#wish I had more time and I wish he knew how much he meant for us and I hate he’s no longer here and I hate he’s gone
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Please a Hc with Zoro, Kid and Law: how do they react when having a premature ejaculation? 💧💧💧💧🌊
i swear you are a mind reader sometimes because i've been thinking about this with law so you gave me the perfect excuse to write it
when they cum too soon (nsfw)
ft. zoro, kid, law
masterlist || commissions
cw: creampie (w/law and zoro), implied virgin law, established relationship, degradation (w/kid only), brat taming (w/kid only)
tagging: @willowbelle @queenmimi2817 @fanaticsnail @indydonuts @eelnoise @wrennyx @atanukileaf @zorolux
zoro
"dammit—" zoro hisses, inhaling sharply as he feels himself spill into you. he hadn't meant to cum so soon and was used to lasting a lot longer, but he was so pent up after weeks of not seeing you while you were off saving the stupid cook that he finds himself cumming nearly as soon as he sheathes himself inside of you.
"'s alright—" you start to say, but he cuts you off, his voice laced with annoyance and irritation.
"it's not alright. i should have more self control than that." he sighs, jaw clenched as he stares down at you; he had wanted to make this special for you, especially after you and brook had walked in on hiyori sleeping on top of him. this was the time for zoro to prove his devotion to you, and in his eyes he had failed by losing his head so quickly instead of focusing on making you feel good.
"just keep going, zoro." you urge him with pleading eyes. he's so weak for that look in your eyes—the one that had gotten him into this situation in the first place. and so he does, dragging his second orgasm out for as long as he possibly can, making sure you're completely spent and drooling from both your mouth and your pussy before he allows himself to cum again.
kid
"god, what the fuck is wrong with you, making me cum so damn fast?" kid snarls, words broken up by gasps as he catches his breath. your skin is already covered in a rainbow of colors—red from his lipstick, purple and yellow from hickeys both new and old, and white from the ropes of cum he just painted your stomach with—but he can't help but wish he could've held out a bit longer, especially given how much he had talked himself up earlier.
undeterred by his frustration, you let out an amused huff. "you can always just fuck me again, y'know." you say, lips curled into a smug smirk as you watch him run his hands through his now drooping scarlet hair.
"of course i'm gonna fuck you again. maybe it'll finally shut up that bratty mouth of yours." he snaps, face turning as red as his hair; already half-hard, slamming his cock into your drooling pussy with no warning is all he needs to get himself back to full mast. the gasps and whimpers you let out make him regain all of his confidence and then some, and he has no problems telling you what a bratty little slut you are for giving into him so easily.
law
"fuck—i'm sorry, i didn't mean to cum inside you." law whispers in your ear, breath ragged after he inadvertently came deep inside of your pussy; he had told himself beforehand that he would pull out, but he wasn't prepared for how good you'd feel gripping his cock and before he knew it, he was choking back groans and burying his head in your shoulder as his twitching cock spilled into you.
you let out a dreamy sigh as you press a lazy kiss into his hair. "'s okay, it felt so good." you reassure him, tightening your hold around him and pulling him close. the two of you lay like that for a few moments until your breathing regulates, though you're a haywire mess as soon as he pushes himself up with one hand to hover over you, eyes full of an intense hunger that you were eager to satiate.
"i haven't had enough of you yet." he says lowly, softly dragging his thumb across your lower lip. you can't help the way his words make your face burn and the corners of your lips quirk upwards.
"me neither." you reply, and his mouth is back on yours in a second, hot needy, and wanting as his tongue slips into your mouth; hips gently rocking into yours as his cock stiffens inside of you once more, you hope he fills you up again—on purpose this time.
#one piece x reader#zoro x reader#roronoa zoro x reader#zoro x you#law x reader#trafalgar law x reader#law x you#eutass kid x reader#eustass kidd x reader#eustass kid x you#one piece fanfiction#one piece drabble#trafalgar law smut#roronoa zoro smut#law smut#zoro smut
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He deserves someone to dote on him! Alastor who injuries his dominant hand and is unable to properly do basic tasks for a while, you come over and cook for him as well as feed him and he’s so embarrassed!! I mean let’s be honest last person to look after his was his mama. Doesn’t stop you, I mean you’re helping him dress, writing out his ideas for potential scripts for future broadcasts, scolding him for trying to use said arm…you kiss his fingers that stick out from his sling <3 he’s so greedy even after he heals he pretends that he still needs you’re help and you’re more than happy to oblige !
This is so cute >.< for this ask we will imagine that Alastor x Reader from Misconduct are in an AU where Vincent doesn’t exist and they’re romantically involved. Poorly written again because I wrote this at uni lmaooo warning for suggestive content, mention of murder and self harm
He didn’t mean to hurt his hand to this extent when he badgered his knife into the neck of a man who wouldn’t stop flirting with you; he tried so hard not to let his pain showcase when you were near him, even when you would thread your fingers through his, he tried so desperately to not make you aware of his pain.
But you were, fortunately, very perceptive of your lovers tells; and when you held his broken hand, you noticed the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly.
It took a while, but you managed to get him to admit that he had hurt himself; whether he told you how depended on whether you knew about his morally malevolent habits or not.
You reprimanded him; obviously, it made you feel so inadequate that he didn’t feel as though you were a safe space for him to tell you of his pain, but you brushed your feelings aside to tend for the man you loved.
He struggled with everyday tasks you had come to figure out; hiding the pain he endured whilst attempting to complete those tasks. So you decided it was best to temporarily stay at his home, regardless of your own responsibilities; you wished to help and assist the man you planned to marry one day.
And he had agreed, rather quickly to your idea, seeming like a child excited with a new toy they had just been gifted.
You began completing every little task for him, even so far as washing his body and hair for him; you always ignored how he would get just a tad excited below the water whenever your bare hands scrubbed his skin clean.
He always held an arm around you as you cooked and washed his dishes for him, forcing you to always become flushed as he only spoke words of endearment into your ear whilst stroking your waist with his free hand.
Whenever he would try to help you, or give you physical affection through his broken hand, you would again, reprimend him. Scolding him like a child before you would inevitably apologise, stating you only wished for him to get better.
And when you laid in his bed, no matter what the two of you were doing during that time, you would place kisses along his broken hand, telling him of how much you loved him, how much you cared about him; how much he meant to you.
He basked in it, loved everything his broken hand had brought him; how it had brought you even closer to him, basically moving you into his home whilst you played the part of his little housewife.
A wife he would make you.
And as the weeks passed by, and his hand ultimately began to heal; he would, to simply have you always with him, break it. Purposefully.
He won’t tell you that though.
He just wants you near him.
#alastor x reader#alastor x you#hazbin alastor#alastor#hazbin hotel x reader#reader insert#x reader#hazbin hotel
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all of my heart ~ carlos sainz (cs55)
my masterlist | my f1 masterlist
pairing: carlos sainz jr. x fem!reader
summary: a short story of carlos becoming a father
words: 2K
warnings: one tiny swear word in spanish ig, otherwise nothing, just fluff fluff fluff and dad!carlos which deserves its own warning tbh
a/n: i know you love the dad!driver trope, @vetteltea, which is why i dedicate this blurb to you (though i think you'd maybe prefer this to be with seb now that i think about it), as a thank you for all the amazing fanfic you provide this fandom with. i love you so much, you're so talented, so inspiring, and i truly wish to be like you. <33
please, don't be a ghost reader, leave a comment or rb!
Carlos is still a little out of breath when he hears it for the first time.
A delayed red-eye flight and an excruciating traffic jam caused him to almost miss this appointment. The first he finally has the chance to attend – having had a race when the initial one happened –, and he almost missed it.
As a drop of sweat rolls down the side of his face, obvious sign of how only seconds ago he was still running up the stairs of the hospital, a smile forms on his lips. Looking at her, lying down, the screen beside the bed showing a picture of their baby.
Well, at least they say it's that. For the love of God, Carlos can't see anything on it. He still nods along with a wide smile when the nurse asks him if he sees it. The focus shouldn't be on him and whether he can see it or not, but on his girlfriend.
God, this woman. He hasn't seen her in over a month now. And this is how they meet again: when they meet the little one officially as well, though on a screen only. Hell, the last time he saw her, they had no clue of this wonderful piece of news. From watching her wave with a smile through the glass at the airport, before he turned a corner towards his flight and disappeared, fast forward to now, when he catches sight of her lying form, just as gorgeous as ever, if not more, with a baby growing inside her. A creation by him and her.
They're gonna have a child, Carlos thinks, and as if it's the first time he realises this, his heart stops for a second. In happiness, in awe, in fear.
Because as the image on the screen gets displayed, and Carlos gets lost in-between words like embryo and transvaginal scan, suddenly the doctor announces that the baby indeed has a heartbeat, listen, you can hear it. And this one sentence, followed by the almost inaudible little thuds, is enough to make everything feel real.
Of course, he already knew what the positive pregnancy test meant, the one she showed him first on a FaceTime call, then sent as a separate picture later. But this, hearing that tiny heartbeat, it made everything even more real. They had actual proof now of what is going to happen in the near future. It might not have been planned, but it doesn't make it any less sweeter.
With his heart beating away in a rapid rhythm, he feels his facial muscles pull as his lips curve into a smile, so wide that it even showcases his pearly white teeth.
When he sees her the next time, the first thing Carlos does is place his palm against her tummy. The bump is already visible – well not in the hoodie she's currently wearing, but it's there underneath, he knows –, and he's been dreaming about holding it for many, many days now.
She lets out a giggle, throwing her head back a little, having expected a kiss upon her arrival, not this. Carlos practically doesn't pay her any attention, his sole focus is on talking with his baby.
Later on in the car she inquires jokingly the reason behind why she's not the first to be greeted by him, and he explains with a serious tone why that's the priority. "You get all this time to speak to her and bond with her, and she's already inside you which is a bonus, but she has to know exactly who her father is."
"She, huh?" she raises a teasing eyebrow, and he simply smiles, shrugging in a nonchalant way.
"I can feel it in my bones."
He looks so self-assured that she can't help but lean in and press her lips against his cheek. She still can't believe she'll get to have a kid with this man.
Doubt starts rising in his mind when they reach the third trimester. The date underlined in bright red in his calendar creeping closer and closer, making him more self-conscious and unsure than he's ever felt.
What if he won't be a good father? What if his job gets in the way of his child really feeling close to him? What is he supposed to do anyway? He already has no idea what he's doing in this whole pregnancy, safe to say, how is it going to be when he finally gets to hold the baby as well?
He's read multiple long articles, spending every flight he's had to take nose deep in his phone, until his eyes hurt and words started to lose their meaning. He wants to be the best father he can be.
This even includes several calls to his parents, asking for advice from them as well, trusting and valuing their words far more than the ones he can find online. He knows that his parents proved already that their methods work, they've been good parents to him and his siblings.
Still, the only thing that seems to reassure him is that they – the baby and him – have her. His superwoman of a girlfriend, who simply seems like she was actually born to do this, to be a mother, taking every obstacle in their way with a cheerful step and a smile reaching from ear to ear on her face.
How did he deserve her?
As he's gritting his teeth to stop himself from letting out a groan while the pain he's feeling in his hand spreads – mierda, this woman is strong – he repeats one sentence as a mantra. Only to keep him from worrying his heart out for the love of his life, who's currently letting out loud gasps and occasional curses, her eyes teary and her cheeks red from the strain of pushing and pushing and pushing.
I hope the baby looks like her.
Why is this so important to him? He has no idea. He doesn't even know why the thought popped into his mind in the first place. He just knows he has to keep on repeating it to divert his mind, otherwise he'll lose his sanity.
Simply, he has to focus on picturing a baby with her eyes, her hair colour, the elegant line of her nose, the curve of her lips, her rosy cheeks. Every inch of their baby looking like a mini-her. Because what would be better than looking at his girlfriend and marvel at her beauty? Of course, looking at her and his daughter, and seeing the exact same beauty? Sure, it would be nice to have a tiny detail of him in their baby girl somewhere, just so that it would be obvious to the whole wide world that this is his baby, that the woman giving birth to her now is his woman. Maybe the exact copy of his eye colour? Or his locks of hair, silky and thick? It doesn't matter. Honestly, who cares about how she looks, he will love her no matter what. With his whole heart, with more love, a deeper connection than he's ever felt before.
Minutes pass, then some more, until it feels like an eternity has gone by since they arrived to the hospital. But then he hears it – crying. The unmistakable baby sound, entering the haze of his mind like a sharp knife, bringing him back to reality in a millisecond.
Everything seems to quicken up, and the next thing he knows is that the bundle of his child is placed in his arms, and after that initial wave of slightly terrified chills running through his body, immediately a mixture of relief, joy and tranquility spreads in his veins. He has no idea why he was so scared this whole time. This is... subconscious. Instinctive. Meant to be.
In that very moment he wordlessly promises the baby to always be there for her, always looking out for her, always caring and loving her with all of his heart. He won't let any harm ever reach her.
"Congratulations, Mr. Sainz, on the birth of your son," the doctor approaches him, and that last word bursts the bubble Carlos has been surrounded with.
Son?
His eyes widen, lips fall slightly open in shock – right until he hears the exhausted sounding but unmistakable giggle coming from the bed. "I told you," she grins.
"A boy," he mumbles dreamily, glancing at his girlfriend, lips curving into a smile matching hers.
"Good thing I came prepared with boy names as well," she continues, slight pants leaving her lungs still.
The memory when she practically wanted to force him into choosing a male name as well, just in case – because he was so sure about their baby being a girl that he didn't even want to spend a moment thinking about names for the other sex –, pops into his mind, and he shakes his head. He was wrong.
Tiny feet patter on the floor, growing louder and louder, before a second later they suddenly cease and get replaced by a high-pitched giggle.
She glances up just as Carlos appears in the doorway to the kitchen, their son hanging from his arms, his little cheeks red from all the laughter. Her heart swells at the sight and sounds, her eyes shine bright, connecting with his easily – the love of her life.
Miracle. That's what the little boy is in their lives.
Watching Carlos be a father has been the best thing she's ever had the chance to witness. The way he plays with him, practically going back to being a child, his sole focus being on entertaining his son.
The Sainz household they established not too long ago is filled with laughter every day, the walls reverberating with the joyous sounds until they fill their hearts.
"When's dinner ready, mi amor?" Carlos leans in, pressing a loving kiss on her temple.
She cheerfully smiles, her fingers moving to caress the impossibly soft, dark brown hair on the little boy's head. "A few minutes," she replies, catching her fiancé's eyes once more. "If you two help me set the table, we can eat sooner."
Her son nods eagerly, as much as his three-year-old energy allows, and waves his tiny arms to wordlessly tell his father to put him down on the ground. Carlos obeys, then opens the cupboard to find the appropriate plates – all plastic, reserved for the times when it's only the three of them eating, to allow the young one to help them without the worry of him breaking anything.
She watches from the corner of her eyes as her two boys move towards the dining table, where Carlos lifts their son to stand on a chair, this way allowing him to reach the tabletop. His hands never leave the boy's waist, just in case, and when he's finished setting the plates, helps him back on the ground.
"Good job, chiquito," Carlos holds his palm out at the proper height.
"Gracias, papá," the little one slaps into his father's hand eagerly, making his mother smile so wide it's close to actually hurt the muscles in her cheeks.
They walk back to the kitchen counter with proud looks on their faces, and she places the bowl of salad in Carlos' hands. "It's too heavy for you, pumpkin," she explains when her son opens his mouth to complain.
"Te adoro," Carlos steals a melting kiss from her lips as his fingers get a hold of the bowl, before leaning back and fully taking it from her. I adore you.
With her heart fluttering with nothing but pure happiness and blood rushing to her face, she enjoys the way that bashful smile forms on her lips that only he can achieve. Her gaze follows his movements, the way the T-shirt clings to his arms, to his back muscles, and how the soft material ripples with every move he makes. He is breathtaking. He truly is, because unawares, she lets out a soft gasp watching him and has to endure the knowing glance and that smirk he casts her way above his shoulder. He knows her too well.
She shakes her head, attention going back to her son still standing by her feet, patiently waiting for his next task. A perfect mini-him, way more than she could've ever asked for.
A perfect child, a perfect man to call the love of her life, a perfect life. And it's all hers.
a/n: i'm back baby!! i've been gone for the longest time ever (since last summer) but i'm in my final year of uni and i had to write my thesis too so hopefully that's a good enough excuse. writer's block ain't fun still. it really just feels nice to post something again.
my masterlist | my f1 masterlist
#carlos sainz#cs55 fic#blurb#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz fic#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz fanfic#carlos sainz x y/n#carlos sainz jr#carlos sainz imagine#carlos sainz fluff#carlos sainz jr x reader#carlos sainz jr x you#sainz x reader#carlos sainz f1#cs55#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 fiction#f1 fic#f1 imagine#f1 x you#f1 x reader#formula one#formula one fanfic#formula one fic#formula one x reader#formula one x you#formula 1#formula 1 x reader
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bodyguard: the first guard | part three | chan/reader
masterlist.
(part one of the previous story.)
part one | part two | part three | tba
( read on AO3 )
A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh’s daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.
pairing: bang chan/reader
content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. the previously established story dyanmics: explicit violence, mentions of torture. mentions of past sexual abuse, detailed descriptions of needles.
chapter word count: 12,525 words.
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B E F O R E
“Happy fourteenth birthday.”
Felix looks up from his work. He underperformed in training today and landed himself a punishment. His good record spared him anything too painful, but he has been assigned cleaning duty. Taking apart, cleaning, and reassembling weapons is not difficult work – he could do it in his sleep – but it is tedious.
Tedium is its own kind of torture, especially these days with his mind in a state of tumult. He has grown closer to Chris with each passing day. Felix knows they are not meant to think of each other as friends, just fellow soldiers, but that is the word Felix uses.
My friend.
That is who stands over Felix now. Chris is smiling and holding something wrapped in what looks like a kitchen napkin. Felix blinks at it, then furrows his brow.
“Huh?” Felix says. “It’s not my birthday.”
“Could be!” Chris says.
Felix supposes Chris has a point. Felix does not actually know his own birthday because he bounced around foster care before he found himself in Miroh’s program. If his birthday was recorded anywhere, no one told him what it was. So it could be his birthday. The odds are not great but not impossible.
“Um,” Felix says, because no one has ever wished him a happy – or happy possible – birthday. He guesses the best reply is, “Thanks?”
“It’s not a trick, man,” Chris says, smiling. He laughs at Felix, though it doesn’t feel cruel, and ruffles his hair before shoving the little wrapped item at him. “Here,” Chris says. “Got it especially for you.”
Felix unfolds the napkin and finds a cookie. It’s not the kind of food that is served at the regiment because their diet is so strict. Food is a sustenance and not a pleasure.
“Wow,” Felix says. It is a genuine surprise. Chris had to go out of his way to get this.
Felix feels embarrassed. He still struggles to cope with feeling in general. He almost yearns for a simpler, more naïve time, when he didn’t have to think or feel, just trust and follow. Now he is a flustered knot of embarrassment because Chris is giving him presents just because Felix mentioned he had never received one. It was an off-handed remark a few days ago, that he didn’t know his birthday and had never received a present but that it didn’t matter because he didn’t deserve it.
And he didn’t, he doesn’t, deserve any of it. Not a birthday wish or a thoughtful gift or Chris’s friendship. Felix has so much blood on his hands and he doesn’t how much of it is innocent. He never counted his kills like some other agents, stupid kids bragging to seem bigger and more powerful than their circumstances. Felix never did it for glory. He knew his place. Now he doesn’t count them because it doesn’t matter. It all comes back to him when he closes his eyes. He remembers what they were wearing, what they said before they died, the things they begged to a naïve, indifferent child.
