my name is ten :] 23, she/her. sometimes nsfw writing side blog. minors please be mindful when interacting with posts. tentenshi / seven-ten / outoften on ao3
i don't do requests but u can send thoughts and thirsts and suggestions if u want! i crave attention! and also write based on feeling/inspiration and depending on current fixation so if u give me an idea i might be able to elaborate :')
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looked thru my drafts to see if i could continue writing into any just to get back into the swing and omg there's actually some rly compelling stuff in there 😼
hope everyone has been lovely so far, and if not - u have the rest of the year to make up for it ;;
sorry for my absence, life got busy - i'd love to get back and start writing again soon but until then, i wish u all the best and thank u for continuing to support me and my work despite it all :)
screaming crying throwing up THANK U ALL FOR 1K !!!!! 🎉🎉🎉
ilu all thank u for the support and i appreciate every single person who reads and reblogs and has nice things to say about my work u are all too kind 🥹🫶
god that knives fic is so good. you explored their relationship so intensely well and the sex was so incredibly well written. what a labour of love!!!! bravo!!!!!!!
oh my god anon i am literally shooting tears out of my eyes like lasers I LOVE YOU
thank u sm for enjoying and appreciating and validating my hard work, even one small praise like this makes it so incredibly rewarding knowing there isn't much of an audience for it :') i hope u have the best day my luv <3
!!nsfw, minors + blank/ageless blogs dni, will be blocked!!
cw: fingering, oral f!receiving, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, creampie, oddly intimate aftercare, what is happening, no one is in touch w their feelings :') modern au i guess??
sequel to this :)
knives is relieved to find that when he removes his headphones, the apartment is quiet.
he stands from his bed and peeks his head out of his door, doubly relieved to see the dark hallway, silence enveloping the space - an improvement from its rambunctious state just hours prior, in his opinion.
he doesn't bother turning any lights on or making an effort to stay quiet, though he hardly makes any noise to begin with. it's just that he doesn't care to be cautious in case he wakes any of you up, wherever each of you had chosen to pass out for the night; he still doesn't understand why vash insists you all overstay after drinking and encroach on his sacred space - their sacred space, but it happens so often that he assumes you're all still there somewhere without even seeing physical confirmation.
he supposes he could say something to vash, but he can't bring himself to when it clearly makes his brother that happy to be with you all.
knives makes his way to the kitchen with ease, hands shoved into his hoodie and eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness. he gets himself a glass of water and leans against the corner of the counter as he sips, eyebrow twitching in irritation when he hears someone grunt in their sleep out in the living room, the sound followed by continued steady, heavy breaths.
of course.
he just hopes everyone's gone by the morning.
knives finishes up, and just as he's about to move to place his glass in the sink, he hears the undeniable click of a door unlatching.
he sighs so deeply at the possibility of whoever it could be initiating a conversation with him in the middle of his kitchen at three o'clock in the morning, he thinks he feels it in his soul.
what he doesn't expect is for it to be you, coming out of vash's room.
your hair is mussed, and you're rubbing at your eyes, feeling your way into the kitchen in the dark. he doesn't know why, but his chest tightens, jaw clenching - he assumes it's from annoyance.
knives can see you clearly from where he stands, leaning back against the counter next to the sink once more, empty glass in his hand, suddenly unsure of what to do. you're near the only way in and and out of the kitchen, and if he left now, he'd still have to pass you, and lord only knows what kind of smartass remarks you'd have to say about him being in his own kitchen in the middle of the night. his brows furrow in irritation just at the thought of it.
and he'd rather not know why you were coming from his brother's room, looking rumpled and groggy and wearing one of his t-shirts, but somehow he can't help but wonder, and it makes him glower.
and then he recognizes that it isn't vash's shirt you're wearing. it's his own.
for some reason he doesn't quite understand, his breath hitches at the realization, and it happens before he can stop himself.
it's that soft sound that alerts you to his presence on your way to the cupboard, and you whip your head up to the source, eyes suddenly wide and clear, and though you startle, to your credit you don't make any additional noise.
"what the fuck?!" you whisper-shout, just as he asks, "why are you still here?"
you glare at each other for a moment, sizing each other up, irritation glinting in your eyes.
until you seem to think better of it, shaking your head with an annoyed huff before continuing with what you were doing. you turn your nose up petulantly and don't acknowledge him any further as you take your own glass, navigating your way around his kitchen as if it were your own.
it irks him, to say the least.
knives doesn't like you at the best of times, when you seem to be constantly going out of your way to go against everything he says and does and sometimes even just thinks - but he likes it even less when you put on that indifferent act, as if you're too precious and powerful to even acknowledge his presence. he hates it. who do you think you are?
"why are you still here?" he repeats through gritted teeth, unmoving even as you brush past him to fill up your own glass with water.
you smell like his brother; you must have been sleeping in his bed with him, doing god knows what else.
knives wrinkles his nose.
even in the dark he can see you roll your eyes, and a spark of hot displeasure lights up in his chest. "why do you think, genius?"
knives isn't sure why his stomach lurches. he tries not to think about the implication, you coming from his brother's room, you in what you'd probably assumed were his clothes, unknowing who they truly belonged to.
before he can stop himself, he's in your space again, ducking close to your face to speak low, deep voice barely a whisper. he's not above intimidating you to protect his brother. "look, i don't want to know what you're doing with my brother, but if you ever, ever even think about-"
"what the fuck is your problem with me?!" there's that spitfire of anger in your face he's so familiar with, in the tone of your voice even though you're whispering, too. it gives him a sick kind of satisfaction he's not willing to address. "it's not even like that!" you unconsciously step closer into his space, too, until you're nearly bumping foreheads. "vash isn't like you. he's sleeping on the couch with nic - he gave me and meryl his bed to share, not that it should matter to you, you miserable bastard."
knives is rarely, if ever, left speechless.
something like relief sprouts in his chest, though he isn't sure why.
and then your other words sink in, and he's annoyed again. how do you know what he's like? you don't know him at all, and it's a lie to say you know vash as well as he does, someone who's been by his side all his life. it matters to him because vash is his brother, his one and only, and he needs to protect him as much as he's able.
"you need to stop letting vash drink so much." he doesn't know why vash insists on these get-togethers nearly every week - you all see each other practically every day, if vash can help it, and knives doesn't understand how drinking and playing board games can be that fun when you do it so often.
"he's an adult, in his own home, he can make his own decisions. you're way too overprotective." your annoyance doesn't let up, so neither does his glare. "are you jealous or something?"
jealous? do you even know the meaning of the word? you think he's jealous, when all he wants is to keep his brother safe? you may be even less smart than he'd initially thought.
knives doesn't reply, he knows this could go on for a while, and he'd much rather go back to bed and forget he'd ever seen you tonight, with your hair sleep-mussed and your eyes droopy with sleepiness yet glittering in the little bit of light from the street lamp shining through the window, the fabric of his shirt hanging off your shoulders. he can already feel the headache you always seem to induce in him creeping in at the edges of his consciousness.
he steps forward to lean over you and set his empty glass in the sink, subsequently making you step back with him, until your lower back presses into the edge of the counter.
his breath hitches again when he realizes how close you are, yet neither of you move for what feels like an eternity.
it surprises him that he isn't uncomfortable with the lack of space between you. you're warm, and underneath the smell of vash, there's something soft and pleasant that makes him feel light. his heart starts to race, and his frown deepens at that. you seem just as lost in thought, your brows scrunched together, eyes roiling with a mix of emotions he isn't sure he wants to explore.
and then it happens so suddenly that he doesn't know who moved first.
but then he decides it doesn't matter much, when your lips feel that soft against his, that sweet - shocking for someone who spouts such venom at him.
you break apart just as quickly, so quick he wonders if it happened at all, or if it was just lack of sleep catching up to him and making him hallucinate, because there's just no way he would let that happen, no way you - you who finds him just as deplorable as he does you, he thinks - would ever let that happen.
and even more surprising still, you do. again.
there's a split second where you're staring at each other, and then another where you're abandoning your glass on the counter, water sloshing past the rim in your haste, and grabbing at the thick fabric of his hoodie across his chest and hauling yourself up to his height to kiss him again, and the slowly growing aggression of it all makes him nearly growl, a desperate sort of sound rasping deep from his throat.
it's less of a kiss and more of a fight for dominance, which is so like your strained dynamic that it makes him smirk between the small, quick nips of your teeth, the slide of your tongue across his lips and past them, the nudge of your noses together when he doesn't let you in so easily.
knives watches with amusement through heavily lidded eyes and lets you take over, just for a moment, just so he can see you - only out of curiosity. his fingers clutch at your waist, savor the warmth of your skin coming through your stupid shirt that you likely don't know is his; he can't deny enjoying the desperate, feverish way you move, the sour look previously on your face melting into determination, desire.
how sweet, and he'd never known.
just as you pull back for breath, he bites at your bottom lip, shivering when you let out an uncharacteristic whine.
oh, he likes that.
his hand comes up to the nape of your neck, large enough to stroke the edge of your jaw with his thumb simultaneously. he studies your face for a moment, the lustful glitter in your eyes contrasted so nicely by the wrinkle of your brow, as if you're angry at yourself for doing what you'd just done, for giving in and wanting it - the wet mauve of your lips slightly swollen from use, the heat in your cheeks.
have you always been this pretty? have you been holding out on him?
knives decides then that it's his turn.
wordlessly he cradles the back of your head in his hand, tilting you up for him so he can kiss you even deeper before you can even fully catch your breath. he nips at you again before sliding his tongue into your open mouth, swirling it around your own, teasing. he licks and nips at you until you're pliant, like putty in his hands, slumping back against the sink behind you with a pleasured sigh. he can admit he gets carried away, bites at the plush of your bottom lip a little harder than he means to, but the sweet little whine that escapes from you, the instinctive tug at the roots of his stark blonde hair, makes it all worth it. you pull just as hard as he'd bitten, and it thrills him.
he slots himself between your legs easily, lifts you up onto the counter just as simply, making you pull away to gasp at the swift movement.
"knives-" you start, and he can hear confusion in your voice, trepidation, though it's barely above a whisper.
despite himself, despite the alarms alerting him in the back of his mind that he doesn't like you, he can't stand you - hates you, even - despite your well-known history of constantly butting heads and making each other miserable - the feeling of wanting you in this moment overwhelms him, pushes everything else to the wayside and all but consumes him. he feels like he's burning from head to toe to touch you, to taste you, to hear the pleasured little sounds you make that he'd never even thought to examine just before.
this is bad, he thinks.
and then you cut yourself off with a gasp when his desire wins out and his lips travel down your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses down the line of it, grazing his teeth along your skin, and he thinks instead that it can most certainly be worse.
if he lets himself have you this one time, just this once, nothing else has to change.
right?
you spare him the luxury of thinking when you spread your knees wider and pull him closer between them, your ankles crossing at the small of his back, locking him in and making his decision for him. pure heat zips through him, and he's assured you feel it too when you arch to roll your hips against his arousal, earning a pleased gasp.
"knives...?" you whisper again, and he loves how winded you sound, how overwhelmed. but there's a silent question there, it's in your eyes too when he trails his lips back up to look at you again, your arms resting on the broad line of his shoulders.
he dips to kiss you once more, but is interrupted by another distant, sleepy groan from the living room, and he's reminded of where you are, what you're doing out in the open where any of your and vash's stupid friends could walk in on at any given time.
it excites him.
clearly you don't agree. you pause for a moment, then seem to make a decision for yourself. "your room," you demand quietly, almost shy, and it's so uncharacteristic of you that it gives him pause, too.
and for the first time ever, it seems, knives complies without a smartass retort.
you cling to him as he blindly navigates you both through the kitchen and back to his room, leaving heated open-mouthed kisses down from his jaw to his neck, nuzzling down into the soft fabric of his hood in search of more of his skin. your touch scorches him, he thinks, his fingers twitching on your thigh and the small of your back as he supports you easily with your legs still wrapped around the taper of his waist.
it occurs to him that he has never utilized his strength in this way, and it sparks something carnal hidden deep in his brain.
he thinks he accidentally slams his door, but neither of you seem to heed any other precautions once you're inside his room (it wouldn't be too far off from his normal behavior anyway). he shoves you up against the door, and you find the hem of his hoodie and push it up his body just as roughly, until he pulls it off in one swift motion, and you're on him again, kissing him until you have to gasp for air. when you pull away, panting, he can't help but notice your gaze lingering on his torso, fingers smoothing along the thick, corded muscle of his shoulders and upper arms in what can only be appreciation, and something like pride bursts in his chest.
and then you're using the door as leverage to push yourself up higher against him, elbows on his shoulders, until you're looking down at him, smirking.
knives isn't sure if he likes the way you're looking at him now, staring deep into his eyes and smiling like you know something he doesn't, like he's somehow proven something you'd known all along.
as if he's playing right into your hands.
and he has never, and will never, lose to you.
knives turns and drops you down onto the middle of his bed, and though your lips are still parted in that irritating smirk, you do him the favor of taking your (his) shirt off, leaning back on your elbows with an eyebrow cocked as if in a silent challenge.
he notices for the first time that you hadn't been wearing shorts or a bra underneath, leaving you in your underwear, and the sight before him makes heat zip straight down to his groin.
no matter how much he thinks he's always disliked you, he knows you're beautiful. there's always a sparkle in your eyes, of something he can't quite place, that shines the most when you're with vash and your stupid friends, your smile that's never been directed at him, that usually falls at the sight of him.
you're smiling now, though - not in the way he particularly likes, but of course it still looks good on you. of course.
