#what possessed me to draw his face from a low angle... I will never know

[chromehoney]

“AT THE SAME DAMN TIME.”, chap one, chapt two, chap three.

synopsis; After a messy, short-lived situationship with Stack—reckless, flirtatious, and all the wrong kinds of possessive—you swear you��re done with hood boys who can’t keep up. But when you drop something off at his mother’s store and find both Stack and his older twin brother Smoke inside, something shifts.

“Don’t let me walk out this house lookin’ basic.”

You sat in Sevyn’s bathroom, your legs crossed under you while she dipped into edge control and eyed her parts in the mirror. A pile of synthetic hair bundles sat between y’all like some kind of offering. You’d been braiding each other’s hair for years, but today? It felt different. Intentional. A little…competitive.

Because Smoke and Stack were gonna be at that party. And like Sevyn said earlier—this had to be bitch-you-lost-me loud. Your hair was already halfway done—soft, loose boho knotless braids with curly ends that framed your face like silk. Sevyn’s would match. You told everyone it was so y’all could be twins for the summer.

By the time y’all were finished, the sun was getting low, casting that golden hour light on your skin as you both stood in the mirror, checking your angles. Sevyn wore a lime green swimsuit with clear heels. You chose the cherry-red bikini—the one Mary would’ve killed to fit the way you did. You tied a mesh skirt around your waist, hoop earrings in, clear gloss shined up, gold anklet catching the light.

“You look like a damn problem,” Sevyn said, snapping a photo. “Good,” you smirked. “I wanna ruin somebody’s night.”

•several hours later,

The bass from the backyard speakers was deep enough to vibrate through your chest. The crowd was thick—bodies half-drunk, glittering in oil and chlorine. You and Sevyn walked in side-by-side, braids swinging, skin glowing, confidence high.

Y’all mingled with a few people you knew from high school, laughed over plastic cups, and dipped your feet in the pool before finally slipping in waist-deep. The water was warm from the sun, and for a moment—you almost forgot about the real reason you were here. Until you saw him.

Smoke.

Fresh cut, black tee stuck to his chest, chain resting against his collarbone. He wasn’t in the pool, just standing to the side with a drink in his hand, cigar tucked behind his ear, eyes locked on you like you were the only thing worth watching.

But then—him.

Stack.

Leaning back in one of the patio chairs, shirtless, glistening, laughing with his head tilted back. And sitting next to him? Mary. Long-legged. Bikini too small. Hair damp from the pool. And she was giggling like she’d never heard a joke that funny in her life. Your smile dropped. Your stomach twisted. Ugly and mean. You didn’t even notice the way your lips pushed into a pout until Sevyn whispered, “Bitch, relax.”

You inhaled once. Smoothed your expression. Then let a slow smirk spread across your face. “Nah,” you said, wading toward the steps. “I’m good.” You walked up to Smoke, water still dripping from your thighs, mesh skirt clinging to your curves. His eyes followed the drops. Then rose—slow and hooded—to meet yours. “You always watch this hard, or is it just me?”He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. “It’s you,” he said simply.

You stepped closer, real close. Chin tilted up. The music slowed into something bass-heavy and slick, and suddenly you didn’t care who was watching. “And what you gon’ do about it?” Smoke set his drink down. Palmed the back of your waist, warm and confident, drawing you into him with quiet heat. “Come here,” he said low.

And you did.

The kiss hit different. Slow. Warm. Wet. His lips moved like he already knew how you tasted. Like he was just confirming what he imagined. Your fingers gripped the front of his shirt, lips parting, and he kissed you again, deeper—his hand sliding down to the small of your back like he’d claimed it.

You didn’t know how long it lasted. But you knew when it ended. Because suddenly, a voice snapped from behind you.“Man, what the fuck?!” You pulled back, blinking. Stack was standing there, arms wide, face twisted up. Mary was beside him, eyes darting from you to Smoke to Stack like she couldn’t believe what was happening. “What is your problem?” she snapped at Stack.

“Why do you care if she’s over there with Smoke?!” “Because!” he barked, hands dropping. “Because it’s her! You don’t get it.”People had turned by now. Faces watching. Eyes wide. Mary threw her hands up. “No, you don’t get it! You been flirting with me, making me think—!” “Man, I don’t owe you nothin’,” Stack spat.

And right there, in front of everyone, they were yelling. Mary’s voice sharp, Stack’s louder. Your name came up once—“You was just tryna get back at her!”—but you stopped listening. Your stomach was tight. Your face hot. Smoke’s arm was still around your waist, but the moment had died. Sevyn found you quick. “We gotta go,” she whispered, already tugging your hand. “They just killed the whole damn mood.”

You nodded numbly. Turned to leave.

But before you did—you looked at Smoke. Reached in your purse. Pulled out a pen and slid it across his hand. Your number. “For when the mess dies down,” you said. You didn’t say it was to get back at Stack.You didn’t say you actually liked that kiss. You just walked off. Braids swinging Heart racing.And Smoke?

Smoke watched you go.

[olasketches]

I don't feel anything

[peachesofteal]

MELOS (PART THREE)

main masterlist / Azriel's masterlist

Part two here / Melos masterlist Azriel/female reader - 6.6k words - AO3 Tags - 18+ mdni, explicit content, hurt/comfort, caretaking, possessive behavior, usual warning for Azriel's self loathing. Brief suicidal ideation. Azriel willing to rip anyone to shreds for threatening his mate, complicated IC dynamics, Amren sucks. Oral sex - fem receiving, little bit of edging, Dom/sub undertones, praise kink. canon compliant.

Fear.

It slams into him, shakes the bond so violently he almost drops out of the sky, forces him off course over the jagged peak of Illyria, urging him to follow the intensity of your panic towards Velaris. Gone is his assignment, his contact awaiting his visit, his work. One objective rises above it all.

You. 

The Palace of Bone and Salt is in shambles, but he hardly notices. Somewhere it registers in the back of his mind there’s been a quake, there are injuries, damage, but none of it matters.

The only thing that matters is his mate in front of him, trembling, eyes wide and glazed over, blood trickling down your face and blooming across your ribs. There’s a roaring sound between his ears, dread and rage and agony all compounding into a mounting explosion, and for a moment, he worries he might level the city for its crime of harming you.

Feyre is tense, and Cassian watches him warily. “What happened?”

“We found her under there,” he points to a dilapidated merchant’s stall, his stomach roiling at the sight of it, heavy stone counter cracked in half, wood and glass scattered across the ground, “protecting a little girl. We think she’s in shock.”

Not shock. Trapped in memories.

There’s a haunted look in your eye, a flicker of nightmares.

His brave girl. 

He holds himself at bay, holds himself back from shooting into the sky with you cradled to his chest, carrying you as fast as the wind will allow to Madja, or pulling you into a cloud of shadow so he can arrive uninvited in her living room.

“She needs a healer.” His jaw has never been clenched so tight. The smell of your blood is making him sick.

“We know,” Feyre tries to reassure him, but at the same time angles her body to block his path. Cassian shakes his head, because he knows, just as Feyre should, standing between a male and his mate is a very bad idea. He loves Feyre, but his affection for her is nothing compared to what he feels for you, and her behavior in this moment, is reckless. “Az,” she tries to caution him, tone pitching low, serious, “maybe you should back-“

Remove her, the shadows snap, she is in our way.