He doesn’t count them because he doesn’t need a number to know it’s too much and he will never be able to take it back. He doesn’t deserve birthdays and friendships and Chris. He never will.
He doesn’t say this out loud. He knows Chris will argue with him, belligerent in his kindness and reassurance. Felix won’t listen in turn. The conversation would be useless. Rather than bother, Felix asks, “Where did you get it?”
“Hey, I know I’m trouble,” Chris says, still smiling, “but I got connections too, you know?”
Felix guesses he means Miroh’s daughter as she is the only agent with outside connections. They seem to have a tenuous understanding because she and Chris get in the most trouble. Chris, because he still bristles at commands and steps out of line. Her, because she’s Miroh’s daughter and held to a higher standard than the rest of them.
Chris can befriend almost anyone, garnering admiration in his peers if nothing else. His rebellious streak means no one wants visible association with him, but in the quietest of corners there is a whispered respect for the First Guard. He is as notorious as he is skilled and he has a natural leadership.
Felix supposes it is not outside the realm of possibility that even Miroh’s daughter would consider Chris a friend – but only somewhere even quieter than most.
Felix does not consider Miroh’s daughter a friend and he doubts he ever will. Her proximity to Miroh makes her an even bigger liability than Chris. Felix would never get close to someone like that, born into their position and too close to power for his liking.
“Miroh’s daughter, you mean,” Felix says.
Felix might keep his musings close to his heart, but that doesn’t mean Chris can’t read them anyway. Chris is a soldier by instinct if not choice. He is always one step ahead. It’s like he is inside Felix’s head. He seems to know what Felix will do before Felix does.
“Yeah,” Chris says. He rubs the back of his neck, breathing deeply. He looks almost sheepish, as if admitting he knows better. “She’s not that bad when you get to know her. Really.”
Felix is certain he looks unconvinced. It makes Chris laugh.
“You look worried,” Chris says.
“I do worry about you,” Felix says. He looks down at the cookie in his hand. It is hard to say out loud, but he manages a weak, “You’re my friend.”
Chris is suspiciously quiet. When Felix looks up, Chris has a determination to his countenance.
“Find me when you’re done here,” Chris says. “I wanna show you something.”
Felix, as usual, does as he is told. When his punishment ends, he tracks Chris to the barracks where the older boy is patiently waiting. He claps Felix on the shoulder but otherwise doesn’t stop to greet him. He is a little skittish as he leads Felix to their mysterious destination.
It is not so extraordinary in the end. Nothing around here is. Everything is cold chrome and sleek silver, one room much like the next, branded by Miroh as surely as its occupants.
Chris knocks out a ventilation panel then leads Felix to what looks like an unused crawl space, forgotten and collecting dust.
“Welcome to my office,” Chris jokes, still with that nervous laughter. It is putting Felix on edge.
“Is everything all right?” Felix asks.
“Well, no, Felix,” Chris says. “It isn’t. You know that now, don’t you?”
A couple years of shared assignments between the best and second best, the rebellious and the reluctant. A couple years of watching Miroh bludgeon his way through the world. A couple years of regret.
A couple years of friendship to change everything.
“Yeah,” Felix says. It is all he needs to say.
“Sit,” Chris says. There is a corner of the room that has been cleared of dust, this part of the hideaway evidently well-used. “Let’s talk.”
Whatever conversation Felix expects to have, it is not the one he gets. He sits and watches Chris, watches him breathe and measure his words. Chris is usually confident in what he has to say, even when staring down a barrel of a gun. This is more than disconcerting.
“I’ve been talking to some others in the program,” Chris says. “We’re all growing up. I’ll be eighteen soon. If we’re already strong, we’re just gonna get stronger. Miroh has complete control over us. I’m scared that if we don’t do something about it soon, then everything is going to get worse. A lot, lot worse.”
“Do something,” Felix says, his mind going a mile a minute. “What do you mean? Who else have you told about this?”
“People I consider friends,” Chris says. He puts a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “People like you, Felix.”
He thinks of the cookie in his pocket. His heart punches up with alarm.
“Miroh’s daughter?” Felix asks and this time he knows for certain his thoughts are very clear. He says her name – not even her name, her position, the daughter and heir of the very thing Chris wants to fight – and he says it with the obvious inflection of what-the-fuck-are-you-thinking?
“She’s a friend,” Chris says in a voice he usually reserves for an enemy. It startles Felix into silence. Seeing that, Chris smiles, trying to lighten the mood. “You don’t have to trust her,” Chris says. “Just trust me. Felix, I want to get us out, all of us. I don’t want that man or any other man like him to hurt anyone else. Not kids, not adults, not anyone. I won’t put you in more danger, I swear. That’s the opposite of what I want. I’m gonna protect you, okay? I’m gonna protect all of you. When the time comes to take a stand, I just want you to be ready. If something happens, if it all goes wrong…”
Felix looks at him, alarm and worry plain on his young face. Chris squeezes his shoulder again.
“If…” Chris swallows then continues, “If it is all goes wrong, I’ll pay the price alone. But I’d rather die trying to save all of you than live another day hurting innocent people for Miroh.”
“Chris—” Felix starts, an argument on his tongue.
“Don’t,” Chris says firmly. “If there was anything worth dying for, Felix, then it’s this. I’m gonna get you out. I’m gonna get you all out. I swear. Just be ready for when I say. Just trust me. Just be my friend.”
Felix spends a week after that in a state of restless turmoil. He sleeps poorly and fights worse and even spends a night in the Cell for his mistakes.
He doesn’t know what to think about Chris and his intentions. It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. But if it worked…
It wouldn’t take the blood off Felix’s hands, but it would be a start to something better. Felix has little thought for his own fate, undeserving as he is, but he thinks about Chris. Chris, the First Guard, who has been here the longest, who has watched the most people die, who has been punished the worst.
Chris deserves better.
Felix believes in Chris. He believes if Chris made an effort, then he would have what it takes to make a difference. Felix knows Chris is capable. He could do what he sets out to do.
It is not Chris that Felix worries about.
Felix observes Miroh’s daughter, studying her more closely than ever before. Felix trusts Chris’s general discretion but he worries Chris has a blind spot concerning her. They are the only two in their age category and they share a small barrack, the forced proximity undoubtedly creating a semblance of intimacy. Chris might trust her but Felix is not so biased. All he sees is Miroh.
Felix watches her. She doesn’t spend much time with Chris in public, her only close relationship with Seo Changbin. They are a bit notorious together. Felix would not call them the best fighters but they are tricky. He is pretty sure they throw their fights with each other and embellish more than necessary. Both like a good skull crash, more brutal than efficient. The trickery and brutality makes Felix more wary of her.
At the same time, her obvious friendship with Changbin shows she can care about someone else. The pair throw a mean punch but always patch each other up after.
Chris catches Felix watching them. They are having a go in the ring, punching and flipping, grinning when they think no one is watching. They have smiles just for each other.
“You look really deep in thought, mate,” Chris says, laughing. He hands Felix a water bottle while toweling down his own sweaty neck.
“Huh?” Felix finally breaks his concentration. He takes the water and smiles one of his instinctive but fake smiles – the kind he uses on a mission, when he is trying to convince an adversary that he is an innocent, unassuming kid.
Chris sees through it, of course. He lifts an eyebrow at Felix then follows his line of sight to the ring.
“What?” Chris says, laughing again. His own ears turn a little red as he teases, “You got a crush on her or something?”
“Ew, shut up,” Felix says, throwing his own towel at him. He feels flushed despite the fact it is vehemently untrue. He is not used to being provoked with that line of teasing. “No,” he says certainly. “I have no feelings for anyone. But I think they might.”
“Huh?” Chris looks between Felix and the ring. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, look at them,” Felix says. “They’re a little too close, don’t you think?”
Presently, Miroh’s daughter has Changbin pinned to the mat. She is on top of him and whispering something that makes them both snicker.
Chris stares at them. After a beat of contemplative silence, he laughs. Felix recognizes the fake sound, the same disarming humour Felix uses when conning someone.
“Yeah,” Chris says. “Hey, I’ll be right back, yeah?”
Felix watches Chris amble over. He says something to the duo and Changbin retaliates with some non-descript shouting and flailing. Miroh’s daughter rolls her eyes. She grabs Chris by the collar and yanks him into a fight.
The rest of the day progresses without much fuss or bother. Miroh has no jobs for them today so the schedule is just training and recuperation.
Felix manages to avoid punishment today. He tries expelling his anxiety in a fight but it does not fully work. Felix has come to realize he is not very good at letting go. Belief, emotion, the good, the bad: all of gets clutched in his fists and held to his heart.
Fighting tires him but it is not a satisfying tired, of exerted muscles and a pumping heart. He feels weary and everything everywhere is so loud, the chrome and steel of the Miroh facilities like an echoing dome. It cycles all that noise in an agonizing reverberation. It feels inescapable. He goes to the barracks which are smaller but it makes the claustrophobia worse.
Laying in his bunk, rubbing his temples, Felix dreams of a quiet room of his own.
It is then he remembers Chris’s hideaway. Chris miraculously dodged punishment today so he retreated to the barracks a while ago. Felix doesn’t want to disturb him but he figures Chris won’t mind him using the hideaway on his own if he’s careful.
They are permitted access to the training room for the few hours between work and mandatory repose. The hideaway is en route so it is easy for Felix to stealthily retrace his steps without raising suspicion. He disappears in the security blind spot the way Chris showed him.
Felix is in the tunnel when he hears a noise. He worries he was followed despite being so careful, but then he realizes the noise is ahead of him, not behind him.
He freezes in the crawl tunnel, trying to discern the sound. It doesn’t sound like talking, more like… breathing? Heavy breathing.
Then he hears a laugh that he recognizes as Chris. And he is not alone. The other noise is a sigh, a lighter, more feminine sound.
Oh.
Apparently, Chris’s hideaway is not just for talking to friends. The sound of kissing and sighing is more friendly than his conversation with Felix, that’s for sure.
Felix is frozen for a minute, too stunned and embarrassed to think of moving. He has to shuffle backwards to escape because he can’t turn in that part of the crawl space. If this was a mission, he could do it, but this is personal. He doesn’t want to get caught but it’s not because it will compromise any job; it’s because it will be awkward.
He scuffs his shoe in his backwards shuffle. It clangs, a subtle sound, but one that makes him wince.
It goes quiet around the corner. Felix knows he was heard and there is no time to escape. Seconds later, a frantic looking Chris is in the tunnel, red-faced with a line of sweat on his brow. His uniform is clearly dishevelled and Felix gets even more embarrassed.
Those feelings need somewhere to go. It comes out of him in a burst of frustration.
“What are you doing?” Felix demands, his voice breaking.
“Nothing!” Chris says, clearly a knee-jerk reaction. Then he takes a breath and says, “Look, I can explain—”
“It’s not Miroh’s daughter,” Felix says. He can’t even pose it as a question because he refuses to believe Chris could genuinely be that reckless and stupid. Befriending her is one thing – a stupid thing – but fooling around with the daughter of the powerful man who owns them is begging for tragedy.
“I’m not stupid,” Chris says.
“It doesn’t matter,” Felix says. “Whoever it is, you need to stop.”
“Look—”
“Seriously, Chris!”
“Felix—”
“It’s not worth it!”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Chris snaps. “You’re not normal and you don’t understand what it means to care about someone like that.”
It is obviously thoughtless, blurted in the head of the moment. It hurts anyway. Felix wonders if Chris can see the pain on his face because Chris looks immediately remorseful.
“Look, I didn’t mean it like that—” Chris starts.
“It’s fine,” Felix says. “You’re right.”
“Felix—”
Felix pushes backwards and leaves without waiting for any protest. He does not stop, marching all the way back to this bunk. Anger and embarrassment have finally dissipated by the time he returns. It has been replaced with determination.
Chris is the best, but he has been compromised whether he wants to acknowledge it or not. He feels too much, for everyone and everything, and it will get him in even more trouble than he is already in. if he retaliates with thoughtless provocation when it’s just Felix confronting him, then what will he do when it’s Miroh and the stakes are even higher?
Chris said he would protect them all. He swore to succeed at any cost, including his own life. There is no one swearing the same for him. No one has ever protected him.
Felix is the second best. He has never left a job unfinished and for that he is not deserving of the protection Chris is offering.
It won’t clean the blood on his hands, but if Felix can save a life worth more than his own, then maybe it will start to justify all of this, all of him.
Chris was right. Felix is not normal. But he was wrong say that Felix doesn’t know what it means to care about someone. Because of Chris, Felix knows how to care. He knows what he has to do.
Chris can try and save them all.
Felix is going to save Chris.
-
P R E S E N T D A Y
Miroh’s main facility has fallen.
It sounds so dramatic for something so anticlimactic, like you are describing the collapse of a kingdom and not the shutdown of his main office operation.
It feels like an apocalyptic demise.
You and Chan fight your way out of the building, taking on the people who fight in your name. Your father’s name. Miroh.
Miroh is dead. Irrefutably broken, little more than a heap of meat on the tarmac. With him gone and the only named heir on the run – you – this facility will shut down to maintain security.
Miroh ran a meticulously compartmentalized business. There is protocol for everything so even if one part of his operation fell, the rest could continue unimpeded. Miroh tried to establish a legacy that could rival old money like his enemy, going so far as to predict his own demise. Miroh has long braced for the eventuality of his end, so he made sure his business could fracture and run without him.
He did everything in his power to make you just like him, a little broken fracture of himself to ensure that legacy. But then he could not actually face what he created. He could not actually let go. He was the only one with the perspective and power and he had to keep it that way.
Miroh would not have accounted for your rebellion, not for the sake of someone else. For a friend.
Flashes of the last twenty four hours play in your mind. You can hardly pinpoint the change in yourself. It feels like this was somehow inevitable, despite how much you would have balked at the idea before. But now it is all that matters. It’s all that makes sense in this chaos.
You have to find your friend. This facility will be empty in a matter of hours, but there are others. Changbin is in one of them. You have no idea where to start.
One thing at a time, you tell yourself. Before you can ruminate on anything behind or in front of you, you need to fight. You do not have time for introspection or planning. You need to get away. Away from this place, away from your dead father.
Away from his soldier, the First Guard, Bang Chan, who for some reason is helping you escape.
You don’t know why. You seriously doubt your barely coherent pleading broke the conditioning and literal torture that made him into this thing.
You don’t have time to find out. At the first opportunity, you break away, leaving him with a handful of operatives to fight. It should keep them all occupied while you escape.
You do not want to risk trapping yourself in an enclosed space, so you do not venture to the parking garage where the company vehicles are stored. Some of them will be programmed and bugged. You feel bad targeting a civilian, but stealing one of their cars is the safest bet. There are some administrative employees who complete menial tasks for the company, those with next to no clearance level. They park their personal cars around the facility. You pick one that is easy to reconfigure without a key to boot.
Minutes later, you are driving for an exit. Your whole body is aching but you push through it. There will be time to recuperate when you are in the clear.
Sirens wail and alarms blare, every security measure in action. Your escape is certainly not a clean one but it doesn’t matter. You just need to get away.
If you can get off the facility grounds, you can lose any adversaries in the back country roads. The route to the facility was intentionally designed to be a convoluted labyrinth, making it difficult for enemies to approach without giving the facility ample preparation time. You know the paths better than anyone. You can get away.
A soldier marches right into the middle of your escape path.
It is too brazen for a regular agent. They would not be so stupid to try that, knowing you would just barrel into them.
You speed closer and recognize the First Guard. Chan is unflinching as ever, standing in the middle of the road as if he intends to stop your car with his body. He is strong but not that strong. You know that. But he looks like an inhuman phantom, looming there in his combat gear and mask, unphased and unharmed despite the hour of nonstop violence.
But that’s not the reason you stop. You think about him in that van. You could only see his eyes but they were expressive, the tilt of his head inquisitive.
You slam on the brakes. The car stops inches from his body but he doesn’t even blink.
Your heart is racing, breath bursting in gasps. He strolls around the car as if he was just waiting for his ride.
Soldiering instinct propels your hands. You draw a gun as he opens the passenger-side door. He bends down and looks at you, his brow quirked with a silent question. Your hand shakes and he is too good not to notice. You know that, but a regular person would never guess because he does not take his eyes off yours.
He disarms you, faster than a blink. He drops into the passenger seat, then slams the door and shoves the gun in its storage compartment.
You stare at him. Your gaze follows the line of his stark profile. His hairline is a little sweaty but he doesn’t look out of breath.
You don’t know what to think.
This is the longest you have been in his company since you were kids in training. Your memory of him is insubstantial, having spent little to no time with him personally. But it hardly matters what he was. Now he’s a soldier above all soldiers, a shadow filling this small civilian car. He’s not the biggest man in the world but he’s overwhelming all the same, partially because of his uniform and partially because of his posture. He feels too big for this little human space. His knee hits the gear shift, his thighs bulky in the small seat, his shoulders broad where he leans back.
He looks across the car and meets your eyes. You think about how many people have met this gaze, maybe in a moment just like this, sitting across from Miroh’s asset in a little civilian vehicle before he put a bullet between their eyes or snapped their neck. You have seen the results of his missions even if you were not involved in them. The statistics and numbers speak for themselves. Those eyes have seen more death than life and right now they are resolutely focussed on you.
You jump when he lifts his hand. He says nothing but turns the rearview mirror in your direction. You reluctantly peel your gaze away from him. You see what he sees: a vehicle in rapid pursuit of your own.
“Shit,” you say. You shove the mirror back into place. Your hands collide for a split second.
You can’t linger on the weirdness of this moment, that the First Guard is your ally, sitting in the passenger seat and helping you escape.
You drive. The other vehicle chases you down. You get past the easy security measures, blowing past gates and guards. When you approach the last gate, Chan rolls down the window and twists his body. He pulls the stashed gun and aims somewhere. Your eyes are on the road so you don’t see exactly what he does, but the gate slams shut between you and the pursuing vehicle, trapping them on the other side.
Then it is just you, him, and the road.
He puts the gun away. He sits back. He rolls up the window. He makes it seem like a routine, still unphased while your heart pounds with adrenaline.
You do not look at him. You do not speak. You focus on escape, taking a convoluted path through the countryside just in case. When the facility is far, far behind you, you take a back road and pull into a shadowed space between some trees.
You slam to a stop, shift the gear to park, but keep the engine running. You clutch the steering so hard, you imagine it cracking beneath the force of your grip.
Chan still does not speak. The last time he spoke was on that rooftop. What now?
A damn good question.
You look at him. He is not sitting the way you would expect a machine of a man to be sitting. You would have thought the First Guard would sit straight-backed and braced for confrontation, but his slouch is almost insouciant. He sits with his knees apart, his body slanted where his elbow rests on the door. One gloved hand strums the door and the other is draped over his thigh. He looks at you without any expression you can interpret.
You are tired. Your body hurts. Your father is dead and the operation is changing and your only friend is suffering and you can’t do anything about any of it. This morning you held a modicum of control over your life – or you thought you did – and now everything has spiralled.
You know logically that Chan is a victim of Miroh, but right now it does not matter. He is an infuriating figure of composure, not to mention your father’s greatest weapon, and that combination snaps the elastic thread of your patience, already stretched to its limits.
“Take off the fucking mask,” you say.
He stares at you, his expression still unreadable. You are tempted to reach across and rip the mask off his face. You would definitely not succeed, no match for his reflexes on a good day, but logic is inconsequential in the face of your emotions.
He doesn’t test you. He stares for another moment then raises one gloved hand. He unhooks the mask and peels it off. He runs the other hand over his face and through his hair.