"take a picture, pretty boy, it'll last longer."
knives doesn't know how long he'd been staring, but he snaps to attention and stubbornly doesn't address the flush rising to his cheeks. if he refuses to be humiliated there's no way he can be.
did you call him pretty?
he knees onto the bed between your legs and you meet him halfway when he leans in, tugging him down and weaving your fingers into his hair. he can't deny how good it feels when your soft fingertips scrape lightly against his scalp, when you pull gently at the strands when his hips slot perfectly along yours and you gasp into his mouth at the hard heat of him against your center.
one elbow beside your head to hold himself over you, he grinds his hips down experimentally, his other hand grasping your thigh against his waist. he grunts at the sweet friction even with the layers still between you, at the way your shoulders jerk back just a little on instinct, another sharp breath parting your pretty lips.
"knives," you breathe against his cheek when he shifts to kiss your jaw, nip at your earlobe, "touch me."
oh.
to your credit you aren't begging, and usually he would make fun of you for seeming so pitiful (though your tone is nothing short of demanding), but somehow he can't bring himself to in the moment.
because god, does he truly want to touch you.
he pulls back a little to free his hands, glancing at you for just a moment before drifting down to your neck and letting his hands wander. he isn't sure he can look at your face for too long right now; he won't admit how afraid and uncertain he is of the torrent of emotion making his chest tight. not with you, not right now.
for the second time that night, he does as you say without another word. he trails his lips down your neck, pausing between your breasts just as his hands come up to cup at them, kneading gently and pinching lightly at your nipples. he moves to twist his tongue around one, then the other, kissing and nipping at the supple flesh until he's satisfied and you're arching into his touch, just on the verge of whining (too stubborn to just yet), until one hand slides further down your body to slip beneath the waistband of your underwear.
the thin fabric is beyond soaked, and that fact pleases him to no end. he has a mouthful of your chest when he brushes over your clit, and that's when you finally whine, fingers twitching in his snowy hair.
the sweet little sound reverberates in his brain, he thinks, and he slides two fingers through your dripping folds in a trance, intent on getting you to make it again when he slips one into your entrance.
"fuck," he murmurs when he finally feels the clamp of your pussy around him, how tight and wet and hot you are around his thick finger, how your body responds to him, far nicer than you've ever been, especially to him. he pumps it until he can slide the other in with ease, and simultaneously rubs at your clit with the rough pad of his thumb.
you squirm, as if to get away from him, but at the same time you're tugging him closer, up, up, up until he can kiss you again.
now he can look at you when you break apart, because you look a little lost and a little dazed and a lot more lovely than he ever remembers, and your gaze isn't as intense as it had been, glazed over with the pleasure you're feeling.
the pleasure he's giving you.
knives shivers as he continues his ministrations and watches with amusement between kisses as your face contorts with each shift in his rhythm, his movement. he makes a pleased sound in his throat as he studies you; this is all new to him, especially with you, who has always perplexed him and simultaneously irritated him but somehow brought up these conflicting, intense emotions within him, just as conflicting and intense as you usually are to each other. he massages at your walls, scissors his fingers to stretch you wide for him (a thought that makes his cock throb in the confines of his pants), flicks at your swollen bud. you're clutching at his arms now, nails digging into his skin when he crooks his fingers in wonder and inadvertently nudges up against your sweet spot, gasping and swearing at him to keep going, right there.
you whine again when you cum around his fingers, dripping right into his hand, and this time, you're saying his name, too, and it's so high and breathy it rings pleasantly over and over in his head like a melody.
knives continues thrusting until you're pushing his hand away, breathing heavy. you blink up at him, eyes clearing, and that intensity is back in them.
but this time, emboldened by his obvious effect on you, he holds your gaze as he brings his sullied fingers to his mouth and cleans up your mess, the taste of you melting on his tongue. warm, not unpleasant in the least.
when he's done, he presses them against your bottom lip until you open up for him, eyes glinting as your tongue slides along his skin, licking up his spit and the remnants of your slick, and something hot and impossibly urgent slices through his entire body.
and he can't fight another curiosity that sprouts in his mind.
knives takes his hand from you and shoves it down the front of his pants, stroking himself with your saliva, biting his bottom lip to keep in the groan bubbling up his throat at the much needed attention.
surprising you and himself, however, he dips down further between your legs, peeling the pitifully drenched gusset of your underwear to the side with his free hand so he can taste from you directly. just out of curiosity.
his tongue slides between your folds once, twice, before he grows frustrated with the fabric still obstructing your cunt and rips it down your legs with relative ease.
you choke back a sound that he would very much like to hear at that, your legs falling akimbo before he's tugging you back down to him with strong hands on your thighs.
knives pauses, then, gaze flitting between you and your pussy, watching with a strange sort of amusement and fascination at how your cunt flutters around nothing, how wet you are - practically dripping down onto his bed - how your brows furrow and you look like you want to snap at him, but you're biting your lip to keep it in.
and he almost wishes you would gripe at him again, just to bring him back down to earth.
he chuckles softly to himself before diving back down, licking his lips in preparation - and then he's licking at yours. he isn't entirely sure what he's doing - he hasn't had much experience, but he'd never admit that - running on instinct and your reactions alone, lapping up your slick and flicking his tongue at your swollen bud because it makes you keen. when he accidentally grazes his teeth against it your back arches, so he lavishes the sensitive bundle of nerves with attention, alternating between sucking on it and lapping up your every gush of arousal, a groan rumbling in his chest at how much he discovers he enjoys this; you are at his mercy in every way, the broad line of his shoulders keeping you from clamping your legs shut around him, the pleasure you're so desperately clawing at him for at the very tip of his tongue.
he isn't bothered in the least by the obscenely wet sounds of his lips smacking against your skin, his tongue sliding along your folds and into your twitching hole so voraciously it seems to have made you give up on holding in the sounds you make, writhing against his sheets and nearly crying curses at him, your initial aggression towards him long since dissipated into something needy, almost desperate, and entirely wanton.
and when he glances up at you, he doesn't think he's ever liked an expression on you more than the pleasure and desperation so evident across your features, the heavy flush of your skin and the sweat dampening the edges of your face, so lovely when you call for him.
you tense considerably, as you had the first time, and he knows you're close.
and he wonders how you'd react if...
knives pulls away with a parting smack of his lips around your clit and a devious grin.
instantly you choke out a sob, back arching and eyes widening in shock as the peak you'd been cresting gets ripped out from right beneath your fingertips.
from beneath his tongue.
"knives, no, fuck- i-" you gasp and stutter helplessly as your brain catches up, and he loves how needy you sound, it lights him up from head to toe.
he cuts you off before you can recover, swiping carelessly at the mess on his chin before kissing you again, moving like a man starved, as if he hadn't just devoured his fill from you. simultaneously he shoves the band of his pants and briefs down just enough to free his cock, groaning into your mouth along with you when he slides himself between your folds, so unbelievably wet and warm and borderline heavenly.
"knives," you murmur against his lips, reaching down and pressing his length against the heat of your pussy with a warm palm to help him along.
he grunts at the direct contact, breath hitching when he covers your hand completely, yours so much smaller and softer than his, your thumb lining his slit before guiding him to your twitching hole.
"knives, put it in, fuck-" you're writhing again, gritting the words between your teeth like it pains you not to have him inside you.
but again, to your credit, you're not begging, but demanding.
he can't deny the jolt it sends through his system, how needy you look yet so stubborn, too prideful to even ask nicely, as fierce and feisty as ever, even underneath him.
"nai," he mumbles before he can stop himself, finally pressing the head of his cock to your entrance, nudging until you tug him towards you with gripping hands at his hips. he pushes in with a breathy sigh, watches the way your pussy parts for him with rapture, every painstaking inch that disappears inside your heat, the hug of your walls unlike anything, anything he's ever felt before. you're so tight he has to draw back just a bit before thrusting back in, and you gasp, too, when he slides in to the hilt, his hips touching the inside of your thighs. "call me 'nai' when i'm fucking you," he finishes with another shallow thrust, more breathless than he'd like to be, nearly growling it into the crook of your neck, relishing the way you shiver at the depth of his voice.
to his surprise you laugh, breathy and soft, fingers gliding along the smooth plane of his back, lingering on the muscles that jump beneath your touch. you turn your head to bite lightly at his jaw, nip at his ear, making him shudder, and whisper, "then fuck me, nai."
"fuck," he nearly snarls as he draws back and plunges back into you, setting a pace so ferocious you can do nothing but hold onto him for dear life, eyes going wide as your body writhes beneath him, as if trying to catch up to the pleasure you're feeling. his hips smack wetly into yours, big hands skimming over your skin and squeezing a little meanly at where you're softest (bruises in the shape of his fingers along your body are thoughts that seem far removed from your mind at the moment), pausing to grip at the thick of your thighs to keep you open for him.
he loves how you look all splayed beneath him, pliant and vulnerable and just the right amount of messy, beautifully debauched in a way he's never seen you and isn't sure he's likely to see again, and god, is he going to savor it.
he'll treasure this moment as he should; he just wants to devour you, pick you apart piece by piece just to see how much you can take, see if you'll still gift him with that annoying little smirk of yours even after he's wrecked you.
he has no doubt that you will.
knives slows his hips to a deep grind just to drop his gaze and watch with intent fascination as his cock disappears between your dripping lips, how wet and sinful it looks, yet how sweetly you suck him back in, the instinct pure and unyielding to drive back into your heat - so addicting it takes his breath and makes goosebumps ripple across his entire body.
"oh, nai-" you moan between breaths, and it's like a drug injected right into his bloodstream; he has no doubt his pupils are the size of saucers. he picks up his pace again, chases the perfect, velvet hug of your walls around him, keeps his mouth busy by licking and sucking at your nipples, grazing teeth and biting greedily at the soft flesh of your chest, delighted when you arch your body up into his hungry mouth.
before long he can feel you seize up again, and he decides to take mercy on you this time, sneaking a hand between your bodies to paw ruthlessly at your sensitive clit. you heave, nails raking across his back and in his hair, the short burst of pain mild compared to the pleasure he feels when your cunt flutters around him, compared to the pretty look on your face when you finally taste heaven again. when he lets you.
he's never heard his name sound as beautiful as it does when it breaks on your lips, half-sob and half-moan, cracked in the middle as you clutch at anything you can reach, pure pleasure washing over every part of you and across your face. you're squeezing him so tightly he has to still his hips, instead just pushing into you as deep as he can and relishing the tantalizing flutter of your walls, the way you gush so sweetly around him, gritting his teeth to try to stave off his own release just to feel you a little longer.
knives nips at your parted lips as you come down, trying to catch your breath. "not bad," he drawls against your skin, hiding his smirk into the edge of your jaw. there is a surge of energy inside him that has everything to do with you cumming on his cock. his. but he wasn't going to let that show.
you huff an annoyed breath but you're smiling slyly, squeezing at his forearms to get his attention. "let me get on top." your voice is so surprisingly gentle, the hostility towards him you'd been holding onto so stubbornly seemingly torn to pieces by his fulfilment of your desires, that he almost misses it.
and once more, he heeds your demands without even thinking twice, pulling out and disposing of his pants and underwear in the process.
you sit up and straddle him as soon as you're able, capturing his lips in a kiss so heated and passionate he almost swears he can feel you drip like lava down his throat, your tongue lapping at his mouth like he's made of sugar.
he's never been treated this way, much less coming from you, who had only given him the time of day to express your disdain towards him - and vice versa - and the idea itself is so jarring that it leaves him speechless and malleable like putty beneath you when you finally pull away.
you trail your greedy mouth down his jaw and neck, licking and biting lightly as he had done, fingers sliding down his abdomen and making him shiver before wrapping around his cock. he throbs in your grip, groans a little when you give him a sound squeeze and swipe your thumb slowly along the sensitive tip, hips jerking up instinctively to meet you when you stroke down, other hand fondling at his balls.
you draw back just a bit to look at him, and for the first time he sees you admire him openly, your eyes clear and smile salacious when your gaze rakes down his naked body. it sends a shiver down his spine.
"shit," you breathe, loosening your fist to touch feather-light along his shaft, watch the twitch of it with rapt satisfaction. "i hate your fucking guts, but god you're fucking beautiful." you snort, partly amused, partly like you're annoyed with him about something he can't help. he's all too familiar with that from you. "even your dick is pretty."
knives is somewhat used to being openly admired for his looks and physicality - it was nothing he'd ever brag about, just a fact of his life that he couldn't avoid. you had been the only person before this who seemed unimpressed by him, going as far as to look disgusted by his mere presence. to hear you admit you find him beautiful nearly knocks him over.
but before he even has the chance to process it completely, you're sitting up on your knees, holding his cock firmly once more and positioning him at your entrance.
you sink down on him excruciatingly slow, fighting to keep your breathing even at the stretch of him, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders.
knives grits his teeth at the slow - god, deeply satisfying - drag of his sensitive cock along your walls, a moan rumbling deep in his chest when you're fully seated. your back arches, pressing your chest against his as you lament, breathless above him, "fuck, that's- that's deep." you wiggle a little in his lap, adjusting, breath catching when the head of his cock must nudge up against that sweet spot inside you.
not for the first time on this godforsaken night he finds he has nothing to say. your pussy is a vice he doesn't think he can ever get used to - in the best way - and he's still trying to accustom himself when you start moving. you raise yourself up without prompting, and then drop back down with a whine so lovely it sends shivers down his spine. in no time at all you're bouncing deliciously in his lap, squeezing at his shoulders and nuzzling into his neck and the side of his face as you mindlessly chase your high again, setting the pace and focusing on your own pleasure.
knives won't lie, this view of you, so vulnerable and full of desire that you're hardly thinking straight, using him for your own pleasure, it should irk him - but it just arouses him even more. he secretly relishes this side of you, your usual aggression towards him transforming instead into this lustful, delirious frenzy - it's in the way you tug at his hair, the raspy groans that escape from deep in your throat.
soon he's just as lost in you, thrusting up to meet you when you come down, shoulders pressing hard into the wall behind him. you're mesmerizing, the way you roll your hips, chest bouncing at his eye level, perfect for him to continue his earlier endeavor of licking and biting at them, loving the way the supple flesh fills his mouth, the way your skin darkens where he nips a little too hard. distantly he hopes the marks he makes last a long time.
he quickens your pace with strong hands on the curve of your ass, fingers kneading at your cheeks and forcing you down on him. you can do nothing but whine, thighs shaking on either side of him, as he takes over for you and bounces you on his cock, arching back when his pelvis grinds up against your sensitive clit.
your walls are clenching again and he can feel it so acutely with every drag of his cock, how you keen every time the head of him nudges into the deepest parts of you.