“You need a healer.” He pretends she doesn’t exist, pushes his anger as far away as he can manage, and addresses you instead. You shake your head.

“I need to go. Home. I need to go… home.” Cassian snorts. Azriel wonders if it’s possible to break his jaw in one punch.

You’re slipping, unsteady on your feet, going somewhere in your mind he cannot follow and his panic ratches upward as he says your name and you don’t respond.

“Feyre,” Cassian murmurs, “step back.” She stiffens, but listens, and he surges forward, unable to keep away any longer.

His heart sings as he cups your cheek. It’s the first time he’s touched you since his hands brought you harm, and he chokes on a breath as you lean into his touch, satin against scars. “Look at me,” he soothes, trying to draw you back to the present, but it’s a losing battle. You’re going to pass out, and you’re scared, he can read it all so clearly, scared to slip away in the dark, scared to succumb to the nightmare in your mind. “It’s okay.” I’m here, he wants to scream, you’re not alone. You fist his shirt and blink like you’re trying to clear the fog from your head, but it’s not enough.

In one moment, you’re here, you’re with him.

And in the next, you’re collapsing in his arms.

Time is so fickle.

There’s not enough of it now. For so long, his existence was a plague, an endless agony rife with shame, a life undeserving. He dreamt, multiple times, of falling out of the sky and into the Sidra, sinking to the bottom and letting the cold water fill his lungs. He never wanted more, not truly. He had no need for time.

Now, it’s all he wants. More time for more chances to tell you how sorry he is and kneel at your feet, beg you for forgiveness. More time to know you. To love you. Time to learn your likes and dislikes, what makes your nose wrinkle, what adds a skip to your step. Time to take you flying, to trek through the forest with you on an endless scavenger hunt, watch as you bite your lip and furrow your brow at Moonflower’s worktable.

If the Mother would give him another chance. 

If you would.

Time is fickle, because for months, he’s begged it to slow down, and now, he’s pleading with it to speed up, bring him to the moment where you wake.

Madja assured him you would make a full recovery within a day or two. She left a healing salve for the gash in your side, and some sleeping draught in case you were too uncomfortable to rest. You were exhausted, she told him, far weaker than she was comfortable with, body and magic wrung dry.

“Try to get her to eat something,” she said, “and then make sure she sleeps. She needs it. A lot of it.” 

The guilt is insurmountable. It chews away at his insides, burrows itself deep beneath his skin like a disease, rotting his flesh and mind. All he sees is your face, terrified, tormented, first in his dungeon and again, in the Palace. He sees you shuddering amongst the ruin, eyes rolling back in your head, collapsing in his arms. He can still hear your gasps, your pleas from that night, the steady thump of your heart slowing as he took your air, again and again. It’s these memories, these moments igniting in his chest, pain so visceral it aches, the agony of his mate’s suffering tearing him apart from the inside out. No matter the end of his story, of yours, there will always be this cordolium within him, this stark regret plaguing his every step. You’re so beautiful it possesses the power to break him, a strange, beautiful creature, breathtaking from the tip of your nose to the depths of your mind, and he’s a monster, lurking in your nightmares.

A beauty, and a beast.

You whimper and twitch in the blankets, hands fisted, limbs stiff. “Shhh,” he strokes the apple of your cheek. He's been able to settle you somehow, lull you back to peace thanks to the music spinning between your soul and his, threads knitting around the frail, fledging bond, pushing you to take comfort in him as you rest. It's more than he could ever ask for. “You’re okay, sweet girl. You’re safe.” Your sleep has been fitful, at best, and he wonders if he’s the one haunting you, or something else.

He's still in the chair beside the bed when you begin to blink groggily, trying to get a grip on your surroundings. You’re clouded with confusion, echoes of apprehension strumming down the bond, and he meets it, tempering it with reassurance in hope it reaches the other side. “Hey,” he murmurs, holding perfectly still like you’re a small animal and he’s the predator determined not to spook you as you push up onto your elbows with a groan. “Careful. The wound in your side is pretty raw.”

“Where am I?” you croak, and he reaches for the glass of water waiting on the table.

“My house. I didn’t think you’d take kindly to me breaking into yours.” Mostly true. He can’t deny there’s a warm hum of satisfaction purring in his chest at having you here, in his bed, safe within his walls, and he was too unsettled by the thought of bringing you to the River House, or the House of Wind, even though Feyre tried to insist.

Over the course of his life, Azriel’s loyalty, his dedication to his family, his court, has been instinctual, engrained in him down to the core, and his drive to protect his loved ones, Velaris, has been one of his defining features for centuries.

But this instinct has now shifted to you, and you are still an unknown to his High Lord.

“You brought me to your house…” You glance around, unsure. He knows how it seems. A venomous trap laid by him to ensnare you, to hold you here, by his side, forever. A way to feed poison into your veins, stun you, paralyze you, so he can steal you away, shield you from the world.

“You needed a healer, and rest. This was the logical option." You hold his gaze. It’s one of those instances, one of many, where there’s nothing else but you and him, nothing else that matters, nothing that even comes close. He wishes they could last forever. “I had to make sure you’re okay.” He braces for your wrath, the tart, sweet contrast of a raspberry, pinching the pockets of his cheeks and rolling across his tongue. He had a taste of it in the Middle, with the swamp, and now he craves it. Your fight, your cunning. Clever witchling. 

Your expression sours at the salve. “How bad is it?”

“A piece of marble crushed your ribs, and the jagged edge ripped your skin open. Madja says you’ll be healed in a day, but your body is exhausted and slowing the process. She left a sleep tonic, if you need it.” He murmurs, walking the line of too much and too little delicately, desperate to avoid crushing this fragile truce.

You shift, wincing, small yelp slipping free from between your teeth, and he stills you, brushing his hand along your arm before he can stop himself. “Easy.” The touch is electric, a live wire arcing through the room, crackling in the air, and he draws away out of fear, worry he’ll startle you. “We should get you home,” he says softly, and you nod. He won’t try to force it, push this farther. You won’t be comfortable here, and he’s cradling this burgeoning peace, fanning its flame, encouraging it to grow, trying to keep from ruining it. Working at something he's not sure he can achieve. 

“Yeah I… I think that’s a good idea.” You sit up slowly, leaning to one side to alleviate the pressure on your ribs. “How far is it? To my house?” He frowns.

“Far. We’re on the other side of the city. Do you think you can winnow?”

“I don’t know.” You try to wriggle closer to the side of the bed, but it’s fleeting, and your shoulders slump with defeat.

“I can take you, if you’d like.” You glance at his wings.  

“With those?”

“No, I wouldn’t fly with you in this cold.”

“With the shadows then.” You look down at your lap, and the weight of his choices crash like a wave upon his shoulders. The last time he took you through shadow, it was to the chamber, and then back. He swallows.

