💜I love about a billion different kinds of music, but this blog honestly is just a KPop worship station for me. You’ll see a lot of BTS, like A LOT, but also plenty more groups mixed in the stew.
💜I don’t like interacting with minors. I can’t stop them from finding and consuming my content, it’s the internet and it is what it is BUT I really don’t need nor do I want to know that they’re all up in my biz. So all I ask is that if you’re under 18, please don’t interact ✌🏼🫶🏼
💜I don’t plagiarize material and am very much not a fan. Every story listed below is mine, from my silly little brain, and I need you to respect that. Intellectual property is a thing, so please do not copy, repost, or translate my stories (as if you’d want to tbh🤭) as your own or without explicit permission. And honestly just don’t do it to anyone, because eventually someone will realize and then the internet will just tear your ass up and nobody wants that. Ick.
💜Despite those last two bullet points I’m actually really chill. I love to chat about pretty much anything but I am pretty introverted until I feel comfortable with someone, then it’s hard to shut me up 😂. So if we’re moots and you’re wondering why I’ve never reached out - it’s probably because I’m scared of you and think I’ll annoy you to no end. Maybe I’m not that chill actually 🤔😂😂😂
💜Requests? You can send them to me at any time, but I can’t promise I’ll write it. Still, it’s fun to read and create scenarios with one another so feel free to hash it out in my ask box or through DMs!! ❕I will say though: please don’t send me like, super filthy ideas - I love a slutty fic just as much as the next gal but sometimes I get like, the nastiest requests and I’m just like, bruh are you okay?? Just be chill.
💜Need a Beta Reader? Hi🙋🏻♀️ I’d be more than happy to read through and try and help you. Not to toot my own horn but I do have a dusty lil English Degree in a box somewhere and I used to work in the uni library and help edit term papers 💅 DM me anytime for help.
💜When I write random things that are on my mind, personal, non KPop or dessert related I use the tag “amethoughts” - if you have no interest in those thoughts then you can block that tag if you’d like to.
Masterlist
1. “If I Had Asked” — Jungkook x Gender Neutral Reader. Summary: Jungkook wants to catch up at a mutual friends birthday party. Genre: Romantic. Hurt. Comfort. Fluff. Exes to lovers. Oneshot. Rating: E for everyone babe. There’s some alcohol and marijuana but I mean, nothing weird or crazy happens.
2. “Hard to Handle” — Jungkook x Female Reader. Summary: You’re starting to want a little more from your FWB buddy. Genre: Romance. Smut. F2L. Oneshot. Rating: 18+.
3. “Imaginary Games” — Taehyung x Female Reader. Summary: The only thing that could make a destination wedding - in which you're the maid of honor, who has to give a speech in front of a crowd, who has to wear a dress that cost you a pretty penny that you'll never wear again - worse is the fact that your cheating ex is the best man. Genre: Romantic, Smut, Exes to Lovers, Smidge of Hurt. Oneshot. Rating 18+.
4. “Reticence” — Jungkook x Female Reader. Summary: You have to pry Jungkooks bedroom fantasy out of him, but more than willing to give him his wish. Genre: Smut, Fluff. Oneshot. Rating 18+.
1. “Of Course, Professor” — Minho x Female Reader. Summary: The law professor everyone is scared of generously offers to help you with your school work. Genre: Smut. Romantic-ish. Basically just porn with a hint of plot tossed in. Oneshot. Rating 18+. [Bonus Drabble. Also 18+.]
2. “Safe.” - Hyunjin x Fem Reader x Minho. Summary: A broke ER Nurse offers up her services to a large crime organization in exchange for much higher pay and benefits that are unconventional, but lucrative. The life proves to be questionable at best, and downright isolating at worst which leaves her feeling unsure, unstable and dangerous. Genre: Crime. Romance. Drama. Mafia AU. Series. Rating: 18+ (MDNI). *Currently on hiatus*
1. “We Can’t Be Friends” - Roommate!Seonghwa x Afab Reader. Summary: Seonghwa just wanted a roommate who was easy to live with, how could he predict that you’d be his complete undoing? Genre: Smut. Romance. Fluff. Oneshot. Rating: 18+ (MDNI).
Just finished watching Boyfriend on Demand w/ Jisoo as the lead and honestly I did not anticipate enjoying it so much. I thought it would be ridiculous honestly, but I kinda loved it and it may have made its way into my top spots.
You know the fic is good when you stop, scroll down so you can see how much is left and think “oh thank God there’s like 50+ scrolls worth more of this magnificence.”
I think there is something awfully sweet seing everyone eating dinner with family in the games but it's so sad when you realize that for most days the farmer eats alone...
Sometimes I read fics on here and I’m just like…why am I even trying to write bro? I could never write that well. And yes comparison is the thief of joy or whatever tf the saying is, and I’m not trying to be a sad little bear or anything but some of ya’ll are absolutely killing it (and yes I let these people know) but I just needed to elaborate on my inner thoughts.
march (fields of mistria)/f! reader | 7.4k | read it on ao3
march has a problem. he's got this frustrating feeling coming from the depth of his chest at the lack of interaction with you. so when he's already stomped off out of the inn barely having seen you all day, his anger is tested when the face he's been dying to see greets him by his front door.
smut, dry humping, headlock, piv, thigh job, no use of y/n
i highly recommend reading this fic as well, another march/reader so incredibly well done it has me in a chokehold (hehe)
⁺₊⋆main masterlist < moved to the new blog
the weather in mistria has only just started to become bearable again.
the forge is another story altogether, searing white hot metal never giving march any respite from the high temperatures, so when the gusts of colder wind started getting more common, he took a deep whiff of the early autumn air. yeah, it's getting better now. what hasn't been getting better, though, is the heat he still felt on the back of his neck, spreading down to his chest and up into his cheeks — the shade of which could rival that of his hair when freshly dyed — every time you came by to say hi.
really, he shouldn't have stuttered that much, not when all he did was echo your own words, but there's something about the way you seem to see him that has him stumble over his words and feet, not knowing where to look first, your smile or your outstretched hand that's handing him the most perfect iron ore he's ever laid eyes on or… something even more perfect. something that he definitely shouldn't be staring at like some kind of pervert, definitely shouldn't be plagued with images of how it would feel to touch, squeeze, kiss, bite, fuck… no, he definitely shouldn't be thinking about your breasts.
