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longlivefanfic-net · 2 years

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Eddie Munson, Boy Scout (p2)

Summary: Part two to this angsty/fluffy camping with Eddie fic. Eddie Munson takes you camping and wants to show you something really cool; you thank him with your mouth. Eddie Munson x reader

Word count: 3.1k

Content: Smut, some fluff, camping fic, reader giving head, male receiving head.

A/N: Eddie forever, babes <3 More parts of this to come soon! Part three here!

You can’t stop the smile that tilts your lips, and you lean back towards him, planning to capture his mouth with yours again. Eddie, however, leans back. “I hate to ruin a moment,” he says, as if it isn’t his specialty, “But the sun is going to set pretty soon, and I really want you to see something.” You roll your eyes halfheartedly, still smiling at him, and agree. He stands up, reaching a hand down for you. When you place your fingers in his grip, wrapping your fingers around his ring-clad ones, you feel a flutter through your chest–a definite, noticeable frisson at the contact. He helps you to stand, then brings your fingers to his mouth, bowing slightly at the waist as he presses a tender kiss to your soft skin, eyes locked on you. “My lady,” he says, his warm breath tickling your hand as he closes his eyes momentarily, and you can’t help but wonder if he felt, somehow, the flutter in your chest seconds ago or if he feels the one now. In that moment, slightly bent at the waist, long eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones, you can’t help but think of Eddie Munson as your knight in shining armor, a warrior who would risk his life to protect you. Something about the way his dark curls glimmer with the warm, golden sunlight, shifting lightly in the breeze off the lake, his wide eyes closed almost reverently, makes him look like a Renaissance painting; all he needs is a sword and the armor. He stands up suddenly, breaking the spell he has momentarily cast over you with the press of his mouth, and keeps your hand in his as he starts walking back towards the tree line.

“Come on, princess,” Eddie calls, tugging your arm to make you move faster. He had led you beyond the tree line, back into the woods. The sunlight was even softer here, trickling through in dappled patterns to scatter across rough hewn tree trunks and the warm browns and greens of the forest floor. “The sun’s not going to be up for much longer,” he says quietly after about 20 minutes of walking. “Why would that matter?” You ask. You’re still uncertain where he’s taking you–Munson is particularly good at keeping secrets when he wants to be. “It’s not very important,” he says, casually, “But you’ll probably end up creeped out if it’s too dark.” You stop moving immediately. “Munson, what the fuck are you going to show me? I swear to God, if it’s a dead body or something–” Eddie interrupts you. “It’s right here,” he says, voice on the verge of laughter. He turns back to look at you. “No corpses, or maggots, or anything gross,” he promises, solemnly. “Now, ladies first.” He points to an opening in the rock face to your left, a place where the rock seemed to have simply forgotten to form. “Oh, hell no, Munson,” you say, taking a step backwards with your hands raised. “I am not going in there.” Eddie sighs, rolling his entire head with his eyes. “Come on,” he says, “It’s not that creepy!” “As if I would trust your judgment on what is and isn’t creepy,” you say incredulously. “I’ll hold your hand,” Eddie says, tilting his face to the side in a juvenile entreatment. You bite your lower lip, pulling it between your teeth. “Hah!” Eddie exclaims, clapping his hands together. “You’re going,” he says. “Fine,” you mutter, “But I better not die before you make me s’mores.”

You walk through the darkness, fingers trailing over the rough hewn walls as your eyes adjust to the changing light the farther in you go. Suddenly, the wall disappears under your hand and you stumble forward. You squeeze Eddie’s hand, tightly, as he steps closer behind you. “See, princess? Pretty incredible.” The walls of rock have opened up to a small space, the last of the sunlight struggling through a wide hole in the ceiling. You walk forward, dropping Eddie’s fingers as he allows you to experience his find on your own. Water drips quietly, the gentle splashes echoing in the open space, and you can see clear as day how the rock has eroded in the eons it has sat here, rivulets carving out the opening you stand in now. You stand under the opening in the top of the rock, looking up. Tree branches waver softly at the edges, but directly overhead you can see the inky color of the night stretching it’s long tendrils out, out over the light purple of the sky as the sun sets. We missed sunset on the lake, you think, but then a small shimmer in the corner of the sky catches your eye. The first star, peeking out softly. At the hushed gasp that escapes your mouth, Eddie steps closer, his footfalls echoing in the surrounding darkness. His fingers search out yours, wrapping around your wrist before they scrape down to your open palm. You turn to look at him: his hair is loose, still in the silence, and you can hear the slight inhale and exhale of each breath that moves his chest echoing around the cave. His face is lit softly, a mixture of the last of the sunlight and the oncoming lights of the night sky, and the shadows of his nose and brow soften the harshness of his thin face, illuminating the wide set of his eyes instead. He looks…soft, here. Gentle–not that he’s ever been anything less than gentle (except when you begged for it), but something about this place has made him drop the harsh facade he clings to so often. Here, he looks like he does when you’re in his bedroom after he’s cleaned the both of you up, when he props his hands behind his head and reclines into the mattress so you can lay your head over his chest, listening to the gentle thumps as his heartbeat slows from it’s elevated pace. He’s not Eddie Munson, freak, he’s just Eddie Munson. The man you’re in love with.

You turn your body to his as he fully captures your attention. “Eddie,” you whisper, your voice naturally softer as you look at the smooth, kind face. “Yeah?” He asks, looking at you. While you’ve been studying him, he has stared at the emerging stars and, for a moment, you think you can still see them reflected in the amber warmths of his eyes as he looks at you. Instead of replying, you step closer to him, snaking your hands up his chest to wrap around his neck as you tilt your head and press your mouth softly against his. It takes him a moment to respond–you’re touching him so gently he’s probably unsure as to whether or not it’s even really happening–but he eventually slides his hands around your waist, letting his hands rest on your curves as he leans into your body. Gently, he opens his mouth against yours and your lips mimic his. His tongue slides into your mouth, moving slowly as he pushes it against your own and along the roof of your mouth. Your fingers, desperate for purchase that will bring him closer, knot in his hair and he tightens his hands along your body in response. The sound of the dripping water is interrupted now with a mixture of his heavy breaths and the occasional hushed moan from you as one of his hands comes up to grasp the side of your neck, pulling the skin there tight. Goosebumps rise over your body, either in response to the metal of his rings or the sheer desire you can feel undulating off his skin.

You pull your body back from Eddie, keeping your lips locked together. He whines into your mouth at the sudden lack of heat from your body, but the loud zipper of your jacket cuts off any actual complaints he would have made. Throwing the jacket to the floor, you break off the kiss and stare at him. “Take your clothes off, Munson,” you say, breathless. His laugh is sharp and loud in the near-silence around you. “Don’t tell me what to do, princess,” he says, eyes glinting, but he pulls his long sleeved shirt over his head nevertheless. You reach out, unbuckling his belt for him and he watches your fingers move nimbly over the bulge forming in his jeans. You return your hands to your own body, lifting your shirt over your head and tossing it on the ground with the jacket before shimmying denim down your hips. By the time you have kicked your jeans into the same pile Eddie has added his own clothes to, he is watching you, nearly naked. He’s kept his boxers on–and his rings, his rings that tangle and pull your hair sometimes, making you gasp in a way that you know he can’t get enough of. You stand facing him in just your underwear. “We are alone, right?” You ask, eyes on his mouth as his tongue pokes out between his lips to wet them. “Yeah,” he says, nodding enthusiastically, “Completely alone.” At that, he moves back to you, wrapping one hand around you to squeeze the full flesh of your ass as his other hand slides up your body to squeeze your breast. The only thing separating your sensitive nipple from the cool metal of his rings is the thin material of your bra–which is definitely not enough to protect you from the harshness of his grip. You gasp, drawing his attention back to your mouth. Eddie presses hard kisses up the smooth line of your throat, nearly knocking you off your balance with the intensity of his mouth, then runs his tongue back down the burning trail he has left under your skin.

“Tell me what you want from me, babygirl,” he says, his voice almost jarring in the quiet. “Mm-mm,” you moan, shaking your head as his mouth finds it’s way to the soft skin between your neck and breasts. “No.” “Excuse me?” He says pulling his head back. The damp his tongue has left over your skin chills immediately in the cool air, and you whimper slightly. “I said no,” you say again, locking eyes with him. His are delighted beneath his furrowed brow; for once, the game is going to be more difficult for him. Instead of following his every command, you’ve decided to make him work for his reward tonight. “I’m not going to touch you again until you tell me what you want. And where. And how, princess,” he says, voice low like a growl. “No,” you say again, smiling slightly. “You can’t make me.” You fight the urge to stick your tongue out at him, aware of how childish it would be–and yet, in this moment, you feel like a petulant child, refusing to do what they’re told and delighting in the rebellion. “And what,” he says, the words tripping over his lips slowly, “are you going to do then? If I give you nothing, since you won’t tell me what you want?” You think about this for a moment, sucking your lower lip in between your teeth as you contemplate his words. His eyes watch the movement, watch your lip turn white between your teeth, watch your lip turn redder than before as it floods with blood when you release it. “I think,” you say, noting his fixation on your mouth, “I’m going to take what I want.”

Eddie’s eyebrows slide closer together at your words, confusion stealing over his features as his eyes narrow. You give him only a second, a moment really, to ponder your words before you drop to your knees in front of him. The hiss of air down his throat lets you know without looking up at him that he’s happy with your decision, and you pull his boxers down the long, white muscle of his thighs, letting them drop to the floor. He’s already erect, and he’s starting to ache with how badly he wants you. He could barely get his own pants off earlier, the zipper slightly painful as he had pulled it down, because he had grown so hard when you told him to take his clothes off. Now you’re kneeling in front of him, and Eddie can’t help but to think about how beautiful you look, how soft and innocent you seem, though he knows that, deep down, you’re much less sweet than you seem to the world–in fact, you can be borderline vicious at times, leaving him covered in scratches and bruises that you come back to the next night. You’ve even drawn blood a few times and–much to his surprise and enjoyment–you seem to like running your tongue down the shallow cuts you leave on his shoulders, his chest, even his ribs on occasion, to swipe his blood up with the flat of your tongue. That same tongue pokes out between your lips now, wetting your lips, and Eddie can’t stop the moan that escapes his lips. You look up at him, shooting him a devilish grin, and open your mouth. You take his tip in between your lips as your hands work up and down his length, twisting slightly as you get comfortable with the rhythm. Eddie groans, this time reaching his hand down to hold your head. His fingernails scratch against your scalp and you moan, the vibrations in your mouth sending a shudder through his entire body. “Fuck, princess, just like that,” he says. You set your mouth a little farther down, sucking lightly as his warm fluids start to drop onto your tongue. His breath is coming out in energetic pants now, and both of his hands are tangling in your hair. The only thing keeping him from thrusting his hips, forcing himself deeper into the warmth of your throat, is the knowledge that this is your moment. You told him that you would take what you wanted, and Eddie intends to respect that.

Your hands are near his base now, still rubbing as you alternate between sucking and moaning around Eddie’s body. One of your hands leaves his shaft, taking his sack in hand and giving it a slight squeeze. Eddie whimpers–whimpers, like he’s practically in pain–and his hands suddenly push your head down slightly farther along him. You stop your movement entirely, and when he pulls his hands away, asking “Babygirl?” you pull off of him and look up. Holding his eyes with your own, you say, “Try that again, Munson, and I’ll make you finish yourself.” His eyes grow rounder, and the electricity between the two of you, in this darkness, in this space forgotten by the rest of the world, is almost tangible. You return your mouth to where it belongs, gliding up and down his length as you take him farther in than before. Running your tongue along his length as you pull back, your hands squeeze him near his base and he hisses a gasp between his teeth. You can’t help yourself–the sound, echoing in the cave, is driving you wild, and you take one of your hands to roll your nipple between your index finger and thumb, making your mouth salivate even more around him. “That’s right,” Eddie coos while watching you, his voice shaking as he nears his end, “Touch yourself for me, princess.” You moan at the pet name, and the shift in your throat sends him over the edge. He gasps, holding tightly onto the back of your head as he tries to keep his hips still. The hot, thick ropes of his cum paint your mouth, and you swallow as fast as you can to take his entire sticky load down your throat.

“Holy shit,” Eddie whispers as the echoes of his moans finally quiet around the two of you in the cave. You look up at him, his long curls draping down to frame his face as he looks at you. Above him, you can see straight out of the opening in the top of the rock formation. The stars glow around his face, from your angle, and he looks almost otherworldly–ethereal, surrounded by tiny pinpricks of fire burning through the universe. You sit back on your heels, running the back of your hand over your mouth to wipe away the spit that has dripped down your chin. Looking up at him, you say, “You’re kind of beautiful, you know?” Eddie laughs, reaching his hands down for yours. When you place your fingers in his palms, he squeezes them, then pulls you to your feet. “Are you okay, princess? I didn’t poke you in the brain when I was in your mouth, did I?” He’s laughing, genuinely wheezing at his own joke. “Jesus, Eddie,” you say, laughing yourself, “No wonder it took you so long to graduate.” The two of you laugh harder, and he pulls you close so you can feel his chest moving under yours in short spasms as giggles continue to fill the cave. When you’ve both finally quieted down, you start to pick up your clothes from the ground, handing Eddie his as you go. “But actually, Eddie,” you say, eyes intent on the label of the jeans in your hand as you try to decipher if they belong to you or him, “I do think you’re beautiful. You look like an old fashioned knight or something, and sometimes you just kind of…I don’t know, it’s like you’ve got this light under your skin.” You decide that the jeans are yours and bend your knees as you slip them over your feet. Wiggling the denim over your thighs and hips, you say, “Really, Munson, you just radiate happiness sometimes. I know you think you’re scary looking, with your metalhead hair, and your rings, and your chains, and all the black and skulls and stuff, but when I see you, I don’t know,” you sigh as you zip and button your pants, “I just see this beautiful boy who makes me smile.” You turn around, looking at him with your shirt in your hands. He’s frozen where he’s standing, his jeans only halfway pulled up his legs and his shirt hanging around his neck. “You’re serious?” He whispers. “You think I’m…beautiful?” “Of course I do, Eddie,” you say, taking a few steps to cross the distance between the two of you. You reach out, grabbing the waistband of his jeans and pulling it the rest of the way up so that you can duck your head as you zip his pants and say, “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and definitely the most beautiful one I’ve ever loved.” His fingers find your chin, tilting your head up so you have to look at him. Slowly, keeping his eyes open, he leans down and kisses you gently.

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yandere-toons · 2 years

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A Fool's Mistake 3: Taking the Black | Platonic Scenario

Yandere!Cersei Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Joffrey Baratheon, Ramsay Bolton

WARNING: abuse of power, morally ambiguous reader, reality warping, strong and bloody violence, mentions of physical torture.

WORD COUNT: 7.825

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (You are here)

The silhouettes of free folk dashed between trees and rocks in the silverish light of the full moon. They were clothed in the skins of woodland animals, and they wielded with much dexterity a combination of bows, axes and spears crafted from the forest.

Droves of the free folk had begun to scale the Wall at yesterday's sunset and, from midnight to daybreak, had reached the point where falling meant certain death. Despite enough time passing for the sun to peek over the mountaintop, the space that surrounded the free folk remained dark as night.

The sky was black but held no stars as if drapes had been thrown over the earth. The top of the Wall, a summit that appeared taller than the clouds, was covered in impenetrable darkness. Glimmers of sunlight skirted the darkness, and the scarce light traced the shape of a bubble around the free folk who dared to rise.

The ground was no longer visible to those who looked down in the hope of descending the Wall and testing the climb another day. The ice wall in front of them and the makeshift tools used to hook it was all that met their eyes beyond the shadows.

Whispers seeped into the ears of the free folk, whispers that resembled the faint voices of the people climbing with them. The voices asked for the location of the other free folk, asked after their health and encouraged them to resume the climb.

Once the first ragged antler and stake impaled the ice at the top of the Wall, the free folk realised that their vision had been dulling. In the final moments of heaving oneself onto the Wall, each member of the expedition noted themselves to be the only living thing there.

The sight that greeted them flashed back and forth between the bodies of their fellow free folk and an empty stretch of ice. The shadows warped their eye and seemed to drill into their heads before the darkness took them to the ground far below.

When no birds sang and the air became colder than the depths of a northern pond, you watched for creatures with blue eyes and ghostly skin.

