sprint from one side of the room to the other, the sound of shattering ceramic shrill against the heavy thudding. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” the woman hisses, muffled by the walls, followed by some shushing and the rattling of something metal. Who is this woman, what the fuck is she hiding, why am I doing this—

Suddenly, the door swings open, revealing…oh, wow.

Your neighbour is an amazon.

Flawless bronze skin, chocolate hair strewn into an unruly braid, tall and shredded with lean muscle. Her eyes are a gorgeous tawny brown, the split second of alarm disappearing from her gaze, replaced by a sparkle that makes your heart hammer against your chest. Very kissable lips upturn into a charming smile, bringing your attention to a small scar above her upper lip quirking adorably. A deeper scar sits on her nose, and the pang of anxiety returns, but your eyes need only flicker back to hers and it melts away.

“You’re not the landlord,” she says with a rich accent and curious lilt. Your cheeks feel warm.

“Uhm, hi.” You fiddle with your thumbs, mouth suddenly dry. “Sorry, I moved in a few days ago next door. I just heard some loud noises and was wondering if everything was alright?”

Lips curving furthermore, she braces her arms on the doorframe above and, fuck, are they nice arms. Sun-kissed, bulging against her white t-shirt, three gnarly rings cutting into her right bicep that just scream to be touched. Is this her distraction tactic?

“Oh, sorry about that. I hope I wasn’t too much of a disturbance?”

When you finally pry your eyes from her arms, a tiny smirk registers on her handsome face. Bashful, you stammer, “No, it’s fine. But, uh, what caused it, if I may ask?”

The woman cranes her neck to scan the hall. “Can you keep a secret?”

Mob boss? Arms dealer? Axe murderer?

Clearly, your nervous speculations are apparent, because her eyes widen slightly. “Don’t worry, lovely, it’s nothing dangerous. I just have a pet bird.”

Breathing a shaky sigh of relief, you run a hand through your hair. Just a bird. Just a bird. Her face relaxes back into a casual smile. A fresh wave of warmth caresses your cheeks at the name she gave you.

Chuckling, you joke, “Must be one big bird.”

“He’s…an eagle.”

You blink back your shock. “How on earth did you manage to get a pet eagle?”

She laughs, the melody warm and addictive. “Poor fucker followed me all the way from Kefalonia. I didn’t have it in me to say goodbye, even if it violates the lease.” Her tone is affectionate, despite her less-than-endearing name for the bird. Pushing back from the door frame – hands flexing wonderfully while she does so – she gestures for you to step in. “Come and meet him, if you’d like.”

Everything about this woman is so inviting, you can’t help but gravitate into her apartment.

“I don’t think I caught your name?” you ask shyly.

“Kassandra,” she replies, flipping the ‘r’ in her buttery accent. “And what can I call you?”

Anything you fucking want. “(Y/N) is fine,” you manage, debating whether her flat is hot or your face is akin to a beetroot.

“That’s a lovely name. Suits you perfectly,” she winks. She saunters over to a shelf with a blanket hastily thrown over it. You can’t help but observe her firm-looking behind through her jeans. Kassandra tugs away the blanket, revealing a large eagle sitting grumpily in a cage. It remains put when she unlocks the cage, standing almost defiantly.

“Don’t be like that, Ikaros,” she chastises. The eagle – Ikaros – begrudgingly flies out of his confines, perching atop the sofa in the middle of the open-plan room. “He’s gentle, I promise.” You’re doubtful, but he isn’t making any sudden moves.

“He just likes winding you up?”

“Loves it,” she grins. “He’s a little bitter I put him on a diet since he was getting a bit fat. That’s why he’s been throwing some tantrums lately.”

You smile as she scratches the top of his head before heading to the kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink?” Kassandra asks, giving you another heart-melting beam. “I have coffee, orange juice, I might have some tea somewhere—”

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” She asks your preference and you state it, taking in the layout of her apartment. The place gave off a very homely, Mediterranean vibe, with warm colours and white furnishings. A few hand-painted ceramic vases were dotted about – maybe she did pottery – alongside some family photographs. Atop the dining table was a woven basket brimming with ripe fruits, as well as a laptop with a pile of messy papers next to it.

“Have a seat, get comfy,” she calls over the whirring of an expensive looking coffee machine. Shyly you take the chair by the unoccupied end of the dining table. Feeling nosy, you scan the documents by her laptop, but the handwriting was all in Greek.

A minute later, Kassandra joins you with a steaming mug in her hand. “Your coffee, madame,” she announces with a pantomimic bow, evoking a laugh.

“Merci,” you thank her. “How would I say that in Greek?”

“Efharistó,” she replies. You test the word hesitantly, wincing on the second syllable, making her laugh. “Not bad,” she chuckles.

“I butchered it.”

“Try it a little softer,” she smiles, lowering her voice, giving it a sensual cadence that made your head spin. Oh, she knows she’s attractive.

“Efharistó,” you border on whisper, gay little brain surging with the overwhelming instinct to do whatever she tells you.

“There we go!” The proud quirk of her lips is all you need to see.

Feeling your cheeks flush, you bring the coffee mug to your lips, hoping the steam from the beverage will help mask your fluster. You blow on the liquid and take a sip, immediately regretting the decision as you scorch your tastebuds, repressing the urge to hiss in favour of looking cool for the hot Grecian.

“Do you, um,” you start, ignoring the numbness of your tongue, “work from home?” You wave your hand at the paperwork by her seat.

“As often as my job lets me.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a museum curator,” Kassandra beams, evidently proud of her job. “A glorified history nerd who couldn’t be fucked with the extra academia, basically.” You snort against the mug, nearly spluttering coffee over her. Smooth.

“What time in history?” Her eyes sparkle at the question, passion shining through her irises.

“Mostly the classics, ancient Greece and Rome and all that. But I did my thesis on the evolution of weaponry.” You prop your chin up on your hand as she talks, eyes lazily focused on her lips. If not for the conviction in her tone, you would have zoned out and chased some daydream about kissing those lips. Kassandra reclines back in her chair. “Enough about me, though. Tell me about yourself.”

“You sounded really passionate, though. I don’t mind if you keep talking about your job.” God, you sound like a dizzy schoolgirl who’s hot for teacher. You scald yourself with another sip of coffee in reprimanding.

Kassandra’s eyes twinkle. “I don’t usually invite beautiful women into my home to ramble about cool swords.” You blush and set down your coffee.

The two of you talk for quite some time, getting to know each other, peppering in the occasional flirtatious remark. In her company, you somehow simultaneously feel comfortable and skittish. She’s so relaxed and easy-going, but her physique and seductive demeanour fills your stomach with butterflies.

An irritated squawk cut your conversation short.

Kassandra shoots Ikaros a look before turning back to you. “Sorry about him.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine, really. Damn… What was I saying again?” you ask sheepishly.

Squawk.

“Nevermind, I was probably babbling anyway,” you dismiss, sipping on your now cold beverage.

Kassandra chuckles softly. “Don’t be silly, you have the voice of an angel. You could read me the dictionary and I’d still be interested.” She probably said this to every woman she took a liking to, but you can’t bring yourself to care, far too flustered and feeling, for once, special.

Squawk.

Her eye practically twitches in anger as Ikaros flies over to the windowsill, makes unwavering eye-contact with his owner, and shits on the wood.

Kassandra looks like she wants to be euthanised.

“My god,” she mutters as you burst out laughing. She awkwardly rubs the back of her neck and grimaces, mouth parted as if trying to form some kind of apology for her eagle’s behaviour.

“I’m guessing you’re used to being the only one doing the flustering?” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

Her disgraced expression shifted back to a playful one. “If I say yes, do I sound like a whore?”

Grinning, you shake your head. “A little cocky, perhaps.”

“I’ll take cocky.” She winks and gets up. “Your coffee is probably cold, can I get you a fresh one?”

“Oh, no, thank you. I’m fine.”

“The finest,” she smirks.

“Real smooth,” you roll your eyes, smiling regardless.

Ikaros caws from the windowsill, as if mocking Kassandra’s advances. Once again, her effortless charm dissolves into a look of frustration. She grabs kitchen towels and a bottle of disinfectant from by the sink and walks over to the window, nudging the eagle so he’d move out of the way. “Maláka,” she groans, cleaning up the mess from the surface. “Μη μου το χαλάς αυτό,” she mutters to Ikaros, earning a confused look. Kassandra sighs. “Usually I wait until after the first date before introducing a beautiful lady to this little shit. That way people don’t immediately think I’m just a weird bird lesbian.”

Testing the waters, you remark, “I happen to quite fancy women with an affinity for animals.” You bite your lip and add, “And, well, you’re…very attractive.”

Smugly, Kassandra finishes disinfecting the windowsill and walks to the kitchen with a little more vigour, your compliment proving to be an ego boost.

Once again deprived of attention, Ikaros decides to flap over and join you at the table. Instinctively, you flinch as the large bird flies in your direction, but all he does is stare at you, trying to analyse the stranger in his home.

“Does – does he bite?” you ask, hesitantly standing up.

Kassandra discards the kitchen towel in the bin, washing her hands. “No, he’s very kind to everyone who isn’t me.” She flashes you a wicked grin. “I only bite when asked.”

Stammering, you choke on air, struggling to find a response. Ikaros gives her a disappointed look.

“Shit, too forward?”

You shake your head. “Not at all,” you blush. “I’ve just…never met anyone quite like you before.” Ikaros seemingly gives you a judgemental leer, and you swiftly find yourself adding, “I-in a good way, that is!”

“Oh?” Her brow is upturned, her interest piqued.

“It’s…exciting.” The eagle shuffles towards you and nuzzles your hand, apparently deciding you’re worthy of his affections. The dark feathers atop his head are surprisingly soft to touch. Smiling, you give his head a few pats, inhibitions to the wind when cute little coos vibrate from his throat. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“I think it’s adorable,” Kassandra says softly.

You look up. “Really?”

“Really.” She joins the two of you and plucks a damson from the fruit bowl, feeding it to Ikaros while you pet him. “You’re the loveliest person to have ever set foot in this building, that’s for sure.”

Ikaros cocks his head in agreement. His beady eyes meet yours, damson juice dribbling from his beak. Do it, he’s silently telling you.

Screw it, let’s shoot our shot.

You clear your throat, mustering up some courage. “Are you free next weekend?”

Kassandra beams amorously. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” she grins. “How does dinner sound?”

Fuck yes. “Really good,” you blurt out excitedly.

“There’s this great Persian restaurant a couple streets over. I’ll book us a table?”

You gasp, having seen the building on the drive when you were moving in. “The place with the garden and the pretty lights, right?”

“That’s the one.”

“Sounds amazing.” Red in the face and heart pounding, your eyes dart about the apartment, fearing that you’ll combust if you look at Kassandra any longer. They settle on Ikaros, who gently butts his head against your hand, almost like a fist-bump. “Well, uh, I have a home insurance company to ring up, so I should probably get going,” you stutter.

“I won’t keep you, then,” Kassandra says, a tinge of disappointment in her tone. Ikaros squawks sadly.

“Thank you for the coffee.”

“It was my pleasure. Thank you for staying,” she winks. The eagle coos in agreement. You give him one last pat before walking to the front door.

“Oh, before you leave, there is something you should know…” Kassandra calls, moving over to you. She delicately takes your hand, frying your brain, and leans down to your ear. You feel faint. Lowly, she whispers, “…Our Hermes guy likes to drop-kick our parcels.”

Snorting, you look up at her in disbelief. I mean, what was I expecting? A kiss? Get a grip, woman. Kassandra laughs at your expression. “Use the amazon locker down the road instead.”

“You’re amazing,” you murmur, grinning. “I’ll probably see you before next weekend, but bye, I guess?”

“Chaire,” she bids softly, opening the door for you.

When the door closes behind you, you let out a ragged breath, excitement coursing through your veins.

You are so glad you moved here.

.

( The Greek clause is meant to say "Don't blow this for me" but I used 5 different translators and all 5 came back with slightly different things and I sort of ip-dip-doo'd it and chose one at random...sorry. )

[melancholymetropolis]

Skin

Summary:  Business Man Todoroki has been unconsciously neglecting his wife, due to his enormous workload. So, she decides to surprise him at home office.

A/N: Thank you guys for all the love you shared on my first piece! I didn't expect so many people to be so into it! If you want to commission me for a story, click here!