"can i- do you want me to-" he's never been this inarticulate in his life, and his voice is so gruff he feels like he hasn't spoken in too long, but he's saved the embarrassment because he doesn't think you're thinking straight enough to notice either.
you seem to be holding onto your sanity by a thin thread, however, because you seem to understand just fine, tugging at the roots of his hair to tilt his head back so you can kiss him again. "yeah, yeah, cum inside, just-" his hips jerk up at your words and you interrupt yourself with a gasp. "just for tonight."
knives practically growls, arms sliding around your waist and pressing into the small of your back to hold you tight to him so he can snap his hips up, burying his face in your neck as he drives into you so hard and fast it makes you tremble and renders you practically immobile. he can feel you squeeze around him and it only takes a few frenzied thrusts to fly into his peak, a low groan escaping him, and he thinks he sees stars when he digs into you as deep as he can and spills inside you, each heavy pulse of his cock pumping you full.
he doesn't think he's ever cum this hard, this much, felt pleasure so deep that the absence of it in the aftershocks makes him ache.
and you moan at the feeling, at the mess he's made of you, still grinding against him sloppily despite how he'd manhandled you and forced you so close to him there's hardly any space between you, blinded by lust and nearing your own orgasm. knives has half a mind to slip a hand between you and help you along, massaging at your swollen clit until you cum again in just a few seconds, clutching at his hair and scrabbling at his back, choking on his name in a way that he thinks will replay in his head for a very long time. he hisses, sensitive, when your pussy spasms so sweetly around his flagging cock, fingers twitching around the fat of your ass.
he doesn't realize he's still clutching you tight to him until you've both come down and the fog of lust has cleared, chests heaving together, and the stickiness of his skin against yours sets in.
he can do nothing to quiet the countless thoughts racing in his head, but he suffers quietly, waits for you to put into action what he knows is inevitable but can't admit he doesn't want.
you're stronger than he gives you credit for, he can concede that now. once you catch your breath, you take one more deep one, and seem to gather yourself before sitting up from where you'd buried your face into the crook of his neck. you don't meet his eyes when you break free, for which he can't decide if he's thankful or regretful - he can't decide if he wants you to hate him even more now than you did before or.... something else entirely.
but he isn't stupid enough to think sex would solve any kind of conflict, especially between you two.
"not bad," you breathe, throwing his words back at him with that lovely little smirk as you disentangle yourself from him and collapse onto his bed on your back, trying to steady your breathing when the pressure of him between your legs leaves you.
he doesn't realize how cold his room actually is until your warmth is gone, and goosebumps raise across his skin for a completely different reason than before.
knives couldn't control his gaze if he tried. he watches with an undeniable heat in his face as the mess between you - proverbial and physical - becomes clearer, as a mix of his release and yours drips down the inside of your thighs and onto his bed, shines across your skin and his abs.
he has to resist the urge to reach over and plunge his fingers back into your core in an instinctual attempt to keep it all inside you.
but then you're straightening your quivering legs and rolling away and onto your feet, swaying just a bit, unsteady. "um." you reach for something on the floor and pull it over your head - his hoodie, he realizes, with a too-loud thump of his heart - and pointedly hold the hem of it down in the front between your legs, squeezing them together slightly. he wonders if you're suddenly shy, after all that, and can't stop the thought that pops into his head that he finds that incredibly... cute. "i'm just gonna-" you turn abruptly towards his bathroom, and he can't help but notice the high flush on your cheeks, the way you're borderline waddling as you try to slip away as quickly as possible.
before he can think any better of it, knives scrambles to his feet and shoves his pants back on and follows you. without another word he runs the water in the sink until it's pleasantly warm and wets a hand towel, and then he finally faces you with a pointed look and a twinge in his chest.
did you really think he was a shitty enough person to leave you with the mess he helped make?
you're beside him at the sink, watching him with a curious look he can't quite read, tissue already in one hand, the other still trapping his hoodie between your legs.
knives sighs, wrings out the towel and gets down on his knees.
never once had he thought he'd ever be in this position, but he pushes away any implications and focuses on you.
finally, you look him in the eyes once more. he cocks a thick brow up at you, and after a moment, you nod once, letting go of the fabric in your hand and relaxing a little against the bathroom counter behind you.
his heart thuds in his ears as he slowly reveals your skin to him once more. you spread your legs a bit and he starts wiping up from where you'd dripped down one of your knees before he even has to lift the hem up, pressing it against your soft stomach and making sure to be gentle with his strokes. if his touch lingers, he pretends not to notice.
he does notice where your skin has darkened where he'd been a little more rough with you, and touches even softer.
he didn't even know he could be this tender, too.
perhaps it's the intimacy of the moment getting to him, bereft of the lust that had clouded judgment in the moments prior, but he finds himself pressing his lips against your hipbone when he's done, so softly he may be able to brush it off as accidental had you not been watching him so intently.
though you avert your eyes when he looks up at you and gets back to his feet.
he feels your eyes on him again when he rinses the towel in the sink, and when he looks up and catches your eye in the mirror, you look like you want to say something.
but then you're shaking your head minutely, offering him the reflection of a tiny little smile, tucked into a corner of your lips but even he can see it's genuine. you're toying with the hem of his hoodie, turning the band of it back and forth in your fingers, barely visible past the too-long sleeves. "thanks, nai."
nai.
you pause, and then lean in to peck at his bare shoulder, so quick he isn't sure if he'd imagined it, and then you're gone.
you're pulling on your underwear right at his door when he finishes drying his hands and comes back out to his room. you only spare him a sleepy, yet playful grin before you're disappearing quietly on the other side of it.
.
vash is the only one to notice and comment on the oddly quiet morning, the only one to notice that it's because you and knives haven't fought once and in fact won't even look at each other.
he isn't surprised, however, as he'd also been the only one to notice you emerge from his room with an entirely different top than what he'd lent you the night before (though they both, significantly, belonged to knives), not to mention the small spots that marred your skin that had definitely not been there the night before, either, concealed only by the hoodie you were practically hiding in but peeked out when you moved a certain way.
he doesn't say anything, of course, a fact he's proud of, as you and his friends have lovingly labeled him a blabbermouth. he loves you enough, after all, and would never purposely embarrass or disrespect you in any way.
that, and when he woke up on the couch only to catch his brother washing his sheets too early in the morning with dark, red lines starkly contrasted to the pale skin of his back, knives had shot him a glare so deadly, he thinks it scared him back to sleep.
vash smiles to himself and tucks that information in the back of his mind for later.
!!nsfw, minors + blank/ageless blogs dni, will be blocked!!
cw: fingering, oral f!receiving, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, creampie, oddly intimate aftercare, what is happening, no one is in touch w their feelings :') modern au i guess??
sequel to this :)
knives is relieved to find that when he removes his headphones, the apartment is quiet.
he stands from his bed and peeks his head out of his door, doubly relieved to see the dark hallway, silence enveloping the space - an improvement from its rambunctious state just hours prior, in his opinion.
he doesn't bother turning any lights on or making an effort to stay quiet, though he hardly makes any noise to begin with. it's just that he doesn't care to be cautious in case he wakes any of you up, wherever each of you had chosen to pass out for the night; he still doesn't understand why vash insists you all overstay after drinking and encroach on his sacred space - their sacred space, but it happens so often that he assumes you're all still there somewhere without even seeing physical confirmation.
he supposes he could say something to vash, but he can't bring himself to when it clearly makes his brother that happy to be with you all.
knives makes his way to the kitchen with ease, hands shoved into his hoodie and eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness. he gets himself a glass of water and leans against the corner of the counter as he sips, eyebrow twitching in irritation when he hears someone grunt in their sleep out in the living room, the sound followed by continued steady, heavy breaths.
of course.
he just hopes everyone's gone by the morning.
knives finishes up, and just as he's about to move to place his glass in the sink, he hears the undeniable click of a door unlatching.
he sighs so deeply at the possibility of whoever it could be initiating a conversation with him in the middle of his kitchen at three o'clock in the morning, he thinks he feels it in his soul.
what he doesn't expect is for it to be you, coming out of vash's room.
your hair is mussed, and you're rubbing at your eyes, feeling your way into the kitchen in the dark. he doesn't know why, but his chest tightens, jaw clenching - he assumes it's from annoyance.
knives can see you clearly from where he stands, leaning back against the counter next to the sink once more, empty glass in his hand, suddenly unsure of what to do. you're near the only way in and and out of the kitchen, and if he left now, he'd still have to pass you, and lord only knows what kind of smartass remarks you'd have to say about him being in his own kitchen in the middle of the night. his brows furrow in irritation just at the thought of it.
and he'd rather not know why you were coming from his brother's room, looking rumpled and groggy and wearing one of his t-shirts, but somehow he can't help but wonder, and it makes him glower.
and then he recognizes that it isn't vash's shirt you're wearing. it's his own.
for some reason he doesn't quite understand, his breath hitches at the realization, and it happens before he can stop himself.
it's that soft sound that alerts you to his presence on your way to the cupboard, and you whip your head up to the source, eyes suddenly wide and clear, and though you startle, to your credit you don't make any additional noise.
"what the fuck?!" you whisper-shout, just as he asks, "why are you still here?"
you glare at each other for a moment, sizing each other up, irritation glinting in your eyes.
until you seem to think better of it, shaking your head with an annoyed huff before continuing with what you were doing. you turn your nose up petulantly and don't acknowledge him any further as you take your own glass, navigating your way around his kitchen as if it were your own.
it irks him, to say the least.
knives doesn't like you at the best of times, when you seem to be constantly going out of your way to go against everything he says and does and sometimes even just thinks - but he likes it even less when you put on that indifferent act, as if you're too precious and powerful to even acknowledge his presence. he hates it. who do you think you are?
"why are you still here?" he repeats through gritted teeth, unmoving even as you brush past him to fill up your own glass with water.
you smell like his brother; you must have been sleeping in his bed with him, doing god knows what else.
knives wrinkles his nose.
even in the dark he can see you roll your eyes, and a spark of hot displeasure lights up in his chest. "why do you think, genius?"
knives isn't sure why his stomach lurches. he tries not to think about the implication, you coming from his brother's room, you in what you'd probably assumed were his clothes, unknowing who they truly belonged to.
before he can stop himself, he's in your space again, ducking close to your face to speak low, deep voice barely a whisper. he's not above intimidating you to protect his brother. "look, i don't want to know what you're doing with my brother, but if you ever, ever even think about-"
"what the fuck is your problem with me?!" there's that spitfire of anger in your face he's so familiar with, in the tone of your voice even though you're whispering, too. it gives him a sick kind of satisfaction he's not willing to address. "it's not even like that!" you unconsciously step closer into his space, too, until you're nearly bumping foreheads. "vash isn't like you. he's sleeping on the couch with nic - he gave me and meryl his bed to share, not that it should matter to you, you miserable bastard."
knives is rarely, if ever, left speechless.
something like relief sprouts in his chest, though he isn't sure why.
and then your other words sink in, and he's annoyed again. how do you know what he's like? you don't know him at all, and it's a lie to say you know vash as well as he does, someone who's been by his side all his life. it matters to him because vash is his brother, his one and only, and he needs to protect him as much as he's able.
"you need to stop letting vash drink so much." he doesn't know why vash insists on these get-togethers nearly every week - you all see each other practically every day, if vash can help it, and knives doesn't understand how drinking and playing board games can be that fun when you do it so often.