Except for the occasional lash of shadows at the base of snowy trees, the woods lay motionless and free of dark magic on this hour. The current flowing from the distant Bay of Seals was tumultuous and churned as if locked in a storm, but it carried nothing more than the rare howl and rush of icy breath.

* * *

With his wrists bound to the back of a chair and his ankles tied to the wood legs, the sole mercenary to survive the recent battle at the Dreadfort sat in his own sweat. A mob of Bolton soldiers encircled him with their swords raised and their eyes locked on whichever part of him they were most inclined to cut.

The large door to the dining hall creaked open in an outward swing of metal and bending joints. Ramsay Bolton stormed into the room, his fingers playing with a gore-drenched knife.

After a moment of examining the mercenary, the immediate wrath flaring on his face waned and evolved into morbid curiosity. “I remember you.” Ramsay tilted his head and scanned the man's visible wounds and foul odour to confirm his suspicion.

It was then that the mercenary's stomach dropped to bottomless depths, and he began to whisper prayers for the mercy of the Mother.

Unlike the frantic turns and agitated stomps of earlier, Ramsay's next movements were slower and dominated by quiet steps that struck a greater panic in the heart of the mercenary each time. “You took a long look at them.”

From his pocket came the glint of a knife, prompting the mercenary to squirm against the ropes and expel a whimper. Ramsay twirled the weapon in his right hand and conveyed a taste of future pain with unrepentant eye contact. “Just before you tried to kill them.”

Before the tip of the steel could blind the mercenary, the harsh voice of Roose Bolton echoed in the dining hall and overpowered any wails spilling out of the mercenary. “Ramsay!”

The sound was little more than a growl, and Ramsay paused with his knife hovering just in front of the mercenary's eyeball.

The violent shake gripping his arm did not cease, spreading to his lips and upper body as he stared into the mercenary's terror with bubbling insanity that flailed against the bridle he was compelled to put on it. Ramsay vented slivers of his untapped rage through the tremulous breaths whipping past his bared teeth.

While the soldiers beside him kept a tight hold on their swords, Roose did not allow his voice to waver: “We need this one alive.”

The blade was so close that the mercenary's eyelashes brushed it every time he blinked. It quivered with the threat of twitching too far and impaling his skull before he could release a full scream, but Ramsay seemed to find enough delight in his father's command that he turned his head away.

“Oh, he'll live.”

Just as the knife reeled back and then plunged forward, a booming announcement sounded from Roose. “We're going on a diplomatic mission to White Harbor.”

Ramsay listened to his father with a distracted mind plagued by runaway thoughts and bits of emotion he could not manage, his eyes flitting between Roose and the nearest objects while his fingers twitched with ideas of what pain to inflict on the captured mercenary. “When will you return?”

Roose looked upon his struggle with amusement and indifference. “You should know. You're coming with me.”

As if Roose had revoked his legitimacy as the heir, Ramsay raised his head and widened his eyes. The tension clenching his shoulders and jaw shifted to confused glances, and his lips moved to search for the appropriate response that changed with each surge of dissatisfaction and the sense of a goal stepping out of his reach.

“My place is here. I have rallied the men.”

Roose began to approach the main entrance to the fortress and did not slow his stride. “Your place is where I say it is.”

Ramsay stopped walking, but Roose ignored the vicious stare drilling into the back of his head. “Father,” murmured Ramsay, and his next words were spoken through gritted teeth. “I need to find them.”

Roose took a final, definitive step forward and turned, the bottom of his cloak gliding across the floor. “There will be a time for that. Right now, what you need to do is mount a horse and ride with me to White Harbor.”

* * *

The chambers of Tyrion Lannister stank of wine on most nights, but the scent was especially potent on this night. An empty flagon sat at the foot of a luxurious chair, which Tyrion used to rest his legs while he put his mouth to the work of downing every glass he could fill.

With his knuckles pressed underneath his chin, Tyrion observed the half-full goblet with a curious glint in his eye. He laid his hand over the top of it and waited in silence for many a second.

When he retracted his hand and peeked into the cup, a foolish part of him hoped that it would be full again. A layer of wine at the bottom was all that greeted him. Tyrion hurled the goblet at the wall, and a thick wave of blackberry wine exploded onto the stone.

The glass clattered to the floor and rolled into the leg of a chair, streaks of reddish-purple cascading down the rock and draining into the crevices. Droplets continued to seep from the rim of the cup as trails of the dark liquor mixed with the red of a Lannister banner and fell behind a dresser.

As the door slammed behind him, Tyrion stamped past the duo of guards protecting his chambers and snapped his fingers. “With me.”

The guards lifted their shields from the floor and hurried to follow.

Tyrion marched down the corridor with a palace guard on his left and his right. Flanked by the men, he rounded a corner and leaned forward to place his hands upon an ornate set of double doors.

He pushed open the door to Cersei's chambers and found her sitting at the table beside the balcony, a glass in her hand and red wine on her lips. The rattles of the guards' swords and armour must have been loud in the silent halls, for she was facing the entrance without a lick of surprise.

She lowered the glass and eyed him as if he were an insect that had crawled into her bedroom from a hole in the wall. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Tyrion widened his eyes and removed his hands from the door, allowing it to shut at his back. “I was concerned,” he lied, feigning fear in an exaggerated, deliberately obvious manner. “Just the other day, a man had his throat slit for sleeping.”

Cersei kept her voice low as though others were in danger of listening. “I believe that to be the work of our mutual friend.” She placed distinct acrimony on the word “friend,” her lip curling.

As her gaze drifted off to the cityscape outside her balcony, Tyrion wondered if the bitterness came from her belief that the word was untrue or the implication that the two of them could ever share a companion. “Don't tell that to the king. He was quite upset at having his prized day interrupted.”

The hand that held onto the wine glass began to shake, and Cersei refrained from looking at her brother. “Joffrey won't see me.” A heaviness existed in her words, a quiet misery that she was attempting to drown in wine.

Tyrion kept his frown level. “Oh, yes. Not since you promised the sorcerer would find their own way back to him, a promise that has yet to be fulfilled.” He tilted his head upon saying the second bit.

Cersei shut her eyes and clenched her teeth slightly, refusing to let the posh smile on her lips fall. She opened her eyes and glanced in his direction when the soft thuds of footsteps came near the table.

A chair squealed as it was pulled from under the table, and Tyrion plopped on it with his hands resting close to Cersei's. “If I say it, I would be branded an enemy of the crown and lose my head within the hour. Perhaps Jaime?”

She turned farther away and fixed her eye on the open doors to the balcony. “Joffrey's working him like a dog.”

A slight sigh rolled out of him, and Tyrion closed his eyes for a pensive instant before opening them with a degree of sympathy. “If Jaime could be here with you, he would be.” He unfurled his arms, turned his palms to the ceiling, and gestured to the bedroom.

Lifting the glass, Cersei took another sip. “I'm not so sure.”

* * *

The courtyard of the Red Keep smelt of pollen as a medley of berry bushes and wildflowers bloomed in the light of day. The leafy grass was green as the coat of arms from House Tyrell of Highgarden, and it swayed in a cool breeze that was welcomed by the lords and ladies dilly-dallying in the sun.

From the generous lengths of the surrounding corridors, Varys and Petyr Baelish strolled into the small garden. Each one moved in tandem with the other just enough to keep up the illusion of leisure and signify that the interaction would not end until one of them deviated from the path.

“The Boltons are a minute settlement thousands of miles away in the North with one fiefdom no larger than my biggest brothel,” said Petyr.

A slight nod of the head came from Varys. “Yes, but some of my little birds have flown north for the summer.”

“And what songs do they sing?” asked Petyr, his lips casting the shadow of a smile as he walked past a servant girl consorting with a visiting lord.

Varys spotted similar goings-on in a corner of the garden ahead, and he cast his gaze in the direction of the man beside him. “They sing that the Bolton's youngest is unbalanced yet terribly ambitious. Certainly one to watch.”

Petyr slowed to a stop and turned on the heels of his boots. He blinked slowly and released a modest sigh, his eyes flickering to his surroundings while his voice quieted. “He's one man with neither the stomach nor the mind for the South.”

Varys looked askance, tilted his head, and raised his shoulders a bit as if considering Petyr's words. “One man nearly toppled the realm not so long ago,” he replied.

The subtlest chuckle—no more than an audible exhale—slipped out of Petyr. His neck bent towards the ground slightly, and his attention remained on the cobblestone patterns flowing beneath him for a contemplative instant. “Indeed,” he conceded. “I have to go.”

Varys bowed his head. “Ah, very well.” He lifted his eyes to catch sight of Petyr slinking to the edge of the garden. “Perhaps we can speak again soon, Lord Baelish.”

As the shadow cast by the arch of the Red Keep fell over him, Petyr turned and offered a glib smile. “Perhaps we can, Lord Varys.”

* * *

Every man atop the Wall was struck by an unearthly coldness that night.

No matter how thick the coats around their shoulders were, the wind sliced their face and nipped any exposed skin with its frosty claws. The cold dove into their bones and seemed to chill them from the inside out.

Despite being rekindled every other minute, the light of the torches was dimmer here. The fog of the night was murkier than the bottom of a bog. The fires were short-lived, swept away into simmering embers by sudden and isolated gusts.

The same light that would have illuminated your body was extinguished by the wind. The brother in charge of relighting it swore under his breath. When he peered at you in wonderment of your apparent resistance to the frigid weather, a shiver ran through him as if he had been stuck with a frost-tipped spear.

It killed the words on his tongue.

The dark around you seemed deeper and more foreboding than any cave, unaffected by light even as the moon beamed down upon it. The brother saw the outline of you hidden in the darkness, and it was all he needed to see to decide that the remainder of his watch was someone else's responsibility for the night.

In the ensuing calm, your head surveyed one end of the forest below to the other.

No figures had crept out of the woods yet.

The clanks and grinds of the lift rising to the top of the Wall sounded from behind, and Samwell Tarly stepped off it into the snow. The soft, pearly white material was crushed under his heavy boots. After a brief pause, his footsteps approached you and stopped at your side.

Your head slowly turned, which allowed you to catch Sam peeking in your direction. He glanced downwards and released a bashful chuckle upon being caught, but a look of childish excitement soon washed over his full face. “Jon says you're a wizard!”

The snow crunched as Sam shuffled his feet, his gaze darting from his shoes to you. “I've never seen a real wizard before!” He shifted again and failed to restrain the huge grin breaking out across his lips. “Only read about them in books,” he added, somewhat lowering his voice.

Sam leaned forward and looked up and down at your iron mask and dark robes. “Do you all dress like that?” He outstretched his arms to push his cloak back and looked at his own black coat and armour. “Maybe we're more alike than I thought!” What escaped him next was a quick, “Ha!”

He turned his head back to you and kept his mouth open slightly as if expecting you to agree, but your continued silence prompted his smile to falter.

As his eyes searched the snowy darkness that lay in front of him, Sam shook his head. “My father detests wizards. Thinks magic's for nellies who don't want to fight.” There was a layer of distaste and pain to his words as though repeating his father's opinion had poisoned his tongue and caused a bad memory to churn within his mind.

“Not me,” he blurted, his head bouncing towards you before moving back again. Sam leaned over and patted his chest with both hands once. “Big fan.”

As Sam marvelled at his proximity to a real magic user, the lift descended into the bowels of Castle Black and then rose to the top of the Wall after a few minutes of rasping. The dark-haired Jon Snow emerged from the fiery light of the lift with a torch in hand.

“Sam,” was all he said, and Sam fell silent.

Jon nodded at him with a tiny smile when Sam turned and offered a happy, “Hello, Jon!” Sam stepped back to allow Jon room to walk forward and stand diagonal to him.

Although he was addressing more than one person, Jon kept his eyes focused on your mask. “If it's all right with you, I'd like to speak with Brother Black alone.”

Sam lost his smile for a moment, but it returned with a shrug of his shoulders and another shift of his feet. “Of course! Of course!” He distanced himself from where he had been standing and motioned for you to go with Jon. “I'll just be here.”

Jon bid him farewell before marching farther down the Wall, the light of the torch undulating in the icy wind.

As the orange glow started to vanish from sight, Sam looked away and faced the edge of the Wall. “I ought to be checking on Gilly.” Fond memories of the woman softened his voice and provided some warmth against the cold. “Sweet Gilly.”

No one answered but the howl of the wind.

Sam inhaled through his nose and allowed the silence to live for a couple of seconds before he sighed: “Boy, it's cold up here.”

The journey ended after roughly ten minutes of walking, and Jon turned to give you a cursory scan. In his eyes were suspicion, curiosity and more than a token of discomfort. His breath was visible in the cold, flowing upward as he turned to overlook the cliff.

“The other brothers don't feel safe around you. They need to know they can trust the man standing next to them.” A flash of uncertainty overtook him in a sweep of cold wind, and Jon turned his head to look at you as if for the first time. “You are a man, right?”

There was a carefulness to his words as though you might shed your veil of humanity and lunge at him before he took another breath, his legs shifting with a rattle of his heavy armour and his hand confirming its place on the pommel of his sword.

A gust of air wafted from the lower slit in your mask and floated into the night sky.

Holding the silence as the grey cloud dispersed into the darkness looming above the castle, Jon chose not to pursue such thoughts and gave a single nod. “Right.”

* * *

The flaps of wings preceded the caws of a raven, and the bird landed its coat of snow-dappled feathers on the stone frame of the window. It raised its left leg as if it were limp and turned its black eyes to Jon, revealing a scroll tied to its lean body.

Jon approached the raven as it continued to caw and move its head in sudden, jerky motions.

“I haven't sent for any wandering crows,” mumbled Alliser Thorne, who waved at Jon to receive the letter when he paused at his comment.

The bird twitched and hopped whilst the scroll was taken from its leg, and once the gloved hand released it, the raven flew into the white skies with a string of caws.

As Jon brushed his thumb across the reddish-pink seal, the emblem of an upside-down flayed man sent a wave of apprehension over his body. The impulsive part of him said to toss the letter into the fire and never wonder about its contents, but the impatient gaze of Alliser demanded that he push his misgivings aside.

“Well?” came the older man's disgruntled voice.

“It's the sigil of House Bolton, ser.” Jon glanced between the Lord Commander and the scroll, struggling to void all of his concerns but stepping forward with dutiful haste.

Alliser nodded his head and quirked his eyebrows as if coaching a child. “I can see that. Would you care to read it?”

Inspecting the seal one last time, Jon broke it with a snap and unfolded the parchment. “Dear the men of the Night's Watch, it has come to my attention that you recently brought a sorcerer into your ranks.”

His volume tapered after every few words as if seeking to lessen the blow of an expected threat, but as the inky texture of the crooked and misplaced lines stretched and fell before his eyes, he realised it was a continuous promise of danger:

“Their allegiance belongs to House Bolton. If you do not return them to me, I shall flay you living and make you watch as I tear your brother's still-beating heart from his chest and feed it to my hounds.”

Jon lost much of his interest in reading the message and looked askance at Alliser for the sake of averting his eyes from the letter. When the Lord Commander returned his gaze with stunned silence and a minor shift in his position, Jon proceeded to the end.

“Two fortnights it will take for me to march on your pathetic excuse for a castle, so two fortnights you shall have to act.”

Despite the reluctance plaguing his hold on the scroll as if touching it would transmit a disease, Jon took only a second to recuperate and finished with a weary drop in his tone. “Signed Ramsay Bolton, Acting Lord of the Dreadfort.”

He tucked the parchment and lowered his arms to his side, casting a pensive look over the glow of the fire before turning his eyes to the Lord Commander.

“Inane ramblings from a madman,” spat Alliser with a sharp turn of his head. The man tugged a quill out of the inkpot on his desk and slammed a piece of blank paper onto its surface.

Jon watched the quivers of his hand and the words they wrote becoming clearer as the ink dried, but the scratches of the quill marking the parchment were overshadowed by a quick step forward. “Ser, the Boltons are a ruthless people. We shouldn't take anything they say to be idle threats.”

The Lord Commander refused to look away from his writing or slow the motions of his hand. “Roose Bolton is a few steps short of a wildling in lord's clothing. As for his son, I've never met him.” He finished the letter with a flourish. “And I'd like to keep it that way.”

The thud of a seal echoed in the room before it was replaced by the creak of a chair sliding across the floor, and Jon clutched the letter that was pushed into his hand.

“Give this to Maester Aemon. Tell him to send it immediately. When it's done, have a brother ride to Mole's Town.”

As Alliser marched out the door to his chambers, Jon followed and overheard his yells to the congregation of Night's Watchmen standing below. “Increase the patrols! I want a fresh man at those gates for every hour!”