“It’s the quickest way.” You fix your gaze across the room, sweeping over his dresser, the nook lined with bookshelves and overstuffed velvet chairs, the chest of weapons on the opposite side. Charcoal grey drapes frame the floor to ceiling windows, aquamarine and citrine refracting through the stained-glass onto the deep, nearly black, green walls and polished wide plank wood floors.

“This is your room.” Your fingertips glide across the sheets, black satin, and his cheeks grow hot. 

“Yes.”

“It fits you.” Your lips tilt into the thinnest crescent moon, something akin to a tiny smile, and optimism soars in his heart.

You hold out your hand, the tattoo a mirror to his, the ink and magic of salvation, his contrition, the thing he now bows to, idolatrously.

Without it, he’d be lost.

You take a long, deep breath and uncurl your fingers, opening your palm. The small sliver of trust knocking his entire existence askew.

The meaning of this-

This trust you deign to place in him now, when you’re vulnerable, when your magic is feeble and your physical strength is sapped, is an infinitesimal gift, divinity defying all.

Unworthy. Another thing you’re giving him that he’s unworthy of.

The threads sing, weaving notes together, highs and lows, one side of a fugue, one side still waiting.

Your throat bobs with a swallow, and you graze your fingertips against his. “You’ll take me home then?”

He’s not sure he can leave you here.

She’s in pain, the shadows bemoan as they carefully flutter at your ankles. You’re too fatigued to notice, too busy contemplating the stairs with trepidation. Climbing them is a daunting task, one he fears you may fail. You’re hurting, completely exhausted, and he’s powerless. He can’t fix it or take it away, like everything else that’s happened. Your eyes are nearly dead, drained, and the shadows flitter around you anxiously. She cannot hold herself up. 

I know.                                                                   

“Can I help you up the stairs?” You shake your head vehemently, and like you’re trying to prove something, attempt to take the first step on shaky legs, gripping tight to the banister like it will keep you steady.

Your knees give out immediately, and his self-restraint vanishes. He lifts you into his arms, cradling you against his chest, petrichor and oakmoss flooding his senses, and you don't even flinch. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, “let me help.”

“I’m tired,” you whisper, voice smaller than he’s ever heard, and he tightens his hold.

“I know. Let’s get you into bed, alright?” Weak limbed and limp, you slump against him, giving yourself over. More trust, more of these things he does not deserve. 

“Madja said your bandage won’t need to be changed before you’re healed, so you won’t have to worry about that tomorrow.” He carefully guides you back against your pillows, trying to ignore how caring for you, holding you, being here with you ignites a swath of feelings in him, possessiveness, protective instincts, obsession. Devotion. The rage, the hatred, the darkness haunting him slips into silence, drowned out by the music, the melody overtaking all.

“Okay,” you mumble, trailing off into a yawn as you squint at him. He wants to stay right here, sitting on the edge of your bed, his hip against your thigh, the neutral, barely there contact chasing off the stygian sullenness waiting to welcome him back to its embrace.

Don’t push it. 

He stands. You follow the movement, head tipping back, exposing your throat. Such a vulnerable place, one he greatly wants to drag his lips across. “I’ll let you sleep.” He says instead, stifling the pleasure surging in his blood at the way your eyes track him. He swears he seems a flicker of sadness there, but it’s gone before he can truly process it, hold on it, commit it to memory. When you don’t say anything else, he nods, drawing a sable shroud around his shoulders, readying to step into-

“Azriel,” he freezes, catching your gaze, “thank you.”

“Of course.” He’d do anything for you, little witch. Anything you asked. 

“I’ll see you next week?” There’s a tinge of trepidation on your tongue but it’s not fear. It’s uncertainty. His lips lift into a smile, a genuine one, one that only exists around you.

“Next week.”

He’s summoned almost immediately, and arrives in Rhys’ office to find an audience of his brother and Feyre, Amren, Cassian. The only one missing is Mor.

He quiets himself. Hides everything inside, pulls the shadows close, reinforces the walls around his mind. “What is it?”

“What is it?” Rhys hisses, anger flashing through the room’s thickened fog of magic. “What is it?” Azriel slips into the mask, the one he perfected long ago, and crosses his arms. A mirror image of the father he hated.

“Your mate is a witch.” He looks to Cassian, who shakes his head. He didn’t do it, didn’t betray the secret, this turbulent reality.

It was bad enough they discovered he had a mate in the first place, but disappearing for two weeks, without communication, has its consequences, and he has a hard time denying Feyre anything. When she asked where he had been, what had caused him to leave so suddenly without word, everything came out.

Almost everything. 

“She’s not a witch, her mother was.”

“So she’s only half a witch,” Amren says drily, rolling her eyes. The shadows rumble, rankle with rage. 

“I could smell it, Az, but she’s done nothing wrong. We don’t want to interrogate her.” Feyre looks at him with sympathy, and he only regards her with that same cool stare. Rhys who appears to be of a different mind, snarls at him.

“You will bring her to me, immediately, and I will determine what kind of-“

“No. She is none of your concern.” He will not play this game. He will not give Rhys a single second with you, if this is his intention.

“She is a witch, living in my Court!”

“And do you not trust my ability to evaluate a threat?” It takes everything, everything he has, to keep his tone measured. Cassian’s eyes dart between the two of them and then clears his throat.

“He tortured her, Rhys.”

“I don’t care,” he snaps, “he is blinded by a mating bond.” He turns his attention back to Azriel, raw power crackling through the air between them. “You will bring her to me, or I will retrieve her myself, and you will not like what happens if I do.”

The room explodes in shadow. Midnight closes in from all sides, climbing the walls, crawling across the floor.

The bond thirsts for battle and blood, for his brother’s head, and Azriel’s vision tunnels, soaked in crimson, in wrath, malevolence worthy of a smote god.

Amren stands. Cassian takes a step forward.

“You would threaten my mate? Is this what we’ve come to?” He’s descended past reason now, encased in an icy coffin of fury, and his siphons gleam, the killing power inside him salivating at the potential for violence. For destruction.

His people are monsters, and so shall he be. 

To protect you, to protect his mate, he’d become anything, a brute, a nightmare, it makes no difference.

“Az, let’s-“

“Cassian.” He seethes, refusing to take his eyes from Rhys, “while you may be more amenable to how your mate is treated by our brother, I am not.” Guilt flashes in Rhys’ gaze, and a breath catches in Feyre’s throat with a small, strangled sound.

“This is ridiculous. Just bring the girl and be done with it.” Amren snorts, casually inspecting her fingernails to appear as if she’s unaffected, but Azriel knows better. The shadows know her heart, her truths, how she mourns the loss of what she once was, how she loathes the fact that she’s High Fae. How she’s all too aware of her weakened state, hiding behind her posturing and assumed infinite wisdom that's slowly becoming irrelevant. Like her.

“Amren. Shut up.” Cassian bites out, his siphons casting a rubied glow around the room, mixing with Azriel’s cobalt blue, painting them together into deep purple hues.

“You will never touch my mate, Rhys. Never.” His brother’s face sparks with surprise and then his lip curls.

“Or what?”

“Rhys!” Feyre whips towards him, horror and disappointment settled into the furrow of her brow. “This is enough.” She looks at Azriel. “We trust your judgement Az, of course we do, and Rhys forgets I met her in the Palace saving a child’s life.” She hisses, her own power pulsing between the brothers, creating a physical barrier.