Warnings: This is pure filth with a dash of fluff at the end. Maybe, angst, if you squint. Reader is, also, plus sized! Shoto is a cocky little bastard, but a total simp for his wife. 

Pairings: AgedUp!Todoroki Shoto x Black!Reader

As I grabbed my bonnet off the nightstand, my eyes caught a glimpse of the clock. 12:34 AM. I sighed and looked at the neatly made bed. My husband was supposed to be on the other side, pulling back the sheet and climbing in along with me. But, like most days, he was still in his study, waist-deep in work. Frustrated, I walked to the closet and took a long look at the present I had picked up earlier that day. I was supposed to wear it the following day since he had claimed I would have his undivided attention this weekend. However, my patience had been wearing thin and I was seconds away from throwing myself at him in my birthday suit. Knowing Todoroki, he would’ve found it by the morning anyway and ruined the surprise. 

Before I could change my mind, I stripped out of my oversize cotton shirt and underwear. I threw the items in the hamper and unhooked the lingerie from the hanger. I slipped my legs into the lace cheekies and snapped the garter belt around my waist. After I shimmied into the strapless bustier, I rolled the thigh high stockings onto my legs and clipped the garter belt onto them. I tossed the bonnet on the bed and untied my boxed braids from its messy bun. I slipped my feet in the marabou lined heeled slippers and shrugged on the matching black, silk robe. I rolled on my homemade Love Potion scented oil and fluffed my eyelashes with mascara. I added a little bit of sparkling lip gloss and headed out of the room.

On the way to the study, I had tried to convince myself that what I had done was incredibly stupid and childish. But, I simply debunked that statement with “YOLO” and continued on my journey. The door to the study had been partly ajar. Through the crack, I could see Todoroki typing away on the laptop as if there had been no tomorrow. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open a little more. I knocked twice on the frame and waited for him to look up. He didn’t.

“I promise I am almost done, I just need to type this last statement and I will join you in bed,” his eyes were glued to the computer. “Just five more minutes.”

I looked down at my rose embroidered bustier and back at him. 

Should I just wait until he finished? He did say it wouldn’t be that long.

“Okay, darling?” he quickly shot a look over to me, before resuming his work on the computer. Suddenly, Todoroki stopped typing and stared at me. His mismatch eyes washed over me ever so slowly, taking in every detail. He took his sweet time to meet my eyes again and a smirk fell on his lips. “Lock the door.” 

I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me. I turned the lock to the left and looked back at him. The laptop had disappeared, along with the papers from on top of the desk. Todoroki loosened his tie and pulled it from his neck. He pushed his body away from the desk and leaned back in his swivel chair. 

“Come here,” his voice dropped an octave as his eyes darkened. 

I squared my shoulders and lifted my head. I stared directly at him as I took small steps toward the desk. I brushed my hands along the outside ridge before I walked in between his legs. I scooted my rear on the empty space on the desk. 

The Japanese man closed the distance between us and looked up at me. His fingers glided down the base of my thigh before wrapping around my heeled foot. Todoroki slipped the shoe from my foot and dropped it on the floor. He repeated the action with my other foot. His long fingers kneaded the stocking covered skin on my thigh. 

“I don't know if I should be pleased by this action or angered by it," his smooth voice dressed my ears. 

Todoroki had a way to speak with such authority and pose that it infuriated me. When he wanted to, he could switch on an Alpha persona and command my undivided attention. His voice would get deeper, huskier, and, when he spoke, it sounded as though it vibrated in my earlobes. The feather-like touches on my skin shot electricity through my skin as his gentle humming gave me goosebumps. Todoroki was well aware of how sexually attracted I was of him and would use these tactics against me. Sometimes even in public. The amount of underwear I ruined because of this was laughable. But he didn’t care since it meant that he would see me in new lingerie every so often. 

“Why would you be angered by this, baby?” I asked shyly.

Todoroki opened my thighs just a tab bit wider and scooted his chair closer. “Because I know—” he undid the knot on the belt of the rob. “I am gonna have to explain—” the silk slipped from my shoulders and fell on the desk. “Why my report is missing—,” Todoroki sat my heels on the arms of his chair and pulled my pelvis to the edge of the desk. “In the morning,” his hand kneaded the soft skin between my thighs. His fingers inched closer to my lace-covered womanhood and his eyes flickered to mine. The Japanese man placed his thumb on the moist area and drew small circles upon it. I took my bottom lip in between my teeth and nibbled on it. The skilled muscle slid to the top of my vulva and found the throbbing, sensitive bud. Todoroki drew bigger circles on that spot and my mouth fell open graciously. 

With a smirk on his lips, he mimicked my facial expression. “There we go. That’s the face I want,” he said as he leaned closer. “You like that, princess?”

“Mhm!” I hummed with a nod. I leaned backward on my hands and let my head fall back. 

Pushing my legs further apart, Todoroki rose from his seat. His lips left hot kisses from my navel and up my bustier. His tongue slid up my cleavage to my collarbones. My husband sucked the skin on the crook of my neck tenderly, before nibbling the skin on my neck. The bites increased until he reached my jaw. With one hand still on the sensitive bud, he found my lips. Leaning on my left hand, I laced my fingers in his hair and gave it a slight tug. I opened my mouth, greedily taking his tongue in my mouth. Todoroki flicked his thumb faster. My moans increased to desperate pants. I pulled my lips away and rested my forehead against his. I looked in his eyes as I whimpered under his touch. My legs began to shake slightly as my walls clenched against themselves. The seat of the cheekies was drenched in my arousal and clung to my vulva. My husband moved the digit faster and tingles ran through my body. My toes curled tightly as my pants became louder. I squeezed the root of his hair tighter; I never broke eye contact with him. 

Todoroki smirked deviously and removed his finger from the bud. 

“Why did you stop?” I whined with a frown.

He chuckled and unbuttoned his shirt. “Because if I don’t bury myself in that sweet cunt soon, I’m afraid I'll burst,” Todoroki said as he unbuckled his belt. 

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” I replied with a tired giggle. 

Todoroki pulled his trousers and boxers down in one go. His member sprang free and bobbed a little. My walls clenched in anticipation. He stepped out of the pants and kicked them to the side. My husband looked down at my clothed core with the same anticipation I had. He unclipped the garter belt from my thigh highs and gripped the edge of underwear. He gently pulled the fabric from my hips and down my legs. Todoroki tossed the panties to the side and placed my legs back in their original position. He rubbed the tip of his member from my bud to my core before sinking himself into me. I inhaled sharply and exhaled with a low moan. The familiar sensation of him stretching my walls was always such a turn on. 

His mouth fell open and a groan poured from his mouth. “Fuck...”

I slowly rocked myself against his hips, hinting that I was ready for him. 

Todoroki started off with deep, long strokes. Savoring every moment of the transaction. Quiet moans left my mouth. The stimulation from earlier still stirring the depths of my being. The pleasure in my body had been reaching its limit and I knew my husband was nowhere near done. 

Bored with that position, Todoroki leaned back just a bit to lift my legs from the desk and rest them on his biceps. He gripped the edge of the surface I was on and began ramming himself into me. The breath in my lungs had gotten stuck in my throat and I forgot to breathe.

“Oh. . .  shit . . .” My mouth formed a large ‘o’ shape and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. 

“There’s the face I want,” he said cockily. 

I leaned back on my hands and threw my head back. “ So. . . good. . .” I grunted as I bucked my hips to meet his.

“Look at my naughty, naughty wife,” Todoroki mused lowly. “Desperately. . . ready to become undone.”

“Ugh~~~,” tingles began to flood my body. Stars flashed behind my eyelids as my legs began to shake again yet again.

Todoroki lifted my legs higher until they reached his shoulders. He continued his steady, but deep pace. His long, ebony locks began to cling to his forehead. Eyes drilling holes into my body. Todoroki slid his hands along the desk and gripped the edge near my shoulders. His member pushed deeper into my, brushing my cervix tenderly. My back slowly fell against the desk, and, to avoid an injury, Todoroki supported my neck with his hand. With hooded eyes, I looked up at him.

“I love you . . . so much,” I whispered as my toes curled tightly.

“I know,” he said with a wide smile. “I love you, too.”

The tingling stopped and a chill ran through my body. My back arched into his abdomen as my eyes rolled back. My mouth stretched open and hips pulsed against his. My nails dug into the wood of the desk. An elongated groan left my lips and I saw white. Todoroki continued to stroke in and out of the smooth canal, chasing his own finish. That actually, ultimately, further stimulated the sensitive area and elongated my climax. 

"Oh. . . My. . . GOD!" The whimper increased to high pitched shrieks. 

Todoroki drops one of my legs from his shoulder and hooks it around his waist. He tucked his arm through space my arched back made against the desk. He lifted my back from the surface, digging the bones from the bustier into my back. With my lifted leg in the air, I used my right hand to grip his shoulder as I lean forward, My left hamstring tingled a little at the position, but I pushed through it. 

“Thank God for Yoga,” he said with a smirk.

“Oh shut up— shit!” Todoroki resumed his deadly rhythm in the middle of my sentence. 

“Mhm, that’s what I thought,” he replied between pants.

The potency of that new position had been lethal; each stroke caused his abdomen to briefly brush against my sensitive bud. The overstimulation caused my legs to shake violently, after a short while. A build-up of pressure found its way in my lower belly and gave off a warm sensation. I dug my nails into my husband’s shoulder and threw my head back. Incoherent words left my tongue, as water gushed from my core and onto the silk garment beneath me. Todoroki’ stroke came to an abrupt pause and a silent scream left his lips. With closed eyes, he gripped the edge of the desk tightly and pushed himself in me one more time before oozing into me. He caught his breath and ran a hand through his hair. A shallow laugh left his mouth as he pried his eyes open. Todoroki lowered my leg from his shoulder and rested a hand on my neck. Thumb on my cheek, my husband lowered his mouth to mine and gave me a passionate kiss.

I hooked my arms underneath his and placed my fingers in his hair. With his other hand flat against my lower back, he arched my body into his and deepened the kiss. He moaned against my lips.

I pulled away from the embrace and chuckled, “You never took off the bustier.”

“I didn’t want to break it,” he gave my lips a small peck. “I actually liked this one.”

“Oh. really?” I said with a raised eyebrow. “You didn’t like the pink one?”

“I mean, it was nice,” Todoroki kissed along my jawline. “But, it is something about you in black. It does things to me.” He nipped the sweet spot on my neck and a shiver ran down my spine.

“Noted,” I replied with a groan. 

“But, it really doesn’t matter what you wear,” Todoroki kissed his way up my neck and raised his head to meet my eyes, “You could wear a garbage bag and I’d still rise for you.”

“Garbage bags are black, honey,” I concluded with a cheerful glint in my eyes.

“Oh, you’re right,” Todoroki said with a laugh. After a few seconds, he paused his laughter. “I just remembered. . . I have a surprise for you, too.”

“You know I hate surprises,” I groaned. 

“But, you’re gonna like this one,” Todoroki untangled our limbs and pulled away from me. He reached into a drawer and pulled out two pieces of paper. He handed them to me. 

“Plane tickets to. . . the Netherlands,” I read aloud. 

“A two-week romantic getaway,” he declared with a nod. “I have been promising you quality time for a while now, so I decided to take off of work for a little while.”

“Looks like I gotta buy some more lingerie, huh?” I questioned with a grin.

“A whole lot more,” my husband said before pulling me in for another kiss.

[mystical-blaise]

When I See You Smile--Gwynriel

(A short little Gwynriel love with a jealous Az. Needed to get it onto paper.)

Azriel cracked his knuckles once. Twice. The pain of the tight skin reverberating down his arm as he remained ensconced in the shadows. He hated being here in Illyria. Despised that Rhysand had exiled him after he’d caught him speaking with Elain months ago. Hated that he sent Gwyn up to Illyria to train a group of Illyrian Valkyries. Loathed he had to send Gwyn instead of Nesta for many reasons, but mostly because Cassian was afraid she’d burn the place to the ground. Good riddance, as far as he was concerned.

He truly hated all of it.

Hated how he noticed every smile.

Hate how felt something move inside him when she watched her teach.

Hated that something sparked inside whenever she was around.

Her laughter was the tinkling of windchimes, light and brilliant. Her laughter was a song his shadows sang with, wanted to get closer. Yet he bade them stay where they were.

And they were sulking. Dark little beasts.

