#you are my canine teeth. you told her i know how to dance but the first time i did it was with you

[faaun]

whatever runs away they hang on to even harder ! a thread is enough !! the whole time i was insane they let me thrash around and threaten to rip their throat out with my teeth ans they said i want to be your friend anyway. i want to be your friend always !

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio DP x DC Nobody Knows AU Part 8

Part 7

Shockingly, it turns out Danny knows how to cook. He's good at it, even, and when Tucker expresses his disbelief at the practiced way Danny moves in the kitchen Danny snorts.

“You know what the Fenton kitchen was like. When I got out of there and had access to food and kitchens that weren't biohazards, I learned eventually. I have a very distinct appreciation for good food nowadays, and I like being able to make it myself.”

He puts music on through a little Bluetooth speaker on the counter, invites them to participate, and they cook.

It's fun. They dance, they drink, they sample ingredients as they put their pizzas together. There's a minor flour war that sets off rounds of giggling and shrieking - more importantly it makes Danny cackle in a way she used to love and hasn't gotten to hear since they were teens.

It's exactly the same, and she missed it. Pure impish delight and mischief.

For as many things that are the same, there are ones that have changed.

Danny has a grace to him now that he didn't used to, and he moves near silently. He sways easily and elegantly to the music without thinking about it as they talk and make mischief with each other.

The oven and the adjusted thermostat make it much more comfortable in the apartment after a while, but Danny doesn't shed the pullover sweater he wears at any point. He didn't even roll the sleeves up to cook.

Come to think of it, when they entered high school he started doing that too. He wore long sleeves even in the summer - Sam tries not to think about abusive households or self harm. She hopes it's not that, but…

She puts the thoughts aside as well as she can.

Tucker had mentioned it before to her, but with all the grinning and laughing tonight Sam can see that he was right and Danny's teeth are sharper than she remembers. All four canine teeth are almost startlingly pointy.

She doesn't mention it. What she does mention is the apartment.

“This is a really nice place, Danny. You got a secret sugar daddy you haven't told us about?”

Tucker gapes at her and smacks her arm. Danny bluescreens for a moment before he snorts an ugly laugh and descends into near hysterics.

“Oh my God! Ancients, no! No, no sugar daddy. Just a well paying engineering gig lately, and some money I saved up before I left Amity. Holy shit, Sam.”

She shrugs, some tension she didn't know she was carrying leaving her shoulders. “Had to ask. Would have had a shovel talk to deliver.”

Danny starts laughing again, and Tucker groans and puts his head in his hands.

“I cannot believe you actually just asked him that,” Tucker moans.

“I can,” Danny responds with a chipper grin, Tucker's answering snort overlaid by the ding of the oven timer.

Danny knocks back the rest of his drink and waves in the vague direction of the living room area.

“I'll take this out and cut it. Go sit and we can eat it around the coffee table in case we want to watch a movie or something?”

The sitting area is spacious and comfortable, couches black leather. There's a heavy, fluffy white throw over the back of one that looks soft as all get out, but she and Tuck quickly decide to settle on the floor.

The coffee table is low enough that it's more convenient for reaching food and drinks set on it.

Tucker whistles appreciatively at the TV, so it must be a cutting edge new model. Fucking nerd.

Danny trots over not long after with two serving boards balanced precariously on one arm, his refilled sangria in one hand, the pitcher of sangria in the other and another beer held against his side by an awkward elbow.

Tucker and Sam both shoot to their feet to try and mitigate a disaster, but miraculously it all makes it to the table unharmed.

“It's almost like you guys don't trust me,” Danny pouts, his grin ruining it. “Careful, it's hot.”

“You are a perpetual accident waiting to happen,” Sam tells him scathingly, and he snorts with a peculiar look on his face.

“You don't know the half of it.”

As they all reach for slices of pizza, Danny takes them by surprise by taking a piece of Sam's, not Tucker's.

Tucker gapes at him. “Dude. Tell me you haven't betrayed me like that.”

Danny snorts, shoulders shaking with quiet chuckles. “Nah, I still eat meat. It's just sometimes I have spells where it kind of bothers me and I feel a little sick about it? I'm in one of those lately, but usually I'm still a huge burger and steak guy. Don't worry.”

“Huh. That's weird.”

Danny shrugs, taking a bite of his pizza despite his own warnings and cringing when it burns his mouth.

“Been like that since high school, actually. Used to be worse then,” he mumbles through his attempts to cool a mouthful of molten cheese.

Sam doesn't remember him ever having issues with it in middle school. She wonders what happened to change his outlook, but puts it aside. They're here to hang out and catch up. Have a good time. Not interrogate Danny.

They end up spending hours watching trashy TV and heckling the screen, making small talk and letting each other in on bits of their lives all the while. Everyone's well on their way to tipsy by the time they're done eating, though Danny a little more than Sam and Tuck.

He's loose-limbed and happy, sprawled across both of them in the haphazard pile they've ended up in. He seems incredibly content, and it does Sam's heart good to see him so relaxed.

She and Tucker are sitting with their backs against the couch, Danny's legs slung across Tucker's lap and head in Sam's. It's probably why he notices her shiver a little - it's still a little chilly in the apartment.

Lazily, he points up at the back of the couch. “You can pull that down and cover us if you want. It's really warm.”

Sam offers him a quiet thanks and reaches up to do just that, though she's startled to find that though the top is fluffy, the underside of what she'd thought was a throw is velvety and smooth. Like hide.

It's a real fur - hopefully ethically sourced. Decorated too, there are ornaments threaded into the corners and dangling that she can't pin the origin of. They're very pretty, shells and claws and beads.

As she pulls it down, she flips the edge up to peek at the underside and is startled to find the skin a distinct, familiar ectoplasmic green.

“Um. Danny. What kind of fur is this…?”

“Yeti,” Danny replies offhandedly, sipping his drink before freezing like the question and his own answer just caught up to him. “Uh.”

Masterpost

[tarjapearce]

Omg omg could we get a story about how Miguel and wife/reader first meet? Like maybe they both meet from high school or reader was watching Miguel play soccer with his friends in college!

Had this one sitting for a while cause I didn't know what to do. UNTIL, hehehe >:D Carneadas. (Mexican style bbq)

Pt 2

If someone would have told you that you'd find your future husband in a friend's of a friend gathering you would've just laugh it off.

Jessica and you were fresh out of college, and to celebrate it, she decided to take you on one of her outings. A suburban area, nice houses loitering around in every corner your eyes turned, a lot of parked cars and of course, people that clumped in the decored entrance.

Lights and loud spanish music were just the spark to create ambience, the true star of the night was brewing in two enormous pots. The smell of food lingered in the air the more Jessica pulled you within the crowd.

"Remind me again, who are these people?

"Friends of friends. Never been in a carneada before?"

"My family does these once a month, just don't get why is there so much people."

"We'll, everyone's for the food, so... yeah. Just have fun."

You greeted the people as your feet took you to the drinks. Beers, sodas, more beers and pitchers of horchata, Jamaica, and some lemonades were placed on the coolers.

Reaching for the horchata, you grabbed a plastic vase and poured yourself some. To your surprise a man, the biggest one you have seen in your whole life, stood next to you, his eyes focused in the different brands of canned beers submerged in ice.

Your hand reached for a Modelo and popped the lid out with one of your rings. The man eyed you with amusement. He grabbed a Corona but frowned upon not finding the lid popper. He was going to take the lid to his mouth and you gasped

"Wait! No. Don't do that."

"I can open them, thanks" His voice deep.

"Mano, si que eres terco." (Man, you're stubborn)

He blinked at your voice and handed you the beer, you just popped the lid with the corner of the table.

"Don't mess up your teeth."

The man seized you, a lax smile on his lips.

"Too late for that" He smirked, revealing a longer than average canine. Your eyes went up in surprise.

"Oh."

The music changed and you took the drinks to then sit next to Jessica. You gave her the beer. Some people danced, others were lining up for the food.

"What were you doing?"

"Just met Dracula."

Jessica tilted her head in confusion and laughed.

"I'm not joking, the man had big ass fangs."

"Didn't know you were into that sort of things, but we don't kink shame."

"Jessica!" Her boyfriend had swooped off her feet and took her to dance. Great. You were ditched.

At first, you refused to dance, but as the music changed, your feet were itching to do so. Another man was brave enough to approach you and ask you for a dance, then another, you danced with Jess and clapped once the song was over.

You went to the drinks again to refresh yourself, this time you got a Corona and took a long swig of it.

"My, that was so fun."

-----

Even though your evening had been fun, you needed a break from the party. The host, Peter, seemed like a very easygoing person. Jessica was his acquaintance.

You went to the kitchen in search for another glass of horchata, even though beers were tasty and reminded you a bit of home, the horchata was simply delicious. There was no glasses, but spotted a pack of plastic cups ontop. Problem, was that the fridge was a bit too high for your likings.

You pulled up a chair, ready to climb ontop when the same large hand reached over and pulled a couple of cups down.

"Thanks."

"Who said it was for you?"

The man from before teased, you rolled your eyes and climbed ontop of the chair to reach for a cup yourself.

"No te vayas a caer, Pitufina." (You'll fall down, Smurfette)

"Cállate, Drácula." (Shut up)

He shook his head with a chuckle.

What a douche

"Lemme"

"No, I can do it."

"Te vas a caer con esos tacones." (You'll fall down with those heels)

"It's not a big deal!"

"-Ta madre, lo que tienes de bonita lo tienes de terca. Bájate" (Your stubbornness only matches your beauty. Get down.)

Your lips pouted, a mild flush sweeping your face. You took his hand and he helped you to get down the chair. Even in your heels, you still looked small.

"You are supposed to say thanks."

"For doing something myself?"

His smile went a bit wider.

"Food's done. Let's go"

"Wait." You poured another glass of horchata

"Didn't know my recipe would have a fan."

"Meh, my mom's better"

Your smile smug as he deadpanned.

"Just bit more of sugar. And blend the rice well. There are some little pieces of it in the bottom."

He was about to protest when a man, similar to him spoke. His brother you supposed.

"Miguel?" He looked between him and you, "Ya está la carne, hay que servir" (Meats done, we gotta serve up)

He then left

"Wanna go critique my food as well?"

"Ohh, I'd love to yeah."

----

He'd serve the food along his younger brother, you were one of the last ones in getting your portion. He prepped your plate with a little more care, the Birria's consomé (broth) in a side, another little container for the sauces and of course two big loaded quesabirrias and a bunch of different roasted meats.

"Hope it's from your likings, chaparrita"

"We'll see about that, Dracula" You smirked and took the dish, fingers brushing for a moment.

"Provecho" (Bon Appetite)

------

"How was it?" He sat across you once more upon seeing you alone. Jessica had ditched you again. Oh she so owed you this one.

You shrugged with a smile.

"Good? Bad?"

"I'm teasing. It was great. Specially the broth. Thanks for cooking."

He took a swig of his beer.

"De nada." (You're welcome)

"Miguel! Hay que limpiar" (We gotta clean up)

Gabriel's voice boomed behind him.

"Need help with it?"

His eyes stared at you for a moment and pursed his lips, trying to hide a smile.

"Si quieres" (If you want to.)

-----

You had waved your goodbyes and hopped in with Jessica in her car and left. He just then realized that he never asked your name.

Dumbass.

[artdivadej]

Survivor’s Remorse (VI)

Part Six

NSFW | 18+ | PTSD | Self harm | Torture

Part 7 | Part 8

"Shit"

"Yeah. I'm really sorry about that by the way. About you. I didn't mean-"

"It's fine. I know it wasn't personal" he waves his hand dismissively before clearing his throat. "I asked Annie about what it was like, once. She told me that after her first day she really didn't know. She could hear you talking sometimes but mainly just, screaming. Told me that after they dragged her past you the first day, you didn't stop screaming for a week. Annie said that they never came back for her after that day though"

"That..." I hesitate but don't want to lie to him "It's true"

"Shit"

"Yeah"

"Have you ever really talked about it?"

"No"

"Do you want to?"

"No. I don't want to think" I admit shaking my dizzy head as I sucked on the sugar cube

Finnick pulls a string from his pocket and drops it into my hands, showing me some complicated loops.

"I could teach you some knots? We'd have to take these off though"

He taps at my nail guards and I swallow the rest of the sugar in my mouth before pulling them securely to my chest with a shake of the head.

"I don't want to hurt you" I breathe

"You won't" He chuckles while deftly unlocking them

"How do you-?"

"Who do you think helps Beetee design your mouthguards and cuffs while Cinna's in recovery?"

My eyes widen and I grin at him. I should've known. The few memories I have, Finnick'd always treated me like a little sister in. He made me remember that we all grew up too soon. I had real fun with Finnick. I remember being on the sand, scaring Peeta awake, dancing around a bonfire and learning songs of the sea. I squeeze my eyes shut in pain as jolts of electricity rattle my spine. I clench my teeth and focus on one spot in front of me, unfortunately everyone seems to be focused on Finnick and me, also curious about my Torture Tales. Or maybe the fact that I'm gripping his hand tightly in my sharp nailed one. It doesn't seem like I'm hurting him though, and I need a firm grip on reality right now.

"The Quarter Quell. We...you and I...we" I choke trying to fight through the immeasurable pain it brings me to speak about the Quell, let alone think about it.

This overpowering fear made me convulse as if I was being shocked with cattle prods again. They stayed with me until he released my hand, his arm wrapping around my shoulders to keep me together. Finnick gives me a reassuring squeeze and it helps lessen the shaking some more.

"That's it. What did we do?" he coaxes gently

I don't like how Peeta's eyes bore into my face, his body screaming he wants me to answer too. Why? If I actually had done something with Finnick, why should he care? He loved Katniss. Right?

The sand is burning, I can see hands reaching out the water towards me, blood dripping from the eyes at the center of their palms. Even the moonlight hurts my eyes.

"It's scary here Finn" I sigh tiredly

"I'm not leaving ya. Just like I didn't than"

I take another shaky breath before pushing on, absorbing his strength at my side to keep going.

"We had...fun. I felt like a kid again with you. We played a joke on Peeta. It...it made me feel so good to see him laugh. Really laugh. Why?" I hiss angrily feeling the venom bubble in my mouth unbidden from aggression I didn't understand.

Ugh not now.

I'm not a monster! I spit the purple venom onto the ground at my feet and bite down on my arm hard. Well, that's new. This is the first time it's been purple. Just what else did they do to my canine ducts? My back goes rigid, pain licking every cell of my body, head thrown back as I choke on a scream of terror. I faintly hear commands being shouted before my vision goes black.

I start myself awake for a few seconds again sometime later. I can tell I've screamed something but then I feel a prick in my neck and I'm pulled under again.

This time when I awake, I'm sitting propped up but snug and strangely comfortable. A big arm is wrapped around my shoulders to keep me warm while nestled into their side. There's blonde hair in the corner of my eye, my heart leaps as I whisper his name out of an impulse that felt unnaturally...habitual.

"I'm here" Peeta's voice whispers across the dim lamplight and I'm startled by the emotions that erupt at the hauntingly familiar phrase.

I look around to gauge the time. The stars are out. I've been out for a while. Only he and Johnson are awake.

Ah, watching the rabid highjacked psycho.

If it's not Peeta beside me, then who? Quirking my head just a bit I see that Finnick is who's holding me together tonight, sleeping peacefully with his other arm across his stomach, trident strapped to his back. No one else would dare get so close to me. Let alone to just leave their guard down like that and sleep so deeply within range of me or my teeth.

"Nothing I-" I stop not sure what I want to say

"Hungry?" Peeta offers

My mouth waters and my stomach answers. He sends me a wry smile before grabbing a bowl sitting beside him and sliding closer to offer it to me. He's too close. I can smell him at this distance. He was only 6 feet away from me and his fingers graze my palm as he makes sure the bowl is securely in my shackled hands before letting it go.

It warms me more than the bowl does. I don't know how to feel about that. Inside the bowl is a couple slices of ham and a few buttery potato squares. I still couldn't stand vegetables and being so close to the Training Quarters, I could feel the tears building again.

Why the fuck was everything making me so emotional? I needed Peeta away from me. This was his fault. I just know it is.

"You ok?"

His benevolence towards me is disarming and it unnerves me. It made everything that much more confusing.

"Why are you being so fucking nice to me?" I grumble wanting to understand him because maybe, it just might help me understand a bit about myself. I was willing to die for him. Why? "I tried to rip your fuckin throat out! Why?"

Peeta lets out a sigh and just eyes me sadly before rubbing his thighs. I recognize this nervous habit and it sparks something else within me. I answer before he can.

"We protect each other"

"Always" he nods with a small side smirk

I don't like the hope I see bloom on his face or how my heart leaps at the word. It frightens me.

"I don't even know what to believe anymore. Friend? Mutt? Ally? Love. Hate! Real. Not real. How am I supposed to discern the bullshit from the facts!" I roar angrily, wanting to lash out at something.

"Ask" Finnick grumbles as he shifts to sit up

"Who?" I hiss grateful he's awake in case I need knocking out again

"Us" Johnson pipes up

"For what? All of you want me dead anyway. What are you to me! My next set of torturers just waiting to lead me to your next game, like your friend who loved kicking me around in that van? If you want me dead so badly, I wish someone would just get on with it! I'm so tired of everyone's mind games"

"Your allies. We're your squad now" Gale pipes in

Great. They'd all been awake. Must be hard to sleep with a wild fox in your den.

"So?" I grumble

"That makes us family. You saved a lot of lives when you warned us about the attack. We don't just forget that kind of thing in 13" Boggs explains sitting in the seat Peeta had vacated to hold my eyes seriously.

His face reflected true disgust when I screamed about Keil kicking me around. I had a feeling Boggs wasn't going to let that one just go either. I'm watching them warily when my stomach grumbles again. Finnick leans forward to release my nails so I can eat the way I like to, but I shake my head at him.

"I don't want to hurt anyone like I tried to earlier"

"That's not what you did" Finnick chuckles ignoring me and releasing my nails

I greedily take a slice of ham and slurp it up, ignoring the fact I'm aware it looks as if I have no table manners.

"What do you mean?"

"You tend to lash out at yourself. Rarely at others unless its verbal"

I mull this over as I take a swallow of my water. My eyes land on Peeta again to see that he's still looking at me with that gentle stare of his, almost like he's enjoying watching me eat. He's calm. Tranquil.

It clicks.

I hold my restraints up so he can see the orange in the center where my sedative comes out.

"Orange. Orange is your favorite color. Soft...like a sunset. Real or not real?"

"Real. Yours is cobalt, like the collar and cuffs you're wearing"

I glance down at them and feel another appreciation for my friends. As few as I have. Leaning to my left I kiss Finnick on the cheek, now understanding the depths of his hand in this as well. Peeta stiffens but doesn't comment. Maybe this was a hint from Beetee without being pushy?

"Don't put ya greasy bacon lips on me" Finnick whines pulling a laugh from me

I lock eyes with Peeta again. I said it to Joanna but I needed to know which Peeta was real.

"Hot chocolate. You drank it before bed on the train. Real or not real?"

"Real"

I slam my eyes shut as the train memories start to tussle with each other. I don't want to ask this with so many ears on me but I know they won't stop hurting until I do. I look at Peeta imploringly.

"If we take some guards, would you feel comfortable walking with me? Just...for a little bit" I swallow

He tilts his head silently inquiring and I feel the need to explain.

"I have...questions but I'm not sure if..." I sigh scratching at my shoulder acutely aware of the audience.

Whether it happened or not I doubt he'd want everyone to know the lewd details that I'd viciously tried to air out before. I didn't want to do that again. He looks to Boggs for permission who nods his assent. Even though he was the one that'd knocked me unconscious when I'd first seen Peeta and attempted to rip out his trachea with my teeth, I liked him.

"Take 2 with you"

Peeta moves to stand but I flinch back against Finnick when he leans my way, my nails digging into the sleeping bag. I can't help the fear I feel here in the dark, surrounded, with his hands ready to lock around my throat if he wanted. I can't help the way my eyes rapidly scan every pair of eyes on me to map out their locations. Would anyone even try to stop him?

I peek up at Finnick to see he's watching me with a wistful cerulean gaze. On the one hand, I'd like to think Finnick meant what he said. On the other, I don't want him in any unnecessary danger as a newlywed. It's bad enough he has to be out here in the first place. No. If they do turn on me, I want Finnick to stay the fuck out of it.

"Finn" I whisper "Can you put my mouthguard on for me?"

"Do you really need it?"