It’s not wrapped tight to Azriel, but to Rhys.

It seems his brother has been outranked.

We can break it, the shadows croon.

No. 

This is his family, dysfunctional as it may be, as tumultuous it may be, they are still his.

Rhys is still his brother. His High Lord.

“Let’s take a breath, cool off.” Feyre coaxes, nudging at the fortress of Azriel’s mind. Go. I will speak to him.

Don’t bother. 

He will listen to reason, just… give it some time. 

He spares Rhys one more glance as his wings flex and shakes his head. “I am disappointed in you, brother. I had hoped by now you would have learned from your mistakes.”

He expects another challenge of some sort. “No swamp today?”

“No swamp.” You lead him to your workspace in the back of Moonflower, a light, airy space with shelves and shelves full of herbs, flowers, plants growing from glass jars, and hunk of rocks, precious metals, strips of steel haphazardly tucked beside them, all chaotic, all disorganized. Like your home, it’s fitting. “I figured you could hang out with me while I work.” It’s a trial in its own way, daring him to protest, to vanish, to be bored by you, disinterested.

He won’t. He’d never.

“What are you making?” The table is full of stuff. Books, a mortar and pestle, a brass scale. There’s a long, sharp knife next to a thick stalk of something purple that smells like lemon, flanked by two glass beakers, and a heaping pile of salt. A raised metal circle holds a sphere over open flame, its contents a cyan rich liquid just on the cusp of a boil.

“Today I’m trying to finish a batch of contraceptive tea, and a cleanser.”

“A cleanser?”

“It’s an elixir that pulls poison from the body. All the healers in Velaris keep it stocked. Works well for a hangover too.” You bless him with another smile, the second one today, and he tucks it away for when sleep struggles to come and he needs something to cling to.

You pin him with assessing eyes. Anything could roll from your tongue, a question, a request to fulfill the bargain, a demand to never see him again, and the precipice is agony. He wonders if this is how it would be to fall without wings, drop out of the sky and plummet towards the mountains, jump from a cliff and crash into the sea. Would his heart pound the same, lungs scream the same? Would he experience peace, the same he feels in your presence, would his past flash before his eyes, would his family, or you? Conflict shivers from behind your walls towards him, twisting through the bond. “You owe me an explanation, and while I… I do need to hear it, desperately... there are other things that weigh on me. The fact that you know well enough about me but I know very little about you." You draw a pattern through the heap of salt, suddenly distant. It passes, and you blow out a long breath. "Azriel… who are you?” He frowns.

“I am… the Shadowsinger, the Spymaster, I’m-“

“No. What are you, if not those things, the Shadowsinger, the Spymaster. Who are you?”

“I…” the answer doesn’t come and there’s suddenly a nest of cotton muffling sound and thought, spinning tangled webs throughout his brain. Who is he? 

“I'm clever,” you lift your nose and smirk, tracing the rim of the glass beaker to make low whistle tones, “and a friend. I make a very good honeysuckle whiskey cocktail, and I love to read. I’m a hunter too, of fungi and moss, the occasional crystal. I'm an alchemist, I balance nature and magic. I’m a daughter.” Your voice hitches on the last word, vowels pulled apart at the edges, longing lingering on your lips. It pains you. Another puzzle in the long list of surprises, another riddle you’ve posed without an answer, a truth he struggles to find. “Try,” you whisper, ever watchful.

“I’m a bastard.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, the stain upon his life since the day he was born. “And an Illyrian,” a brute, a monster, “I’m exceptionally skilled at causing pain and killing. I am warrior, a fighter. I have turned suffering into art. I am…” he doesn’t look at you. You’re the only thing capable of making him feel real fear, fear of your pain or suffering or anguish, the fear of your rejection, the fear of your disgust, and he can’t bring himself to see it on your face. “I am alone.” He braces for the pity, the same sharp sympathy given to him by his family.

“Well. Those are awful.” His gaze snaps to yours. You’re aggravated, and curious.

Always curious, our girl. 

She is, isn’t she? 

“You’re a brother, aren’t you? And an uncle?” He nods. “So, not alone. And you’re a bastard, probably mocked for it, hurt for it, but here you are, so I imagine you’re perseverant, strong. Strong in the physical sense too.” You peek at his shoulders, his arms, traveling down his chest before redirecting your attention to his face, somewhat abashed. “U-um, you’re-“

“Clever. Like you.”  

“Clever, like me. Brave too, I think, and probably devoted, loyal, considering your line of work.”

“Yes,” he whispers, symphony rising, notes colliding with perfect pitch, ringing in ears, a celestial rhythm waiting for the crescendo to match.

“Loved.” It’s a blazing star shooting across the sky, a buttery sweet sentiment melting in his mouth, loved.

“You didn’t list it for yourself.”

“Because it didn’t belong.” Loved? You don’t consider yourself loved?

“Why?”

“Because there is no one left. I am a good friend, a great one, but my secret prevents others from being a good friend to me. You cannot be loved if you are not known, not truly.” It crashes into him, the severity of your words. You cannot be loved if you are not known, not truly. 

Is he known? Truly known? Is he loved? 

Molten silver bubbles over from the sphere to a beaker, polychrome and pearl trickling down the sides, sizzling into a powder at the bottom. “Ah!” You jerk away from the table, bringing your hand to your chest, and he goes cold, shadows vibrating.

“What?” He’s around the corner and in front of you immediately,  

“It’s nothing, the silver just dripped on me.” You burned yourself. His chest tightens. 

“Let me see.” He cradles your hand in his, shadows quivering around your fingertip as he pulls you over to the tap. He turns the handle to the right temperature, cool but not cold, before putting your blistered skin under the spigot. If he’s fast enough, he can stop it from scarring, stop it from marring your lovely skin, prevent it from being with you for the rest of your life. “How does that feel?”

“Good.” You’re not looking at the water splashing down into the copper sink, or the burn. Instead, you're studying him, contemplating, considering.

“Do you have any cream here? Or maybe one of the salves you make...” He trails off, trying to think about what he’s seen in the shop out front, but everything he means to ask dies in his throat when you wrap your other hand around his.

“I’m okay, Azriel.” Right. Of course you are. It’s a small burn, not even the width of your fingertip. Suddenly, he feels very, very foolish, exposed, and he ties a cloak of obsidian around his shoulders, pulling the tendrils down around his forearms.

“Sorry, I-“

“I know.” You caress the shadows curling around his elbow, dancing through them with grace, inspecting, studying. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whisper, and his throat tightens.

“There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing.” You shake your head.

“There is… there has to be because I should you hate you, shouldn’t I?”

“You should.” You should do more than hate him, you should fear him, detest him, run from him.

“But I don’t. I don’t hate you, I’m not scared, and I don’t think it’s the safety net of the bargain. I don’t… I don’t understand it. I’m not frightened of you, but I am… I’m frightened of this.” Your palm flattens over your heart. He should tell you; he should confess-

but then he could lose you. 