despite telling himself it's probably a normal reaction to seeing someone you're deeply attracted to — though it took him an eternity to admit even that to himself — march still feels a little bit of shame, awkwardness, an unsettling bubbling at the bottom of his stomach that keeps reminding him that he's no longer just satisfied being good at what he does… no, sometimes he curses the feeling of want that bubbles up in his chest and head and… abdomen. the want that follows him for the rest of the day when he's left there trying to remember what the glob of red hot metal on the anvil is supposed to be turning into.
you seemed to have become really good at this in such a short time, at scrambling his brains to the point where he stopped knowing when his thinking got sidetracked from work, work, more work, and work again. and work is the furthest thing from his mind now, when all he's focused on is the fact that you only came by for a second, already on your way to the museum… or the mines… or fishing. he didn't register the words you chirped at him and eiland. he couldn't have, when you waved and smiled and just… looked like that.
it bothers him now that you barely breezed past him all day today, he couldn't help but wonder when you'd come by to actually talk to him so he could talk to someone other than olric and ryis that he actually enjoys being around while he's sober.
not that he'd admit it, of course. at least not quite yet.
it's already so late that the street lights have started attracting bugs, everyone has gathered at the inn, and he's scanning the room in hopes of seeing your figure mingling with the townspeople, grabbing something to eat from reina, playing along with whatever elsie may be gossiping about, or really just sitting there trying not to get lost in the endless swirling sea of chatter. but nothing. not a peep, not a glimmer of your grin at the large door. the night keeps getting more and more hopeless for march.
the crowd stays as lively as ever, and he usually doesn't mind, not when he's slowly feeling lighter and lighter, gently swaying on his feet as he hiccups and slurs along with the rest of the townsfolk when they decide it's high time for a sing-along. tonight, though, whatever drink hits his tongue feels like ash, dead and grey and horrid, making his stomach turn.
"where ya goin'?" olric looks at him, one eye open and leaning back on his chair. a dangerous choice, march imagines at least five tragic outcomes of this action.
"home. not feeling well." he rubs a hand on his stomach to emphasise his point, though he's been sour all evening, nobody could doubt him even if they were sober enough to do so. and with a halfhearted wave of his hand he turns and leaves them all behind as he walks out into the night. march gives himself exactly two seconds to feel the breeze in the air before his face returns to the scowl that so many people know on him.
an entire day has passed, he thinks while making his way back home, and you barely came by. an entire day and you gave him the same smile that you give everyone else. even eiland got the same treatment, he got to smell your very light perfume as you fluttered past them on your way west with a sword strapped to your back. now his mood sours even more.
a rock lands a few steps ahead as he's kicking it on the way to his house, focusing more on its path to avoid his mind going to other places. the places he really shouldn't be entertaining. the places where his jealousy will get the better of him. where he'll imagine the rock is eil—
"fuck!" he groans, shaking the thought out of his head, knowing it will get him nowhere other than into a spiral of jealousy and hardly covered up aggression towards everyone that speaks to him — something he knows he should work on, but not when it means admitting that he wanted to be the special one, the person you'd smile at the most, the person that could make you at least as flustered as you make him.
"march, hi!" a voice as light as the breeze stops him as he's about to forcefully push open the front door. his head whips around, ears as hot as the sand in the summer, cheeks tingling with the blush that's spreading across them with no help from the beer this time.
"h-hi."
march tries, he really does, to keep a hold on at least some of that frustration, because what's coming for him may be worse. he keeps a grip on the corners of his lips, willing them not to rise. he keeps his fists balled up, not letting himself run a hand through his hair, though there's no point in fixing it since you've already seen him in all his sweaty and messy glory.
"back so early?" you chirp, leaning against the anvil by the entrance, standing at a very comfortable distance from him. maybe a little too comfortable.
"not feeling the crowd. and you? back so late?" he nods at you, keeping one fist against the door where he froze it when you caught up to him.
"got… a little sidetracked." you chuckle, a devastating sound. "not feeling the crowd either."
he lowers his gaze, seeing the way your leg slightly wobbles, almost struggling to hold your weight. the way you still smile at him despite so clearly being hurt is enough to make his walls drop, at least until he can be mad at you safely again.
"what's up with your leg?" he asks, as cold as he can make himself be when all he wants is to kneel in front of you and fix you up if you let him.
"ah! it's fine, actually, just a sprain probably."
"a sprain doesn't bleed." march scoffs, pushing himself off the door and allowing himself a few steps towards you, where he can now see just how tightly your fingers are gripping the edge of the anvil, knuckles going pale against the dark steel. "either you walk inside with me or i throw you over my shoulder. your choice."
he watches you squirm, not that bright and cheerful anymore, not when you need to accept help. from him. a breath of relief escapes him when you let go of the anvil and hobble along with him, walking into the shop while he secures the lock after you. march should be used to seeing you here at this point. it's been the place where you bothered him the most at first, always chatting away with olric while he was concentrating on very detailed work at his desk, but at the same time trying to will his ears not to perk up every time you giggled at something his brother said. he can't have been that funny…
every so often he caught you looking over his shoulder, trying to sneak a peek at his latest project, and every time he'd go to protect it from your view out of pure habit, not thinking you would be interested in what he's doing but instead tease him for it. it feels weird to him not to try and cover up everything he's worked on this time, to just let you limp over to his chair and nearly sit, but it slides away from you, and you're falling, falling…
"done playing brave and strong?" he huffs, having lunged forward to grab you before you managed to land on the floor. you serve him a smile, a sly little curve barely visible in the darkness before the lights flicker on, but he just clicks his tongue, refusing to feel the warmth that crawls up to his cheeks. it's not fair, not fair at all how you get him flustered at the drop of the hat. it's not fair how his heart keeps hammering against his ribs, so loud in his ears, echoing so hard he's half-certain you could hear it. his grip on you tightens, and without much ceremony he lifts you up, hooking his other arm under your knees.