"I don't want it but... I think so. My questions are...triggering. When they tortured me about the train and the Quell, they.... they spent a week straight breaking every bone in my hands. It was one of the ways to make me terrified to think about them. They'd reset them a few hours after they were finished and do it again, playing the footage or what they altered in it. It felt like it was never ending. Part of my punishment for making them feel stupid. Again. We'd tricked them into believing Cinna knew nothing about the rebellion. Joanna and I were pretty convincing. We both do condescending pretty fuckin well. She caught some waterboarding for her troubles too. We took comfort in each other's screams. It meant we were still together. We still had each other. It was the silence that was terrifying. Wondering what they had planned next you know? I don't care that I still have issues with my hands now. They left him alone after that. He can still make pretty things"

I'm smiling like a lunatic and I'm rambling because I've never spoken these dark memories aloud. They're coming out quicker than I can stop them. I'm actually really proud of this. This was a true triumph for me from my time there. To have my hands ravaged so Cinna's would never have to be. Definite win in my book.

"His hands are like yours Peeta. Powerful but so delicate. Treasures. You appreciate and marvel at the gems they create. You don't hurt that. I don't want to hurt him" I admit to them with every breath as unsteady as my body was.

I don't want to see the pity that I can feel on everyone's faces as they all shift a little closer to me. I don't want it. Finnick pats the top of my head before he dips his in my tent to grab the guard. I lay back on the sleeping bag, hands palm side down, waiting for the hands on my shoulders. I'm baffled when they don't come.

"Whatcha dooooin?" Finnick sings poking my nose as he leans over me

I shake my head and sit up surveying them just as perplexed at their actions, or lack thereof, as they were at mine.

"They...everyone always straps me down when they put em on. There's.... a bar for between my teeth so I can't hurt them...I'm just used to-"

"Being treated like less of a person?" Katniss snaps

"Not like I've ever had a choice princess!" I snap back feeling stupid

"Well, you do now! Just tilt your head back!" she huffs irritably

"We don't want to put these, things, on you. Believe that. We only are because you asked" Leegs shakes her head as she explains

I nod than tip my head back obediently and pop my mouth open, extending my tongue to give him full access. Finnick easily slips it around my top row and clicks it securely in place. I widen my jaw a little until they fit comfortably on the inside of my cheeks, giving Finnick a thumbs up once they are. Peeta leans forward with his hands on his knees now, eyeing me with anticipation.

"Ready?"

"Ready" I lisp around the guard

My eyes narrow when I realize he's covered his mouth with his hand and is trying to stop from laughing at my newly acquired lisp. I always get it with the mouth guard. It's just much more comfortable in Beetee's than the too small ones Snow had me in. Finnick gingerly pulls me to my feet and rehooks my nail guards into place. Gale comes with us without a word. Good. This could just be seen as guy talk.

I wait until we've gotten a little way away from the camp before I start to talk. Gale and Finnick keep an 8-foot distance behind us as Peeta walks beside me. He doesn't seem concerned about me attacking him as his hand brushes mine every so often, quite warm against my cool skin. I'm beginning to think he's doing this on purpose when I realize he had in fact moved closer the more we walked.

"I... I wanted to know"

"About the train" he finishes thankfully cutting to the chase

"I slept with you?" I nod trying not to feel like an idiot "A lot"

"If you mean literally sleep, then yes. After the first games...you never really could without me"

"I wonder if I ever could" I mumble feeling bitter about my insomnia

"I hear you don't so well these days"

"I wouldn't know. It's hard to keep track. They drug me a lot to undilute my memories. It's hard to tell when I'm awake and when I'm not. So... I never had sex with you?"

"No" he coughs "Do you remember differently?"

"Yes...I mean. I think so"

"Tell me about it"

I glance behind us and see that while watchful, Finnick and Gale are otherwise interested in their own conversation. Finnick shoots me an encouraging smile before shooing me to look forward with a wave of his trident. I look back at Peeta and move over to the trees, leaning against one, arms crossed over my chest to tuck my trembling hands away.

"It's too shiny when I try to see your eyes...but" I swallow shakily running my hand through my hair again

"But?"

"It starts off fine but then when you're kissing me..."

I choke again and have to clench my teeth to fight the headache I feel trying to form.

"It doesn't feel like the 'you' I think I remember. This one is... Rough. Mean. Smacks me when I ask you to be gentle" I sigh

"Not real" he asserts with an appalled shake of the head.

"It's fuzzy when you're nice. I like that one better. You don't compare me to her in that one"

He doesn't have to ask to know who I'm talking about and I'm happy that he doesn't.

"Tell me about it"

"You...you're sweet. Gentle. Make me feel safe. I don't ever feel that way anymore" I shake my head trying to get this to make sense "You call me sweet names in this one. Always ask before touching me. You...like my scar. Mean Peeta hurts me with it. You make me feel good when you touch it"

Now I'm blushing and my hands are shaking.

I shouldn't like this. I'm not supposed to.

"Real"

My eyes meet his and I realize he's come much closer. I'm shaking but I don't know why. Fear? Longing? Trepidation. Uncertainty. What exactly do I feel for this boy that I'd been so convinced was trying everything he could to kill me? Especially when he looked at me the way he did now, as if I held all his heart in my hands. I look over his shoulder for Gale and Finnick. They've moved closer too and I'm grateful.

"I... asked to touch you. You told me I could" I breathe not realizing my pupils have contracted to slits reflecting the heat I felt sweep through me.

"Real" he husks

Why does he keep moving closer? They've broken me to kill him. He should hate me as much as they'd programmed me to despise him. But I don't shove him back either. I watch him warily as he steps into my bubble.

Maybe we both have a death wish?

      ***

Peeta had no intentions on pushing you tonight. He just wanted to see why you remembered the train the way you did. It was seeing the way you spoke about that night on the train that spurred him into movement. It was practically impossible for you to hide your emotions after Snow had your eyes altered. Not to mention Peeta had already practically been an expert in reading your body language having learned during your first games together.

You were scared but not for the reasons you claimed.

That was the only time you'd touched one another that intimately. Even then, you'd focused on his pleasure, even as you came and soaked his fingers. You wanted to watch him, your mouth greedily sucking at his bottom lip.

For some reason you hadn't told him, you were hesitant to let him all the way in, but Peeta was patient. To see you come unraveled first at his touch had made him explode in your warm hands too.

Your lips part and your eyes dart over his shoulder again, but he doesn't want your eyes on Gale and most especially not Finnick. Not when he can see the desire sparkling in them. Not when he had to watch you snuggle against Finnick while it was his name you whispered in your sleep. Or when it was Finnick who wiped the tears from your cheeks while you whimpered from nightmares and not him. Or when you'd happily kissed Finnick.

No. Peeta needed you to look at him.

Stepping closer so that he hovered just above you, Peeta placed his hands by either side of your waist, flat on the tree trunk, so he was almost touching you. Peeta likes that your back bows naturally, reacting on memories it wasn't aware of, while your breath quickens craving for him to touch you.

"What else?"

"I did. You let me", you swallow and bite your lip

Peeta doesn't say it but he sees your eyes drop to his fly before quickly darting back up to his. He wants you to remember that night the right way. He would never hurt you, especially not when you were trusting him at your most vulnerable. For them to warp your memories to believe he had...he wanted them obliterated. Peeta would rewrite every stolen kiss and touch they'd robbed of you.

"Real" Peeta hummed dipping his neck so his lips hovered just above yours

"I asked you to touch me too. Together we...You kissed me as I came" you begin to whisper wincing as if you'd been pricked by something

"Very real"

Peeta knew these were dangerous waters he was treading but he'd been holding back for so long. He raised his hands slowly, making sure that you could see every move he made. It was clear that the things about him you loved the most were what they focused on scaring you away from. It was abundantly clear from day one that his hands were on that list. You always watched them as if they would enclose around your throat. Even now you did yet you still wouldn't move away seemingly searching for answers of your own. Peeta's hands cup your cheeks and he can't help the way his heart sings when you nuzzle into them the way you used to.

"You've been rough with me. A few times. Mean Peeta is so rough with me"

"Not real. I would never. Not unless you asked me to" Peeta shakes his head tilting yours up so he can look into your icy gray eyes

"I can't separate them. I'm trying but I can't" you gasp shakily with tears in your eyes

"Let me show you, please love?" Peeta pleads lowly as his wet lips hover just above yours

"I don't want to hurt you" you whisper as a tear of honest fear rolls over your cheek, terrified of doing so even with the mouth guard and cuffs

Peeta wipes it away gently with another shake of the head.

"You won't" he smiles before his lips cover yours

Your cuffed fingers clutch the front of his shirt as you arch your neck, pushing your body closer to his. It had been too long since he'd felt your lips. Peeta slips his tongue between your plump lips, reveling in the soft moan that shakes your frame as he explores your mouth, sucking on your lips and tongue. He knows how weak it makes you when he suckles your hypersensitive tongue. His left-hand stays cupped on your cheek as his right rests on your hip, thumb caressing the tip of the scar across your belly in small pressured circles. Other than Cinna only he was ever allowed to touch it. When you pull back with an excited gasp, Peeta sees the flash of recognition in your eyes.

Yes.

Peeta doesn't wait before he captures your lips again, pulling your hip against his and sliding the fingers of his right up to thread through your hair. Your body curls into his just the way you used to, molding with him like the perfect piece to his puzzle that you are. Peeta nibbles your bottom lip before pulling your tongue between his lips again, loving how you whimper so softly in his mouth. When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

"Which feels real?" He exhales against your lips

"Gentle Peeta" you sigh "I-I wanted to but...I can't..."

Your pupils dilate widely and before Peeta can register what's happening, you shove him so hard away from you that he stumbles backwards into another tree.

"You're a liar" you hiss

Peeta sees it's not at him. Your eyes are fixed on a point somewhere deep in the woods and they're petrified.

"It's not him. I'm the mutt. I'm the monster. It's me!" You start to screech while pulling at your hair

Peeta starts forward but you snap your jaws in his direction in alarm, your eyes not really seeing anything around you, as you attempt to keep him away from you. Gale snatches Peeta backwards, keeping him at a safe distance.

"It might do more harm than good if it's you" he whispers in Peeta's ear to stop his struggling

"No, you lied! It's not him! It's me! I won't! I won't hurt him for you!" You wail as tears of resignation fall down your face. You move so rapidly as you suddenly pull the strap of your restraints against your throat, lock the strap around your throat then pull backwards in a clear attempt to strangle yourself against the tree behind you. You glare defiantly before choking out your final words "I'm done being in your games"

Finnick is on you in seconds. He's tackled you to the ground as you continue to scream at someone who isn't here. Peeta's eyes are wide with concern and he's trying not to shake in his distress. Within moments you're knocked unconscious by Finnick, who's activated the sedative in your collar. After bundling your slumped form up in his arms, his trident now across his back, he tucks your face away into his neck.

"Hmm" he chuckles under his breath walking over to Peeta and Gale "That went well"

"Who do you think she was talking to?"

"Snow" Peeta's answer is immediate and clipped "And that was a fucking disaster. I just made it worse"

"I don't know Peeta. I think that was a clearer answer than I ever got out of a girl", Gale shrugs as they make their way back to the camp "And I've had girls flat out tell me they liked me"

"What do you mean?"

Gale sighs with exaggeration but Peeta can tell he's not genuinely annoyed at him. Finnick has mercy and explains better, having the most experience in these matters.

"We learned about one thing that happened during her capture today. Can you imagine going through just that? Despite everything they made her forget, altered or put her through, that fear is there. The bloodlust just, isn't. You can't force the mind to just do what you want it to, no matter how much trackerjacker venom you've got. She literally tried to kill herself when the programming attempted to take over. She could have easily choked you instead. Bit your tongue out of your mouth. Anything. But she turned her own restraints back onto herself to protect you. If that doesn't scream that someone loves you more than their own life, I don't know what does", Finnick explained transferring you out of his hood so your face was no longer hidden in his neck. He shifted your weight for Peeta to see your tear-stained cheeks and bruised throat "Every day for weeks. Brainwashed. Tortured, with one thought left in her mind. To kill you. And she just can't bring herself to do it. That kind of love is a lot of things, but it isn't weak"

The group made it back to the camp after this, the squads eyes falling on your slumped form in Finnick's arms.

"What happened?" Boggs sighs

He came over and inspected Peeta's face and neck, his hand on his chin, tilting his face this way and that. He released him when he saw there were no marks.

"Peeta kissed her" Finnick snickers

"So... she fainted?" Leegs chuckles

"No" Peeta snaps wanting nothing more than to take you from Finnick's arms and tuck you out of sight.

"She kissed him back and everything was fine. We blink for five seconds and she's trying to kill herself" Gale sighs running a hand through his black wavy hair

"Damn Peeta, I didn't know you were that bad" Messalla teases

"She was fine! Then I don't know...something snapped. She started to hear Snow. She was yelling at him"

Peeta shoots Finnick an annoyed look before Finnick realizes he's still got you in his arms. It's making it hard for him to focus. With a teasing smile, Finnick slips to his knees and slides you inside the tent before reemerging and joining everyone by the fire.

"What did she say?" Johnson asks seriously

"She was a mutt. She was done playing in his games. Then she turned her restraints on herself" Peeta sighs rubbing his eyes tiredly

"That all?"

"No. He's being painfully obtuse with you on purpose" Gale rolls his eyes "They kissed. They talked about what happened on the train some more and she lost it after. Like some mirror piece had fallen into place and she couldn't stand her reflection or something. She was ready to die so she'd never hurt him. It was in her eyes"

"Keep a closer watch on her. She'll try it again" Cressida sighs

"To kiss Peeta?" Messalla snickered

Peeta really hoped so.

"To kill herself. If that's the decision she's made, it's likely that she'll try again to keep Peeta safe. If she's warring with the fact that she has feelings for him and that she's supposed to kill him out of an unshakable fear, then she will try it again. She's chosen death over being the cause of Peeta's" Finnick explains with a sad shake of the head

"None of us will let that happen" Boggs nods and everyone in the group nods their assertion

      ***

"Did you?" Haymitch asks lowly, his eyes as hard and sad as mine

I don't answer because I don't want to upset him.

"Yes" Peeta's voice is low and dark as he answers for me

"When?"

"When we were coming from underground. There was a tunnel full of mutts. They almost had Finnick and Katniss. She was almost out but she hurled herself back and went wild on them when one of them bit Finnick and pulled him back down. Managed to practically toss Finnick and Katniss up the ladder, even with her hands bound. She was climbing back up, almost out herself and then...I don't know"

His arms tighten and I can feel the shudder that goes through him. I know that day had terrified him. To see me just let go, to think he'd have to live without me. I'd never make it up to him but I was hellbent on trying.

"I was ready to die. I had saved everyone I needed to. What worth was my life anymore?" I sigh guiltily

"Tell me about it" Haymitch leans forward, handing Peeta some of the clear liquor that I gratefully take from his warm hands as he slides it into mine.

"We'd lost Boggs and few others but we were so close"

[wren-kitchens]

little drabble inspired by this fanart by @spyglahass!

would you believe this took me like. a month to finish

“count fwip,” 

fwip almost winces at the sound of the all-too-familiar voice behind him. he turns around, and immediately feels his face flush.

jimmy is not wearing his cod head, long hair tied up in a simple plait. fwip hadn’t noticed before how similar he looks to lizzie, and despite not being full-fish like her, he is unmistakably a cod.

but that’s not what makes fwip want to curl into a ball and hide for the rest of the evening, no. that is caused by the way his smirk contains an unusual amount of self-confidence, the way his canines barely press against his lower lip, and the way his face (usually obscured by the codhead) is freckled like stars spattered across the night sky.

is it weird that fwip might want to kiss him? it’s probably weird.

“yes?” he doesn’t squeak out of nerves, and if someone’s told you otherwise, they’re not to be trusted.

the smirk widens, and jimmy outstretches a hand. “may I have this dance?” 

oh. oh dear.

“oh- uh. yes?” 

this was entirely an oversight. fwip expected to be alone, or dancing with gem, sausage and pearl, none of whom would care about his distinct lack of grace.

“something wrong?” jimmy’s voice is making it hard to think.

“oh, no, nothing at all.” fwip laughs nervously, letting jimmy lead him into the centre of the room. shit! fuck!

“you do know how to dance, I take it?” jimmy raises an eyebrow, and man if that isn’t a good look on him. could his enemy stop being gorgeous for ten seconds? please and thank you?

“uhm.” fwip’s voice is breathy and very embarrassing. “well, I mean-“

“oh, fwip,” jimmy looks practically delighted. “you don’t, do you?”

“shut up.” fwip grumbles.

“you’re so cute.” jimmy teases (not shutting up). “oh, come here, i’ll teach you.”

fwip eyes him suspiciously. “why?”

“well, I couldn’t dance with someone who didn’t know how.” jimmy says. 

“since when were you gentlemanly?” fwip raises an eyebrow, but steps forward anyway.

jimmy’s eyes glint and he rests his hand against fwip’s waist. “oh, it’s nothing to do with that.”

“couldn’t wait to get your hands on me?” fwip finds himself pressing closer, getting in jimmy’s space. “take me to dinner first, codfather.”

fwip grins with self-satisfaction as a faint pink dusts jimmy’s cheeks, but he regains his composure almost immediately. fwip is almost impressed.

“someone’s eager.” jimmy smirks. 

not impressed, definitely not impressed.

“you-“

“don’t worry, sweetheart,” jimmy traces fwip’s jawbone with his fingertip, touch featherlight. fwip might actually just die on the spot. “it’s ever so cute.”

fwip finds himself utterly speechless. he would really appreciate if jimmy could stop doing that to him.

“but where are my manners?” jimmy moves his hand down to take fwip’s again. “I promised you a dance.”

fwip almost manages a snarky comeback, but jimmy puts his hand on fwip’s waist and he loses all intelligent thought.

“have I mentioned that you are infuriating.” fwip says through gritted teeth. 

“that’s a very rude thing to say to someone who is teaching you to dance.” jimmy says, pretending to pout.

“you’ve not done that yet.” fwip tells him.

“someone’s impatient.” jimmy smirks. “follow my lead.”

internally cursing the codfather and his stupid smile, fwip begrudgingly looks down to copy jimmy.

he immediately steps on his foot, and mutters an apology. jimmy doesn’t react, but fwip is too busy concentrating to notice.

as a kid, fwip would skive dance lessons, insisting they weren’t of any use. why learn to walk slowly in a circle when you could be inventing a flying machine? but, occasionally he would get caught and have to learn the basics of the waltz.

now, the voice of fwip’s dance instructor plays in his head, listing ‘one-two-three, one-two-three’. fwip wants to strangle everyone here and then himself. stupid parties and stupid dances and stupid pretty men who smirk and have freckles.

fwip stumbles, and jimmy’s hold on him tightens.

“sorry.” fwip says instinctively, glancing up for a split second.

there’s nothing teasing in jimmy’s eyes, no grins or winks. instead, there’s something- almost gentle. fwip must not have looked properly.

“do you think you’re ready to start looking up,” jimmy says after a moment. “or do you think you’ll get distracted?”

fwip glares up at him, decidedly not sidetracked by the swoop of jimmy’s hair falling across his face. 

“you are an asshole.” fwip says.

“how kind of you to say.” jimmy bats his eyes.

“what else do i do.” it’s a question, but he says it like a statement. 

the look on jimmy’s face immediately tells fwip he’s not going to like the answer. “I spin you.”

fwip’s face heats up, but he remains glaring. “get it over with then.”

“you know, sometimes i think you don’t like me.” jimmy says.

“we’re enemies.” fwip reminds him. “i’m not meant- woah!”

jimmy takes that moment to spin fwip, catching him entirely off guard. so much so, that fwip nearly falls flat on his face.

jimmy, luckily, catches him before fwip manages to make an even bigger fool of himself. fwip then, unluckily, falls against jimmy’s chest, feeling like the wind has been sucked out of his lungs.

“fuck you.” he breathes.

“please, we’re in public.” jimmy looks pleased with himself. fwip wants to hit him.

“you know, sometimes I think you enjoy this too much.” fwip mutters.

“oh? how do you mean?” jimmy is smirking, and this time he’s looking directly down at fwip.

fwip can’t decide if he loves or hates that look on him, but either way he’s in desperate need of it being slapped off his face.

or maybe..

fwip gathers all his self confidence, and smirks right on back. he grabs the collar of jimmy’s shirt and pulls him down. 

“like this.” he tells him, and pulls him into a kiss.

jimmy makes a surprised noise. fwip is about to pull away when jimmy kisses back, and-

oh, what a kiss it is.

jimmy’s hand is on fwip’s waist, and it’s like he’s gone shy, because he gasps when fwip nips at his bottom lip, and blushes when fwip murmurs in his ear, “you’re just so pretty, darling.”

when they both pull away, jimmy is extraordinarily red, and fwip is extremely smug about it.

“go fuck yourself.” jimmy tells him, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but there. at the same time, he looks like he’s trying to hide how pleased he is.

“you’re cute when you blush.” fwip grins, knowing his face is just as red.

“I owe joel so many diamonds.” jimmy whines.

“you- wh-“ fwip splutters. “what happened with that?”

“with what?” jimmy looks genuinely confused.