"he's an adult, in his own home, he can make his own decisions. you're way too overprotective." your annoyance doesn't let up, so neither does his glare. "are you jealous or something?"
jealous? do you even know the meaning of the word? you think he's jealous, when all he wants is to keep his brother safe? you may be even less smart than he'd initially thought.
knives doesn't reply, he knows this could go on for a while, and he'd much rather go back to bed and forget he'd ever seen you tonight, with your hair sleep-mussed and your eyes droopy with sleepiness yet glittering in the little bit of light from the street lamp shining through the window, the fabric of his shirt hanging off your shoulders. he can already feel the headache you always seem to induce in him creeping in at the edges of his consciousness.
he steps forward to lean over you and set his empty glass in the sink, subsequently making you step back with him, until your lower back presses into the edge of the counter.
his breath hitches again when he realizes how close you are, yet neither of you move for what feels like an eternity.
it surprises him that he isn't uncomfortable with the lack of space between you. you're warm, and underneath the smell of vash, there's something soft and pleasant that makes him feel light. his heart starts to race, and his frown deepens at that. you seem just as lost in thought, your brows scrunched together, eyes roiling with a mix of emotions he isn't sure he wants to explore.
and then it happens so suddenly that he doesn't know who moved first.
but then he decides it doesn't matter much, when your lips feel that soft against his, that sweet - shocking for someone who spouts such venom at him.
you break apart just as quickly, so quick he wonders if it happened at all, or if it was just lack of sleep catching up to him and making him hallucinate, because there's just no way he would let that happen, no way you - you who finds him just as deplorable as he does you, he thinks - would ever let that happen.
and even more surprising still, you do. again.
there's a split second where you're staring at each other, and then another where you're abandoning your glass on the counter, water sloshing past the rim in your haste, and grabbing at the thick fabric of his hoodie across his chest and hauling yourself up to his height to kiss him again, and the slowly growing aggression of it all makes him nearly growl, a desperate sort of sound rasping deep from his throat.
it's less of a kiss and more of a fight for dominance, which is so like your strained dynamic that it makes him smirk between the small, quick nips of your teeth, the slide of your tongue across his lips and past them, the nudge of your noses together when he doesn't let you in so easily.
knives watches with amusement through heavily lidded eyes and lets you take over, just for a moment, just so he can see you - only out of curiosity. his fingers clutch at your waist, savor the warmth of your skin coming through your stupid shirt that you likely don't know is his; he can't deny enjoying the desperate, feverish way you move, the sour look previously on your face melting into determination, desire.
how sweet, and he'd never known.
just as you pull back for breath, he bites at your bottom lip, shivering when you let out an uncharacteristic whine.
oh, he likes that.
his hand comes up to the nape of your neck, large enough to stroke the edge of your jaw with his thumb simultaneously. he studies your face for a moment, the lustful glitter in your eyes contrasted so nicely by the wrinkle of your brow, as if you're angry at yourself for doing what you'd just done, for giving in and wanting it - the wet mauve of your lips slightly swollen from use, the heat in your cheeks.
have you always been this pretty? have you been holding out on him?
knives decides then that it's his turn.
wordlessly he cradles the back of your head in his hand, tilting you up for him so he can kiss you even deeper before you can even fully catch your breath. he nips at you again before sliding his tongue into your open mouth, swirling it around your own, teasing. he licks and nips at you until you're pliant, like putty in his hands, slumping back against the sink behind you with a pleasured sigh. he can admit he gets carried away, bites at the plush of your bottom lip a little harder than he means to, but the sweet little whine that escapes from you, the instinctive tug at the roots of his stark blonde hair, makes it all worth it. you pull just as hard as he'd bitten, and it thrills him.
he slots himself between your legs easily, lifts you up onto the counter just as simply, making you pull away to gasp at the swift movement.
"knives-" you start, and he can hear confusion in your voice, trepidation, though it's barely above a whisper.
despite himself, despite the alarms alerting him in the back of his mind that he doesn't like you, he can't stand you - hates you, even - despite your well-known history of constantly butting heads and making each other miserable - the feeling of wanting you in this moment overwhelms him, pushes everything else to the wayside and all but consumes him. he feels like he's burning from head to toe to touch you, to taste you, to hear the pleasured little sounds you make that he'd never even thought to examine just before.
this is bad, he thinks.
and then you cut yourself off with a gasp when his desire wins out and his lips travel down your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses down the line of it, grazing his teeth along your skin, and he thinks instead that it can most certainly be worse.
if he lets himself have you this one time, just this once, nothing else has to change.
right?
you spare him the luxury of thinking when you spread your knees wider and pull him closer between them, your ankles crossing at the small of his back, locking him in and making his decision for him. pure heat zips through him, and he's assured you feel it too when you arch to roll your hips against his arousal, earning a pleased gasp.
"knives...?" you whisper again, and he loves how winded you sound, how overwhelmed. but there's a silent question there, it's in your eyes too when he trails his lips back up to look at you again, your arms resting on the broad line of his shoulders.
he dips to kiss you once more, but is interrupted by another distant, sleepy groan from the living room, and he's reminded of where you are, what you're doing out in the open where any of your and vash's stupid friends could walk in on at any given time.
it excites him.
clearly you don't agree. you pause for a moment, then seem to make a decision for yourself. "your room," you demand quietly, almost shy, and it's so uncharacteristic of you that it gives him pause, too.
and for the first time ever, it seems, knives complies without a smartass retort.
you cling to him as he blindly navigates you both through the kitchen and back to his room, leaving heated open-mouthed kisses down from his jaw to his neck, nuzzling down into the soft fabric of his hood in search of more of his skin. your touch scorches him, he thinks, his fingers twitching on your thigh and the small of your back as he supports you easily with your legs still wrapped around the taper of his waist.
it occurs to him that he has never utilized his strength in this way, and it sparks something carnal hidden deep in his brain.
he thinks he accidentally slams his door, but neither of you seem to heed any other precautions once you're inside his room (it wouldn't be too far off from his normal behavior anyway). he shoves you up against the door, and you find the hem of his hoodie and push it up his body just as roughly, until he pulls it off in one swift motion, and you're on him again, kissing him until you have to gasp for air. when you pull away, panting, he can't help but notice your gaze lingering on his torso, fingers smoothing along the thick, corded muscle of his shoulders and upper arms in what can only be appreciation, and something like pride bursts in his chest.
and then you're using the door as leverage to push yourself up higher against him, elbows on his shoulders, until you're looking down at him, smirking.
knives isn't sure if he likes the way you're looking at him now, staring deep into his eyes and smiling like you know something he doesn't, like he's somehow proven something you'd known all along.
as if he's playing right into your hands.
and he has never, and will never, lose to you.
knives turns and drops you down onto the middle of his bed, and though your lips are still parted in that irritating smirk, you do him the favor of taking your (his) shirt off, leaning back on your elbows with an eyebrow cocked as if in a silent challenge.
he notices for the first time that you hadn't been wearing shorts or a bra underneath, leaving you in your underwear, and the sight before him makes heat zip straight down to his groin.
no matter how much he thinks he's always disliked you, he knows you're beautiful. there's always a sparkle in your eyes, of something he can't quite place, that shines the most when you're with vash and your stupid friends, your smile that's never been directed at him, that usually falls at the sight of him.
you're smiling now, though - not in the way he particularly likes, but of course it still looks good on you. of course.
"take a picture, pretty boy, it'll last longer."
knives doesn't know how long he'd been staring, but he snaps to attention and stubbornly doesn't address the flush rising to his cheeks. if he refuses to be humiliated there's no way he can be.
did you call him pretty?
he knees onto the bed between your legs and you meet him halfway when he leans in, tugging him down and weaving your fingers into his hair. he can't deny how good it feels when your soft fingertips scrape lightly against his scalp, when you pull gently at the strands when his hips slot perfectly along yours and you gasp into his mouth at the hard heat of him against your center.
one elbow beside your head to hold himself over you, he grinds his hips down experimentally, his other hand grasping your thigh against his waist. he grunts at the sweet friction even with the layers still between you, at the way your shoulders jerk back just a little on instinct, another sharp breath parting your pretty lips.
"knives," you breathe against his cheek when he shifts to kiss your jaw, nip at your earlobe, "touch me."
oh.
to your credit you aren't begging, and usually he would make fun of you for seeming so pitiful (though your tone is nothing short of demanding), but somehow he can't bring himself to in the moment.
because god, does he truly want to touch you.
he pulls back a little to free his hands, glancing at you for just a moment before drifting down to your neck and letting his hands wander. he isn't sure he can look at your face for too long right now; he won't admit how afraid and uncertain he is of the torrent of emotion making his chest tight. not with you, not right now.
for the second time that night, he does as you say without another word. he trails his lips down your neck, pausing between your breasts just as his hands come up to cup at them, kneading gently and pinching lightly at your nipples. he moves to twist his tongue around one, then the other, kissing and nipping at the supple flesh until he's satisfied and you're arching into his touch, just on the verge of whining (too stubborn to just yet), until one hand slides further down your body to slip beneath the waistband of your underwear.
the thin fabric is beyond soaked, and that fact pleases him to no end. he has a mouthful of your chest when he brushes over your clit, and that's when you finally whine, fingers twitching in his snowy hair.
the sweet little sound reverberates in his brain, he thinks, and he slides two fingers through your dripping folds in a trance, intent on getting you to make it again when he slips one into your entrance.
"fuck," he murmurs when he finally feels the clamp of your pussy around him, how tight and wet and hot you are around his thick finger, how your body responds to him, far nicer than you've ever been, especially to him. he pumps it until he can slide the other in with ease, and simultaneously rubs at your clit with the rough pad of his thumb.
you squirm, as if to get away from him, but at the same time you're tugging him closer, up, up, up until he can kiss you again.
now he can look at you when you break apart, because you look a little lost and a little dazed and a lot more lovely than he ever remembers, and your gaze isn't as intense as it had been, glazed over with the pleasure you're feeling.
the pleasure he's giving you.
knives shivers as he continues his ministrations and watches with amusement between kisses as your face contorts with each shift in his rhythm, his movement. he makes a pleased sound in his throat as he studies you; this is all new to him, especially with you, who has always perplexed him and simultaneously irritated him but somehow brought up these conflicting, intense emotions within him, just as conflicting and intense as you usually are to each other. he massages at your walls, scissors his fingers to stretch you wide for him (a thought that makes his cock throb in the confines of his pants), flicks at your swollen bud. you're clutching at his arms now, nails digging into his skin when he crooks his fingers in wonder and inadvertently nudges up against your sweet spot, gasping and swearing at him to keep going, right there.
you whine again when you cum around his fingers, dripping right into his hand, and this time, you're saying his name, too, and it's so high and breathy it rings pleasantly over and over in his head like a melody.
knives continues thrusting until you're pushing his hand away, breathing heavy. you blink up at him, eyes clearing, and that intensity is back in them.
but this time, emboldened by his obvious effect on you, he holds your gaze as he brings his sullied fingers to his mouth and cleans up your mess, the taste of you melting on his tongue. warm, not unpleasant in the least.
when he's done, he presses them against your bottom lip until you open up for him, eyes glinting as your tongue slides along his skin, licking up his spit and the remnants of your slick, and something hot and impossibly urgent slices through his entire body.
and he can't fight another curiosity that sprouts in his mind.
knives takes his hand from you and shoves it down the front of his pants, stroking himself with your saliva, biting his bottom lip to keep in the groan bubbling up his throat at the much needed attention.
surprising you and himself, however, he dips down further between your legs, peeling the pitifully drenched gusset of your underwear to the side with his free hand so he can taste from you directly. just out of curiosity.
his tongue slides between your folds once, twice, before he grows frustrated with the fabric still obstructing your cunt and rips it down your legs with relative ease.
you choke back a sound that he would very much like to hear at that, your legs falling akimbo before he's tugging you back down to him with strong hands on your thighs.
knives pauses, then, gaze flitting between you and your pussy, watching with a strange sort of amusement and fascination at how your cunt flutters around nothing, how wet you are - practically dripping down onto his bed - how your brows furrow and you look like you want to snap at him, but you're biting your lip to keep it in.
and he almost wishes you would gripe at him again, just to bring him back down to earth.
he chuckles softly to himself before diving back down, licking his lips in preparation - and then he's licking at yours. he isn't entirely sure what he's doing - he hasn't had much experience, but he'd never admit that - running on instinct and your reactions alone, lapping up your slick and flicking his tongue at your swollen bud because it makes you keen. when he accidentally grazes his teeth against it your back arches, so he lavishes the sensitive bundle of nerves with attention, alternating between sucking on it and lapping up your every gush of arousal, a groan rumbling in his chest at how much he discovers he enjoys this; you are at his mercy in every way, the broad line of his shoulders keeping you from clamping your legs shut around him, the pleasure you're so desperately clawing at him for at the very tip of his tongue.
he isn't bothered in the least by the obscenely wet sounds of his lips smacking against your skin, his tongue sliding along your folds and into your twitching hole so voraciously it seems to have made you give up on holding in the sounds you make, writhing against his sheets and nearly crying curses at him, your initial aggression towards him long since dissipated into something needy, almost desperate, and entirely wanton.
and when he glances up at you, he doesn't think he's ever liked an expression on you more than the pleasure and desperation so evident across your features, the heavy flush of your skin and the sweat dampening the edges of your face, so lovely when you call for him.
you tense considerably, as you had the first time, and he knows you're close.
and he wonders how you'd react if...
knives pulls away with a parting smack of his lips around your clit and a devious grin.
instantly you choke out a sob, back arching and eyes widening in shock as the peak you'd been cresting gets ripped out from right beneath your fingertips.
from beneath his tongue.
"knives, no, fuck- i-" you gasp and stutter helplessly as your brain catches up, and he loves how needy you sound, it lights him up from head to toe.
he cuts you off before you can recover, swiping carelessly at the mess on his chin before kissing you again, moving like a man starved, as if he hadn't just devoured his fill from you. simultaneously he shoves the band of his pants and briefs down just enough to free his cock, groaning into your mouth along with you when he slides himself between your folds, so unbelievably wet and warm and borderline heavenly.
"knives," you murmur against his lips, reaching down and pressing his length against the heat of your pussy with a warm palm to help him along.
he grunts at the direct contact, breath hitching when he covers your hand completely, yours so much smaller and softer than his, your thumb lining his slit before guiding him to your twitching hole.
"knives, put it in, fuck-" you're writhing again, gritting the words between your teeth like it pains you not to have him inside you.
but again, to your credit, you're not begging, but demanding.
he can't deny the jolt it sends through his system, how needy you look yet so stubborn, too prideful to even ask nicely, as fierce and feisty as ever, even underneath him.