She laughed again so hard that a snort came at the end. Adorable. Except it wasn’t him that had her head tilting back. Had her holding a hand to her side as she laughed so hard she needed to catch her breath.

No, it wasn’t him tonight.

“Oh gods, Balthazar,” she said, wiping a happy tear from under her eye.

“True story,” the Illyrian male said. Smiling. The fucker showed his teeth, white and gleaming. What a charming bastard.

Did Gwyn notice?

‘He is rather good-looking, Shadowsinger,’ his shadows teased.

Azriel was comfortable enough to note that. Balthazar was handsome enough. Knowing how he helped Nesta and the girls during the Blood Rite gave him some credibility, but…

Fuck that laugh again. The one that followed him everywhere. Up to the rooftop. On his missions. The laugh that had him returning home with a soft smile when he inevitably found her on the roof trying to master yet another skill.

His beautiful Valkyrie. Her red hair plaited, resting over her shoulder, tied off with that white satin ribbon. Balthazar leaned in, tugging on the end. Oh no, he didn’t just touch her. Tugging on that braid was his.

And then the Illyrian male was leaning in—and Azriel watched in shock and horror as Gwyn leaned into his side.

His entire body tensed, and his shadows rolled toward the couple until he, too, was stirred. Until he was standing in front of her, her wide eyes staring at him like too deep glittering pools.

Then his eyes shifted to Balthazar, and he knew what he saw. Death was standing before him. Death was looming if he didn’t take his fucking arm off his girl.

No, not his girl.

His shadows chuckled at that. Nosy pricks.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was walking with his hand under her elbow, guiding her from the Illyrian gathering. Away from the eyes, off into the darkness.

“Azriel! Az! Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer, only dragged her farther into the woods. He stumbled as she dug her heels into the dirt.

“Az, stop! What is the matter with you?”

He spun around, his inky darkness spreading and following as he stalked forward. Closer and closer, until there was merely a foot between him. Until her back met the rough bark of a tree.

A muscled feathered in his jaw, his teeth clenched so tight they nearly cracked.

“I’m waiting for an answer to why you were being so rude,” Gwyn said, tilting her obstinate chin up at him. His eyes flitted to her lips, then back to her blue-green eyes. Again, yet another thing to hate himself about.

Fine, if she wanted an answer. “He likes you.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, lifting her breasts under her leathers. Fuck. “So?”

“He shouldn’t,” Azriel blurted out, and his shadows bit at his ears.

‘Wrong thing to say, Shadowsinger.’

“Why, Azriel, am I not desirable?”

“No. That’s not—”

“Is there something wrong with me?”

“No, it’s—” Azriel was struggling to find the words, cover his ass.

“Why? Because you do?”

He froze. He couldn’t breathe. “Not like that.”

She grabbed onto his biceps and flipped their positions, pushing him against a tree, the bark biting into his leathers. Her perfectly blush lips tipped up on one side. “Gwyn, what you are doing?”

“Admit it, Shadowsinger.” She poked him in the chest.

“Admit what, Gwyn?”

“Admit that you like me.”

He pitched forward, his lips drawn in a tight line. “I will do no such thing.”

Her eyes bore into his like a dagger, her resolve steel. “Because you are a coward.”

She leaned in, her breath touching his lips. “What are you doing?”

“Proving you wrong.” And then Gwyn kissed him.

[maybe-your-left]

Girl when was the first time dr ren romanced reader chan?

Ren was nervous.

He had never tried this before.

It wasn’t his style, not in Medical school, undergrad or even high school. Ren wasn’t the guy people found charming, or handsome, or understanding. Any girl he fucked was just that, a girl, and he told them straight up he wasn’t going to talk to them after.

But now there’s you.

Waltzing into his life, with no fucking warning, burrowing into his cold heart. Ren thought you would be a quick fuck, something pretty to see when he had the time, that was it! You seemed to be that way too, young and smart. Still working through school, didn’t have time to be chasing men.

He was lucky you even gave him the time of day, after you rocked his world. And every night after that, your silky cunt clenching around his cock. Ren felt like passing out just thinking about it, hot and bothered as he sat at his desk.

All the patients were gone for the day, he had finished his chart work. Nursing staff had bid their goodbyes, telling him to have a good weekend or whatever. Ren tapped on the desk with his pen, the only sound in the room now that the halls were empty.

“This is stupid,” he muttered, throwing down the pen to cradle his face. It had been four days since he spoke to you, 6 days (if you’re counting) since he saw you. Ren had tried to play it cool, you usually texted him a few days after fucking to say hello and let him know what was going on.

Or that one time you called him because you were busy with your hands. And you both ended up just existing together on the phone, you doing homework while he read through charts. Talking like you were face to face.

Radio silence now.

Maybe you were done... it would be understandable. There were much younger, more emotionally available men in your corner. Or women, don’t think he forgot about that time you told him about. That he now fantasies about when he’s lonely...

Ren was no prize, from the outside yes he was attractive. Unconventional, but broad, thick, nice hair, deep voice, big hands, a ‘monster cock’. But he wasn’t what people called good company.

He grabbed his phone out, wincing when he saw no messages from you. The last thing in your thread is a message from Ren saying ‘have a good day.’

Ren typed out a message, didn’t want to seem too desperate.

Hey, I just got off work. Can you be at my place tonight?

Nailed it.

He waited.

Waited.

Watched the message sit there for 3,4,5,6... oh no 10 minutes?

👍🏼

———

Ren was so excited, he didn’t respond to your emoji. It would seem too forward, so he left it at that and grabbed everything for the weekend. Stopping at a few stores for supplies, some bottles of wine and cheese.

Do women like flowers?

You would be the first woman he had been with sexually for longer than a month... do they expect flowers?

What if you’re allergic?

“Fuck,” he grabbed some anyway, if he panicked he could throw them out the window before you arrived. Ren rode up the elevator in silence, trying to steady his breathing so he could focus on getting the apartment ready.

Fumbling with the keys when he made it to his door, Ren let out a sigh of relief when he got in. Setting everything on the countertop, he popped open a bottle. Taking a few swigs to make sure it wasn’t poisonous.

He decided to put the flowers in a vase, how he had a vase he wasn’t sure, that way they could look like a gift to himself in case you hated them. No big deal, he would just be crushed if you did. Ren took a quick shower, after a small workout so his muscles would be on display for you.

Ren noticed when he was naked and you basked in each other’s embrace, you liked to trace his shoulders and biceps. Fingering the veins that laid under his skin, cording down to his wrists. Before you’d suck on his thick fingers...

A knock at the door drew him away from his pinning, maybe he would get you to lay with him tonight. Long enough to smell your hair while you drifted off like a tired, fucked out little kitten. He schooled his features before opening the door, ready to see what gorgeous outfit you wore this evening for him.

“Hi, don’t touch me I’m sick,” you shoved past him. Sneezing into a tissue you held in your hand, he watched with startled eyes as you dropped a bag on the floor. Looking around the room confused, you looked awful. Cheeks red, nose colored, lips puffy and swollen, your eyes were tired. Decorated with under eye bags, your hair was a mess. Separated into two twin braids down your scalp, it looked like you slept in them. Creating a halo of frizz.

You coughed into your elbow, “Whys it so dark in here?”

Ren blinked, shutting the door and approaching you slowly. Shocked to see you moving around his kitchen like you owned it, flipping on more lights. Taking a mug from the cabinet, he watched you turn on his keurig.

“Pretty flowers,” you nodded to the vase, “Your girlfriend get them for you?”

“Are you,” he approached slowly, “Are you sick?”

You laughed, well tried. It was a hoarse rasp, something that shredded your once sweet melodic laugh, “No shit sherlock, you should be a detective instead of a doctor.”

He watched you make yourself some tea, handing you a box of bags that you couldn’t reach. Ren was shocked, you didn’t tell him you were sick. He would’ve understood, and how could you be still enchanting when you looked like a drown rat?

You sighed in relief as you inhaled the scent. “Sorry, I’m grumpy. Been fighting this for like a week now, did you get me sick?”

He shook his head quickly, “No-I didn’t.”

“Well, you do work at a hospital,” you mumbled, sipping slowly before waltzing out of the kitchen. Ren followed you slowly, watching you snatch a blanket, the same one you laid on when he fingered you on the couch.

Curling yourself into it before kicking open the door to his bedroom. Setting your mug down on the nightstand, after finding a coaster, and plopping down in his bed.

“So, you wanted me to come over?”

“Yeah.”

You both stared in silence, Ren watched you bite your lip. Suddenly nervous even though you waltzed in like you owned the place. “Look,” you coughed for a moment, “We can have sex, I just can’t do anything. So I can just bend over or whatever, then I can leave after.”

“What?”

“That’s why you called me, right? We haven’t had sex in a week, and you have flowers and wine and all that so, here you go. Be warned, I don’t have matching underwear on tonight.”

Ren watched as you tried to underdress, struggling to present yourself to him. He rushed over to you, pinning you to the mattress, “Hey-stop,” you coughed hard, “Don’t push on my chest, just wait a second and then you can do what you need to.”

“No,” Rens voice was sharp, even startling himself for a moment, “Stop undressing.”

You looked at him confused, your glassy eyes now clouded with insecurity and regret. Ren had to stop you, explain that he didn’t call you over for just sex.

Well, he wanted to have sex, but that wasn’t the main point. Ren watched you recoil, swallowing thickly as your eyes brimmed with tears, “Okay, um. Well I’ll just go, I’ll see ya around.”

You swung off the bed, letting the blanket fall. Ignoring your tea that was steaming on the table, he chased after you. Grasping the back of your hoodie, ignoring the sounds of your sniffling.

“No, stay. Please,” he wrapped an arm around you, keeping you flush with his chest, “I-I just wanted to see you.”

You felt you wiggle, turning to look up at him with wide eyes. Sneezing, very adorably he might add, before speaking, “Really?”

“Yes, I am a doctor, I could take care of you...”

“Oh.”

Wrong thing to say...

“I missed you, or whatever.”

You stayed still.

“And,” he mumbled, “The flowers are for you, I didn’t know you weren’t feeling great. I would’ve gotten some food that wasn’t wine and cheese.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, looking over at the counter from his arms. Rens heart swelled when you leaned your head against his chest, both of you sighing in relief.

“First thing we are doing,” Ren tugged you back to the bedroom, “Is getting you in a bath while I burn your clothes.”

———

ROMANCE THE DR REN WAY is a disaster.

TAGGING: @finn-ray-nal-beads​​​ @onlykyloscenes​​​ @candycanes19​​​ @historyandfandoms50​​​ @caelum-phyriina-vermillon​​​ @ghoulian13​​​ @mrs-kylo-ren​​​ @millenialcatlady​​​ @relationshipwithmybed​​ @dancingmicrobes​​​ @wayward-rose​​​ @contesa-lui-alucard​​​ @daydreamsofren​​​ @insufferablelust​​​ @ohdamnadamm​​​ @mariesackler​​​ @caillea​​ @safarigirlsp​​ @jalexunderthestars​​​ @shesakillerkween​​​ @glassythoughts​​ @zimmermansbrat​​ @not-the-teen-witch​​ @jynzandtonic c​ @roanniom​ @celestiasin @glassbxttless

[aquaticstyles]

the five senses

hello everyone! while a separate 13k fic is in the works, as promised, here is a lil 2k piece i miraculously came up with at midnight. as always, feedback is happily welcomed!!! happy reading lovies x 

it's been five months since it ended.

you should hate him. you should utterly and fascinatingly despise him. you should hate the way he looked, the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he smelled, and the way the sounded. you should forget him—rip every page, crumple him up, and strike a match.

key word: should.

but you don't hate him. you couldn't if you tried. you are utterly and fascinatingly still wrapped around his perfect, ring-encircled fingers. you love the way he looked, the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he smelled, the way he sounded. you can't forget him, no matter how much you want to. his ink is still scattered in the novels of your memories, proving to be permanent and stubborn as you try desperately to put fire to its pools.

you are still utterly and fascinatingly not over him.

and you suppose that is why your mind has chosen to drift off to candy land, marshmallow puff trees and gooey caramel lakes, visions of him swimming around, around, and around.

and you also suppose that you shouldn't be thinking of him while another man touches your skin.

key word: shouldn't.

but you can't help it. not when you're reminded of just how differently harry captured your senses and locked them away in the thumping of his chest, throwing away the key.

sight

you can still see him.