You are not sure what you were expecting. The same brown eyes stare back at you, lined with a smudged shadow to look as dark and intimidating as possible. His brows are thick and dark, his hair as black, sweat loosening the slick style so a single curly tuft falls over his forehead.
You follow the slope of his nose down to his mouth. His mouth is closed and he is not smiling. He has full lips, almost too pretty for what he is. Glancing at that mouth on that too-pretty face, you picture a dimple smiled. The memory is almost a blur, a smear of an image over his face. You blink and it’s gone, his stoic face staring back at you.
“What is it?” he says. His voice is like the rest of him, too big in this small space. You swear it shakes the car and the earth under it, though that is ridiculous. It’s just a voice. He’s just a man.
Except he’s not. He’s something else, something that should not have done what he did. You have a million questions. You need those answers before you can continue but it all jumbles together in your head. It’s all too much, the flashes of today, of the past, of an uncertain future full of even more violence.
You finally turn off the engine and get out of the car. You have no intention of going anywhere, but you need space.
You pace in a long line, breathing in and out, using every trick in the book to ease your racing heart. After a minute, you hear the passenger door open. You look over your shoulder at Chan.
You can’t help the instinctive reaction to measure him like an adversary. It doesn’t help he has pummelled you twice in the last few months, not to mention his horrid reputation in an already horrid place. It would be stupid not to brace yourself.
He approaches you cautiously. He has the gall to raise a hand like you are the wild thing and he is the tamer.
“Easy,” he says. His voice is not so booming out here. Other than the dark combat uniform, he almost looks normal, his whole face open to you, eyes narrowed with intense focus.
It makes you breathe harder, the exhale shaky. He notices because he tries to placate you.
He smiles.
It is forced and unpracticed, but there are those dimples, just like you thought. You would have been less startled if he bared his teeth like an animal. The smile unnerves you, undoing all the calming work of your exercises.
“It’s all right,” he says in a frighteningly gentle voice. He tilts his head as he looks at you. “It’s just me, yeah?”
Just him. Like that should comfort you. You suppose you can marginally see things from his perspective, that maybe he has proved himself. After all, he helped you escape. It is obvious he is not doing this for your father or he would not have let you kill him. This is not part of a grand plan. There is no strategy. It’s all over.
It’s just you and him.
It does not comfort you the way he evidently thinks it should. Now is the time to ask those million questions, but you are beyond words. You are a live wire and that pitiful attempt at a truce ignites a flare of angry sparks.
You were built to fight. It punches out of you. Literally.
Chan is faster than you. He dodges your swing with ease, fast as an electric current himself.
“Hey now,” he says, holding out both hands. “Don’t—”
You know you can’t win this fight. You know it’s stupid to try. But each swing flies out of you, instinctive as breathing. He catches every blow, bats your hands out of the way, but he doesn’t swing back. His refusal to fight infuriates you. It makes you feel as helpless as you are.
An aggravated cry spills out of you, a strain behind your eyes as you take another swing.
“Stop it,” he snaps, his smile gone.
He finally goes on the offense, catching your hands and pinning them down. There is a moment of struggle before you feel the driver door at your backside, his body caging you in. You rear up against him but he holds you down, hip to hip, hand to hand.
“I said stop it,” he says. “What are you doing?”
“What am I doing?” you ask, voice breaking. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Your chest is pressed against his, moving with your breath while he stands like an ungiving wall. You glare at him and he stares back. His brow furrows in seeming confusion. He closes both eyes and breathes out, a steadying breath.
You thought seeing him lose composure would make you feel better, but you feel worse, more unnerved than before.
He looks at you, a muscle in his jaw feathering when he clenches it. You stare at it as he releases you.
“You must know I can’t trust you,” you say.
You make the mistake of lifting your hands to shove him away. You do not intend to punch him again, the worst of that aggression gone, but he doesn’t know that. You suppose you can’t blame him for his instincts after your demonstration.
When you lift your hands, he grabs your wrists. Swiftly and effortlessly, he pins your hands by your head.
“Oh,” he says. His eyebrows lift and his face is far more expressive than you expected. “I’m the one who can’t be trusted, right?”
“Excuse me?” you snap.
“I’m doing my job, yeah,” he says. “Yesterday you were running jobs for Daddy and today you shot him dead. Wanna talk about erratic behaviour? Wanna talk about who’s unpredictable? About who can trust who here?”
Your mouth parts with a useless, breathless rebuttal, stammering and empty. You didn’t expect that many words from him, not when he has been a silent shadow for so long. Never mind the easy, casual speech, every colloquialism and the taunting hurl of daddy. It makes you think of that scathing, troublesome boy he once was, as sharp with his tongue as everything else. But he is not that boy. You know for a fact he was broken. He has done all those jobs for Miroh without causing any strife in the operation. He is a weapon and nothing more. He exists to follow orders.
Until today. Until you.
“So?” you finally say, because what else can you say?
“So?” he repeats.
“So.” You have those million questions, but there is only one that really matters. “What are we? Soldiers without a general? Because right now it seems like we’re two people who have no reason to trust each other and no reason to work together.”
Your gazes are locked and you measure each other. Not that you are much of a threat to him. He has you pinned with very little effort. If you were at your fighting best, you like to think it would be a little challenge, but right now you stand no chance against him.
But he doesn’t want to hurt you or he would have done it already.
He drops your hands. He doesn’t step away, still regarding you with that scrutinous eye, but it is a menial demonstration of trust.
You drop your arms. You stare back at him, refusing to show the depth of your weakness. You think his body might be keeping yours upright, your legs so weak. You do everything in your power to keep your wild emotions in check, to keep the tears in the back of your eyes. You breathe deeply.
“I’ll help you find your friend,” Chan says, the last thing you expect him to say. You can only watch as he sighs and speaks. “You were my last mission,” he says. “Miroh told me to bring you in. I did. He wanted me to watch you. I am. He wanted me to be your—” He laughs but it is not a happy sound, dry and devoid of pleasure. “Your bodyguard, I guess.” He shakes his head. “Consider this me following orders,” he says. “That’s what I do, yeah? I follow orders. And I don’t leave a job unfinished. Ever.”
“And Miroh?” you say tentatively. “The fact I killed him?”
He shrugs dramatically, hands open in surrender.
“Miroh didn’t make me his bodyguard,” Chan says. “He made me yours.”
It is such preposterously simple logic that you laugh, a disbelieving bark of a sound. You look around at nothing, like the answer to your ridiculous circumstance is in the trees or the road.
When you look at Chan, he is still looking at you, his brow quirked inquisitively.
“Well?” he says. “Is that enough? Can we work together to finish this last job?”
“Your job,” you say slowly. You meet his eyes. “So that’s what I am to you?”
It’s meant to be an easy question with a reassuring answer. He is a soldier. You are his job. He will do what you ask. It’s as simple as that.
He tilts his head as he looks at you. His contemplation is too heavy. It was a simple question for a simple soldier who should speak no language outside of missions and reports.
His gaze is searing and it makes your heart skip a startled beat.
“Yes,” he says. He speaks the word like it’s exhausting to say out loud. It lands with a thud on an exhale. “My job.”
His forearm is planted by your head. His other hand grips your bicep. He is keeping you in place with his hips and thighs. You can feel the tension in his body.
You have no idea why you do what you do. It comes from the same place as those desperate punches. You know it’s useless, you know nothing will come of it, but you ride the propulsion of adrenaline. Your body, on the brink of desperation, has been pushed to its utmost capabilities in the last couple hours. What does it want? What do you want?
What did you ever really want?
You kiss him.
It shocks you both. Unlike the punch, he does not know how to retaliate. He stands there, breathing into your mouth. He is neither encouraging nor withdrawing.
You stop quickly and wipe your mouth. Mortification sets in.
None of this is like you. You blame stress. Your body is confused and hurt. You need recuperation. Whether you like it or not, you need comfort too. It is a deep internal call, only human. But you won’t be getting that from the solid, inhuman wall around you.
You push at that wall and it finally gives. Chan steps back. You doubt a punch would have moved him so easily as that kiss.
“Ignore that,” you say. “Adrenaline. I’m still – not right.”
He just stares, once more a silent shadow. You breathe out in a huff.
“Okay,” you say. “And we’re back to the staring. At least I know you’re still working.”
You turn to open the car door, effectively ending the tense exchange. Chan walks away. He silently circles the car to reach the passenger door. You look at his face, once more stoic and expressionless. He doesn’t look at you, dropping into the vehicle without another glance or sound.
You close your eyes. You take another deep breath of fresh air.
Maybe this is good. Maybe Chan is the ally you need right now. Someone level, someone only concerned with mission parameters. Someone who will not become compromised because of emotion.
Because you are very compromised.
You are not thinking clearly. You need a plan and some water and rest.
You get in the car. You start the engine. You don’t speak another word.
-
You drive for hours, wanting distance between you and the destruction.
The silence in the car is piercing, your head aching after the first hour. The little space acts like an echo chamber for your tumultuous thoughts. You keep replaying the day, every death and cry. You think about your security team strewn across those stairs, just another casualty in Miroh’s game. You think about your father, the unplanned murder but the utter lack of regret in your heart.
You think about Changbin. Your reckless side wants to look for him right now. You cannot stand to waste another second. Based on your father’s words, he could be anywhere, subject to any number of horrors. But despite the whirlwind tempest of your mind, there is a soldier inside you and she is more pragmatic. You are in no condition to fight. Even if you knew Changbin’s exact location, you would be no use to him. You need to rest, formulate a legitimate plan, then attack.
You can’t afford to make any mistakes. Better than anyone, you know the forces you are up against.
You pull into a highway fill-up station at dusk. The car needs fuel and so do you. There is a little shop near the fuel pumps, the place deserted other than the bored cashier behind the counter.
There was some cash in the glove box, enough for necessities. You will inevitably need to steal or manipulate, but you prefer to lay low tonight. You were careful to avoid traffic cameras and security tv as you exited the previous city. By the time the car is reported and Miroh’s operation works out your connection, you will be off the grid.
You turn off the engine and reach for the wallet. Chan snatches it first.
“What are you doing?” is spoken in unison.
“I’m going to buy us some fucking water and food,” you say.
“Are you? Really?” He gives you a pointed up-and-down look. “You gonna do that looking like you just played cannonball with a cement wall?”
You have not gotten a good look at yourself, just a flash in the rearview mirror, but he is probably right. You feel like utter shit so you must look it too.
“Well, you can’t go in there either,” you say. Even without the mask, he is clearly in an unusual uniform. A bored clerk will remember a terrifying soldier in combat clothes marching through his shop.
Chan flashes you a dimpled smile, frighteningly charming.
“Sure I can,” he says. “Just have to blend in.”
Your eyes widen as he discards both gloves then opens the neck of his shirt. You stare as he efficiently strips off his top layers.
If he looked powerful in the uniform, he looks as just as intimidating without it. He doesn’t boast gargantuan proportions but he doesn’t need it. There is lethal strength to the rolling musculature of his sturdy body.
You shouldn’t care. Soldiers strip all the time, long assignments and shared compartments making it an inevitability. But Chan is not just another soldier. In your head, he is that living shadow, covered all the way up to his eyes in the Miroh black and blue. Seeing all that skin is a startling reminder of the man under the mask.
You find Chan watching you, amused. That stupid eyebrow is quirked again.
“What?” you snap.
“Nothing,” he replies. “Be right back. Don’t miss me too bad.”
You roll your eyes, slumping in your seat as he gets out of the car. You have half a mind to drive away but you are pretty sure he would find a way to manifest at your destination anyway.
You watch as he enters the shop in a nonchalant stroll, wearing just his pants and boots. He waves at the cashier and says something that makes him laugh.
To his credit, Chan looks like a regular guy on a hot day, casually perusing a gas station shop. He makes small talk with the cashier and they laugh some more.
You knew Chan was a good soldier but you didn’t expect him to be such a good agent too. He is probably better at the civilian act than you. You are standoffish and opt for a quiet demeanour, blending in through invisibility rather than a persona.
Chan walks in and out, the cashier unaware of the nature of his customer. You return to the road with a full of tank of gas and some sustenance.
“Are you going to put your shirt back on?” you ask.
He gives you a side-eye as he shrugs the outermost layer back on. He doesn’t do it up. You refuse to act like a glimpse of his bare chest means anything to you.
Except it does. When he sits there with his knee against the console and his skin showing and a tuft of hair over his forehead, he looks like a person. He is a person, one who has been subject to some of the worst horrors of Miroh’s operation.
There is no denying Chan is a complicated figure, unwillingly complicit in atrocities. He acts like a normal person with a fully cognizant mind, but you just witnessed for yourself how easily he can fake that. You do not know how much of the real Bang Chan is actually inside him.
“Chan,” you say after a long time. The sun has almost fully set, the sky in its navy gloaming.
“Yeah?” he says.
There are no words that suffice. You could give an entire speech and it would be virtually meaningless.
“I’m sorry,” you say, leaving the breadth of the apology up to his interpretation. You keep your eyes on the endless miles of highway that stretch ahead. There is a long journey in front of you. There is a longer road behind you.
The car is illuminated with golden light from passing cars and overhead lamps. It flashes over his face in the deepening darkness.
“Don’t be,” Chan says. He crosses his arms in a protective position, looking out his window though there is nothing to see but the highway and passing cars. “None of this was your fault,” he says.
You laugh, a similar humourless sound to his earlier laughter.
“That’s not entirely true,” you say, thinking of all the missions you deliberately ran for Miroh. You thought you could make it mean something. You were just like your father, believing the ends would justify the means. You never tortured Chan yourself, but you were part of the operation that kept him in chains. There was nothing you could do to save him, but you certainly never tried.
He looks at you. You hear him move, the crinkle of his clothes, the water bottle he twists in his grip.
“I don’t blame you, you know,” he says. “Seriously. Today was crazy. Everything’s crazy. You’re not responsible for it.”
“I’m not not responsible,” you say. “My team is dead. My friend is gone. My dad – well, you can’t say I didn’t do that.”
“He had that one coming,” Chan says, his laugh a little more real. “No offense, but your dad kinda sucked.”
You find yourself laughing more genuinely too.
“Yeah,” you say. “I think we can agree on that.”
You fall into silence but it is more comfortable than before. There has been an undeniable tension since the moment he climbed in this car, looking at you with questioning confusion as you pointed a gun at him. You were panicking but he must have been equally bewildered. To him, you were a mission. He lives by his orders.
“I should apologize to you,” he says.
You look at him with obvious surprise. He meets your gaze, his expression sincere if not a little chagrined. His dimples show with a faint smile but it is not very happy.
“I’ve been an ass,” he says. “Today was – well.” He runs a hand through his hair.
“Trust me,” you say. You try to lighten the mood with your tone. “I’m a Miroh. You will never have to apologize to me for as long as you live.”
He doesn’t laugh or even force that pretend sound. He stares ahead, his gaze sorrowful and faraway.
“Sorry, that was—” you begin.
He forces a smile and shakes his head.
“Nah,” he says. “Truce?”
Smiling feels awkward and your injuries probably make you a terrifying sight. But he accepts it, nodding at you. The car does not feel like such a claustrophobic space after that. The air is clear as it can be, considering who you are.
Neither of you has an identity right now. You were tethered to the same monstrosity and now it is gone. Everything is different.
You are too tired for another late-night heart-to-heart. It is time for rest.
-
There is enough cash for a cheap motel room. You find a quiet inn off the highway, sequestered beyond trees and countryside fields. You finally look at yourself properly in the bathroom mirror. You decide Chan’s earlier remarks were a severe understatement. You look like a battleground more than a soldier.
You injures will repair themselves with time, but it is a grisly sight. You shower for now. The soap and water helps.
You don the same shirt and underwear. New clothes will be a necessity. You mentally plan tomorrow, everything you will need to accrue before you formulate an attack. You have already mentally plotted the closest facilities, but you will need to verify their function and security protocol before striking.
You are mentally strategize as you exit the bathroom. You are distracted, thinking nothing of the fact you are wearing underwear and a shirt.
Chan already showered because you insisted, knowing you would take longer with your injuries. He is sitting on one of the single beds, sorting through his weapons. There is the gun you stole from Miroh plus his own array of armaments, things so well hidden you did not realize he even had them. They are laid out on the bed. He sits at the foot in his combat pants and nothing else, his dark hair damp and face bare.
You stroll past him, feeling his eyes as they lift from a gun to your bare legs. Now that you have scrubbed the worst of the brutality from your body, you feel like something of a person again. His flicker of attention ignites an undeniable spark in your belly. At first, it startles you, because the First Guard is the absolute last person you should ever think of like that.
But then you look at him. He has turned his eyes back to his work, saying nothing as he reloads the gun with second-nature efficiency. He is holding a weapon but, despite his conditioning, he is just a man.
You are a grounded person. You keep your head down and go about your tasks with confident certainty. He is here, you are here, it has been a long day, and it is not unusual for soldiers to seek comfort before the dawn of a new fight. Comfort is as important in healing and recuperation as anything else.
You sit on your own bed and look at him. He is effortlessly attractive with his dark hair and dark eyes, the sloping muscle of his firm body. You trace his chest and abdomen with your eyes. He does not lift his gaze, his attention on the gun.
“Do you want to fuck?” you ask.
Bang Chan is the best soldier in the force. You are pretty sure he has never fumbled a weapon quite so spectacularly. It clatters to the floor and he kicks it under your bed.
“What!” he says. He doesn’t look at you as he retrieves the gun, laughing a comically nervous giggle. “Um… what?” he asks again. Before you can answer, he shakes his head. “That’s uh, wait. Um. No. Bad idea, right? I mean—”
“It’s just a suggestion,” you say, not really offended. “It’s been a long day. It doesn’t mean anything. We’re both adults here.”
As you say it, you consider his circumstances. Chan has spent his entire life in the house of Miroh. He is not innocent but he might be inexperienced. This man has killed dozens of people and worked dozens of dangerous operations. His body is built for violence, not pleasure, and certainly not his own.
You find yourself blurting, “Have you ever…?”
“Yes,” he says firmly, brow furrowing with annoyance.
“All right, all right, just asking,” you say. You decide not to push the topic because it clearly makes him uncomfortable. You just cleared the air and you don’t want to muddy it again.
You change the topic swiftly. You make some empty remark about the weather as you turn on the small television. It’s an old contraption, buzzing with static as it flickers to life.
Chan resumes his work. He puts his head down to concentrate.
Your gaze inevitably strays to him.
His hair dries curly. It feels like an unusual thing to know about the First Guard. He looks so much younger with a clean face.
You jump when that face lifts. He looks at you.
“It wasn’t… you know…” There is a hunch to his shoulders, his eyes dropping to his work. “I just did it on missions, ya know?”
“Did it,” you say. “On missions.” It doesn’t register right away, partly because you are tired and partly because you did not expect him to continue this conversation. “You mean sex?” you ask. “You had sex on missions?”
“I had sex for missions,” he corrects, eyes on the weapon he is disassembling. He is acting like the conversation is meaningless, his attention divided, but you know his task does not require that degree of concentration. He could take that thing apart in perfect darkness.
“For missions,” you repeat. “What, like a honeypot type scheme? You?”
It seems ridiculous at first. You picture the First Guard smashing through windows and tackling you in stairwells. There is nothing seductive about that raw violence. But then you look at the man in front of you, young and handsome, the one who so easily charmed that cashier while pretending he was someone else. You picture him in a suit and tie, maybe a t-shirt and jeans. He would be devastating with the right preparation.
Chan is the best. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise you he would excel regardless of the scheme.