“that!” fwip exclaims, indignant. “the whole- ‘oh, we’re in public’,” he mocks jimmy’s voice. “what was that?!”

“I- look, I am not good at flirting, okay?” jimmy protests. “this- I was getting nowhere before!”

“before? what do you mean before?!”

“you of all people should know I am not normally this suave.” jimmy says. “at the start of the cod war I was just hoping you would notice, but-“

“you were flirting then!?” fwip is almost shouting now. jimmy shushes him, looking immensely embarrassed.

“I told you I was bad!” he whisper-yells.

“bad is an understatement.” fwip tells him. “oh my god, this whole time?”

jimmy nods meekly. 

“you absolute- how am I attracted to you?” fwip says. 

“well, I assume it was the false confidence.” jimmy says. “if you don’t anymore-“

“jimmy, if anything, I like you more.”

“oh.” jimmy somehow goes redder. “well that- i’m- i’m glad.”

fwip looks at him, and can’t help smiling. “can I kiss you again?”

jimmy nods, grinning awkwardly. “definitely.”

the second kiss is even better than the first.

[akaashioppa]

Promise Me?

pairings: baji keisuke x reader

summary: Baji promised you that you would have a great night. You, him, and Toman. He was out to have a good time too until the drugs came into play.

warnings: baji using drugs, curse words, angst, mentions of blood and teeth pulling. DONT DO DRUGS!

w/c: 1.6

a/n: Baji is a sweetheart and i know he’ll never do anything like this ☺️

A boy’s night was meant for the boys and only for the boys. The roaring sounds of the motorcycles, the blasting of the music did not go well with the anxiety that was soaring throughout your body. Baji being the crazy person he was, decided to bring you out to the club where all of the members of Toman would be.

You were standing near the game room with Baji’s hands firmly gripped around your waist. The sharp canines in his mouth were pressed against your delicate skin. The feeling of him kissing your neck all the way up to your ear was making you weak. 

“Hey, I’ll be over there with the boys. You stay here with Emma.” He muttered into your neck, His husky breath invaded your personal bubble. The scene was making you intoxicated with him and you didn’t care. All of the worries about coming here tonight with the gang completely washed away once you saw that smile. He was actually happy and not grumpy for once. Usually, he was a pain in your ass with his sudden outbursts of rage or the way he’ll set something on fire just because he wants to. 

“Okay baby.” You tried so hard not to stutter but Baji’s hand would accidentally slip into your inner thigh. The haze you were caught in finally came to a halt when his warm aurora left you. He stood by your side with his arms draped lazily around your shoulders. 

“Yo, Emma, Watch my girl will ya?”

“It’s okay, I can watch myself, babe. Let her enjoy herself on the dance floor...Go with the boys.” You pushed him gently in the direction of the boys. That particular grin on his face caused your heart to skip a beat. It was the same grin he gave you when he first told you that he was in love with you. He also showed that grin when he was ready to rip someone’s head off of their shoulders but you didn’t mind. It was hot either way he showed it. 

“Okay...I got you...remember that.” 

“I trust you.” He walked off into the distance towards the bathrooms where two other men stood. It was quite odd of a scene since the other boys were in the arcade playing pool and cards. He was the only one in the dark part of the room...No, he would never do anything that could make you uncomfortable. He promised since the first day you guys met that he would never lay a hand on you or show you the demons within him. Baji always wanted to protect you from any danger that awaited and tonight was no different. He made sure that there was a member in every corner of the club so nothing would happen to you.

Emma’s cheerful scream broke you out of your thoughts, “Come on (Y/N) let’s go grab some food from the food bar I’m starving.”

“I could go for some sushi.” 

You walked off from your spot with Emma’s hand in yours. There was a creepy feeling in the air, it’s been there since Baji left your side. He wasn’t with the boys which caused you to feel tense. Another reason was that he was still back there with those boys who now had something shoved up their noses. It looked as if they had tiny shovels in their noses.

‘There’s no way’

“Hey, Emma, Do yo-” 

The sopping feeling of dressing on your clothes helps you come to a rest. You looked down to see that there was a big stain on your shirt. The person who did it stood in front of you with a look of fear.

“I’m so sorry, let me help you!” The man in front of you launched into action, he fearfully began to wipe your shirt down with the paper towel in his hand. The crowd around you only grew from curiosity. You tried to speak, you tried to get him to stop but the words that were processing in your head wouldn’t allow you to speak them.

Emma grabbed you from the scene. She caught the signal that you were giving out. It wasn’t hard to miss since you stood there in complete shock. “We might need some water. Here there’s a family restroom. maybe we can use the water there.”

“Don’t I know you from somewhere? I think we went to the same middle school.” The man asked, you took a long look at him before you realized where you had seen him from.

“Yeah...Aren’t you Haruto?”

“Yeah, that’s me. I’m still as clumsy as ever.”

“It was a complete accident. You don’t have to worry, I'm sure Emma has a spare top in her bag.” You waved him off, he seemed much calmer now that you were almost clean.

Bang

The bathroom door was kicked in. Baji stormed through the door with two unfamiliar guys with him. He completely ignores you so he can grab Haruto by his collar forcing his head into the mirror behind him. “So you’re the culprit huh? What the fuck is your deal?”

“Baji! Put him down, it was an accident.”

“An accident huh? Look at you, you’re covered in shit.”

Baji threw Haruto across the room. He scanned the room until he found the perfect weapon, pliers. He snatched the tool from under the sink making sink water spray out everywhere. You watched in horror, the laughter from the other guys encouraging him to continue his menacing antics, it did not make the situation any better.  

“Can you please stop? You’re creeping me out.” Your voice was barely a whisper but it came out the stern. He seemed to have heard you cry out for him. His whole demeanor changed...he has more of a sinister feel to him.

“Why do you want me to stop? He needs to be taught a lesson. If not, then he will think that he can do it again.” He stood over Haruto with the pliers in his hand. He gave him a few kicks in the ribs just to toy with him. Emma tried to drag you out of the restroom but you stayed to face him.

He wiped his nose for the third time since he’s been here. This time a drop of blood followed behind it. You have been counting, ever since he left your side to be with those boys you have been observant of him. His sloppy posture, dilated eyes, his erratic behavior, and now he was having more mood swings than normal.

You tried to force the pressure that was forming in your throat away. You had to be strong, there were too many people out there that wanted to test you because they thought you were too weak to be Baji Keisuke’s girlfriend. So you put some bass in your voice and took a step forward. 

“Are you fucking high right now!?”

He smirked, “What does it look like, baby?”

“You son of a bitch” You scoffed, you marched your way over to him giving him a firm slap across his face. A gasp could be heard from the background. You and he both knew that all of Toman was here to see what was going on. 

“You promised me that you wouldn’t go to the extreme when it came to drugs! Look at you! You look like a fucking junkie, your fucking nose is bleeding and you don’t even care.”

He said nothing.

You reached down to grab the pliers only to be stopped by him. His strong grip from his hand wrapped around your wrist. “Get the fuck away from me”, he snarls.

You stare up at him and say nothing. The disbelief of him grabbing you and saying you engulfed your entire state of mind. He promised. You could only look into his dark orbs to see if he was actually being serious. It was no use, that demon he told you about was consuming him for the worst.

“You promised me that you would protect me tonight and yet you’re doing the most harm.” You placed a hand on his chest to feel his erratic heart beat. You knew what the white substance could lead to. His could actually burst if he got too excited.

He snatched your hand away from his chest,“I am protecting you! If only you’ll allow me to do my fucking job!”

Your hand was ripped away from Baji’s. It wasn’t him nor you.

Mitsuya pulled you into an embrace back from Baji. “The fuck is your problem Baji! Don’t you ever yell at a female like that! What the fuck!? Is this how you treat the woman you claim to love!?”

“What? You’d really think I’d hit a woman? I’m not your dad Mitsuya.” He stuck up his middle finger towards him with that annoying smirk on his face. “I’ll fucking kill you. Give me my girl.”

“I’m taking her home.”

You stood behind Mitsuya far away from Baji. You could see how badly he wanted to ruin Haruto. The blood lust in his eyes couldn’t fool anyone.

“Fine then. If that’s what she wants, take her home.”

“Don’t hurt him Baji. He didn’t do anything. Can you please just listen to me for once?” You were so emotionally drained from the situation that your words came out in a mumble. You knew what he was about to do. Your pleas would never get him to stop once his mind was already made up. 

He chuckled, turning his back towards you. The walked over Haruto again screamed that he would murder someone who got in his way. You sat there with a blank expression watching your boyfriend shove the pliers into Haruto’s mouth. No one dared to stop him, some watched out of pure enjoyment. 

 Mitsuya pulled you out of the bathroom before you could see your boyfriend in that state but you could hear his disturbing laugh and Haruto’s pleas for forgiveness.

“He’s too high to comprehend what’s going on right now. You’ll have to talk to him tomorrow.”

“But he promised me…”

[panda-writes-kpop]

Vampire! Dami - Love Bites, Love Bleeds (Requested!)

A/N: Hi guys, girls, and non-binary pearls! I hope that you are doing well this week! 

TW: Vampires, blood

How am I going to tell them?

The words played in Dami’s head over and over as she placed another book onto the shelf. Usually, the comfort of her regular librarian job and its repetitive tasks would distract her mind from her worries, but today, something was off.

I suppose this is what happens when you’ve lived for hundreds of years. You’re bound to run out of things to think about.

Recently, the only person who occupied her mind was you. You were a kind person who stopped by the library weekly to check out a new book, and you had a growing friendship that left Dami with butterflies in her stomach as of late. She’s told you almost everything about herself except one small detail.

It’s not exactly easy to tell somebody that you’re a vampire. Most people are surprised, and even after that, they aren’t very accepting. I hope they’re different.

The doorbell rings, and Dami takes a deep breath as she turns around. You’re entering the library while staring in wonder at the long, tall shelves of books that cover every wall of the space.

Here goes nothing.

Dami lets a smile fall on her face as she waves you over when your eyes meet hers.

~

I cannot believe that the girl that I have a crush on is a vampire.

You let your mind wander as your body takes you through the park. You’ve taken this route to the library before, but this time, the world seems so much brighter than before.

She didn’t exactly try to hide it. I mean, the pale skin with bright eyes that could hypnotize you, the sharp canine teeth that poked out whenever she smiled, and the fact that a strange red liquid came out of the cup that she was drinking is enough proof for me.

You had spent hours researching these factors last night, and the only result that showed up was vampires. You didn’t exactly believe this, but after a couple more Google searches, your results were proved correct.

It hasn’t changed the way I feel about you. You’re still the same person that you’ve always been. I just hope that you feel the same about me.

You’ve been crushing on Dami since you first saw her almost a year ago in the library. She was, by far, the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen, so you had to try to win her heart. At first, she wasn’t very receptive, but now she seemed to catch onto your flirting, and Dami even started flirting back at you. 

I want this to work out, because I really want to be the one you love. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things work.

To your surprise, you’re already facing the storefront of the library. You take a deep breath before opening the door in front of you.

Here goes nothing…

~

Conversation flowed easily between you two, as it always had. Dami was sure that you could see her nerves, and you had thought the same about her. You both were dancing around an issue that neither of you wanted to address immediately.

“Have you gotten any new books in?” You ask her with a sweet smile.

A light blush makes its way onto Dami’s face. “Yeah, but it’s a lot less than last week. I’ll show you where we put them.”

Dami takes your hand in hers, and you let her guide the way. “You know, I’m pretty sure that I know my way around her.”

“I know, but I still don’t want you to get lost.” The sincerity in her voice, along with a small hand squeeze from her, is enough to set your face aflame.

“L-lead the way then.” You silently curse yourself as Dami continues walking towards the back of the library. 

You patiently follow while focusing on the feeling of her hand in yours.

This is something that I could get used to.

Before you can speak again, you’re face-to-face with Dami as she points out a nearby bookshelf.

“You’ll find all of the new books in there.” You can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. 

It’s so cute to see her get excited over something like books.

“Thanks. I think I can handle it from here.” You slowly walk towards the bookshelf, and you feel a streak of regret hit your heart.

Why didn’t you tell her, stupid?

“Wait!” You pause while turning around.

Dami turns towards you with a curious face.

“What’s up?”

“There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

~

There’s something I’ve got to tell you.

Your words stay in Dami’s mind as she continues to look at you.

“Go on.” She gestures for you to continue.

Do they really feel the same way I do? But what if they don’t accept me for who I am?

“Dami, I really like you, and I was wondering if you’d like to go out on a date with me. It doesn’t have to be anything special, but I just wanna be with you.” You let out a shaky breath as Dami continues to stare at you.

“I’d love to, but there’s something you’ve got to know about me.” Dami closes her eyes and lets out a nervous breath of her own. 

“I’m a vampire.” Dami bits the inside of her cheek as her eyes reopen to gauge your response. 

She looks at you with confusion when a soft smile is on your face.

“I know, Dami. I figured it out.” You choose your words carefully while speaking in a soft tone. The last thing that you’d want to do is upset her.

“So you still want to go on that date with me?” Dami can’t help but smile.

“More than anything in the world.”

[femmeharringrove]

kiss me on the mouth but - 

aka guess who’s been listening to old troye sivan instead of dealing with their issues

Maybe Steve shouldn’t have come.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to be here, because he does, okay? He’s worked on transitioning, worked on accepting his bisexuality, worked to get out of Hawkins. Going to a gay bar is a fucking reward for all the work he’s done, for getting out and making it to this point.

He's freshly 21 and Robin is – well, according to her ID she’s 21 too, but he’s not going to rat her out. She’s better at this, pulls him into the bar and shows him what to order and gets him on the dance floor. And when he’s dancing with her, he feels okay. Safe, really, surrounded by people like him, but close to the one person he knows in the entirety of the bar – in the entirety of Chicago, truthfully.

But Robin’s eyes land on a pair of pretty blue eyes and soft curves and sweet lips, and she’s gone, and Steve –

Well, he’s on his own now.

And it’s a little nerve-wracking. The neon lights feel a little too much, the bodies around him too close, the eyes of other men on him feel more like the eyes of wolves on prey. He feels like prey, vulnerable and very much out of his element.

He’s drawn to their gazes, though, with the same fascination he’s drawn to wild animals. He wants to reach out and touch and talk and buy drinks and kiss, he really wants the experience of kissing a man without having to hide from the eyes around him.

But he’s scared.

So, when a drop-dead handsome man swaggers over, rumbling voice asking for Steve’s name, he freezes up. Uncertain eyes drag over sharp cheekbones, a smooth jawline, a pink tongue slipping out to lick over soft-looking lips and sharp-looking canines, and his stomach flutters. He’s not sure if it’s a good kind of fluttering or not.

“Um,” he says.

“This one’s taken,” another voice finishes. An arm slings over his shoulders, Steve turns his head to his right –

And Billy fucking Hargrove is right there.

Billy, who he’d believed to be straight, who he hadn’t seen in two years, who looked – well, he looked good. His sharp eyes watched the other man with a casually stern intensity, and the guy chuckles as he holds his hands up.

“My bad,” he apologizes, and the sharp teeth in his mouth seem a little softer to Steve. “You two have fun, ‘kay?” Billy salutes lazily, Steve nods, and his old high school rival steers him to the bar.

“You okay, kid?” he asks, looking Steve over. “You here with anyone?” And of course he wouldn’t recognize Steve, he looks different now. Hair shorter and face sharper and certainly more hairy than just two years ago.

“You’re not old enough to be in here,” is all he can think to say.

Billy’s eyes narrow, brows furrowing. “Who told you that, how –“ He stops himself, eyes dancing over Steve’s face. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Sorta.” Steve feels nervous again. “We went to high school together. I’m Steve Harrington.” He can see Billy’s brain working, and his stomach flips uneasily. He knows not everyone likes people like him, and he remembers the sharp bite of Billy’s knuckles in his skin the one time the pair had gotten into a fist fight. He’s hoping Billy won’t go that route again.

“Harrington, huh?” A slow smile unfurls across his face, and Steve breathes out slowly. “Am I dreaming, or is that really you?” It’s a play on the words they’d spoken just before their fight, and it makes Steve smile hesitantly.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he confirms. “Don’t cream your pants.” Billy’s eyes look him over, and his smile grows.

“Steve. I like it. Might be one of the most generic names in the book, but it fits you.” He holds a hand out between them, sharp grin on his face. “Nice to properly meet you, Steve.”

Steve looks at his sharp teeth, his soft lips, and slowly takes Billy’s hand in his own. Billy squeezes.

“I think,” Steve murmurs. “The pleasure is mine.”

[manonblaqkbeak]

Rowaelin “Empire of Storms” fanfic

So, uh, after realising that i’m low key envious of all the smutty goodness of Silver Flames and rowaelin being absolutely robbed of smutiness due to the books being ~young adult~ over the past few days i’ve written rowaelin smut “during” empire of storms because well, that is the most sex heavy between aelin and rowan and so while i’m super nervous cause i’ve never written smutty fanfic, i’m gonna post it on here if you wanna read it, so, uh, enjoy, i guess. also, there’s a bit of fluff at the end cause well, i wanted some fluff lol

also, all characters belong to Sarah J Maas, I’m not getting a cent writing this, this is literally just me writing smut because we were robbed of smut!!

also, like, i’m not sure if some of the stuff i’ve written i’m not sure if it would happen between rowan and aelin but i was bored and sex can be fun so i decided to have some fun

Aelin wanted to try something tonight.

She finished drying herself off with the old, course towel provided by the crew-mates when she and her Court came aboard the ship. With the amount of holes in the towel, she was waiting for it to fall apart while using it. But at least it was clean.

Aelin hung up the towel and used a frayed strip of leather to try her short her back. She didn't want it to get in the way tonight, because she wanted to focus on her plan and to not to be distracted by her hair.

Aelin bought a smile onto her face as she opened up the bathing room door and leaned against it. Rowan was lying down in the bed, his arms crossed behind his head as he stared up at the roof of their cabin.

His pine green eyes moved from the roof and onto her. And widened slightly at the sight of her naked body. His eyes roamed her body, lingering on the apex of her thighs.

Aelin's smile became feline at the lust dancing in his eyes, his scent of arousal filling up the cabin. Mingling with hers.

“Fireheart,” he said, his voice rough.

Aelin moved away from the door and came close to the bed.

“I want to try something,” she said. “Move into the middle of the bed.”

Rowan did as she asked, curiosity in his gaze.

Aelin moved the bed sheet out of the way, her gaze drinking him in as he did with her. She climbed atop of him, their skin barely touching.

Rowan's lips met hers, his hands going to her scarred and tattooed back. He bit her lip and she opened her mouth for him, their tongues dancing together. With this kiss, she almost forgot what she had planned to do but when she felt his cock twitched against her skin, she remembered and smiled.

“What is it that you're planning to do?” Rowan asked against her mouth.

Aelin grinned, becoming more excited. “This,” was all she said as she planted kisses against his cheek, his neck—which she fought to sink her teeth into him. Later, she promised herself, she would bite him later.

She moved down his body, scrapping her teeth over his nipples—for which she got a hearty groan at the ministration—and continued kissing him until she got lower and lower to where she wanted to be.

Rowan realized it, too. “Aelin, you don't—” he started to say, but she cut him off.

“I want to,” she said. And she did, quite badly. She realized only this morning that she had never pleasured him with her mouth. She pleasured him with her hand a few times all ready—with the most recent being this morning. She kissed him with feather light touches, but her hand went fast and hard against him.

When he came, she looked him in the eyes and licked his seed off her hand and his answering kiss with savage, and it seemed that within moments of finishing him, he was inside her, pounding away, her legs spread wide, his tongue deep in her mouth, with Aelin half-moaning and half-laughing at his eagerness. And when she climaxed, it felt never-ending.

Aelin couldn't get enough of Rowan, and she knew that he felt the same.

She knew why, wanted to tell him exactly why, but she couldn't. Not until the time was right.

Casting those thoughts aside, Aelin took his considerable length in her scarred hand and moved it up and down, not as rough as this morning, but hard enough that he was getting harder with every moment that passed. “Besides, you were the one that told me that you've been wanting to do dirty things with my mouth,” Aelin said, her grin devious, “isn't this one of those dirty things?”

“Yes,” was all Rowan said, the scent of his arousal growing. A thrill of pleasure sneaked down her back at the sight of Rowan, his head thrown back against the pillows, his eyes closed and face glowing with pleasure and she had barely started.

Aelin just wanted to watch him, watch him moan from her touch, but she wanted to know how he tasted, how he felt, in her mouth and with that, she finally took him into her mouth, her thumb on her free hand circling his testes.

Rowan went still at the feel of her mouth around him, the feel of her tongue swirling around and caressing him.

He was sure that his heart was going to stop as Aelin took him deeper into her mouth, her teeth grazing lightly against him. His soul quickly left his body as he felt himself at the back of her throat and held that position for what felt like eternity and moved back up to the head of him.