The group lifted their swords and scattered throughout the courtyard, while Jon hastened his walk to the library. Orders were shouted into the wind, and the collective rattle of armour and thump of boots faded into the background.

Jon entered the library a bit louder than he intended. The door slammed behind him when a strong wind pulled it forward, causing both he and Maester Aemon to jump.

A mumble slipped out of Maester Aemon as he ran his fingers across the Braille in the book of dragons he had been delighting in reading. The table at which he was seated was strewn with a variety of books. It stood in the centre of the room, and it was bordered by tall bookcases full of centuries of knowledge.

Stepping forward, Jon extended the scroll and approached the table. “Maester Aemon, I have an urgent scroll from the Lord Commander.”

Maester Aemon took the sealed scroll from him, running his fingertips along the seal and parchment. “Oh,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. He turned back to the books in front of him and heaved himself from the rickety chair.

As soon as he had started to drag himself forward, a chill washed down his spine as if dunked in ice water. He slowly turned his head and fixed his blind eyes on the farthest corner of the library.

There existed a deep shadow, swirling and spreading like tar. It seemed to emanate from the wall itself, and Maester Aemon took notice of whispers filling the back of his mind. They spoke in ancient tongues with otherworldly inflections that echoed in every part of the library.

His chapped lips struggled to find his brittle voice. “Who are you?”

Jon stilled and followed his gaze, but he saw nothing more than ordinary darkness. “Maester Aemon?”

A few mumbles crept out of Maester Aemon, each one disjointed and confused. He turned his head back and forth between the stone floor, the nearest bookshelf and Jon. His eyes were lost and searching for something unknown to Jon.

“Oh, never mind,” he said softly, for the whispers had ceased.

Tucked away behind a wood column, on the corner of a table set against the wall, was a rectangular coop. Tufts of hay and wheat laid on the bottom and provided the footing for the assortment of ravens scuttling inside.

Maester Aemon shambled to the coop and peeled open its small door. With both hands, he lifted a raven from the enclosure. The bird went limp in his hold, its head facing downward and its legs sticking out.

He equipped the raven with a leather cylinder on its left leg into which he inserted the scroll. Once the latch on the cylinder was pinched shut, Maester Aemon retreated to allow for the raven to take flight with a flutter of wings.

Jon watched as it glided through the short window at the base of the ceiling, and he wondered why a raven was necessary if a brother was riding to the town. His first thought was the scroll contained additional information that the brother was not privy to learn.

The answer came when he caught sight of the raven flying southeast instead of towards Mole's Town.

Before he could question the destination, Samwell Tarly burst into the library. Sam doubled over and placed a hand over his palpitating heart, breathing as a runner would after a race. “Jon!” he panted, “We're needed at the King's Tower!”

Two pairs of footsteps rushed to the walkway outside the library.

Jon collided with the guardrail and grasped the top of it, leaning forward to get a closer look at the discord unfolding in the courtyard.

Night's Watchmen streamed into the corridors overlooking the main entrance, a group of five rangers rode astride on horses, and the brassy call of a horn sounded over the din of brothers hauling weapons and scaling sentry towers.

As the rangers poured into the stables, Jon looked farther and noticed a circle of brothers marching in tandem with you to the opening doors.

* * *

The chairs of Merman's Court were cushioned with the finest silk. They complemented the long table stretching from the foyer to the throne, which lay decorated with a nautical tablecloth and various plates of pork pies, roasted eels and fried lampreys.

The food, warmed still by the steam of the fires, smelt of spice and gravy. The dead and cooked fish swam in the sauce and drank mouthfuls in a vile parody of life, a life that the oceanic paintings lining the walls and ceiling illustrated in vivid colour.

The guards who watched over the feast resembled the type of warriors one expected to see in a submarine kingdom, for the weapons clutched in their hands were tridents.

Lord Manderly sat in a velvet chair similar to his throne, which he had joked about bringing to the table more than once. The Boltons were seated opposite him, and sitting beside them were Lord Cerwyn and his son Cley.

While Roose met the eyes of each lord, Ramsay turned his gaze downwards and divvied his attention between the various items of food covering his plate. Roose glanced in his direction when Ramsay's hand found its way to the knife.

“Forgive my son's lethargy. He is weary from our travels.”

Lord Manderly drew his eyebrows to his receding hairline and stretched his lips in a royal imitation of surprise. “Is he an old man?” Lord Cerwyn joined his chuckles with bountiful enthusiasm, neither lord acknowledging how Ramsay slowly lifted his head.

Malice radiated from the young Bolton like foul breath from a dog's jaws, but, sensing the gaze of his father, he mustered a polite smile.

Roose waited for the laughter to fade into a pregnant silence before he seized control of the discussion. “Our merchants are reporting that they've been turned away from the gates of White Harbor, some at swordpoint.”

Lord Manderly tore a chunk of bread from the strudel and ate it at a comfortable speed, peering across the feast rather than at Roose. “Aye, you'll have to find somewhere else to dump your subpar goods.”

A screech resounded in the dining hall as Ramsay yanked the blade of his knife a short distance across the wood, and he looked at Lord Manderly without raising his head. “Watch your tongue.”

Lord Manderly stopped chewing and faced the young Bolton's desire to maim him with a combination of surprise and umbrage.

At the stern look of Roose, Ramsay lowered his gaze and resumed carving a furrow into the table.

Lord Cerwyn shared an unsettled glance with his son, turning his eye to Roose when Roose looked away from Ramsay and spoke with far more elegance. “The Boltons have traded with the other Northern houses for years, and I haven't had complaints from House Cerwyn or House Umber.”

The weathered face of Lord Manderly acquired a sombre quality. “Ah, Umber. I heard what happened to Gareth's fifth-born. A right tragedy, that.”

A stillness came over Ramsay, his hand pausing and his eyes refusing to look anywhere but at the plate.

There was no visible change in Roose's demeanour, but he offered no words of sympathy.

Lord Cerwyn picked his tankard off the table and turned to Lord Manderly. “One less Umber. That's a start.” The two men descended into a hearty roar of joy and bumped their cups together, while the Boltons watched in quiet amusement.

When the lords joked and drank without a care for the original discussion, Roose spoke with enough strength to regain their attention but not appear demanding. “As Warden of the North, our trade is essential to Northern commerce.”

Lord Cerwyn, who had been gulping alcohol like a direwolf gorging itself on meat, lowered his cup to the table. With an eye roll, he muttered, “Oh, great. More Bolton furs and flayed skin. Just what this city needs.”

The hiss of a blade rang in the ears of every lord when Ramsay jumped from his seat and slammed the knife through Lord Cerwyn's finger. The bone was just barely visible, peeking out of the skin's edge as blood gushed from the exposed tendon in spurts.

A howl of agony bellowed from Lord Cerwyn, and he clutched his injured hand while reeling in his chair. His legs began to kick the stone floor, distress growing louder and more wild with each surge of pain that lashed his mind and dragged shrieks from him as if his finger were aflame.

As Cley started to shiver and seemed on the verge of tears, he stood with a sharp creak of wood on rock and rushed to help his father.

The corners of Ramsay's mouth twitched in a small release of tension, his pupils dilating at the screams and his hand squeezing the utensil. He did not blink once to sever his view of the desperate eyes and paling skin of Lord Cerwyn.

It was not until he turned to his father with a jerk of his head that he allowed his enthusiasm to wither, for Roose was looking at him with the unforgiving coldness of someone who regretted his son's birth.

Smile dropping, Ramsay attempted to win back his favour. “Father—”

Roose interrupted him with a frigid scowl. “Leave.”

Ramsay faced his father's tranquil rage in momentary shock, as though the man had ordered him to leave the realm instead of the room, his fingers tapping the knife before curling about it. He glanced at various spots on the walls and the table without focusing on any.

Hatred of the glare Roose was sending him and his own failure to meet the man's wishes quickened his breaths, and the young Bolton tore the blade out of the wooden surface.

A thin crater became visible on the table next to the disembodied finger, with jagged chips of wood rising to decorate there.

Ramsay took fervent and aggressive strides to the door and shoved it open. Gales of Northern wind swept into the hall like ice water, lifting his cloak as he stormed outside.

The slam of the door behind him cut the chilling breeze like a sword to the head of a great beast, and the return of the torches' warmth redirected the spotlight to the weakening cries of Lord Cerwyn.

“My wedding finger,” groaned Lord Cerwyn, his neck drooping and his eyes fluttering. “He took my wedding finger!”

The limb sitting on the table was adorned with a gold ring that glittered under the candlelight of the chandelier. Only droplets of blood still leaked from his knuckle, dripping onto the plate and tablecloth.

Cley guided him to his feet and positioned himself under his father's left arm, while Lord Cerwyn scrambled to retrieve his finger and cradled it in his other hand.

Lord Manderly tossed his napkin onto the fresh bloodstain infecting his tablecloth and peered at the man with an irritated side-eye. “Pipe down, Medger. It's not like you were using it for much.”

Lord Cerwyn squirmed in his son's grasp, continuing to whimper and holler as he was hurried to the door. Another gust of wind followed their exit, and Roose shifted to a more comfortable position on his chair and clasped his hands together. “So, the trade routes are to be reopened?”

Lord Manderly cocked his head and seemed to repress a scoff. “The chopped-off finger of a twat won't buy our obedience. Do you expect House Manderly to cower in fear?”

Roose presented a look of callous certainty. “I know you're going to lose more than fingers if another Bolton caravan returns empty-handed.”

This sparked a burst of resentment to twist the mouth of Lord Manderly. “You'd threaten a man in his own home? Need I remind you whose wine you're drinking?”

Crumbs from a pork pie tumbled down his fat chin as he took a greedy bite of one, and Roose eyed the meat pie sitting on Lord Manderly's plate. “Need I remind you who hunted the pigs you're eating, Wyman?”

Lord Manderly stopped his chewing. There was a threatening sort of emphasis placed on his first name, like someone dangling a steak over a hungry dog. The remaining chunk of pork pie hovered in front of his mouth, untouched.

A battle of eye contact came and went between the two lords before Lord Manderly dropped the chunk on his plate.

With a subdued sigh, he looked down and pushed his fork away from his dish. “Aye, you're a tough old codger, Roose.” Roose offered a slight smile at this, and Lord Manderly reclined on his chair. “I'm only doing it 'cause of pressure from the Lannisters.”

The mask of composure slipped from Roose's face for just a moment. “I see.” His eyes widened a bit before narrowing in discontent, looking over the feast once more. “It's a shame that the crown feels such a powerful need to meddle in our friendship.”

A laugh bellowed from Lord Manderly as if he had just been informed that the Dothraki had laid down their arms and become a peace-seeking civilisation.

Roose swung his cloak over his shoulder and left his chair with his mind far away in the depths of planning, but he remembered enough pleasantries to nod at the lord. “Be seeing you.”

When the senior Bolton pushed the door open, the sight of an agitated Ramsay fiddling with the bloody silverware eliminated any satisfaction he had gained from learning a piece of the truth.

The soldiers were all standing at a considerable distance from Ramsay, their eyes darting between him and the snowy land to avoid being noticed.

At the sound of boots crunching snow, Ramsay whirled about with a shudder. “Father, I—”

He was struggling to meet Roose's gaze, but his father walked past him. “Be quiet, Ramsay. Mount your horse.”

Hoofprints littered the snow from where Lord Cerwyn and his son had fled to obtain the services of a maester, their tracks disappearing into the blizzard in the northwestern direction of Castle Cerwyn.

Roose lifted himself onto his steed with minimal difficulty and turned his attention to the frosty water of the White Knife babbling nearby rather than grant his son a second of acknowledgement. “We're going home.”

Ramsay was slow to heed this command, his eyes drifting across the snow and clenching the knife so that it would have snapped if made of anything weaker than metal.

When he curled his lips in a question of whether to speak and squinted to deflect the rays of sunshine peeking over the rolling hills, the clop of hooves leaving the entrance to New Castle broke his concentration.

Roose had spurred his horse to trot in the opposite direction, and Ramsay clambered onto a horse of his own to follow.

The journey back to the Dreadfort was far longer and more tedious than last. The path meandered over hills and winded round rivers like a serpent slithering in the grass, with the overcast sky looking bleakly at the snow-covered ground below.

When Roose dismounted and allowed his horse to be spirited away to the stables, he said nothing. He did not grant Ramsay the briefest glance or quietest mutter, nor did he wait to see him return safely and dismount his own horse.

Listening to the footsteps tailing him grow louder and more erratic, Roose relented and turned with a dreary, if not vaguely sarcastic, frown. “The fault is mine. I thought you could better control yourself.”

Ramsay stopped to look at his father in an inability to process the discomfort preventing his mind from resting, his breaths slowing to allow for clearer thinking.

“You've embarrassed our house and disgraced our family name.” Roose watched as the last shard of restraint broke within his son, and he gave no chance for an apology or protest to grace his ears. Instead, he walked down the hall until his footsteps had quieted into nothing.

Abandoned to brood, Ramsay was no longer comfortable in his skin and found himself overtaken by a restless and inflamed energy.

The guard who stood at the door to the kitchens nearly yelped when a gloved hand clutched his throat and yanked him downwards. The noise was silenced by the pressure constricting his windpipe, and it took all of his training and discipline not to attack or look away from the wild eyes glaring into his own.

“Gather the men.” The order slipped through Ramsay's clenched teeth as a whisper. “Tell them we march tonight.”

He released the guard, only to shove him a moment after the man failed to sprint out of arm's length. “Go!” Ramsay turned in the direction his father had gone as the rapid thuds of steel boots echoed against the stone floors.

* * *

A rush of cold wind burst into the Lord Commander's chambers as the door swung open. The thud of leather boots on wood marked the entry of a panting Night's Watchman, his forehead slick with a layer of snow and a hand resting on his abdomen.

“News from Mole's Town, ser.”

The focus of Alliser's squinting eyes crumpled with dismay, and the Night's Watchman stepped further into the chamber. “Three armed strangers arrived last night—” he took a breath “—together.”

Alliser let his gaze fall upon the scrolls littering his desk, searching for a reason not to assume the worst. “Were they bearing any sigils?”

Despite his limited understanding of the situation, the brother saw his commander's desperate hope and shook his head as if fearing the implications of his answer. “No, ser.”

Alliser was unsure of whether to be relieved or troubled by that fact. The possibility that the strangers were merely bandits or deserters with impeccable timing was one he clung to like a monkey to the last branch, but the paranoia creeping up his spine drove him to rise from his seat. “'Two fortnights', he said. Not forty-eight hours!”

The Night's Watchman looked between Alliser and the door, his feet shifting to the exit and his hand twitching closer to his sword.

A tense silence of unspoken orders and obscenities reigned as Alliser swerved his head back and forth across his desk. “The Boltons have shat on their promise,” he finally declared. “Not that I expected anything less.”

After a moment of deliberation, Alliser waved the brother away. “Ride to the Shadow Tower. Request an audience with Denys Mallister, and tell him we need as many men as he can spare.”

A brisk “yes, ser” flew out the Night's Watchman's mouth. A gust as cold as ice blew his cloak into the air when he opened the door once again, his boots thumping away from the chambers and then descending the stairs.

Another pair of footsteps replaced his and thundered to the door with haste. Alliser jerked his head up in preparation for scolding what he assumed to be the same brother returning in confusion.

The man who greeted him was Jon Snow, and Jon hurried to the desk while looking upon him in a frenzy of bewilderment. “You're having Brother Black escorted from the castle?”

Alliser narrowed his eyes at the name, his lips pressing together and parting into a straight line. “I am.” He gave a swift nod. “They're a fugitive from justice.” The chair squeaked as he rose and collected a scroll lying on the desk, unfolded with a broken red seal.

“Ser,” said Jon, his tone disbelieving. He looked behind himself for a brief moment and then put forward his hand. “Brother Black—”

Alliser spun towards him and yelled, “They're not a brother, Jon! They never trained! They never took the oath.” A moment of silence passed before he began again at a slightly more controlled volume, “They're a runaway scratching at our door.”

Jon took a few seconds to collect his thoughts, and when he pointed a gloved finger at the Wall, Alliser knew his words before Jon uttered them: “They've killed more wildlings in a week than most of these men have in years.”

With a heavy sigh, Alliser shook his head. “The crown issued a royal decree for their return. Would you have me branded a traitor?” He turned back to the desk with an upward swing of his hand, and his voice lowered to a frustrated mutter. “Now we have Bolton spies skittering about in the dark like rats.”