that might have been a mistake on his part, because as he's making his way to his bedroom — where the bed he's planning to place you on won't slip from under you — all he can smell is your scent. in his head he's seeing you breeze past him like so many times already, making him want to drop everything and follow in your every step like a puppy, the same way that he wanted to drop his hammer this morning, eiland's requests be damned…
march grits his teeth, not caring that you can so clearly hear it as your head is leaning against his chest — a feeling he knows he'll definitely revisit when he's not trying to push down the betrayal rising in his stomach — but the sight of your brilliant smile as your light steps took you away today keeps flashing before his eyes. he pushes the door open with his knee, slowly lowering you down onto the edge of the bed where you immediately sink into the mattress with your wounded leg outstretched. without a word, he reaches for the box of random stuff he got from valen a while ago where it sits forgotten on the bottom shelf.
just from a quick glance your way — another mistake on his part — he decides not to believe his eyes. you most certainly, definitely, absolutely did not just check him out. at least as far as he's ready to believe. not when he's bent over like that, his trousers maybe a little too short now, in need of fixing some stitching… no, it must have been his mind playing tricks. he feels his cheeks warm up too fast, damn it, and he hides the colour in his face in the darkness, avoiding the little lamp on his bedside table as much as he can.
he puts the box down on the bed beside you, glad to have an excuse not to look you in the eyes as he kneels down in front of you, shrugging his jacket off and throwing it over the chest at the foot of the bed before carefully taking the leg you've been sparing into his hands and examining it. not too bad, he decides as the box opens and he fishes out everything he needs, just in a very awkward place. you shouldn't be moving your foot too much as you'd most likely just keep it agitated, not allowing the wound to close properly if it doesn't get any rest. and knowing you…
"how did you manage this?" he says with a scoff.
you shift on the mattress, no doubt trying to see his careful hands working the bandage around your ankle and calf with such precision.
"stupid rock exploded too close to me." you murmur, still looking down at him, a fact he's a little too aware of now, feeling your eyes pierce his skin like a million heated needles.
"i— exploded?" he lifts his head, furrowing his eyebrows. but that… that may have been the biggest mistake he's made so far with you. because what meets him there is your pretty face illuminated only by the warm glow of the lamp beside you, keeping half of your face hidden in the shadow, but the side that's light? golden. like the sun itself. march has to remind himself to breathe in that moment, replaying the last few seconds of your conversation to himself as if to restart at the last chapter. "what the hell is happening in those mines?"
you chuckle, sighing once he returns to tightening the bandage on your leg. "stuff i neither can nor want to think about right now. it's… interesting down there. full of wonders. oh, and—" you reach into your pocket and take out a small, but brilliant piece of what seems to be—
march inhales sharply, nearly dropping your leg on the floor. your heel rests on his thigh as his hands fly upwards to cup the item you're handing him. the most incredible, beautiful piece of gold ore he's seen in his life. gold. actual perfect gold ore. the exact size he would need to examine on his desk, too. he takes it from your hand, gulping as your fingers brush against each other, and leans over to the light to get a better view. his breath hits your hand, something he becomes aware mere moments after it happens. his chest is pressing against your legs, face so close to your thighs he can feel the warmth radiating from your body.
he dares not move for a while. even if it kills him.
pretty sure his heart stopped there for a few moments and started again when you cleared your throat and spoke, march pulls away to move from you. he busies himself with putting the rest of the bandages into the box and crawling away to put it back on the shelf, not trusting his legs to work after this.
"so you like it?" you ask, not letting your eyes leave his figure while he's making himself not return the gaze.
"like it?" he scoffs, finally sitting on the floor in front of you. "it's perfect. it's literally in the name. perfect gold ore. i love it."
however, his face drops when that quick mind of his lands on something he doesn't want to think about anymore. was this really for him or was it as fleeting a gift as your smile that morning. he can't believe he's still bothered by it, it shouldn't matter, not when you're right here in front of him, and if he were to look at you properly instead of relying on his peripheral vision, he'd see a softer version of that same curve on your lips, this time just for him.
"well good," you lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees as he puts the piece of ore away, "because i had a feelin' you'd like it. love it, whichever. that's the only reason why i went to get it." march tilts his head to the side, raising a brow at you. "what? i really did. knew i should've gone back up to the surface at that point, at least to catch you before you go to the inn but—"
the bed barely has time to creak before march shuts you up with his lips on yours.
his hand is warm, rough, cupping the side of your head almost too tenderly, as if he's afraid you'll melt like a piece of metal on his anvil. his lips are clumsy, trying to give and take at the same time, unsure of what he actually wants to do, but luckily you're moving along with him, letting him try to kiss you with the intensity that he feels in his chest. his breath escapes into your mouth between two very needy kisses, hot and quick, and it takes a second before you're reaching behind his back and tangling your fingers into his hair.
it's hard to stop once he starts, nearly impossible, because you're responding so perfectly. because all of a sudden march's knees are digging into the mattress too, and he's pressing you down into it, caging you between strong arms flexing when he's holding up his weight on them and the knee that's slotted between your thighs. your hands, your damn hands gently go along the back of his head, making his entire body shiver and nearly collapse on top of you. he's barely holding onto the reins his own desire, the beast that's been banging on the inside of his chest for far too long to be contained now, it's demanding to be fed, demanding to get satisfaction between your bodies.
your little moan against his bottom lip almost ends him.
march is almost completely surrendered when you slide his headband off and toss it aside, making space to trail your wandering hands all over his scalp. it's nearly burning up with excitement, but fear as well. fear that he's not doing it right, that he's messing up by being too eager — something he doesn't even know how to stop at this point — but your body arches up into him regardless, and that thought simply evaporates out of his mind.
it feels natural, having your curves pressed against his body, feeling your waist under his callused palm so warm to touch. march never thought he'd get here, feeling your softness and the goosebumps on your sides. but now that he is, he's not ready to part with the sensation.
until you tug on his hair.
and he fucking groans into your mouth.
and you buck your hips upward, rubbing yourself against his thigh.
and he's sinking deeper into this spiral of want.
and sinking.
and losing his mind.
and his lips find your neck, deciding to kiss it just to feel your pulse quicken under them.