Aelin's tongue swiped against his head and planted kisses on the side of him, her hand again moving up and down on him. She took his testes in her mouth, gently sucking, her hand becoming more rough.

Rowan's groans could have been heard all the way to Terrasen.

Aelin was going to be the death of him. He was over three hundred years old, survived countless wars and tragedies, and this was what was going to end him. Not swords or arrows or magic, but his Fireheart's tantalizing mouth.

Not that he was complaining, his groans were obvious of that fact.

He did, however, have to stop himself from thrusting over and over into her wet mouth. This was purely Aelin exploring him and he would let her explore him for as long as she wanted—or for as long as he could last—but he couldn't stop himself for asking for more, his voice an animalistic growl.

Aelin gave him more, her teeth grazing against him more roughly, her head moving up and down him a bit faster, her tongue a constant dance against him—Gods, that tongue. Her fingers rolling his testes around, her nails scrapping against the sensitive skin.

Aelin's moans were beautiful and Rowan was lost in the touch of her, the scent of her, the...everything that Aelin was.

The vibrations of Aelin's moans had the pressure building. Part of him wanted to drag himself out of her inviting mouth and slam himself inside of her, but the stronger part of him just wanted to stay here. To stay on this creaking boat with his Fireheart, the world nothing but a speck to them, and to stay in bed with her forever until they passed.

He couldn't stop himself from giving a single thrust, the head of him touching the back of her throat.

Aelin's answering moan made him wanted to do it again, but he forced himself still, his hips flexing from that force.

Needing to distract himself, Rowan glanced down at her through hazy eyes and saw that some of her hair came free. With a shaking hand, Rowan brushed it back and Aelin smiled at him with her eyes. The sight of her tongue peeking out of her mouth, the sight of his cock coated from her saliva and the scent of her arousal built the pressure until he could barely breathe. He felt the tips of her canines pressing into his sensitive flesh and he wanted nothing more then for Aelin to bite down on him, mark him there so that she knew he was completely hers, to let her know that he had never entertained that idea before, never let anyone else do that, but before he could say anything, she went back to grazing him with all her teeth. Faster and faster, she took him, her strong thighs pressed together, taking him to the back of her throat, her tongue never stopping.

Rowan never wanted this to stop and he found himself thrusting into her mouth a few more times, Aelin happily humming around his cock.

Rowan started to say her name, but could only muster a deep groan from his chest as he climaxed and his seed shot down her throat. His cock pulsated gloriously in that beautiful mouth of hers and Aelin almost climaxed at the sensation.

Aelin didn't stop and Rowan wondered if she was aware of what just happened until she took one last drag of him and removed him from her mouth. She smiled as she swallowed, her eyes bright.

“Gods, Aelin,” Rowan breathed. “That was...” he trailed off, struggling to find a word that could possibly describe how good that was.

“I know,” Aelin said confidently. She climbed upwards, until her face was level with his and seeing how flustered she had made him made her blood sing.

Rowan kissed her, their tongues once again dancing. The taste of his seed was strong in her mouth. She never wanted the taste of him to leave her.

Aelin broke away, ready to bite his throat as she wanted to do earlier, when she glanced at her prince, his smile dreamy, bringing warmth to her face, knowing that she had undone him so thoroughly.

His fingers danced up her thigh, his free hand moving her body so that she was astride him. Aelin looked down, but his cock was still limp and it only took her a moment to realize what he was doing as he slid two thick fingers inside of her.

Aelin rode his fingers roughly, imagining that it was his cock in her, her groan hearty as Rowan slipped in a third finger and curled them slightly, hitting a strong spot inside of her. Their mouths met and Aelin's thoughts became consumed with Rowan's fingers and tongue.

Aelin climaxed, the sensation going from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She stilled and Rowan removed his fingers. All ready, she missed the feel of him.

“Open your mouth,” Rowan breathed and Aelin did as he said and closed her mouth against his fingers, tasting herself.

Rowan's cocked twitched again, burning the image into his memory.

He wished that they were in Orynth and in a big bed to show her all the things he knew. They wouldn't leave that bed for years.

Soon, they would be there soon after the oncoming war and they could spend their lives together.

“What are you thinking about?” Aelin asked, seeing the contemplative look in his bright eyes.

Rowan didn't want to upset her with thoughts of war, wanting to keep that warm glow on her face, so all he said was, “You.”

“Aren't you a sweet buzzard?”

Rowan snorted and laid Aelin down, the heat in her eyes and the need for her strong in his blood. Rowan kissed down her toned body, lingering on particularly wicked looking scars, until he placed himself at her core, sliding his tongue into her slick warmth, Aelin's moans ringing through his ears like clear bells. Rowan's tongue moved fast inside of her, his thumb against her clit, rubbing roughly. The scent of blood found its way to Rowan and he glanced upwards, seeing that Aelin had bit through her lip. Rowan's thoughts were jumbled at the sight and her taste. Aelin climaxed, calling out his name huskily and became limp on the bed. Satisfaction rippled all over her.

Rowan straightened and wrapped one leg around his leg and the other over his shoulder and slowly started to enter her, Aelin breathing his name in a way that drove him wild, and brought himself to the hilt. Clenching tightly around him, Rowan had to bite his own damned lip to prevent the sound that wanted to escape him from finding a way out through his magic that he had placed around their room. He did that every time, he didn't want an audience, didn't want anyone else to hear the sounds that came out of Aelin, that came out of him.

And each time, Rowan found himself marveling at the feeling of Aelin wrapped around him. That each time, it felt like the first time on that beach.

Rowan hoped that this feeling never went away. He would make sure that it wouldn't, just as he knew that Aelin would do the same.

Dropping her legs from his body, Rowan swiftly exited from Aelin—to which she protested lightly—but he placed himself on this back and put Aelin on top of him. Wanting to watch her ride him. Wanting to watch as she guided his cock back inside of her, watch as her head fell back at the contact.

Placing his scarred hands on his generous hips, Rowan started to rock Aelin back and forward, but she soon took initiative, taking his hands off her hips and onto her breasts and rolled her hips in a way that drove him mad. He played with her nipples, pinching and twisting them as she liked and met her rolling thrusts with his own, pounding away into her.

Rowan came back to the matter at hand, as he tracked the movements of Aelin's fingers go from her neck, down her chest and down to where she wanted them. As Rowan and Aelin moved faster, Aelin rubbed at her clit as furiously as Rowan had done before—maybe even a little rougher.

Gods, just the sight of Aelin touching herself was enough for Rowan to want to combust, but he held on for just a little longer, not wanting to climax before she had.

Aelin's moans became pants as she lifted herself up and down on his cock as she worked her clit with her fingers, a light sheen of sweat covering her body as she rubbed herself faster and harder, their room filling up with the sounds of heavy breathing and the slap of skin on skin. Wanting to feel her beneath his fingers, Rowan quickly moved her fingers out of the way and rubbed as furiously as her. Aelin looked at him through heavy eyes and gave him a lust addled smile, not at all annoyed about taking over. She clenched tightly, causing Rowan to see stars.

A particularly hard thrust from Rowan was Aelin's undoing as she threw her head back and climaxed loudly enough that it found its way to Rowan's bones and he climaxed with her, his seed shooting out of him faster than he could fly.

Aelin shot forward, collapsing on his chest, breathing hard and covered in sweat, wrapping her arms around his neck as she placed her head on his shoulder as she breathed in his scent, her heart thundering in her chest.

Rowan's heart was thundering, too. He wrapped his arms around her and placed a kiss on her head, the leather band hardly holding any hair.

For long minutes they laid there, breathing in each other, trying to get their hearts to settle.

Rowan was so close to stealing Aelin away and to find a place that had never heard of the Valg or Maeve and was so secluded from this place that no one would ever be able to find them. It was selfish, utterly selfish, but he couldn't stop himself for thinking it.

Aelin kissed him right where his heart was and lingered.

And that was the moment that Aelin's stomach started to grumble. The sound loud enough to wake up even the deepest of sea creatures.

The suddenness of her hunger made Aelin laugh, covering her mouth with a hand. Rowan laughed along with her. Aelin adored his laugh, knowing that this laugh was reserved only for her.

“I didn't think it was possible to be fucked so thoroughly that you end up hungry,” she said, smiling against his deep tanned skin.

“Fucking takes up a lot of energy,” Rowan supplied, kissing her hair a second time, “I'll get us some food.”

Aelin's stomach growled again at the mention of food. “Some bread would be nice, with butter,” she said, “and some chocolate.” Chocolate would have truly been amazing. She couldn't remember the last time she ate some.

“I doubt that there's any chocolate, Fireheart, but I'll check anyway.” Gently, Rowan removed her from his body, his cock slipping at out her, and laid her on her back. Aelin glanced up at him, a small smile on her lips. She took the hand closest to her and pressed a kiss against it, causing Rowan's heart to stutter of the tenderness of the touch. Somehow, it felt more intimate than what they had just done.

Rowan stood and started towards the cabin door, but stopped as Aelin cleared her throat.

“Pants, buzzard, I wouldn't want you to stop anyone's heart at the sight of you.”

Rowan smirked and put on his undershorts in a purely male fashion that Aelin wasn't sure how he possessed that skill. She supposed it was something that only a three hundred year old Fae male could do.

She moved higher on the bed, getting comfortable against the pillows as Rowan's eyes found their way to the spot between her thighs, his eyes widening in desire as he saw how beautifully swollen she was. He saw that some of his seed had slipped out of her and coated the delicate flesh of her thighs making his blood dance through his veins at the sight.

Rowan wanted to get the food later, to stay in here longer, to go back into her again and again to the point that he thought that maybe he was going mad. He knew that what they had meant more to him that anything else and that he couldn't put a name to it, and Rowan started to wonder if it was what he thought it was but pushed that thought aside as Aelin's stomach growled—even louder, somehow—again.

“Rowan?” Aelin asked, curiosity lighting her eyes, wanting to know what he was thinking, but he simply shook his head and willed some of his magic wind into him, to clear his thoughts as he stared at his queen and gave her a smile meant only for her.

Aelin's heart skipped a beat at that loving smile.

“I'll be right back.”

XXX

With the magic of his wind, Rowan opened the door to their cabin as his hands were full from the trays from the kitchen. He managed to get the last dregs of the vegetable soup from dinner and some bread. There was no chocolate—unsurprisingly—and no butter but he did get them an apple each. They were a little soft in some spots, but still edible.

Aelin lazed on the bed, still naked, her skin creamy in the moonlight. Another image burned into his brain.

Gods, she was beautiful.

The door closed behind him and he gave her one tray and sat beside her on the bed. Aelin warmed up the soup and bread with her magic, the steam inviting.

The silence that enveloped them as they ate was beautifully comfortable. So comfortable in fact that Aelin stopped eating momentarily to give Rowan a kiss between bites.

“I love you,” she said.

His smile stopped her heart.“I love you, too.”

When they finished their dinner—Aelin having grumbled at the apple, to which Rowan told her to imagine her that it was a ball of chocolate—Rowan used his magic again to place the trays down in the corner of their room, not wanting to leave the warmth of the cabin, the warmth of his Fireheart.

They went to the bathing room, the space cramped with Rowan in it and cleaned themselves. Rowan took the old piece of leather, brushed her hair with his fingers and loosely braided her hair, his fingers weaving in and out the strands and committed the feeling to his memory.

“Your hair still isn't long enough for me to braid,” Aelin said and Rowan smirked.

“It'll take a few years for it to grow.”

“Then I'll have plenty of time to brush up on my braiding skills.”

“I dread the idea of what you'll come up with.” He tied the leather strap and placed a light kiss on the back of Aelin's neck, causing her to shiver. Rowan smiled at the reaction.

Aelin started back towards the bed and held out her hand for him to take. Quickly, he flung his undershorts off, not wanting anything to get in the way of their skin touching.

They went to the bed, which was half undone, but they didn't bother to fix it up as Aelin went to her spot on the bed.

Lying on her side, Rowan came up behind her, one arm going around her waist and the other around her shoulder and chest, his fingers resting on the other shoulder and moved closer to her so that their skin was touching. Aelin wove her fingers through the hand that held her on her waist and placed a leg between his. He pressed a kiss against her head, her scent enveloping him. Lulling him to sleep.

“Goodnight, Fireheart,” Rowan said,  and although he wanted to stay up all night pleasuring her, he could sense sleep coming over Aelin, her body melting at his touch. And dawn was not far away, and he knew that they both needed rest before they faced the new day.

“Goodnight, Rowan,” she mumbled, sleep moments away. “I love you,” she said again and Rowan would never tire of hearing her say that.

Rowan kissed her again, a smile on his lips. “I love you, too.”

She would never tire of hearing him say that, too.

They were meant to be, even if she was born three centuries later than him. He was hers and she was his and even death would not be able to separate them.

Aelin fell asleep and Rowan followed her not long after.

Rowan would follow her anywhere, as Aelin would follow him.

[sidespart]

The Fall of King Romulus part 4

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue     Chapter 1   Chapter 2  Chapter 3

“I will grant them handsome features and beguiling voices,” the maiden whispered, her own voice dripping with honey “that all who great them will be blessed from the meeting.”

“I told you it wouldn’t work!” Remus grinned smugly when Romulus was deposited back in in their room, their nanny shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Urghh.” Romulus whined as he hurled himself face first onto Remus’ bed, making his giggling brother bounce from the impact. “But it should have! It always does in the stories!”

What was the point of having a twin, Romulus wondered if they couldn’t even switch places to get him out of boring geography lessons?

Remus poked him until Romulus rolled over onto his side to pout at his brother.

“It’s because I’m better lookin’ than you.” Remus told him cheerfully.

Romulus thwacked him with a pillow. “We’re identical!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Remus grabbed a second pillow from the floor, “I’m still the cute one!”

“Are not!”

“Are too!”

“Are not!”

“Are to – oof!”

The pillow fight soon descended into a wrestling match, their shrieks and giggles echoing through the bed chamber.

Eventually they ran out of breath and Remus flopped back down on the bed, his legs hanging over the edge. Romulus collapsed on the floor amongst the fallen pillows, batted Remus’ foot away from his face and gazed up at the family portrait hanging above their fire place.

They were identical. The artist had taken care to draw the crown prince a little bigger than his brother, closer to the forefront of the picture, but even so; their hair, eyes, nose - everything was the same.

Romulus glanced up at his brother, who was currently digging snot out his nose with every sign of enjoyment. Romulus gagged. They were not the same -Remus was gross!  

Except.

Everyone said what a handsome young man Remus was growing up to be. How brightly his eyes sparkled.  How confidently he held himself, even as a child. They never said that stuff about Romulus.

Remus shone, even when he was being gross.

“Your voice is better.” Remus said suddenly, snapping Romulus out of his sulk.

“What?”

“Your voice.” The older twin lent over the bed, staring his brother in the eye “It’s nicer than mine, ‘specially when you sing.” Romulus beamed, showing off his gap toothed smile. Their parents had hired teachers to drill both boys on the lute and harpsicord, but Romulus’ talent for singing was all him.

“You think so?”

“Yeah.” Remus smiled back at him. He’d lost a baby tooth that week too – one of his canines, giving him lopsided fangs. “And you’re way better at crying.”

“What! Well – your feet are stinker!”

“You’re worse at pranks!”

“Well you’re worse at fencing!”

“But l I’m the best at tickling!” declared Remus and leapt from the bed, pinning Romulus with his knee whilst his fingers attacked his brothers armpits.  The younger prince’s peals of laughter and cries for mercy were so loud nanny came rushing back to check on them, finding the future rulers of Notaleveale wrapped around each other on the floor, covered in dust and wearing matching smiles.

“I will grant them strength and creativity.” The mother smiled, she had a thousand eyes and all of them twinkled under the halls many candles “so that their rule will never be questioned.”

“Lord Venchi?”  Romulus asked.

The royal treasurer, normally one of the more composed members of his father council, was pacing the entrance hall alone, what little hair he had left sticking up in all directions as he tugged at it.

“Oh, Your Highness!” The he gasped when he caught sight of Romulus, “oh thank goodness! He-“

Romulus sighed. “What has my brother done now?”

Romulus had spent the morning on a rare visit into town, missing the days council meeting. It was completely unfair -  Romulus attended meetings almost daily, under Julius supervision, as part of his training to one day take over managing whichever aspect of the kingdom bored the future King Remus the most. They were mind numbingly dull sessions and it was only Julius’ steady glare that kept Romulus’ eyes open and his face attentive.

But today, visitors from the far south were attending. Which meant the session might actually be interesting. Which meant Remus got to go, and Romulus was immediately barred from entry. Instead, his father had asked him to represent the family at the ceremonial graduation of the latest batch of city watch recruits. So, instead of hearing tales from beyond the kingdoms borders, he had spent most of the day on a podium waving dispassionately at a crowd of braying onlookers.

It was always daunting, being around so many common folk. They lacked the decorum of the nobles at court. Whilst most seemed content to gape and sigh at him from a distance, there was always one who would shout out ‘my prince, look at me!’, ‘come here!’, ‘kiss my baby!’

Even with his fathers voice ringing in his ears – “no matter what you hear, stay by your guards side until you are back in the palace.” – Romulus had spent the day tense and unhappy, pinpricks of pain dancing in his skull. By the time he was allowed to speak he had quite forgotten his prepared speech and been forced to make up a quick poem on the spot. The crowd had seemed happy enough – the watch captain had tears in his eyes - but he knew neither Julius or his parents would be happy with his improvising once his guards had reported in.

He had hoped to get a few hours alone before the inevitable lecture, and were it anyone else he might have tried to sneak by without getting pulled into whatever chaos Remus had caused.

But Venchi was an old ally, one who had served his father wisely for years and who always took the time to compliment Romulus on his few measured contributions to the councils discussions, or to explain carefully any point he had missed.

He had also seen Remus at council. There shouldn’t have been anything left that the older prince could do to shock him to this extent.

“He-“ the old man looked like he couldn’t quite believe his own words, “He flipped the table.”

Romulus stared at him. The council table was ancient and enormous, made of a stone so old it’s real name has been lost. Moving it was impossible, the palace had practically been built around it.

“The Arkazeii  ambassador is being seen by a healer.” Venchi continued, “but I believe his foot Is broken, I-“

The side door behind them slammed open suddenly, crashing into the wall with enough force to make the hanging portraits shake. “I said.” Remus roared, a snarl on his handsome face, “Leave me alone!”

His voice was so forceful Romulus found he had taken three steps towards the main door before he stopped himself, face flushing. The order hadn’t been meant for him. Julius, who had clearly been chasing after the young crown prince, was now openly glaring down at Remus, two spots of colour high on his cheeks.

“Your highness I must insist-“

“Seriously?” Remus cackled, “You’re insisting?  Juju, honestly, I am not interested in what you have to say.” He barred his teeth at the King’s advisor, eyes wild,  “If my father wants me he can come get me himself but if not you can go and -oh.”

“Hello Remus.” Romulus sighed, giving the shortest bow he could get away with, “I hear your meeting went well.”

Remus eyes narrowed “Hello Romy, have fun getting your butt kissed in town?” he slug his arm around his brother’s neck, adopting a high pitched, sing song tone in apparent impression of the townsfolk “Oh Prince Romulus, you’re sooo clever and handsome and perfect. Won’t you pretty please sign an autograph and let me suck your di-“

“Your highness, please!” Venchi looked disgusted “There is no need for vulgarity.”

“Aww hey Vee! Wow, your hair is really going, you know the balder you get the more you look like my ballsack? Romy – I’m serious, picture him with two heads”  he held up his thumbs and index fingers and positioned them in front of the red-faced treasurer like a frame “I can’t be the only one that sees this.”

“You are.” Romulus snapped, shrugging his brothers arm off of his shoulders, “Did you really break the Arkazeii ambassadors foot?”

“The Arkazeii ambassador deserved it.” Remus snarled, good humour vanishing instantly. “They want to dig up Orenlla till it’s hollow. Use the rock to turn their sky black. Have you heard the stories outta that place? All the chickens are dying, ’s a travesty.”

“The chickens are- what? Just. Whatever. Not liking his trade ideas doesn’t mean you can hurt him!”

Remus eyes were always sparkling. Like a man on the brink of madness. “I can do whatever I want little brother.” He grinned at him with too many teeth, “you should try it sometime.”

“Your sons have all the makings of rulersss” the final fae smiled, her one golden eye glinting in the depth of her cloak. “My gift is for you. I give your children honestly and obedience.” She smiled sweetly, “May they bring you joy.”

“Your father is sick” Julius told him.

I know that Romulus thought but didn’t say. Watching the old man carefully.

They were in Julius practice room, at the top of the northmost turret, where Romulus had spent so much of his childhood.

“There is of course, still hope. And we have the finest healers, from every corner of the Kingdom.” Julius was pacing as he spoke, wringing his hands. It was profoundly odd, to see the old man so unsettled. But he had known Romulus’ father from when they were both boys. He loved him, as much as he was capable of loving anyone, and he loved the kingdom that he helped rule.