“I should tell you to leave, but all I want to tell you is you’re not alone.” He tries to dig his heels into the ground against the magnetism dragging him downward, farther and farther until he’s holding your face, nearly nose to nose, counting your breaths, each speck in your irises. Decision and indecision hums down the bond, an endless tug of war you fight, a battle he wants so badly to win for you. You push up onto your tiptoes- 

and then crash your lips to his. 

It’s hungry, lush, teeming with life like your beloved forest. You unknowingly push it all through the bond, desire, confusion, worry, each feeling a chord, a note, trying to complete the song. He’s losing himself in it, veering off the path and diving headfirst into the unknown, too incensed to think for a moment before he wrests his discipline back into place.

Stop.

Control.

He rests his forehead against yours as he draws a measured breath.

His. He’ll show you what it means. To be his.

“You are perfect,” he presses a ghostly kiss to the corner of your mouth, “brilliant, kind, brave. You are far more than I deserve, a blessing I never knew could exist. A goddess I would worship my entire life.” An endless pool of hesitance and longing eddies in your eyes, a paradox he knows too well, and he prepares to step away, disappear, run. 

But you reach for him with a whisper.

“Worship me then.”

Fervor. Frenzy. It all explodes, detonates through him to you, whipping down the bond again and again, madness ebbing at the edge of his mind.

His. His, his, his. 

The two of you collide, and he’s rough, unintentionally, but it’s met blow for blow in a distorted dance, hands, fingers, mouths everywhere, his tongue against yours. It’s not enough, your touch under his shirt, traveling up to his shoulders, a leisurely stroll becoming a hectic sprint, encouraging him, knitting your fingers in his hair, nipping at his jaw. He plucks the ribbon tying the neckline of your dress together, your breasts spilling out into his hands.

“Azriel,” you’re whimpering, rolling your hips against the thigh he’s nudged between your legs, shivering as drags his thumbs across your nipples and follows with his teeth, sharp for the sweet, “don’t tease.”

Wild one. 

The shadows sweep everything off the worktable, and he lays you back, hiking the skirt up over your belly, dragging soft kisses on your skin beneath your navel as he spreads your knees wide, wide enough to accommodate his shoulders, exposing a pair of black panties, weeping pussy waiting for him underneath.

He has no patience and twists his fingers in the hem, tearing the fabric away from your body. “Cauldron,” he murmurs, running his knuckles up and down your seam, enjoying how you shiver each time he teases a little pressure against your clit. “Look at you-  beautiful everywhere.” Dawn in a drizzle, your scent makes his mouth water, and his cock aches, painfully heavy. This is not about him, it’s about you, as all things are now.

He'll have plenty of time, he prays, plenty of time inside you, plenty of time to bury his cock in your slick, warm cunt. 

He kneels. Kneels at the altar, kneels for you. This is veneration, the cleansing of his soul. He’ll make himself worthy, through fire, through ash.

You, you, it’s all you. 

The bond is insatiable, it shrieks like a banshee in the night, his side slamming against yours again and again, hungry and hunting, trying to crash through the sky-high brambles blocking its path.

His. His. Hishishishis- 

“Azriel,” you whimper, practically vibrating, fidgeting on the table, fingers gripping the edge. You go taut as he pulls your thighs over his shoulders and leans in to finally put his mouth on you, tasting, flicking his tongue over your swollen pearl. He’s too broad between your knees, the width of him leaving you completely exposed, every nerve ending on display, every drop of dew ready for him to drink. The size difference is startling, pleasing, and he rumbles his approval into your cunt, tracing your clit with a pointed tongue.

He wants to make you come so badly, but the fiend in him wants to play. “Can you take a finger?” You manage to rasp out a yes, and he feeds you one, unable to look at away at how you clench around it, pressing up past the knuckle, making you sing for him. “That’s it,” he works slowly, pushing and pulling as you arch on the table, toes curling against his shoulder blades, digging into his flesh, “good girl.” You’re tight, tight enough a second finger fills you, tight enough you squeak a little when he kicks them upward, searching for the spot, the one likely to make to go limp.

“Az,” you tug at his hair, and he kisses your pussy, mouth soaked, almost drowning in silken sap, fresh rain, salted earth, the strange and beautiful taste of you.

“Just a bit more,” he finds the textured velvet space and strokes, pinning your hip to the table with his free hand. “There it is, be still,” he croons, pleased when you listen, stammering something like yes and please, panting between syllables. Your nails scratch against the wood, walls clutching his fingers as you writhe, greedy, insatiable, wild as nature intended you to be.

He circles your clit with his tongue and your knees instinctively try to jolt closed, but he shakes his head, correcting you, commanding or coaching, lines too blurred to tell the difference. “Keep your legs open, sweet girl, nice and wide for me so I can make you come.”

 “P-please, please.” Your spine arches and you grip the hand on your hip tight, rising to the crest of the wave he knows is about to crash down. He balances you there, just on the swell, pushing harder on the spot inside you, listening to the way your breath catches. “Ah, fuck, it’s t-too much-” you kick your feet and hiccup, head rolled to the side, eyes wide and brighter than the full moon, tears starting to gather on your lashes.

He'll eat you alive, lick you clean right to the bone, inhale you. Swallow you. Keep you inside himself forever, keep you safe and sheltered. Hidden away.  

“I know, I know,” he coos. Normally he’d make you wait, drag it out until you were a mess far past this while he edged you into madness, but now is not the right time, the right moment.

Still. His blood yearns for it. For your tears, for the way you’d cry as he bounced you on his cock, as his body buried yours into his mattress, as he split you open, fucked you full of his cum.

But for now, this will have to do.

“Poor thing. Does it ache, sweetheart? Do you need to come?”

“Y-yeah, I need it please… I need… I need you.” I need you. If this is all he gets, if this is all he’s earned and it crumbles afterwards, he’ll hold onto those words, treasuring them with his last breath. I need you. He kisses your thigh and then sweeps over your clit, licking and lapping, coaxing your release until you break apart, clapping a hand over your mouth to smother your strangled scream. He praises you- my good girl, look at you, did so well, so perfect- and wrings every last drop of it from your body, only rising from between your legs once you’ve stopped twitching.

Your face is slack, sloped in a small delirious smile, and he licks his fingers clean, kisses the inside of your knee. “Are you with me?”

“Mhmm.” You try to hop down and end up stumbling forward, face planting directly into his chest. His arms come around you on instinct, cupping the back of your head, cradling it, skimming his nose along your hair and breathing as deep as he can, filling his lungs with forest and fauna, fresh snow in the twilight of the first winters day.

Don’t let go, don’t.

Everything in him is warm, at peace. Idyllic.

Your hand creeps across his thigh. “I can…”

“No,” he pulls your fingers to his mouth and presses a kiss to each one, slowly, savoring, “not today.”  An easy smile spreads across his face at the sight of your blown pupils, swollen lips, but the bond thrums with confusion, unease.

“Do you not want me to…”

“I want to have you in any way conceivable, witchling,” he strokes your cheek, “but not here.” Your worktable is in shambles, and as if you forgot, you grimace and huff, pulling away. “I can help-“

“No, it’s fine.” The things scattered to each end begin to arrange themselves, finding their rightful places, glass beakers and molten silver, crushed bundles of herbs and finely ground powders all returning to how they were as if nothing ever happened, tinge of damp foliage and peeling birch rolling around you in a cloud.