his dimples popping, inviting you to curl up inside one of them for just a moment, bunny teeth displayed in an ear to ear grin when he sees you, his lover, his everything, finally in 3D again, because boy oh boy pixelated facetime does not do you justice.

those two endless forests of green paired with wispy eyelashes, billboards for his every emotion, reeling you in and casting you back over and over and over again.

that body of his that makes you positively drool—fresh out of the shower, a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips, those ferns that if you had it your way, would never be covered, tempting your eyes to what's below, other markings of ink scattered across a toned bicep, chest, thigh, an endless coloring book for you and only you to paint with your lips, diamond water droplets clinging onto tanned, sun-kissed skin, mimicking your fingers as they slide down the tight muscles, ridges and valleys, of his back, the velvet, rose scrunchie of yours that he has claimed as his own cozying up around those stubborn, chestnut curls atop his head, the ones that cause eyes to roll and skin to furrow between his brows because "they're always in my fuckin' way."

the way he looks when he's napping in the summer heat after taking a refreshing dip in the pool—cheek smushed against a lawn chair, causing his bubble-gum pink lips to pucker unintentionally, begging for a slow, lazy, warm kiss, a van gogh masterpiece of bright blues, oranges, yellows, reds, whites, greens, browns, swirling together in his canvas, those green forests peacefully hidden as his pure, innocent relaxation melts into a scene of serenity before you (you're guilty of laying directly on top of him one too many times, pressing your cheek against the warm expanse of his back and sneaking in a cat nap as well).

how he looks when he enters a room, especially those rooms with a stage and thousands of fans bubbling over with excitement, confidence and swagger exuding from his pores as the spotlights hit him in all the right places, bouncing off the numerous gems and glitter of that night's glamorous get-up. then later the way he looks as his face twists in pleasure during a post-show-adrenaline-rush-dressing-room-quickie.

his reflection in the mirror of your vanity as you do your makeup, broad shoulders leant up against the doorframe, watching you as you carefully add sparkles here and powder there, the glint of curiosity and pure infatuation in his eye, his fingers toying with the smirk on his lips when you meticulously swipe on your favorite his favorite red lipstick, knowing good and well that once he's finished with you there won't be a single trace of crimson left on your lips.

you can see all of him, from the tufts of hair you love to tug and pull and sink your hands into, to the perfect slope of his nose, the sharp pinch of his jawline, his cute ears you poke fun at much to his annoyance, his tongue darting out to wet his perfect, perfect lips, his neck that always seems readily accessible to leave bites and red stains along, the ship stamped on his bicep, his abdomen that isn't too tight or too soft under your touch, just right, the happy trails leading to that one part of him that leaves you aching for days, his thighs, all the way down to his toe permanently labeled "Big."

touch

you can still feel him.

the tips of his calloused fingers tracing down your spine, a valley of goosebumps following in their tracks, a sea of comfort washing over you. fingers intertwined between yours, squeezing your palm, fresh autumn air and central park and new coats and steaming, black coffee. fingers fanned out across your thigh, splashes of pastel purple polish on cuticles and knuckles (he was shaking too much from laughing at something on twitter like an avocado in a top hat or a dog in gucci loafers). fingers following directions on a well-traveled map, tracing over the outline of your chapped lips, up to the apples of your rosy cheeks, to your temples, and entangling into long locks of tangled hair, braiding, massaging and scratching when you've had a tough day, exhausted, hypnotized, harry.

lips against your ear, hushed whispers meant for only you in the midst of a thundering crowd (one too many neat tequilas and risky texts), cold rings sneaking underneath your shirt and spanning out against a piping hot back, the vibrations from the bass thumping beneath you joined by the organ in your chest, sweaty palms and shaky knees as rivers of suggestions flood from his earth to yours, promises that will be proven true later in seductive, blue moonlight.

his sudsy chest cuddled snugly behind your back, sinking beneath bubbles of lavender and rose because he couldn't just pick one scent, your missing puzzle piece, pruny fingers tracing shapes onto your knee beneath the water, vibrations from his giggles when you mistakenly guessed the shape as a dinosaur (it was a banana), warm puffs of breath against your neck, sopping scrunchies stacked on the ledge next to a half empty bottle of red, lips painting across your shoulder down your arm to your fingertips coating you in bright yellow, affection, admiration, addiction.

the prickles of the new addition to his face scratching up against you in the most agonizingly amazing way as his face buries between your thighs, the magic of that mouth of his, pixie dust, an arched back, an eager tongue accompanied by glistening, cherry lips, pleadings of "never shave again."

him buried inside you in the early hours of the morning, legs anchored around his waist, miles and miles of his soft, tanned skin washing against your own, nails digging into the toned ridges of his back, chestnut locks falling onto a sweaty forehead, scorching lips dancing over every inch of you over and over until he reaches that one spot, moans and exhales and crumpled sheets, your temple resting on a swallow, fingertips tracing a lone butterfly, clutching onto the cold metal of a cross, lazy smiles, bed head, halfway closed eyelids, a tranced daze basking in fresh, crisp sunlight.

taste

you can still taste him.

the bitter taste of whiskey coating his tongue as it encircles your own in the back of a taxi, wrinkled suit jackets and bunched up satin, fingers toying with buttons and zippers, giggles when his nose bumps against yours carelessly, a clouded drunken haze of city lights and sparkling sequins.

minty toothpaste covered lips smushing against yours because he just "couldn't wait," spearmint, foamy smiles wiped away on plush towels.

juice from a ripe watermelon dribbling down his chin and leaving a sugary path along his exposed neck and chest, glistening in the afternoon, summer heat, lapped up teasingly by your tongue, causing widened eyes and a harsh gulp, the reflection of heart shaped sunglasses rippling in a crystal clear pool.

a warm cup of coffee sitting on your bedside table, placed there by your lover before he leaves for a run, waiting for you in the early morning glow of your bedroom, the scent from a fresh pot still lingering in the air, the steaming liquid slowly cascading down your throat during his absence.

coconut chapstick coating his lips, stolen from your side of the vanity, even though he has countless of tubes himself he claims using yours "is more moisturizing" when in reality he just likes keeping a part of you with him at all times.

saltwater droplets clinging onto his skin, coating your lips as you leave trails of kisses along his chest and sunburnt cheeks, awaking him from his nap in the shade, waves crashing behind you, seagulls chirping and trying to steal crisps, low grumblings of "what's this fo?" accompanied by a dimple and a smirk ("just cause").

smell

you can still smell him.

the candle burning in his dressing room on tour, the one you bought him that you immediately recognize when you visit him for the first time since he left, a warm batch of butterflies brewing in your tummy when you notice the almost completely burnt through wick, apples and cinnamon.

his detergent, leaving your clothes coated in a fresh linen scent because "no way yeh leaving mine with laundry to do, love" a pair of his boxers that he knows you love to wear folded neatly on top of the rest of your belongings and sent off with a pillowy peck to your lips and promises of "see you tomorrow."

his body wash and hair product duplicates in your shower, dancing with daisies in the steam surrounding him, persisting in the small, tiled space for most of the week, even in his vacancy. sometimes you'll accidentally on purpose grab his bottle of shampoo with your eyes closed, using more than intended (harry goes through shampoo much quicker now).

the diffuser in his bedroom, spewing out vapors of a eucalyptus blend he ordered online after extensive research ("it helps with clear breathin' and relaxation"), another scent that can only be described as pure harry, later encompassing your abode as well due to your incessant claims of how much you love it (one night you came home from work to a perfectly wrapped package on the foot of your bed, a diffuser and the same eucalyptus blend hidden inside).

his cologne perched on your dresser, tom ford, tobacco vanille, harry in a bottle, sneakily spritzed on your sweatshirt when he's not looking (he notices every time), lingering on your pillow case, his purple robe hanging next to yours, and your hand towels, tokens of him dolloped throughout your apartment, a tornado of familiarity swirling you into his galaxy. the same scent filling your nose as it buries into his neck, arms wrapped around him in an ages-long bear hug, his cheek resting against the top of your head, the soft fibers of his sweater tickling your skin.

sound

you can still hear him.

the warm drip of his honey voice in the early hours of the morning, raspy and deep from his slumber, pooling in the pit of your stomach growing thick and heavy until releasing with moans and whispers lost in the rising sun.

that laugh of his that doesn't bubble up often, the one you cause more than anyone else, buckets of giggles that leaves behind tears, crinkled eyes, and hands over tummies.

his thick accent that repolishes itself after he's made a trip to london, mumbles of "bugger," "oi love," "rubbish," and your favorite, "absobloodylutely" leaving his cherry lips more often than he realizes.

his moans. your favorite kind is when you're riding him, locked in a sweaty, pulsating embrace—twisting here and turning there and doing the things you know drive him absolutely mad—those moans that erupt from deep inside him and uncharacteristically replace his typical, filthy language because you're doing him so good that he's left speechless in a heap of tangled limbs and panting breaths.

his voice as it echoes in the acoustics of the shower, the soft patter of the water serving as his own orchestra, notes belonging to rock anthems of the 70s or sometimes his own verses that have been freshly inked in his worn-in journal (occasionally you'll record him singing the new ones—unbeknownst to him—to listen to when he's away for too long).

the clinking of his rings together when he's in full-on discussion mode—using his hands as he elaborately details a story of his childhood or a conversation he had with jeff today or why he thinks salsa shouldn't go in the fridge or the reason behind this lyric and that chord progression.

his keys clanking against the ceramic dish by the door, the sweetest symphony to your ears because he's home.

and finally, the sound of those three words—smooth as butter rolling off his tongue effortlessly, a hurricane crashing and splashing against you, three strings lifting you off your feet and soaring into the clouds, green eyes and rosy cheeks pulling your heart strings, sweet sugar crystals floating from his lips to yours—"i love you."

physically, he's gone, probably off writing another album, undoubtedly doing much better than you are. maybe he's even moved on, cuddled up into another woman's side, whispering things in her ear, tangled up in her sheets.

but in every other way imaginable, he's still with you.

five senses, five million memories.

[ri-ahhh]

good taste

Grayson puts his money where his mouth is — or maybe the other way around — after their last encounter; pt 2 to good vibes

warnings: smut, pretty much unedited sorry

***

“Are you asking me to eat you out? Because that sounds like a challenge you know I can’t refuse...”

“Maybe when I find out what your mouth can do, I’ll consider you competition for the vibrator. You need to be knocked down a peg or two, Dolan.”

It’s been three weeks since the incident on your couch between you and Grayson. Three weeks of things almost being normal, maybe with some added flairs.

Like the one day when he came over right after you had finished your Pilates workout; instead of throwing the shirt on you had discarded in the first ten minutes of the video to answer the door, you had decided opening it wearing only some tiny Nike pro shorts and a matching sports bra was perfectly acceptable. His eyes lingered knowingly, his signature smirk that oozed confidence — and subsequently made you ooze in your panties — playing at his lips.

Or that one night where all of your friends gathered at the twins’ house to have a good old movie night. You and Grayson somehow ended up together on the loveseat section of the giant cloud couch, and he convinced you to sit on the elongated cushion between his bent knees so he could try and braid your hair. It felt nice, and you didn’t really care your hair was in knots by the time his fingers started scratching up and down your back to lull you even further into bliss. You ended up reclined against his chest, slouched down with a blanket thrown over both of your legs and a giant bowl of popcorn plopped in your lap that he would reach over your shoulder to dig his hand into and playfully shove a handful of kernels into your mouth.

You remember ethan eyeing the two of you peculiarly from the opposite end of the couch, but you ignore him, because he undoubtedly knows what happened between you and his brother. You can admit that the scene of that night was more domestic and comfortable than what one would expect from two close friends who had just hooked up, but you can’t be bothered to care what other people might think about what’s going on between you and Grayson.

And then there was earlier today at the beach, where you both simply couldn’t take your eyes off each other, especially under the inconspicuous camouflage of dark sunglasses. But in a moment where you caught him with said glasses perched on his head, blatantly admiring the tiny black triangle covering you between your legs while you tan, you felt bold and confident enough to call him out on it.

“You know, you’re being a lil pervy.”

“Says the girl who’s been eye fucking me all day.”

You blushed. “Shut up.”

Grayson grinned and crawled from his towel to your own, stretching out next to you with his head propped up on his elbow. His fingers reached over and toyed with one of the ties on your bikini bottom teasingly; you bit your lip and trailed your hand up his tanned arm until you were squeezing that massive bicep appreciatively.