So Romulus found he wasn’t as surprised as he should have been with what Julius said next.

“Your brother cannot be allowed to take the throne.”

Since Romulus curse had been recognised, his parents had taken great pains to limit the brothers’ interactions, for both of their safety.

Remus could not keep a secret.

Remus was honest. He was honest at their mothers funeral when he’d announced to the mourners that she was ‘a bitch by anyone’s definition’ and honest later than evening when he’d sobbed into Romulus’ shoulder and cried that he would miss her.

He was honest when he announced to Romulus causally, over are rare shared meal, that he dreamed about killing him. “I’d do it with a morning star” he told him, slapping his spoon down onto the head of a roasted tomato and watching the red pulp fly about his plate. “Just like that.”

He was honest when he forced his way into Romulus’ room at night, shook him awake and told him, shaking, that the palace was haunted. That voices whispered to him from every corner - so loud that he couldn’t sleep.

He was honest when Romulus asked him, baffled, why are you telling me this. “I trust you.” Remus admitted, his voice thick, “You’re the only one I can trust.”

Just because he was honest, didn’t mean he was right.

Romulus gazed at Julius, his face carefully blank – a skill he had perfected over many council meetings.- and said “I don’t think you can order me to change our birth order.”

“No.” Julius smiled, and had the decency to look pained. “That’s not what I’m going to ask.”

In this room, Julius had tried every trick to strip Romulus of his curse. And when he failed, he’d dedicated himself to learning every possible way it could be exploited. In order to help protect him, of course.

“Sit there and listen to me until I finish.”

If Romulus didn’t hear an order in full, even if he could guess it, it could be ignored. As a child he’d sometimes escape his teachers simply by running away before they could give him the next task.

“The next time you lay eyes on your brother, kill him. Ensure no one can trace it back to you.”

Vague orders were still orders, and often more effective than those that were too direct. If he couldn’t prevent someone from seeing him, then he would have to kill the witness too in order to obey the instructions in full.

“Let no one know you did it. Tell no one of our conversation”

There was, by now, a long list of things Romulus was forbidden from talking about. It was one of Julius’ favourite orders to give.

“If anyone contradicts this order, ignore them.”

Contradictions were tricky. Normally the most recent order would take precedence, but often enough once the newer order had been completed, the old one would return.

“Do you understand me, Price Romulus?”

Romulus nodded and some of the tension left Julius’ shoulders.

He smiled at Romulus then, and lent over the bush back a strand of hair that had fallen across the young man’s face. He left his hand on Romulus cheek and gazed at him like he really was a kindly old mentor and Romulus his favoured pupil.

“This year, it will be the rise of King Romulus. You will be a just and fair ruler. I’ll make sure of it.”

***

As the second son of a King, Romulus future had never been certain.

His parents discussed it often. He should have become a commander in the army, or a leader of the church or married off to a neighbouring princess and become king in his own right. With all options too likely to lead to discovery however, it had been decided he would stay home, construct a reputation of studious detachment and become his brothers distant advisor.

Help him. Protect him.

Like Julius protected them.

Instead, Romulus ran away and became Roman.

Roman was loud and confident and sprouted poetry and song without hesitation. He basked in the attention from crowds and flirted  with every pretty face who crossed his path. He worked and earned for himself and argued back with anyone who disagreed with him and never sat still if he could help it. He kept Romulus and his memories of home buried so deep sometimes he forgot he’d ever had another name.

Even so, there had always been, at the back of his mind, the paranoia of this day. When he would be found. Recognised. Forced back to Romulus life.

He just didn’t think when it happened it would be so embarrassing.

They’d reached a fork in the road. The Marquis paused and whipped his head from side to side, presumably checking for witnesses although it looked more like he was trying to shake water free from his ears. He stepped in front on Roman.

“You.” He enunciated slowly and loudly “Turn left. Okay? Le – e -e f -t”

Roman stared at him.                                  

He had been kidnapped by an idiot.

With great deliberation he rested all his weight on one foot and turned left. And then kept turning, spinning in a circle a few times until the Marquis hissed “no!” and grabbed his arm.

And then dropped it immediately, wiping his hand on his sleeve.

“You. Just – follow me, alright? This way.”

Roman rolled his eye but did as he was told.  The man could have just told him in the beginning to follow him to wherever their destination was, and Roman would have done so. There was no need to give him a new instruction every few paces. But if the Marquis – what was his first name? Romulus must have known at some point – didn’t know the ins and outs of his curse then Roman wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

They continued on, the Marquis stopping every three feet to stare at him, or repeat some instruction, or glare at a crumpled map in his hands. Roman despaired. Romulus had had a crush on this man.

At first, Roman assumed he would lead him towards the Royal Palace and present his find to the Princess or to whatever other Notalevealian nobles were already here for the coronation. But instead he tugged him away from the wider streets, back down hill towards the main sprawl of the city.

“Where are you taking me, villain?” Roman asked after twenty minutes of marching “because I’m pretty sure we’ve passed that street lamp three times already.”

“Somewhere where your little friend won’t be able to help you.” the Marquis muttered, glaring at the lamp in question.

Roman felt his heart freeze. His friend?

He supposed it made sense. There was no conceivable way they could have been followed in the woods. Not without Patton or Virgil noticing. The Marquis must have spotted him in the market and followed from there, which means he would have at least seen Logan, perhaps the others too since he had been at the tavern…

Although why would a noble be at the Stevangie street market?

He tried not to let his anxiety show on his face, puffing his chest out and summoning his most haughty glare.

“Listen to me, lordling, if any harm should come to them I will personally-“

“Them?” The Marquis stumbled, map fluttering to the floor. When he spun to glare at Roman his eyes were enormous. “How many are there?”

Roman blinked, haughty glare ruined by his genuine confusion. “Erm,” he tried “lots?”

The Marquis audibly gulped, but before Roman could even attempt to interpret that the man’s face brightened, his gaze caught on something behind Roman. He smirked, some swagger returning to his step.

“No matter.” He said and grabbed Romans arm, dragging him towards a nondescript building in the centre of the street, unlocking the door and shoving the bard through.

It was a bath house. The back entrance, perhaps, but the damp in the air and smell of scented soap was unmistakable.

Roman tried, in his sleep-deprived, underfed, over-stressed state, to come up with a reasonable explanation for this.

He had nothing.

“Why-“

“Shut up” The Marquis snapped. “Walk that way.” He pushed Roman down a long corridor, past arched doorways through which he caught a glimpse of the bathhouse proper, and into a dusty looking stairwell. He had produced a candle from somewhere, but the dim light did very little to illuminate anything as they gingerly picked their way down.

When they finally reached the bottom floor Roman squinted to see boxes and crates of empty bottles– a storage room? But he had no time to take it all in before he was being dragged through another pair of doors. Two more rooms and another set of stairs later and the Marquis finally stopped.

The room he’d led them to was hot and humid. Sweat dripped down Romans nose after only a few seconds. At first he couldn’t work out what the noise that filled the room was, until his eyes adjusted enough to see the tubes running from the floor to ceiling.

“You’re lucky to see this.” The Marquis had to raise his voice over the rush of running water to be heard “This room is a modern miracle – the lifeblood of the city!”

Steveange’s heated bath houses were famous. So much so even Virgil had heard of them, and he seemed to take pride in knowing nothing about the outside world. Roman had assumed the city must have been built on hot springs or some other natural source, but this was something else.

“The furnace is below us.” The Marquis explained, as he propelled Roman towards the back wall. “The pipes bring water from the river, it’s heated and pumped up and out to every bathhouse in the city.”

He grinned with something like pride as he tapped one of the  pipes above Romans head, making it sing, “Arkazeii engineering and Orenllan iron. Lined with Orenllan copper of course…give me your jacket.”

“But. Notaleveale doesn’t trade it’s ores” Roman blinked rapidly, trying to remove the sweat from his eyes, as he shrugged out of his jacket.

Jacket was a generous term – it was a silken red thing, better suited to performances than travelling. But he enjoyed the way it billowed as he walked. The Marquis took it and without so much as a moments respect for the garment, ripped one of the sleeves clean off.

“Hey!”

“You’ve been away a long time.” the Marquis snarled, “you little fae touched traitor.”

Roman gaped at him, even as the man grabbed his right arm and began attempting to tie it to the nearest pipe.

“I used to look up to you” the Marquis continued, “you were everything a Prince should be. But you betrayed your father and put a curse of madness on your brother - all because of your own petty jealousy!”

He squeezed Romans wrist with enough force to leave bruises. And stepped back to admire his handywork. The silky material had no grip and it was painfully obvious the man was not used to getting his hand dirty. The resulting knot looked more like a bow. “You are no prince of mine.”

“Lucius.“ Roman knew he’d known his name. “That’s not true. That’s- that’s not even a clever story! Who came up with that?”

“Shut up.” Some of the panic from the journey had come back to Lucius’ eyes but it faded quickly “And don’t think you can scare me with my name, there is more iron in this room then anywhere else in the city.”

He grinned at Roman nastily. “Your little friends aren’t coming to save you.”

Roman stayed quiet, mind whirling. They thought Remus was cursed?

Well. He was. But not in the way Lucius seemed to believe.

They wouldn’t send a mad man to another kingdoms coronation would they? Had the seller actually been certain Remus was coming?

Tied up, exhausted and with a man who seemed to hate him glaring down, Roman started to giggle in giddy relief.

Lucius stepped back, looking unsettled, before reaching out, roughly grabbing Romans chin and shoving the remnants of his jacket into his mouth. “Stay here,” he told him, slowly and clearly “until I come back with your transport.”

He stood, taking the candle with him to the door. He paused for one moment before leaving, the flickering light illuminating a cruel smirk. “You had better hope I can arrange it before the furnaces come back on.” And he was gone.

Roman glanced above himself into the darkness, where his wrists were strapped tight to the currently cool metal. A rush of fear went through him, finally bringing him down from the giggling hysteria.

Alone In the dark, tried to think.

Roman was a bad friend. He lied to his companions as easy as breathing and took his own fears out on them.

Romulus was a bad prince. He had abandoned his kingdom and his subjects and allowed some sort of conspiracy to spring up in his wake.

But he was a good brother. Remus was alive. And he would stay that way.

After all, this afternoon he thought that Remus was here. That he would have to confront his past, escape the city, evade every member of the Notalevealian court and his  own friends and steal a horse.

Now all he had to do was get out of this basement and outwit one idiot who could barely tie knots and hadn’t even thought to pat him down to check for hidden daggers.

Easy-peasy he thought, his eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion finally overtook him.

Part 5

[mistabullets]

Mon Lapin (Kinktober Day #2 - Dirty Talk)

Characters: Laurent Thierry x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Laurent demands you express what you want.

Content Warning: n/s/f/w, afab reader, neutral pronouns, drunk sex, slight dubcon cause of alcohol involved but otherwise it’s consensual, dirty talk, teasing, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial

Note: Some more Great Pretender content cause we need some more of this idiot yet suave Frenchman. Also slight spoilers for Dorothy (she’s hinted and alluded to but never name dropped)

The heist had been a success.

Somehow, you pulled through it, playing your part beautifully. You celebrated with your fellow swindlers for a job well done and evenly distributed the stacks of greens amongst yourselves. Alcohol was served - as you downed your shots, more people vanished to return to their villas. You didn’t quite mind the lack of people; Laurent remained by your side to keep good company, nursing a glass of champagne but he was flustered from the buzz swimming through his head.

Laurent, albeit an enigma to you, certainly carried an aura of charisma. While you were new to the game of con artists and the conned, he had shown you the ropes in his own unique method of teaching. He was an excellent coach and a better swindling partner. While there had been times when you questioned what the hell was going through his head, you realized it was better to blindly trust him than to wonder the inner mechanisms of his mind. Eventually, it was just the two of you left at the resort - laughter echoing as he told you about his older days and his first missions.

“And that’s how we managed to get him - though, it was a close call. My English was a bit rusty at the time and I couldn’t pronounce the name of a certain city. But we pulled through,” he laughed, blue eyes twinkling as he reminisced the nostalgia.

“Now you’re a natural at this,” you commented, feeling reassured that while you were unusually nervous to play a big role in this heist, you had done well. It’s weird to think that once, Laurent was a rookie like you - that someone had mentored him. “I hope... my performance as a princess was good.”

“It was fantastic, mon lapin,” he praised, reaching your empty hand to emphasize his point. Your ears turned red - you weren’t the best at handling compliments like this, “If anything, I think you’ll probably outshine me one day.”

“I doubt that,” you said sheepishly, turning your head away from this gaze. He was too handsome to look at - tousled blonde locks and playful blue irises. His drunken blush didn’t help either.

“Mon lapin, you need more confidence in yourself,” with all inhibitions flew out the window, he reached for your chin and forced you to confront him - rather than his usual cunning smirk, he softly smiled at your adorable flushed cheeks. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it but there was something about your unbridled enthusiasm to learn and commit that made him quite fond of you. It reminded him of her. She would have taken quite a liking to you - always eager to please and coming apart under the slightest amount of praise when all eyes were on you. An idea hit him drinking in your demure visage. “Let me help you with that, my dear—“

“What do you mean, Lau—“ he hushed the question with a kiss. It was smooth and natural but being unfamiliar with this sort of affection, you froze. The Frenchman expected your unease - a long hand came to cup your cheek while the other rested in your shoulder to keep you grounded. Eventually, you settled in - even experimentally pressing your tongue against his lips, seeking permission. He hummed contently and indulged in the aftertaste of vodka lingering in your mouth. Your hand found purchase in his tropical shirt and tried to pull him in closer.

But he pulled away with a chuckle, taking in the glossy glisten of your eyes and your plush lips with red waxy smears from the corners of your mouth. “Eager to please, are we? J’aime ça.”

You didn’t respond, too caught up in what was taking place. A warm heat was spreading to your nether regions and Laurent noted how you shifted your thighs. Now he was curious. Seeing you positively react, he reached in again for another kiss but instead his hand went running up your thigh and you instinctually spread your legs to invite him closer.

“I knew it. You’re an eager slut, ready to please, aren’t you, mon lapin?” a devilish smirk curled his lips upwards - it made your heart hammered against your chest. Your words were stuck in your throat - he had caught you like the vulnerable rabbit trapped in between the sharp canines of a fox. He was the cat that got the cream. You shuddered when you sensed his fingertips dancing at your sides, ready to pounce.

“L-Laurent, please—“

“Hm, glad to see the cat didn’t get your tongue. But please what, mon lapin salope?”

“I— mmph—!” he pushed you down on the couch, assaulting your senses. His kiss was rougher, more sloppy - he bit at your lower lip so you could gasp and allow access to your mouth. He tongued you eagerly, all while lazily grinding his tented half-hard erection against your clothed heat. You moaned into his mouth, relishing in the taste of cigarettes and booze; your mind was growing fuzzy, unaware of the world surrounding you. Luckily for you and Laurent, everyone else had either left and found a room to crash in for the night. You wanted more of him. You whimpered when you left your lips, only to feel his hot breath tickle against your neck. He made a trail of kisses, occasionally deliberately teething, the skin blooming into a red-purple shade.

He stopped his incessant grinding, taking in the effects he had on you - swollen lips, blown-out pupils, matted locks against your forehead, and a couple of hickeys. You whined when he stopped, his teasing grin would have warranted a punch in the face. “You didn’t answer my question so I’ll help you out,” he jerked his hips against your clothed sex and you sighed, bucking your own hips to feel him again. However, his hands gripped them, holding you steady much to your dismay. “It’s clear what you want, mon cheri. I want the same. I want to fuck you. So don’t deny how eager you are to take my cock, you adorable slut.”

“L-Laurent— p-please, I want you—“

“Better, mon lapin. But why do you want me?”

“Y-You know...”

“Perhaps I do. But I want to hear it from your pretty slutty mouth, mon lapin.”

“B-But, Laurent, I—“ before you could articulate your words, the blonde dips one hand underneath the waistband of your pants. You choked on your words and moaned when his palm cups at your pantie clad sex, his long finger experimentally rubbing the slit.

“I can feel how wet you are. You’re particularly dripping, my dear Y/N...” being a bit impatient himself, his hand slipped underneath the fabric of your panties, his experienced hand easily finding the bundle of nerves hiding in its hood. With careful consideration, he rubs it, electricity jolting down your spine and a desperate moan leaving your lips. His free hand is already pulling down your leggings along with your panties and you help shimmy them off. Laurent spreads your legs further apart, admiring the pretty shade of your pussy and your swollen clit. Collecting more of your slick on his index finger, he presses it against your entrance and sinks it into the knuckle. You sigh in relief - he works his magic on you, immediately finding that one particular spot that has your toes curling.

With ease, he inserts another digit and begins to fuck your tight walls with only two of his fingers. You tense up, going with your instincts, and bucking against his hand. To put the icing on the cake, his thumb finds your swollen clit again, rubbing it in vigorous circles that has white stars flooding your vision. Laurent knows you’re about to cum, your core pulsating against his knowledgeable digits as he assaults your g-spot with a come here motion. However, before you can fall from your peak, he stops his ministration, cackling almost sinisterly when you let out a whine followed by a curse.

“Tell me, mon lapin salope, what do you want?”

“Fuck Laurent, please! You know already!” you cry out in frustration.

“I know what your beautiful body wants but again, I want to hear it from those pretty lips,” he coos, lapping up juices from his slender fingers.

“God, p-please...! J-Just do me already—“ you whine, your cheeks burning red, steam particularly coming out of your ears. You avert your gaze away, his wolfish grin too much to handle.

But he wasn’t going to have it. He reaches for your chin, his visage softening. It was too cute with how embarrassed you were but he understood he could be cruel. He gives you an encouraging kiss, “Look me in the eyes and say it with confidence, mon cheri.”

With an exasperated sigh, you throw out your dignity, finally giving in to the Frenchman’s scheme. You reach for his face, appreciating how he was being more lenient - yet a hint of a smirk remained, his eyes beaming with amusement. Chewing on your bottom lips, you stumble over some of your words but still carry on, desperate at this point. “L-Laurent, please... I-I... I want you to... f-fuck me with your cock! Please, I can’t handle this anymore—!”

Finally - your cute face was desperately worth it.

“I thought you would never ask~”

“B-But we can go to the bedroom?”

He chuckles, giving you another quick kiss before scooping you up, “Of course.”

[yeojaa]

home sweet home.

[ read devil in a new suit ]

i just really, really wanted to explore a bit about kook’s family because i think it shines a big light on who this adorable baby is.  i hope you enjoy!  xo

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  you’ll get cavities from reading this, honestly.  but also, very light smut in the form of:  inappropriate bullet egg use and tit groping (again, kook is a boob guy).  wc.  1.7k.

You meet his parents on a Sunday afternoon, invited to their palatial home for family brunch. It’s the first one you’ve been invited to, despite the fact you and Jungkook have been dating for what feels like forever (but in reality is only six months).  

Mama Jeon is an intimidating woman with a deceptively sweet face, aging gracefully around her eyes, the barely there lines upon her hands doing little to detract from her beauty.  She holds herself with immeasurable grace, practically dances into her son’s embrace when the two of you step into the modernist’s dream, chicly decorated and swathed in neutral tones.  It reminds you vaguely of Jungkook’s apartment - but decidedly more refined.  Same colour palette, though. 

“Jungkook-ah,”  she hums, patting adoringly at his cheek when he passes a kiss against hers, looking every inch the mama’s boy he is. 

“Eomma,”  he returns, so giddy it makes your heart soar in your chest.  He’s so easy to love - and so easily loving, offering the world to the woman who’d raised and loved him.  Two hands - the picture of respect - pass over the box of pastries you’d picked up on your way, the bag of too-expensive fruit topping the container.  (Apparently, his mother loves grapes, but only green ones.)  “These are for you— from us.”

Now is when he gestures to you - standing just to the side, beyond his shoulder - with a flourish comparable to that of a game show host.  It’s adorable how eager he is, beaming proudly at his eomma as he reaches for your hand, squeezes it tight between his own tattooed one.

When she turns to you, her expression is inscrutable. 

This woman isn’t someone who wears her heart on her sleeve, offers pleasantries for the sake of it.  She’s confident and critical (but soft, somehow, for the people she loves most), forged from steel and refined by experience.  You’re simultaneously awed and afraid, a mixture of emotion you’re not quite used to.

She levels you with a look.  A moment passes, then another.  You wonder if your smile falters, eclipsed by the grey of her stare.  (You feel like that one girl from that one movie about those crazy rich… what was it?)  