driven completely by his body moving before he has time to think, he lowers his body against yours, not completely stopping you from rutting against his thigh, but making it a little harder, in turn feeling your movements against his crotch. he's beyond saving as soon as his hips move as well. rolling with the grace he never knew he had, what may only be described as a desperate rolling of waves one over another, he's breathing hard against your neck, fighting the urge to bite you — as punishment for making him so needy. as punishment for ignoring him. as punishment for being so tantalising with your soft yet strong body and your warm neck and your pretty, pretty moans that have him scrambling to stay alive.
the heat from his body seems to be pooling in his cheeks as well as in his abdomen, that tightness that he's somewhat used to now increasing at least tenfold, overwhelming when he's rolling his hips against you, and he's certain there is only one way this can end. march can't hold it in anymore, he licks a stripe up your neck and bites down, letting himself groan against your wet skin, gripping your pliant body like he needs it to stay afloat. the pleasure is quickly taking over him, taking over any and every molecule of his being that's telling him to pull back, pull himself together, pull away and stay calm. he's done staying calm.
the way you throw your head back might just be his undoing. he's moving faster, chasing after something he thought he shouldn't want while you helplessly lift your hips to rub yourself against his leg like that, moaning and whimpering in frustration, like it's there for you as well — that finish line glowing golden behind your eyelids. march tightens his hold on your waist, lying pressed against you while your fingers tug on his hair. it's right there, he can feel it, if only he can—
the whine that leaves your lips is heavy. he's never heard a sound so powerful, and with a stutter of your hips he knows you've found your peak. the heat is even stronger in his abdomen, he presses a little harder against you, replaying that tight sound in his mind until he's cursing into the warm skin of your neck, bucking his hips like a desperate animal while release takes over him, covers his brain with wool, stuffs his ears with it, until the only things he can feel are the echo of your pleasure in his mind and the cum leaking from his oversensitive cock.
the only sounds in march's room are two breathing patterns intertwined together as you lie trapped underneath him.
somewhat tentatively, your hand leaves the messy strands of his fiery red hair to glide down between his shoulder blades. he shivers at the tenderness with which your fingers touch him, sliding just under the fabric of his shirt to feel the muscles underneath. he should move. he really should. he should get off you and make sure he doesn't catch your leg that should be resting, get cleaned up… should he help you clean up as well? probably, maybe it would be the nice thing to do when he just used your body to get off, even if it is in his pants.
but you just keep… holding him there. not pushing him away, not making him get off you once you got your fill too, so he just tries to… lean into it. he lets go of your waist and instead digs his hands under your body to embrace you and hold you against him. he hasn't done that before, and yet the touch feels familiar. like something he's been craving but didn't know it. like something he might even be able to get used to.
but it soon comes to an end when you squirm underneath him, adjusting your hips so he's not crushing you completely.
"can you… i need to take these off." you request, and it takes him a moment to realise you mean your underwear. oh. he scrambles off you, cursing as he knocks the edge of the bed with his foot, and he helps you sit up. as he stands there in front of you he can hardly look away, not when you pause with your fingers hooked under the waistband of your pants, not when you chuckle and continue the movements anyway, not when he can feel the wet patch on his pants, not even when he gets hard again, only minutes after blowing his load to the feel of you.
"you're just gonna—" he starts, but one look at your smirk only tells him he should be making a move himself.
"are you not gonna give me something to change into?"
he's forgetting where his clothes are, where his mind has gone, where he is. quickly, he grabs the first thing he can reach, a change of clothes that should be okay for you, but there's no way he's letting you walk out of here, at least not tonight. wounded leg and all, of course.
you've already changed into his clothes by the time he decides he probably should've looked away, the blush on his face may as well be permanent, the way it creeps back as soon as he shakes off the dream-like feeling that wraps around his body and mind every few moments. wow, you must think he's some kind of a loser, the way he reacted as soon as you told him you had done something for him just because. and he might be… he very well might be. an absolute loser, who can't think much further than how he's going to do that with you again, get you to touch him like you just did, gently caressing his back like you don't want to ignore him and breeze past him in the mornings.
"come on." you murmur, and he notices that you've already got yourself into his bed.
into it. not on. covered with his duvet, pushing your hair to the side as you lie down on the cold white pillow.
"you want me to—" he points at the empty space behind you, and you wreck him by giggling.
"i'm not going home tonight, march." you say as if it's the most normal sentence in the world. "and i'm not sleeping on the floor. neither are you, come on."
march moves in slow motion.
his steps are a line of half-remembered movements that somehow lead him to the edge of the bed again. he grumbles as he takes his shirt off, throwing it over the jacket on the chest at the foot of the bed, following it by his pants and underwear that he replaces when he turns around to not risk you taking an accidental glance. almost naked, almost completely bare, he slides under the covers and immediately faces away from you, but there's no escaping the feeling of your body so close to him. surely there's no way he got addicted to feeling your touch after only a few minutes… surely, it must be something else, it must be the weather getting into the real autumn mood, the air cooling down enough to where he's going to have to think about wearing actual clothes to bed instead of barely covering himself in order to not soak the sheets with sweat.
then he feels the duvet shake a little as your body shivers.
"what was that?" he murmurs, half turning to your side of the bed. well, his side, but yours for the night.
"what?" you ask, pulling the covers over you a little tighter.
"you're cold?"
"yep."
he sighs, trying to find a way out of this. there isn't a spare blanket, but he could give you more clothes. he's about to get up and hand you some when your hand closes around his.
"come closer."
now a shiver runs down his spine. march turns his head and sees you curled up on the side of his bed, so still, odd when he's used to you fluttering around town always on your way to the next thing. but you're gently pulling him a little closer — and he gives in.
his body slots against yours like a puzzle piece.
march tries not to breathe as he lies down again, his chest pressed against your back, very keenly aware of the softness of your ass against his crotch. still hard. unlikely to go down soon. or ever. you don't let go of his hand, instead leading him to drape his arm over your torso, leaving his palm to just… sort of dangle there. halfway between your navel and your chest, and march knows where he'd rather have it — if he were brave enough, of course. still, he keeps a little bit of distance between his face and the back of your head, just so he's not forced to inhale your scent and get lost in it all over again. it has to get easier, he can't be aware of every heartbeat in these four walls forever.