“Something like that,” he says. He finally loads the magazine. “It wasn’t so bad, though. Seriously.” He twirls the gun with an effortless flourish. The grip finds his palm like the pistol is a part of him. “Trust me. My body was used for worse things. You get that too, yeah?”
You suppose you relate well enough. You were raised in the same program, put through the same grueling regimen. You have done things and you are not proud of them all. Your circumstances are not the same, though. You are each uniquely situated in your positions, even if you started in the same place.
We’re all that’s left.
Changbin’s voice in your head causes your mind to drift.
“What about you?” Chan asks, drawing you back to the conversation.
“Me?” you ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “You.”
The First Guard is asking you about your sex life. You woke this morning in a safe house and put on combat gear, ready for another mundane day of field work. Somewhere in the middle of that was a cascade of violence. Now Bang Chan is asking about your sexual proclivities. If you weren’t so exhausted, you would laugh.
“I mean, nothing special,” you say, sufficing for the boring truth. “Mostly just this. Sex doesn’t really mean anything to me. It’s like exercise. Long nights on a job. You know. Fellow soldiers on a mission. Sometimes a civilian hook-up.”
You can’t parse the expression on his face. His gaze is somewhat judgemental, or maybe it is just scrutinizing, intensely focussed. It bristles your nerves. Your tone is more derisive when you say, “I’m not a romantic.” You hold his intense stare in your own. “Sex is just a bodily function to me. Sometimes the body needs the release or the pleasure or whatever, so I satisfy it and move on. That’s who I am. I work. I get the job done. That’s what I have always done.”
What you always did. You are not sure how to describe yourself anymore. You nonetheless punctuate that definitive statement. You assume that is the end of the conversation.
Then Chan asks, “So there’s… no one… for you?”
If he was any other soldier, you would think he was angling for flirtation, but he just turned down your very blatant offer. You do not know why he has any motivation to ask such personal and irrelevant questions.
It is not worth the argument. You conclude with a simple, “No.”
He nods, rocking his whole body with the force of his too-casual gesture. The tips of his ears are red, though your gaze does not stay there. You are quickly distracted by his bicep. He lifts an arm to rub the back of his neck, muscles softly rippling. His brazen questioning coupled with his awkward shyness is incongruous.
You think it is unlikely you will ever understand this man. He has been taken apart and put back together too many times. Fragments of him seem to fire all at once and in great contradiction.
“What about Changbin?” he asks. “He must be pretty special to you. Ya know, for you to have done all this for him.”
You are simultaneously struck by repulsion and sentiment. Changbin is very special and you regret not realizing it sooner. He has always been at your side, taking hits to protect you well before he became your bodyguard. He is the person who kept you smiling. You understood each other on a different level. His friendship was a rare gift and you took it for granted. Now you would do anything to have it back.
But also…
It’s Changbin. Ew. You are an only child but you feel a brotherly affection for him. Picturing him in any other context is nauseating. It just feels wrong.
You have such a visceral reaction of disgust that Chan laughs. He puts up his hands as if in surrender.
“Sorry, sorry, my bad,” he says. “Just friends, then?”
“Yes,” you say. “Though there’s nothing just about it.”
You have replayed that rooftop exchange a hundred times, torturing yourself with every possible outcome. If only you did this, if only he did that. You rearrange every second, trying to find a version with a different ending.
You wonder how he will react when he finds out what you did. Aha, murder princess living up to her name! he might say. The old man should have seen it coming. I knew you could it, but of course I did. I’m so much smarter and better looking than everyone else here.
You smile at the idea but it fades quickly.
Changbin was with you last night. He was sitting within arm’s reach, his scar under your fingertips. Now he could be anywhere and it’s all your fault. Not just because of the rooftop mistakes, but because of every mistake you made before that.
You exhale. Your shoulders shake. Chan watches you close a fist around a pillow.
“You all right?” he asks.
“I’m ending it,” you say.
“Sorry, what?”
“I always thought Miroh was an inevitability.” You are speaking out loud but mostly to yourself. Your gaze is fixed on some distant point, your mind and heart miles away. “But he wasn’t,” you say. “No more soldiers. No more experiments. No more bribes and theft and terror. My father is dead and I am going to do what I should have done a long time ago. I am going to make sure his work dies with him.”
You look at Chan. A day ago, you both existed for Miroh. Now you are two people planning to dismantle an empire from a motel room and a stolen car.
“Do you have a problem with that?” you ask.
A part of you is braced for the worst, that he will reject it, that he will revert to some kind of conditioned programming and drag you back to a facility for condemnation.
Even while you think it, you know it won’t happen. The eyes staring back at you are as clear as your own.
“I’m just the bodyguard,” Chan says. “I go wherever you go. Always.”
You feel invigorated to start now, but you are tired beneath the burst of adrenaline. You need to let your body heal.
The room is dark and you doze in the light of the television. After a couple hours, you roll over and find Chan is still awake. He is laying on his bed, arms crossed and eyes open. He is watching the shopping channel, ad after ad after ad, with far more intensity than it merits. His mind must be somewhere else. You can only imagine what he is thinking about.
You wonder how much he knows about himself. He responded to your half-coherent treasonous pleading. Does he remember hating Miroh? Or is he truly only helping you because of mission parameters?
It is easy to forget when he is a bare-faced, curly-haired young man slouching in a motel bed, but Bang Chan is lethally competent. He knew all of Miroh’s innermost schemes. It will come in handy now, but it makes him an irrevocably dark character, whether it was willing or not.
You wonder how much Changbin would trust him.
Wait.
You were so distracted with your plans, you did not question a moment in your conversation.
Chan mentioned Changbin.
You never told Chan the identity of your friend. When you were pleading with him, you just called him a friend.
Maybe Chan heard you talking to your father. Maybe he knows about your relationships because that was his job. Maybe he just guessed because Changbin volunteered himself in the ring.
Maybe Bang Chan remembers more than he is letting on.
-
You fall asleep to the soft drone of the television. Your mind is walking in circles and you dream of similar rings. Nightmares of chrome cages and steel traps, a suffocating helplessness squeezing your ribcage.
In your dreams, the room fills with smoke, a charcoal smog that chokes you as quickly as the compression on your chest. You look down but you can’t see your body, only feel it. Your invisible body struggles against invisible bindings. You gasp for breath.
Your father appears. It is him holding you down, a heavy hand in the middle of your chest. You cry out. You want to move but your body is trapped.
You close your eyes. When you open them, Changbin is there. He is still a teenager. His head is bleeding – why is his head bleeding? – but he wipes the blood as if it’s nothing more than sweat, all his focus on you.
Of course it is. He’s your friend. He’s here to save you. How did you not see it before? It’s like you have been moving through the world in a fog, the same grey smoke that envelopes you now. His face is the only clear image, gawky with youth but alive and real.
The weight is lifted off your chest. Black spots swarm your vision as you suck in a lungful of air.
When you look again, Changbin is grown. He looks like he did a day ago, dark bangs in his eyes, stocky build ready for a fight.
“I’m not leaving here without you.”
Not leaving here.
Not leaving here.
Not leaving here.
His voices dances around you. You are trapped in your body, a screaming, shrieking force, watching through dead eyes as the world spins. People pass but they don’t hear you. You try to reach for someone but your body doesn’t respond to your thoughts.
A labyrinthine stretch of road unfurls then disappears. You are standing in the infirmary at the main facility. You stare at yourself, the younger version of you. You are already dead behind the eyes, resigned to your situation. There are masked doctors around you. A tray full of needles. You watch as the long point penetrates your skin. You’re just a child, arm so small in comparison.
Your child face contorts with pain, an expression your adult face cannot mimic because you cannot control your face.
You remember the pain, even if you cannot cry. It was like nothing you had ever felt. The pain meant it was working. The medicant was only administered to you when it had been thoroughly tested. The first injection killed every subject except one. The second program was a success.
The children were writhing in pain for weeks, screaming and crying, begging for parents that never came. Yours did, looming over your bedside, touching your feverish forehead and speaking through the fog of pain.
An investment, Miroh called it. You’ll thank me one day.
Changbin is there. He is a child too. They put a needle in his skinny arm. He winces but he doesn’t cry. He isn’t scared of the needles or the pain, but he isn’t eager either. He is just there, his head down.
You blink and he is grown. The needle is still in his arm, only it is not an injection but an extraction. You watch the fullness of his face wither. They are taking too much. He becomes a child again, screaming in pain.
The same pain moves inside you.
No, worse.
Worse.
You never could have imagined a worse pain. It courses through your whole body, peeling apart your insides while you lay there, helpless, watching.
Your father stands over you. You’ll thank me one day.
He disappears. For a flickering moment, you see Bang Chan. Curly-haired, dimpled cheeks. He stutters and shakes like a bad film projection. His face contorts, changes. Wide dark eyes stare at you, his face covered in rain – water – tears? Pouring down his cheeks, mouth open and a mute cry in the grey.
You want to touch him but you cannot move. His face flickers again. You feel a tiny, infinitesimal twitch in your pinky.
Then he disappears altogether. Your father is there. He grabs you by the shoulders and slams you down, straight through the earth, holding you there in the darkness where no one can find you and you cannot move.
“Hey—” comes a voice, somehow reaching you in the depths of that pit. “Hey, hey, hey, wake up.”
In your dream, your father shoves you.
In reality, you are thrashing in a motel bed.
It takes a minute to realize you are awake, that everything was just a terrible dream. Your adrenaline is a white hot heat in your chest, your voice a strangled shriek as you clamour around the twisting sheets.
“Hey, it’s all right,” Chan says. “You’re just dreaming, whoa, easy, c’mon… It’s all good. Easy now. Breathe for me, okay?”
It feels like your first breath in years. It goes down shaky, your vision blurry. You realize Chan is holding your wrist, lightly but carefully. You blink up at him. He turned on the bedside light at some point. Half his face is lit in gold as he looks at you with concern. It is such a strange expression to see on him. These were the same eyes glaring at you over that uniform mask. Now that brow is pinched with worry, his own breath a staggered thing.
“You all right?” he asks.
You are sitting upright. You look at your wrist in his hand.
“Did I try to punch you again?” you ask.
“You missed,” he says, smiling. Then he shakes his head and says more seriously, “It was my fault. You were yelling in your sleep so I woke you up. I guess it was too fast or something. Just, you know, I don’t think the walls are very thick here.”
“Right,” you say. Your heart is still stampeding. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right,” he says. “You… you good…?”
“Yeah,” you say. You are too weary for patience, so sarcasm spills out of you. “Peachy.”
He opens his mouth but you don’t wait to hear it. You slide out of bed and land on shaky legs. Your whole body is covered in a sheen of sweat. You want to shower, wash away the nightmare and the terror.
You are a light sleeper. You never dream like that. It is a testament to your exhaustion that you fell into such a deep sleep.
You tell yourself it was a dream, but your reassurances don’t work. Because it wasn’t really a dream, was it? It was flashes of real moments, real faces, real pain.
You stand under steady stream of hot water. You watch as the heat and the torrent opens a few scrapes, the water at your feet turning red. You think of Changbin with a needle in his arm, all that red pouring out of him. Standing there, helpless to do anything, like you are right now.
You have no idea where he is. You look at the scar on your palm and think of him in the moonlight, him in the ring, him at your side. A smile, a joke, a reassurance. A hand in yours, a promise.
He knew you better than you know yourself. He predicted this exact crisis of identity.
When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be… When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…
He drew that line across his palm. You picture a chasm of a wound, gaping and red, rushing red at your feet.
Just remember me, he said. I didn’t bleed because I believe in Miroh. I’m your soldier, not his.
True to his word, a man of principle to the end, he is bleeding for you right now.
In all your years of training, fighting, and soldiership, of missions and schemes, tricks and plots, you have always kept composure. Now it all weighs on you at once, every single second of your life, and it’s too much.
When was the last time you cried? You can’t even remember. It pours out of you now, big ugly gasping sobs that spill into the shower. You sit down where the water is pooling in pink. You wrap your arms around your legs and draw them up to your chest like a child.
You do not know how long you sit there, crying until it feels like there is no more water left in your body. It must be a long time because the water runs from hot to lukewarm. It feels strange to heave dry sobs with the shower still pouring down on you.
The water abruptly stops. You lift your head.
Chan stands there. He doesn’t look at you directly, his expression solemn, but he turns off the water and gets you a towel.
It feels surreal. Bang Chan is moving around a small motel bathroom, helping you like he has helped you all day. You stare at him with scrunched, sore eyes, your throat too strained to speak. You drop your legs and let him wrap the towel around you. Your heart kicks with momentary fright when he scoops you up, an effortless sweep.
No one has ever done something like this for you. You wouldn’t have let them, even if they tried.
You need it. You never realized how much you needed it. You are certain you will feel embarrassed in the morning, but right now you put your arms around his neck and cling for dear life.
He says nothing. He hooks an arm around your back and the other under your legs. He carries you back into the room and lays you in your bed, adjusting the towel for your modesty before pulling the blankets over you.
You continue to sputter and hiccup, looking at him as he moves. You wonder if he looks like this on a mission, determined and swift.
No. The First Guard wouldn’t fix the pillows under your head. He wouldn’t tuck the blankets around you.
Bang Chan stands over you, wearing nothing but his combat pants, no weapons or masks or piercing stares. He has curly dark hair and a soft face. When you touch his bare shoulder, he looks at you with a heart-shattering amount of tenderness. You didn’t know anyone could look at somebody that way, never mind him, never mind at you.
There’s a person inside him. There’s a person inside you. You don’t know who either of those people are, but you want to know. You need to know.
You curl your hand into a fist and feel the scar on your palm. A day ago, none of this would have mattered, but you know why it matters now.
“We have to find him,” you say. Your rasping voice is barely above a whisper.
Chan slowly cups his hand over yours, his palm to your knuckles, holding your touch against his shoulder. He squeezes your fingers. He nods.
“We will,” he says.
“You’ll help me?” you say.
“Yeah.” His own voice is a rasp, skirting the edge of emotion too. He swallows it down and smiles at you. “Like I said. I go wherever you go. Always.”
He sits with you in the soft golden light of that small bedside lamp. You do not think you can sleep again, but then exhaustion settles over you.
You are on the cusp of sleep when he touches your forehead. Your eyes meet briefly. It wakes you with a heart flutter, similar to a dream that drops you into reality. It is the heart-racing thump of a sudden fall. The kind that feels so real, more like a memory than a dream.
#bang chan x reader#chan x reader#bang chan x you#chan x you#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#skz x you#stray kids x you#bang chan fanfiction#stray kids fanfiction#skz fanfiction
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Labor HC (ft. Poly!Mates Bat Boys)
Warnings: intense labor, my bsf just had her first baby and told me all the horrific things 🫠, personally i never want children, thank the cauldron for healing magic, longish? compared to my other hc, i guess labor horror? the idea of giving birth scares the ever loving shit out of me
By the end of your pregnancy your stomach was the size of two side by side watermelons
Madja grew increasingly worried that you would not survive the labor at how big the babe inside of you had grown
you worried your child would tear itself out of your womb
indefinite bed rest for you
which you honestly didn't mind since it was getting difficult for you to move your body without getting tired
bat boys worry. you aren't illyrian. if the baby belonged to cassian or azriel, your body would not be able to allow for wings to grow. (paternity/gendering of the baby was not possible. all the results came back as inconclusive)
as it gets more cramped inside of you, every one of the baby's movements is felt by you.
Rhys neglects much of his work and favors spending every waking hour by your side.
Cassian and Azriel grow extremely considered when they hear commotion arising in the Hewn City. Az has heard that many in the Court of Nightmares wish for your demise in labor. They take each threat to your life seriously and spend their time ensuring the security and safety of you and your unborn child.
they can't protect you from the pain of labor though
Rhys and Az were asleep with you in the bed, Cassian preferring to stand guard outside your door.
You're pulled out of sleep rather abruptly, well aware of the unconscious tensing of your muscles as a stabbing pressure digs into your abdominal area. a tightening and squeeze so vicious that you try and sit up immediately but your big belly prevents you from doing so.
stomach churning fear rises in you. it was time.
you shake your mates awake as another squeezing pain that burned across your lower back and pelvis.
they've drilled for this. no really your bat boys have played out the scenario an annoying amount of times. Az leaps from the bed to alert Cassian, Rhys helping you sit up
Azriel leaves to fetch Madja since he's the fastest
the Wraiths prep everything you may need and wait in the room with you, Rhysand and Cassian until Azriel returns with the healer.
that's when things really start
you were already screaming when Madja arrived. Nuala and Cerridwen had prepped you for the labor if Madja were too late.
Azriel had your left hand, brows furrowed and wishing he can transfer the pain you were going through into his body. Even if this pain meant the birth of a child, he hated hearing your screams or the tears welling in your eyes as you push with all your might
Rhysand, who had been hold your right hand transfers it to Cassian's care as he moves to be by Madja side to watch the actual birth. His eyes keep darting from your lower half to your face.
you never knew bringing another life into the world was so painful. you yourself didn't know either of your parents. no one to warn you of what you would face in childbirth
your bat boys were there though, that was all that mattered.
time drags with each heave you give
then he was born. . .
Dagen. even with his wings tucked in tight, pushing him out damn near tore you from your v to your a. like that whole entire region was on fire
"O-Oh. . ." Madja gasped, clearly startled as she held your baby in her arms, having been about to pass him to Rhysand. Almost in fear she looks at Rhysand. "I. . .I think there is another babe coming. . ."
Two babies???
you didn't believe her. until you felt another intense wave of pain start up again. dagen nearly tore you in half. you couldn't imagine pushing out another baby that potentially had wings.
"no, please no" you sob, every part of you aching.
Cassian looks scared. "You can do this." his hand was numb but he didn 't care.
"We're here." Azriel nods and gives your hand an encouraging squeeze.
Rhysand was still standing a little dumbstruck with a fresh newborn in his arms.Thankfully one of the wraith sisters nudges him, her arms ready to take the baby so he can go back to focusing on the next one.
Rian arrived quickly, smaller than dagen thanks to the lack of wings
there was five minutes of peace where Rhysand and Cerridwen showed you your boys. beautiful boys that you and your mates created
until you felt another stabbing sensation.
you screamed at rhysand, azriel and cassian. damning them to a suffering in the afterlife for putting you through this.
to you this was bullshit.
it should be impossible!! then again, so was having three destined mates
Mor had called it a miracle. you now thought of it as a curse. you never knew having three mates meant giving birth to three babies at the same time
the third baby however would prove to be the most difficult. thanks to the previous two, you were beyond exhausted and begging for someone to just rip it from you. there was no way you could push it out by yourself.
Madja made the tough call of performing a cesarean section
the wraiths took away rian and dagen as the surgery took place
they'd been in wars, seen carnage, but there your bat boys were with white faces that expressed utter horror
the last baby to be delivered was a little girl with wings. your Baila.
exhausted, you pass out soon after Madja pulls her from you.
everyone is pushed out of the room except for madja herself as she sews you back up and stops the bleeding that could possibly kill you if not treated properly.
it feels like a dream to you when you wake up.
except every part of you is still suffering from a dull pain
your bat boys introduce you to your three pretty babies
i hc that dagen is azriel's, rian is rhysand's and baila is cassian's cuz i've always thought of him as a girl dad and nothing can change that lol
#reader insert#reader insert fanfiction#acotar fanfic#rhysand acotar#rhys acotar#azriel acotar#acotar#acotar series#acotar cassian#cassian fanfic#cassian x reader#cassian#azriel fanfic#azriel x reader#acotar azriel#azriel shadowsinger#bat boys#acotar bat boys#rhysand x reader
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I kind of hate all the comparisons between kipperlily and like. Those fuckass "affirmative action fucks me over I wish I was [minority] so it would be easier" people because none of that. Is what she said. She said the bad kids already had more experience with adventuring before they got to augefort and it meant they had an advantage. Which is true. Yeah Riz was lower-class but his mum was a COP. Riz, Kristen and Fig had parents who were heroes (Sandra-Lynn is an active ranger, Kristen's parents are paladins, Sklonda is a rogue), Adaine's family was super rich and politically influential, Fabian had both. Gorgug's the only one who wasn't actively at an advantage [IN THE CONTEXT OF HAVING PRIOR KNOWLEDGE ABOUT HEROISM] and she didn't have shit to say about him. Kipperlily was the first person in her family to try heroism, the bad kids are largely legacy admissions.