Finally, she speaks, drags her eyes from your shoes - red Ferragamo pumps, with the signature bow detailing on the toe - up to your face.  It feels more like a stringent assessment than a casual perusal, stirring heat beneath the colour of your blouse.  You’re not nervous, per se, but you want her to like you.  Right now, you can’t tell if she does - probably have a higher chance of winning the lottery than getting an answer.  “Lovely to meet you, ____.”  Her tone is warm enough, polite and paired with a tiny nod of her sophisticat head.

The patriarch of the family is the opposite of his mother, endlessly genial and full of booming laughter.  It reminds you a little of Jungkook’s own giggle, but somehow more - rounded by years and years of full-belly laughing and further ingrained by the wrinkles around his eyes.  

Just like his mother, Mr. Jeon is slim, good-looking in a way that comes from proper self-care and living an easy life.  (Not that it’d always been this way, you remind yourself.  Jungkook had told you how hard his parents had worked - all the long hours his father had put into getting where he was, able to support his wife and two children.)  He encourages his son’s stories and looks fondly at his daughter - the spitting image of her mother, with the same round stare as Jungkook.  

When your bowl runs empty, he makes sure it’s refilled, nodding in approval when his son is the one to make it happen.  When his wife makes an off-hand comment in response to a story, he’s the one to chide her, however gently.  He’s not nearly as sharp as she is, softly rounded edges like the toe of his slippers, the natural sag of his jaw with time.  

(You get it now. Meeting his parents for the first time, juxtaposed so hilariously against each other, it all makes sense.  Who Jungkook is, how he is equal parts soft and yielding and hesitant and distant.  Why he smiles so freely - with wrinkles you see aged nearly three decades in his father’s face - but loves so tenderly, offering it with whispers of affection that you might miss, should you look away.)

His father asks you questions like he really cares, nodding thoughtfully each time he learns a little bit more about you.

“How did you two meet?”  He’s bright-eyed, curious over the coffee mug he sandwiches in his grip.  You imagine he’s heard the story - must have heard some form of it in passing from Jungkook - but you appreciate his interest nonetheless.  He just wants to see the perspective from someone other than his lovestruck son.

You can’t help but laugh, sucking in your cheeks like you always do when you’re contemplative.  Jungkook shifts at your side, drops his inked palm over your covered knee and squeezes.  You’re not sure whether he’s reassuring you or himself with the gesture.

“He actually kept coming into my store.”  It’s not a lie.  Certainly not as scandalous as the full truth, but a truth nonetheless.  That is how you’d met.  

“Your store?”  It’s Jisoo, curious and pretty from her seat where she’s still picking at the desserts you’d brought over.  (She’s a fan of tart and tangy flavours, unlike her brother.)  “Do you own a shop or something?”

You wonder how much she knows.  You know she’s younger than either you or your partner, a student at Korea National University.  Part of their dance program, if you’re not mistaken.  You’d heard all about it a few weeks ago, when she’d sent a video to Jungkook and he’d raved about it nonstop, so proud of his little sister you couldn’t even make fun of him.

“I work at CELINE.”  

That earns a noise of delight from Jisoo (together with an “oh my god, that’s so cool”) and a polite albeit disinterested nod from Mr. Jeon (if his nondescript but stylish clothes are any indication, luxury fashion isn’t his top priority).  

What you don’t expect - what you just barely not from the corner of your eye - is the surprise written across Mrs. Jeon’s expression.  As if she’s just learned something groundbreaking.  

“You have a job?”  Maybe she doesn’t mean it how it comes out, disbelieving and abrupt.  You don’t let it rub you the wrong way, nodding.  (You know where she’s coming from - you feel the same way about his exes as she does, it seems.)  She’s hardly looking at you now, though, gaze trained on her beloved son.  There’s a silent conversation happening between them - something you’re not privy to, an exchange held only with those matching eyes of theirs.  

He’s upon you the moment he climbs into his car, clumsily knocking against the centre console as he drags your body closer, forces your knees apart with his hand unceremoniously shoved all the way into your silk crepe trousers. 

“She likes you.”  The words are muffled against your lips - already spit slick and swollen by how savagely he attacks them, tugs your bottom between his teeth and nibbles.  

You know he means his mother.  She’d hugged you on your way out, patted gently at your upper arm when she’d sent you both off with some leftovers in pretty ceramic containers.  It’d been a surprising farewell from the woman who had otherwise kept you at arm’s length through most of brunch, offering small smiles and exchanging only the basest of pleasantries.  

You have to admit - it feels a bit like taming a lion.  You’re high on the feeling and it seems Jungkook is too, utterly delighted as he drags his finger through the arousal that’s all but ruined your thong, thin material shoved aside by his deft movements.

“Your sister?”  You laugh - sound bitten off by the edge of your teeth when he teases at your folds, presses the tip of his fingers over your clit and circles back enough times to make you shudder.

He’s sucking into the sensitive spot beneath your ear, catching your earlobe with the wet point of his canines.  “My mom,”  he mumbles, burying himself into your skin as if he’d happily live there, make a home between your bones if you’d let him.  (You would.)  “She hugged you.”  Hilariously enough, he sounds just as surprised as you.

“She did,”  you hum - sigh when the pressure in your abdomen increases, mirroring the same one between your legs.  He’s pulling gently at the cord peeking past your lips, tugging at the smooth pink egg snug within your pussy.  It’s not on now - not like it had been all through brunch - but it still feels absurdly good, perfectly shaped just the right amount of stimulation against your fluttering walls.

Jungkook makes the softest noise, one that sounds like his heart falling into place, his soul settling where it feels most comfortable.  It’s at odds with the way he gropes your chest over the smocked bodice of your blouse, seeking out the hardened bud of your nipple beneath layers of chiffon and macrame.

The tiny vibrator continues fucking into you, muscle walls clenching around it each time he yanks on the cord and then lets it fall back into place.  You wish it were his fingers (wish it were his cock, more than that) but your pants fit too-well, tailored slim around your waist and flaring over your ankles. 

Your 70’s pants, as your silly boyfriend liked to call them.

“I can’t wait to get you home.”  It’s so dreamy, hazy with affection that overwhelms you.  He’s looking at you so sweetly now, forehead resting against yours, entire palm pressed to your cunt.  “K-knew you were always perfect but—”  You lose sight of his lovely doe eyes, your own sliding closed when he stamps a kiss to your mouth, so terribly sweet it’s reminiscent of the cheesecake you’d just had.  

You understand what he means without him having to finish the thought, smile of your own acting as the ending punctuation to your conversation. 

Family means everything to him.  Now, you were one step closer to being part of it.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @snackhobi​​ @codeinebelle​​

[blahkugo]

Biggest Fan

DABI x HAWKS x READER

Music! AU inspired by THIS photo set...or, the one in which Dabi, Hawks, & Endeavor are a famous rap group, and the reader gets VIP treatment. 

NSFW begins after the ~~~ for those of you who don’t care for plot! 

Warnings: 18+!, SMUT, cursing, threesome, rough sex (? not sure what your definitions of the word are but they do be slapping you around…), just pure filth basically 

You’ve been squealing into the phone for the past ten minutes. Honestly, you can’t believe the words coming from your best friend’s mouth, even after asking her to repeat them a fourth time. 

“Babe, even if you weren’t my agent, I would have found a way to get you in,” Rumi scoffs into the speaker, unphased by your relentless questioning. Though she’s always been a bit impatient when it comes to your antics, she knows how big of a deal this is to you. “How could I not? You talk my ear off about them.”

“I owe you for the next thirty years!” Your screech turns the heads of a few other customers, and you can feel the irritation radiating off the glare of one particularly peeved woman seated near you. But who cares? You’re too excited for a few middle-aged drags to dampen your mood. 

“Remember what you just said the next time I try to skip out on an interview,” her laugh echoes loudly; she must be at the studio.

“Yes! Whatever you want, Twinkle Toes. It’s yours!” She begins to grumble at the use of the old nickname,

“How many times have I told you not to-” You catch the scowling woman turning towards you.

“Got-to-go-text-me-the-details, love you!” The parting phrase comes out a hurried ramble. Unbothered as you are by a few stares, direct confrontation definitely isn’t worth the trouble. You’re out of the bistro and in your car before anyone can open their mouth. 

The cup of iced coffee you press to your flushed face does nothing to curb the elation threatening to bubble over from inside you. Rumi really has outdone herself this time. Being that she’s both a long-time best friend and client of yours, you know just how hard she’s been working to book a job of this caliber. Images of the two of you icing sore feet after hours of grueling practices spring to mind, making your bad ankle throb. If you could tell your younger selves who they are now— an internationally acclaimed dancer and a talent manager with a novel’s worth of influential clients— they wouldn’t believe it. And the work was paying off in more ways than one. Soon, Rumi will be making her music video debut...and you’ll actually be in the presence of your favorite artists, Suns of Icarus. 

The rap trio’s been all you can talk about forever. No, like really, forever. Even back at arts school, Rumi had to talk you out of choreographing dances to their music practically once a week. You can still hear her promising you that your 70 year-old ballet instructor did not, in fact, want to see you pirouette to a song that's chorus consists of Hawks saying the word “pussy” over and over again. Usually the memory would drown you in embarrassment (especially considering the story is Rumi’s favorite icebreaker), but now even that can’t hamper your mood. You sigh cheerily, pulling into your reserved parking space. Tomorrow, you’ll be surrounded by your idols.

-

“Are you sure I look okay?” You ask for the third time in an hour, tugging at the hem of your silk tank. Though you’re wearing your favorite suit, you can’t help but feel out of place in the large dressing trailer. After all, it’s  not every day that you accompany your clients on their gigs. Your job is getting them the gigs, and usually you prefer it that way.

“(Y/N), quit stressing! If you looked any hotter the guys would have a heart attack,” your best friend bellows loudly. “Doesn’t she look smokin’?” She questions the hairdresser who, apart from a nod and reassuring smile, you can’t quite understand over the sound of the blow dryer. “Who’s the bad bitch that got me this job in the first place? Oh right, that was you,” she pumps a manicured finger towards you to echo the claim, “so woman up!” 

She doesn’t put her finger down until she sees your face soften. It’s not like she’s wrong. “Professional smooth-talker” is basically your job description. In Hollywood people are afraid of you, the woman who can make or break a career. Who are you to let a couple of talents get you riled up? You allow your body to relax in your seat. Even if those talents are the group of boys that you’ve been crushing on since you were 16. Recalling that fact has you scrambling out of the trailer, face beet-red yet again.

“I’m going to grab something from the coffee cart. Be right back!” The door shuts behind you with a loud thud. Rumi should be spending this time going over the routine, not talking you down from the ledge you’re attempting to throw yourself off of over a few stupid guys. Besides, you’ll probably receive a polite greeting at best. The world’s favorite musicians have more important things to do than indulge your fantasies. 

Having iced coffee and a bagel in your hands is all you need to feel the tension in your shoulders dissipate and your smile return; truly a working woman’s comfort meal. The spring in your step is restored as you walk back to the trailer, too entranced by the savory goodness to properly hear the voice that hollers from your right. You do, however, hear the scolding that follows the catcall,

“How many times have I told you not to hit on people that work for us, birdbrain.” Your entire body swings towards the familiar nickname and a piece of bagel nearly falls from your mouth. Not even a few feet away, Dabi holds your favorite vocalist in a one-handed headlock, attempting to ruffle the blonde’s hair while keeping a cigarette balanced between his own fingertips. 

“Not the hair, man! The stylist’s already had to touch it up twice today!” Hawks’ shrieks are muffled beneath the bicep of his counterpart. 

“Go apologize,” The lanky man shoves Hawks towards the spot your feet are now cemented to. Though he’s reprimanding him, you swear you detect a hint of amusement in his tattooed face. “I’m sorry about him, sweetheart,” he calls, lips contorting into a smirk that should be illegal. You feel your thighs press together on their own; the situation isn’t made any better by the pretty boy walking towards you, hands threading through his golden locks in an effort to fix the havoc Dabi wrought. 

“My bad,” he flashes you an award-winning set of teeth you’ve previously only had the pleasure of viewing through your laptop screen; somehow they’re even pearlier in person. The glimmer of a tiny gem catches your eye and you notice one is sealed to his canine, only dazzling you further. “I meant what I said though, you’re gorgeous,” his hand moves from his own hair to twist a piece of yours between his fingertips. The lack of boundaries leaves you feeling stupefied, but he doesn’t let up, going as far as wrapping the lock around his polished index finger. God, even his hands are pretty...What if they were trailing the inside of your thigh and—  Your mind shouts at you to behave, a fruitless undertaking when the object of your adolescent desires is touching you ever-so softly. 

“Um- I- Thank you?” The stuttered phrase comes out confused. Where the hell is the professional smooth-talker side of you when you need her? “I’m Rumi’s agent and uh- I-I’m a big fan!” Heat blazes through your face and chest; you’d slap yourself for the outburst if they weren’t here. 

“Oh, really? She told us all about you!” He waves a hand towards Dabi. “Oi! Matches! She’s not an assistant, she’s Rumi’s manager!” The gloomier man extinguishes his cigarette before making his way towards the two of you, smug expression wavering only when he glances at Hawks. A short wheeze leaves the blonde when his chest is smacked lightly by his partner. 

“I told you not to call me that.” Dabi turns his attention towards you. “(Y/N), right?” He sticks a hand out to shake and you quite literally drop the remains of the bagel to reciprocate the motion, a move that makes you redden and him snicker. “Rumi told us you’re our biggest fan,” his sly grin tells you your loud-mouthed best friend had probably spilled too much information their way. Oh, she’s definitely going to get an earful later. 

He doesn’t drop eye contact the entire time he’s speaking to you, and you find yourself enchanted by the deep sea-blue of his irises. You would literally swim in those pools if given the chance. Only when Hawks clears his throat do you realize you’re still shaking his friend’s inked hand. After dropping it rapidly, you urge yourself into composure out of pure distress. 

“Sorry, I’m honestly a bit starstruck. I’m sure Rumi told you how much I love your music,” you finally sound a bit like your usual self. 

“She didn’t really mention our music, did she Matches?” Hawks chirps, dodging Dabi’s fist this time.

“No, I don’t think she did, dipshit,” he spits the insult through gritted teeth as a final warning. “But I do remember her telling us something about being your first two crushes...or was it your ‘sexual awakening’? I can’t really remember the term she used…” Your knees almost buckle at the obvious teasing, and you silently swear to murder Rumi when she’s done shooting this video. It’s evident that the mockery is highly amusing to them— the glints in their eyes border on ravenous. 

Because you’re not typically someone whose presence is taken lightly, the thought of being toyed with by a few arrogant men has your blood boiling. You’ve already dealt with too many pretentious assholes who don’t believe women, especially younger ones, belong in management; you didn’t claw your way to the top of the industry for all of that hardship to go to waste. Ever the more perceptive of the duo, Dabi seems to realize the shift in your mood. 

“Relax,” he reaches a hand towards you before thinking better of it, choosing instead to tug at the thin, silver piercing adorning his bottom lip. “We’re only teasing. She didn’t say anything like that, obviously.” You stare at him incredulously, arms crossing your chest. “Why don’t we give you a tour?” Though he’s the one who makes the offer, it sounds as though he’d rather be doing anything else. 

“We’re not really assholes, promise,” Hawks jumps in, crossing his fingers over his heart in a show of good faith. “This one just gets too big headed around beautiful women,” he points at the heavily-inked man, who simply rolls his eyes at the accusation. You’d thought the blonde was…well, nothing more than the stereotype his hair color implied, but he’s sharper than he seems. It appears that unlike Dabi, who comes off curt and ungenuine, Hawks’ wit stems from his charm. 

You can’t help but think of how the two of them compliment each other beautifully. That’s probably why their entire fanbase thinks they should be dating. With that ludicrous thought, your exuberance returns. After Hawks assures you they don’t have to be on set any time soon, you find yourself taking them up on their offer. They seem to be a handful, sure, but how long have you dreamt of spending uninterrupted time with your favorite members of the group? Besides, it’s only a tour. What could go wrong?

-

It’s apparent only five minutes into your time together that Hawks (despite his insistence you call him Kiego, it’s difficult after years of referring to him by the stage name) does not know the meaning of personal space. He spends the better part of the tour hooking an arm through yours, touching your hair, or pestering Dabi. While some may take this over-familiarity as a sign of disrespect, it feels more to you as though he’s simply comfortable in his skin. 

Rude or not, his bold actions do nothing but spur your heart to beat out of your chest. Every time he guides you towards an attraction with a cheerful comment, you swear his fingers purposefully dash under your layers of clothing, brushing faintly at the skin of your waist in a way that makes your heart (among other parts) flutter.  

“And as I’m sure you know, we’re filming this music video mid-tour,” his hand flits away as swiftly as it skimmed you, prolonging the torture of wondering whether his movements are purposeful or a figment of your twisted imagination. After showing you most of the fabricated scenery— and even the gorgeous, cherry-red convertible that was rented— for the video, you’ve arrived at the group’s infamous tour bus. You once read that most of their concerts end with the vehicle being mobbed by ruthless fans, one of the sole reasons you’ve never attended a show. Someone as busy as you doesn’t have time for all the horrid traffic the mobs cause. “Wanna see inside? It’s actually pretty roomy.” 

You nod, eyes trailing towards Dabi, who’s busy stomping out the most recent cig he’d been puffing on. Aside from the occasional chuckle at your flustered blunders or annoyed curse thrown towards Hawks, the taller man had kept mostly to himself. His indifference confuses you, makes you wish you hadn’t reacted so bitterly to the loose smile and banter he offered you upon first meeting. At the same time, part of you is irritated by his standoffish personality. From what you’ve seen so far, his remarks serve the single purpose of humiliating others for his own amusement— a stark contrast to the misjudged softy he’s portrayed as on camera. 

You’re guided onto the bus and Dabi follows, cursing under his breath at something or other. Sociable as he is, Hawks begins to chatter again, seeing no issue in being the center of your attention. You realize the space is much roomier than it seems. State of the art technology allows the bunk beds to fold back with a press of the button, leaving room for a decently sized couch. It’s also much cleaner than you would expect three young men living on the road to allow. 

“And the lowest one was my bunk, just in case you’d like to see it again later,” he whispers the sentence as though it’s his best kept secret, wagging his thick brows exaggeratedly to key you in on his joke. “Hey, why are you laughing? I’m totally seriou–” The doors swivel open and your giggles are cut off by heavy footsteps and a booming voice,

“Oi! Keigo! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You have to crane your neck to see the pillar of a man’s scrunched, stoic face. Endeavor, the pyrotechnic-obsessed “hype man” and third part of Suns of Icarus’s trio, stands a few feet from you, clearly exasperated by something his bandmate has done. Hawks must know precisely the reason for the bottle-redhead’s tone, because his face pales. 

“Enji, we made a new friend!” He pulls you into his chest in an obvious attempt to shield himself from the giant, but your face heats at the close contact regardless. 

“You were supposed to be on set for your solo scenes ten minutes ago,” he crosses his sculpted arms, “so let’s go.” The lively man is being whisked away by the larger one before he can utter a word of rebuttal. “Nice to meet you,” he calls casually to you over his shoulder. 

“Dabi, keep (Y/N) company! I’ll be back!” Hawks shrieks with a dramatic flare. The man was truly born to be an entertainer. 

An unbearable awkwardness envelops the two of you once you’re alone. Without his best friend around, Dabi drops any semblance of amiability, but it’s not as if he was trying very hard before. He plops down on the couch and pulls out his phone. You sit as far away from him as possible, but realize you don’t have your own device to keep you busy. After a few nervous minutes of twiddling your thumbs, you attempt to break the silence.

“So, Haw– Keigo and Endeavor use stage names, why don’t you?” You spout the first question that comes to mind, hoping it’ll spark an interesting conversation.

“Dabi is my stage name,” he answers curtly, without looking up from his cell. 

“Oh...but– even your bandmates call you by it?” 

“Yep. Don’t care for my real name,” his eye roll sends ice through your veins.

“Excuse me,” you snap, “have I done something to offend you?” The frustration in your tone wins you eye contact, at least. 

“Nope.”

“Unbelievable….I’m going to need your publicist’s information.” 

“Huh?”

“Well, anyone who can make you seem like the world’s most ‘misunderstood heartthrob’ on camera certainly deserves a pay raise, dontcha’ think?” His eyes drop to send a steely glare your way, but you’re too fed up to feel intimidated. You smirk at him, a single eyebrow raised in twisted satisfaction. There’s the bitchy self you know and love. 

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about me,” he sits up, “but I know everything I need to know about you.” 