"nai," he mumbles before he can stop himself, finally pressing the head of his cock to your entrance, nudging until you tug him towards you with gripping hands at his hips. he pushes in with a breathy sigh, watches the way your pussy parts for him with rapture, every painstaking inch that disappears inside your heat, the hug of your walls unlike anything, anything he's ever felt before. you're so tight he has to draw back just a bit before thrusting back in, and you gasp, too, when he slides in to the hilt, his hips touching the inside of your thighs. "call me 'nai' when i'm fucking you," he finishes with another shallow thrust, more breathless than he'd like to be, nearly growling it into the crook of your neck, relishing the way you shiver at the depth of his voice.
to his surprise you laugh, breathy and soft, fingers gliding along the smooth plane of his back, lingering on the muscles that jump beneath your touch. you turn your head to bite lightly at his jaw, nip at his ear, making him shudder, and whisper, "then fuck me, nai."
"fuck," he nearly snarls as he draws back and plunges back into you, setting a pace so ferocious you can do nothing but hold onto him for dear life, eyes going wide as your body writhes beneath him, as if trying to catch up to the pleasure you're feeling. his hips smack wetly into yours, big hands skimming over your skin and squeezing a little meanly at where you're softest (bruises in the shape of his fingers along your body are thoughts that seem far removed from your mind at the moment), pausing to grip at the thick of your thighs to keep you open for him.
he loves how you look all splayed beneath him, pliant and vulnerable and just the right amount of messy, beautifully debauched in a way he's never seen you and isn't sure he's likely to see again, and god, is he going to savor it.
he'll treasure this moment as he should; he just wants to devour you, pick you apart piece by piece just to see how much you can take, see if you'll still gift him with that annoying little smirk of yours even after he's wrecked you.
he has no doubt that you will.
knives slows his hips to a deep grind just to drop his gaze and watch with intent fascination as his cock disappears between your dripping lips, how wet and sinful it looks, yet how sweetly you suck him back in, the instinct pure and unyielding to drive back into your heat - so addicting it takes his breath and makes goosebumps ripple across his entire body.
"oh, nai-" you moan between breaths, and it's like a drug injected right into his bloodstream; he has no doubt his pupils are the size of saucers. he picks up his pace again, chases the perfect, velvet hug of your walls around him, keeps his mouth busy by licking and sucking at your nipples, grazing teeth and biting greedily at the soft flesh of your chest, delighted when you arch your body up into his hungry mouth.
before long he can feel you seize up again, and he decides to take mercy on you this time, sneaking a hand between your bodies to paw ruthlessly at your sensitive clit. you heave, nails raking across his back and in his hair, the short burst of pain mild compared to the pleasure he feels when your cunt flutters around him, compared to the pretty look on your face when you finally taste heaven again. when he lets you.
he's never heard his name sound as beautiful as it does when it breaks on your lips, half-sob and half-moan, cracked in the middle as you clutch at anything you can reach, pure pleasure washing over every part of you and across your face. you're squeezing him so tightly he has to still his hips, instead just pushing into you as deep as he can and relishing the tantalizing flutter of your walls, the way you gush so sweetly around him, gritting his teeth to try to stave off his own release just to feel you a little longer.
knives nips at your parted lips as you come down, trying to catch your breath. "not bad," he drawls against your skin, hiding his smirk into the edge of your jaw. there is a surge of energy inside him that has everything to do with you cumming on his cock. his. but he wasn't going to let that show.
you huff an annoyed breath but you're smiling slyly, squeezing at his forearms to get his attention. "let me get on top." your voice is so surprisingly gentle, the hostility towards him you'd been holding onto so stubbornly seemingly torn to pieces by his fulfilment of your desires, that he almost misses it.
and once more, he heeds your demands without even thinking twice, pulling out and disposing of his pants and underwear in the process.
you sit up and straddle him as soon as you're able, capturing his lips in a kiss so heated and passionate he almost swears he can feel you drip like lava down his throat, your tongue lapping at his mouth like he's made of sugar.
he's never been treated this way, much less coming from you, who had only given him the time of day to express your disdain towards him - and vice versa - and the idea itself is so jarring that it leaves him speechless and malleable like putty beneath you when you finally pull away.
you trail your greedy mouth down his jaw and neck, licking and biting lightly as he had done, fingers sliding down his abdomen and making him shiver before wrapping around his cock. he throbs in your grip, groans a little when you give him a sound squeeze and swipe your thumb slowly along the sensitive tip, hips jerking up instinctively to meet you when you stroke down, other hand fondling at his balls.
you draw back just a bit to look at him, and for the first time he sees you admire him openly, your eyes clear and smile salacious when your gaze rakes down his naked body. it sends a shiver down his spine.
"shit," you breathe, loosening your fist to touch feather-light along his shaft, watch the twitch of it with rapt satisfaction. "i hate your fucking guts, but god you're fucking beautiful." you snort, partly amused, partly like you're annoyed with him about something he can't help. he's all too familiar with that from you. "even your dick is pretty."
knives is somewhat used to being openly admired for his looks and physicality - it was nothing he'd ever brag about, just a fact of his life that he couldn't avoid. you had been the only person before this who seemed unimpressed by him, going as far as to look disgusted by his mere presence. to hear you admit you find him beautiful nearly knocks him over.
but before he even has the chance to process it completely, you're sitting up on your knees, holding his cock firmly once more and positioning him at your entrance.
you sink down on him excruciatingly slow, fighting to keep your breathing even at the stretch of him, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders.
knives grits his teeth at the slow - god, deeply satisfying - drag of his sensitive cock along your walls, a moan rumbling deep in his chest when you're fully seated. your back arches, pressing your chest against his as you lament, breathless above him, "fuck, that's- that's deep." you wiggle a little in his lap, adjusting, breath catching when the head of his cock must nudge up against that sweet spot inside you.
not for the first time on this godforsaken night he finds he has nothing to say. your pussy is a vice he doesn't think he can ever get used to - in the best way - and he's still trying to accustom himself when you start moving. you raise yourself up without prompting, and then drop back down with a whine so lovely it sends shivers down his spine. in no time at all you're bouncing deliciously in his lap, squeezing at his shoulders and nuzzling into his neck and the side of his face as you mindlessly chase your high again, setting the pace and focusing on your own pleasure.
knives won't lie, this view of you, so vulnerable and full of desire that you're hardly thinking straight, using him for your own pleasure, it should irk him - but it just arouses him even more. he secretly relishes this side of you, your usual aggression towards him transforming instead into this lustful, delirious frenzy - it's in the way you tug at his hair, the raspy groans that escape from deep in your throat.
soon he's just as lost in you, thrusting up to meet you when you come down, shoulders pressing hard into the wall behind him. you're mesmerizing, the way you roll your hips, chest bouncing at his eye level, perfect for him to continue his earlier endeavor of licking and biting at them, loving the way the supple flesh fills his mouth, the way your skin darkens where he nips a little too hard. distantly he hopes the marks he makes last a long time.
he quickens your pace with strong hands on the curve of your ass, fingers kneading at your cheeks and forcing you down on him. you can do nothing but whine, thighs shaking on either side of him, as he takes over for you and bounces you on his cock, arching back when his pelvis grinds up against your sensitive clit.
your walls are clenching again and he can feel it so acutely with every drag of his cock, how you keen every time the head of him nudges into the deepest parts of you.
"can i- do you want me to-" he's never been this inarticulate in his life, and his voice is so gruff he feels like he hasn't spoken in too long, but he's saved the embarrassment because he doesn't think you're thinking straight enough to notice either.
you seem to be holding onto your sanity by a thin thread, however, because you seem to understand just fine, tugging at the roots of his hair to tilt his head back so you can kiss him again. "yeah, yeah, cum inside, just-" his hips jerk up at your words and you interrupt yourself with a gasp. "just for tonight."
knives practically growls, arms sliding around your waist and pressing into the small of your back to hold you tight to him so he can snap his hips up, burying his face in your neck as he drives into you so hard and fast it makes you tremble and renders you practically immobile. he can feel you squeeze around him and it only takes a few frenzied thrusts to fly into his peak, a low groan escaping him, and he thinks he sees stars when he digs into you as deep as he can and spills inside you, each heavy pulse of his cock pumping you full.
he doesn't think he's ever cum this hard, this much, felt pleasure so deep that the absence of it in the aftershocks makes him ache.
and you moan at the feeling, at the mess he's made of you, still grinding against him sloppily despite how he'd manhandled you and forced you so close to him there's hardly any space between you, blinded by lust and nearing your own orgasm. knives has half a mind to slip a hand between you and help you along, massaging at your swollen clit until you cum again in just a few seconds, clutching at his hair and scrabbling at his back, choking on his name in a way that he thinks will replay in his head for a very long time. he hisses, sensitive, when your pussy spasms so sweetly around his flagging cock, fingers twitching around the fat of your ass.
he doesn't realize he's still clutching you tight to him until you've both come down and the fog of lust has cleared, chests heaving together, and the stickiness of his skin against yours sets in.
he can do nothing to quiet the countless thoughts racing in his head, but he suffers quietly, waits for you to put into action what he knows is inevitable but can't admit he doesn't want.
you're stronger than he gives you credit for, he can concede that now. once you catch your breath, you take one more deep one, and seem to gather yourself before sitting up from where you'd buried your face into the crook of his neck. you don't meet his eyes when you break free, for which he can't decide if he's thankful or regretful - he can't decide if he wants you to hate him even more now than you did before or.... something else entirely.
but he isn't stupid enough to think sex would solve any kind of conflict, especially between you two.
"not bad," you breathe, throwing his words back at him with that lovely little smirk as you disentangle yourself from him and collapse onto his bed on your back, trying to steady your breathing when the pressure of him between your legs leaves you.
he doesn't realize how cold his room actually is until your warmth is gone, and goosebumps raise across his skin for a completely different reason than before.
knives couldn't control his gaze if he tried. he watches with an undeniable heat in his face as the mess between you - proverbial and physical - becomes clearer, as a mix of his release and yours drips down the inside of your thighs and onto his bed, shines across your skin and his abs.
he has to resist the urge to reach over and plunge his fingers back into your core in an instinctual attempt to keep it all inside you.
but then you're straightening your quivering legs and rolling away and onto your feet, swaying just a bit, unsteady. "um." you reach for something on the floor and pull it over your head - his hoodie, he realizes, with a too-loud thump of his heart - and pointedly hold the hem of it down in the front between your legs, squeezing them together slightly. he wonders if you're suddenly shy, after all that, and can't stop the thought that pops into his head that he finds that incredibly... cute. "i'm just gonna-" you turn abruptly towards his bathroom, and he can't help but notice the high flush on your cheeks, the way you're borderline waddling as you try to slip away as quickly as possible.
before he can think any better of it, knives scrambles to his feet and shoves his pants back on and follows you. without another word he runs the water in the sink until it's pleasantly warm and wets a hand towel, and then he finally faces you with a pointed look and a twinge in his chest.
did you really think he was a shitty enough person to leave you with the mess he helped make?
you're beside him at the sink, watching him with a curious look he can't quite read, tissue already in one hand, the other still trapping his hoodie between your legs.
knives sighs, wrings out the towel and gets down on his knees.
never once had he thought he'd ever be in this position, but he pushes away any implications and focuses on you.
finally, you look him in the eyes once more. he cocks a thick brow up at you, and after a moment, you nod once, letting go of the fabric in your hand and relaxing a little against the bathroom counter behind you.
his heart thuds in his ears as he slowly reveals your skin to him once more. you spread your legs a bit and he starts wiping up from where you'd dripped down one of your knees before he even has to lift the hem up, pressing it against your soft stomach and making sure to be gentle with his strokes. if his touch lingers, he pretends not to notice.
he does notice where your skin has darkened where he'd been a little more rough with you, and touches even softer.
he didn't even know he could be this tender, too.
perhaps it's the intimacy of the moment getting to him, bereft of the lust that had clouded judgment in the moments prior, but he finds himself pressing his lips against your hipbone when he's done, so softly he may be able to brush it off as accidental had you not been watching him so intently.
though you avert your eyes when he looks up at you and gets back to his feet.
he feels your eyes on him again when he rinses the towel in the sink, and when he looks up and catches your eye in the mirror, you look like you want to say something.
but then you're shaking your head minutely, offering him the reflection of a tiny little smile, tucked into a corner of your lips but even he can see it's genuine. you're toying with the hem of his hoodie, turning the band of it back and forth in your fingers, barely visible past the too-long sleeves. "thanks, nai."
nai.
you pause, and then lean in to peck at his bare shoulder, so quick he isn't sure if he'd imagined it, and then you're gone.
you're pulling on your underwear right at his door when he finishes drying his hands and comes back out to his room. you only spare him a sleepy, yet playful grin before you're disappearing quietly on the other side of it.
.
vash is the only one to notice and comment on the oddly quiet morning, the only one to notice that it's because you and knives haven't fought once and in fact won't even look at each other.
he isn't surprised, however, as he'd also been the only one to notice you emerge from his room with an entirely different top than what he'd lent you the night before (though they both, significantly, belonged to knives), not to mention the small spots that marred your skin that had definitely not been there the night before, either, concealed only by the hoodie you were practically hiding in but peeked out when you moved a certain way.
he doesn't say anything, of course, a fact he's proud of, as you and his friends have lovingly labeled him a blabbermouth. he loves you enough, after all, and would never purposely embarrass or disrespect you in any way.
that, and when he woke up on the couch only to catch his brother washing his sheets too early in the morning with dark, red lines starkly contrasted to the pale skin of his back, knives had shot him a glare so deadly, he thinks it scared him back to sleep.
vash smiles to himself and tucks that information in the back of his mind for later.