At this, Jon opened his mouth and glanced round the room. “The Bolton army can't march on Castle Black.” He stretched an arm towards the open window as if the army were marching forth at that very moment. “The lords have no jurisdiction here. It's neutral territory!”

Alliser looked over his shoulder to bob his head at Jon. “Tell that to them when they're peeling the skin off your bones.”

* * *

Far outside the Lord Commander's Tower walked a group of four Night's Watchmen, each of whom exchanged a cautious glance with the man beside him. All carried a sheathed blade on their hip as well as a torch to chase the shadows of tall trees away.

The shadow that dragged across the ground at your feet, however, did not fade, no matter how many sources of light were waved over it.

The forest ahead was devoid of singing birds and howling wolves, and the giant trees partially blocked the golden and pinkish rays of midday. Every man slowed his pace and watched the tree line, some expecting to see a Bolton sigil flying and others fearing that a bear was likely to hurl itself at the nearest man.

From behind a thicket hopped a rabbit. The appearance of the small animal elicited a hushed chuckle from the brother on your right. “That'd make a nice feed,” he whispered, nodding his head and waving his torch at it.

The brother on your left turned to him and talked without a care for his volume. “Don't bet your supper on it.”

Long ears twitching and flattening at the noise, the rabbit scurried away into the bushes.

The man who had spoken first cocked his eye at him, and the brother on your left continued: “I caught me one of them hares down in Dorne. Ate the whole thing before the guards came and said it was some lord's pet.” The brother put his hands together, then spread them apart to visualise his meal.

He shrugged as if he could still taste the hare and knew it to be worth the punishment, a slight smile forming on his lips. “Now here I am.” This sliver of a smile fell to a frown, and he shook his head. “It's too bad. I hear Dorne's nice this time of year.”

You peered beyond your shoulder to spy the wooden doors of Castle Black, which were comprised of hefty logs that reached thrice above your line of sight. Somewhere warm, you thought, was an apt place to hide from those who lived in the cold.

Do anything you want with my work, but never make me boring!

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albaedough · 2 years

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Jealousy part three~

GENSHIN IMPACT Character x Fem!Reader Smut Stories

Characters: Enjou, Tartaglia(side character)

Pairings: Abyss Lector form!Enjou x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Voyeurism(Tartaglia), Over-stim, mentions of breeding, jealousy, punishment via voyeurism, slight possesiveness

Click below if you dare~

Seeing you spar with your superior, Tartaglia, got Enjou's blood boiling for some strange reason. Folding his arms across his chest, he lets out a noticeable scoff, tapping his foot impatiently. Tartaglia, seeing his reaction, smirks and steps forward, causing you to trip over your footing as he catches you by the waist, his face mere inches from yours, his sapphire eyes glimmering with lust.

Blushing furiously, you push Tartaglia away, giving him many bows, "I'm so sorry, sir. I guess I still have a long way to go. ." you say apologetically, ignoring his advances.

Seeing your lover at the corner of your eyes, you rush over to him excitedly, "Enjou~ Were you watching me spar? How do you think I did?" you ask, your eyes full of curiosity.

Not seeing his reaction due to his armor, he grabs your wrist, dragging you away. It is apparent now he isn't pleased, but not knowing why you protest, "E-Enjou! What in the world is your problem?!" you retort, looking back to Tartaglia for some assistance, but all he did was wave you off with a smirk.

Hurriedly pulling you along until he got to his office, he practically throws you onto his desk, "You asked me what was wrong, but, oh, my dear, I saw the way that Harbinger was looking at you. . .how dare you," Enjou says with animosity, "It seems I must punish you. .to show that you belong to me. Only me."

"B-but the door. . " you say, glancing behind him at the door, which was left wide open, "I-I don't mind whatever punishment you have in store, but what if someone sees?" you ask, your face now bright red at the thought of someone seeing you get railed by your superior.

"Let them see, whoever passes by this door will know you are MINE. . ." he replies as he starts tearing off your clothes, leaving them disheveled and crumpled on the floor.

Sighing at your bareness, he grins under his helmet, spreading your legs open, positioning you, so you're in view of the door, "Absolutely, stunning. . "

You can't help but blush furiously, covering your face, "E-enjou please. ." you say meekly, feeling his stare all over your body. The excitement in your gut grows apparent as a glistening slick forms between your folds.

"Tsk. Such a slut you are, growing wet from just this? Pathetic. I haven't even started yet," Enjou scoffs, not pleased with this outcome, beginning to rub at your clit painfully slow with his clawed hand, careful not to nic you.

Letting out pathetic moans, you grasp his forearms, "E-Enjou, p-ah-please~ I'll be a good girl n-next time, j-just. . .hnng," you couldn't finish, the pleasure being too great to bear as he inserts a single finger between your messy cunt.

"Just what, darling?" he envisions, a devilish smirk forming that you couldn't see.

Wishing you could see his expressions, you notice an audience starting to form outside the door, one of them you make pathetic eye contact with, recognizing those familiar sapphire eyes of none other than Tartaglia. Your desperate moans and whimpers ring in his ears as he smiles at you, watching intently.

Becoming a blubbering mess, you can barely formulate words as Enjou continues to obliterate your clit, feeling yourself come to your climax; Enjou stops, "Not yet, darling. . .we must put on a show~! Think of this as your punishment for being a slut, hmm?" He coos, unbuckling his bottom as he removes his throbbing cock.

Being angry at yourself for enjoying the fact Tartaglia was watching, you obediently spread your legs further for Enjou as he aligns his cock between your dripping folds, shoving it in roughly.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he hits the back of your cunt, letting out a glorious cry of satisfaction, "H-harder. .Enjou ah-ah~," you manage to finally say, looking to your side as you get railed, seeing Tartaglia stroking his cock.

"Listen to her, Enjou; she wants it, so give it to her," Tartaglia says with an envious grin on his face, his eyes full of lust, whishing it was him fucking you senselessly as he massages his own dick in enjoyment. You couldn't help but think of him as an animal, but why didn't you mind? Only the Archons would know.

Giving his all, Enjou grunts and groans as he rails you harder and harder; tears begin welling up at the corners of your eyes, begging for release, your toes curling as you cum around his fat cock, "Such a slut, do you see this Comrade? She's mine. . ." Enjou exclaims, and with one final thrust his hot seed projects into you, feeling it hit your walls like a breedable plaything.

Panting heavily and your body still convulsing, Enjou strokes your cheek lovingly, "Who do you belong to?" he asks, his eyes glinting.

"You. . ."

#genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin x you #rebby writes #genshin impact fandom #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact x reader #the thing calling itself enjou #enjou x reader #genshin enjou #enjou smut #tartagalia genshin impact #tartaglia smut

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darklydeliciousdesires · 1 year

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Sexy Little Doll - An Angel Reyes/Reader/OC Smut Short.

You + Angel + his gorgeous wife? Have at it, besties!

Words - 749

Warnings - Smut below the cut (threesome) Minors DNI!

“Who do you belong to, beautiful?”

Your reply is breathless, laboured, glimmers rushing beneath your skin as nerve endings bounce and muscles cord.

“You,” you sigh, your body arching like a bow, four hands stroking over your tingling skin. “Both of you.”

“Mmmm, that’s right, our beautiful, sexy little doll.” To have Nina Reyes, a woman so gorgeous speak of you like that, it makes your heart skip a beat. Angel’s wife is simply stunning, reminding you of a curvy Angelina Jolie, all dark hair, blue eyes, and oh, her lips. When he married her, you envied them both, two people so impossibly beautiful getting to enjoy one another for the rest of their lives. That was, until they made it very clear that they desired you, too.

You have never been lead as willingly to anywhere as you were to their bed, the place you know lie, Nina’s tongue skimming over your hip, while Angel leaves a path of kisses descending your inner thigh, their mouths meeting in the middle.

They kiss one another with heated adoration before two tongues begin to snake their way through your folds, serpentine licks sending the prickle of icy flames roaring through your core. They jointly lap at your clit, caressing it either side, smiling as they do to hear your unashamed wails, before one tongue follows the other, your legs shaking, cunt throbbing with every tingle they evoke.

The way they moan as they do it, quiet, but with barely contained lust, cool and dark eyes watching you intently as they eat you with expert finesse, tongues laving at you, Angel shifting down a little to tongue fuck your glossy opening, Nina moving up, wrapping the swell of you bud in her sumptuous lips and sucking softly.

“God, it turns me on so much, licking this perfect, wet little cunt,” she purrs, tongue beating against you rapidly.

“I can help you with that, if you want to come climb right on my face?”

She makes a sensual noise of approval. “Oh, darling. When do I not?” Leaving her husband to solely focus on orally ruining you, she moves to straddle your head, lowering herself to your mouth, a soft hum of satisfaction leaving her perfect lips as yours make contact with her, the suck you take ending in a puckered kiss, repeating the action, your tongue dragging between her folds hungrily.

You’ve been with women before, but none that look, smell and taste as exquisite as Nina, with her pussy that trickles a nectar not unlike the taste of sharp caramel onto your tongue, your hands moving to squeeze her gorgeous, full breasts, rolling her pierced nipples between your thumbs and forefingers as you let her ride your tongue, her nails reaching to stroke a sublime tickle up and down your torso, all the while with Angel sucking on you with ardent greed.

He eats you fervently, like a half-starved predator devouring its kill, your hands gripping onto his wife’s thighs in lieu of being able to reach him, your own legs closing around his head as you writhe against his mouth, Angel groaning wantonly as your feet come to rest upon his broad shoulders.

“Ohhh, fuck, fuck, fuck! He’s too good!” you wail, laughing a little, the pleasure of his tongue beating over your clit bordering on too much.

Nina chuckles softly, reaching to comb her well-manicured nails through your hair. “Isn’t he? Oh, you’re about to get the best part of him, though.” He moves to kneel before you, pushing your legs apart and teasing your folds, dragging his thick cock over them, fucking your slit until you whimper before sliding inside you, a shuddered breath fluttering against Nina before you continue circling her clit.

Angel reaches for her, wrapping her in his arms, turning her head to indluge her in hot, messy kisses, squeezing her tits, her moan filling the room when you slip two fingers into her wet cunt, Angel moving a hand to slip over your hip, his thumb reaching to drag over your clit, glimmers coursing through you as his cock glides effortlessly back and forth.

Your entire body glimmers with sumptuous, erotic energy, just the three of you there in the naked light. You know they’ve probably ruined all other sexual encounters for you going forward, but being theirs to enjoy for as long as they want you to be is something you’ll never be in a rush to have come to an end.

#angel reyes #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes smut #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes x female reader #angel reyes x you #angel reyes x ofc #angel reyes fanfic #angel reyes fic #mayans mc #mayans mc smut #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fic

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kiakaiba · 4 months

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Realizations

Content warning for cursing and smoking. Let me know if I missed anything!

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Out on some stairs hidden away from view, away from prying eyes, stood me and Icarus. I stare up at the endless sky. It was lightly orange from the light pollution from the city but in some spots you could see the brightest stars. Maybe if you're lucky you could make out some constellations.

Feeling eyes on me, I looked over at Icarus. He was staring.

I caught his eye.

For what felt like the first time since I met the guy, I’m looking him in the eyes. A deep emerald green. Green like the deep forests after rainfall that’d we’d find ourselves in after escaping capture or just run off to for fun.

I held eye contact with him for a while. Longer than I ever have before. He let me. Staring back with a ghost of a smile, or maybe a smirk. A glimmer in his eyes I’ve never noticed till now. Cocking my head to the side as I kept looking.

Did they always shine like this?

“Have your eyes always been so…green?” My voice came off more soft, more like I was talking out loud rather than asking him.

“Yeah?” a breathy chuckle leaves his lips before continuing. “What just noticed?” He joked. I rolled my eyes, breaking the long held contact.

“I’ve noticed.” I huffed out leaning against the railing of the stairs. I take out a cigarette box from my inner jacket pocket, taking one out and placing it between my lips. I tilt the box open offering one to Icarus. He takes one placing it between his lips and takes out his silver lighter, flicking a small flame to life. I lean forward, he always lit mine first. But, this time the flame of his lighter lit up his first. Before I could say or do anything he leaned forward and pressed the end of his cigarette to mine. As they pressed together the ends glowed together in an amber hue. A small amount of smoke rose off of them as they burned. The red I always associated with a burning rage I kept close to my heart, now it felt like a warm moment of intimacy. It held like that until I met his eyes again.

Green.

He pulled away, his lips parting letting out a puff of smoke. I take the moment to look at his features, to really look at him. To everyone his hair is an inky black. But, I know better. His hair is a light brown, he dyes it frequently. His roots are showing. His eyebrows are dyed to match with a permanent slit through one from a close encounter with a bullet. Nicks and faded scars on his cheeks and chin from our missions and battles together. Us fighting side by side. Our side.

He lets out another exhale letting more smoke out. He lets me examine his face, letting my eyes take in every detail and commit it to memory. The cigarette shrinks from every inhale as ashes fall to the ground. Mine nearly forgotten as I take a deep drag.

I tear my eyes away from him enjoying the peace and quiet. The small breeze makes the smoke swirl and fade off. He finished his cigarette first, dropping it to the ground and snuffing out with his boot. He leans against the railing looking away from me as I finish mine. His eyes occasionally glanced at me from the side. Checking to see if I was still staring at him. I was. The deep green keeps my attention on him. I don’t think I’ve given his looks this much attention before.

I check the time and scoff. I drop what's left of my cigarette and snuff it out. Watching for a moment as the embers turn to ash as they die and lose their warmth.

“Alright. Let’s go,” I tilt my head to the side, motioning to the direction of our objective. He nods a small playful smile growing into a smirk.

“As you wish, My Lady. Whatever your heart desires.” His voice mimicked a knight as he bowed clearly teasing me. I scoff, rolling my eyes at the action and start walking off. Hiding the smile it was able to pull from me. He quickly follows after me a small bit of laughter spilling out, coming from his chest. He loved to joke around like that. I miss the small smile on his face when he catches up. The way his green eyes seemed to glimmer as he stood by my side. That’s where he's supposed to be. He’s my loyal right hand man after all.

#writing #Kia Wilson #Icarus Craw #unclear relationship #not proofread #very soft

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anneqq66 · 1 year

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Title: Mixed Up Boys & Mix Tapes

Plot- send songs and longings via mix tapes

None of this, songs etc are in any time frame - but after ST4 - just go with it

I chose the version of the songs specifically. Maybe listen to these versions when they appear.

Iris- acoustic version- Adan Christopher

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Chapter 1

Hawkins ‘88

It wasn’t really a prom. Not in the traditional sense. There were no boys knocking on the door all stiff, fidgeting, pulling at cuffs. Blushing girls weren't gliing downstairs as parents fussed, trying to take photos, capturing happy moments in time. Less fear. Fewer deaths. No, that sort of prom was before……

No, this was more a gathering of what was left of the towns people. People who have had a shared experience, too traumatic to put into words. They all understood just by catching an eye how the events of 2 years ago had bonded them as a mass. A mass of flesh, blood, tears, pain, fear and loss.

They had tried to bring this event as a sort of normality-as if that could be- but it was a start.

The school hall was drowning in tinsel of every colour. people had raided their Christmas decorations. Thrown against every surface. Hoping that these glimmering bits of foil could hide the scars that covered Hawkins.

Steve stood in his bedroom. Head bowed but resting on the full length mirror. His whole body’s weight rested on that one contact point. He knew he was only standing because of that one small pressure point. Staring down at his feet, surrounded by tapes. Cassette tapes, some in cases. Most loose. Each with the same handwriting. Rectangle evidence of hurt, sorrow and anger. Tears started to blur his vision. Pooling beneath his eyelids, he squeezed the lids together. Grimaced as two large wet spheres fell onto the carpet between his feet. He watched as they held their shape,then slowly sunk into the fibres. God, Was he too late….and how the fuck was he going to put things right…..

After the last couple of years, everyone was trying to get their lives together. Dustin and Suzie were still very tight. Max & Lucas were making a go of it. Will & Mike were, well what were they? They were still friends. But with a hidden tension between them. With El in the mix! - it made for a conversation none of them were willing to have. Nancy & Jonathon had moved in together, as had Robin & Vickie. But Hopper & Joyce had still held them all together. Their home was always a warm haven. There was always something cooking, baking in the kitchen/family room. With its huge sofas, blankets, everyone gravitated there. They loved this room. Everyone was always in sight of everyone else. Safe, wrapped up in the shared experiences of the Upside Down.