Additionally to the people comparing it to the "anti-affirmative action" crowd: do you know what affirmative action is. The bad kids didn't receive special consideration on their admissions to aguefort or scholarships or additional financial support or extended assessment times or anything. How could she be mad about affirmative action if none of these people received affirmative action. What they DID have was knowledge about their classes that started much earlier than high school, which is what Kipperlily said in her file that she thought grading should be adjusted for because she did not have that.
To me it's less like affirmative action and more like augefort is like an IQ test. They pretend that it's fair and objective, but you can be taught how to do those things from a younger age, and if your parents took the time to teach you pattern recognition and shit then you'll do better on an IQ test than someone who wasn't trained for it and everyone will act like that makes you innately smarter when it doesn't. It just means someone taught you how to do that earlier.
Barring Gorgug, every one of the bad kids had access to information about heroism and their class at a younger age than Kipperlily did, which primed them for success in their classes. Every one of them got additional information about mysteries from their families (and even direct battle-tactics training from Bill), Riz especially with getting classified info out of his mum. Kipperlily does not have hero relatives. She's the first in her family line to attend a hero school. She knew nothing about it before her first day, meanwhile Kristen was already the chosen of Helio, Adaine had already been attending the best wizard school in the country, Fabian had already spent his whole life training with his father, and Riz was already involved in solving mysteries using info and tactics he got from his parents.
They aren't necessarily "privileged" (except Fabian and Adaine), but Kipperlily didn't say they were, she said that in the specific context of attending a hero school they had a prior-knowledge advantage. Saying they didn't is like comparing the grades of a kid who's academic career started with preschool with a kid who didn't attend until middle school and acting like one of them wasn't better prepared.
#like cmon people. you already hated her so you're reaching to justify it more#is it reason to be as hateful as she is? no. but she was 14 when she said the shit about riz's dad and. CRUCIALLY. kids from healthy homes#dont wish death on their parents lol. like objectively#shes not poor but neither is fabian. neither was season 1 adaine. and yet we wouldn't say their home lives were GREAT now would we#or that they had nothing to complain about just because they were economically advantaged#she thinks its unfair because she came into augefort blind meanwhile riz had been doing investigator shit for years already#and she has not learned healthy coping mechanisms. like brennan calls her anger childish and its because shes a CHILD#and she only became this cruel because she's possessed by literally the god of rage. because it was that or death#ive even seen people waxing tragic about every other rat grinder's “deal” with ankarna but acting like kipperlily was just fine with that#because she was angry already. she DIED. and having anger issues/emotional regulation issues doesnt mean you WANT TO DESTROY THE WORLD#she probably wanted to live just as much as any of the others did. and this was the sacrifice. she was 16#d20#fhjy#fhjy spoilers#fantasy high#kipperlily copperkettle
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Mirrors
The Lady of Autumn had a name, although she was hardly ever called by it. Like a fading tapestry, once bright colours muted over the years, a whisper of what had been.
Summary: The Lady of Autumn has a difficult conversation with her eldest son (one-shot).
Find more Autumn Court one-shots here :)
The Lady of Autumn had a name, although she was hardly ever called by it. Like a fading tapestry, once bright colours muted over the years, a whisper of what had been.
Callista.
Chosen by her father, a name both sharp and beautiful, perhaps a wish that she would grow up and be the same. The male who had raised her was centuries dead, along with the rest of her family, and Callista was achingly alone.
There was a certain reverence to each of her titles, she could admit, thick as blood as they fell from the lips of those around her.
Lady.
Wife.
Mother.
The last and worst of them all, like a knife taken to her chest each time it was uttered, a reminder of everything she had never wanted.
“Mother.” The crack of a whip, harsh and unexpected, even after the countless years that had passed. Time moved slow as honey, and the word was no less difficult to bear.
With a wince, Callista looked up at her eldest son, feeling small in front of his towering frame. The corridor they were in was empty, torches flickering and casting long shadows on the stone walls. There were no windows, making it seem as though it was late at night when Callista knew the sun had just gone up, had watched as she did every morning as it inched over the horizon. .
Lovely and sharp like shards of broken glass, Eris scowled.
Callista knew he looked like her, it had always been the case. Nobles and servants alike attested to their similarities, like mirrors, they whispered, meant as a compliment she was sure.
Firstborn, heir to the throne, Eris had never smiled as a child. Hair scarlet as fresh blood, eyes amber gemstones, pale as bone and cruel in his beauty, he still reminded her of Beron.
Eris’ full lips were pulled down slightly at the corners in a frown, and Callista hummed in response.
“Have you been listening?” Eris questioned, and she could hear the disbelief whirling in the words.
“Of course,” she waved a hand dismissively as she told the lie. Her mind had been elsewhere and she did not feel like explaining herself to her son.
Eris’ lips curled up slowly, the smile empty as his eyes flared with embers in annoyance. “Then I won’t repeat myself.” He shrugged, the movement elegant even without an audience there to witness it. “Lucien’s bags are packed and we’ll be in the eastern territories, should anyone ask.”
As though she were a puppet with her strings pulled taught, Callista straightened her spine, the sound of blood rushing to her head loud as a river in her ears. “Why?” She managed to ground out, worry deep in her gut.
Eris raised an auburn brow at her, false confusion on his face. “It’s as I’ve said.”
Quick as a snake, her fingers fangs, Callista grabbed onto the High Lord’s heir. Flames flashed in her russet eyes as she spoke. “Don’t play games, Eris.” She was not in the mood, and she hoped her tone suggested as much.
“Never,” he clipped, attempting to pull away. Callista held firmly to the sleeve of his shirt, and Eris let her. “Fair to say you hadn’t been listening?”
“Speak, Eris,” the demand was rough, and she felt as Eris bristled, although nothing of the sort showed on his face.
Eris clicked his tongue, mocking despite how serious Callista was. “One of these days, you’ll find that I should be unwilling to help you.” It could have been a threat or a promise, but Callista was not certain.
“Not this day,” she snapped, feeling her cheeks heat with anger. The torches in the empty hallway flared around them. “Do I have to beg you?”
Eris pulled his arm back with a scowl, looking very much like his father. He straightened his shirt with a stiff gesture. “Have I ever asked you for such a thing?”
“Hardly seems like you’re above it.”
For decades, there had been a strain between them. Beron’s favourite son, the child she had never wanted but loved despite it. Complicated and entirely out of her control, she could still remember crying when Eris had been born. It had only gotten worse as the decades had passed, as Lucien had grown.
Perhaps it was hurt that flashed starbright on Eris’s lovely features, but as soon as it had appeared it was gone. Expressionless and cold as ice, Eris spoke. “If you’d been paying attention, mother, you would have heard that father doesn’t want Lucien in the Forest House.” He scowled as he continued, “at least for a little while.”
“Why?” She asked again, praying Eris would give her an honest answer.
“To keep him away from you, he told me,” Eris’s gaze was searching. “You spoil him.”
“He’s a sweet boy, everyone spoils him,” Callista said, her mouth tight. That much was true, she had seen it with her own eyes, how charmed the entirety of Autumn was with her youngest son.
“Father gave Lucien one of his daggers, you know the one with the fox hilt?” she nodded, unsure what Eris was about to say. “His to keep, first weapon handed from father to son.” Tradition, Callista knew, was valued in Autumn, where a change in power had not been had for centuries. “Would have been heartwarming,” Eris said, a restrained anger in his tone, “If not for the fact that Lucien’s eyes shone gold as daylight to ruin the moment.”
As though she had been struck, Callista reared back. Beron had known since Lucien had been born, had seen fit to punish them all for her infidelity, but Lucien had still been claimed as his seventh son. Protection and a curse all at once. The shame would have been too great, Beron had said, to have a disloyal wife and a child that was not his own.
“Eris–”
He raised his hand to silence her. “Is joy to blame? Sunbright eyes only when Lucien is happy?”
“Yes,” Callista breathed, her nerves getting the best of her, panic a near unbearable weight on her slim shoulders. She smelled copper, the sharp tang of blood, and thought it was her own. It took her a moment to realise that Eris had bitten through his cheek, an anxious habit he had inherited from her.
Mirrors.
“I’m taking him to my home in the east,” Eris said softly, attempting to comfort her. “Handle your husband and send word when we can return.”
Callista felt tears embarrassingly begin to form at the corners of her eyes. “Can I say goodbye?” Her voice was small and she felt pathetic, like a horrible mother, her curse to bear.
Eris looked ready to deny her wish, but perhaps he sensed her despair, her worry in the face of the unknown. With a sigh, a hand running through his hair, Eris offered her his arm. “I think Lucien would be devastated if you didn’t.”
Relief rained over Callista as she gently held onto her eldest son. “Thank you, Eris,” she said ever so quietly.
Eris did not respond, and Callista wondered if he even heard her.
#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#autumn court#the lady of autumn#eris vanserra#lucien vanserra#he's not in this but it's about him#vanserra family#i can't stop thinking about loa and eris#thank you to everyone who reads <3#ashes writes sometimes
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Humans are weird: Family Drama
( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)
To Abarxsis one’s family was something sacred and meant to be treasured. It contained those who were with you from the first moments of your age and would join you along your journey through time longer than any friend or colleague could. It was a feeling he held onto greatly and shaped the foundation of who he was. It was a trait he was glad to see shared amongst many humans as they too sought out family to such an extreme that they would pack bond with anyone or anything to obtain that sense of unity. Yet it was with some great surprise that when he inquired about his human lovers’ family they would refuse to even mention them.
Whenever the topic of family was brought up their mood would shift like a switch had been flipped and all the joy and expression of them would bleed away and be replaced with a cold chill. Abarxsis learned that it was unwise to bring up the topic, but he still could not let it go until he knew why they were so against their own kin.
One night, Abarxsis was watching human entertainment while his lover slept and saw a strange situation unfold. The protagonist, like his lover, also was estranged from their family and refused to meet them. So the other characters surprised them by inviting their family over without telling them so the two parties could reunite and make peace once more.
This notion of restoring unity gave Abarxsis the idea that he could do the same for his lover and so he set out to track them down himself. It took several months of messages and follow ups until finally he had tracked down their family. When he mentioned that he wished for them to reunite they were thrilled at the prospect and agreed to meet them for dinner.
The day finally came and Abarxsis had taken his lover out under the pretext of a romantic dinner. When the pair arrived the rest of the family was already waiting at the table. They stood and smiled as the pair approached and extended hands of friendship, but Abarxsis noticed his lover had remained frozen at the doorway.
A myriad of emotions went across their face as their eyes focused on the family. Their hands tightened into fists as they looked slowly from the table to Abarxsis, who was still smiling, and glared at him.
“You did this?” she asked through clenched teeth.
The smile quickly fell away from Abarxsis’s face as he realized something was very much wrong.
“Abarxsis did.” He confirmed. “Abarxsis saw how talking of family upset Kelly, so Abarxsis-“
Kelly turned and left the room without hearing out the rest of his reasoning. He turned back and saw Kelly’s family looking confused and went after his lover. She stood out in front of the restaurant pulling out her communicator to summon a hover cab.
“What is wrong?” Abarxsis asked as he came up behind her. Kelly’s head turned to him to see it now awash with rage and anger….and betrayal, much to Abarxsis’s surprise.
“I told you I didn’t want to talk about my family.” Kelly began, her fists still clenched tight. “I had made it perfectly clear that I had no desire to speak with them, or speak of them, or even be near them from the moment we met.”
“Abarxsis know’s this-“ Abarxsis began but Kelly held up a hand to forestall him.
“You don’t speak,” she remarked harshly, “just stand there and listen because I am about to be as fucking direct as I can possibly be.”
Kelly only swore to Abarxsis when she was truly angry so Abarxsis remained silent as she continued.
“My family……”,she stopped and collected her thoughts for a moment as if a torrent of words wished to flow all at the same time from her mouth, “are nothing but parasites; and I have not wanted them near them since the day I left their hellhole of a home.”
“They have leached off me financially, mentally, and emotionally all my life. I was the only one to hold a stable job and they expected me to pay for them while they sat around and did nothing. I was the one they came to when they were dumped by their lovers after they found out they were cheating on them. And when I told them I wanted no more part in their problems they berated me by telling me without them I would not even be here so “it was the least you can do to be grateful”.”
Abarxsis had seen his lover angry before but this was something else. This was not just simple disdain or annoyance; this was a deep rooted hatred that ran through the core of Kelly’s being.
“I left,” she continued, “because it was the only way I could be free from their toxicity and now, despite me telling you otherwise, you have brought that toxicity back to me.”
“But..” Abarxsis spoke unsurely, “they are still Kelly’s family.”
“You were my new family.” Kelly laughed without joy and fixed him with a cold stare. “They stopped being my family the day I left them.”
A hover car slowly pulled up and the door popped open for Kelly. She started to enter when the rest of the family came out and started calling out to her. Abarxsis watched Kelly look back at him and see her expression now one of disappointment and sorrow, before she entered the hover car and closed the door behind her.
The hover car pulled away as the family came up and began calling out Kelly’s name while shouting recent needs for money or how disappointed they were that she hadn’t spoken to them in so long. Once the hover car was out of sight the family then turned on Abarxsis making the same demands. Abarxsis looked at them with confusion as this was not what a family should be. The love and support he had felt from his was nowhere within the eyes of Kelly’s former family.
Abarxsis came to understand why Kelly did what she did and realized that despite their constant need to pack bonding and need for family, the human concept of family was something not as simple to define.
#humans are insane#humans are weird#humans are space oddities#humans are space orcs#story#writing#original writing#niqhtlord01#family drama
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#Man fuck TikTok..#legit was#mindless scrolling until I hit a a TikTok that had pics of cast and it was all the celebs that were part of a tv show thay passed this year#and ofc included Angus and Matthew Perry were included#but the top comment was about angus and I just burst out crying because I miss him so much#wish I had more time and I wish he knew how much he meant for us and I hate he’s no longer here and I hate he’s gone#like i just had the worst fucking weekend in the world and like had to spend $500 on some new tires and then had to cancel a date#with this guy i really like and on tuesday it will be 4 months since he passed and im still not over it#i wish he was still here i dont wish he was suffering but like i wish he was still on the planet earth living the life he wanted to live#i wish he accomplished the goals he wanted to achieve#and i just wish he was still here for me for selfish reasons#idk tonight was my spiral moment after a long time#like i just can't stop crying and god i fucking miss angus#he deserved so much better and fuck man i want him back#but he's never coming back#never#and i hate 2023 with a burning passion#i want to go back in time and relive the moment when he was still in earth and appreciate them but i cant
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ever just miss your grandpa
#i loved both my grandpas but my grandpa on my dads side meant the world to me#and he died when i was 13#i wish i had gotten to spend more time with him#but the time we did have was wonderful. he was kind and patient and generous and loving#he greatly influenced my music taste and got me my first ipod#i loved my grandpa on my moms side but i knew him even less and spent pretty much a minuscule amount of time with him in comparison#i knew him by the stories i heard. i have a few stories of my own yea and i love how big of a pothead he was. it made me laugh#but i didn’t know him and for what it’s worth … he didn’t know me#my grandpa who only had 13 years with me knew me infinitely more than my grandpa who knew me for 27 years#i find that a little sad too. i know i was loved but i was not known by either of my moms parents. they moved to arizona when i was 6.#i know what i could have had because i know what i had with my dads father. i know what a good grandparent/grandchild relationship is#which is why i know my grandpa from arizona had no relationship with me#i cherish every second i spent with my grandpa and am still heartbroken that he died before my 8th grade graduation#he & i were supposed to have a whole weekend of fun when i graduated 8th grade. we planned it for years and he died 6 months prior#he took my sister and i to the movies the day before he died. we saw unoccupied minors and went out for chinese food#and he was really proud of me that night because i had FINALLY learned to play a certain song on my fife that was REALLY hard to learn#it was called Old 1812#and he asked me to play Yankee Doodle. he loved when i played that lmao#yankee doodle / bells of st marys / sisters were my favorite songs to play#i fucking LOVED playing sisters and sometimes i’ll even look up fifers playing sisters just to hear it again#i stopped playing the fife after he died#i was supposed to learn a song called garry owen and i wasn’t able to move onto it until i landed 1812 perfectly#because we were supposed to seamlessly transition from one to the next#i had already marked up my sheet music for garry owen because i was so excited about landing 1812 perfectly#i was so proud of learning that song and finally being able to show him and i ended up quitting the week after#i just listened to garry owen for the first time in YEARS and i wish i had learned to play it. it’s beautiful#i was supposed to duet it with my best friend at the time#and she actually got angry with me after i quit even though i told her that it made me sad to play lmao.#ya know. there are a lot of things i reflect on when it comes to that friendship. from middle school to high school she was a shitty friend
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hunter just gets fucking everything taken from him huh !!
#cherryz txt#toh spoilers#tragic lil white boy moment ig#i hate how u can soooo tell from the pacing and shit that s3 was mashed together into too few episodes and rushed to hell#like we Knew itd be like this but . UJGH. so painful#u can also tell the ppl working on it stopped giving a fuck abt censors cus they just threw in a luz-coming-out-as-bi scene#plastering bi flags everywhere . she even has a pin on her hat and camilla wears the cute lil rainbow heart pin in support#shout out to the character w the nonbinary flag nails too#i love hunter ftr btw. like he IS a tragic white boy but hes like a good one in that he serves more purpose to the plot and has like.#an actual Story instead of just being the tragic white boy for racist audience members to latch on to#i mean . ofc racist audience members are gonna do it anyway but that aint his/the writers' fault(s)#camilla fucking rocks btw . she took in 6 teenagers for months and had notes and an entire notebook dedicated to caring for them#i love that shes being given character beyond just being Luz's Mom™ and i wish sooo much tht s3 got the time it deserved so we cld see more#u can tell there was meant to be so much development of characters and character dynamics and relationships. UGHH#i NEED to see hunter and gus' nerd arc bro . theyre fucking brothers !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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cherry blossoms 01
pairing: virgin!Choso x fem!reader
contents: phone sex, mutual masturbation (f! and m!), JOI (m! receiving), Choso's first orgasm, praise kink (but in the softest way possible), friends to lovers, soft-smut
word count: 1.9K
MDNI | 18+
virgin!Choso who met you shortly after he met Yuji. He was wary of most people, but he thought your eyes were kind and pretty, and your voice was soothing and soft as you introduced yourself to him. He blushed when you asked him what his name was and he told you, still a little nervous. And then you smiled up at him, so sweet and bright, and told him yours and he swore it became his new favorite word.
virgin!Choso who started spending more time with you, because you made him feel safe. He was used to violence, used to being treated like a weapon by the people who had claimed to be his “allies.” But everything felt different with you. You helped teach him about the world, helped him to understand himself. You were patient and gentle, warm sunlight on the cold, barren existence that had been his life for so many years prior.
virgin!Choso who liked hearing you laugh more than anything. Sometimes he would make you laugh on accident, sometimes on purpose, but he didn’t really care either way. He liked watching the way your eyes creased at the corners, sometimes the tip of your nose. He liked when he made you laugh really hard too, when little tears would roll down your cheeks and the sounds of your giggles would be cut off by your panting. He made you laugh really hard today when he so innocently asked about something he had heard Yuji say to Megumi:
“Yuji was talking about something called ‘sloppy toppy’… Do you know where you get that from?”