!!nsfw, minors + blank/ageless blogs dni, will be blocked!!
cw: hate sex but w feelings, frenemies to lovers, fingering, oral f!receiving, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, creampie, oddly intimate aftercare, what is happening, no one is in touch w their feelings :') modern au i guess??
sequel to this :)
knives is relieved to find that when he removes his headphones, the apartment is quiet.
he stands from his bed and peeks his head out of his door, doubly relieved to see the dark hallway, silence enveloping the space - an improvement from its rambunctious state just hours prior, in his opinion.
he doesn't bother turning any lights on or making an effort to stay quiet, though he hardly makes any noise to begin with. it's just that he doesn't care to be cautious in case he wakes any of you up, wherever each of you had chosen to pass out for the night; he still doesn't understand why vash insists you all overstay after drinking and encroach on his sacred space - their sacred space, but it happens so often that he assumes you're all still there somewhere without even seeing physical confirmation.
he supposes he could say something to vash, but he can't bring himself to when it clearly makes his brother that happy to be with you all.
knives makes his way to the kitchen with ease, hands shoved into his hoodie and eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness. he gets himself a glass of water and leans against the corner of the counter as he sips, eyebrow twitching in irritation when he hears someone grunt in their sleep out in the living room, the sound followed by continued steady, heavy breaths.
of course.
he just hopes everyone's gone by the morning.
knives finishes up, and just as he's about to move to place his glass in the sink, he hears the undeniable click of a door unlatching.
he sighs so deeply at the possibility of whoever it could be initiating a conversation with him in the middle of his kitchen at three o'clock in the morning, he thinks he feels it in his soul.
what he doesn't expect is for it to be you, coming out of vash's room.
your hair is mussed, and you're rubbing at your eyes, feeling your way into the kitchen in the dark. he doesn't know why, but his chest tightens, jaw clenching - he assumes it's from annoyance.
knives can see you clearly from where he stands, leaning back against the counter next to the sink once more, empty glass in his hand, suddenly unsure of what to do. you're near the only way in and and out of the kitchen, and if he left now, he'd still have to pass you, and lord only knows what kind of smartass remarks you'd have to say about him being in his own kitchen in the middle of the night. his brows furrow in irritation just at the thought of it.
and he'd rather not know why you were coming from his brother's room, looking rumpled and groggy and wearing one of his t-shirts, but somehow he can't help but wonder, and it makes him glower.
and then he recognizes that it isn't vash's shirt you're wearing. it's his own.
for some reason he doesn't quite understand, his breath hitches at the realization, and it happens before he can stop himself.
it's that soft sound that alerts you to his presence on your way to the cupboard, and you whip your head up to the source, eyes suddenly wide and clear, and though you startle, to your credit you don't make any additional noise.
"what the fuck?!" you whisper-shout, just as he asks, "why are you still here?"
you glare at each other for a moment, sizing each other up, irritation glinting in your eyes.
until you seem to think better of it, shaking your head with an annoyed huff before continuing with what you were doing. you turn your nose up petulantly and don't acknowledge him any further as you take your own glass, navigating your way around his kitchen as if it were your own.
it irks him, to say the least.
knives doesn't like you at the best of times, when you seem to be constantly going out of your way to go against everything he says and does and sometimes even just thinks - but he likes it even less when you put on that indifferent act, as if you're too precious and powerful to even acknowledge his presence. he hates it. who do you think you are?
"why are you still here?" he repeats through gritted teeth, unmoving even as you brush past him to fill up your own glass with water.
you smell like his brother; you must have been sleeping in his bed with him, doing god knows what else.
knives wrinkles his nose.
even in the dark he can see you roll your eyes, and a spark of hot displeasure lights up in his chest. "why do you think, genius?"
knives isn't sure why his stomach lurches. he tries not to think about the implication, you coming from his brother's room, you in what you'd probably assumed were his clothes, unknowing who they truly belonged to.
before he can stop himself, he's in your space again, ducking close to your face to speak low, deep voice barely a whisper. he's not above intimidating you to protect his brother. "look, i don't want to know what you're doing with my brother, but if you ever, ever even think about-"
"what the fuck is your problem with me?!" there's that spitfire of anger in your face he's so familiar with, in the tone of your voice even though you're whispering, too. it gives him a sick kind of satisfaction he's not willing to address. "it's not even like that!" you unconsciously step closer into his space, too, until you're nearly bumping foreheads. "vash isn't like you. he's sleeping on the couch with nic - he gave me and meryl his bed to share, not that it should matter to you, you miserable bastard."
knives is rarely, if ever, left speechless.
something like relief sprouts in his chest, though he isn't sure why.
and then your other words sink in, and he's annoyed again. how do you know what he's like? you don't know him at all, and it's a lie to say you know vash as well as he does, someone who's been by his side all his life. it matters to him because vash is his brother, his one and only, and he needs to protect him as much as he's able.
"you need to stop letting vash drink so much." he doesn't know why vash insists on these get-togethers nearly every week - you all see each other practically every day, if vash can help it, and knives doesn't understand how drinking and playing board games can be that fun when you do it so often.
"he's an adult, in his own home, he can make his own decisions. you're way too overprotective." your annoyance doesn't let up, so neither does his glare. "are you jealous or something?"
jealous? do you even know the meaning of the word? you think he's jealous, when all he wants is to keep his brother safe? you may be even less smart than he'd initially thought.
knives doesn't reply, he knows this could go on for a while, and he'd much rather go back to bed and forget he'd ever seen you tonight, with your hair sleep-mussed and your eyes droopy with sleepiness yet glittering in the little bit of light from the street lamp shining through the window, the fabric of his shirt hanging off your shoulders. he can already feel the headache you always seem to induce in him creeping in at the edges of his consciousness.
he steps forward to lean over you and set his empty glass in the sink, subsequently making you step back with him, until your lower back presses into the edge of the counter.
his breath hitches again when he realizes how close you are, yet neither of you move for what feels like an eternity.
it surprises him that he isn't uncomfortable with the lack of space between you. you're warm, and underneath the smell of vash, there's something soft and pleasant that makes him feel light. his heart starts to race, and his frown deepens at that. you seem just as lost in thought, your brows scrunched together, eyes roiling with a mix of emotions he isn't sure he wants to explore.
and then it happens so suddenly that he doesn't know who moved first.
but then he decides it doesn't matter much, when your lips feel that soft against his, that sweet - shocking for someone who spouts such venom at him.
you break apart just as quickly, so quick he wonders if it happened at all, or if it was just lack of sleep catching up to him and making him hallucinate, because there's just no way he would let that happen, no way you - you who finds him just as deplorable as he does you, he thinks - would ever let that happen.
and even more surprising still, you do. again.
there's a split second where you're staring at each other, and then another where you're abandoning your glass on the counter, water sloshing past the rim in your haste, and grabbing at the thick fabric of his hoodie across his chest and hauling yourself up to his height to kiss him again, and the slowly growing aggression of it all makes him nearly growl, a desperate sort of sound rasping deep from his throat.
it's less of a kiss and more of a fight for dominance, which is so like your strained dynamic that it makes him smirk between the small, quick nips of your teeth, the slide of your tongue across his lips and past them, the nudge of your noses together when he doesn't let you in so easily.
knives watches with amusement through heavily lidded eyes and lets you take over, just for a moment, just so he can see you - only out of curiosity. his fingers clutch at your waist, savor the warmth of your skin coming through your stupid shirt that you likely don't know is his; he can't deny enjoying the desperate, feverish way you move, the sour look previously on your face melting into determination, desire.
how sweet, and he'd never known.
just as you pull back for breath, he bites at your bottom lip, shivering when you let out an uncharacteristic whine.
oh, he likes that.
his hand comes up to the nape of your neck, large enough to stroke the edge of your jaw with his thumb simultaneously. he studies your face for a moment, the lustful glitter in your eyes contrasted so nicely by the wrinkle of your brow, as if you're angry at yourself for doing what you'd just done, for giving in and wanting it - the wet mauve of your lips slightly swollen from use, the heat in your cheeks.
have you always been this pretty? have you been holding out on him?
knives decides then that it's his turn.
wordlessly he cradles the back of your head in his hand, tilting you up for him so he can kiss you even deeper before you can even fully catch your breath. he nips at you again before sliding his tongue into your open mouth, swirling it around your own, teasing. he licks and nips at you until you're pliant, like putty in his hands, slumping back against the sink behind you with a pleasured sigh. he can admit he gets carried away, bites at the plush of your bottom lip a little harder than he means to, but the sweet little whine that escapes from you, the instinctive tug at the roots of his stark blonde hair, makes it all worth it. you pull just as hard as he'd bitten, and it thrills him.
he slots himself between your legs easily, lifts you up onto the counter just as simply, making you pull away to gasp at the swift movement.
"knives-" you start, and he can hear confusion in your voice, trepidation, though it's barely above a whisper.
despite himself, despite the alarms alerting him in the back of his mind that he doesn't like you, he can't stand you - hates you, even - despite your well-known history of constantly butting heads and making each other miserable - the feeling of wanting you in this moment overwhelms him, pushes everything else to the wayside and all but consumes him. he feels like he's burning from head to toe to touch you, to taste you, to hear the pleasured little sounds you make that he'd never even thought to examine just before.
this is bad, he thinks.
and then you cut yourself off with a gasp when his desire wins out and his lips travel down your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses down the line of it, grazing his teeth along your skin, and he thinks instead that it can most certainly be worse.
if he lets himself have you this one time, just this once, nothing else has to change.
right?
you spare him the luxury of thinking when you spread your knees wider and pull him closer between them, your ankles crossing at the small of his back, locking him in and making his decision for him. pure heat zips through him, and he's assured you feel it too when you arch to roll your hips against his arousal, earning a pleased gasp.
"knives...?" you whisper again, and he loves how winded you sound, how overwhelmed. but there's a silent question there, it's in your eyes too when he trails his lips back up to look at you again, your arms resting on the broad line of his shoulders.
he dips to kiss you once more, but is interrupted by another distant, sleepy groan from the living room, and he's reminded of where you are, what you're doing out in the open where any of your and vash's stupid friends could walk in on at any given time.
it excites him.
clearly you don't agree. you pause for a moment, then seem to make a decision for yourself. "your room," you demand quietly, almost shy, and it's so uncharacteristic of you that it gives him pause, too.
and for the first time ever, it seems, knives complies without a smartass retort.
you cling to him as he blindly navigates you both through the kitchen and back to his room, leaving heated open-mouthed kisses down from his jaw to his neck, nuzzling down into the soft fabric of his hood in search of more of his skin. your touch scorches him, he thinks, his fingers twitching on your thigh and the small of your back as he supports you easily with your legs still wrapped around the taper of his waist.
it occurs to him that he has never utilized his strength in this way, and it sparks something carnal hidden deep in his brain.
he thinks he accidentally slams his door, but neither of you seem to heed any other precautions once you're inside his room (it wouldn't be too far off from his normal behavior anyway). he shoves you up against the door, and you find the hem of his hoodie and push it up his body just as roughly, until he pulls it off in one swift motion, and you're on him again, kissing him until you have to gasp for air. when you pull away, panting, he can't help but notice your gaze lingering on his torso, fingers smoothing along the thick, corded muscle of his shoulders and upper arms in what can only be appreciation, and something like pride bursts in his chest.
and then you're using the door as leverage to push yourself up higher against him, elbows on his shoulders, until you're looking down at him, smirking.
knives isn't sure if he likes the way you're looking at him now, staring deep into his eyes and smiling like you know something he doesn't, like he's somehow proven something you'd known all along.
as if he's playing right into your hands.
and he has never, and will never, lose to you.
knives turns and drops you down onto the middle of his bed, and though your lips are still parted in that irritating smirk, you do him the favor of taking your (his) shirt off, leaning back on your elbows with an eyebrow cocked as if in a silent challenge.
he notices for the first time that you hadn't been wearing shorts or a bra underneath, leaving you in your underwear, and the sight before him makes heat zip straight down to his groin.
no matter how much he thinks he's always disliked you, he knows you're beautiful. there's always a sparkle in your eyes, of something he can't quite place, that shines the most when you're with vash and your stupid friends, your smile that's never been directed at him, that usually falls at the sight of him.
you're smiling now, though - not in the way he particularly likes, but of course it still looks good on you. of course.
"take a picture, pretty boy, it'll last longer."
knives doesn't know how long he'd been staring, but he snaps to attention and stubbornly doesn't address the flush rising to his cheeks. if he refuses to be humiliated there's no way he can be.
did you call him pretty?
he knees onto the bed between your legs and you meet him halfway when he leans in, tugging him down and weaving your fingers into his hair. he can't deny how good it feels when your soft fingertips scrape lightly against his scalp, when you pull gently at the strands when his hips slot perfectly along yours and you gasp into his mouth at the hard heat of him against your center.
one elbow beside your head to hold himself over you, he grinds his hips down experimentally, his other hand grasping your thigh against his waist. he grunts at the sweet friction even with the layers still between you, at the way your shoulders jerk back just a little on instinct, another sharp breath parting your pretty lips.