“It’s hard, knowing what’s underneath there now,” he said quietly, fingertips trailing then across the top of your bikini, along your lower belly.

You smiled. “It’s hard or it’s hard?”

Grayson threw his head back with his loud, signature laugh, then groaned and rolled onto his back next to you. “Both, baby. Both.”

Now, later that night, you’re at the boys’ house again, chilling on the couch watching old episodes of Parks and Rec that you’ve seen a million times already. You feel nice and relaxed, your body tired from being in sun and saltwater all day, but your mind content with how good of a day it had been.

Ethan and Kristina have already gone to bed, and Gray is in the kitchen cleaning up from dinner. You should be in there helping him, but you tell yourself you’re too comfy to get up right now.

And maybe you’re still a little on edge — vibrating, if you will — from the unresolved energy of your and Grayson’s moment on the beach.

The light shuts off behind you, and you hear his heavy footsteps make their way towards the living room.

“You look comfy,” he remarks with a grin, plopping down on the couch right next to your feet. He lifts them up and shifts over so they’re resting in his lap.

“I mean, it is a big comfy couch.”

Grayson sighs and drops his head to the back of the couch, pressing his thumb into the sole of your socked foot. “You look really pretty right now, too.”

Your heart stutters a bit, completely caught off guard. It’s a chaste and surprisingly sincere statement given the romanticism between you two so far has been purely sexual.

You should say ‘thank you’ — that’s all you have to say. But you’re an idiot, and your brain short circuits, and your first instinct is to deflect. “I’m pretty sure my nose got burned. And not in a cute way.”

“It is cute.”

You deadpan him. “And I can feel my hair frizzing by the minute because you don’t have conditioner.”

“Adorable.”

“You’re impossible.”

Grayson pretends to be offended, but the facade is broken by the smile he can’t hold back. “I’m just being honest!”

You shake your head, the corners of your lips twitching. “If you were being honest, you’d admit you’re just saying that cuz you wanna see me cum again.”

He shrugs. “Two things can be true at once, sweetheart.” His big hand starts dragging up your bare shin, and your eyes follow his touch. “I can think you’re absolutely stunning with a sunburn and smelling like my shampoo, and want to see you cum.”

He pauses, and you’re silent, until you look up at him with your lower lip caught between your teeth to find him already staring at you. The heat in his gaze makes your pussy flutter, and your eyes almost threaten to shut at the feeling... especially with his next confession.

“I want to make you cum. Me.”

A tinkling, disbelieving giggle escapes you before you can stop it. He’s unreal. “Still think you can outdo my vibrator, huh?”

Grayson winks at you — you hate how much the simple, cocky little action turns you on so much instantly. “I’ll never know until I try.”

He’s right. Desire clouds your rational reasoning, and you’re also justifiably curious. And horny. And maybe your heart is warming to him more than it should.

“Okay.” Grayson looks surprised for a fleeting second, then he’s grinning and starting to crawl over your body, but you stop him by placing the foot he had just released from his hand on his shoulder firmly. “In your room. No interruptions.”

His eyes darken, and he nods in agreement. He doesn’t get up right away, though; he watches your face intently as his hand continues it’s way up your leg, making circles on the sensitive inside of your knee. You don’t know what your expression says, but it must convey your approval, because his fingers go higher until the tips of them light upon your covered center.

The barely-there touch makes you gasp, and before you can stop yourself, your hips are hiking upwards to make the contact more direct.

As expected, Grayson smirks smugly. “You want more?”

You nod, and gasp again when he bypasses your shorts altogether now in favor of slipping his hand into your panties. You both let out tiny little groans when he touches your wet folds, his middle finger trailing up and down your slit to test out the moisture leaking from you.

“There’s one question answered,” he says lowly, grinning when he finds your clit and starts rubbing slow circles into it with the pad of his finger. “I can get you wet no problem.”

“Mmm,” you can’t help but moan, both at his touch and his words, despite the ones you speak yourself. “Stop — stop being such a... such a douchebag.”

Grayson just chuckles lowly, because he somehow knows you love it. You indulge in his touch for a few more seconds, before reach a hand down quickly to grasp his bracelet-clad wrist. “Your room, now.”

He doesn’t need telling twice. Grayson plants his feet on the ground and pulls you to stand with him, leading you by the hand down the hall to his bedroom.

You flop back on the bed and scoot up to rest your head on the pillows as you watch him lock the door before joining you in the cloud of white sheets and blankets.

He crawls to you, stopping on his knees in front of you and batting your hands away from where they’ve just gripped the waistband of your shorts to tug them down.

“I didn’t get to do it last time,” he explains roughly, his demeanor changed some now that he’s so close to getting what he wants. He’s less cool, calm, and collected and more hurried and desperate. “I wanna do it now.”

You can only lift your hips in response, nodding once he’s tossed them to the side and takes hold of your panties now. When those are gone, he groans louder than before and settles on his belly as he pushes your thighs open wider to both get a better look, and to accommodate the breadth of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he exhales harshly, breathing in deeply in the next moment to take in the heady smell of your arousal.

He looks up at you with dark hazel eyes, and you bite your lip nervously as you wait for him to make another move.

You don’t have to wait long at all, because not even a second later he’s sucking two fingertips into his mouth, then placing them directly on your clit to pick up where he left off just a minute ago.

“You have a pretty pussy,” he says, like it’s a normal compliment to give. You flush anyways, unsure of what to say to that.

“Are you implying there are ugly pussies?”

He shrugs. “Some are just nicer to look at. And yours is just... wow.”

You blush harder, moaning when he presses a little firmer into your clit. “Thank you.”

Grayson smiles up at you. He moves away from your clit, exploring the rest of your pussy with a genuine curiosity and hunger on his face that makes you clench with every little touch and glance he gives it.

“Yeah,” he sighs, trailing the fleshy outside lightly. “Smooth.” His fingers part your lips. “Pink.” Hisnother hand squeezes one of your thighs, pushing it back and out a bit so you’re more open, allowing his middle fingertip to brush over your hole. “Fuck. And so wet.”

“Grayson, please,” you whimper, reaching out to brush your hand against his cheek and coax him to your pussy, unable to wait for him to get his mouth on you any longer.

He’s just as impatient, because he’s already halfway there by the time your hand makes contact with his stubble. You’re crying out with his rough moan at the first swipe of his tongue up your slit, your hand instantly sliding up to find purchase in his hair.

“Fuck,” he growls, pulling back to stare hard at your pussy as he spreads around the fresh rush of srousal that had just graced his tongue with his fingers once again. He dives back in, delving his tongue deep inside you before dragging it all the way up to your clit. He circles it, flicks it, suckles it a few times. “Oh fuck.”

There’s no gentleness, no sweetness, no innocent exploration in how Grayson eats your pussy for the first time — very unlike any other guy you’ve been with when they did it initially. There was always some level of hesitance or fear that they were doing something wrong, or trying too hard to figure out what you liked.

Not Grayson. Like most other aspects of his life, he’s fully confident in his abilities, and seems to just be enjoying the experience of eating you out with a voracity you’ve never been on the receiving end of before. It’s infectious, makes you want him that much more, makes you throw a leg over his shoulder and press your heel into his back while you drag him closer by the hair.

Happy to have his face completely buried in you, Grayson moans, really moans, into your center. He sucks on your clit, relishing in the curses and whines it elicits from you. He looks up at you through hooded kids while he sneaks his hands under the oversized hoodie you’re still wearing — he must feel the throb of your clit against his mouth when you simultaneously meet his eyes and he squeezes your breasts firmly, because he grins into your pussy.

“You taste so good,” he hums, more of a whisper than anything else, but with enough vibrations to make you shudder.

You cover one of his hands with your own squeezing harder and grinding into his mouth with steady, insistent thrusts against him. “Please!”

Grayson likes that. He sighs again and pinched your nipples before making sure you keep your hand there as he brings his down to wrap around your thighs. He shakes his head deeper into your folds, dipping down just enough so his lips are exploring every crevice of your pussy and leaving his nose to brush against your clit teasingly every now and then.

The noises of his mouth are almost too much. Loud and sloppy and wet as he quite literally slurps you down with every lick, suck and swallow, spitting back onto your swollen pussy a mixture of your cum and his saliva.

When he suctions his lips around your clit again and starts making those quick flicks of his tongue over it, too, you just about lose it. Your mind is in another dimension, so far gone you barely register you’re giggling because it feels so good.

“Oh my god! Holy shit!”

You’re writhing against him, unsure if you’re trying to escape or get even closer. Grayson looks up and watches your face contort and fall apart because of him, and he can’t stop grinding his own hips into the mattress for some form of relief. He’s always enjoyed this to some extent, but he can’t believe just how close he is to getting off without so much as a touch from either you or his own hand.

He grunts and moves his hands to lay firmly across your tummy, holding you down so he can get you there exactly how he wants.

And he does get you there, the pitch of your moans getting higher and higher until you’re forced into silence by the overwhelming pleasure that explodes inside of you. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, even clenched around his head, your fists gripping wads of the sheets as you gasp out his name like a stream of consciousness.

Grayson pries your legs from around his ears and brings you down with gentle licks and touches to your skin — over your legs, your abdomen, even clutching your hand in his to help anchor you some.

It’s that strange bit of intimacy that helps ground you the most, and you’re barely coherent by the time he sits up and shifts onto his knees. You open your eyes, taking in the huge bulge in his shorts and reaching out to it without even thinking.

He mumbles your name, but you’re on a mission; even in your post-nut haze you reason it’s the least you can do after that... orgasm is too bland of a word. You want him to feel even an ounce of the pleasure he just gave you.

You fish his dick out easily, and it’s definitely not the best handjob you’ve ever given by any means, but he doesn’t seem to need much, anyways. He moves closer to you, taking your hand off him long enough to lubricate it in the slick coating your pussy. He puts you hand back on his dick for you and holds up his shirt while you work him over, until he’s grunting and moaning out, “I’m gonna cum...”

There isn’t a less messy option, but you wouldn’t mind even if there were, so you stick your tongue out and jack him off into your mouth. Grayson grips the back of your mussed hair to keep you there, groaning harshly with each spurt of his cum that lands on your proffered tongue.

You stare up at him as you squeeze out the last of what he has to give, lick your lips to catch any stray drops, then you collapse together back into the pillows. Both of your chests heave, and you stare at the ceiling together as reality starts to set in of what the two of you just did.

Like the last time, it doesn’t feel wrong. But you’re not ready to face the changes it means just yet. For now, you’re happy to snuggle into his side, and pretend things are even a little normal. Whatever that means, anyways.

“So. Was it good?”

You hum and chuckle. Your body is so heavy now, you can’t even move your head to look at him. But there’s the normalcy you wanted — Grayson looking for praise of his obvious talents.

You decide to not even try and tease him. Or bullshit him, because how could you? You think back with a clearer head to how you writhed and moaned for him, blushing at how easily he made you lose control of your inhibitions.

“Yeah, Gray, it was good. Really good.”

“Better than the vibrator?”

You yawn and smack his chest weakly. “All I’ll say is, as long as you’re around to do that, she won’t be seeing the outside of my underwear drawer.”

“Good.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “I will be. Around to do that, I mean. I loved tasting you.”

If you had any capacity to be turned on again, that might have done it, but for now it just makes your chest warm. He’s also making you think too much again.

“Can I sleep here? I can’t move.”

Whether he understands your inability to reply or not, he chuckles and kisses the top of your head. “Of course.”

You sigh gratefully. “Night, Gray.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

[pollyrepents]

rational creatures | john shelby

Summary: You’re picked to be married off to a peaky boy to settle a fight you didn’t start. You won’t go without a fight of your own.

Warnings: Mentions of violence and abortion.

Word Count:  2.8k

A/N: This is my first full fic! Feedback is welcome. 

“Wake up.” A distant whisper and dull thud of a beaded bag began to pull you from your slumber. You pressed your face into your scratchy blanket, attempting to return to sleep’s warm embrace. The vardo shifted slightly as the friendly intruder moved, their breath against your face. You wrinkled your nose, grumbling as you turned over.

“Mum says get up.” Cold fingers against the back of your neck accompanied the words this time and you hissed, swatting at the hand. Another other hand came to press thin and icy fingers against the base of your throat and you groaned in frustration.

The childish yet cruel tactic forced open your eyes, looking directly into your sister’s concerned face. 