Hawkins ‘86

The year, where they nearly lost their lives, the main focus had been looking after the kids. Steve spent the first 6 weeks sitting by numerous bedsides. Watching over little souls in various states of pain or consciousness. He was there pretty much from dawn til dusk. Only leaving when Hopper dragged his arse out of a random room and into his car. Where he fell instantly asleep. He knew he was safe, back to theirs. Where Joyce would wrap him in a blanket on the sofa. A bowl of soup on the table, within arms reach. Safe.

He’d lost track of the books he’d read, to Dustin. Music he’d played for Max…., and then there was Eddie…..

When Steve dragged him back into the world. A mess and barely clinging to life….His skin was covered in ragged, wet, bloody scars. Hundreds of tiny punctures marks slowly weeping. Painting him with deep, dark red. Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever get that image out of his head.

In the first week Eddie had a number of procedures to knit his broken and torn body back together. Bandages covered the majority of his torso. When Steve went into his room after another round of surgery, he gasped at the faded, helpless body. Eddie looked so small in that room. Monitors beeping. Pulsing tubes putting things in (and taking things out). Not the man who had been so full of life, right on the forefront of life, leaning in, leaning over the edge. He had pushed himself into Steve’s personal space like he every right to be there. Circling him, brushing against him, leaning into his face. So close, close enough that Steve could feel every breath against his skin. Sending shivers down his back, causing every hair on him to stand on end……No, now this man lay still, quiet, his chest hardly moving with small shallow breaths. A weakened shell of his former self.

Once the kids were all out of danger, around the end of the third week, Steve started to spend all his time in Eddie’s room. His natural urge to take care of someone. Protect, with his life. It that’s what it took.

Eddie was mostly out of it. A cocktail of drugs they pumped in was keeping him in a near comatose state. But the doctors had decided today to start to reduce this. To bring Eddie back into this world, again.

Eddie had a regular nurse. Alice, a 40something angel in blue. She would come into the harsh bright sterile room and just seem to breathe life into it.

After a week of watching Steve wince and hiss as he tried to uncurl and stretch every muscle and bone from sitting in the small, hard plastic chair, she found a cushioned high backed chair instead. Angel.

Now Steve watched- mesmerised by how she cared for the delicate body in the bed. Checking his dressings, gentle with expert fingers. She told him that it was better not to wear gloves, that the touch helped the patient. She would gently pull the cotton gauze strip. Revealing the new skin, pink and raised. But mending. Then carefully sponge over his torso. Lovingly, like he was a precious thing. Like he could break at any moment. Then dipping a sponge into a bowl, squeezing it ever so gently. The only sound other than the water singing down into the bowl was her voice. Low, quiet, almost a whisper. Telling Eddie what she was doing, how she was going to do it… Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away from her hands.

“How are you today?, I’m afraid it’s another day of changing bandages and getting you freshened up, but don’t you worry, I’m going to really careful…….. now I’m going to touch your waist, just above your belly button, ok? can you feel me, I’ll take it slow so it doesn’t pull….”

Steve leans forward from his position. Eyes trailing where her hands lead……

Steve started to take his acoustic guitar in the fourth week. He had been playing on and off since he was a kid. Still had his initials scratched into its neck. He'd not picked it up in a couple of years, had no need.

He knew he couldn’t play anything metal. The kind of stuff Eddie loved, Ozzy, Black Sabbath. But he could play something, something that would cut through the silence. Help Eddie heal, Steve hoped he would hear it. Today.

Alice would usually bring Steve, a sandwich and some water. As she started her shift. She knew once he was seated, nothing apart from a bathroom break would move him from his from station. The epitome of a guard. Watching for the slightest change, the smallest movement to indicate Eddie was surfacing.

Today was no different, a salt beef sandwich was sat covered in cling wrap. Steve lowered the guitar into the chair. Walked over to the bed, and stared at the form laying there. God, he looked so small against the crisp white sheets. Brown hair like a halo around his head. Spread over the pillow, all soft and curled.

Steve’s heart skipped, causing him to catch his breath......What was it, this feeling, he cared. Cared for Dustin, Max… But this felt like more....Maybe he was just overthinking. He needs to care for something. Someone otherwise, well, otherwise what was he for… His job was to protect, to keep safe… Maybe that was it, he felt guilt about about not protecting Eddie in the Upside Down. That he nearly died… that must be it! But he did long for those eyelid to open. For those lashes to flutter as they emerged out of the forced sleep….Yes, it’s because he cared!

He looked down at Eddie’s hand. Resting over the sheets, with a cannula invading the translucent skin. Steve slowly lifted his own hand. Reached to run his fingertips lightly over Eddie’s knuckles. They were softer than he imagined. He cannot remember when he last touched someone. Like this. He slipped his hand under turning the pliant hand. Ran his fingers softly, hardly there, like a whisper, over the palm. Down over all his fingers. The pads where harder, probably from playing his sweetheart. Steve held his breath, let his fingers linger at the ends for a second….

….the door opened and Alice came through the door. he instantly dropped his hand to his side. Took a small step away from the bed. She furrowed her brow, reached for the dimmer switch turning the lights down to mirror dawn. She turn to Steve shaking her head, “If today is the day, we don’t want him to wake up like a deer in headlights, do we?”.

“Are you planning on being here ALL day?” Alice now came along side. She stood with her head tilted and her arms crossed. Looking at the guitar on the chair, she gave the sigh of a despairing mother.

“Probably” Steve replied quietly, but firm. How could he not be here, where else would he be.

“Well, in that case, would you like to help me today,…with Eddie?”

Steve looked up at her with a quizzical frown, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m just going to do his vitals, could you go and fill the bowl with warm water, grab the soap and a towel and wash your hands…thoroughly” she said the last word with more force.

Steve looked down at his hands as he walked to the adjoining bathroom. The bowl was upturned on the floor of the walk-in shower. He flipped it over as he took it to the sink and started to run the hot tap, he placed his fingers under until he felt the water run warm. Moved the bowl, underneath, still testing the temperature. He grabbed the soap from the side and a clean towel. He emerged from the bathroom, eyes roaming over to the bed.

Alice had already pulled the sheets to the bottom of the bed.

The sight stopped him in his tracks. He’d seen this before, it felt like a million times. Usually from the far side of the room by the window. Miles away, more of a spectator. Now he’s up close and personal…..The muted skin, looking paler next to the gauze strips. Small scratches that had scabbed over. Crisscrossed from his calves all the way up over his thighs. Under the boxers, the only clothing to cover his modesty. Scars that reappeared under the waistband. Worming their way up his stomach, his chest, where they seemed to have feasted the most.

“Right Steve, it’s important to talk, Eddie needs to know who is touching him and what they are going to do, so I’ll start for you…….”

She took the sponge from the bowl where Steve had placed it, on the side locker, she gently squeezed the excess water out and turn back to the bed. Steve watched……again. But today he was in this bubble, taking slow breaths, shaking slightly, hand now gripping the bed rail.

“Good morning Eddie” Alice starts. “Steve is here to help me today. He’s going to help clean and dress your wounds and put cream on to your skin, just like we do every day”. Steve’s eyes shot up to Alice, “what.. me… touch.?” Steve gulped, his eyes looking everywhere. Anywhere but at Eddie’s body. Guilty washed over him. He’d touched earlier, without warning. Without words.

“ you watch me do it lots of times, come on.” she gently placed the sponge into Steve’s hand. He felt the weight of it. The wetness.

“Just tell him what you are doing” Alice encouraged lightly.

“Hi Eddie” Steve whispered. Murmured, hardly words. “ it’s me, Steve”. He looked from Eddie’s face to Alice. She smiled, nodded, “Go on”.

“I’m just gonna….wash….across..” his eyes darting all over the stilled frame below him. Hand waving around like a puppeteer. “….across….Alice!” the last word came out louder than he expected. She turned from the monitor. “It’s ok, give it to me” she reached for the sponge, lightly. “Eddie, is Alice. I’m going to take over, Steve had to step out a minute”.

His leaded legs dragged him back to the chair. Sank into it. Head in his hands. Jesus, it was to much. His mind was fuzzy, overwhelmed. He really want to touch. But he felt an avalanche of emotion. Sweeping in, up from his chest. Threatening to break out of his mouth.

He could hear the soothing voice across the room. Looked up and saw her practiced hand anointing the skin. Slow and steady.

His breathing slowed as he watched. Calming, settling. He took a breath in, pushed up,with his hands on his thighs. “I..I can do it..” he said more to himself than out loud.

Alice turned her head, smiled. “Why don’t you just do the cream, I’ve just about finished”. Leaving the bandages off. Moving the bowl and towel away.

He reached to the tub on the locker. Twisted the top. Dipped in to scoop the balm out. Cool on his hand. Rubbing his hands together. Coating his fingers.

“Eddie, it’s Steve..” his voice more level than before. Lower. “I’m gonna touch you..”.

Breathe.

“ I’m gonna put cream on your..stomach, ok?”

Slowly, so slowly, Steve’s hands moved down, until they just hovered about the skin. Near his navel.

Breathe.

He could feel the brush of small fine hairs. Delicate touches reaching up to his palms. As he gazed down, he could just make out them lifting. Towards him, reaching, connecting. A fizz of electricity shot from his hands to his spine. He jerked upright, hands still hovering. Shaking.

Breathe.

On his next breath out, he closed his eyes. His hands rested. Rested on cool skin.

Steve breathed out through his lips, like a soundless whistle. Opening his eye and running his gaze up. Up over the twisted terrain. Up to the peaceful face on the pillow.

“Hey Eddie, I’m just gonna rub this cream into…your…skin. I’ll try not to hurt” His hands started to slowly glide. Glide across the new contours. Smooth skin on skin, sliding, gliding. Steve starts to get lost in the feeling. It felt so good to touch someone. Someone else.

“You are a natural” Alice says. “I’ll leave you to it, just going to finish my rounds”. Steve had forgotten she was there, as she slipped from the room.

Alone now, together, hands on skin. It felt intimate.

“I’m gonna move higher to your chest”.

Hands moved slowly up over the ribcage. Feeling every new bump and stretch of knitted flesh. It felt soft, then hard, as he applied more pressure. Over the ridges of his ribs. His head was spinning. Eyes drinking in the vision beneath his hands.

The heart monitor suddenly kicked up a beat. Steve head shots up. Looked from it down to his hands. He moved his hands, caressing the surface, the beeping increased. The tracer line rising and dipping faster. Could he know. Could he feel it.

“Eddie, it’s me, Steve, touching you”. The monitor quickened. Steve lifted is hands. Watching the red line heave and dip. Like waves in a storm. His voice shaking “I’ll stop, you’re ok”.

His eyes caught movement in the face on the bed. Brow furrowed. Just enough to be seen. If you were looking. The heart slowed. Steve let out a long breath.

“Im gonna touch you, again” He slowly lowered one hand. Watching the face. Listening. Grazing fingers over his side, down to the hip. Pausing there. Eddie’s brow relaxed, instantly. The heart rate raised again. Steve now recognised what this was. They both needed touch. Not the necessary professional touch. The soft run of fingers. Pulling. Pushing. The hard press of palms. He had to stop. One of them could consent verbally. He dipped his head. Breathed out. “There, all done”. Pulled his hand away. He would never not want to touch.

He moved back to the chair. Landing heavy. Banging into the guitar.He ran his hand through his hair. The hand that still tingled with touch. He grabbed the neck of the guitar from behind him. Held it in his lap. He had only played it to Max in hospital. Running a practiced strum through the strings. It sang out. His fingers picked a tune. He looked up to the monitor, now back to its regular best. And sang quietly…..

And I'd give up forever to touch you

'Cause I know that you feel me somehow

You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be

And I don't want to go home right now

And all I can taste is this moment

And all I can breathe is your life

And sooner or later, it's over

I just don't wanna miss you tonight

And I don't want the world to see me

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

When everything's made to be broken

I just want you to know who I am

….his hands stilled the strings. Raising himself up, putting the guitar back on the chair. Glancing back to the bed. To the peaceful soul laying there.

“Goodnight Eddie, see you in the morning”. Slipping silently out of the room.

If he had looked back one more time. If he had paused. Then, he would have been rewarded. Rewarded by the small smile breaking across that beautiful face. The monitor kicked up once.

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vickysaurus · 3 years

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“Come on, Catra. You're not done... not yet. We're going home.“

“Hey Adora...”

*purring*

#spop #she-ra and the princesses of power #catradora #catra #adora #glimmer #bow #she-ra rewatch #cw: death #that eye contact between bow and glimmer #they're like #'she was definitely dead right?'#you can call it cheesy #but i will never not love 'the power of love can reverse death' if it's done this well #also technically it's the power of she-ra #who is just weaponised gay love

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inazuman · 3 years

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My Queen (let me confess my lust to you)

The pro-hero event features an exclusive pre-viewing of the royalty display at the museum. The party is a success, and the crowd oohs and ahhs over the marvellous jewels. As the party moves from the display to the bar, you go to shut off the lights and make sure all the security is running perfectly when your boyfriend, Aizawa, decides he’d like to keep you company – and you both get a little… distracted.

Words: 4.4k Content and warnings: Aizawa Shouta x Reader, smut, reader-insert, reader identifies as a woman with a vagina and goes by she/her, THRONE SEX, Aizawa is your boyfriend, he calls you his queen, Dom!Aizawa, sub!reader, though I think the dom/sub tendencies are medium to lowkey, not an au – he’s a pro-hero, oral (both f and m receiving), you ride Aizawa on the throne, semi-clothed sex, plot what plot / plot no plot, use of a variety of other nicknames as well: baby, baby girl, kitten, not proof read Author’s note: thank you so much for your support my last fic! I hope you enjoy this one and I hope to be writing more <33 cheers!~

“You’re mine.” He says roughly into your ear, his breath ghosting over. “You’re a queen, but you’re my queen. Mine to touch. Mine to give pleasure to. Mine to make cum. Mine to fuck.”