"knives," you breathe against his cheek when he shifts to kiss your jaw, nip at your earlobe, "touch me."
oh.
to your credit you aren't begging, and usually he would make fun of you for seeming so pitiful (though your tone is nothing short of demanding), but somehow he can't bring himself to in the moment.
because god, does he truly want to touch you.
he pulls back a little to free his hands, glancing at you for just a moment before drifting down to your neck and letting his hands wander. he isn't sure he can look at your face for too long right now; he won't admit how afraid and uncertain he is of the torrent of emotion making his chest tight. not with you, not right now.
for the second time that night, he does as you say without another word. he trails his lips down your neck, pausing between your breasts just as his hands come up to cup at them, kneading gently and pinching lightly at your nipples. he moves to twist his tongue around one, then the other, kissing and nipping at the supple flesh until he's satisfied and you're arching into his touch, just on the verge of whining (too stubborn to just yet), until one hand slides further down your body to slip beneath the waistband of your underwear.
the thin fabric is beyond soaked, and that fact pleases him to no end. he has a mouthful of your chest when he brushes over your clit, and that's when you finally whine, fingers twitching in his snowy hair.
the sweet little sound reverberates in his brain, he thinks, and he slides two fingers through your dripping folds in a trance, intent on getting you to make it again when he slips one into your entrance.
"fuck," he murmurs when he finally feels the clamp of your pussy around him, how tight and wet and hot you are around his thick finger, how your body responds to him, far nicer than you've ever been, especially to him. he pumps it until he can slide the other in with ease, and simultaneously rubs at your clit with the rough pad of his thumb.
you squirm, as if to get away from him, but at the same time you're tugging him closer, up, up, up until he can kiss you again.
now he can look at you when you break apart, because you look a little lost and a little dazed and a lot more lovely than he ever remembers, and your gaze isn't as intense as it had been, glazed over with the pleasure you're feeling.
the pleasure he's giving you.
knives shivers as he continues his ministrations and watches with amusement between kisses as your face contorts with each shift in his rhythm, his movement. he makes a pleased sound in his throat as he studies you; this is all new to him, especially with you, who has always perplexed him and simultaneously irritated him but somehow brought up these conflicting, intense emotions within him, just as conflicting and intense as you usually are to each other. he massages at your walls, scissors his fingers to stretch you wide for him (a thought that makes his cock throb in the confines of his pants), flicks at your swollen bud. you're clutching at his arms now, nails digging into his skin when he crooks his fingers in wonder and inadvertently nudges up against your sweet spot, gasping and swearing at him to keep going, right there.
you whine again when you cum around his fingers, dripping right into his hand, and this time, you're saying his name, too, and it's so high and breathy it rings pleasantly over and over in his head like a melody.
knives continues thrusting until you're pushing his hand away, breathing heavy. you blink up at him, eyes clearing, and that intensity is back in them.
but this time, emboldened by his obvious effect on you, he holds your gaze as he brings his sullied fingers to his mouth and cleans up your mess, the taste of you melting on his tongue. warm, not unpleasant in the least.
when he's done, he presses them against your bottom lip until you open up for him, eyes glinting as your tongue slides along his skin, licking up his spit and the remnants of your slick, and something hot and impossibly urgent slices through his entire body.
and he can't fight another curiosity that sprouts in his mind.
knives takes his hand from you and shoves it down the front of his pants, stroking himself with your saliva, biting his bottom lip to keep in the groan bubbling up his throat at the much needed attention.
surprising you and himself, however, he dips down further between your legs, peeling the pitifully drenched gusset of your underwear to the side with his free hand so he can taste from you directly. just out of curiosity.
his tongue slides between your folds once, twice, before he grows frustrated with the fabric still obstructing your cunt and rips it down your legs with relative ease.
you choke back a sound that he would very much like to hear at that, your legs falling akimbo before he's tugging you back down to him with strong hands on your thighs.
knives pauses, then, gaze flitting between you and your pussy, watching with a strange sort of amusement and fascination at how your cunt flutters around nothing, how wet you are - practically dripping down onto his bed - how your brows furrow and you look like you want to snap at him, but you're biting your lip to keep it in.
and he almost wishes you would gripe at him again, just to bring him back down to earth.
he chuckles softly to himself before diving back down, licking his lips in preparation - and then he's licking at yours. he isn't entirely sure what he's doing - he hasn't had much experience, but he'd never admit that - running on instinct and your reactions alone, lapping up your slick and flicking his tongue at your swollen bud because it makes you keen. when he accidentally grazes his teeth against it your back arches, so he lavishes the sensitive bundle of nerves with attention, alternating between sucking on it and lapping up your every gush of arousal, a groan rumbling in his chest at how much he discovers he enjoys this; you are at his mercy in every way, the broad line of his shoulders keeping you from clamping your legs shut around him, the pleasure you're so desperately clawing at him for at the very tip of his tongue.
he isn't bothered in the least by the obscenely wet sounds of his lips smacking against your skin, his tongue sliding along your folds and into your twitching hole so voraciously it seems to have made you give up on holding in the sounds you make, writhing against his sheets and nearly crying curses at him, your initial aggression towards him long since dissipated into something needy, almost desperate, and entirely wanton.
and when he glances up at you, he doesn't think he's ever liked an expression on you more than the pleasure and desperation so evident across your features, the heavy flush of your skin and the sweat dampening the edges of your face, so lovely when you call for him.
you tense considerably, as you had the first time, and he knows you're close.
and he wonders how you'd react if...
knives pulls away with a parting smack of his lips around your clit and a devious grin.
instantly you choke out a sob, back arching and eyes widening in shock as the peak you'd been cresting gets ripped out from right beneath your fingertips.
from beneath his tongue.
"knives, no, fuck- i-" you gasp and stutter helplessly as your brain catches up, and he loves how needy you sound, it lights him up from head to toe.
he cuts you off before you can recover, swiping carelessly at the mess on his chin before kissing you again, moving like a man starved, as if he hadn't just devoured his fill from you. simultaneously he shoves the band of his pants and briefs down just enough to free his cock, groaning into your mouth along with you when he slides himself between your folds, so unbelievably wet and warm and borderline heavenly.
"knives," you murmur against his lips, reaching down and pressing his length against the heat of your pussy with a warm palm to help him along.
he grunts at the direct contact, breath hitching when he covers your hand completely, yours so much smaller and softer than his, your thumb lining his slit before guiding him to your twitching hole.
"knives, put it in, fuck-" you're writhing again, gritting the words between your teeth like it pains you not to have him inside you.
but again, to your credit, you're not begging, but demanding.
he can't deny the jolt it sends through his system, how needy you look yet so stubborn, too prideful to even ask nicely, as fierce and feisty as ever, even underneath him.
"nai," he mumbles before he can stop himself, finally pressing the head of his cock to your entrance, nudging until you tug him towards you with gripping hands at his hips. he pushes in with a breathy sigh, watches the way your pussy parts for him with rapture, every painstaking inch that disappears inside your heat, the hug of your walls unlike anything, anything he's ever felt before. you're so tight he has to draw back just a bit before thrusting back in, and you gasp, too, when he slides in to the hilt, his hips touching the inside of your thighs. "call me 'nai' when i'm fucking you," he finishes with another shallow thrust, more breathless than he'd like to be, nearly growling it into the crook of your neck, relishing the way you shiver at the depth of his voice.
to his surprise you laugh, breathy and soft, fingers gliding along the smooth plane of his back, lingering on the muscles that jump beneath your touch. you turn your head to bite lightly at his jaw, nip at his ear, making him shudder, and whisper, "then fuck me, nai."
"fuck," he nearly snarls as he draws back and plunges back into you, setting a pace so ferocious you can do nothing but hold onto him for dear life, eyes going wide as your body writhes beneath him, as if trying to catch up to the pleasure you're feeling. his hips smack wetly into yours, big hands skimming over your skin and squeezing a little meanly at where you're softest (bruises in the shape of his fingers along your body are thoughts that seem far removed from your mind at the moment), pausing to grip at the thick of your thighs to keep you open for him.
he loves how you look all splayed beneath him, pliant and vulnerable and just the right amount of messy, beautifully debauched in a way he's never seen you and isn't sure he's likely to see again, and god, is he going to savor it.
he'll treasure this moment as he should; he just wants to devour you, pick you apart piece by piece just to see how much you can take, see if you'll still gift him with that annoying little smirk of yours even after he's wrecked you.
he has no doubt that you will.
knives slows his hips to a deep grind just to drop his gaze and watch with intent fascination as his cock disappears between your dripping lips, how wet and sinful it looks, yet how sweetly you suck him back in, the instinct pure and unyielding to drive back into your heat - so addicting it takes his breath and makes goosebumps ripple across his entire body.
"oh, nai-" you moan between breaths, and it's like a drug injected right into his bloodstream; he has no doubt his pupils are the size of saucers. he picks up his pace again, chases the perfect, velvet hug of your walls around him, keeps his mouth busy by licking and sucking at your nipples, grazing teeth and biting greedily at the soft flesh of your chest, delighted when you arch your body up into his hungry mouth.
before long he can feel you seize up again, and he decides to take mercy on you this time, sneaking a hand between your bodies to paw ruthlessly at your sensitive clit. you heave, nails raking across his back and in his hair, the short burst of pain mild compared to the pleasure he feels when your cunt flutters around him, compared to the pretty look on your face when you finally taste heaven again. when he lets you.
he's never heard his name sound as beautiful as it does when it breaks on your lips, half-sob and half-moan, cracked in the middle as you clutch at anything you can reach, pure pleasure washing over every part of you and across your face. you're squeezing him so tightly he has to still his hips, instead just pushing into you as deep as he can and relishing the tantalizing flutter of your walls, the way you gush so sweetly around him, gritting his teeth to try to stave off his own release just to feel you a little longer.
knives nips at your parted lips as you come down, trying to catch your breath. "not bad," he drawls against your skin, hiding his smirk into the edge of your jaw. there is a surge of energy inside him that has everything to do with you cumming on his cock. his. but he wasn't going to let that show.
you huff an annoyed breath but you're smiling slyly, squeezing at his forearms to get his attention. "let me get on top." your voice is so surprisingly gentle, the hostility towards him you'd been holding onto so stubbornly seemingly torn to pieces by his fulfilment of your desires, that he almost misses it.
and once more, he heeds your demands without even thinking twice, pulling out and disposing of his pants and underwear in the process.
you sit up and straddle him as soon as you're able, capturing his lips in a kiss so heated and passionate he almost swears he can feel you drip like lava down his throat, your tongue lapping at his mouth like he's made of sugar.
he's never been treated this way, much less coming from you, who had only given him the time of day to express your disdain towards him - and vice versa - and the idea itself is so jarring that it leaves him speechless and malleable like putty beneath you when you finally pull away.
you trail your greedy mouth down his jaw and neck, licking and biting lightly as he had done, fingers sliding down his abdomen and making him shiver before wrapping around his cock. he throbs in your grip, groans a little when you give him a sound squeeze and swipe your thumb slowly along the sensitive tip, hips jerking up instinctively to meet you when you stroke down, other hand fondling at his balls.
you draw back just a bit to look at him, and for the first time he sees you admire him openly, your eyes clear and smile salacious when your gaze rakes down his naked body. it sends a shiver down his spine.
"shit," you breathe, loosening your fist to touch feather-light along his shaft, watch the twitch of it with rapt satisfaction. "i hate your fucking guts, but god you're fucking beautiful." you snort, partly amused, partly like you're annoyed with him about something he can't help. he's all too familiar with that from you. "even your dick is pretty."
knives is somewhat used to being openly admired for his looks and physicality - it was nothing he'd ever brag about, just a fact of his life that he couldn't avoid. you had been the only person before this who seemed unimpressed by him, going as far as to look disgusted by his mere presence. to hear you admit you find him beautiful nearly knocks him over.
but before he even has the chance to process it completely, you're sitting up on your knees, holding his cock firmly once more and positioning him at your entrance.
you sink down on him excruciatingly slow, fighting to keep your breathing even at the stretch of him, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders.
knives grits his teeth at the slow - god, deeply satisfying - drag of his sensitive cock along your walls, a moan rumbling deep in his chest when you're fully seated. your back arches, pressing your chest against his as you lament, breathless above him, "fuck, that's- that's deep." you wiggle a little in his lap, adjusting, breath catching when the head of his cock must nudge up against that sweet spot inside you.
not for the first time on this godforsaken night he finds he has nothing to say. your pussy is a vice he doesn't think he can ever get used to - in the best way - and he's still trying to accustom himself when you start moving. you raise yourself up without prompting, and then drop back down with a whine so lovely it sends shivers down his spine. in no time at all you're bouncing deliciously in his lap, squeezing at his shoulders and nuzzling into his neck and the side of his face as you mindlessly chase your high again, setting the pace and focusing on your own pleasure.
knives won't lie, this view of you, so vulnerable and full of desire that you're hardly thinking straight, using him for your own pleasure, it should irk him - but it just arouses him even more. he secretly relishes this side of you, your usual aggression towards him transforming instead into this lustful, delirious frenzy - it's in the way you tug at his hair, the raspy groans that escape from deep in your throat.
soon he's just as lost in you, thrusting up to meet you when you come down, shoulders pressing hard into the wall behind him. you're mesmerizing, the way you roll your hips, chest bouncing at his eye level, perfect for him to continue his earlier endeavor of licking and biting at them, loving the way the supple flesh fills his mouth, the way your skin darkens where he nips a little too hard. distantly he hopes the marks he makes last a long time.
he quickens your pace with strong hands on the curve of your ass, fingers kneading at your cheeks and forcing you down on him. you can do nothing but whine, thighs shaking on either side of him, as he takes over for you and bounces you on his cock, arching back when his pelvis grinds up against your sensitive clit.
your walls are clenching again and he can feel it so acutely with every drag of his cock, how you keen every time the head of him nudges into the deepest parts of you.