“What, Esme.” You batted at her freckled face, rubbing at your eyes with your other hand.

“It’s nearly four and mum-”

“I don’t care,” You cut through her words quickly, rolling your eyes at the mention of your mother “she can get me if she needs me.”

“Mum says get up.” Esme stood from beside you, instant this time as she tugged the blanket off of your frame despite your protest. “We have to get ready.”

With new found curiosity you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, looking at Esme with wide eyes. “Mum’s letting us out today?”

Esme hesitated before she nodded, reaching out to push your messy curls back from your eyes. “We have to look nicer today.”

“It’s about time-she’s let Danny and Erasmus keep us holed up in here like horses for too long.” You scoffed. “Nothing to dress nicer for. She’ll pitch a fit and we’ll only get mud on our clothes-“

“Not today.” Your sister dug around in the trunk before your bed, pulling out a brush and the few make up items she rarely used herself.

Moving slowly, you sat up on your knees in the bed and watched Esme closer. You pushed the curtain aside and peeked out the window above your bed, seeing nothing out of the ordinary as your family roamed the lands where you had settled for the summer.

“Esme.” You turned back to the dark haired woman as she raked her fingers through her hair. “Esme, you’re acting strange. Are we meeting a boy? Another one of those boys with the blade in their caps?”

“Y/N,” She scowled at the brush in her hands as she began to pull the shed hair from between the bristles. “you said you wouldn’t talk about him.”

“He was nice.” You pushed your sister, grinning as her cheeks started to color the pink way they did on the rare occasion Esme’s buttons were pushed. “He thought you were nice. He thought the lipstick was nice.”

“He was looking for an easy shag.”She retorted, invested in her cleaning.

“He was trying to fuck you over a of a car’s hood soon as he could find one.” You laughed loudly as Esme tossed the brush in your direction.

She scowled up at you, moving to her feet to stand. “Not so loud!”

“Don’t be a prude.” You scoffed. “He had nice hair. The curls were sweet but that fucking peaky hair cut was something ugly.” You crossed your legs at your ankles, biting your lip to hold back a giggle. “I think you should have seen what he was carrying-”

The door swung open and your mouth snapped shut, fearing one of your brothers had overheard the less than ladylike conversation. You looked up, your mother’s kohl lined eyes looking over you before moving to Esme.

Zilpha’s deep voice spoke slowly, her Romani words sharper than normal. “She is supposed to be dressed by now.” 

“She took forever to get up, again.” Esme shot you a look before looking up at your mother. “I’ll braid her hair first. Then the clothes.”

“I don’t need it braided for the fair.” You scoffed, standing and throwing your arms up over your head, stretching dramatically. You let your upper half fall forward, touching the tips of your toes and shaking out your hair. “Just the fair.” You stood up straight, eyes meeting your mother’s. “Mum won’t want us to have any attention from the bloody Birmingham boys.” You dropped your voice to a nearly perfected imitation of your mother. “No fun for the girls, no.“

“Shoes, Y/N.” Zilpha ordered, her thin hand pushing your back onto the bed. You huffed and sat up, pulling your feet under you. “You need to look fresh today.”

“I always look fresh.” You snapped, a hand coming up to gently push her hand off of you. Esme held her breath as Zilpha’s hand rose and you braced yourself for a quick smack the best you could, but she passed her hand over your messy curls and took a deep breath instead. She looked to Esme and nodded, who sat behind you and started to brush your hair out. Esme’s hands were gentle, the years of caution used to avoid one of your loud tantrums from tugging too hard on a knot reemerged with muscle memory. She began to weave your hair, a tight braid perfected by campfire light many moons ago. 

Your mother’s hand came under your chin as Esme wrapped ribbon around the ends of your hair, gently tilting your head back to look at your face. “I thought Esme would be wed first.” She stepped out of the vardo and her confession hung in the air.

“Wed?” You spoke softly, a chill shooting down your spine. 

“You’ll need to get dressed.”Esme stated. She reached behind her, yanking the small curtain over the window.

You pushed past your sister and looked out the window again, seeing a large group of men in crisp suits with peaky caps. “Esme,what does she mean wed. Esme? Why did she say wed!” You demanded, turning to stare down your sister.

“Mum says you’ve gone too wild to keep up with in camps.” Esme spoke plainly, looking straight at you. “She’s found the bottles of whiskey under your mat and she’s found you someone good. A peaky-“

“Good?” You laughed in disbelief, reaching back to tug the braid out of your hair. You fumbled with the ribbon, giving a shout of frustration when it pulled your hair roughly. “A peaky boy? Good!?”

“They started a fight,” She explained as if it were dinner plans. “Mum is ending it with you.”

In a second you were on your feet, toes sinking into the mud as you ran toward your mother’s vardo, shouting at the top of your lungs. “I won’t do it! I won’t let you do it,not to me!”

She turned toward you from where she was in conversation with the suited men, most of whom looked older and war torn the same way the one who sought out Esme looked. “Y/N, go get dressed-”

“I won’t take orders from you and I won’t marry him!” You pointed a trembling hand at the man who stood closest to you two, his flat cap obscuring his face. “I won’t do it. Not to that bastard.”

Zilpha’s hands came to grip your biceps, shaking you roughly. “You’ll marry him to save your sister, won’t you? Your brother? Their mouths started a war and they have a man who needs a wife. You need a husband.” 

“I don’t need shit! I won’t be a housewife for a fucking Shelby.” You spat, trying to see around your mother to pick out the possible groom. A few of the men chuckled at the gruff words of the tallest in the group and you began to speak loudly, hoping they heard. “I won’t be wed to one of those-those fucking animals!”

“What choice do you have.” She grabbed your chin with one hand, speaking lowly in Romani to you. “He already has kids, you won’t need to have many.”

“I won’t have any with him!”

“But you’ll stop him from having Esme, won’t you?” She looked into your eyes and your glare faltered at the mention of harm coming to your sister. “His kids will be good for you, he’ll be good for you.”

“And if he cuts me a smile when I won’t go to bed with him?” Your hands shook as you pushed your mother’s hand away from your face, a grimace of disgust coming across your own at the idea of a man like him putting his bloody hands on you under your dress.

“You will.” She tucked a loose curl behind your ear, her smile empty as she looked at you with eyes that mirrored Esme’s. “You’re here in Birmingham with a husband, or you’re left here without anything. The last thing I want is to raise your bastard on the road after you’ve been reckless.”

“Y/N, please.” Esme stood on the steps of your vardo, a lacy white veil in her hands. “Just put on the fucking dress!”

You stole one last glance at the men as they spoke with Johnny Dogs and you stomped back up into your room, tugging at your nightdress. “I won’t have him. I won’t let him have me, I’ll kill him before he does.”

“You won’t need to.” Esme promised, pulling out a white dress from the bag she discarded on the floor upon entrance.

“I’ll cut his balls off before we have kids.” You swore, snatching the veil from her hands and trying your best to fix it to your hair, “If he’s old and ugly, I’ll slit my throat with his cap before we’re man and wife. If he’s mean, I’ll poison his tea and give his ankle-biters to his stupid brother. I’ll find you on the road.”

“Don’t speak like that.” Esme hushed you, fastening the buttons on the back of your dress. “I don’t think mum would pick someone who would beat you. Old and ugly, maybe.”

“She’ll pick someone ugly and mean to make my life a living hell one more time before she abandons me in a shit city with a litter of filthy bastard kids I don’t fucking want-”

“Your groom is ready for you.” Your mother spoke from outside of the vardo, making no notion she heard your complaints, and if she did, she did not make it evident she cared. 

“Let me get a look first.” Esme came around your front, her eyes brimming with tears. 

“Stop, Esme.”You gently pushed at her shoulder, heat creeping up your cheeks despite the circumstance. “I’m being sold.”

“You look lovely.”She whispered, pulling the veil over your face. “He’ll love you.”

“I hope he doesn’t.” Your hands ran over the lace details of the dress, familiar curves of your own body feeling foreign in in wedding attire. “I hope he walks away from me in front of them all and makes mum regret everything.”

On your short walk to the altar, you stared firmly at your kitten heels handed down from your sister. You thought about muddy bare feet in the grass, how you would chase Esme along the rivers and always end up filthy but happy. How a husband was going to take that from you.

Too high and mighty to feel like a Lee, too dirty to feel like a Shelby.

You knelt before Johnny Dogs, looking up at the small knife in his hand briefly before someone came to kneel beside you. Your breath caught in your chest, listening to any indication of a wheeze of an ailing man or a grunt of one well beyond your age. Instead, you heard a soft hum  as he settled himself. Johnny began to speak, and you grit your teeth. At the mention of togetherness, your hands came up to lift your white veil. You braced yourself, turning slightly to look at your new husband.

Your eyes met his blue ones, and you felt the wind leave your chest. You were expecting an old, war riddled Shelby with a heavy hand and permanent frown, the rumors following him to the altar.. Instead, his face was full and round with pink and plump lips, a smattering of freckles over his pale skin. 

You forced a tight lipped smile, deciding against speaking over the man above the two of you. He turned around to smirk at someone behind the two of you.

He still smiled.

You felt yourself blushing at the idea of him being excited at the thought of bringing you home.

“Do you, John Michael Shelby, take Y/N Y/M/N Lee, to be your beautiful wife?”

John. 

You almost mouthed the word, wanting to feel the letters brush past your lips. You could get used to John.

Johnny Dogs’ penetrating voice pulled you away from your thoughts and John’s smile had spread to your face. 

“Well?” Johnny raised an eyebrow and you let yourself grin, nodding.

“I do.” Your voice was soft and John huffed a laugh beside you.

“There remains one more part of the ceremony,” Johnny spoke to the crowd and you tried not to stare at John, eyes remaining on Johnny’s knees out of fear of possibly blushing to death in front of your family and his. “That’s the mingling of the two bloods. Where the two families become the one family.”

He unsheathed the knife in his hand, taking John’s rough hand in his own and dragging the blade across. John took the pain without flinching, looking down at his palm. 

You pulled away as Johnny extended a hand for your own, you straightened at the feeling of John’s hand coming up to rest on your lower back.

“Don’t worry, doll.” His voice was low and gravelly, “it’s only a second.”

You put your hand out, wincing at the pain as Johnny made the cut.

Your hand in John’s, you were pronounced man and wife. 

He hesitated, but you leaned in and pulled your joined hands closer, pressing your lips to his as your families cheered around you. 

As the evening of celebration wore on, booze began to flow and tongues began to loosen. 

You shrieked with giggles as your new husband spun you around in a dance, Johnny’s fiddle playing feeding your energies of excitement as you danced. He grabbed your waist, his hands heavy from alcohol and excitement as he pulled you close, turning his head to kiss the inside of your elbow when you threw your arms over his shoulders.

“My brothers heard you pitch a fit earlier,” He was grinning as he said it. “Tommy was impressed.”

“What do I care how impressed a Shelby was? I’m not marrying the lot of you. Especially, especially not Tommy.” You slid your fingers into his soft hair, giving it a short tug. Within the few hours you had been married, you had become fond of messing up his identifying haircut, strands sticking up every which way from your fingers running through it when you got the chance. “I need another drink.”

You  stumbled over to the small table that held bottles of whiskey, pulling the top off of one and tilting your head back to sip. You still wrinkled your nose at the burning sensation, the taste too bitter for your own enjoyment.

“Easy on that, ay?” Danny spoke up from where he was smoking a cigar, watching your hands too closely. “Before that Shelby boy gets a clue.”

“A clue?” You hiccupped, pausing before tilting your head back to drink. “What clue would he get from his wife drinking on her wedding night?”

“The kind of clue that comes nine months later, or the one he sends you to a back room for.” He laughed as he said it. 

“His aunt’s a women of God.” You spoke up, face burning from the alcohol and the heat and the beginnings of fury stirring in your chest. “He’s got kids of his own. Wouldn’t send me off to get rid of ours.”

“He wouldn’t get rid of the brand new wife’s baby?”He sneered.

“We’ll learn to love each other.” 

“You’re a doll to him.” He scoffed, tipping back his own glass. “How you changed in a matter of hours.”

“You’re drunk, you ass.” You spat. “I’m married to him. We’ll learn to live with it and each other. John’s not you. John’s not mum or dad or Johnny Dogs-”

“I gotta go.” John’s hand wrapped around your bicep and you turned your head to look at him.  His brow was pinched with worry. “Ada’s- her water’s- she’s having the baby. Come on, I’ll take you home-”

“I can go with you!” You blurted, desperate to get away from your family. “I helped Esme deliver our sister’s babies.” You insisted, grabbing onto your husband’s arm. “Let me help your sister, John.”