“Oh? Enlighten me then, sir.” 

~~~

“You may think Keigo likes you, but he likes everyone. You’re, what, thinking you’re special because he’s throwing some attention your way?” Dabi inches closer. “Hoping he’ll get in your panties?” 

“It’s not like that at all–”

“Don’t lie. The idea of being with someone you’ve idolized for years is thrilling, isn’t it?” The heat that rises on your cheeks is enough to confirm his suspicions. “He doesn’t like to see people for who they really are, but I know your type...just another tramp that’ll use him and move onto the next,” his smug expression returns after that little rant. Paired with the tattoos covering most of his face, he appears every bit as wicked as the skeleton his ink emulates— devilish, even. 

“You’re wrong.” You can’t think of a proper argument when he’s so close to you, basically breathing down your neck. 

“Am I?” His hand trails up your clothed thigh, and an unwelcome shiver crawls up your spine. “So you’re going to stop me when I do this, right?” Then, he kisses you. 

It’s not at all soft, or compassionate, or anything resembling your naive teenage fantasies of the artist in the slightest. Rough, slender fingers wrap around your jaw and yank your lips to his. He doesn’t stop at a peck either, choosing instead to assail your mouth with all of his pent-up rage. The cool, hard metal of his lip ring strains against you, a pleasant contrast to the quick heat traveling the rest of your body. You want nothing more than to prove him wrong— to throw him off you, tell him to go straight to hell— but he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and- God, it just feels so good. Your mouth parts in a breathless moan and Dabi takes the reaction as an invitation to swipe his tongue against your teeth. With your bodies melding together violently, the make out feels simply a continuation of the intense argument you were having moments before. 

Pulling you between his lap, he shifts you so that your back is flush across his chest. Nimble fingers make quick work of your clothes. You just barely raise your hips so that he’s able to take your pants off with ease, but you’re sure he notices the eager movement. When you’re left in nothing but your panties, you feel the rumbling of his solid body behind you as he laughs, the sound bitter and pleased all at once.

“Oh you really are a whore,” he chides. “Who’d you wear these for, hm?” He runs his fingers across the band of your red lace thong. 

“Not you,” you bite back, feigning disinterest towards the dangerous position he has you in. The asshole’s not going to get to actually hear you admit defeat so easily. One of his hands kneads your chest and the other grabs your cheeks harshly, pushing them together so that you’re unable to speak.

“Not me? Take a good look at yourself, sweetheart.”  He lifts your head upwards and your breath hitches; the entire ceiling of the bus is covered in a dark, reflective surface. “Who has you naked in their lap right now?” he whispers onto your neck, licking a long stripe upwards until his teeth graze your ear. You watch fervently as he strokes his digits across one of your perked nipples, tweaking the bud roughly. “Who are you being such a slut for?” He’s aware he won’t get a response because his left hand still grips your face, demanding you watch his every move. 

Dabi then snakes his fingers down your midriff tortuously slowly, brushing lightly in a way he hasn’t touched you yet; as if the skin there is delicate, worthy of his valuable adoration. The ink traveling his arms makes him appear so ethereal, so sinister and compelling, that you can’t help but let out a muffled mewl. Once he reaches your panties, his fingers dart beneath the material and the tender moment is lost. An onslaught of pleasure wracks your body when he begins to draw quick circles on your clit. He lets go of your cheeks, now sore and reddened from both pressure and bliss. 

“I’m going to ask one more fucking time,” his fingers glide against your soaked slit, “who are you being such a dirty slut for?” You contemplate not giving him the answer he’s looking for, and part of you is sinfully curious about what may happen if you enrage him further; however, that idea is put to rest immediately when he snaps his head up to look at you through the mirror, blue eyes pooling with lust and a hint of something animalistic. That stare, paired with the relentless strokes across your clit, provokes your moaned answer,

“F-for you, Dabi.” He uses his free hand to insert two, thick digits inside you.

“Say it again.” 

“I’m- fuck– a s-slut for you,” you practically sob out. You press the back of your head into his shoulder harder, squeezing your eyes closed and biting your lip. 

“Not going to keep your eyes open? Fine.”  The fingers are removed from your clit and you’re about to let out an unsatisfied whine, only for him to grab the back of your head and mash your swollen lips to his once again. Then, after another brief caress of your abdomen, he’s back to touching your sensitive bud. All of your moans are silenced by his mouth, and you feel the vibrations of a low groan from his own throat when your ass grinds against his clothed member. When your stomach pulls taut you know you’re seconds away from feeling that all-encompassing pleasure, the tidings of an orgasm so close to washing over you. 

“Oi, Matches! You didn’t throw her out did you?” Hearing Hawks’ voice call out from the front of the bus has you reeling your lips away from Dabi, and though he slows his movements, he doesn’t remove his fingers from your core. Rather than push you away, he takes the other hand off your clit to hold you tightly against him. “(Y/N)? Dab–”

For a few seconds, the only sound you can hear is your own heart beating out of your chest. Takami takes in the scene in front of him— your bare body splayed across his best friend in the lewdest of positions. You know your face is blooming in embarrassment as you wait for a reaction, for his face to drop in disappointment, anger, anything. Instead, he smirks. 

“Starting without me? That’s no fair,” the golden-haired boy actually pouts, but there’s something deeper swimming in his eyes, something almost bloodthirsty. Though this is happening right in front of you, you can’t truly believe it. Dabi relieves the pressure of his arm from your chest.

“Look Kiego, the whore’s fucking drenched for us,” he lifts his fingers towards the beautiful man in front of you proudly, as if showing off a trophy or a new toy. Then he pops the damp fingers in his own mouth, humming at the taste of you. Hawks’ tongue dips out of his mouth, darting across his bottom lip. 

“I want a taste,” he leers at your bright panties, now soaked through. You think you must have died and gone to heaven, what with the two Adonises staring at you as if you’re their last meal. Hawks kneels at the foot of the couch, brings his face right up to your navel, and licks a long, cold swipe. His digits toy at your waist like they were earlier, except this time the movements are decisive and fierce. Just as he’s about to tug your panties down and place his mouth where you want it most, Dabi seizes his jaw and pulls his partner into a long, sloppy kiss. You let out a sigh at the view and— teases that they are— the sound doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“Is watching us turning you on?” Dabi taunts cruelly. 

“Looks like she’s a bit of a pervert, hm?” Hawks retorts, sliding a finger across your clothed slit. The movement causes your entire body to quiver, your senses on high alert. Without another word, he leans down again, shifts your panties to the side, and takes your clit between his lips. The way he laps at you hungrily makes you believe your initial judgment of him was completely inaccurate, and when he inserts two lengthy digits inside you, the thought is confirmed. Hot, white pleasure consumes your body as your core clenches around his digits. He simply cocks an eyebrow at you and chuckles darkly, holding you tightly against him by your waist so that you’re unable to wriggle away. Gone is the lovable persona you were introduced to, replaced now by someone entirely foreign, deviously lewd. 

“Fuck, Hawks,” you whimper, greedy for more. 

“Thought I told you to call me Keigo,” he scolds beneath you, biting the inside of your thigh so that a sharp gasp leaves you. 

“I-I’m sorry, K-Kei–” You’re cut off mid-moan when Dabi kisses you, wrapping one slender hand around your throat and squeezing. His other one threads through your hair and tugs harshly. A painful hiss leaves you but the sound only makes him pull harder, smirking against your lips.

It’s as though they’re competing for your attention. If one of the men evokes a sob or whimper, the other attempts to outdo him— and they have no regard for your body, becoming instead the battleground for their lascivious rivalry. You lose yourself in the intense sensations, unaware of time or its passing, instead focusing solely on the coil tightening in your abdomen. Every gasp, every moan, only pushes them further, and soon your legs are shaking as you feel yourself nearing the delicious edge. 

Just as you’re about to let go, allow yourself the mind-numbing relief of an orgasm, Kiego withdraws his fingers. Rubbing your bruised thighs together is a desperate attempt at friction, but the momentum is completely lost. Your core clenches around nothing, and you cry out, hopelessly bitter at the emptiness between your legs. 

“Sorry, princess,” his hair is sticking up, golden locks tousled from the harsh grip of your fingers. And yet he still looks perfect. He wipes your juices off his chin with a thumb, “but that’s for starting without me.” Despite the apology, he sounds absolutely delighted at your loss. You whine again, hoping it’ll change his mind. “What do you think, Dabi? Should we let her cum?” 

Hearing his name, the tattooed man takes his attention away from your chest and the onslaught of purple marks his lips’ were just peppering on your throat. 

“I don’t think so,” he tweaks at one of your nipples, eliciting a soft groan from you. “I want the bitch begging for it.” Dabi pushes you away from him and stands to unbuckle his belt. “Besides, don’t think she’s done enough to earn it.” You should be outraged at the way they decide your fate as if you’re not even present, but in reality it only thrills you, your clit throbbing at the lack of control. 

“You’re right,” your idol sneers, canines bared and gleaming as he unzips his own pants, “and I wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around me.”

They switch places, shifting you so that your breasts are pinned against the couch between Kiego’s legs. Dabi grinds his hips against your clothed center, and you mewl at the long-awaited friction, hard member straining against his briefs. 

“Get to work, princess,” Kiego calls to you, boxers down to his knees. You can only balk at the sight in front of you. His cock is thick and long, essentially everything you could’ve ever hoped for, but that’s not it. 

Rather, it’s the shiny, silver ball pierced through the shaft and poking out from the top of his head that stops you dead in your tracks. He notices your eyes widen at it, but only snorts, wrapping your hair around his hand and yanking you roughly towards him. 

“Oh, that little thing?” Now he’s shoving you against his length, using your face as nothing more than a means for friction. “Just a drunken dare from Matches.” The nickname provokes the other man into leaving a stinging slap against your behind. And just like that, the angered man drives himself into your cunt. 

“I told you,” slap, “not to,” slap, “call me that.” With each thrust into you, Dabi releases an onslaught of pent-up anger onto your rear, the biting pain causing you to cry out around Kiego’s member. 

“Yeah sweetheart, just like that,” he leans his head back against the couch with a deep groan. “Such a pretty little whore, choking on my cock.” One of his free fingers shoots out to wipe at your tears, hand moving ever-so-lightly to cradle your jaw. The gesture might have been sweet if his other hand wasn’t forcing you down further to swallow him whole. 

“Mmmph–” you scrape carelessly at Kiego’s thighs in an attempt to secure yourself, moans coming out garbled with his cock down your throat. 

“Not done with you yet, slut” Dabi still pounds into you relentlessly. You’re overwhelmed with the feeling of being stuffed from both ends, knees on the verge of giving out until he fastens his hands around your thighs, pulling you into him with even harder plunges. “Fucking take it.” Something hard and cold grinds inside you, and you’re acutely aware of the ridged piercings now pressing against that perfect, spongy spot in your heat.

When he reaches an arm around to rub furiously at your clit, you’re sobbing. Kiego’s deep, golden eyes watching you, Dabi’s unrelenting fingers and thrusts, it’s all too much. 

And then you’re finally letting go. Legs shaking, mind wracked with white as you clench your eyes shut. Your mouth moves away from Kiego’s shaft, only concerned with riding out your high. The tattooed man behind you doesn’t stop his movements either, still pressed deep inside you until your tongue lolls out of your mouth and you’re tapping furiously at his waist. Kiego smiles, taking himself in his hand and slapping his cock against your cheek while he strokes himself. 

“That’s it, baby,” he smooths your hair back, grunting. “You look so pretty when you cum.” He pumps himself a few more times before he finishes, sticky liquid spurting across your lips and into your hair. You reach around to grab at Dabi’s waist again, willing him to stop. He removes himself from inside of you only to flip you around and your cunt clenches at the feeling of emptiness. 

Pulling you into a long, winded kiss, he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip to taste Kiego’s release. Then he’s pushing you to your knees once more, hands threading through your hair roughly.

“Suck,” he scowls down at you. Though you’re breathless, still reeling from your orgasm, the simple command spewed at you has your lips wrapped around him in a second.

He isn’t as girthy as Kiego, but just as long. A trail of piercings go down his length, and your tongue brushes against the cool metal while you wrap your fingers around the area you can’t reach. You stare up at him through thick lashes, piercing blue eyes ogling you as you take him further in. His hand is still perched on your head, but he makes no movement to push you down— instead, basking in your slow seduction. 

You’re sure you look a mess, dried mascara down your cheeks and still covered in Kiego’s cum, but Dabi only revels in the power he has over you, positively thrilled at the way you no longer fight for dominance. He breaks eye contact only when the blonder man tugs him into a kiss, deep and passionate, and the sight only urges you to swallow him deeper. 

“I like her with her mouth so full,” Kiego whispers against Dabi’s lips. 

“Just as long as the bitch isn’t speaking,” the other man groans, rutting into your mouth so that you know he’s close. 

Soon he’s pulling out of you to pump his shaft, your mouth wide open so that the head of his cock brushes against your tongue. Kiego reaches down to move Dabi’s hand, grabbing at his partner’s length so he can stroke it himself. It doesn’t take long after that for the brooding man to cum, head thrown back in a loud grunt while the tantalizing male next to him coaxes him through the orgasm. Kiego angles him so that his hot, white liquid gushes onto both your face and tongue; you suck at Dabi’s head until he forcibly pushes you off him. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, running a hand through his sweaty locks. “Knew you were good for something.” With that final statement, he turns away from you, pulling his pants back on and returning to his spot on the couch as though he wants nothing more to do with you. 

Kiego walks away as well, and you’re sure you’re about to be kicked out now that they’ve had their way with you. A part of you is angered, but a larger part is still processing what just happened, savoring the earth-shattering orgasm the pair blessed you with. 

You look for your discarded clothing, trying to compose yourself so you’re able to get out of their way as quickly as possible. Kiego walks back into the common area, wet rag in hand. He doesn’t speak until he pushes you into the couch, rubbing the clean towel over your face softly.

“So, you’re coming to our concert next week, right?” 

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

Tags:

@mindninjax @rat-suki @bakatenshii @yukiimanic @theygottheircages @lookslikeleese

DM me if you’d like to be tagged!

[chicksung]

Who’s Afraid of The Big Bad Wolf?|| Park Jisung

Genre: vampire au, kinda horror but not really

Pairing: vampire!jisung x human!reader

Word Count: 1k

Warning/s: jisung’s a vampire, wandering around in the forest at night, the word ‘mutt’ is used in a derogatory way once

Synopsis: You claimed you weren’t afraid of the Big Bad Wolf, but was it the Big Bad Wolf you should be afraid of?

A/N: This is a present for my lovely little star @moonbeamsung for her birthday! Happy birthday little star and I hope this makes your day just a little bit better. Also thank you so so much to @lebrookestore for making this amazing header for me, words cannot describe how thankful I am!

You couldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. You had heard the stories, the quiet whispers, the ghost stories that circulated around. You had brushed them all off as fictitious tales told to scare young children from entering the woods.

Now you wished you had listened.

The tales of a tall figure following you in the forest, the figure having supernatural features and speculated abilities. It was all true.

“Don’t be afraid,” You told yourself, trying to sound brave, but with a shaky voice telling you those words, they were hard to believe. You wandered aimlessly into the thick woods, your only light source being your phone. The path you trek down became less and less familiar, the slightest noise frightening you. The simple snap of a twig could make you comically jump into a nearby tree.

“Okay, there’s nothing here, so myth busted, right?” You announced to yourself, or so what you thought was just yourself.

The townsfolk always speculated that there were werewolves that walked among us, especially in the tree ridden thicket you timidly explored. The elders spoke of beasts bearing the teeth of canines, clumped fur adoring and covering any human-like feature, collective howls dating back hundreds of years proving that there was more than one.

Yet the creature you were facing didn’t match the descriptions you had been told. Not one bit.

The figure looked human, or at least human enough to pass for one. He was slim, tall, broad-shouldered. He seemed lively, albeit pale. His pitch black hair was styled quite meticulously, you must admit, and his eyes were round and looked to be full of wonder, resembling the eyes of a newborn doe, learning about its surroundings for the first time. Except his eyes weren’t filled with wonder. They were filled with curiosity, intrigue even. His clothes seemed outdated, although they were quite beautiful and were perfectly tailored to his body.

You moved your phone to have a clearer view of him, but to your dismay, your phone screen turned black, refusing to light up again. The battery was flat.

“Damnit,” You cursed aloud, smacking the side of your phone in hopes it would turn back on before looking back up. The figure was gone. Spooked by the situation, you turned on your heel and ran. You sprinted back up the path you had sauntered down not five minutes ago, but you don’t remember the scenery. Every tree looked like a carbon copy of one another, every canopy closing off the stars to guide you home. It was almost like the tree had multiplied while your back had been turned.

The more you ran, the more lost you became. Panic began to rise in your chest, beads of cold sweat rolling down your forehead and the back of your neck. You mentally cursed yourself for not pulling a Hansel and Gretel and putting something down as a marker of your path.

You rounded a tree, feeling an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you back. You shrieked, your head dipping down towards the ground like some kind of ballroom dance routine. There he was. The same figure from before, except he was right in front of you, his features as clear as day.

“And where is a pretty thing like you going?” He spoke. His voice was calm, collected, the polar opposite to you right now.

“I-uhm-” You stammered, unsure of how to respond. The male smirked, and there you caught a glimpse of it. They were long, sharp, like you had imagined, however they did not resemble those of canine like you had been told. They looked almost like the teeth of a human, only difference being the length and point to the ends of the canine teeth. Pieces of an incomplete puzzle were starting to fall into place. A vampire.

“Please let me go home,” You begged, your voice shaky. His smirk widened, a hand coming up to brush your cheeks.

“I could do that,” he mocked contemplation, “but how can I let such a beauty like you go? Besides, I think you would be interested to see what information I have on this place,” He smirked while he watched your eyes go wide.

“Wait, really?” You said stupidly. He nodded.

“Of course! Haven’t you ever wondered why the townsfolk always told you it was those mangy mutts of werewolves that hide in the dark crevices and not us?”

Upon hearing those words, you realised how often you didn’t question things. It hadn’t even crossed your mind that there could possibly be something else out there. You only relied on the tales you had been told by various family members and elderly townsfolk. Were you too naive? Did you never ask enough questions? Did you even question it at all? These thoughts raced through your mind at high speeds, creating doubt if you had been the curious child everyone claimed you were.

“So, do you want to know why?” Jisung held his hand out to you, patiently awaiting for your response. You hesitantly took his hand.

“Show me what I’ve never heard,” you confirmed, albeit a bit shakily. He encased your hands with his, a sly smile on his face as he led you into the depths of the forest.

You never returned that night, or the night after that. As a matter of fact, you never returned at all. You hadn’t been seen since that day and over time, the tale you had memorised by heart as a child modified to include you, the kid who was too naive and was led away with the promise of a better life. Of course it was far from the truth, but you were used as an example for the younger children of the village of what would happen if they were to follow in your footsteps. Most children heeded their parents’ warning. Except one. A young girl, treading clumsily and careless through the quiet thicket of the forest. You observed her from afar, sensing the fear she carried with her. You looked to Jisung, who was peering at her from the darkness as well. You shared a smile before moving towards the young girl at a frightening pace.

“And what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”

[nalgenewhore]

a simple life

essar x lorcan + kohana, canon divergence/canon era, domestic fluff/general fluff, word count: 2439

Lorcan wakes up in the morning and rolls over without opening his eyes. He searches across the comfortable mattress, mumbling his mate’s name. “Ess,” he rasps, hating the fact that she’s so far away. 

She isn’t usually this far when they sleep. Usually, Essar lays nestled in his arms, her curves, lush and heavenly so, fitting perfectly against him. When he still doesn’t find her, Lorcan sighs shortly and pushes himself up, cracking his eyes open. Her side of the bed is cool and the sheets are rumpled. 

It’s then that Lorcan realises it’s far brighter than usual. Nearing the midst of winter, most mornings are pitch black. He looks up, to the window, and sees the thick layer of snow that blankets their canvas-covered crops and the forest beyond the field. More flakes fall and Lorcan understands why Essar is not in bed with him. 

Ever since they first met, when they were still younglings, Essar has adored the snow. None of the wonder ever fades from the first snowfall of the season. 