“Neat trick.”

“It’s not a trick,” you protest, affronted, and his stomach drops.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“ The side of your mouth quirks playfully, and he closes the gap, curls an arm around your waist as you place your palms on his chest, laughing. Just the brief sound of your happiness might kill him, stop his heart. He finds the curve of your ass instinctively and squeezes, kneads the flesh hard enough you suck in a sharp breath.

“Little brat.” He could take you right now. He wants to. Flip your dress up all over again and bend you over the table, pressing your cheek to the wood and kicking your legs open. You’d still be wet, wanting, pussy swollen and tight, milking his cock as he made you come on it until you couldn’t hold yourself up any longer.

Not now. 

This, whatever this is, this step forward, this rebuilding of what could have been, is fragile, so incredibly tenuous it terrifies him. A small light trying to swell in a sea of sombrous fog, fighting for a chance to shine.

Anything could snuff it out.

“Our next… meeting won’t be until the very end of next week.” The sun is setting over the city, bathing it in a spectrum of opalescence orange-gold streaked with violet, it’s beauty paling in comparison to the brilliance of yours.

“Why?”

“I’m travelling.”  A ripple of tension cascades along his spine. He planned other things for this conversation, hoped to broach the subject of the Solstice ball and ask you to accompany him, but now…

“Where?” The bond rumbles in apprehension, echoing from both sides, his wings rustling in response.

“Spring.” Absolutely not.

“No.” You glare at him.

“I wasn’t asking for your permission.”

“I’m aware.” He should soften his tone, tread carefully, but the monster inside, the one fused to the bond overrides sensibility, caution, showing his true colors. Brute. Bastard. Illyrian. 

“I-“

“I’ll go with you.” Balance. You sigh.

“I am fine on my own, Azriel.”

“I know.” But he’s not. “As you said earlier, I still owe you an explanation.” That gives you pause, your scrutiny harsh and piercing, more lethal than the fine point of a blade.

Finally, you acquiesce with a nod. “You do.”

“Let’s use that time for it then.” Please. He’s always pleading, digging a deeper hole, dragging himself across broken glass.

The bond is tightrope, one strung from his soul to yours. He tugs it towards his side, trying to drag yours from the vadon, flush your indecipherable thoughts free from the forest of your mind.

Eventually, your hard-bitten expression turns conciliatory and though you cross your arms in front of your chest, you bite out an agreement, teeth gnashed, defiance glittering in your gaze.

“Fine.”

[whyhellosims]

Me: I don't make a sims story out of every household I play!

Also Me:

She watched him kneeling next to the garden bed, admiring the way his fingers delved and dug in the dirt, sensitive to the plant roots. He had that soft expression on his face she’d come to appreciate—sorrow diluted by present pleasure, a haunting melancholy she’d always been drawn to.

Why was it so difficult to know someone else? Why did it seem like no matter how many questions she asked, she never got past the front gate of his core? How many times had his diffident smile deflected her inquiries, distracting her from her purpose?

“I can go,” she offered, wondering now, as she had so many other times, if she was intruding.

He looked over at her, a gentle turn that lifted his eyes, unintentionally coy, and put the long column of his graceful throat on display.

“I enjoy your company,” he said, and perhaps something in the troubled nature of her expression gave him pause. He sat back on his heels, concern stealing the subtle sorrow from his face. “Fallon?”

She wasn’t sure what possessed her—she leaned forward on one braced hand and kissed him, his beard prickling against her skin. His mouth was warm and soft, his teeth firm behind his lips, his tongue wet and silky when it met hers.

She found herself cupping his jaw, abandoning her position to push against him, a climbing vine he never expected in the serene order of his garden. In the distance the waves crashed against the pier and the seagulls screamed, the only ones who might spy them there fumbling in the shade of a towering tree.

“Bjorn,” she breathed, a prayer, a magic incantation to draw him out, to draw him to her. She clung to him, pulling him with her down into the grass, hands snagging and tugging at his clothes. “Bjorn, Bjorn...”

The hungry pull of his kisses surprised her, as did the way his dirt-streaked fingers trembled with haste, pushing her skirt up, tracing the length of her thigh to her hip in search of her underwear and finding nothing more than skin.

The waistband of his pants gave easily to her insistence, his stomach a firm, domed slab tightening against the brush of her knuckles. Her knees rucked his shirt up, toes pushing down his pants and boxers as he slid against her, coiling into a knot in the soft grass, dappled sunlight dazzling her eyes.

He reared over her, into her, a slow and steady slide of swollen flesh, hot and deliciously large, pushing deeper and deeper until she bowed her back, feet braced, and arched up to meet him.

“Bjorn.” She twined her arms around him, moving in time with his thrusts, his breath coming in soft, shocked gasps against her ear. His heart pounded against hers, an excited staccato gaining speed. She tightened around him, the angle and size of his body pushing her rapidly towards bliss. “Bjorn, Bjorn...”

She turned her head, delighted by the urgency of his kiss, the hungry way he devoured her mouth as they moved so desperately together. It built quickly, so suddenly that she moaned his name loud, fingers clenching in the firm muscle of his flexing back, tightening up around him as the pleasure peaked.

The low, rumbling sound it pulled from him paid homage to his namesake, a chest-deep purr of satisfaction as he strained against her, short and sharp thrusts that slowed as sensation ebbed.

It left them both breathing hard, coated in a fine sheen of sweat, the wind teasing their skin with prickles.

“Bjorn,” she murmured, cradling him with her whole body as he slumped over her, replete and, perhaps, content. She smoothed his hair, finger combing the fine blond strands away from his damp forehead, his warm face nestled in the bend of her neck. He kissed her there and she smiled, relishing the way he stayed with her, in her, connected in the only way she could entice him.

Eventually, unhappy reality intruded. He pushed up on his elbow, looking down at her with vast affection. His touch was tender when he stroked her face, stroked her hair, traced her throat down to her chest, around the curve of her breast to her waist.

She braced her foot, knee sliding up, and smiled to feel him twitch inside her.

“Will you stay for dinner?” he asked.

Fallon nodded. “I can help you cook, if you like.”

His soft smile was like food for her starving soul.

“Of course,” he said, and kissed her again before reluctantly sitting up and sliding out of her.

There was a decadent satisfaction in the aftermath, in the bits of grass in her hair, in the streaks of dirt from his fingers on her skin, in the slippery, wet slide of his come threatening to escape down her thighs. He gave her a pair of his wife’s underwear, assuring her they’d never been worn, and offered to let her shower, but Fallon declined. She wore the underwear, and part of her hoped she’d get pregnant from their tryst. She made dinner with him and his daughters and son, present in their family but not part of it. Clara’s space was large, unfilled, a silent, uncaring specter in the lives of her loved ones. Fallon felt the space she’d left behind, like a room shut up tight and locked against intrusion, unused and undisturbed and left to grow stale in its owner’s absence. She hoped he’d take her to bed there, to clear the cobwebs of Clara from one spot in this mausoleum, but he didn’t. He quietly cleared the dishes while his children did homework, played, chatted, his gaze faraway again.