He hesitated, be it the alcohol or the idea of you integrating so suddenly and intimately into his family, but nodded. “Come on, then.”

[wordsturnintostories]

glitter for me ✨

summary: jungkook and Jimin, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g only it's in jungkook's bed, not a tree and jungkook can't get over how pretty his girlfriend is ✨ word count: 1.8k note: was originally meant to be part of a bts mafia au but who knows if that's ever gonna happen *angry side glance at brain* please enjoy this very very soft fluffy smut snippet instead ✨

Jimin can’t breathe when Jungkook finally kisses her. In her back, the pillows give way, in her chest, her heart opens up. He’s gentle, his fluffy black hair messily caressing Jimin’s temples. The way his lips brush over hers, the way his lips embrace hers, it’s like he’s kissing her soul because Jimin’s whole body tingles like she’s drinking that expensive prosecco from their last gala event. She giggles, and once it’s out, she can’t stop laughing, bathing in this happiness that spreads from her chest to Jungkook’s. He seems surprised, but smiles widely and presses his forehead against hers as he lies down on top of her, between her legs.

“Are you that happy?”

“Yes,” she giggles, softly and almost in a whisper, so that only Jungkook gets to share this magic with her.

He chuckles and has the grace to start brushing Jimin’s belly with his fingers. He feels the joy under her skin, the way her body trembles and can’t contain the happiness.

“You’re so cute,” he says, from the depths of his heart. He’s glad there are pillows under her head because Jimin is sinking back like she can’t hold herself steady while the bliss spreads through her. And he loves that - how her joy overtakes her, how it’s so genuine and so captivating.

She is. She makes his heart feel like a dying fire that is revived by her flames. Jungkook knows she’s not a spark, not a second-long indulgence, but a life-long energizer. The treasure of a lifetime.

“I adore you,” he whispers and watches Jimin lean forward. “If I kiss you again, will you laugh again?”

She grins.

“I don’t know. No one has ever kissed me twice and meant it.”

And when he stays still, letting those words penetrate his soul, sink in so they will never go away, her lips touch his earlobe. His eyes fall on her plush lips as she speaks.

“No one has ever made me laugh by kissing me either.”

As if he’s going through the same epiphany that she had before, he feels the euphoria spread through his body, through his heart and mind. He laughs, but more breathlessly than she had. And then she kisses his ear, licks along his earlobe like she can’t help acting like a cute little kitten, and Jungkook shivers.

“You’re so good to me,” he whispers, “I want to be good to you too.”

“You are,” she promises and lays back down, her soft hands still buried in the short hair in his nape. He revels in the sight for a couple of moments, hoping that he will never lose this memory. He lets their lips connect again and again, and blesses her with kisses along her neck, her jaw. He loves the way her eyes sparkle up to him, full of expectation, full of light and pure bliss.

“What would you do if you weren’t in the mafia like this?”

It’s a whispered question, a question that has potential to go much deeper, into a painful section of Jungkook’s life, so he dismisses it lightly. It doesn’t fit the situation, so he makes it fit. Nothing he can’t do for Jimin.

“I’d kiss you like this every night,” he breathes, feeling Jimin’s small hands tugging at his shirt as she listens, “and then, I’d make love to you. Gently.”

She blushes and Jungkook takes it as a reward. He likes to be smooth, a smooth criminal, but he’s a little surprised how only Jimin can make it feel like he’s a smooth lover. Full of adoration. Of genuine care.

“Why don’t you do it now?”

“I haven’t ever gone gentle. I’m not… supposed to. I don’t know if can do it right.”

It takes effort to be so truthful with her, but Jimin seems to understand. Her smile never leaves her face, her trust never wavers and Jungkook thinks he can see her soul right here, in his bed.

“I haven’t ever gone at all. Do you think we could both try something new tonight?”

“I think we could.”

The deal is settled with a deep, luxurious kiss that has Jimin licking her soft lips afterwards. He groans. That damn tongue. Those plush pink lips. The combination does things to him. He presses another kiss to her lips. A mischievous spark lights up Jimin’s eyes. Again, she licks her lips. Again, Jungkook kisses her. And again, Jimin decides to be a tease. Jungkook can’t help but growl at her.

“Stop licking your lips. You make me wanna kiss you all over. At this rate, I won’t be able to move on to the next thing.”

He feels the giddiness in Jimin. From one look to the smirk on her lips, it’s clear that it thrills the girl underneath him to find out what makes him tick.

“Why?”

He groans, taking in the sight of that little pink tongue reaching out to take another lick. Jimin giggles as he sends her raised eyebrow. He leans down, takes her chin in his hand as if to kiss her and against her lips, he mumbles, “take off my shirt.”

Jimin sends him a look that’s honestly illegal, Jungkook can feel it in his spine. When she laughs and her fingers finally brush against his abdomen, he has to swallow a moan. He almost chokes. It turns out it only gets worse from there, because when the cool air touches his back, his front, his sides, all of his skin is covered in tiny goosebumps and that’s the perfect playground for Jimin’s curious fingers. They travel here and there, exploring, especially mapping out his booming heart.

Suddenly, when her fingers travel across his lower back, Jungkook becomes hyperaware of how he’s still in between her legs. One little movement could give away his problem down there. He doesn’t want Jimin to find out yet, he wants to give her as much time as she needs to caress his body. She hasn’t done this before after all.

All of a sudden, there’s a hand on his wrist and before he can breathe, his back presses into the mattress and a weight comes to sit on top of him. Jimin, with a cocky little grin that actually makes her look incredibly cheeky and happy with herself, a look that’s downright sexy, sits right on his abdomen, only inches away from his groin. She looks like an emperor, a queen at her rightful place. Jungkook’s heart burns when he realizes that yes, that’s what he wants her to be. His queen, for when he finally ascends. Not anyone else, just Jimin.

“The view is great from here,” she proclaims innocently and Jungkook grins. He can’t say he’s ever had any sex with anyone that’s been so chill and open at the same time, but he absolutely loves to watch her bathe in this glorious moment. Heck, Jungkook realizes this is the most intimate he’s ever been with anyone. There’s nothing to see yet, with Jungkook only shirtless and Jimin fully clothed, but heck, he’d fight his best friends for intruding.

He lets Jimin do whatever she wants, but doesn’t stop himself from taking her braid into his hands and opening it. He revels at the smooth waves that fall from her head. Jimin is an unrivaled beauty. Her skin seems to glitter in the low light and Jimin’s pretty eyes widen with a laugh. When she shakes her head, it rains glitter.

It makes him chuckle.

“You never told me you’re a fairy.”

She playfully slaps his arm, her fingers coy in the way they lightly squeeze his biceps. Jungkook really doesn’t mind.

“Unbelievable, there’s still glitter in here… that’s all from yesterday! I thought I got everything in the shower…”

“It’s okay,” Jungkook smiles, “we’ll have glitter sex. I’m not too much of a manly man to be opposed to that.”

“Is that so?”

Jungkook feels a shiver building when Jimin whips out the teasing tone. He isn’t sure whether she notices, but as her voice becomes a little more husky, her tongue slips into Busan satoori. Jungkook groans. And Jimin notices, even raises an eyebrow. She inches back, just a little. Not enough to be suspicious but enough to be notice the bump in his pants. Her lips press against his ear again and Jungkook feels like dying when her tongue envelops his earlobe, subtly sucking it before she speaks.

“Is my Jungkookie enough of a manly man to take me, then? Because I really want him to and it would be a shame if-“

As good as Jimin’s honey-like voice feels pouring into his ear, the little bite under his ear has Jungkook over the edge. With a twist, Jimin is underneath him again, and this time, he doesn’t hesitate to press his groin against hers in one fluid motion. This time, it’s him biting on her earlobe. This time, the playing is over.

“Your Jungkookie is ready,” Jungkook whispers, completely blown away by how Jimin’s body reacts to him in shivers, “and he would like to take your clothes off.”

She just nods, big, glittery eyes always following his face as his hands work on her clothing. What waits underneath is paradise. Jungkook remembers that Hoseok had mentioned that Jimin was a dancer before she joined their gang. Her body is proof. Her body is heaven and Jungkook can’t breathe.

“You’re so cute,” Jimin whispers. “You look like you’ve never seen a woman’s body.”

Jungkook has. He’s seen many bodies, women’s, men’s, dead bodies, alive bodies, cheap bodies, expensive bodies. But none of them were bodies that he could fall in love with. He’s careful, careful not to attack, but to instead lave Jimin in sensual kisses and lush licks. He treats her until she’s moaning and shaking, and digging her fingers into his hair. He treats her until her eyes are overflowing with love. He wants her to remember this forever.

“You’re not a woman though. You’re a goddess,” he whispers and places a love bite right by her collarbone.

Jimin’s smile is dazzling.

Jungkook goes slow and with incredible attentiveness, to grant Jimin the greatest pleasure he can give. He manages to take her from the pain of entry to the ride of a lifetime, in and out, in and out, until she seeks rest in his arms. With a tired but grateful kiss, she falls asleep right on his chest, weighing nothing but filling Jungkook’s heart until it seems to burst. He’s never cuddled after sex, never deemed affections appropriate with how business-like these matters had always been before this, but with Jimin, there’s nothing more fitting, more perfect than to cuddle. With a smile, he notices all the glitter sticking to Jimin’s skin, making her look even more ethereal. It’s his privilege to lie with her like this, to receive her affections, Jungkook decides.

“I think I love you, Park Jimin,” he whispers and closes his eyes.

Jungkook doesn’t notice the glitter in his own hair, on his cheeks, on his throat. He falls asleep to the perfect image of Jimin in his arms.

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

tags: @xmagicxshopx, @taeshuworld, @justanemptydream, @hoodmeup, @gingerpeachtae, @captbbarnes  (wanna join? send me an ask!) ✨

[chaos-in-the-making]

~Sweet and Spicy ~

The autumn afternoon was as peaceful as Rin could ask for. The weather was beginning to cool, the ocean breezes blowing away the hot summer storms and replacing them with blue skies and shimmering sunsets. The young woman was currently as happy as the lark who sang near her shoulder. Dressed in her new kimono, she was taking her ease beside a melodious stream, and wonder of wonders, her Lord and Darling was sitting next to her, as clear and present as the sun.

He was right there. So close she could twitch her elbow and bump him. He had his hair in a long braid, which was highly unusual for him, but it was a testament to how much he indulged Rin and her questionable human impulses. Sometimes he tolerated her antics, and sometimes it seemed like he enjoyed them. Now was one of those times. He was so at peace, like Rin had never seen before. She wondered if their recent confession had anything to do with it.

He had begun courting her in the early summer, after Rin had made very obvious gestures that she was interested. Well, she had flat out asked him when he would begin, to be honest. The question triggered something, and soon after Rin was inundated with gifts, both material and delicacies. Some of them seemed trifle, but to Rin they were everything. Oh, Kagome and Sango liked to tease her that Sesshoumaru would bring the moon down from the sky for her, but Rin knew she would never ask for such a thing. She only wanted this: to be sitting there with him, in tranquility and happiness.

A fish flopped above the waters, disturbing Rin from her thoughts. The sunlight was glistening from the water, tossing sunbeams onto Sesshoumaru's pale face. The demon marks stood out in the sun, and suddenly she had a desire to lay her lips on them. They hadn't don't very much kissing. Not like lovers, not yet! But there had been a few instances beneath the moonlight that caused Rin's cheeks to flush slightly at the memory. But out here? In the open and the daylight? What would it mean? Would it be allowed?

Then Rin decided she didn't care, and since Lord Sesshoumaru had always told her to do as she pleased, she leaned over, placed a hand on his bicep for balance, and placed a small and sweet kiss upon the maroon slash. There. He could hardly fault her for that. It was chaste and appropriate. She smiled brightly, having just gotten her way. Sesshoumaru blinked in confusion, which made her smile brighter. He should know that he was always on her mind, intruding on her thoughts, and never did her desires stray far from him.

But something else must have been read in her kiss. For suddenly his face was closer, much closer. His nose brushed against hers as he tilted his head just enough to steal the very breath from her mouth, the mouth he was now tugging on with his teeth. It was a playful tug, but the graze of the sharp canines made Rin's heart rate skyrocket, the heat rushing to her face like never before.