Slowly, Lorcan gets out of bed. He grabs a heavy wool sweater and holds it in one hand as he pushes their door open. Across from their room, the nursery door is closed. Lorcan knows this means that their youngling hasn’t been woken yet. 

He pads quietly into their living room and sees Essar in the kitchen. She sits at the island. They made it by hand, like everything they own, like their cabin, too. A pot of  coffee rests on the wooden slab and Essar wraps her fine-boned hand around her favourite enamel mug. Their dishes are a few of the minimal objects they bought in the nearest town, as well as their weapons. 

She sips from it, her chin resting against her fist. Lorcan is forced to pause and drink in the sight of her, the way her longs legs are crossed and the way she leans her weight into her elbow, oblivious as she reads something he’s sure she’s read a thousand times over. 

He pulls his sweater over his head and leans against the wall, crossing his arms. A soft smile appears on his face. 

Once, this was never an option. Lorcan remembers how quickly he came to losing any chance of this, when he answered to Maeve. 

The queen’s command was once strong on him, stronger, perhaps, than any other blood oath. He could not deny Maeve a thing, the craving for her approval and validation a never ending ache. When he and Essar matured, and the mating bond connected the pair even more than they always were, Maeve didn’t respect it. 

It almost killed him, refusing Essar what she needed, what they both needed. 

One night, one night Essar had enough. Enlisting Dresenda, her sister, she broke him out of Maeve’s palace. They kept his head covered until they left the City of Rivers. Lorcan didn’t know where they were. Every step away from the queen pained him more, but he did it willingly, knowing that he would choose Essar over everything and everyone. 

It was excruciating to let the blood oath break, let it fester and rot away in his heart. When they knew that the only way Lorcan would survive it would be to make another blood oath, Lorcan swore it to Essar. 

“I can tell, you know.” 

Lorcan blinks, “Hmm?” 

Essar laughs that warm, pealing laugh of hers. “I can tell when you’re staring at me.” In their home, they don’t speak the common tongue, nor the Old Language. They use their own language, a seamless blend of their native tongues. 

She slips off of the stool and walks over to meet Lorcan in the middle of the room. He grins sleepily and wraps his arms around her, holding her in a tight hug. Essar sighs gently and melts into him. 

“Have you seen the snow yet,” he murmurs. “I thought by now you’d surely be building a snowman or a fort.” 

“No, not yet,” Essar says. “Our coconut has never seen snow.” 

Lorcan smiles and stands up straight, his hands resting on her hips. “True. How do you think he’ll take to it?” 

She tilts her head to the side and covers one of his hands with hers. Essar walks him to the counter and pushes him to the other stool. “Mmm, well, he’s far more adventurous than you grouchy bastard, so like his mother,” she teases, wearing a cocky grin that makes her canines flash. 

Lorcan snorts and takes his seat, glancing casually at the open book his mate is reading. His eyes widen for a second when he sees the smutty fiction, clear on the page. He picks it up and reads while Essar takes a mug from the cupboard for him. “He cups her heaving breasts and his throbbing length–”

“Lorcan!” Essar snaps, quickly grabbing the book from him and closing her, her cheeks pinking. “Don’t read my things.” 

“Oh, c’mon, I want to see what happens next with his throbbing length,” Lorcan pouts, his wicked smile shining through the feigned disappointment. Essar clicks her tongue and shakes her head, putting the book down on the counter. “Why haven’t you told me that you read that sort of thing? Is my darling mate feeling… otherwise unfulfilled?” 

She shoots him a glare as she pours him his coffee. “No and I didn’t tell you because it’s none of your business, mate.” Essar slides onto her chair and faces him, resting her feet against the spindle of his stool. She cups his face and leans forward, kissing him gently. Lorcan rests his hand on her tattooed thigh, his thumb stroking against her skin. 

Essar’s sharp teeth scraped against his lip before she swipes her tongue over the small hurt and steps onto the floor. She’s able to press herself tighter against him, hardly forced onto her tiptoes, and winds her arms around his neck, her hands toying absentmindedly in the air behind him. They kiss until she makes a soft noise and pulls back, resting her forehead on his. “Hi.” 

Lorcan chuckles and sneaks one last kiss, “Good morning, my love.” 

She sits herself back in her seat and Lorcan picks up his coffee. Just before when the sun would normally rise, they woke up to their hungered wails of the babe. Lorcan sat with her as she fed Kohana. He’ll sleep for a little while longer now, as he isn’t normally waking up anymore in the middle of the night. 

Lorcan makes them eggs and fries bacon, serving crusty buttered bread on the side. They eat quietly and as Essar gets up to clean the dishes, they hear a familiar curious coo. He stands and kisses her cheek, whispering, “I’ll get him.” 

Essar pauses him for a moment. She takes down his low bun and weaves a loose plait, securing the end with a piece of sinew rope. After, Essar returns to the dishes and Lorcan crosses the cabin, slowly opening the door to find their nine-month old standing in his crib, turned towards the window. His hands hold onto the top bar. 

The tips of his pointed ears poked through the soft hair on his head, jet black like that of his parents. Lorcan grins and walks to the side of the crib. Kohana turns his head, his eyes wide and confused. “Da-da.”

Lorcan chuckles and his heart clenches as he picks the little Fae up. “Hello, little one.” He pushes Kohana’s hair back and kisses the babe’s forehead. “Shall get dressed, hmm?” Lorcan walks to the dresser. He lays Kohana down and changes him, noting the way the youngling watches the snow, his hands caught in his mouth. 

Lorcan’s heart pumps stronger when Essar walks in, like their heartbeats are one. She peers over his shoulder and coos at the child, “Oh, hi, my little one.” Essar slips under Lorcan’s arm, pinching Kohana’s socked foot. Kohana squeals, his big bright eyes landing on his mother’s face. She laughs and picks him up. Essar presses her nose against his soft cheek and inhales, her hand cupping the back of his head. Kohana babbles, glancing out of the window again. “Oh, yes, I know. You’ve never seen snow, have you, coconut?” Essar bounces him and props him on her hip as she walks out of the room. 

Lorcan chuckles and shakes his head, tidying the area up. He joins his family and Essar feeds Kohana the mashed yams she made. Like always, Kohana devours it, eating anything his parents present to him. 

After, Essar puts Kohana on the soft blanket by the fireplace. She leaves him with a stuffed toy bear that was once hers and he holds onto it fiercely, chewing on one of its stubby legs. Essar goes into their room to change, emerging in rabbit fur-lined leather pants, tall boots, and a thick jacket over her warmer underclothes. Her Lorcan pours her the last cup of coffee and laughs when she pushes him towards the bedroom, “Gods, go change! We’re wasting time outside.” 

“He won’t even remember this,” Lorcan says, still dutifully following her commands and walking away. 

“I will,” Essar tells him, shooting him a glare. She kneels on the carpet in front of their baby and dresses him in his own fur-lined suit. She coos over him as she covers his head in a woolen hat and ties the strings beneath his round chin. Kohana kicks his feet out and bats the air with his little hands. Essar laughs warmly and lets the small amount of magic she has dance between her fingers. 

Kohana gasps, his mouth in a perfect ‘o’. He watches, giggling when the warm flame taps his nose and tickles his chin. Essar gasps softly when her mate’s familiar power wraps around her hips and joins hers. “Ma-ma,” the baby coos and smiles, his canines poking through his pink gums. 

Essar picks him up and stands, turning to see Lorcan. He shrugs on his hunting jacket and pulls his braid out. Lorcan wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her into his chest, his eyes on Kohana. “Hi. Oh, hi, mičíŋkši. Look at you, how cute in your wee suit, hmm?” He passes Essar her thick winter mittens and a kiss to the side of her head, “You forgot these.” 

“Ah, my saviour,” Essar teases, tucking them in the large front pocket of her jacket. “Whatever would I do without you, hmm?” 

He rolls his eyes and says drily, “Don’t patronise me, my darling. We both know how capable you are. Now, the real question is what I would’ve done without you.” They both freeze, images of Lorcan, slave to Maeve, flashing through their minds. 

Essar pulls the collars of the shirts he’s layered down and kisses the claiming mark over his pulse, “Well, we don’t have to think about that, so let’s not.” Lorcan’s thumb presses against the corner of her hip, where a matching mark lies. Kohana makes a soft sound and they look at him, grinning happily. He’s not watching them, staring unfalteringly towards the snowy landscape. “Let’s go, yes?” 

Lorcan nods and they walk to the front door. He sits to put his own boots on and fixes Ko’s winter moccasins. Kohana frowns and kicks his feet, reaching towards the doors. He whines, looking back at Essar, “Mama.”

“I know, tāku iti kahurangi, we’re going, don’t worry,” she tells him. Lorcan takes Kohana so that his mate can put on her cloak and Essar pushes the door open. 

Lorcan stands on the threshold, waiting for a moment. He watches Essar and smiles, loving how happy she is. She crouches, pulling off one of her mittens. Her breath puffs around her face as she touches the fresh, untouched snow. Essar pushes her hood back and looks up, laughing joyfully, “Lorcan! It’s snowing.” She stands up and turns, taking his free hand in both of hers. Essar pulls him out, her eyes on the sky. 

“I see that,” Lorcan comments. He passes the babe to Essar so he can close their front door. 

When he turns back, Essar is crouching once more, helping Kohana stay upright. He reaches out, carefully, and touches the snow. He gasps, quickly pulling his hand back, “Mama.”

“Yes, it’s cold, isn’t it,” Essar agrees, looking up at Lorcan as he crouches beside her. She points upwards, “Look, do you see?” 

Kohana looks up, his round cheeks bright red. His big eyes track a snowflake as it floats down. It lands on the tip of his little nose and he gasps again, trying to walk away from it. He loses his balance and falls, landing on his behind. Lorcan and Essar watch him, waiting for his tears, but they never come. 

He laughs, clapping his hands. They smile and sigh in relief. Kohana pats the snow around him and giggles, kicking his legs out. “Dada,” he says. He chatters, trying to gather a handful of snow. He struggles and frowns, fidgeting in irritation. 

Lorcan calmly forms a snowball and presents it to the child, letting his power wrap around it. Kohana forgets what he’s trying to do and makes a grabbing motion. Essar leans against Lorcan as he gives the ball to Kohana and he wraps his arm around her shoulders. 

Kohana cups the ball and frowns slightly, lifting it to his mouth. He tentatively bites it and purses his lips, frowning harder. Essar chuckles and thumbs the melted snow from his chin, “I know, wee one, it’s cold, yes?” 

He eats some more and more, trying to fit the entire thing into his mouth. Lorcan huffs a soft laugh. Essar looks at him as he helps their youngling, who turns away and starts to crawl around, biting into the snow as he goes and eating it. There’s that spark of wonder in his eyes – the one that always makes her heart flutter. 

She lifts her hand to his cheek and turns his face to her. Lorcan arches a brow in question. “What is it? Why’re you looking at me like that?” 

Essar presses her lips to his and whispers, “I love you, Salvaterre.” 

He smiles softly and returns her embrace, “And I you, Tangaroa.” 

She turns her head when Kohana shouts and flashes Lorcan a smile before she stands up. Essar makes her way over to the child and Lorcan stands as well, watching for a moment. 

This simple life, their simple cabin – his mate and child safe, where he can protect them, it’s all Lorcan’s ever wanted in life. It’s everything he ever needs.

☽ ☼ ☾

an: i hope u guys liked this cause it was so much fun to write !! 

in all my fics i write essar as maori (her last 'tangaroa' is the maori god of the sea, lakes, rivers, and creatures that live in them) and lorcan as lakota !

Kohana is a Lakota name meaning 'swift'

translations: Mičíŋkši: my son in Lakota Tāku iti kahurangi: my little treasure in Maori

@mythicaitt @werewolffprince @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @ladyverena @ttakeitbacknoww @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse  @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @empress-ofbloodshed @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @silversprings98 @amren-courtofdreams @minaidss @superspiritfestival @sanakapoor @ireallyshouldsleeprn @spyofthenightcourt  @thegoddessofyou @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @claralady @neonhellas @darlinminds @readingismyonlyhobby @autophobiaxx @silversprings28 @myshadowsingeraz  @elriel4life @always-in-a-daydream @jlinez @ladywitchling @mariamuses @darklesmylove @adelzd-bookblr @firestarsandseneschals @missnienna 

[stonecoldsilly]

Thirty Days of Transience

Read on Ao3

The echoes of the song fade away from the valley, and Geralt sighs.

‘Look, bard, as fun as this was, and really, it was a fucking riot, are you going to fuck off at all?’

The boy blinks up at him and grins.

‘Nope,’ he says, popping his lips obnoxiously.

Geralt didn’t really think it was going to be that easy, but a sinking feeling descends upon him anyway.

‘What do you mean, no?’

‘This was a very successful first outing. You make a fantastic muse, truly you do. Already I can almost hear the applause we shall receive on our triumphant return!’

First outing, thinks Geralt, and outright panics. Fuck that.

He spurs Roach into a canter, and leaves the boy behind in the dust, hooting and hollering after him.

Evening falls. His camp is set up some ways into the woods, and he has a fat little hare on the spit. Roach is snuffling away in her nosebag happily, and Geralt is just settling down to note down the details of the incident in his bestiary when his ears prick up. A heartbeat, human, about half a mile off, and dreadfully familiar…

‘You have got to be kidding me.’ He groans aloud, and Roach sympathises. ‘He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.’ She waves her tail in his direction meaningfully, and Geralt waits. He is not going to dismantle his entire camp and flee from one little human, he is not…

The boy stumbles through the bracken towards the light of the campfire eventually, making enough racket to alert predators for miles around, and squinting directly into the light, ruining his admittedly already limited night vision completely. Idiot.

‘Ah, hello, Geralt. Come here often?’ He grins, and sets his lute down carefully, before slumping on the nearest log with a sigh.

Geralt just stares at him. That turns out to be a mistake, because the bard takes it as an opportunity to start talking.

‘Not that I didn’t appreciate the view, the mighty Witcher and his steed riding into the sunset, but really, that was downright indecorous of you, heading off without even a farewell.’

Geralt can’t quite believe this little pipsqueak is trying to scold him about his manners. His heartrate is steady, he’s not sweating with fear, he just looks up at Geralt sternly.

Geralt snaps his head around to look at him, letting his pupils dilate fully. He bares his teeth, sharp canines glinting in the firelight, and growls, ‘What are you doing here, bard?’

The boy just looks at him, placid as anything. Not even a tinge of fear.

‘You saved my life.’ He says, solemnly. ‘I certainly didn’t do anything to persuade Filavandrel otherwise, you did.’

Geralt frowns at him, and the bard cracks a little smile.

‘And if the, er, forgive me, if the so-called ‘Meat-Purveyor of Certain Unnamed Market Towns’, if you will, can talk down the quite justly furious Filavandrel, then it makes me start to question certain common beliefs, as it were.’

He just stares, and the boy unpacks his new lute carefully, angling it up to the firelight and admiring the finish.

‘I am what they call me.’ Geralt manages, after several minutes.

‘And what things they call you.’ The boy says, glancing at him briefly. Their eyes only meet for a moment, but still Geralt feels pinned by it.

He goes on the defensive.

‘It makes no difference to me what they call me. I neither need nor want a barker.’

‘Allow me to try.’

‘No.’ He says flatly.

The boy sighs, and sets the lute down gingerly, before swivelling to face him and resting his elbows on his knees.

‘Look, Geralt, at this point what on earth have you possibly got to lose? If you would simply let me at least make the attempt…’

Geralt grits his teeth and glares at him.

‘You could die. You nearly died once today already, you said so yourself. And then I get whoever your people are, swearing vengeance on me, and making things worse. This life is not safe.’

‘I could die tomorrow, of an apoplexy, or at the end of some bandit’s sword. No life is safe.’

‘You would only get in the way.’ Geralt tries.

‘I promise. I only mean to be a help, truly, not a hindrance.’

‘You don’t even have any supplies. No pack, no bedroll, no food. I am not babysitting you.’

The boy winks at him, and shoves his arm down into his trousers quickly, before revealing a handful of rather battered looking bread rolls.

Geralt blinks at him.

‘Told you I had bread in my pants.’ He says, and winks. Geralt almost cracks then, and he can feel a smile trying to form before he schools his expression.

‘Come on, Geralt, let me try. I owe you my life, and I put no little stock in that. It’s the only one I shall have, and I’m rather pleased with it so far. Give me a chance, and I can make things easier for you. For your kind. Change the bastards’ minds, prove them all wrong. Come on.’

Geralt considers this carefully, and pokes at the hare a bit with his stick.

The bard waits, seemingly content to let Geralt respond at his own pace.

‘What’s in it for you?’ He asks, genuinely puzzled.

‘Inspiration. Protection. An education in the wilder side of living, as it were.’

Geralt snorts.

‘Think of it as a business transaction, if you prefer. An equal exchange. In return for graciously allowing me to witness your talents at work, I will provide companionship, assistance, and an improved reputation.’

Gods help him, but the boy is persuasive.

‘I don’t need companionship. I’ve managed this long just fine without assistance…’ He sighs. ‘But I’ll concede on the last point.’

The bard grins like a fox.

‘Give me a year.’

‘A year?’ Geralt splutters. ‘A week would be too long. You escaped the King of the Elves today bard, isn’t that enough inspiration to be getting on with?’

‘I do not intend to let Destiny slip through my fingers.’ He says, smiling faintly. ‘Who knows what foes you will face next? I would not miss a one. A year, if you please.’

‘A week.’

‘My, you are an accomplished haggler aren’t you. Far more practiced than I, of course. However, and you must concede the point here my dear Witcher, I must admit, even I cannot charm an entire Continent into submission in a week, although I do appreciate the flattery. A month, to ply my trade, and prove myself a worthy travel companion, and if you are not satisfied thirty days hence, then we shall part as strangers once more.’

Geralt leans forward himself then and wags his stick in the boy’s direction.

‘You cannot get in the way.’

He plasters a very convincingly serious expression on his face, but his eyes are dancing with barely repressed glee.

‘I swear it.’

‘You have to do as I say.’

‘Within reason. But I will concede to your expertise.’

‘If I say run, you run. If I say hide, you hide. If I say, bard, fetch me three strands of white Holly and two hedgehog quills, what do you do?’

‘Speaking honestly, I’d probably say ‘Geralt, what the fuck, how am I supposed to know what white holly is?’, but I appreciate the sentiment. Complete obedience, within reason, at your disposal.’

‘Hmm.’ Geralt says.

The boy’s leg betrays his eagerness, bouncing nervously even as he watches Geralt’s face with an innocent expression.

‘Fine. You have your month.’ He says, regretting it already.

‘Yes! You won’t regret this Geralt, really you won’t.’ He jumps to his feet and steps closer, smiling.

‘Shake on it.’ He says, commandingly, and Geralt just huffs, but reaches up anyway. ‘Gloves off Geralt, for goodness sake, let’s be civil.’

He peels off his leathers, outright baffled by this bright little human, bossing him about as if Geralt couldn’t snap him in half easily as breathing. The boy takes his bare hand in a surprisingly firm grip, and shakes it sincerely, as if he were any other man, as if his word meant anything to humans, as if he genuinely doesn’t believe the tales.

This whole day has been full of marvels.

The boy grins at him again, radiating only a fresh-apple scent that is surprisingly pleasant. It bodes well in a travel companion. For a half a second, he dares to be vaguely optimistic, until the bard opens his mouth again.

‘Now that the business talk is dealt with, care to share your hare?’

He snickers at his own joke, and Geralt sighs, but divvies it up into two portions anyway. The boy throws him a bread roll in exchange, and they eat in peace and quiet on opposite sides of the little fire until he clears his throat again.

‘About the er, sleeping arrangements. Not to be indelicate Geralt, but I, er, haven’t any.’

Geralt swallows around his suddenly rather dry mouthful of hare, and blinks rather owlishly at the boy, uncertain as to what he’s asking.

‘See, I know we only met this morning, but I’m rather fond of you already. And as business partners, I feel we have already managed to jump the hurdle of strangers getting to know one another, and gone headfirst into the hitherto unexplored territory of acquaintances.’

Geralt just sits, taken aback, and mouths business partners to himself. He ignores the ‘rather fond’ part for fear of his own sanity, never mind the bard’s.

‘Without beating around the bush, as it were, after one’s newfound acquaintance saves one’s life, it becomes very difficult to believe that one’s er, virtue is imperiled by said acquaintance.’

Geralt nearly chokes.

‘What.’ He wheezes.

‘Well I just thought, it’s a rather chilly evening, and perhaps, if it wouldn’t inconvenience you awfully, if you wouldn’t mind possibly adjusting your usual nightly routine to accommodate myself?’

‘What?’

The boy sighs, gesturing grandly.

‘Geralt, to put it plainly, I am cold. I have no bedroll in my possession. I should like, in short, to share your bedroll, under the proviso that no hanky-panky take place without prior permission from both parties.’

‘Hanky-panky?’ He repeats, helplessly. The boy is pretty, and well-formed, but Geralt honestly hadn’t even thought as far ahead as hanky, let alone panky.

‘I will require another handshake.’ The boy says, meeting his gaze firmly.

‘I can sleep on the ground.’ He says quickly.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ The boy says primly. ‘The entire concept of my presence at your side is to be a help, not a hindrance. And you need to be in top shape, I’d have thought, with all those beasties to fight, eh?’

‘I can stand guard.’

‘I’m not having you loom over me all night, that hardly sounds conducive to a good night’s sleep.’

Geralt looks about the campsite wildly, searching for the last scraps of reason.

‘I..’

‘Come on Geralt, some of us have walked bloody miles today, shake on it, there’s a good chap, then we can settle in for the evening.’

He stares, bewildered, as the boy takes his hand again in his own warm little grasp and they shake once more.

Half an hour later, the fire is banked for the night, Roach has settled into sleep, and Geralt has a softly snoring musician wrapped around him firmly, legs entangled with his own.

Without a doubt, one of the strangest days of his life, even for a Witcher.

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EDIT: Chapter Two now up!