You swore you were going to die of asphyxiation from the way your body convulsed and curled in on itself. Choso didn’t understand what was so funny, but he smiled as you wiped tears from your eyes.
virgin!Choso whose eyebrows knitted together intensely when you told him what “sloppy toppy” meant. He understood the basics of sex (as in he knew that it was how humans reproduced), but he had never experienced the desire for it or feelings of lust. But this new vocabulary word had introduced so many questions he had never considered before; how sex could just be for pleasure, how many different ways you could have it, what it felt like... The blush on your cheeks darkened as his questions turned more intimate, letting his genuine curiosity guide him.
“The first and most important thing about having sex is that you feel safe with the person you’re having it with,” you explained to him after a while of answering his questions.
“Safe like how I feel with you?” Choso asked you softly, looking into your eyes with his deep purple ones. You felt your breath catch in your throat, your cheeks blushing pink. You nodded softly, but gently changed the subject.
virgin!Choso who couldn’t help but go home that night and think about everything you had taught him. He thought of your pretty eyes as you explained everything to him in your soothing voice. He thought of the way your soft lips looked when you smiled or how they glistened when you wet them with your tongue. He laid in bed and felt an unfamiliar pressure in his pants, almost as if he was in pain. He shifted around, trying to get the feeling to go away but it felt like all he could focus on was his dick. He lifted up the waistband of his sweatpants to look at himself, seeing his cock resting stiffly against his stomach, swelling up as fluid leaked from the tip of it. He groaned low in his throat, suddenly wishing you were there with him in his room. He wanted you to be there to help him; to explain in your soft, sweet voice what was happening to him, why his cock was so hard and why it was dripping so much.
virgin!Choso who called you because he just couldn’t take it anymore and he didn’t know what to do.
“Choso? Everything okay?” You asked him in your sweet voice, slightly concerned because it was almost 1:00 AM at this point and he usually didn't call you this late.
He swallowed a lump in his throat as he held the phone up to his ear with one hand, the other pushing the waistband of his sweatpants down to free his throbbing cock. He groaned at the feeling of the fabric brushing against his sensitive balls as he shifted them down.
“It’s so hard right now and it keeps leaking… I don’t know what to do,” Choso’s deep voice whined over the phone.
“It’s-? Ohhh…” You felt your breath catch in your throat as his words sank in, sitting up in your bed as you heard his needy tone. You bit into your lip, feeling a steady ache between your thighs building at the sound of his voice alone. You took a deep breath as you collected yourself the best you could.
“Umm, well… Sometimes the best way to make it go away is to make yourself cum,” you explained softly, feeling an odd mix of embarrassment and arousal at the same time. Choso was your friend, and he was calling you so innocently about his problem, he probably didn’t even realize how erotic it was.
virgin!Choso who did in fact realize how erotic it was when hearing your soft voice on the other end of the line made his cock twitch.
“I don’t know how…” Choso groaned softly in response to your suggestion, watching the fluid leak from the tip of his aching cock and drip onto the bottom of his stomach.
You squeezed your eyes shut at the sound of his voice, simultaneously tensing your thighs together as your own need grew rapidly. You bit your lip as your next response bounced around in your head for a few moments before you answered.
“I could… Tell you how… If you want,” you offered softly, your voice like a sweet whisper in Choso’s ear. Choso nodded quickly as his hand gripped onto his phone a little harder.
“Please,” he said softly, and it took everything in your power to not moan at how hot his husky voice sounded when he was so desperate for you.
virgin!Choso whose phone was now on speaker as you guided him through how to touch himself. He wrapped his large palm around his girth, groaning in pleasure as you told him to use the leaky fluid from his tip to slide his hand down his length. He listened obediently, his breath shaky as he followed the rhythm of your voice, telling him to slide his hand down… up… down… up… down… up…
He couldn’t help but let out a soft whimper as your voice controlled his every movement, feeling his hips twitching, jerking up into his hand instinctively. The sounds were so erotic: his whimpers through the phone; the soft, wet sounds you could hear coming from the movement of his palm over his skin. You were trying so hard not to touch yourself, your thighs squeezing together impossibly tight as you bit into your lip to suppress the urge to moan back in response to his whiny breaths.
“Squeeze your fist a little tighter when you get to your tip, Choso… Does that feel good?” You asked him, your own breathing getting a little heavy from trying to remain composed.
“Yes… Yes… Feels so good,” Choso whimpered as he fisted his cock on the other end of the line. You let out a soft moan of your own. You didn’t even remember moving your pillow, but there it was, in between your legs as you humped your aching, panty-clad pussy into it.
virgin!Choso who heard your soft moan and he almost came on the spot, his breath stuttering as he heard your angelic voice sound so lewd.
“D-do that again… Please,” he begged softly, increasing the pace of his hand as his hips thrusted up into the tight grip of his fist. His head was tilted back into his pillow, eyes almost closed, his lids so heavy from pleasure. You could envision all of it now as your own eyes squeezed shut, grinding into your pillow a little harder so the seam of the casing rubbed against your swollen clit. You heard the wet sounds of his fist sliding up and down his shaft and you moaned a little louder as you rubbed your clit into the pillow.
Choso whimpered as he heard your moans through the phone. He could feel a coiling pleasure building in his lower body quickly now, every thrust into his fist making him feel even more desperate. The sounds he was making were breathy and frantic as he braced against the dizzying pressure of the newfound sensations. His body was acting on pure instinct, pushing himself rapidly towards an unknown edge.
He whimpered your name out and you knew he was close. Your own arousal only increased as you imagined it was him you were humping so desperately as he whined beneath you. Your fingers slipped into your panties, sliding into your soaking hole as you rocked against them, moaning loudly as you felt your own climax building.
“K-keep stroking your cock for me, Cho… Want you to cum nice and hard for me, okay?” Your voice was breathless and punctuated by your own soft moans as you heard Choso groaning and whimpering in agreement as he loudly fucked into his fist. His back arched as he thrusted his swollen cock up into his palm, wishing it were your hand, your mouth, or the space between your thighs that he now realized he was longing to see.
virgin!Choso who sobbed your name out as he came into his fist, fucking up into his hand as ropes of his warm cum shot out of his swollen cock and fell back onto his hand, his abdomen, his thighs... His balls were so heavy—his thick cock twitching with every spurt that released from his slit—and his hips jerked up as he painted his body with his seed. He whimpered as it kept coming, his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut as he panted and moaned loudly. You could hear him whine louder from the other end of the phone, as you brought yourself closer and closer to your own climax.
“So good, Choso… You did so good,” you praised him breathlessly, your own body leaning forward as you moaned into the phone. You rolled your hips furiously into the pillow, bolstered by his desperate whimpers as you came around your fingers. You whined for him now too, riding out your own high as Choso’s breathing slowly returned to normal on the other side of the phone.
virgin!Choso who broke the silence first.
“Did you… Did you cum too?” He asked breathlessly, plump lips parted slightly as he stared up at his ceiling, eyes still half-lidded as he came down from the high of his first orgasm.
You swallowed as your body relaxed into your bed, pillow still trapped between your thighs.
“Um yeah, I did,” you laughed a little nervously. The reality of what just occurred between the two of you was sinking in now that you both had climaxed. There was some silence on both ends as you both breathed heavily.
“Good,” Choso said softly, smiling up at his ceiling. “Maybe next time… We could do it together?”
virgin!Choso who would not be a virgin for much longer after that night!
PSA: thank you so much for reading <3
#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#choso kamo smut#choso kamo x reader#choso kamo x you#choso kamo x y/n#choso smut#choso x reader#choso x you#choso x y/n#kamo choso smut#kamo choso x reader
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“But to the BatFam? That is just Some Guy. A random dude - if you will.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’m missing my spleen.”
“Oh cool, yeah, missing organs suck. I’m missing a kidney and part of my liver. Oh! And my gallbladder but that was more of a necessary evil, it was like, poisoning me or something.” Danny was so focused on applying pressure to his wound (and maybe being a bit too light headed) that he didn’t notice how silent his friend had gotten. Like-wise the comms had gone equally quiet as Gotham’s vigilante family realized that they knew very little about this kid.
It was concerning how quickly they all started to see him as a friend considering it was them as vigilantes he interacted with the most. Tim was the only one who saw him frequently when out of the suit because he was a regular at Danny’s day job. (He worked as a barista in the coffee shop Tim favored.) The others saw him occasionally but more often than not it was just in passing. Steph, Duke, and Dick had to stop themselves from approaching him on the street.
It was odd, one day he had just moved to Gotham, seeming to appear out of nowhere, and then the next he was a constant presence in their lives. Usually armed and ready with a concerning or odd quip, it had started with him being another victim of the city’s petty criminals and had snowballed from there.
Now it wasn’t like the bats saw Danny everyday, but it was expected that he would cross paths with at least three of them before the end of the week. They ran into him more often than any other Gothamite, including the criminals and rouges they fought.
At first the constant meetings by “coincidence” was suspicious. If he wasn’t the one being saved from a mugging, kidnapping, or city wide villain assault, then he was near by and trying to help.
(“Trying to help” usually meant drawing attention to himself so the original victim could escape. Once it had meant Danny armed with a baseball bat against four grown men. Bruce and Dick have tried to talk to him about putting himself in harms way but the kid is surprisingly elusive when he wants to be. Yet, even when avoiding Batman and his eldest, Danny could be found on the patrol route of another family member.)
But honestly? The guy seemed just as exhausted as they were of seeing each other. By the twelfth time in a month, Danny had accused them of stalking him.
The background check Bruce and Tim had run came back clean and he never seemed to be involved in the various criminal activities. He was just there, a weirdly unlucky bystander. So as far as Dick and the others could see, Danny was a completely normal dude. He just said strange things and wasn’t intimidated by them, he actually made it a point to be unhelpful sometimes. When trying to learn his name he gave them the run around for two months. (“I know about stranger danger. I don’t care how often you say you’re the ‘good guys.’ I’m not falling for it.”)
On one memorable occasion Danny had disappeared for a week and a half. When they started to assume the worse, he popped back up behind the counter at work. Tim had relaxed significantly when he entered the shop to Danny organizing pastries in the display case. Once he’d placed his order, the young CEO asked Danny if he’d been on vacation. To which Danny had just sighed and told Tim “I wish, but no I was called to court to handle some affairs I couldn’t get out of.” (After a check to see if Danny had gotten charged with something and coming back empty, Tim had concluded that it was an odd way to say he had had jury duty.)
Thinking about it now, outside a stray comment or two, Danny didn’t talk about himself or his life. They knew he didn’t have a good relationship with his parents, “they were much more goal oriented than that joke of a kidnapper, but I think drugs do that to a person.” (It was still unclear if he meant his parents were kidnappers themselves or on drugs.) They knew he had an older sister who would “kill me again if she finds out I was in another bank robbery.” They also knew he was, possibly, depressed after last week’s comment of “is it considered murder if you’re already dead but, like, still alive?” (Damian had saved him from a drug ring but after another “baby ninja” comment the young Robin had threatened to give Danny back to his would-be murderers.)
Dick knew Danny was a weird guy who never wanted to elaborate on the things he said. (Jason was still confused on what he meant by “rotted milk soul.”) That didn’t mean the comments themselves didn’t say a lot about him. And tonight’s comment, accompanied by the prominent and jagged autopsy scars, said more than Danny was probably willing to share.
#Basically the other side of Danny is just Some Guy.#batman#batfamily#jason todd#batboys#batman fandom#batman wayne family adventures#dick grayson#danny phantom#dp x dc#dpxdc#dc x dp prompt#dc x dp crossover#dp dc crossover#dp x dc crossover#dp x dc prompt#dc x dp#damian wayne#Tim drake#dcxdp#I didn’t actually mean to write this#but? like? enjoy I guess
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Danny Fenton is so damn sick of rich fruit loops. It’s worse now, since he’s one of them.
It’s not Vlad that he’s with, thank the Ancients, but Danny isn’t sure that this is better.
Because he’s Timothy Drake, a baby, and he’s been reincarnated after the Ancient of Reincarnation accidentally drank too much wine.
He’s going to kick their ass so hard when he gets back.
Danny huffs. He rolls over, ignoring the silent manor. Sure, he’s read the comics. Sure, he laughed and imagined being adopted by Batman- come on, Danny had black hair and blue eyes even back then, he was totally adoption bait- when his parents gave him reason to lose trust in their love. But that’s it, that’s all he thought it was. A day dream, a wish for a universe that didn’t exist.
Danny hadn’t understood the reality of the whole Infinite Realms thing, a place he was now the King of. Batman? Real. Danny? Reincarnated. Hotel? Trivago.
Like, this wasn’t what he meant, dammit.
And now he’s stuck as Timothy Drake, and Ancients, he was starting to see parallels.
——
Danny tried photography. He really did. He wanted to at least stick to the source material. But that’s not who he is. Even with the shiny new brain that memorized, catalogued, and put together clues at the snap of his fingers, but Danny’s never been one to take photos. It’s a respectable art, for sure, but Danny preferred to live in the moment instead of capturing it to remember forever. It’s just-
He watched the Graysons fall. He watched Dick Grayson turn into Robin. And Danny can’t and won’t ever betray his Obsession like that, ever again. He can’t let Jason die for his “story” to begin. That’s not how Danny works.
He’s there to protect.
Danny hasn’t ever been just Tim. Danny was also Tim and the Ghost King without a haunt. But now? Gotham is his haunt. He, in lieu of an actual city spirit, is Gotham. He’s also a Drake. And Drakes were meant to hoard.
Batman and Robin? They are his.
He claimed them, as a Drake. But that claim is weak. So he claimed them as their city, and that is a claim that will never be able to be challenged.
Danny’ll be damned before he allows some lanky starved clown beat the life out of one of his Robins. So, for the first time in his nine years on this planet, Tim-Danny goes ghost and flies.
“Who- who. Are you?” Robin slurred from his place in Danny’s hold. He is broken, yes. But not dead. Danny infuses some of his vitality, his ecto, into Jason’s injuries to help them heal.
“Gotham.” Danny replied, layering his ghostly voice with those of the city.
“Goth’m?”
“Gotham. Sleep, little bird. Your city has got you.”
When Robin, Jason, settled with a sense of trust that tugs at Danny’s core, Danny carried him to Batman, whose eyes were wild and manic. He glared menacingly at the green and white ghost in front of him, who was holding his broken and beaten son-
Well, it’d be menacing if Danny hadn’t watched him eat bricks and mortar, crashing into a building while using his grappling gun.
“You-”
“I am Gotham.” Danny cut him off. Despite his wary nature and natural paranoia, Batman settled at his city’s gaze rested on him. Danny knew that Batman recognized his city. Batman’s head bowed, but his eyes stayed on Robin. “You were supposed to take care of Robin.”
“I- I know.” And that voice was all Bruce Wayne the Dad instead of Batman the Vigilante. Danny gently placed Robin in Batman’s arms, taking in the tremors as he held his son close.
“Go back, Bruce. And make sure Jason knows how much you love him.”
He laughed as Bruce whipped his head upwards. “I am your city. You are mine as much as I am yours. I’ve known of you before you were born.”
Technically? Not untrue. But Bruce will chalk it up to weird magic shit. It’s not like it’s a secret that Gotham’s kind of curse. Besides, this way, Danny will be able to help out more often. And Bruce won’t be able to connect Tim Drake to the “Spirit of Gotham.”
“Return, my knight. This is not your city. I can not protect you as well as I can in Gotham.”
“Thank you… Gotham.”
Danny sighed. He wondered when he’ll have to field questions from a John Constantine. He’s pretty sure Bruce will call in magical help, even if it was his own city he was investigating.
Batman’s lucky Danny liked him enough to allow it.
#Danny is Gotham#danny phantom#Jason Todd#Jason Todd as Robin#joker is about to get haunted#bruce wayne#Gotham’s knight#batman#bamf danny phantom#ghost king danny#dc x dp#Danny is Tim Drake#he’s like nine#Jason Todd lives#joker? probably not#the bats: hmmm suspicious#also the bats: Gotham loves me! I’m doing the right thing!#dp x dc
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I think the beautiful thing about the Broppy relationship is how they impact one another.
Branch’s impact on Poppy is the most obvious in the movies because he’s the one who teaches her to calm down and listen.
But what I think people overlook is the fact that despite her flaws, Poppy never gave up on Branch. Because as cute as they are now, there was a time when Branch was actually pretty cruel to her (ie. Putting her down, smashing her custom made invitations for him in front of her face, mocking her ideals, etc) and probably had been treating her like that for years before movie #1.
Everyone else had given up on him, basically deeming him as a lost cause, but Poppy never stopped trying. Yes Branch got on her nerves and hurt her feelings, and as far as she knew he would just throw her invitations away afterwards. Yet despite that she still put in the effort to make him custom invitations and genuinely want him to be there.
And even though he never dared express it, those efforts meant something to him.
Like we love Branch, but I don’t think we give Poppy enough credit for her role in Branch’s life. He was unkind (to put it lightly) to her for years, but despite that she never held any resentment towards him and still felt that he deserved to be happy. And by that incredible persistence, she worked her way into his heart.
See, Branch is a character who is completely used to tragedy and people he loves leaving in his life. So that’s partially why he pushed Poppy away and treated her so poorly. But despite that, Poppy was always THERE. She was with him when literally nobody else was. She was naive, optimistic and annoying, but she was there. Always putting the effort to be his friend, and the only one who had any sort of faith in him. He may have been isolated, but because of Poppy he was never truly alone. And even if it irked him, he still appreciated that.
And when somebody sticks with you literally no matter what, it’s not surprising that he fell more than a little bit in love.
As for Poppy, she’s slowly becoming aware that she can be a bit much sometimes. She always wants the best for her people but she doesn’t always know how to do that. Branch, even if originally rude about it, has always been able to give it to her straight. And even if he pretended not to care, he still had her back when it mattered the most. And after number one, it looks like he has her back more than ever while still being able to be the voice of reason. Which yes, Poppy definitely needs.
(Gah I wish I could put more pictures to elaborate my point but y’all get it.)
Anyway. They’re not perfect characters, but they are perfect for each other. Branch supports Poppy but gives it to her flat out. Meanwhile Poppy too supports Branch and is stubborn enough to stick by him, even when he’ll intentionally and/or unintentionally push her away. And that’s just gorgeous.
#trolls#trolls world tour#trolls band together#poppy x branch#branch x poppy#branch trolls#trolls branch#branch#poppy#poppy trolls#trolls poppy#queen poppy#broppy#trolls 2016#trolls 3#trolls 2
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Of Books & Beasts
Prompt: virginity
Paring: best friend!steve harrington x f!reader
Genre: romance, slow burn, friends to lovers, one bed trope
Notes: wc 9.1k // my first kinktober story (one of five) // hope everyone enjoys it // it’s very soft // a little scary movie night sleep over // reader falls asleep next to steve and things get a little steamy // i wrote everything to have as much consent as possible // steve is a bit of a perv lol
Warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY, NSFW // slight somnophilia, dry humping, virginity loss, vaginal fingering // masturbation // smut // 'just the tip' is used once or twice // please let me know if there is anymore that need to be added!
ao3 // kinktober masterlist // full masterlist // lazy ghoul’s kinktober prompts
-:-:-:-:-
The night was meant to be a simple one. After weeks of assignments, exams, quizzes, and extracurricular activities at college, all you wanted to do was relax. Well, you still had one more assignment left to do, but maybe you were able to kill two birds with one stone, right?