"can i- do you want me to-" he's never been this inarticulate in his life, and his voice is so gruff he feels like he hasn't spoken in too long, but he's saved the embarrassment because he doesn't think you're thinking straight enough to notice either.
you seem to be holding onto your sanity by a thin thread, however, because you seem to understand just fine, tugging at the roots of his hair to tilt his head back so you can kiss him again. "yeah, yeah, cum inside, just-" his hips jerk up at your words and you interrupt yourself with a gasp. "just for tonight."
knives practically growls, arms sliding around your waist and pressing into the small of your back to hold you tight to him so he can snap his hips up, burying his face in your neck as he drives into you so hard and fast it makes you tremble and renders you practically immobile. he can feel you squeeze around him and it only takes a few frenzied thrusts to fly into his peak, a low groan escaping him, and he thinks he sees stars when he digs into you as deep as he can and spills inside you, each heavy pulse of his cock pumping you full.
he doesn't think he's ever cum this hard, this much, felt pleasure so deep that the absence of it in the aftershocks makes him ache.
and you moan at the feeling, at the mess he's made of you, still grinding against him sloppily despite how he'd manhandled you and forced you so close to him there's hardly any space between you, blinded by lust and nearing your own orgasm. knives has half a mind to slip a hand between you and help you along, massaging at your swollen clit until you cum again in just a few seconds, clutching at his hair and scrabbling at his back, choking on his name in a way that he thinks will replay in his head for a very long time. he hisses, sensitive, when your pussy spasms so sweetly around his flagging cock, fingers twitching around the fat of your ass.
he doesn't realize he's still clutching you tight to him until you've both come down and the fog of lust has cleared, chests heaving together, and the stickiness of his skin against yours sets in.
he can do nothing to quiet the countless thoughts racing in his head, but he suffers quietly, waits for you to put into action what he knows is inevitable but can't admit he doesn't want.
you're stronger than he gives you credit for, he can concede that now. once you catch your breath, you take one more deep one, and seem to gather yourself before sitting up from where you'd buried your face into the crook of his neck. you don't meet his eyes when you break free, for which he can't decide if he's thankful or regretful - he can't decide if he wants you to hate him even more now than you did before or.... something else entirely.
but he isn't stupid enough to think sex would solve any kind of conflict, especially between you two.
"not bad," you breathe, throwing his words back at him with that lovely little smirk as you disentangle yourself from him and collapse onto his bed on your back, trying to steady your breathing when the pressure of him between your legs leaves you.
he doesn't realize how cold his room actually is until your warmth is gone, and goosebumps raise across his skin for a completely different reason than before.
knives couldn't control his gaze if he tried. he watches with an undeniable heat in his face as the mess between you - proverbial and physical - becomes clearer, as a mix of his release and yours drips down the inside of your thighs and onto his bed, shines across your skin and his abs.
he has to resist the urge to reach over and plunge his fingers back into your core in an instinctual attempt to keep it all inside you.
but then you're straightening your quivering legs and rolling away and onto your feet, swaying just a bit, unsteady. "um." you reach for something on the floor and pull it over your head - his hoodie, he realizes, with a too-loud thump of his heart - and pointedly hold the hem of it down in the front between your legs, squeezing them together slightly. he wonders if you're suddenly shy, after all that, and can't stop the thought that pops into his head that he finds that incredibly... cute. "i'm just gonna-" you turn abruptly towards his bathroom, and he can't help but notice the high flush on your cheeks, the way you're borderline waddling as you try to slip away as quickly as possible.
before he can think any better of it, knives scrambles to his feet and shoves his pants back on and follows you. without another word he runs the water in the sink until it's pleasantly warm and wets a hand towel, and then he finally faces you with a pointed look and a twinge in his chest.
did you really think he was a shitty enough person to leave you with the mess he helped make?
you're beside him at the sink, watching him with a curious look he can't quite read, tissue already in one hand, the other still trapping his hoodie between your legs.
knives sighs, wrings out the towel and gets down on his knees.
never once had he thought he'd ever be in this position, but he pushes away any implications and focuses on you.
finally, you look him in the eyes once more. he cocks a thick brow up at you, and after a moment, you nod once, letting go of the fabric in your hand and relaxing a little against the bathroom counter behind you.
his heart thuds in his ears as he slowly reveals your skin to him once more. you spread your legs a bit and he starts wiping up from where you'd dripped down one of your knees before he even has to lift the hem up, pressing it against your soft stomach and making sure to be gentle with his strokes. if his touch lingers, he pretends not to notice.
he does notice where your skin has darkened where he'd been a little more rough with you, and touches even softer.
he didn't even know he could be this tender, too.
perhaps it's the intimacy of the moment getting to him, bereft of the lust that had clouded judgment in the moments prior, but he finds himself pressing his lips against your hipbone when he's done, so softly he may be able to brush it off as accidental had you not been watching him so intently.
though you avert your eyes when he looks up at you and gets back to his feet.
he feels your eyes on him again when he rinses the towel in the sink, and when he looks up and catches your eye in the mirror, you look like you want to say something.
but then you're shaking your head minutely, offering him the reflection of a tiny little smile, tucked into a corner of your lips but even he can see it's genuine. you're toying with the hem of his hoodie, turning the band of it back and forth in your fingers, barely visible past the too-long sleeves. "thanks, nai."
nai.
you pause, and then lean in to peck at his bare shoulder, so quick he isn't sure if he'd imagined it, and then you're gone.
you're pulling on your underwear right at his door when he finishes drying his hands and comes back out to his room. you only spare him a sleepy, yet playful grin before you're disappearing quietly on the other side of it.
.
vash is the only one to notice and comment on the oddly quiet morning, the only one to notice that it's because you and knives haven't fought once and in fact won't even look at each other.
he isn't surprised, however, as he'd also been the only one to notice you emerge from his room with an entirely different top than what he'd lent you the night before (though they both, significantly, belonged to knives), not to mention the small spots that marred your skin that had definitely not been there the night before, either, concealed only by the hoodie you were practically hiding in but peeked out when you moved a certain way.
he doesn't say anything, of course, a fact he's proud of, as you and his friends have lovingly labeled him a blabbermouth. he loves you enough, after all, and would never purposely embarrass or disrespect you in any way.
that, and when he woke up on the couch only to catch his brother washing his sheets too early in the morning with dark, red lines starkly contrasted to the pale skin of his back, knives had shot him a glare so deadly, he thinks it scared him back to sleep.
vash smiles to himself and tucks that information in the back of his mind for later.
pairing:matsukawa issei x f!reader x hanamaki takahiro
sort-of sequel melting, like an ice cream
7.9k words. literally full on plotless smut (with feelings!), from makki’s pov. established mattsun x reader. (face sitting, blow jobs, threesome, dirty talk [praise], etc.) and they were roommates :)
18+ only thank u. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.
From this angle, he can see every single one of your eyelashes, the heat rising to your cheeks and giving them the most irresistible tinge, the muscles flexing in your jaw to keep up with Matsukawa’s pace, slow and languid, but deep, judging by the soft, satisfied groan he can tell is bubbling up from your throat, and he watches the way it moves when you swallow, probably around Matsukawa’s tongue, probably a mixture of his and your spit.
Hanamaki should hate it, he should stop watching. A tiny part of his brain tells him it’s wrong and that he should scold you both, nag at you again for shoving your relationship down his throat the same way Matsukawa was probably shoving his tongue down yours, should roll his eyes and walk out of the room with a dejected sigh and leave you to it, knowing you probably won’t even notice he’s gone.
you'd let it slip that one time, when he called you at the time of day he usually does to check in, you'd let it go to voicemail just to be able to save it and conjure up his voice whenever you pleased while he was away.
"i don't have any voicemails of you," nanami had said with a troubled look on his face, and you'd found it so charming that you had to lean in and kiss him.
you'd shrugged, giving him a small, grateful smile. "you always answer when i call, kento."
you know him well enough to understand his logic; he'd never miss any of your calls, even when he's working (you were the only person allowed to contact him past his phone's 'Do Not Disturb' feature) - he couldn't ever risk missing it when you needed him, and you wouldn't think to disturb him for trivial things either.
of course your answer doesn't satisfy him, and you can almost see the cogs turning in his brain. you can't help but laugh a little, kissing his frown away and changing the subject to save him from the stress.
the next day, at that time he usually calls during his break, he receives an ominous text from you.
don't call. and don't answer, i'm leaving you a present.
he worries immediately, but another text pops up once you see he's read it.
don't worry! you'll ruin the surprise! i love you ❤️
nanami tries his best, but he can't help it. instances of something going terribly wrong concerning you and him not being able to reach you in time flood his brain and nearly make him lightheaded. he does as you ask and doesn't answer when your contact pops up on the screen, his self-control waning quickly the longer he sees your photo.
he doesn't know how long he stares at the screen, even when his phone stops ringing.
and then, just a minute later, a notification for a new voicemail pops up, and the tornado of worries in his brain grinds to a halt when everything suddenly clicks, and he's reminded of the short, perplexing conversation you'd had the day prior.
and he feels a little silly.
you pick up on the first ring, as if you were expecting his call.
"my love," you greet, and even though the audio on his phone doesn't do your sweet voice justice, it soothes his heart all the same. "you're not gonna listen to it?" he can tell you're smiling, playful and lovely.
"i'll save it for my way home from work."
"hmm, how do you know it wasn't something naughty, then? what if you start blushing on the train, and everyone notices?"
"darling-" he starts, but uncharacteristically doesn't have a follow-up. he knows no one on his commute cares enough about anything else at that time other than coming home as soon as possible, much like himself, but he lets you have that, if it'll make you giggle like you are now. your laugh is deeply precious to him.
"i can just imagine it - but i wouldn't wanna ever miss seeing you blush." oh, he knows, and has suffered your inappropriate whispers in public just to get a reaction out of him nearly enough to get used to it. nearly. "are you blushing now?"
"no," nanami lies easily, heat crawling up his neck in that oddly pleasant way only you can seem to bring out of him.
you laugh just as easily, see through him just like that, as if he's right in front of you.
"i'm glad you didn't listen to me and still called," you say softly, traces of your sweet laughter still lingering in your tone. "i wanted to hear your voice, too."
nanami hums, doesn't tell you that that makes him smile way too wide for him having lunch alone. he tries to tone it down in case gojo somehow happens to stumble upon his carefully chosen, secluded spot.
"i miss you," you sigh, as if you hadn't seen him this morning and kissed him until he was almost late, like you usually do.
"i miss you, too, darling," he replies just as sincerely, as if he wasn't seeing you in just a few short hours and wasn't planning on holding you until you begged him to let you go so you could get dinner together, like he usually does.
"enjoy your break, handsome." the corner of his lip always twitches up when you call him that. "come home safe."
"of course. i love you."
"love you more!"
nanami knows that if he argues that, like he really wants to every time, you'd be too stubborn to let him win. so he just chuckles and lets you hang up.
despite what you'd teased him about, he does listen to your message on the train. and he does start smiling like a madman, his entire face glowing, lighting up with it, but he can't find it in himself to be embarrassed about it when he's hearing your voice and he's only a few short minutes away from having you in his arms again.
"hi, handsome. i had to think carefully about how to get you to not answer your phone, but it didn't end up being that creative, huh?" you breathe a soft laugh, the gentle cadence of it carrying into your sweet voice. "anyway, here's your obligatory voicemail from me. i'm just kidding - i thought about it, and you looked so sad about it that i just had to make one. you know i'd do anything to make you happy, right? it's only fair, with how happy you make me, too... i hope this will suffice, i didn't really have anything special to say except that i think about you so much it's becoming quite concerning, and i love you so much i feel like i'm going crazy, slowly but surely. look what you do to me!... um, oh- i'm gonna run out of time soon! i can't wait to leave you a million more of these, it's almost as fun as listening to yours... actually, i'll tell you a little secret: i listen to yours every day when i'm missing you most, which is usually right after you leave for work. sometimes i wish you'd come right back even though it's a little ridiculous. um, anyway, i'll think of a more creative way to trick you next time. come back safely, i miss you terribly... i love you more than you know, kento."
the shift is so subtle that had you known him just a little less, you would have missed it.
but as it is, there isn't anyone you know better, if the ring on your finger is any indication.
you lean into his side a bit more, emptying the rest of your drink before tilting up to peck at the edge of his jaw. "ready to go, honey?"
osamu presses into your touch as if on instinct, his smile soft and grateful, his arm around your waist flexing. "how did ya know?" his fingers squeeze at the outside of your thigh in appreciation before he takes your empty cup and stacks his over it and downs the meager dregs of his drink, too.
you smile back at him, watch his adam's apple bob when he swallows, marvel at how handsome he looks just doing the most mundane things. you shrug in answer, as if it hadn't been obvious only to you. it's in the tired droop of his eyes despite the little spark of contentment in them (imperceptible to anyone else), the slight sag of his broad shoulders. exhaustion was catching up to him, delayed by the initial joy of seeing his friends again. "let's go home."
he kisses your forehead, always reciprocating for every tender little action, before standing and bringing you up with him, grinning when you giggle.
you're side by side saying your goodbyes, feeling him squeeze your hand when you indulge his brother in "one more shot for the road", see the good-natured roll of his eyes out of the corner of yours right before you lean in to kiss a drunkenly enthusiastic atsumu goodbye on the cheek.
it may be the buzz of that last drink that brings heat seeping up into your face, but you have reason to believe it could just as well be the kiss osamu gives you just before he closes your car door for you, always the gentleman. that tender warmth doesn't leave you long after the alcohol has worn off, after all.