"you're doing this on purpose," he accuses you, huffing as he flexes his fingers across the slightly uncovered skin of your stomach, "enjoy playing with my feelings?"
your laugh is quick, soft, and completely disarming.
"stars forbid a girl wants some body heat from a cute blacksmith."
march shakes his head, refusing to let the corners of his lips quirk up at that. "cute?"
"aren't you?" he can hear the smile in your voice. you're bold. toying with him like this when he doesn't even know where he stands with you… or even himself.
"shouldn't you tell me that?"
"i wouldn't do this… with just anyone, march." he rolls his eyes at you. "i'll tell you again… in the morning when i'm not as… tired." your voice keeps trailing off, so he knows you must be telling the truth, you're surely about to pass out any second now, what from the exhaustion of mining, what from the drop in adrenaline of… he chases the memory out of his head.
"sure. good night." march closes his eyes, trying to clear his mind of the images of you. you from just a few minutes ago, arching into him seeking release. you from earlier tonight, smiling at him like you're ecstatic to have run into him before he made it to bed. you from this morning, smiling at him — and only him in his head — as you waved and hurried off to find something to gift him. sometimes he feels like an absolute idiot, pining in silence and torturing himself instead of just laying it out there and giving you a chance to accept him as he is — flustered, clueless, and desperately horny for you.
march can feel your breathing slow down as the clock ticks on.
he's already used up his bravery for the day — hell, maybe even a month — but your skin is so warm he can't resist but slowly move his hand until it's resting above your heartbeat. there's something soothing about it, the rhythm even and constant, that makes march's head feel lighter, lighter, lighter as he rests with his eyes closed and finally decides he can let go of consciousness.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
the door to march's bedroom open with a loud creak.
olric stumbles into the room, apologising to the hinges, the floor, the wall, and march takes those few seconds to snap out of the initial panic and… panic even more once he realises you're still in his bed. that wasn't a dream, and he can't have his brother finding out about it, even if he is completely wasted by the sounds of it.
"h-hey march!" he slurs, half-yelling as he holds onto the door frame. "ya missed out! ha, reina mixed sum stuff an' let m' be her guinea pig!"
in a moment of sheer desperation, march tries to cover you up as much as possible, shielding you from view with his body and the covers. your soft, cold hand rests on his forearm where it presses against your neck, and only then does he realise he's got you in a headlock. but… you're not pulling it away. if he could show his reaction to you, he might even be shocked, albeit a little aroused as well, but you're holding his arm like this is the best placement for it.
"what the shit?" march mumbles, louder than intended. thankfully, olric took it as a reply to him.
"he-hey man, tomorrow! you gotta come t'morrow! don't ca— oh damn," he stumbles, barely saving himself from the fall by grabbing onto the door knob, "care if yer stomach hurts you goooootta come!"
you're quiet, march has to give you credit for it, but your pulse is quickening under his forearm, and it's doing something to him. he's getting uncomfortably hard, the bulge in his underwear precisely pressing against your body, the feeling of which is not helping him right now. march can feel your smile widen, the muscles on your cheeks shifting and he reflexively tightens his hold on you, saying this is not the moment. but you've never been one to listen.
with slow, barely there movements, you're lowering your hands under the covers and march has to try and move along with you to not put unnecessary attention to what's really going on in his bed.
"olric, leave me alone, i was just about to fall asleep." march grumbles, loud enough to cover up the sound of fabric being dragged along the sheets. you've successfully taken off the clothes that he gave you earlier. oh he's done for. rock hard and in a pickle, trying to be loud enough for his brother to not hear, but not loud enough to draw attention to his movements. "we'll talk tomorrow, just… let me sleep." his arm flexes against your neck, bicep twitching on your cheek to try and warn you, but you don't stop. instead, you're already shifting, hand reaching behind you to brush against his aching bulge, and he's doing all he can — which is really nothing — to stop himself from bucking into your touch.
he recalls the feeling of your pliant body as he was grinding his hips against you, your hands tugging on his hair, your moans… he needs it all again, but this time he's not sure he could be satisfied with just that. it's a slippery slope, having you here freshly undressed and looking for trouble, because you're already reaching into his underwear, wrapping that cold hand around his cock. his brother is apologising to the door for bumping into it again, but march can't even roll his eyes at it because fuck you feel so good, slowly stroking him so good he's instinctively pressing closer against you in search for more of your warmth. you're so soft, his cock is flush against your ass now and it takes him more self-control than he has available to stop himself groaning against the back of your head.
"you said sumthin?" olric murmurs, finally having finished his conversation with the door.
"no!" march exclaims, too loud, too panicked, "just go…" he can't take it anymore, not with your gentle hand guiding him, your legs parting slightly, your… your damn wet pussy just perfect as he nudges it with his tip when you release his cock. march is so gone, head swimming with desire, with the wish to feel you but also punish you for being such a temptation for him. for making him act like a fool, for making him scramble to make up a believable lie to his brother, for making him panic and try to hold you as close to his body as possible to not get found out, for enjoying his arm around your neck holding you in place.
his reward for holding out this long is just a touch away now, and all march has to do is to angle his hips a little, trying to be inconspicuous and not make a damn noise. it's proving to be more difficult than anticipated, especially when he feels your breath hitch, a dainty little huff against his forearm that he reflexively tightens and groans to cover up the sound of your moan.
"'m gonna go t' bed now," olric announces, to which march can't help but sigh in relief, "but… one more thing…"
march can't do it anymore, he nudges your soft folds apart, olric be damned, and now he finds himself in the warmest, softest dream he's ever had. his arm is tight around your neck, a warning not to be loud, and your hand rests on his forearm, as if grounding you while his cock sinks into you, pushing into your slippery, squishy cunt.
"… i know yer all sulky today because of the farmer not comin' by. 's a little obvious…" olric continues, and march can hardly take in half of his words as he's struggling to stay afloat while your pussy squeezes him as you adjust. "give 'er a break, march… she's doin' her best, so… maybe be nicer to 'er, yeah?"
march breathes heavily against the back of your head, pressing you into his chest as he tries to get enough breath to speak.