What a wonderous and successful event. You are the incredible go-to event planner for all hero events, with a keen eye for graceful colour palettes and an expertise on luxury. And no one could deny how well this event has gone. The theme is royalty, and the ballroom is filled with displays and high-security casings of the most expensive jewels and jewellery made fit for kings and queens. The crowns and tiaras are placed softly on plush cushions. People filter through to see each displayed item and gawk at the price of them. Heroes and their helpers fill the room. You’re proud of the event, and proud to be here with Aizawa Shouta, a pro-hero and your ever-loving boyfriend. You’re wearing a beautiful, midnight blue gown with a thigh slit and gold jewellery. The velvet material is soft at touch and comfortable. The main event ended about an hour ago and all the guests have now left, moved on to the open bar downstairs to drink and dance. You lead all the remaining people out and guide them to the bar, and your boyfriend joins you to check up on all the items and lock up the room. The ballroom is stunning, and the displays are even more luxurious. Without the crowd filling the room, you can see each detail in all its glory. Delicate moulding scatters the walls like a gentle breeze, and the jewels sparkle under the chandelier like the night sky. There sits a grand throne at the back of the room. You take the opportunity to fully enjoy each display now that the room is empty. When you grace in front of one of the crowns, you take the crown from the plush cushion it sits on and place it over your head. It balances precariously on the top of your head, and you turn around to show Aizawa with a pose and a large smile on your face. He chuckles and smiles back lovingly. “Fit for a queen like yourself.” He says. You walk up the stairs at the back of the room and take a seat on the throne, sitting with your back straight and crossing your legs whilst looking at your boyfriend, who somehow looks both happy and serious all at once. He’s got his hands in his pockets and he’s watching the way your thigh exposes itself to him when you cross your legs, knows exactly how it would feel in his mind when he runs his finger up and down the area and squeezes the supple flesh with his fingertips. Your heels trace around your ankle and elongate your legs, and the skin glimmers softly in the moonlight. It does something to him, the sleek expanse of your leg and the crown on your head, and he can’t help but think it’s both absolutely adorable and breathtakingly sexy all at once. The room dresses you in a hazy glow, and in that moment he realises he doesn’t know how he got so lucky to have the most stunning woman he’s ever seen right in front of him, fully loyal and belonging to him and him alone. His forearm and hand tenses, almost imperceptibly but enough to illustrate he’s bothered. You look at him curiously, and when you make eye contact you notice that he’s looking at you like he doesn’t know what to do with you. Aizawa comes to the edge of the bottom step, smiles at you and bows deeply to you, and you giggle. He slowly waltzes up the stairs with each graceful step, the noise of his dress shoes echoing across the room, to stand right in front of your throne. He places a finger under your chin, tilting your head up at him, and bends down to kiss you softly. It’s gentle, loving. Perfectly shows the utmost love and respect he has for you. He pulls away, and then kisses you again, deeper this time. He places a hand on the armrest of the throne so that he can more fully bend over you, and runs his tongue over your bottom lip before kissing you again. Your heart starts beating faster, and your hands move to his neck to pull him closer to you. You breathe in his scent – musky and deep. You feel the way his skin moves over the bones of his jaw as he kisses you, the way he swallows when he takes a moment from the kiss to breathe – like he’s just slightly hesitating. Like you’ve taken his breath away. He moves his hands to your hair, and you go to move the crown off your head to give him more freedom with the action. “Keep it on.” Aizawa says as a demand, and the tone sends warmth down your spine. His voice is deep and rough, and the short statement sends something straight to your core. You look at him curiously. You know this tone means he’s serious, and there’s no room for disobedience. You put your hands down from where they were in the middle of the action. He kisses you again, placing his hand on your waist. “My queen.” He states it simply, but sees the way your pupils dilate at the name. He smirks, glad it has the effect he wants on you. He kisses your neck, leaving a mark at the base of your scalp so that it’s easily hidden by your hair. He continues to kiss down your neck and moves down to your cleavage, where your breasts are pushed up oh-so-prettily thanks to the dress. He places a kiss on each breast, and carefully pulls the straps of the dress down to flip over the material and expose the white lace material underneath. He carefully reaches behind you and unclasps your bra, throwing it over the backrest of the throne. You spread your legs to give him space between them as he focuses his attention on your breasts. He swirls his tongue around one of your now-exposed nipples, then uses the tip of his tongue to flick it. He notices the way your hands tighten around his strong triceps when he does so, and does the action again. He places his other hand on the cool skin of your other, unoccupied breast, and rolls that nipple slightly between his thumb and pointer finger. He then engulfs the nipple he’s been toying his tongue on into his mouth and sucks, whilst his other hand gropes your breast. You run your hands into his hair to move his face closer into you at the sensation, feeling yourself getting wetter. He then swaps to do the same again to the respective breast, tonguing at it whilst his fingers pinch and pull at the other now-wet nipple, the slick of his spit giving him the lubrication for him to be more aggressive with it. He takes the nipple between his lips and sucks harder than he did the first time, until he hears your quiet whimpers above him. He then moves to place kisses and hard sucks on the underside of your breasts. He makes his way down your body, kissing your navel until he’s down on his knees in front of you. He spreads your legs so that one is over the arm rest of the throne and the other, the leg with the thigh slit, is gently thrown over his shoulder. He turns his head to place a kiss on the inside of your knee, then another at the bottom of the inside of your thigh, another one a little higher. He keeps going up slowly, looking up at you and making perfect eye contact as he teases you. He places a kiss on your clothed core, breathing in the scent of you, and the way he’s looking at you is as if it trances him. It makes you feel like the world is tilting on its axis. He notes that the fragile material of your underwear does nothing to hide how wet you are. Or the sweet scent of you. Or the ridges of your labia and cunt, which are now blossomed open due to the arousal you were feeling. He runs three of his fingers up and down the garment, pressing into it with each finger individually over and over again like a wave. He slides the underwear down your legs and over your heels, then pockets it into his suit jacket. Your legs presume their previous position. Aizawa sighs at the sight of your pussy in front of him. He runs his hands up and down your thighs, pressing his thumbs into your inner thighs. “Shouta...” you start to say, wondering why he’s just looking and not doing anything, “what are you-“ “I’ve always wanted to know what royalty tastes like,” Aizawa says, and then takes a long swipe of his tongue from the bottom to the top of your slit, moaning at the sweet and salty taste of you on his tongue. It reminds him of strawberries and a sea breeze, and he just can’t get enough of you. “Oh,” you speak, your voice airy and breathy as you immediately coast your fingers through his long locks, lightly scratching at his scalp, “oh, fuck. Oh, Shouta.” He runs the tip of his tongue over the outer lips before moving back to the inner portion, then swipes his tongue up and around your clit, careful to avoid your clit so that he could tease you just a little bit. He’s very much the brat tamer, and if you were both at home he would be edging you over and over and over again for the public indecency you’ve led him to right now, but you’re still in public so he’ll save that for later. He zigzags his tongue from the bottom of your cunt all the way to the top, making you wait as he gets closer to your clit and does a singular swipe over it, the anticipation making the sensation all the more extreme. Then he repeats it again, loving the way your body is getting frustrated at him. He lets you off on it and changes tactics before you get too frustrated. He moves his tongue towards the part of you that’s tensing around nothing, and you feel the warm muscle enter your canal. He takes a short pause to take his fingers and put them into your mouth, and you can smell yourself on him from when he was touching you over your underwear. He then inserts one of those fingers inside of you slowly, and you feel every inch of his long finger slide into your tight hole. He very gently and slowly curls his finger towards himself, catching on an area that has you gasping and moaning. He returns his mouth to your cunt to lick around his finger as it plummets into you, still purposefully avoiding your clit. He finally, finally, pays some attention to your clit as he traces the tip of his tongue around the nub. He’s taking his time, wanting to feel every crevice of your pussy glide over his soft muscle. He circles again, and then again. He then takes a soft kitten lick at your clit. He varies pressures as he continues to kitten lick slowly over and over again, testing to see your reaction to it so that he can give you the right pressure without overstimulating you. He finds the perfect way, and slowly increases his pace. You moan louder for him, nails digging into the back of his head and pulling his face towards your hot core as the pace increases and the pressure gets just a little bit harder. He’s listening carefully to the way your breath catches each time he licks the sensitive bundle of nerves. He looks up at you and sees the way your back arches and your neck is thrown back to expose so much of your decolletage, breasts exposed out of you dress. Your nipples are hard and aching, with light stimulation from the breeze. Aizawa is unbelievably hard under you, enamoured by your soft thighs and the way that your breaths and whimpers sound. He’s unconsciously rutting just slightly into the air, craving for stimulation that he won’t let himself have until he makes you cum hard over his tongue. Which he knows he’s close to. He can feel the way the thigh that’s over his shoulder is tensing and releasing over and over again, how you’ve now moved the other leg that was previously on the armrest to instead rest on his other shoulder as you can’t resist from closing your thighs. He can practically see your heart beating out of your chest as your breathing becomes harboured your breaths coming hard and fast like the way he’s ceaselessly lapping at your clit, your hips tilting towards his mouth more. He takes your clit between your lips and sucks lightly, making you moan at the sudden feeling. Your thighs fully tense, your head tilts up and into the back of the chair, your knuckles grip hard in Aizawa’s hair and moves to grip the armrest. For what feels like almost a whole minute your mind is blank as you hold your breath for a moment before your orgasm crashes into you and you’re crying out his name. Aizawa smiles slightly at the sound of his name bouncing off the walls. He is relentless underneath you despite the fact that you just came all over his mouth. He’s lapping into you from your tensing hole to your throbbing clit, collecting as much of your slick into his mouth as he can as you’re coming down from your high. The feeling ebbs away slowly, and you begin to register the sound of his mouth’s actions as they continue, as well as your own harsh breaths. You start to feel the stimulation on your oversensitive pussy oversensitive pussy. “Ah, ah…” you begin to say softly as you come back to yourself, moving Aizawa’s hair out of his eyes, smiling euphorically at him from your orgasm. And then you realise he’s still not slowing down. “Ah, Shouta… Shouta! Sensitive, so sensitive, too sensitive!” you start, and move the palm of your hand to push his forehead back a little. Aizawa continues regardless, but eventually lets up, smirking at the way your legs are still shaking a little and your pants are slowing. He shifts his weight from his knees to the bag of his heels and looks at you. The length of your dress is draped carelessly away from you and he can see the whole expanse of both your legs. He stands up and scoops you into his arms, sitting on the throne with you on top of him straddling him, crown still placed on your head. Your cheeks are flushed, matching the rubies on the crown that are reflecting the soft starlight coming through the windows. You unbutton his shirt to expose his muscular figure, fingertips raking down his abdomen to feel the muscles there. You run your hands back up his arms, sinking your fingertips into his triceps and watching the way the dress shirt glides over it. You move your hands from his shoulders to either side of his cheeks and jaw, and place a kiss to his lips, tasting yourself on him. You move down his body to kneel in front of Aizawa, similar to how he did to you earlier, taking note of his thick thighs that shift under his dress pants. You unzip his pants and take his cock out, smiling as it springs towards you. It’s girthy, and you wrap your hand around it and move it up and down his shaft with a few strong, slow strokes, listening to his breathing deepen at the sensation. He has a masculine scent, and the hair is trimmed back and well-kept. You almost wonder if he was planning for something like this to happen tonight. You lick the slit at the head of his cock, and Aizawa lets out a groan above you. You lick either side of it a couple times and feel his hand at the base of your scalp tightening. You then take the head of his cock into your mouth, pull away, and then take more of his cock – again and again, until you’ve taken as much of it as you can. You take the base of it into one of your hands, and run your hand up and down his member as you bob up and down it. You can feel Aizawa’s thighs tense around you. All Aizawa can think is that it is such a sight to see his queen, crown and all, looking up at him and taking his cock so well under him. He’s so aroused by this that you don’t do this for long before he’s pulling you back up and over his lap. He gives you a deep kiss, and you feel his tongue swirl in your mouth. As he kisses you, he swiftly takes a condom out of his wallet that he swears is just for emergencies that he didn’t think he had to prepare for, chucking his wallet to the side of the throne. He breaks the kiss for a moment to slide it over his hard member, and you watch the way the edge of the rubber slides over each ridge of the veins wrapped around delicately. As soon as it’s fully down, he smashes his mouth back onto you, running his tongue over the gums right behind your teeth, which has you moaning into his mouth and grinding over him. He can feel how wet you are over his cock, and as you grind again your clit catches onto the head of it, making you gasp. He’s gripping your hips tight, his self-restraint slipping as his urge to just be inside of you increases. He pulls you back from the kiss for a second to lift you up so that he can press the tip of his cock against your cunt. He slowly pushes it in, and you both gasp at the feeling of just the head being inside of you. Your breathing shallows as you sink inch by inch, lower and lower onto him until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. You stay there for a bit, adjusting to his size, and he takes this pause as an opportunity to grab at your butt cheeks, stroking the smooth skin there before gripping hard. “Gods, you look incredible.” He says, and you look down at him and make eye contact. You gasp, as you see so much emotion in his eyes, so unlike what most people think they know about him. He looks at you with love and lust, like you’re a wondrous beauty he caught from the sky. It brings a pang to your heart, to be the reason for it. His eyes are encompassing the view before him, dark blue velvet dress shimmering in the moonlight, your breasts spilling out of the dress from when he pulled the straps down. He can’t help but run his thumb over your erect nipple, making your legs tense and causing you to grind just a little onto him.You can’t take it anymore. You use the armrests of the throne to start to raise yourself up a couple inches, relishing in the way his cock inside your velvety walls, and drop yourself back down, moaning as you feel the head brush your cervix – the pain-pleasure of it feels like a shot of electricity in your veins. And then you do it again, Aizawa watching you the entire time, enraptured by the way you look on top of him. He can feel your slick all around his dick, the way it moves and trickles down as you ride him. He grabs the back of your neck to set a steady pace, nails digging into you as he grits his teeth. “You just had to do all this and look like that, didn’t you?” Aizawa starts, his voice deep and his breaths shallow. “Looking so fucking hot in that dress and that crown, and you expect me to look at you like that and not take you right here.” It amazes you, to listen to him say this. Aizawa, a man of restraint and infinite patience, and yet you did this to him. It spurs you on, making you pant as you continue to ride him. “You know this isn’t my style, baby girl,” he grunts, “fucking you whilst we’re out. But since we’re here, I’m going to give it to you like you deserve. My queen.” And with that his hands move to your thighs, nails digging into your skin, moving you up his member and slamming you back down. He momentarily takes one hand and pulls your face towards him so that it’s right next to his, his lips ghosting over your ear. “You’re mine.” He says roughly into your ear, his breath ghosting over. “You’re a queen, but you’re my queen. Mine to touch. Mine to give pleasure to. Mine to make cum. Mine to fuck.” He emphasises the last word with a considerable thrust of his hips upwards towards you, causing you to arch your back and push your chest towards him. He takes the opportunity to take one of your nipples into your mouth, sucking it roughly. You feel the cold air as his mouth unlocks from it. He’s tightening his grip on your hips hard enough to bruise. You turn your head into the crook of his neck, encompassing yourself in the scent of his musky cologne as you near your peak. He can acutely hear your soft whines, he can tell purely from the sounds you make when you’re close to your orgasm. He knows it like he knows the back of his hand, like he knows how each strand of your hair falls on your head and wraps around his face as he pulls your face a little away from him. He pushes a strand of hair back behind your ear, and places his hand at the base of your scalp. “Look at me.” He says, and you open your eyes to look at him. You can see a slight sheen of sweat covering his neck. Despite how much impact is being made as he’s fucking you, his voice is calm and even. And he’s looking right at you, honeyed gaze fierce and desperate. “You keep your eyes on me the entire time, you got it?” His demand sends a feeling down your spine and you nod feverishly, unable to speak from the stimulation of how hard he’s fucking you, focusing on making both him and yourself feel good. “I expect a response when spoken to, kitten. Don’t tell me you’ve dumbed out so much you can’t even respond with a simple ‘yes’.” You don’t even fully process what he’s saying. Nevertheless, you softly say “yes”. And then you say it again, and again. Yes, yes. You touch foreheads with him as you say this, and you can feel his breath against your mouth. “Good girl.” He shows a soft, genuine smile at your obedience. He rewards you by taking his thumb into his mouth, and then moves it down to your clit. You whine at the extra stimulation, moving one arm to around Aizawa, fingertips digging into the bottom of his scalp and twirling into his hair. You press the other into the top of the throne, using it as leverage to keep riding him. You can feel your impending orgasm, the way your mind blanks out to just the stimulation. All you can hear are Aizawa’s grunts and moans, and your own heartbeat getting faster. You can hear each gasp and deep groan that you elicit out of him. You can feel the way he’s throbbing inside of you each time you lower down onto him, the pace getting faster. You don’t even register the sounds you’re making as your own, but every whimper and moan spurs Aizawa on. He can feel your soft, velvety walls tensing around his hard member every time he twirls his thumb a little over your clit. “Please, Shouta. Please. Please,” you whimper, the last please almost sounding like a whine, letting him know you’re about to reach your peak. “Yeah? You wanna come, queen? Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me so tight. Come, my queen. Come for me.” Aizawa says, and you finally let yourself go. You take one deep breath in, fingernails dig into him hard. And then you clamp around him, back arching, letting out a scream as your orgasm hits you. Your body feels like it’s finally releasing days of tension that it’s been holding on for so long, and you feel his large member so noticeably as you release. At the feel of your tight cunt squeezing him, his thrusts start to falter and slow, and he comes with a grunt. Both of you breathing hard into each other, hearts beating heavy as you slump down over him. He takes your face into one of his hands and pulls you towards him, kissing you softly. You giggle at the intimate action, mind still floating with the aftershocks of your orgasm and the dopamine running through your veins. Aizawa smiles at this. “Thank you, my queen,” he says into your mouth. He looks up at you, and notices how the crown now sits slightly lopsided on the top of your head due to the force of your encounter. You both laugh softly at the predicament whilst taking time to catch your breaths and come down from your high. After a while of being held by your loving boyfriend, his soft cock still inside you, you begin to raise yourself on your knees, placing one foot on the ground with wobbly legs. Aizawa holds you up with his arms to help you stand properly. You take your bra from where it’s been precariously thrown over the throne, and loop your arms back into it. Aizawa removes the condom to discard downstairs later. As he gets up to buckle back his belt and button his shirt, you sit back on the throne to put on your heels. You both laugh and chat as you skip arm-in-arm back to where the crown once was. You go to place the crown back on the plush, velvet cushion it sat on, and lock up the ballroom. You both go down to spend the rest of the party with your now very drunk friends, whilst the both of you are drunk on something else entirely. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Author’s end note: Thank you so much for reading! This is very much self-indulgent, I love the idea of throne sex. Also my ex-fwb called me his queen all the time, and he’s very good at giving head and had an oral fixation and used to eat me out for hours so this is lowkey reminiscent of the sex I used to receive irl lol

691 notes · View notes

oikadori · 4 years

Text

LEAVING THEIR MIC AND CAMERA ON WHILE BEING SOFT WITH THEIR S/O

can you do a post where like the zoom call in which they accidentally have their camera on, they accidentally have their mic on while they’re being soft with their s/o with akaashi, suna, and daichi 🥺🥺

A/N: Thanks for requesting, I tried to do something a little different with this one. I couldn’t decide whether to make a headcanon or an scenario. Hope you like it! Thanks for reading ♡ ♡ ♡

Pairings: Akaashi x f!Reader, Suna x f!Reader, Daichi x f!Reader

Genre: fluff

WC~1028

“I’ll be back in a few minutes”

“Where are you going??”