His eldest, a bright girl, beautiful and hard as a diamond, picked a strand of grass from Fallon’s hair and told her, “I wouldn’t make plans.”

“I’m not,” Fallon told her. “I just want him to be happy.”

“I’m not sure he has that capacity.”

[mypoisonedvine]

𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖈𝖊 III {finale} || professor!helmut zemo x reader

{𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 I} {𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 II}

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 : some part of you thought that maybe you could get through this without ever having to really talk about your feelings, or the future, or all those things you were pretending didn’t matter.  but they matter, and they can’t go unspoken forever.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 : 11.7k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 : smut (semi-public sex aka car sex), some possessiveness, angst, fluffffff way too much fluff, violence (mentioned), mentions of serious injury, military references, relationship discussions, choking (non-sexual lmao it’s just on food), minor character death (in a flashback kinda, not graphic)

You glanced over at him as he stared out into the road ahead, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh, his thumb absent-mindedly stroking your skin.

The weekend getaway had been his idea, but he let you pick the destination.  You picked a cabin in a cute little seaside town, something relaxed where you could spend the whole weekend in bed together and not worry about the rest of the world for a little while.

But you were still in the car, so you were still worrying— specifically, worrying that this felt sort of like a boyfriend and girlfriend thing.  And that itself wasn’t so bad, but it made you feel like the ‘what are we?’ talk was inevitable, as was that talk going poorly.  You could picture it now: I like spending time with you, he’d say, one of those things that sounds like a compliment but really means you’re worth it as long as you require no effort and stay out of my way.

And you’d just nod and pretend to be okay with it because you were in too deep now to break it off.  When you were together, you were so happy that you couldn’t imagine ending it; and when you were apart, you missed him so much that all you could think about was the next time you would be together.

We’re happy now, why do things need to change? he’d say, one of those things that makes sense until you really think about it and understand that it just means why would I care if we’re moving forward or not?  I’m already getting what I want.

You sighed, leaning your head back against the seat, and he glanced at you quickly.  “What are you thinking about?” he asked, squeezing your thigh.

“Nothing,” you mumbled.

“You expect me to believe that?” he chuckled.  “You’re overthinking again, I can feel it.”

“You can feel me overthinking?” you confirmed, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course,” he nodded.  “I can tell your mood very well by now.”

“Alright, then why ask me what I’m thinking about if you already know what I’m feeling, mind reader?” you challenged.

“You’re sighing because you are bored from being in the car so long,” he decided, “and you’re also noticing that you’ve never dated anybody who drove such a nice car before.”

Does that mean we’re dating?  “Anything else?” you smirked.

“And you’re wishing I would move my hand a little higher.”

Before you could react to that, he moved his fingers up under your skirt, gripping your thigh tightly until you breathed another sigh— one very different from the last.

“Am I right?” he grinned.

“Spot on,” you breathed, whimpering a little when one of his fingers toyed with the hem of your panties.  It was subtle, teasing, and yet it was enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and your thighs to clench together which he noticed easily.

He tutted in faux disappointment when his finger moved down to find a wet patch in the fabric.  “Oh, wet already… what are we going to do with you, draga?”

Whatever the fuck you wanna do with me, you thought, but when your lips fell open thankfully only a little moan fell out.

It was impossible to complain about the risk of distracted driving when his fingers slipped into your panties and explored your folds— yet you were about to complain when he pulled his hand away, until you watched him bring his soaked fingers to his lips, quickly getting a taste before reaching under your skirt again.  As if that wasn’t hot enough, he growled a bit when he pushed two fingers into you suddenly.

“Fuck,” you whispered, making him smile proudly.  He only ventured the fingers inside you briefly, sliding them out slowly to brush the rough pads of them over your clit and it made your whole body shudder— he pressed down, drawing slow circles, until you were biting back whimpers and pleas for more.

He kept on teasing you, only reaching as deep as he needed to to lightly press into your spot before slipping out to rub your clit and then start the process all over again.

“You’re so…” you panted.

“Hm?”

“You’re so mean,” you hissed.

“Am I?  I can stop if I’m bothering you,” he offered.

“N-no!  I… I just need more, please,” you groaned, yelping a bit when he pinched your clit roughly.

This time when he filled you with his fingers, he twisted his arm to go a bit deeper and kept his thumb on your clit, your soaked pussy making it easy for him to pump in and out at an increasing pace.

Your eyes fell shut as you gripped the seat beneath you, rocking your hips up against his hand for more.

“Ohh, fuck, Helmut, I’m gonna come,” you warned mindlessly.

You only opened your eyes when you felt the car start to shift, looking over to him as he checked the road before pulling over off the side and stopping near the wooded treeline.

“Wh-what are you—?” you mumbled, cut off when he put the car in park and grabbed your face to kiss you roughly.  You held the wrist by his hand that held your face, moaning against his tongue, still not sure what he was up to but already on board.

“Get in the back, I can’t wait any longer,” he whispered, and you nodded dreamily as you broke away and awkwardly climbed into the backseat; he followed soon after, pushing you back against the leather and sliding his body between your legs; holding you close, kissing you harder.

It would have been reasonable to expect that the small space would make everything more uncomfortable, but instead it just made it hotter— like there wasn’t room to be anywhere but pressed right up against each other, like the only place he could rest his hands was on your body.  You felt totally helpless to his dominating and open-mouthed kiss, to his thick hands tugging your clothes out of the way while you blindly attempted to open his belt.

You reached into his trousers and found him already incredibly hard, wrapping your fingers around the silky skin and grinning when he cursed under his breath.

A bit hasty with your desperation getting the better of you, you guided him to your entrance and began to slowly push your hips forward— but he held your thighs and did it for you, sliding in in one smooth stroke.

This angle seemed to force him even deeper, and you clutched his shirt in weak fists as he pushed all the way inside.  “H-Helmut,” you breathed as he started to move, not quite sure if it was a plea for him to slow down or never stop.

“Fuck, say my name again,” he demanded.

“Helmut,” you repeated, giggling when he kissed your neck on a spot that sort of tickled a bit.  

“One more time,” he instructed; you could feel his grin against your skin, alongside his teeth grazing your pulse.

Just as you started to say it he fucked you harder all of a sudden, just to make you choke on it.  Soon you were saying his name like a prayer, over and over until you worried you’d lose your voice and he had to kiss you to make you stop.  “Say you’re mine,” he pleaded softly, right against your lips, “like you did the first time.”

You felt shame pang at the back of your head, a strong instruction from what was left of your logical mind not to do that.  But for all your mind’s protests, your body was already his and already bending to his will.  “Yours,” you moaned, “Helmut, I’m yours…”

“I know,” he breathed, nodding slightly as he kissed you again, “I know, baby.”

You whimpered and wrapped your legs around his hips, holding him closer as he stayed deep inside you, barely letting him pull back to thrust though he still managed regardless.  The bottom of his shirt was rubbing against your clit (consequences of only half-undressing for a quickie) and it made your back arch until you couldn’t push your body into his anymore.

Embarrassingly quickly, pressure began to build inside you, your moans getting louder as they echoed around the inside of the car.