"yea. fine." he squeezes through his teeth. "good night."
without another word, but with plenty of stumbling noise, olric closes the door to march's room and leaves you all alone again.
"be…" you start, straining against his forearm, "nicer to me, huh?"
march huffs. you've made it all but easy for him. tonight and all the times before, with your fleeting smiles and offhanded touches, with your gifts and your attention and your goddamn teasing. he moves his hips now, slightly pulling back before snapping them forward like he's been dying to do to you.
"you liked that, did ya?" he grunts into your hair, holding you in place as he takes you like he wants. "liked bein' a menace while my brother was here? liked makin' me work extra hard to be quiet?" his hips snap forward again, this time not giving a shit if you squeal or not… in fact, hoping you do. "or did you wanna get caught?"
the noise you're making has him roll his eyes as your warm walls squeeze around him, making his hips stutter while he's moving them, repeatedly thrusting into you. his anger is bubbling up, frustration growing thicker in the air as he fucks into you, harder, harder, snapping quick punishing thrusts into your cunt like it doesn't matter that his heart is racing. because you will be the end of him with how well you take him. the pulses of your squelching cunt — and now he doesn't give a damn that you're noisy — the tiny little whimpers as your nails dig into his forearm, everything about you screams to him that you're right where you want to be, fucked out of your mischievous mind on his bed.
now, when the danger is gone, when the door to his room is shut, when the creaking of the bed is only between the two of you, he grunts and curses against your ear, baring his teeth as the tip of his cock hits a beautiful spot in you, the spot that has you whimpering into the darkness.
march really has no idea what he's doing. all that his mind and body are agreeing upon is that he simply has to keep fucking you as long as you're making those sounds and clenching around his shaft like that. and for now, that's all he needs to keep him thrusting. the symphony of your choked little breaths and stuttered curses keeps his rhythm steady, keeps his mission clear even when his brain is chock-full of static, the electricity sparking in the code of your name.
it's infuriating, the power you have over him, how he wants to have you even when you're doing your best to bring him down to his knees like he was mere hours ago when he wrapped your leg in bandages, to make him flustered like every time you say hi in that stupid giggly tone that leaves him stunned for a full minute.
a harder thrust, a higher pitched whine. he's enjoying turning the tables on you, now you're the one who can't even form a word that doesn't sound like his name, you're the one blushing and begging and tightening with every pointed thrust of his thick cock into your spongy walls, like you're trying to keep him there forever. oh how it feels to have the higher ground now, he grazes the shell of your ear with his teeth, just as he feels the pressure in his abdomen get impossible to handle without breaking into pieces. he won't choke you any tighter, though you sound like you're exactly where you're supposed to be — on the precipice of pleasure with him stuffed inside you.
"f-fuck march i'm gonna—" the sweetness of your moan mixed with the filthy slapping sound of his hips on your flesh makes for a concoction that march will never be able to get out of his head.
he shakes out of a haze at your words, gritting his teeth against the side of your head. "yeah? fuck… you're that filthy are you? getting off to me puttin' you in a headlock?" he struggles to taunt you any more, being so damn close himself. he's losing the thread, all the words he wants to say just turn into a long string of fuck please please need you in his mouth. your soft hand leaves its place on his forearm, reaching down between your legs to rub little circles on your swollen clit, something he heard felt good from juniper's countless tipsy lectures at the inn. seems like something actually stuck in march's head, because he's feeling the effects of your movements in the fast fluttering of your perfect pussy around him.
march is so close to tumbling over the edge with you when your entire body shudders and he feels his cock get coated in slick, warm release, fucking you through it all. you're moaning more softly now, all satisfied as you pulse for him, curses slipping from your lips like praises. he groans one last time as you squeeze around him and pulls out reluctantly, keeping his cock between your warm thighs as he thrusts between them, whispering nonsensical babbles and finally… finally letting go. orgasm wrecks him like a carriage, knocking him sideways as you squeeze your thighs together and his tip spills pearlescent white cum between them. he fucks your thighs all through it, stuttering in his rhythm as he feels more and more weightless, loosening his arm around your neck.
everything goes quiet.
save for your heartbeats.
there's no other sound that echoes in march's head, no other distraction from the feeling of your soft, sweat-slicked skin against his. he flexes his hand, until then tightly balled into a fist, and glides it down your torso, almost as if making sure you're really there and it hasn't been a sick trick of his imagination. your breathing gets a little deeper once your neck is free of the pressure of his forearm, and it takes only a few moments for your hand to reach his, resting atop his rough palm. it's no longer cold like it was when you reached for him to come closer, now it feels like comfort.
march is not thinking clearly. he presses his lips against your bare shoulder, instinctively trailing kisses up to your neck like he knows on some level it would beat with the rhythm of your heart and he would be able to tell that you don't regret this. he needs to know you don't regret this.
"march…" you begin, and he freezes. "not to be a pain, but… i don't wanna lie in a puddle of your cum."
he blinks the haze away, then blinks again, registering what you said. "my…"
"march—" you snicker, body shaking against his chest while his hand rests on the top of your thigh, gently squeezing, not even realising he's doing it. damn, the way you say his name in the bliss of pleasure does damage to his heart, stabbing it with arrows adorned with feathers of your voice, devastating him to the point he wants to make you cum again, and again, if anything just to hear that noise again.
"right… sorry." he pulls back, gasping as his softened cock slips from between your thighs, slick with your release. "but i'm not doing that now."
he can tell you're about to protest, but before you get the chance he grips you tighter and flips you over his body to the other side of the bed where you land unceremoniously, holding onto his forearms. once you're settled again, he pulls you into his chest, warm like you never left. like an overgrown cat, reluctantly accepting affection, he glides his other hand up and down your side, in what seems almost unconscious movements. it feels nice under his fingertips, though, the softness of your skin so different from the tools he is used to.
"gross." you wrinkle your nose and he really can't care less about the puddle currently drying on the other side of the bed.