“Tsk, you won’t die without Akaashi for ten minutes, will you?” You grin as you see Bokuto’s hair falling down when Konoha gives a sympathetic look at Akaashi.

Akaashi nods as he presses some buttons on the Keyboard before turning around, his tired look softens when he sees your figure standing in the door frame.

“Y/N” his voice ghosts as you handle him a plate with boiled rapeseed plants, which you managed to make in record time.

“It won’t be as good as the one from the store you like but…you looked really tired” his mouth curves up slightly at the sight of the food, “and I wanted to surprise you”

“You didn’t have to…”

“Just-let me take care of you for once” you huff, sitting on his lap, placing your legs sideways. Akaashi lets his head fall on the crook of your neck as his nose brushes your skin playfully, making you giggle

“Open”

Akaashi obediently follows your command as you place a bite on his mouth, making him hum in response. You smile when his arms squeeze you as he leans closer to you. “Thank you, Y/N…I lo-“

His jaw falls open. Feeling his shoulders tensing up, you cock an eyebrow at him in confusion.

“Keiji, what happened?”

“It seems… I didn’t turn the camera off”

You feel your heartbeat drop at the sight of all the third years laughing, no sound coming out until Akaashi’s hand reaches the keyboard, a scared look snaps on his face, fearing about what might come out of his laptop.

“Boohoo you lovebirds go get a room!”

“Well, they already are-”

“I want a cute girlfriend that makes food for me too!!”

“W-Wait Akaa-” You blink at how fast he closes the computer, making his teammates disappear. You feel a giggle tickling your throat when you notice the blush on his ears.

“I'm never leaving this open again” He mumbles, hugging you tightly before reaching your hand to kiss it, “How embarrassed, I’m so sorry”

“You looked really cute all flustered like that, tho!”

“Y/N, I love you…but stop, please”

“I’m gonna take a nap, care to join me?”

Suna’s lazy gaze glimmers at your offer, making him fully turn his head at you.

“Why torturing me, like this?” he whines as he forces himself to return to his previous position, watching the screen as his captain scolded the twins ”Later, beautiful”.

Your shoulders fall disappointed at his response, rubbing your eyes, you climb on his bed, curling yourself up between the blankets.

“Knock it off you two, we are helping you study!”

Suna can’t refrain the long yawn that comes out, as he blinks a few times still looking at the screen. He turns his head to the back, catching your figure laying comfortably on his bed. The urge to lay with you becoming unbearable.

“Guys, there is…something really important I have to do”

“It’s okay, Suna, see you tomorrow morning!” He clicks carelessly the keyboard, his eyes fixed on you.

Suna moves quickly towards the bed before collapsing over you, his limbs covering your body, trapping you. His chest lays against your back as he presses one side of his face against yours, feeling the air in your lungs escaping you huff with a sideways smile.

“Rintarou…I can’t breathe”

“You’re the one who offered me this, remember?”

“I don’t remember offering me as your pillow”

“Too bad then” He removes the blankets before pulling it over the two of you, his arms lock your waist as he kiss lightly your cheek, closing his eyes when he feels the smile on your lips.

“ ‘Something important to do’, no shit, Suna!”

You snap your sleepy eyes at Atsmu’s voice, still processing the situation.

“The camera…” you whisper

“Hmmm”

“I don’t want them to see us, Rin” his eyes remain closed as you pout, frowning, you try to remove his arms.

Suna tightens his grip on your waist before flipping you to the other side, making only his back visible for the camera. His eyes open slightly, and you catch a tiny smile on his lips as he squishes your cheeks.

“Problem solved, beautiful. Can we sleep now?”

“Daichi”

He turns his attention away from his laptop, a concerned look takes over his features at the way you frown looking at his phone.

“Uhm, you’ve got a text from Suga and…the first years are fighting with the basketball team over the gym”

Daichi’s eyes go blank and you swear you saw his soul leaving for a second. He stands, taking heavy steps in your direction.

“They what?” he takes his phone from your hands, closing his eyes, he feels irritation building up in his stomach, “They are making me crazy”

“Daichi Sawamura” his eyes open when your hands cup his cheeks, “I’m the only one supposed to do that” Daichi’s cheeks flush, letting out an airy laugh at the pout on you face.

“Don’t be jealous, princess” Daichi pockets his phone before placing his hands on your hips, you giggle as he pinches your sides softly. The irritation fades away when he feels your hands tracing the muscles of his back. He stares at your lips before leaning in, giving you a soft kiss.

A whistle makes the two of you break their contact abruptly. You see Daichi’s soul for the second time in the day, as he turns to the computer to see a mix of blushed and embarrassed faces.

“Sawamura! We can see you!” Michimiya screams with her face covered by her hands, you feel your cheeks heating up as you move away from Daichi, “I’ve been trying to tell you that for the last five minutes”

“Sorry!” Daichi yells as he bows at the screen, you copy him, bowing too. You share a brief look before looking away shyly, fighting the blush that was taking over your cheeks, you bow at him and then at the screen again before rushing away.

“How didn’t you hear us, Sawamura?”

Daichi sighs ,defeated. He looks at the human-shaped blanket on the couch, feeling his lips curving up instinctively as he pictures the blushed face you are desperately trying to hide under the covers.

“I was…really distracted, sorry again!”

Sorry for taking so long, but I have a pretty important oral exam this week and I’ve been feeling kind of insecure with...well everything I do HAHAHAAH

Please reblog if you like it!

Thanks for reading! ♡

↳ ∴ Master List ∴ | PART II |

PART III

5K notes · View notes

zeawoo · 2 years

Text

LAST FRIDAY NIGHT

— CHAPTER 7: Jaeyunie [written]

WORDCOUNT▸ 0.84K

DISCLAIMERS▸ dont mint the awkward space after the cut it’s supposed to prevent tumblr from deleting/repeating the first few paragraphs

SUMMARY ▸ Being the top student at Decelis Academy is easy when you’re a born prodigy. In fact, it’s so easy that you don’t even have to study! So imagine the shock on Sim Jaeyun’s — Decelis’ second-best student overall— face when he finds out you spend your time drinking your soberness away at parties instead of having your head six feet deep in textbooks like him. When your parents decide to host Jake after his parents leave for a business trip, chaos arises between the two of you as you fight to see who really is Decelis’ best student.

The dread pools in Jake's stomach when the gates of the L/n family estate open. Through the tinted windows, he watches as they pull up into the very long driveway. Jake should already be familiar with it, seeing as a week ago he came here for the impromptu gathering, but his clammy hands and bouncing knee say otherwise.

He glances up at the rearview mirror where he makes brief eye contact with his father and turns away, awkwardly clearing his throat.

A sigh resonates from the front seat, "They're a nice family, Jaeyun. I wouldn’t trust anyone else in this world to take care of you for us."

"It's not that," Jaeyun's voice is soft, "I just thought I could stay home. The housemaids can take care of me."

"You're seventeen, dear." Mrs. Sim chimes in, turning her head to look at her son with a small grin on her matte red lips. "Besides, they cook and clean for us all year, surely they deserve a two-month break."

At that, Jake flinches. He forgot how much work the servants actually have, and he feels terrible for wanting to cut off their well-deserved vacation. Drowning in his own thoughts, Jake doesn't even realize that they've made it to the entrance until the car abruptly stops.

His parents get out of the car, his dad going to get the suitcases in the trunk whilst his mother chats with the servants waiting at the door. When the boy finally steps out of the vehicle, the L/n family stands before him. His parents join him at his side, and the adults greet each other.

He can't help but look at you, who looks...Uncomfortable? Indifferent? He can’t really tell just by your expression and body language.

It doesn't take long before his parents finish up small talk with yours and before he knows it, they're already in the car and driving off to what he can guess is the airport. Your dad pats his shoulder in a welcoming manner, starting up a conversation as he drags the teenage boy inside, followed by you and your mother.

"I'm glad you're staying with us, Jaeyun. It's such an honor to have a remarkable young man like you in our company for the next few months." Your dad praises him, which makes you roll your eyes.

Jake awkwardly chuckles, pouring all of his respect into the bow that he shows your parents. "Thank you for hosting me," You can see right through him. Poor boy looks so uncomfortable.

"Right then," Your mother's smooth words ease the tension in the vastly large entryway. Though her words bounce off the open space and high walls, it doesn't feel as intimidating as the stare you've pinned to him. "Y/n would you please show our guest his room?"

At this, you quietly nod and walk past the marble staircases that glimmer under the chandelier lights. He doesn't expect you to lead him to the basement though, where down the hall a bedroom that's about the same size as his own awaits him. Everything is white, save for the bed that's painted black and adorned with navy sheets. Cold marble lines the floor and despite being filthy rich himself, Jake feels like he's entered a whole new world.

Besides, can you really blame him when his own mansion carries more classic, baroque architecture? He has his father to blame for that, seeing as the man had their current estate built after visiting France and falling in love with the palace of Versailles, specifically the hall of mirrors.

The boy is shaken out of his thoughts when your voice makes itself known. "The walk-in wardrobe is there," You point to a door on the other side of the room, "And the bathroom is right next to it." Your finger hovers over to the other unopened door as you look around the room for anything else to point out.

"Thanks," Jake's voice seems a little higher than usual, for some reason. "I uh... hope we get along?" His hands leave the handle of his suitcase to outstretch towards you, but the boy immediately regrets it when your face contorts in a weird expression.

Just as he's about to retract his hand, your fingers wrap around his own. He panics for a split second, worrying that his palms may be sweaty. But that doesn’t seem like the case, since you nonchalantly let go and step back with the tiniest hint of a smile.

Jake can only watch frozen in place as you turn around and walk away, stopping at the doorframe to turn your head back one last time. "Yeah, enjoy your time here, Jaeyunie."

And that's how Jake finds himself collapsing and on the neatly made bed, fighting the urge to cry out in embarrassment. Did I just try to shake her hand? What are we—Business partners or something? What he doesn't know, though, is that you're still outside, back against the closed door that serves as a shield for your chuckles that would otherwise be heard.

Too bad your glory won’t last too long. I’m number one, after all.

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— MASTERLIST

TAGS ▸ @soobin-chois @enhacolor @yyunari @ethereal-engene @niskoo @beomsun @msxflower @iwonzzi @certainyouthpeanut @treasuretaeil @diestheticu @blessed-sky @bluesoobinnie @outrologist @gothsunoo @riki-soba @liliansun @cowstiddymilk @moon-gyus @yunki4evr @wonyoluvie @hobistigma @articxari @allorysayshi (taglist is open! just send and ask or a dm <3)

#and it’s starting #bye not jake being awkward as hell 😭 poor boy #kflixnet #ficscafe #enhypenwriters #k-radio!#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #enhypen jake #jake enhypen #sim jaeyun #jaeyun x reader #jaeyun fanfic #enhypen smau #enhypen x female reader #— last friday night

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denjiholic · 3 years

Text

euphoria || bottom gojo x reader NSFW

✎ summary: when gojo wears a bunny girl suit and you’re unable to control yourself

✎ pairing: bottom gojo x fem! reader

✎ warnings/tags: NSFW, explicit content, bottom! gojo, brat! gojo, pegging, sex toys, overstimulation, dom/sub, rough sex, dacryphilia, rough sex, multiple sex positions, doggy style, riding, masturbation, exhibitionism

✎ word count: 2.3k

“so, how do I look?”

you take a moment to really look at him, soaking in the sight of the white haired man sitting on the bed in front of you. his legs are crossed, flaunting the fishnet tights that cover the skin on his calves and thighs. his torso is covered in a slick black bodysuit, the material exposing his ass and chest. the sweet little cherry on top however, is the bunny ears that stem from the headband tucked into his tousled hair.

he uncrosses his legs, and you lay eyes on his erection pushing against the material covering his crotch.

“are you turned on by yourself?”

“well who wouldn’t be, just look at me” he grins, “you can’t confidently tell me, that this outfit doesn’t make you want to fuck me.”

honestly, you couldn’t tell him that. not truthfully at least. the tight bodysuit flattered his lean yet toned figure in a way that made you feel hot with arousal. and his stupid expression, that fucking expression, full of smugness and confidence. you just wanted to wipe it clean off, replacing it with one of pure bliss and overstimulation. his eyes glimmer, taunting you with the possibility of him completely submitting to you and your body. letting you take control for the night, and fucking him until he couldn’t breathe.

“why are you staring?”, he teases, “do i look like that much of a slut?”

he leans forward, batting his white eyelashes, trying to draw a flustered response out of you.

you move closer towards him, extending your hand to tilt his chin up, forcing his face to meet yours. his skin is warm to the touch, eager and ready for you.

“yeah, you do look like a slut” his blue eyes gaze into your own with an issued challenge.

“so fuck me like i am one”, he whispers.

your fingers trace over his bulge, ghosting the fabric. keeping his head tilted up to face you, you listen to his breath hitch. while you lightly rub his cock through the bodysuit material, his eyelids flutter shut.

he begins to breathe heavier, letting his head fall back from your hand.

grabbing a hold of his face, you stop jerking him off.

“keep your eyes on me”, you command.

he smiles at your dominating tone, “someone’s getting bold.”

even though he felt the need to throw in a brazen remark, he follows your instruction, maintaining eye contact with you as you put your hand back onto his erection.

as you start to rub him once more through the fabric, you can feel his dick twitch. once his hips start to stutter up into your hand, you pull away, leaving him looking at you with frustration.

“why’d you stop?”

“you were going to make this lovely outfit dirty...” you smile and caress his face, “guess we’ll just have to take you out of it then.”

he grins smugly, “are you asking me to strip?”

“maybe.”

“you want to see me naked that badly? i didn’t think you’d be so desperate.”

brushing your thumb on his cheek you sigh, “shut up and undress yourself.”

before taking the suit off, he slowly caresses his body, keeping eye contact with you. his hand will occasionally rub his hardness beneath the fabric, but he mostly strokes the rest of his skin, an active attempt to tease you. whatever he’s doing is working however, as you can feel your underwear dampen. he slowly starts to unzip the suit, letting it fall to expose his bare chest underneath.

“putting on a show?”

he winks, completely removing the fabric.

“you know I always do.”

without the bodysuit, all that’s left is his dick pressed up against the fishnets. when he releases his cock from the tights, you can see it hit his stomach, smearing precum onto his abdomen.

he sits on the bed with a longing look in his eyes, awaiting your next order. luckily, you have it ready.

“touch yourself.”

“gladly”, he grins.

as he slowly starts to palm himself he lets out a shaky breath. he runs his fingers up and down his cock, playing with the tip gently while you watch him.

his head falls back, breaking the eye contact between you once again, as he lets out a soft moan.

he’s deliberately taking his time getting himself off, determined to fully show you how dirty he could be.

he truly does look like a slut. his body is bare aside from the bunny ears, collar, and the fabric cuffs around his wrists. eyes shut in concentration and euphoria, he’s gorgeous. with his hand moving up and down his length, he tries to delay his orgasm.

“y’know..”, he huffs, “i would enjoy it a lot more if i got to actually finish inside you.”

“too good for your own hand?”

“only when it comes to you.”

his fleeting proposal of dominating you is cut short however, as he suddenly releases onto his bare chest.

“shit, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“look at that, you’ve made quite the mess on yourself.”

smiling, you ask, “need some help cleaning it off?”

he smiles back, nodding his head. you get to your knees in front of him, and start licking the cum off his skin. he twitches when your tongue first makes contact with his stomach, tracing up his torso. lapping up the remainder off of his dick, you can hear his breathing get shallow.

“don’t taunt me like that”, he says shakily.

once he’s all clean, you get up to meet his lips for a kiss. he whines when your tongue enters his mouth, and you can feel his hand move down to wrap around his cock. when he starts to stroke it you pull away from him, and restrict his wrist.

“well, someone's needy..”

“if you’re not going to fuck me, i can damn well do it myself.”