Luckily, this assignment was one that you could easily ask for help with from your friend. Someone who always stole movies for you to borrow on many weekends anyways. With your class being based on books which turned into film adaptations, it means a lot of time spent reading and watching. In truth, you felt bad for your classmates who had to rent out the tapes for extended periods just to finish analysis for assignments; all while you didn’t even need to bat an eyelash in Steve’s direction for him to hide movies in your backpack while his manager wasn’t looking.
With the theme of this particular assignment matching the season and going with horror films, a movie night was something that you craved. Thick sweaters, even thicker blankets, a bit of hot chocolate, and candy from the grocery store that had the orange and black packaging — they were all of the aspects to the marathon you proposed when you walked into Family Video on a Friday afternoon after you got off the bus. Despite all of your convincing tactics, your friend already had his answer long before you began to ask.
“Anything for you, dove. I’ll get everything on this list for us,” Steve smiled at you, after looking at the assignment rubric, as you stood on the other side of the cash register.
“Alright, maybe I should place a pizza order now so that we don’t starve during the Friday dinner rush tonight,” you said sweetly as you nervously thought about what to order.
“Don’t you worry about it, it’s on me. Let me treat you a little.”
“I’m the one who asked you to have a movie marathon with me, I should really be the one paying,” you insisted while you brought your hand closer to the telephone.
But, quickly, the man was able to grasp it lightly to stop you from moving towards the numbers. You could never admit just how much your skin tingled at the touch. “I’m serious. This shift finishes in twenty minutes, then I can drive us home and I’m all yours. Do whatever you want with me, dove. I can even help out with your stress relief later. Maybe I’ll bend —”
“Please don’t continue that sentence,” you cut him off easily. Steve always loved to tease you and any eavesdroppers who may be listening in and theorizing if you two were dating or not. The town is full of gossip fiends. “Any louder and people will start to believe you.”
The younger Harrington chuckled as he got out from behind the counter to stand fully in front of you. He adored to see the way you outwardly pretended you hated the fake moves he would pull. From him putting his arm around your shoulder whilst walking around town, whistling every other time he picked you up from the city bus stop, to intimidating every guy who looked in your direction for too long. However, both of you never knew the other wished for it all to be real.
“Fine, fine, I’ll be good and stop teasing you,” he chuckled lowly.
“Thank you,” you smiled to yourself before looking up at Steve with wide eyes. “So will you also be buying garlic knots tonight too?”
“Yes, as long as you promise to stay awake until the final movie, sleepy girl.”
-:-:-:-:-
You, in fact, did not stay awake the whole movie night. It wasn’t Tim Curry’s fault either. Normally, it was tradition for you two to end off every evening like this with one musical or something more lighthearted to offset the mood. But the day just exhausted you from every angle, that once you finally got to relax and watch a movie for leisure — you relaxed a little too hard. Adding the components of the cold pizza and Steve putting a blanket on you while continuously keeping a grasp on your knee, you were bound to knock out before the movie ended. Later, it was Steve who woke you up with a whisper in your ear. The sound shocked you at first, and then when you opened your eyes to see the man kneeling in front of you, it did cause a slightly loud gasp to escape your lips. After some groaning on your end about not wanting to intrude, you finally gave in to the invitation Steve gave to let you sleep over tonight. The main contributing factor had to be the fact that the man had a really nice blanket and pillow set that felt like it came from a hotel.
However, as you both ended off the night in your room, it was Steve who began to groan — although, it was due to pure frustration.
“I don’t have any clean clothes,” your host said as he rummaged through his drawers.
“How about any sweater and some of those long johns your mother always buys you?” you giggled as you sat on the bed now, reading a book you recently checked out from the library.
“Or you could always sleep naked, I heard it’s really healthy for you. Plus, I would not mind at — ow,” Steve was on his little sarcastic joke before you threw an old pair of socks at his head.
“Maybe I should just head home, this feels like such a nuisance to you,” you smiled and whispered shyly.
Steve really was trying hard to find you something to sleep in. So much so that it caused some sweat to drop on his forehead. But, truly, the man was standing there trying to work up the courage to ask you to put on one of his old swim team sweaters and a cotton pair of shorts he knew would hug your body beautifully.
Yes, you have slept over before when you were younger. However, those were all planned out with you bringing something from home. Well, there was one emergency where you stayed the night due to a horrific snow storm; but, Mrs. Harrington was there to give you your Christmas present a few weeks early and allow you to sleep in some pyjamas which were covered in cute bunnies. This was the first time you would be here spontaneously alone with Steve — and god, did he feel like all of his prayers were answered. The amount of times he has imagined you laying on his bed, committing the most sinful acts, in various positions and scenarios, could be seen as absolutely perverted. So to have the opportunity to have you on his bed, wearing his clothes, covered in his blanket; it all seemed unfathomable to the man.
“Here,” Steve exclaimed quickly so that you would actually stay. “Maybe you would be alright with this sweatshirt and some shorts?”
“This is more than alright. Thank you, Steve,” You skipped off to the washroom to finally get ready for bed and let your friend change into his own pyjamas.
However, when you got the clothing on, it was so embarrassing to stare into the mirror. Everything fits fine — and on a normal day at home, you would probably wear something similar. But remembering the fact that you would be sleeping next to your best friend was so nerve wracking. It was just a lot shorter than what you would usually wear around him if you did wear a skirt or shorts. You just thanked the heavens that the blanket would be covering your legs so that you didn’t feel as exposed.
Not that you believed Steve would try anything; not that you didn’t want him to try anything either. But, you were scared of getting so cold and cuddling too close to him like you did last December during the winter storm. Waking up in Steve’s arms caused your heart to flutter so harshly that your heart rate didn’t go down for days. It made you think about how badly you wished you could wake up to his handsome face everyday. Most especially, it made you think about how nicely his leg felt right in between your thighs, and the way it massaged your —
No.
This was an innocent sleepover like the thousands that other best friends have had over the years. All you had to do was sleep next to him with a pillow between your bodies and hope you didn’t accidentally roll your way into his arms again. You weren’t sure if you were ready for the heartbreak of knowing that being entwined in each other’s arms would not last forever.
“Do you want the left or right side of the bed?” Steve called out from the other side of the door, startling you out of your thoughts.
“Anything is fine,” you replied whilst opening the door. Seeing that Steve was laying in the middle, ready to roll over to whichever side you preferred. The image of him with arms and legs spread out made you giggle.
“The left side is closer to the lamp if you’d like to read a bit before sleeping,” he said as he shifted over to the ride side of the bed and patted to your new spot.
“Are you a mind reader or something?” you chuckled between steps.
Steve put the book in the air as you tucked yourself into bed, a nice distance away from him. Once he saw you were comfortable, he placed the book gently in your lap and said: “no, but I could tell your little nap will probably have you staying awake for the next hour or so.”
“Oh, if the light is gonna bother you then I can turn it off and head to sleep too.”
The concern in your eyes was absolutely beautiful. As you started up at him with the lamp glowing behind you, you looked like a nymph in the night. And oh how Steve knew he would be the luckiest man alive to sleep next to you.
“Go ahead, dove. I can sleep through anything,” he whispered lowly whilst rubbing your thigh that was covered by the thick blanket. “What’s it about anyways?”
You took a deep breath to calm down before speaking. Steve’s touch caused you to feel warm, even more so when he squeezed your thigh every few moments. “Not too sure about the entire plot since I’m only on chapter two. But it’s about a prince and his beast companion. They’ve been best friends for a long time and are going on adventures. This was in the romance section so I’m guessing the best friends fall in love,” you rambled, getting quieter with the last few words.
What a dream.
“Is it dirty?” Steve teased as he sunk further underneath the blanket.
“No, I-I’ve never read a story like that before,” you said sternly.
“Oh, I believe you,” his voice got deeper and slower with each word, only indicating that he was bound to fall asleep any second. “Have fun reading.”
They were the last words he said before drifting off to sleep peacefully next to you. Luckily, that meant it was a lot easier to read the rest of the book until you felt your own eyes start closing and the words on the page started to become blurry.
It was a beautiful story, full of lore and love, a mix of historical fiction and mythology. After reading and watching stories based on the horror genre for a few weeks now, it was nice to have a little bit of a break and just read about love. Your heart started to feel warm and giddy as each page passed — even going as far as quietly giggling when you felt your cheeks feel warm as a result of the prince’s romantic actions throughout the book. You didn’t even notice that you were sinking further and further into the blanket because you were so engrossed in the imaginary world. It didn’t even matter that the angle made your back hurt a little.
Well, not really. Once you started to feel stiff, you moved into a straighter position. However, you were interrupted by a low and groggy voice.
“You want to get under here?” Steve asked you through half-lidded eyes and his arm moving to invite you to move even closer into his body.
Wordlessly, you accepted the offer and went right up to Steve’s body. The book was on his chest while your cheek was at his side. Everything felt so comfortable and domestic — a part of you wished this could last forever.
But right then, the storyline of the book went on a different path, to say the least.
You see, the prince got hurt whilst fighting off some evil spirits. He was bleeding everywhere and in so much pain. But the companion, a beautiful wolf-demon, was able to heal his wounds to the point where it wouldn’t be so life threatening. It was so simple, to use a little magic and bandages in hopes of survival, but the author was able to portray it wonderfully. To thank the woman, the prince moved his arms around her to hold her a warm embrace. It was so sweet, just like the position you were in now. However, it took a turn for the romantics. A little too romantic. An activity you definitely were not currently doing with Steve.
The man kissed her sweetly: from her shoulders, up to her neck, then finally landed on her plump lips. It was beautiful, so serene, accompanied by a drawing of the two in bed with locked lips and legs. Slowly, she started to rock against his leg, adoring the pressure against the place no one had touched before. As she gasped into each kiss, the prince smiled in tandem. Even moving his hips to help the lady feel more pleasure. You wondered how that felt, it was only a slight movement of the hips — there was no way it could feel that good.
But you were so wrong.
Just as you tried to move positions, Steve moved his leg upwards, moving his thigh right against your heat. It felt so good, to the point where you bit your lip to suppress the whimper that was about to escape your lips. The man next to you, tried to find a better position to sleep in too, moving his legs some more until it found solace as it intertwined with your own legs.
Fuck, it felt really good. You tried so hard not to move your hips in tandem so that you could amp up the pleasure. So instead, you continued to read, trying to focus on the writing techniques and nothing else. However, you only began noting the things the characters did with one another. How they whispered sweet nothings as they continued their game to see how long it would take the lady to climax. And you noticed the way you felt warm between your legs, a slight throbbing to seal the deal.
Maybe in another world you would wake up Steve and ask him to let you out of his embrace so that you could excuse yourself to the washroom and down. But not in this one. In this world, you were at peace in his arms. In this world, you really didn’t care about the throbbing ache between your legs because you were extremely sleepy. In this world, you would convince yourself that it would pass. In this world, the sound of both your hearts beating as one was enough of a lullaby to cause even the most stubborn of characters to sleep. Just as you did now, with the book still on Steve’s chest, and your bodies squeezing closer together.
-:-:-:-:-
Steve was an extremely heavy sleeper when he was with you. Most of the time, you would be awake first during these little sleepovers and do something before he even pried his eyes open and then decided to keep them shut because of the sun seeping through the windows. It wouldn’t surprise Steve to see you reading at your desk or braiding friendship bracelets when you had that arts n’ crafts phase a couple years ago. This time, however, he was the one who awoke in the middle of the night to movement from beside him. Maybe it was due to some level of paranoia he has gained over the past few years regarding a life that he wishes you would never need to experience. It’s funny that you were reading books with monsters the world has nightmares about, while he was one of the people who was facing them. He wishes so badly to protect you from all of it. So when you started moving in your sleep, something you never do, Steve felt his body wake up in an instant.
His eyes were having trouble fully opening themselves as he could hear faint whimpering sounds coming from you and slight movements near his thigh. It was enough to turn his head to the left to see what was wrong. But nothing was wrong per se. If anything this was right out of a perverted fantasy he has had millions of times before.
As his eyes finally came into focus at what was in front of him, Steve could only smile and thank the heavens. You were laying in the same position you initially fell asleep in: book held in your hand, it being face down on Steve’s chest on a particular page, while your own face was on the side of his chest. But, the thing that surprised him the most was the grip your thighs had around his own. Slowly, your hips were thrusting back and forth against his leg, humping over and over. Whenever your body hit the perfect spot against your clit, you would mewl against his chest, sending a vibration through his body. Your hard nipples would poke Steve’s stomach once in a while too.
Good Lord, he was so distracted by the vision of you thrusting against his thigh, that he didn’t realize just how hard he had become. He only noticed it when your leg tensed up and moved towards his crotch, touching the underside and head in the process.
You were about to become the death of him tonight.
Curiously, he picked up the book you were reading to put it on the bedside table, when the words jumped out at him.
“And then the prince lifted the dress of the maiden beast. How scary she was to the eyes of the kingdom, but how beautiful she looked with swollen lips and lust-filled eyes. She was wet, so wet that it seeped through the layers of clothing.”
Just then, Steve looked down to notice how your wetness was doing the same thing. Your arousal had gone past your shorts and went onto the cotton bottoms he was wearing. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.
The man skipped a few paragraphs to see just exactly what the prince and his lady were up to. Words of biting, screaming, thrusting harshly against the wall, even scratches along one another’s backs. It was pornographic, it was beautiful, and Steve was shocked that your virgin eyes read through some of this before falling asleep.
If only he could recreate it with you. Seeing you moan and move to your lust-filled slumber was more than enough of a dream come true to the man. But this was wrong. So wrong. You both were best friends. He loved you, wished he could be more with you. But he believed that wasn’t worthy of you. You were the princess this whole town adored while he was just a former playboy many people seemed to dislike sometimes. There was a part of him that wanted to see how long it would take for you to come against his leg. However, his guilt took over quickly.
“Wake up, my dove. It’s getting hot in here.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. The mixture of blankets and his arousal made Steve sweat through his clothes easily.
“Hm? What?” You rolled more onto his chest, your weight atop his body nicely. It would have been the world’s most comfortable position, one that would start off most of his perverted fantasies about you; however, he had to stop himself from thrusting against your thigh that was now perfectly on top of his hardness. “Feels so nice, Stevie,” you murmured, still half-asleep.
“Fuck — you really like that, huh?” The man whispered as you looked up at him with glazed eyes. You were still not cognizant that what you were doing was not in a dream.
“I feel so warm down there, your leg is massaging me nicely,” you moaned whilst humping some more. “Kiss me, please.”
Every move you were doing, every word you were saying, every whimper that came out of your throat — the man has imagined it all before. You were all of his greatest fantasies come to life. He wished so badly to ravish you on the spot and satiate all of the pent-up pleasure your body needed to release. Your lips were swollen now from all of the biting you’ve been doing to quiet down your moans; but, good god, the man was going to memorize it all for the sake of his future sessions with his right hand.
Steve really needed to stop this, and fully wake you up as soon as possible. This wasn’t the normal you, you didn’t even realize exactly what you were doing. “Pretty girl, no matter how much I want to continue this, we can’t.” The words fell from his lips painfully.
“Why not? You don’t feel good?” You whimpered as you reached up and put your arms around Steve’s neck, stopping your hips’ movements all together.
“Feels so good, baby,” Steve moaned loudly this time as he thrusted against your leg like he imagined a million times before. It wasn't helping that you thought your face closer to his in order to hear his breathy moans easier. The man was so close to leaning forward and kissing your plump lips. “But, this isn’t a dream, and you’re not fully awake. I don’t want you to regret this—”
The man was going to ramble on and continue to comfort you into waking up fully. However, you got the message loud and clear. So much so, that your heart dropped and you gasped.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I’ll move over t-there — ah.” The moan coming out of your mouth was completely involuntary as you lifted your body up and intended on moving down and away from Steve’s figure.
“Did that feel good?” Steve teased, now that you were both fully cognizant of your sleeping status.
“I don’t know why I did that, I’m sorry.” If only you could apologize a million times, because you would; your guilty conscience would make sure of it.
“You probably had some sweet dreams, huh?”
Just as you were separated from the man, you heard his words and looked over at his figure. Through the dim lighting of the lamp, you could see that he was holding up the novel you were reading before bed, and it was open to the very scene that inspired any of your hormone-induced movements tonight.
“Oh no,” you whispered. Looking down, there was a wet spot on Steve’s thigh where your heat was pressed against. He was admiring it as if he were memorizing just how it looks. And he was. “This is so embarrassing,” you though out loud
“It’s no big deal, dove. Guys have nudie magazines and a video here and there. I would never judge you for a little novel,” Steve chuckled as he sat up to the headboard to mirror your actions.
“I didn’t know it was going to be like that in the story,” you whispered.
“Did you like it?” Your friend was genuinely curious. Throughout your history as friends, you had never even asked him for advice about relationships — this erotic chapter of the novel must have been a shocking first exposure to it all.
You thought about the question for a few moments. Remembering the emotions and fire you felt in different parts of your body, you could really only tell him the truth. “Y-yeah, I suppose so.”
“Then don’t feel embarrassed or bad about it,” Steve nudged your shoulder sweetly to make you feel less embarrassed over the situation. “Never thought you were into reading it in front of other people though.”
“Don’t tease,” you pouted, putting your head under the blanket to hide from the embarrassment.
“I’ll stop, I promise. But, you did give me a wonderful way to wake up,” you could hear him smiling just by the sound of his voice.
Those words made you slowly peek your way out of the thick blanket to see Steve looming over you with a smirk that teased your soul. The lamp in the room made him glow, while the moon’s beams that were seeping through the blinds made him look like one of the many drawings of the prince in the book you were just reading. It took all the strength within you, not to squeeze your thighs together and satiate the throbbing between them.
“Let’s never talk about this again,” you whispered, the blanket still covering your mouth.
“If that’s what you would be comfortable with,” Steve chuckled as he laid back in his spot.
“Y-yes, I would be.”
After a moment of awkward silence, you both in regular sleeping positions, Steve wanted to break the ice a bit. “It is a well-written book. Maybe I could borrow it sometime.”
“You’re so annoying,” you giggled, grabbing a small pillow on the bed and lightly hitting his chest with it.
“Learn anything while reading? You could use me as a practice dummy.” The man laid on his side now, looking at you as he put on a seductive tone.
“You’re just a dummy, Steve,” you playfully scoffed with a giggle.
“That was the last one, promise. Sweet dreams, dove.”
In truth, Steve wanted you to sleep as quickly as possible so that he could make his way to the washroom and get rid of his hard problem. It was hurting now, even as he tried to think about anything else that would possibly subside his arousal. Your movements and moans will never be erased from his mind. Steve’s imagination was running wild with how you actually sounded as you were feeling pleasure.
No one has ever thanked a book more in the history of mankind.
“Is that what sex is like?” You whispered into the night, cutting off the man’s thoughts.
“What do you mean?” Steve replied as he turned to his side to look at you staring up to the ceiling.
“In the book, they talk about it like it happens so fast and hard,” you said the words with a concerned tone while turning your body towards his to face him.
“Well, it can be fast and hard if the couple wants it that way. But, taking it slow is nice too,” the man next to you chuckled sweetly.
You felt dumb asking the question. For years, you have known that Steve was a lot more experienced than you in the department of relations with the opposite sex. There have been countless times where Steve would tell you about any dates that he has gone on, or imply lewd acts he committed with his girlfriend of the week. And all you would do is nod out of pure curiosity. However, this was the first time you outright spoke about sex with him.