"you're gross." he murmurs through what can maybe even be classed as a smile. a sweet, soft little curve of his lips as he buries his face into the back of your head. at least until the morning.
march doesn't think about what will come after. not about the explanation for why he's keeping olric staring at something on his desk while you take the chance to sneak out of the house, not about the annoying wash he will need to do to clean the sheets, not even about how the hell he will be able to function around you knowing about what you did tonight. instead, he thinks about tonight, not about tomorrow. all of that will happen at some later point, after he's done taking this moment and finally understand that he is special. at least a little bit. at least to you.
♡ if you enjoyed this, consider leaving a like, reblog, or a comment. interaction helps keep your writers motivated! also, feral or any other comments keep me giggling and kicking my feet, and you really want to do that i think.
♡ dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/cursed-carmine
⁺₊⋆ @pixelcafe-network
I am unwell. I am screaming. Why was this perfect? And why did I not know this existed until now????I want to read this forever and make fanfic of this fanfic 😂😭
Genre: historical era, early established secret relationship, unhealthy relationship, angst,
Word count: 2.3k
Rating: M for smut and dark content
Summary: you adore him beyond measure of reason. he is your everything and you are his. together. forever.
Content warnings: smut (unprotected penetrative sex, foreplay including breasts and dick), one spank, toxic relationship dynamics, both characters are unaware of the other's true feelings, violence, hair pulling, forced (one party does not want this) internal ejaculation, plot twist/unexpected ending.
full spoiler warnings here
a/n: part of the though kpop be madness collab. based on both Sonnet 147 and Robert Browning's "Porphyria's Lover". read them if you want spoilers. a thank you to my love Ana and @daechwitatamic (sweet jo) for looking this over as it isn't my normal fare. i've probably forgotten or missed something. as shakespeare (happy birthday to him!) went dark in several of his stories, this is my descent.
i do not condone anything these characters do.
dividers from @saradika-graphics
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
When he comes in from the rain, he should look bedraggled. Everyone you know, everyone like you, looks world-weary after a good soaking. Hair matted to the skull, water dripping from all places, clothing squish squish squishing with every movement.
But with him, as he looks up from the threshold to you, the wet hair only serves to pronounce his beauty. The diamond-sharp jawline, the keen eyes that oppose the soft curve of his cheeks, the slope of his nose. He's smiling at you, already unbuttoning his overcoat, revealing a suit of tweed beneath. You recognize it's informal wear though you know without evidence that it's the finest design, made by one of the finest tailors in the city.
You know this because he never chooses less than the best.
And he chose you.
Sometimes it still bewilders you, that a gentleman such as Min Yoongi would look at all the town and countryside, and choose you.
He tosses his coat over a spindly chair, his shoes loud against the wood floor. Your stockinged feet are quieter, as you enjoy the remnants of heat still in the wood from the earlier part of the day. It's luxurious to have such a floor; you're used to hard-packed dirt. You'd never enjoyed walking around before, but waiting for him in your stockings only serves to excite you.
How like him to gift you this small and cozy cottage. Benevolent, gracious, and so kind.
"I'm happy to see you, Milord," you greet, voice as soft as the rain patters on the other side of the windows. He tugs off his gloves, those keen eyes still on you, tracing the garments you wear.
"I'm late."
"You had prior engagements," you say, dismissing his statement. You turn toward the kettle sat on the stove, the steam coming out as fast as your heart beats. "It's frigid outside, shall I make us tea?"
"Yes." His voice is closer than a moment ago. You can feel his presence at your back as you pour the water into the prepared tea kettle. Your hands shake when you feel his hands encircle your waist."Were you waiting long?"
Hours.
"I ventured out as the sky turned grey. I arrived before the heavens opened up." You move away from his hold to set the tray on the table. He grumbles something before wrapping an arm around your waist the moment you are no longer holding the tea tray. You barely have time to catch your breath as he pulls you tight against his frame.
"Milord, you are soaking." He doesn't say anything, but holds you tighter, his hand sliding up from your stomach to your bosom. "My clothing will dampen as well." Your protest is nary a protest, not with the heat of his hand covering your breast. You think often of how your family would upbraid you if they knew of your intimacies with the man you love.
He pinches your nipple and you gasp.
"Hopefully not the only thing that dampens, 신봉자." The scrape of his teeth on the curve of your neck sends tingles along your spine. You can feel him, insistent and stiff at your derriere. He's not wrong because your body—attuned to his—reacts with lubrication.
Your man is devastating.
"Are you not hungry, Milord?"
"I ate at the gathering," he whispers into your skin, teeth still nipping. He's done an admirable job of undoing the laces of your blouse with only one hand. "I want something quite different to sate my appetite now." The looseness of your top gives him more access along your shoulder, which he takes greedily. Thank the maker that your everyday wear covers the skin that he so enjoys marking.
"Milord…" The mewling sound you make is common with him. He likes hearing you, hearing you as he ruins you.
"Sodden?" he murmurs, taking a nibble of your earlobe. As though every part of you obeys him, your nether regions flood at his word. You nod, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair. "Good. Pull." You tug. "Harder." You pull harder. "Harder!"
He grumbles and lifts the back of your skirt, unlacing the back of your pantaloons. He slaps one cheek. You jolt, causing you to pull his hair even more.
"You can do better than that," he mutters, rubbing where he's smacked before following the curve down to where you are wet. "Hmmm, good. I think you missed me."
"I do," you whisper, voice strained when his fingers slide in. It's tight and it always stings when he starts.
"Do…do you miss me when we are not together?"
You know you shouldn't ask. Master Yoongi is not known for sentimentality. He uses pretty words when he wants to, like how he used to speak to you when he caught you out doing the washing. His feelings are in his eyes, in how he looks at you, in how he touches you when he corners you in corridors, in how his hands grab you so powerfully, he leaves marks.
You love wearing his marks. Even though no one else can see them, each and every one shows how much he loves you, how much he owns you.
He is yours.
One day, you'll be able to wear his marks proudly. To all those spoiled rich ladies who like to look at him like he looks at you.
He slides his manhood in, stretching you impossibly. You breathe in deep and quick, glad that he's behind you as you grimace slightly. It hurts a touch. It won't after a minute or two, you know the rhythm by now.