“poor thing.”

he lets out a frustrated whine as you turn your back to him.

“sit here and be a good boy while i get a few things, okay?”

nodding his head, he stays put on the bed, while you venture into your closet.

after retrieving what you need, you show him what you’ve grabbed.

“if i'm being honest, i would have preferred a different color.”

he’s referring to the purple dildo in your hand, eyeing it, as well as you, with caution.

“lie down for me”

complying, he lies down on the bed, and sticks his hips in the air. he wiggles them slightly, teasing you playfully.

his carefree attitude is thrown away however, as you start to lube him up. gojo lets out a sharp inhale as he starts to feel one of your slick fingers start to enter his tight ass. after he’s squirming enough, you put in a second finger, slowly stretching and preparing his hole for you.

unable to resist the temptation to hear more whimpers come out of his mouth, you start to thrust your fingers in and out of his ass. his pale back arches, and he grips the soft material of the bedsheets, as you hit his prostate.

more whimpers leave his lips as you give his ass a gentle slap. he’s fucking himself onto your fingers now, desperately searching for release.

his body shudders when his cum spills onto the sheets.

“shit”, he groans.

looking at the trembling man beneath you, you coo, “you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“fuck you.”

picking up the strap on, you lie down and start to insert one end into yourself. gojo watches impatiently, yearning to feel you inside him. he whimpers as you let out contented sighs, the dildo filling you up just right. patting your lap, you gesture for him to get on top of you.

he’s about to put the strap into his tight hole when you halt him.

“suck it a little first”

in a hurry to get fucked, he positions himself in front of the dildo. he starts licking up the sides, not stopping until saliva has fully covered its length. once he suffices it’s wet enough, he takes it into his mouth, inch by inch. gojo has no shame, letting the strap on repeatedly hit his throat until he’s gagging, tears pricking at his long white lashes. you watch his head bow up and down, desperately trying to get your permission and approval.

“good boy, that’s enough”, you hum.

you pull his mouth off, admiring the strings of spit that connect from his tongue to the dildo.

“i’m going to need you to use those strong legs of yours to ride me, okay?”

his blue eyes spark with excitement, enthused to be able to have the satisfaction of another orgasm.

as you guide the strap into his hole, he curses, feeling the full length and width bottom out inside him.

he starts to grind down his hips, struggling to move his legs at the proper angle. Deciding to help him out, you thrust up to hit his sensitive spot, aiding him in his pursuit of pleasure.

the tip of his dick is flushed and leaking with precum, his body practically begging to be used.

when your fingers graze his nipples, his back arches suddenly, and a stifled cry fills the room.

“something wrong?”, you tease.

he doesn’t even bother with a comeback, his body too overwhelmed with the strap on dragging across his walls.

with each bounce on your length, the bunny ears on his headband flop and shake.

gojo knows just how lewd he looks, as he makes a conscious effort to show the pleasure he’s receiving through his facial expression, truly leaning into the submissive role.

choked sounds fall from his lips as he cums onto his stomach for the second time that night. his eyes roll back as he shakes on top of your thighs.

you smile at his exaggerated look, saying, “you really have to do the most every time, don’t you?”

he lets out a shallow laugh, still out of breath from his orgasm.

“i’m just trying to fit the part”

“if you really want to do that, then lie down ass up on the bed for me”

his eyes widen, “but I just-”

stroking his cheek, you whisper, “now, please”

he whimpers, but does what he’s told, climbing off of you and getting on his hands and knees.

after getting behind him, you start to slide the dildo in once more.

“take it easy please”, he pleads.

you laugh, knowing full well his request has fallen on deaf ears.

“oh really? i thought you liked it rough..”

once you start thrusting into him, he quickly muffles a moan into the mattress. his fists desperately grip the bed sheets, searching for stability. arching his back, he brings his hips back to meet your own, each thrust from your pelvis met with the skin on the globes of his ass.

soon after you start thrusting he releases his seed onto the bed. you can tell that by now he’s unable to hold out for very long, the relentless torturing of his prostate too much to handle.

you don’t allow him any rest however, and continue fucking him with force.

his knuckles have practically turned white from gripping the bed, and he begins to sob into the sheets. even as he cries and begs for you to slow down, he rubs his cock against the bedding, desperate to feel more friction.

the shared strap feels good inside you as well, but you’re more heavily focused on gojo’s pleasure and reactions. he’s only come four times, yet he’s close to being completely, and euphorically, fucked out.

his chest stutters with each choked hiccup, as you pound into him. after letting him dry his eyes onto the bed, you grab a fistful of his hair and pull his head back, determined to let his tears stream down his face.

he moans and whines pathetically, reaching climax once again. keeping up this process, you never give him a break, letting him reach completion repeatedly. by now, his cock is worn out and oozing onto the bed, the collar and cuffs that came with the bunny suit are damp with his sweat.

he looks like he’s almost in pain when he cums once more, with the way his body shudders, and his desperate cries as you fuck him.

with a firm grip on his white hair, you tug at his head, using him as a support while you thrust.

“fuck fuck fuck, please, oh god”, he moans.

panting like a bitch in heat, his bright blue eyes look glossy, wonderfully accompanying his rosy flushed face and cheeks.

“m’gonna cum again”, he mumbles, almost completely incapable of speaking.

you push deeper and harder, wanting to milk him for all he’s worth. feeling his body twitch and shake, you can tell he’s on the brink of having his strongest climax of the night.

he moans loudly, white eyelashes heavy with thick tears. his tongue falls out of his mouth, spilling drool down his chin and onto the bed. eyes rolling back in pure bliss, he’s unable to feel anything other than you fucking him silly, and the hard orgasm that fills his entire body with pure ecstasy.

once he’s done, you slow down your thrusts to a final stop, eventually pulling out.

limbs no longer able to support his position on all fours, he collapses onto the bed, and you watch his body spasm and tremble as he sobs into the sheets. you smooth the hair stuck to his forehead, and stroke his face, coaxing him down his high.

referring to the sweat and cum that reside on his chest and body, you coo, “look at you, such a little mess.”

after taking a few shallow breaths, he says, “you gonna use your tongue to clean me up?” his voice is hoarse, vocal chords obviously strained from the busy night.

you laugh, surprised he still has the ability to fight back.

“you wish.”

you head to the bathroom to wet a damp towel, and once you return to the bed he has his eyes shut.

“are you seriously asleep?”, you ask.

“yes.”

shaking your head, you start to wipe off his chest. he sighs contentedly, more than happy to simply lay back and get taken care of by you.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk #gojo headcanons #gojo imagine #LICK ME TEASE ME #TOUCH ME PLEASE ME #SEX ME #FLEX ME CARESS ME

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volleychumps · 3 years

Text

« Ghost.

~ the one in which Sakusa Kiyoomi sees you happy after he broke your heart.

format: One-shot

genre: angst

- Sakusa Kiyoomi x Reader

Warning(s): Use of alcohol, set in after-high school

One of my older requests I’ve kept, this fic is influenced by the song ‘Ghosts’ by Jeremy Zucker. Although it’s not a song fic, very sad content is ahead.

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

“I told you to wear your gloves.”

“Whaaat? Why would I do that when your pockets are so warm?”

“How convenient for you.”

“Here, put your hands in here with me. Live a little, take your gloves off! It’s so warm~”

Sakusa swallowed. Dark eyes stared blankly through the glass out into the deluge of rain, a slightly damp travel bag seated on the plastic seat next to him, a gentle prod of his fingers making him snap out of it. Komori sends him a worried stare, noting that his cousin seemed to have changed a lot from his travel abroad.

The slight glimmer in Sakusa’s eyes before he left was just as dimmed the day he boarded that plane.

“Does anyone else know you’re back in Japan?”

“Who would I tell?” Sakusa shrugged as his cousin met him with a incredulous stare. “The team is expecting my return-”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Sakusa stiffens, clearing his throat before sipping the warm beverage before him. He didn’t taste anything, eyes flitting over to the half-drunken matcha in his cousin’s cup. That reminds him of-

“You didn’t tell Y/N?”

There it is.

Silence filled the distance between the two before Sakusa’s dark coffee hits the table with a prominent thud.

“It’s not like she would want to see me.”

“She could never hate you, you know. Especially after-”

“Komori.” Sakusa’s stare hardened, fingers clasping at ceramic. Komori’s lips press back together in a thin line, opting to swirl the matcha tea in his cup before bowing his head slightly in apology.

“I told you that you wouldn’t like it.”

“Blegh! How do you drink it so strong?”

“...swap with me.”

“Don’t tell me you ordered a matcha because you knew I wouldn’t like it.”

“Ha. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Awh, Kiyoomi-Kun!”

“Gross.”

The rain was less now, the two figures in the rain under the abandoned shop seeming to dissapitate with the downpour. It was him, holding a girl’s hands in his pockets as he stubbornly adjusts the hat on her head. Two half-drunken drinks that had been swapped sat next to them-

“Let’s get going, yeah?” Komori stands, having finished his tea as Sakusa rips his gaze away from the familiar scene.

“You seem tired from all the traveling. Didn’t you get any sleep on the plane?”

He hasn’t slept well in a long while.

“I did.” He finishes the americano in one go, ignoring the burn in his throat as he longs for the taste of alcohol. “Lead the way.”

Sakusa casts one more glance through the glass window. The two figures were nowhere to be seen.

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

His thumb grazed his phone screen over your contact. Backspace. Hello-. Backspace. Delete. Hover over delete option. Back to messages. I’m back in-.

Sakusa sighs through his nose, a futile attempt to release the tightness in his chest, before turning on his side as the sun peeks in through his window. Five hours at most, a lot better than his usual nights.

Perhaps it was because he knew you were a mere cardrive away.

“Why are you here?”

“...it was on the way.”

“So...what can I do for you?”

Silence.

“Unless....no way, did you miss me?”

“No.”

“You answered too fast, meaning you’re lying.”

“So what if I did?”

“Come here Kiyoomi, spend the night.”

He throws his phone.

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

“You hurt her, you know that?”

“Is she...doing okay?”

Sugawara sighs heavily, running a hand through his gray locks across from the stoic boy. Sakusa was lucky at least one of your friends was willing to give him the time of day, seated across one of your more gentle friends in the university library.

“...she’s doing fine. She’s holding down a gig at Onigiri Miya while she finishes her degree.” Sugawara stands, guilt filling his hazel eyes before hardening slightly. “But you don’t get to ask about her.”

“I know.”

“You walked away from her when all she did was give you everything her world had to offer.”

Sakusa grits his teeth. “I know.”

“Do you?” Sugawara wasn’t easily irritated, flipping a page in his textbook before meeting your ex with an even stare. “If you knew how hard it was for everyone to pick up the pieces-”

“Thanks for meeting me.” Sakusa’s chair scraped the floor as he stood abruptly, heart pounding in his ears. He felt Suga’s stare on his back as he exited the library, stopping at the exit as his breathing picks up.

“Am I even allowed here?”

“It’s fine. Relax! You look like a Uni student.”

“...Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“I-”

“Sakusa?”

It had been a whole year since he heard that voice, not haunting his dreams, but in reality. Dark eyes widen a fraction as his breath catches in his throat at the smile that spreads across your lips. You had gotten more beautiful than the image his mind spun back and forth, rooting him in place.

“You’re back?”

“...Mm.”

“That’s great! Tell the team I’m looking forward to your welcome home party tonight. It was great seeing you.”

Sakusa’s lips parted, but no words came out. He was taken back abruptly as your shoulder brushed his as you walked past

“Don’t be a burden.”

“K-Kiyoomi, how could you-?”

“I don’t need to leave something annoying behind me when I leave to train.”

“Something? Kiyoomi, it’s me. It’s us-”

“Don’t wait for me.”

“I will! You just need to say the word, and-”

“Are you usually this pathetic? We were never in love, Y/N. You were just convenient.”

“You’re lying-!”

“Good luck, Y/N. I don’t know when or if I’ll be back. Don’t look for me.”

He needed to let you go, no matter what lies stain his tongue. He needed you to be okay without him, not looking out the window everyday in hopes that promises over text and call were enough.

And that was the day he brushed past you, a stream of even tears falling from your widened eyes as your heart shattered in your chest-

not realizing that the sight of Sakusa’s back shielded the view of the single trickling tear down his cheek.

But still, he kept walking.

“Y/N.”

Dark eyes widen when you flinch on instinct, Sakusa’s hand hovering in mid-air over your arm before your smile is back. His chest tightens as he realizes that it’s merely polite, not holding the same love it once did.

You tilted your head, and Sakusa could feel his fingers tremble at the shine in your eyes.

“I gotta go, Sakusa. Suga’s waiting. It was great to see you though, you look good.”

It was his turn to watch your back as unshed heat brimmed his eyes, but you don’t look back to notice.

...Sakusa?

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

“I need to go for a walk.”

“What? Dude, this is your party.” Atsumu blinks in disbelief as Bokuto and Hinata chow down on plate after plate of onigiri. His friends bustle around the shop, but you were no where to be seen.

“Five minutes, you imbecile. I won’t run away.”

“You better not!” Atsumu slurs, on the edge of absolutely hammered as he flashes Sakusa a wide thumbs-up. “You’ll make our guests sad!”

Out of everyone in this party, he wanted to see you the most.

Sakusa manages to make it out the back door, planning to watch for your arrival until he sees your figure seated not far away in the grass, cradling a single drink in your hand as your eyes stare up at the clouded stars. Faded, but they were barely there as your eyes seemed to be questioning the world up above.

It was a lie.

Sakusa’s nails bit into his palms.

It wasn’t just convenient for him.

He swallows back the lump in his throat.

You were his world. His first and last love.

He begins to take a step-

Please let him be your last.

“Whatcha doin’ out here?”

He stops in place, watching from mere feet away as Osamu Miya plops down in the grass next to you. You jokingly protest as Osamu takes your drink, taking a swig from it before looking at you with something in his eyes.

No. It wasn’t something new to Sakusa, because that’s the way he used to look at you.

“...He came back.” Your voice was almost a whimper, and Osamu gently tugs you to lean your head on his shoulder.

“I know.”

“I’m happy, Osamu.”

“I didn’t say anythin’.”

Sakusa should’ve walked away. He should’ve willed his feet to move, but he couldn’t. All his dark eyes could do was watch as you rolled your eyes playfully, tugging the drink out of Osamu’s hands before setting it down and cupping his face with one hand-

Doing that thing where your hand slipped into Osamu’s denim jacket pocket.

“I love you. He was the past. You are my present. And...my future, hopefully?”

Osamu’s lip twitches upwards as he turns his face so he can kiss your palm that’s cupping his cheek.

“I know, princess. You’re allowed to be sad, I’m not a monster.” Osamu pauses, thinking for a second before nodding once. “Unless you want me to be a monster, I can beat-”

He’s cut off as you roll your eyes, smiling as you kiss him so lovingly-

Ah. This must’ve been how you felt the day he left you in pieces.

Sakusa wanted to scream, but a warm trickle of wetness slipped down his cheeks instead as it began to rain, the clouded stars turning darker ironically as Sakusa realizes that the shop he’s standing outside of-

the abandoned one where he kept you warm that winter night.

It was now Onigiri Miya.

He felt his legs almost give out as he stumbles to the side of the building, shielding him from view as your panicked laughs sound over the rain.

“Y/N. I...I think I-”

“Kiyoomi?”

“What?”

“I’ll love you more than you’ll ever know.”

Sakusa couldn’t tell if the drops on his face was the rain, feeling like he was floating as his skin became numb to the cold.

In fact, he wished that this was one of his dreams, the ones where he punished himself with images of you in his arms.

That way, he could keep on living with your ghost.

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

Brb It’s not like I’m vv sad as I write this.

General works: @takemetovalhalla @kasandrafaye @savemesteeb @dreebbles @yams046 @let-me-have-my-own-name @deadontheinsidebut @lifeisntjustblackandwhite @curiouslilbeast @aprettyfruit @wisepandaslimeland @h0ngh0ngh0ng @lmkjimin @orangegiraffe7 @dai-tsukki-desu @kac-chowsballs @spikertrash @yamaguwuchi @lord-suneater-explosion @nekomawhore @holaaaf@babyybokutoakaashi @lexysclubhouse @disneyloving-muggle

#haikyuu angst #haikyuu fic #haikyuu!!#haikyuu one shot #sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kyoomi x reader #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa angst #haikyuu sad #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #osamu scenario #haikyuu osamu #osamu miya #haikyuu sugawara #sugawara koushi

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