“Right, right, that makes sense. It must feel really nice,” you continued your thoughts.
“It does. Everything is so warm and wet. The noises too are something you’ll never forget. My hand and imagination does not do it justice sometimes.” Right then, Steve’s mind went through flashbacks of times he has laid in bed with the image of you stuck as his muse. He has imagined the way you would react and moan to things he would do with you. Would you bite your lip whilst looking down between your bodies? Would you whimper in the same way you do when you beg Steve to drive you somewhere and he just had a long day at work? Anything you would do would be erotic, and enough fire for him to reach the happiest of endings. However, by the end, he would pray for the day he could experience the real thing with you.
“I wonder what it will be like for me,” you giggled, bringing the blanket close to your face again.
“You got a good idea a few minutes ago,” Steve teased as he looked you up and down.
All you could do was hit his shoulder then hide your face into it as he leaned back onto the bed. “It did feel really, really nice, Steve. I’m so sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. You liked it, didn’t you?” he said, trying to soothe your embarrassment of it all. As he squeezed his arm around you tighter to have you closer to his chest, Steve realized that your bare thighs had found their way around his again. You looked so beautiful cuddling next to him, tightening your legs slowly. “Then, maybe I can help. You didn’t get to finish, sweet girl.”
The deepness of Steve’s voice resonated through your entire body as you looked up at him with desperate eyes. His proposal sounded so good. You felt this constant throbbing between your legs that only increased ten-fold every time you and Steve accidentally breathed too close together. As you gripped his chest with your hands, and his thigh with your own — you really craved to continue the pleasure you were feeling moments before.
“I didn’t even know that I started,” you pouted.
“Oh, but finishing is one of the best parts,” he teased whilst moving his thigh upwards to massage your cunt slowly.
“Steve—” you moaned like music to his ears.
Your friend began to move his thigh up and down to stroke your pussy, hitting your clit from the right angle to make you bite your lip in between whimpers. He held your face sweetly, making sure that he could see how every movement affected you. Steve was sure that the image of your pupils getting darker would be engraved in his mind forever.
“My best friend needs help, and you know I would do anything for you,” he whispered, hovering his lips above yours.
“More, please.”
“So polite,” Steve teased, quickening his pace and moving one hand to your breasts. “Doing such a dirty thing and now you’re being so nice.”
“I feel so — I feel like I need more,” you said quietly as if it were a desperate plea.
Steve squeezed your right breast sweetly, pinching your hardened nipple through the thick sweater fabric. He noted how you thrusted yourself against his thigh and nearly fell onto his lips as you moaned.
“Is your body on fire? You feel nice, dove,” he smiled, kissing your cheek to tease you.
“So good. Kiss me, Steve, please.” You weren’t sure what took over your body in that moment, but you gripped onto his hair and leaned your lips towards his. Yet, he was the one who kissed you first. It was a kiss that made the angels sing above you, one that you both have been imagining for years and years. Hearing all of the stories of girls in school raving about his talents with his mouth and tongue — a part of you could never believe that he would be that amazing.
But, you were wrong, so wrong.
As he kissed you deeply, poking his tongue through to taste you more, you couldn’t help but whimper loudly into the kiss. Steve adored it, promising himself to try everything he could to hear every variation of your beautiful sounds. Just when he brought a hand down to your back, urging your hips to move forwards on his leg, you swear you were about to see stars. This is what all the magazines were talking about. This is what all the whispered conversations during girl talk were giggling about. This is what the novel you were just reading was writing about when it came to the pleasures of the flesh. You remembered what the lady did in the book, and decided to emulate her actions. Although you were slowing down your kisses, your hand found its way to Steve’s clothed hardness. It was nearly peeking out of the sweatpant elastic by now which made you gasp in surprise.
“God, what did you learn in that book?” Steve moaned as he felt your delicate hand on him.
“The characters in the story were really good friends too. She was always tempted to be the one who helped him out when he was really stressed out.” You smiled into the kiss, noticing how teasing him only made you wetter.
You hand gripped his hardness some more, focusing on the large head that could be felt through the fabric.
“Here I thought that was going to be my job tonight,” Steve’s voice was low now as he kissed you down your neck and moved the hand that was previously on your back, to your front. The shorts you were wearing rode up to tighten upon your cunt. The fabric squeezed your clit, and caused your arousal to get all over the place where your thighs met.
Steve pushed the fabric to the side, noticing how you didn’t wear panties to sleep, and started to lightly massage your clit. “Oh God,” you moaned into his mouth while arching your back.
The movement made Steve want to lay you down on your back to have easier access between your legs. Although you whimpered in slight disappointment when you didn’t feel the pressure of his thigh, that all went away when the man teased your wet entrance with his fingers before going up to your clit again.
“No panties, huh? You’re bound to be the death of me.”
“I normally don’t wear any to bed if I’m wearing shorts,” you whispered, moving yourself to feel his fingers more against your nub.
“Is it alright if I take these off?” He barely got the question out before you began to nod.
Looking at you in all your glory was absolutely mind blowing to Steve. He swears that he felt his cock twitch in excitement when he saw your arousal dripping on his sheets. The light from the lamp made you look like you were glowing, and the man was so tempted to taste what he has been craving for so long. But, he took it slow, circling your clit faster and faster as he leaned down to kiss you deeply. As every moan was swallowed by him, Steve began to thrust himself upon the side of your hip to satiate his arousal.
The moment he stopped kissing you for a moment, he wordlessly looked you in the eye, teasing your entrance now with his fingers. With a nod and smile through bitten lips, you gave him full permission to fill your hole that has been desperately throbbing around nothingness.
“Feels so good, Stevie. Keep doing that, please,” you groaned as he fingered you deeper and deeper.
“Are you close, dove? Are you gonna come? You’re so tight, can barely fit these two fingers,” Steve teased as he kissed your neck to make you moan louder.
“More — need more.” The grip you had on his hair became tighter as you pushed yourself down on his hand, nearly fucking yourself on his fingers. Feeling so stretched out was a brand new experience. You were never one to masturbate, even when everyone mentioned it was so much fun. Everything from seeing a hot guy at the mall, a rockstar who was shirtless on the cover of a magazine, or the angle of a showerhead accidentally focusing on a sweet spot — none of those experiences ever happened in your life. In truth, nothing ever made you curious enough to even try to see if other things would have a similar effect. But something about this night made you want to experience it all with Steve.
The man quickened his pace with his fingers, using one hand to thrust into you while the other massaged your clit sweetly. Your moans echoed through the room as you arch your back in ecstasy. The feeling of Steve’s lips on your throat made you want to thrust against his hand harder, but you were too overwhelmed to move your hips in tandem. Instead, you lifted up your shirt and started to squeeze your lonely nipples.
You aren’t sure what took over — all you knew was that everything felt so good.
“Fuck, you really do have the most perfect tits,” Steve whispered to himself when he got up from your neck. He felt your movements and thought something was wrong. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of your swollen nipples, eager for some sort of touch. When he saw your fingers squeeze your right nipple, he could not handle it anymore and dove down to suck on them, leaving marks on your smooth skin.
“Steve, everything you’re doing feels so good,” you moaned.
“Are you gonna come for me, baby? I know you can do it.”
And you did. Loudly. Just those words, working in tandem with his fingers and mouth, were more than enough to make you orgasm into oblivion. Steve had two fingers inside of you whilst his thumb was massaging your clit in small circles. You barely had the strength to tell him how good it felt since you were shaking below him in pleasure. All you could do was grasp Steve’s hair as he kissed one nipple of yours to the next. It was your very first orgasm, and you were welcoming it with open arms.
“So nice —” you whimpered incoherently.
Steve kissed you, swallowing in your moans of ecstasy. “I’m never gonna get tired of that sound,” he teased as he took out his fingers from inside of you and just massaged your clit as you got down from your high.
“So much better than reading a book,” you giggled as your body calmed down.
“Maybe we gotta find you crazier books then,” Steve smiled with you while kissing your soft lips.
The kiss became deeper as you embraced one another. Your friend found his way on top of you which felt so surreal. Throughout your friendship, you never believed that some of your naughty dreams that you pushed to the side, would ever come true. Steve was having the same thoughts; however, he never pushed those dreams to the side. More likely, he would take care of any hard problem that was in between his legs. But, kissing you only made him throb harder. Especially now that he knows what your pussy felt like on his fingertips,
“Again — I can take more,” you whispered between kisses.
“Needy girl, you really want to?” Steve asked, making sure this wasn’t a dream for him now.
“Mhm, yes, what if we slipped it in?” your hand moved down his body and to the waistband of his pants. Without even stretching the fabric, you looked up at him with sweet eyes. “Would it feel good too? Maybe just the tip?”
Fuck.
Steve needed to calm himself down. He was already on the verge of cumming in his pants, watching you orgasm on his sheets. Even now, as the remnants of your arousal covered his fingers, he wondered how it would feel against his hardness. But, Steve couldn’t do that to you now. Especially knowing the fact that it would be your first time. However, the lust that clouded your eyes as you pouted up at him, was convincing him slowly.
The conflict on Steve’s face was so apparent that you whispered: “oh, we don’t need to—”
“Fuck, I want to,” Steve kissed you sweetly. “Are you sure, baby? Sure that you can take it all?”
“Yes, yes, I promise you that I can,” you smiled up at him and then bit your lips out of a mixture of excitement and nervousness.
You kissed one another again, not being to stand the time your lips were apart from each other’s. As you did so, Steve brought his hands under your sweater to nearly rip it off of you — leaving you beautifully naked on his plaid sheets. His hands were calling to him, telling him that one day he needed to take a picture of you like this. But, there is going to be another time, surely. Right now, he wanted to satiate your body’s cravings. As you stared up at him and squeezed your thighs together, Steve was truly about to combust.
“It’s kinda cold,” you giggled as you stared down at your hardened nipples. Then, you sat up slightly to meet his lips again, but not without whispering close to his mouth. “Can I take off your clothes too?”
With those words, Steve helped you take off his tight shirt and sweatpants. You’ve been teasingly touching it throughout tonight’s escapades; however, seeing his hardness in all its glory, stunned you. It was a lot thicker and longer than you initially believed. In truth, there were countless moments where you had gotten a glimpse of his size. Like the times he invited you to his backyard to swim, and he always seemed to choose tighter swim shorts every week. Or the one time he forgot to bring a towel into the shower so you brought one to him, thinking that he was going to keep the shower curtain atop his body for some modesty; however, when you were on your way out the room, he let go of the plastic curtain a bit too early and you saw a definite outline from the side of your eyes. Every single time, no matter how crazy the situation may be, you felt warm all over your body. This time, however, seeing the way it hung and the precum leaking out of it, you were hypnotized to say the least.
“One sec, dove,” Steve whispered as he saw that you were about to touch it. You looked to see that he bent his body to reach his nightstand and take out a little clear bottle.
“What is that?” You asked innocently as you began to stroke him while he wasn’t looking.
“I-it’s — fuck — it’s lube. We could use a little if you wanted to,” Steve said seriously before bringing a hand to your arousal and massaging your clit sweetly. “Not sure if we will need much,” he teased.
Steve kissed you again, having you lay down on the bed fully. He thrusted his hardness against your pussy a few times, seeing how you reacted to the feeling. You adored it, mewling every time the head of his cock coincided with your clit. In truth, you both could have been doing this for the rest of the night until you two came; however, you were throbbing around nothing and you craved to feel more stretched out than with Steve’s fingers.
You broke away from the kiss, eyeing the bottle of lube curiously, before Steve grabbed it and put it in your hands to look at closer. There were times you saw a similar bottle in the drug store and noticed they were next to the condoms and pregnancy tests. You saw that there were big bold letters on the front: ‘for her pleasure,’ which confused you slightly. But, you decided to give it a try anyways — it must be something good, you guessed.
“Let's use a little, Steve.”
“Yeah, sure. You want me to put it on?” He asked sweetly as he outstretched his hand.
“N-no, I wanna try something,” you smiled up at him before putting a dollop of the gel in your right hand. “You’re so big, Stevie. You’re gonna stretch me out so good.”
Your words were hypnotizing the man above you as you circled your hand over his cock and stroked a few times. And to think that he believed that he was to be taking the lead tonight.
“F-fuck, dove. Your hands are so soft.” Steve’s moans were making you wetter by the second. You felt your heat throb harshly around nothing, before you moved your hips upwards a little and guided his cock into you.
Just the tip — you said the words before.
But, fuck, it felt so nice that you both needed so much more. Steve stayed still above you as he watched the way you move your hips to bounce on his cock from below. Inch by inch, you thrusted yourself upon his lube-covered hardness, causing moans to echo through the room as you got stretched out.
This was so much better than you both could have ever dreamed of.
“So hard,” you whispered as you got in the last inch and took all of Steve’s cock in.
“You’re taking me so well, dove. So fucking wet,” he said as he kissed you and let you get used to the large size.
“Feels nice.”
“Tell me if you don’t like it,” Steve whispered as he kissed your lips one last time before moving his mouth down your neck and finally thrusting his hips into you.
Everything seemed to amplify ten-fold. All of the pleasure, moans, tingling, stretching — it all felt so nice. It was if you two were the only people in the world, with the sky changing from a navy blue to a bright orange. Sweet nothings were whispered into the air as you both wanted to give each other the poetic justice you deserved.
Steve kissed you every time he heard your moans get louder and louder, wanting to taste your ecstasy. He moved back and forth from kissing your lips, to your neck, to your breasts. It all made you grip his hair tightly no matter where he was focusing on your body.
“Keep going please, Steve. Everything feels so full,” you screamed incoherently.
“God, you're throbbing around me. I don’t think I can take it.” The man above you was thrusting into you at an increasingly faster pace, missing the feeling of your warm pussy every time he was even an inch out of you.
“Steve, I wanna feel you cum,” you whispered before grabbing his hair to have him stop sucking on your nipples in order to look at you.
He adored how needy you were. “Dirty little mouth, Princess.”
“Need more — need you to go faster.”
“You know I've been dreaming about this moment time and time again. Who knew all it would take is a dirty novel, isn’t that right?” Steve teased as he reached town and pinched your clit playfully.
“You’ll never regret driving me to the bookstore from now on,” you giggled in between whimpers.
In truth, you didn’t notice the way you were moving yourself upwards to meet his thrusts. It made Steve bite his lip to stop himself from cumming inside of you prematurely. “Dove, you're taking me so well — fuck — better than I’ve ever imagined,” he moaned.
“What have you imagined? What were we doing?” you asked it so innocently, stroking his chest as he continued to thrust into you.
Where did you learn how to do that? — was what he really wanted to ask. Instead, his mind started to blurt out his fantasies.
“Sometimes I’d have you like this: fucked out and cock drunk in the middle of the night. Other times it would be me bending you over while you’re studying. Always wearing those tiny skirts with the slit.”
“For you, I wear it for you. I know the yellow skirt is your favourite, isn’t it?” You teased him now.
You always noticed the way he would ask you pick things up from the floor, mention that your shoes were untied while he was standing behind you, or the way he would always take off a piece of lint from the back of your skirt — even if you had just used a lint roller on it a few moments before. He loved the way the fabric would sway, and you loved the way he looked at you. It made you feel so warm even on the windiest and coldest of days.
One thing was for certain, it definitely felt like such a tease in comparison to how your heart and body felt right now.
“You little minx,” Steve moaned as he thrusted into you faster.
“Do you think I don’t imagine you ripping my skirt into a million pieces every time you stare at me?” the words fell from your lips breathily while Steve’s pace increased more and more. “You’re not so good at recognizing mirrors in front of you when you’re staring at the back of my tiny skirt, huh?”
“God, you like it when I’m being your perv, naughty girl,” Steve stated.
“Makes me feel nice. Just like this.”
Just then, Steve made sure that his thrusts and massages on your clit were working in tandem with the way your pussy was throbbing on his cock. He could tell with the way you were arching your back more and closing your eyes, that you were bound to orgasm soon. “You’re so beautiful, dove. So beautiful and taking me so well.”
“Oh my—” your voice sounded so sweet as you looked up at him with desperation in your eyes.
“That’s it, let it happen,” Steve grunted, making sure to stop himself from cumming so that he could time it with yours.
“Faster, please,” you nearly screamed now as everything was hitting you in all the perfect spots.
Steve took that as his sign to move faster: from his hands to his hips. He loved to see the way you were reaching your climax on his cock — an image he would never get out of his mind for the rest of his life. You were squeezing his hardness tighter and tighter, with your moans getting louder in tandem. And so, Steve angled his cock upwards to try and hit your sweetest spot inside of you.
And he did.
Good god, he did.
“That’s it, that’s my dove.” He chanted over and over as you were shaking beneath him, orgasming harder than you did previously.
“S-Steve, fuck.” You rarely swear, but to know that he was the one to cause this little word to fall from lips with such grace — it was the final straw for Steve.
He began to cum inside of you, your pussy milking him with each thrust. All of his arousal was filling you up to the point where it started to spill out and glisten all over your thighs. “So tight,” he whimpered above you.
For a few moments, you both came down from your highs. With a few thrusts and kisses, you allowed your bodies and heart rates to calm down as one. It was beautiful and so bewitching to experience it all. You weren’t so sure what it would be like now. Being friends for so long meant that you both knew so much about each other. However, now, you two seemed to see a lot of each other too. There was no turning back to what it was before. Not after everything felt so good in this way.
You both looked into each other’s eyes before kissing sweetly, enveloping each other in one last kiss before breaking apart under the morning sun’s rays.
“You are so beautiful,” Steve whispered as he moved to lay next to you.
“So are you,” you smiled while cuddling close to him.
“Are you alright?” He asked sweetly, kissing your forehead in the process.
“Yeah, I guess I feel a little sore,” you giggled as you moved your head upwards to feel your lips on his again.
Steve gasped into the kiss, breaking it apart to get some tissues from his nightstand. “Do you need a bath, some water, or food?” He asked whilst wiping the remnants of his climax away on your thighs.
“I’m fine, Steve, I promise.” You smiled as he looked at you with the biggest hazel gaze.
Truthfully, you looked like a goddess glowing next to him with the dawn reflecting on your skin. He wasn’t sure if there were enough words in any dictionary to describe your beauty. Maybe not even from the book you were reading before bed. “How about you sleep for a bit and then when you wake up, I’ll have all your favourite breakfast foods on the kitchen table?” The offer was so tempting coming from Steve’s lips.
“Hmm, what if I want to help you?” You giggled. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be separate from him for too long. The place in between your thighs was begging for his touch again. “There is a scene in that book where the prince and the lady were eating breakfast and then—”
You stopped speaking when you saw Steve reach behind him to find the novel on his nightstand, before flipping pages in the book to see what you were talking about. “Maybe you should read this story to me another day and I can help you every time you get really excited during a scene,” he winked.
“Another day?”
“Yes, for now, we could get started on writing the beginning of our newest story, dove. If you would like to, of course.” Steve whispered the words as he hovered his lips above yours, teasing you with each breath that tickled your skin.
“I’d really, really love that,” you smiled up at him, bringing your arms around his neck in the process.
If one thing was for certain after tonight: both of you found comfort and love in each other’s arms — and later on in a few different sections of the book store too.
-:-:-:-:-
#my writing#writing#st fanfic#st fanfiction#fanfiction#kinktober#kinktober 2023#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington smut#LazyGhoulsKinktober2023#friends to lover#fluff#fluff and smut#best friend!steve#innocent!reader#perv!steve harrington#perv!steve harrington x innocent!reader#steve harrington x f!reader#afab reader#slight somnophilia#just the tip#st#stranger things#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic#my fic#writing prompt#steve harrington#set before season 4
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