Since when had Lord Sesshoumaru been so passionate?!

"You are bold today, Rin."

Suddenly she remembered to inhale. Her hands went over her face to hide the burning in her skin. Could he smell the effect he had on her? Surely he knew!

"Is that not what you wanted?"

Rin's look of shock widened. No, she could not back down now! "N-no, my Lord! I was caught unaware! I thought a little kiss would be alright since we are alone and- but then you-"

He smiled, and the warmth soaked into her bones. The graceful hand brushed her cheek, and she leaned into it. Another kiss shortly followed, but without the teeth this time. She took a shaky breath and pressed closer, being as bold as she dared.

"How much longer must we wait? For... for propriety?" She asked. The little bite had awaken what she could not put back. She made her eyes bigger and pleading, though she knew it wasn't necessary. Kagome was right. She could ask for the moon from him.

"Tonight," he replied, his hand slipping behind her neck. "I have no more doubts to your wishes. The priestess will serve for ceremony."

"And then I will be yours, Lord Sesshoumaru!" She said with the enthusiasm of youth.

"Yes, Rin. You will always be mine."

[fandomlovingfreak]

You Can’t Marry a Malfoy (10/12)

George Weasley/Reader

Ch1. Ch2. Ch3. Ch4. Ch5. Ch6. Ch7. Ch8. Ch9.

Rating: E for everyone, no warnings apply

Word Count: 699

AO3 Link

Summary: When reader comes running to George Weasley because her parents have arranged a Pureblood marriage between her and Draco Malfoy, what will George do? He's been secretly in love with his best friend since their time at Hogwarts, and he knows he can't let her go. He definitely can't let Malfoy have her.

Enjoy

"It's going to be fine" (y/n) assures him for the one-hundredth time. She helps Molly set the table for dinner as he grumbles about his worries for the night.

"(y/n) is right, dear," Molly sets down the last plate, "you don't have to worry. We've met (y/n) 's parents before."

"It's not you and dad I'm worried about." Their small dinner party, originally just including his parents, (y/n) 's, him and (y/n), had overnight turned into a family affair with all his siblings and their significant others.

"We're not going to embarrass you, Georgie," Bill teases. His wife Fleur follows behind, their daughter in her arms. Bill kisses his mother on the cheek.

"Hello," (y/n) wraps her arm around George's waist, settling her other hand against his chest as she greets her future brother-in-law and his family.

"Hello (y/n)," Fleur says, setting her daughter, Victoire, on the floor.

"How are you?" (y/n) takes a step towards Fleur.

"Good. Tired." She looks down at Victoire, who bounces on her heels, attempting not to be rude like her mother had asked her. Fleur smiles at her daughter, nodding slightly. Victoire beams bee-lining towards her uncle.

"Uncle George!" The little blonde girl runs towards George, clinging to his legs. 

He scoops her up in his arms, "Hello V." Victoire giggles. She looks over at (y/n), suddenly noticing her presence. Her eyes go wide, and she hides her face in George's chest. He laughs, looking over at (y/n) then to Fleur and Bill. Everyone watches, amused as George rubs comforting circles on his niece's back.

"Hello Victoire," (y/n) smiles at the little girl. She peeks at (y/n) but doesn't say anything back.

"This is your Aunt (y/n), Victoire. Can you say hi?"

“Hi…” Victoire shyly says.

***

Victoire warms up to (y/n) quickly after that, talking animatedly about her dolls at dinner with her. She occupies most of (y/n) conversations, begging to have (y/n) braid her hair, or having Auntie (y/n) come to dinner tomorrow night so she can show (y/n) her room. She practically drags her to the living room to play with her two dolls once dinner is over. George stays with their parents and his siblings, occasionally leaning back in his chair so he can watch his fiancee interact with his niece. 

"Are you listening?" Bill chuckles, catching George watch (y/n) and his daughter.

"Of course," the faint blush gives it away that he wasn't.

"You and (y/n) better hurry up and give Victoire a cousin to play with," Charlie teases. George's eyes widen comically at his brother's words. This is what he was afraid of having all his siblings at dinner with his in-laws. Mr. and Mrs. (y/l/n) exchange a smile between the two of them. 

"Bill! Charlie! Stop teasing your brother." Molly scolds, failing at masking the fact that she finds the exchange humorous. He knows she has no complaints about another grandchild.

(y/n) walks back in the room, Victoire swinging her hand dramatically, talking loudly about her mum's new cat. George admires how she looks with and interacts with his niece, imagining (y/n) with their own child. 

"Blimey, you're so gone for her." Charlie rolls his eyes. The table erupts into laughter as George's face finds a way to redden further.

"What's so funny?" (y/n) looks around the table, confusion laced in her expression.

"Nothing!" He gives Charlie a look, daring him to continue. Charlie grins, winking at his brother.

Victoire tugs on her hand to get her attention back. She lifts her arms up, indicating to (y/n) she wants to be picked up. (y/n) obliges, letting the little girl rest on her hip as she talks to Ginny about her job.

George continues to watch her. No one dares to try and interact with him when he's lost in his own thoughts like this. 

***

Of course, he offers to take her home, as it's an excellent excuse to get to kiss her. They walk through the gardens of her family home, her hand in his. He pulls her from the moonlights view to kiss her deeply. Her fingers bite into his bicep deliciously. To think they'd be married in less than a week was thrilling. 

TagList: @paigeyisme

[author-morgan]

Title: Down By The Water

Pairing: Fíli x fem!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: You only meant to tend to Fíli's wounds, but there is much left unsaid and undone between the golden prince and you.

“UNCLE,” THE DWARF pauses, glancing over his shoulder to the girl the company had found wandering the prior evening after an Orc raid. Thorin Oakenshield was not fond of the idea of adding another member to the company, especially after Gandalf had forced a Halfling onto them. He had made his displeasure known. “She’s a fierce warrior,” Fíli says —both he and Kíli had tested her mettle earlier.

Thorin grumbles under his breath, looking at his eldest nephew. “Fine. Tell her and the others,” he announces, still reluctant.

YOU SIT AMONG the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, laughing as Bofur recounts a tale from the days before Smaug had taken Erebor. Thorin frowns, crossing his arms when he notices the way Fíli is looking at you, as though you hung the stars and moon in the night sky.

Now many days have passed since you initially joined the company as they passed Bree. In that time, you’d grown fond of them all —especially Fíli. He was quieter than the others, more reserved than his brother, and carried his nobility with dignity. You often found yourself staying up to talk with him long after the others had gone to sleep. As of late, a strange feeling had begun to grow in your chest whenever the two of you were alone.

Even now as you ride beside Fíli after an orc ambush, the feeling does not fade. He asks if you’re all right but isn’t as willing to respond when you pose the same question. “You’re hurt,” you note, seeing the small patch of blood on his arm beginning to seep through several layers of fabric. Fíli shakes his head, assuring you that he will be fine. “When we stop, I’ll clean and bind it,” you tell him, leaving no room for objection.

The company stops at an abandoned cave —it may have once been a troll burrow but if so, the stench as long faded. Dwalin and Bofur scout the cave, waving the rest of the company inside after making certain it is abandoned. “Kíli, Fíli,” Thorin starts, looking at his sister’s sons, “tie up the ponies.” The brothers hop up to their feet, but you place your hand on the center of Kíli’s chest, urging him to stay behind.

“Stay,” you tell Kíli, “I will assist your brother.” He nods, falling back from the entrance of the cave. With the ponies secured, you take Fíli’s hand —ignoring his assurances that it was only a scratch— and lead him down to a stream. He sits on a flat-topped boulder, leaving room for you if you wished to sit by the water too, but your mind is focused on tending the nasty cut on his bicep. You step into the stream, the water flowing over your now bare feet.

Fíli pulls up the ripped sleeve covering the wound —it is long, but not deep. Pushing a loose lock of hair behind your ear, you bend down cupping a handful of water. With you so close, Fíli notices something he’s missed before. Your ears have a slight point to them, like an elf’s, and yet you bore the features of the Dúnedain. He shivers as the cool water runs down his arm. “You’re part elf, aren’t you?” He asks and your head snaps up too quickly to hide the truth any longer.

The soft glow moonlight filters through the canopy shrouding the stream. You bite down on your lips —if Thorin knew he would have never agreed to let you accompany his kin. “My mother was from Lórien,” you tell the dwarf, though it has been some time since she sailed West. Pushing the sleeve of his tunic up, you carefully wipe away the drying blood on Fíli’s arm.  

The healing abilities of the elves were legendary, yet you had not the strength in your blood to do more than a simple and rough poultice before binding his arm with a piece of clean fabric. It had not been a severe wound but as it came from an Orcish blade it concerned you, nonetheless. Pleased that Fíli’s injuries had been tended, you sit next to him on the boulder. One of his rough hands covers yours. “Thank you,” Fíli whispers, letting his hand rest upon yours. He smiles and you return his smile in full, with a flutter in your stomach and heart.

Deciding it is time to return to the others you begin to rise, but Fíli grips onto your wrist, keeping you next to him —where he’d like to keep you till the world was renewed. Fíli glances down at the hand enclosing your wrist and has his lips upon yours with a gentle tug. Shock turns your body rigid, but you quickly melt into his warmth and the tickle of his beard against your cheeks. “Fíli,” you breath, somehow sounding both thrilled and chiding. It would be a shame for Thorin to find you and his nephew like this in the forest. He takes your lips again before you can offer any more objections.

It only feels natural when both your fingers begin fumbling with the strings and ties of each other’s tunics and britches, tossing them carelessly aside. Fíli wraps his arms around your waist, hoisting you up and over to the pile of discarded garments —laying you on his spread coat. He hovers above you, eyes tracing the lines of your face, the rise and fall of your chest. You shift under his weight.

His hand slides to the inside of your thigh, thumb tracing runes over the heated flesh. With another subtle shift, it brings Fíli’s hands to your center. The bead braided into his mustache sways when his lips twitch, kinking upward into a charming smirk. His rough fingers stroke your folds, gathering the wetness on his fingertips before delving in. You cover your mouth to stop the obscene noise that leaves them. The last thing you want is for the others to interrupt if they took a cry of pleasure as one of pain. “Fíli,” you whine.

Fíli groans into your mouth when your hand wraps around his hard cock —thick and heavy. “I want you,” he grits out as your hand moves up and down the length of his shaft, finishing with a twist of your hand at the head. He settles between your thighs, pulling you closer with one arm as your hips buck upward while two of his fingers curl and stroke —knocking your hand away.

Eager, you drape one of your legs across the back of his thighs. Fíli pulls his fingers from your heat and shifts forward, placing his lips on yours as he begins to press his cock into you. He swallows the whimpers and soft moans you make as he sheaths himself fully —stretching you. His blue eyes are soft and sparkling in the moonlight as looks upon you. You lift your hips, urging him to move. Fíli starts moving, not rushing at first, but then he gets caught in passion completely. Both of you moaning, grunting, and panting as he rocks his hips —never completely withdrawing before thrusting his cock back into your warmth.

This isn’t meant to last long. Fíli will take you properly once the mountain is reclaimed until then quick fucks in secluded areas will have to do. You’ve both resisted one another and your passions for too long and now there is no other goal but to reach the peak of pleasure driving you both into madness. His hips rut into you with the ferocity of a lion —one of his thumbs pressed into the sensitive pearl at the apex of your thighs. His thrusts fall out of rhythm and push you over the edge into the stars. With three more strong thrusts, Fíli shudders. You push your body into to his, shivering as he comes too, groaning into the crook of your neck, his muscles shaking.

Then Fíli smiles, panting, and gently kisses your collar bone while you smile stroking his blond hair back. “What’s happening here?” A familiar voice asks and Fíli jumps from you, pulling his pants on while you try to do the same. From bushes comes Kíli looking at you both —at Fíli’s naked behind and your one exposed leg. “You were making love!” He laughs, having known there was something between you and his brother. A rush of heat races to your cheeks, but Kíli turns his back, letting the two of your redress and retain an ounce of dignity.

“C’mon, love birds, let’s get you two back.” Kíli winks at you both and you clear your throat. You know he will not tell anyone about what he found but now relentless teasing is unavoidable.

“Shut up,” Fíli mutters and that makes Kíli laugh even harder.

@kvitravn and @vanillabeanlattes for the golden prince