"That's it. You always feel decadent, 신봉자," he says, voice breathy. It warms you, when you can hear it in his voice. He didn't say he missed you, but this is just as wonderful to hear. "Always warm and tight for my cock. Squeeze me just right." His hands are all over you; one squeezing your bosom, the other gliding along your hip to where your 'treasure' (as your mother liked to call it) is. He searches for that one spot that he made you aware of the first time he laid with you. He presses it exactly right, and you reach out to hold yourself up, gripping the back of the chair.
"Milord. You are too good to me."
"Squeezing my cock like your life depends on it. Does it, 신봉자? Does your life depend on my cock giving it to you so hard you can see stars?" His movements speed up, nearly knocking you into the chair and table. He pinches your nipple again, and your 'treasure' spot but you can't seem to find the release, so you clench his manhood to propel you toward that euphoria.
"Stay," you say as he starts to shudder against your back. "Stay in me."
He pays you no heed. "I'm about to…" he trails off, pulling out of you, and you feel the warmth of his spilled seed on the back of your legs and posterior. His breath is heavy as you hold yourself, waiting and hoping he will bring his fingers back to send you to the same place he went.
You turn after a few moments to see his trousers pulled up, the buttons half done. Your face heats as you grab a cloth to clean up before pulling up your drawers.
Master Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it from his forehead. You cannot help but stare. He's truly beautiful.
"You don't have to—" You struggle with the proper way to say it. "I could conceive."
He freezes in redoing his buttons. "Conceive?"
"We could have a baby." You move toward him, reaching to fix his collar. "I would love to bring your baby into the world, Milord."
He grabs you by the wrists. "Bold of you. To want a child. Out of wedlock? What would your family say?"
You are nervous, something is fluttering in your chest at his tone. It sounds…cruel. Mocking.
"We would marry, of course. I love you. You have my body, soul, and heart." You try to touch his face, to caress his beautiful skin, but his hold on your wrists only tightens. "You would not lie with me if you did not care for me."
He huffs, and clicks his tongue. "신봉자." He lets go and moves away. "I think you might have gotten the wrong idea."
You watch him move toward the door, one hand picking up his overcoat and suitcoat.
"You aren't leaving, Milord?"
He sighs deeply, as though you are a child. "I am not marrying you, 신봉자. I could not marry you even if I wanted to. I am most certainly not impregnating you to be dependent on me for the rest of my days."
He slips on one sleeve of his suit coat.
"Milord…you do not…you do not love me?"
He sighs again, the same way, but even more vexed. "No. I find you amusing, 신봉자. I find your body rapturous. I will find another tenant for this place. Do remove your things when this storm has passed."
"Milord, please." You run to him, your mind racing as you absorb his words. He cannot be telling you the truth. You know how he feels about you. Your body knows it. You wrap your arms around him. "Do not depart. You've had no tea and the storm still thunders on." You move to stand in front of him. "You go out again, you will be taken with illness."
He swallows, looking at you. His eyes seem so cold. "I do not believe that would be wise. You are concerningly delusional about what our relationship was. I think it best to end it now."
You can't let him go. He must stay with you. How to make him?
You press one hand to his chest. "Stay. If we must part, let us spend this last night together. You traveled so far to be with me. Please be with me." You slide your hand from his chest to his stomach to the front of his trousers. It pleases you to feel his stiffening against your hand. "You are not spent, Milord."
His gaze stays on you, cold and calculating. You smile with all the desire you have. Eventually, his gaze softens and his perfect lips turn up confidently.
"You make a strong argument, 신봉자." He bucks into your hand as his manhood grows. "You do understand the nature of you and I?"
You nod absently, squeezing him through the fabric before maneuvering him to the one covered chair near the hearth. He sits, hands finding your hips like they belong there.
They do.
You remove his suit coat, tossing it toward the chaise lounge. You rid him of his trousers and underthings, pulling them down with efficiency. You spit into your hand before stroking him to complete firmness. He's panting, hair sticking to his forehead from perspiration instead of excessive rainwater. You smooth it away before you lean down to kiss and lick his member.
"Oh darling girl," he pants out.
That's what he calls you when he's out of his mind in love with you. That's what you've been wanting to hear all night.
You toy with him, tasting and licking him like he's a delicacy for you only. You love feeling the tremble in his legs when you're doing it right. When he rambles vulgar words that would horrify those you sit next to in church, you pull off of him.
"What are you—" he lets out a moan when you discard your drawers and lift your skirts to slide onto him, impaling yourself. "You perfect wench."
You smile at him, pulling the laces on the front of your blouse that he'd started undoing earlier. He smirks, breath heavy as he thrusts up into you. You cry out, and he leans in to grab the lace string with his teeth, drawing it out from your top entirely.
You cup his face in your hands, taking the string from his teeth and replacing it with your mouth. He kisses you hungrily, biting and sucking on your tongue. You rock, and raise yourself along his manhood before sheathing it again.
You love his groans.
"Feel good, Milord?" you ask, knowing the answer as he increases his thrusts.
"Feels like heaven, like the best part of hell, the rapture of sin," he says, words staccato and broken. He drops his head to your chest, mouth open to your bosom, and with a long suck you break, your ecstasy erupting. He hoarsely whispers your name.
"Milord, my love," you say when you can find your breath. You lift his face from your breast. He's still moving in you.
"I'm so close." His eyes are closed and he doesn't see.
"Yes."
You watch as he seeks his end, tightening your legs around his thighs and hips when he tries to lift you off him.
"I love you," you murmur, encircling the lace from your blouse around his neck. Twice. The color looks beautiful against his skin. "Forever you are mine."
His eyes open when your legs grip him even more. "What are you—" You kiss his unspoken words as he releases his seed, inside you this time. Glorious.
You yank the two ends of the string firmly. You feel him spasm, his lips pressing yours stronger in the convulsion. You don't let up; your mouth on his, your hold of the lace, your grip on his hips.
Time stops in that kiss. It lasts a century before he slumps down, head falling to your shoulder. He doesn't move, his member still in you, his body entirely dependent on you.
You smooth the back of his hair, your heart full. You unwind the lace to see the mark that you have left on him. Like the marks he leaves on you.
He is yours forever. Part of him is now a part of you for all time.
신봉자 roughly means devotee. i wanted a pet name that also feels patronizing.