“Will you come for me, draga?” he purred, a low growl against your neck where he had moved his assault of wet kisses.  You nodded quickly, holding onto his back tight and biting down on your lip a bit too hard.  His hand held your neck, thumb running over your jaw, and in a way it soothed you, but it also sent you tumbling over the edge all at once   You barely choked out his name as your attempt at a warning, as if it weren’t obvious just from the way your channel seized up immediately.  “Good girl,” he cooed lowly right against your ear, “so good for me, don’t stop.”

You couldn’t stop so long as he kept his pace— not nearly as fast as you were used to, much more measured and patient, and yet it ruined you in a way nothing else could.

It was much too sensual for the backseat of a Lexus.  Much too delicate and loving for two people who weren’t even in a formal relationship.  Much too perfect to ever forget, irritatingly enough.

He kept his eyes open to watch your face closely as he came inside you, admiring every detail of your face twisted in pleasure— a tear even fell down your temple and he softly brushed it away— before it all slowed down to a stop and you were just holding each other.

Once you both cooled off for just a second, he pulled you close and rolled you around so he was sitting and you straddled his lap, keeping you in an embrace while he kissed your neck and shoulder.  “So beautiful,” he whispered, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

You wanted to tell him that you meant it, that you were really his.  That it wasn’t just dirty talk (and you weren’t even sure if it qualified as ‘dirty’).  Even if he rejected you, at least it would be off your chest.  

But you chickened out; and in your defense, if there’s any time to have a talk with a partner that might end up awkward, right before a weekend trip is probably the worst time possible.  So, it was strategic aside from just pathetic.

“We’re already going to be a bit late,” he noticed, lifting his hand over your shoulder to look at his watch, “is it alright if we just stay like this for a while before I get back to driving?”

You nodded sleepily against his shoulder and he grinned, kissing your cheek.  “Maybe you can rest here in the back after that…”

And you did, drifting off quickly in the comfort of his arms.  You only partially roused from your sleep when he carefully pulled out of you and laid you down gently, the sound of the car starting coming a few moments later.

He had to keep his eyes on the road, but he wanted so badly to watch you sleep in the rearview mirror.  

“So, what did you think?” you smiled expectantly as you turned from watching the credits roll on the TV to looking at where he sat beside you on the cabin’s big fluffy couch.

“Eh,” he shrugged.

“What?!” you squawked.  “You just experienced an American classic!”

“American classics, in my experience, are aggressive and boisterous and… greasy,” he explained.

You snorted.  “How can a movie be greasy?”

“I meant the food—”

“Oh!  We should watch Grease!” you realized.

He grumbled something in Sokovian to himself as he rubbed his forehead, and you laughed in relent.  “Fine, I won’t make you watch anything more.”

“No, I like watching movies with you,” he decided, “but maybe the next one can be a bit more… subtle.”

"The next movie we watch should be Sokovian," you suggested.

"There aren't many Sokovian films… the constant war was pretty hard on the cinema industry, believe it or not,” he scoffed.  “We managed to make a lot of porn, though.”

“Well then maybe we should watch some of that,” you smirked, and he laughed as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh no, it’s awful.  Plumbers and lonely housewives, cops pulling women over, that sort of thing,” he dismissed.

“Cheesy porn tropes, you say?  Like, perhaps, a professor and his student?” you pressed, leaning in to run your fingers playfully over his open collar.  “So unrealistic.”

“It was different with us,” he decided.

“How?”

“It wasn’t for a grade, we never used the term ‘oral exam’...”

“Mm, maybe we should have,” you purred, hopping up to straddle his lap and trace your finger over the chain of his necklace that was just barely exposed under his shirt.  “It’s sorta sexy.”

“Really?  Oral exam?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.  “Makes me think of the dentist.”

“Oh, so you don’t think dentists are hot?” you joked.  “Who doesn’t like latex gloves and drills in their mouth?”

He laughed, and although you were sort of trying not to seem totally desperate, you just couldn’t hold yourself back from trying to kiss that smile right off his face— thankfully he didn’t seem to mind, humming a bit against your lips and placing his hands on your back to hold you closer.

Just when you thought he would deepen it, he pulled back slightly.

“Wait,” he mumbled against your lips, pushing you back gently to break the kiss.  “It was… different with us, right?”

You shook your head slightly, confused as you struggled to remember what he was talking about.  “What?  Yeah, of course.”

Hastily pressing your lips back on his, you were all in but he was clearly distracted, only half-heartedly kissing you back; you could all but taste his hesitance and it forced you to pull back and look down at him again.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly, tilting your head.

“Oh, uh, nothing’s wrong,” he assured, “I just… I was just thinking.”

“...what were you thinking about?” you asked when you realized that was the end of his sentence.

“I was thinking about what you said a few weeks ago, on my birthday— that you liked that I’m so much older than you.”

“Mhm?”

“You’re not…” he started and began again.  “This isn’t just… about that, for you, is it?”

“What?” you furrowed your brow.

“I mean, is that what this—” he motioned to the space between the two of you— “is about?”

You frowned, a little sinking feeling already forming in your gut.  “I don’t understand,” you spoke, but your fear was more that you understood him completely.

“My English isn’t good enough for this,” he sighed.  “Sometimes I worry that this is… something you do.”

“That what is something I do?” you asked, a bit more pointed than you meant for it to come out, but you really just needed him to say it.  

“Date older men,” he finally finished.  “Seduce professors, I don’t know, whatever you’d like to call it.”

You straightened up and got up off of his lap, stepping back.  “Seriously?  You think this is, like, my kink or something?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he clarified, standing up with you, “but I’m asking in case I’m wrong.”

Maybe on some level, you could appreciate that it was a reasonable question.  After all, you had been sort of wanting to ask him if he made a habit of seducing students— but you didn’t because you knew it would be horribly offensive, which is why it was so aggravating that he was doing it to you now.  In these months together (but not together together), had he not learned enough about your character to realize you weren’t in it for anything but him?  “I told you I haven’t even dated that much before you,” you reminded him firmly, crossing your arms.

“And I believe you, I’m not accusing you of anything—”

“It kinda sounds like you are!” you snapped.

“And it sounds like you are getting defensive about it, which makes me worry even more!” he shot back, and you wondered if you’d ever heard him raise his voice before.

“Well, don’t worry about it, because it’s none of your business,” you rolled your eyes, “we’re not even dating anyway.”

Just as you started to walk away, not even sure where you would go when you were staying here with him (a walk outside, maybe, just to clear your head and be somewhere that he couldn’t see you cry?), he stopped you with a hand on your shoulder.

“Wait, please,” he breathed, and only because he sounded so broken-hearted did you turn around.

“What?” you sighed, showing your irritation in lieu of your heartbreak.

He took a quick breath, collecting himself before he spoke again.  “I don’t mean to be invasive and I certainly don’t mean to be controlling,” he explained, “I just… I want to understand what you want.  From me, specifically.”

“Okay,” you nodded, “that might be a more complicated question than you realize.  With a complicated answer.”

“I have time, I have the rest of the weekend," he decided.  “Just tell me that this isn’t only fun for you.  If it is, then… then I’m glad you had your fun, and we can have fun together here, and then when we get back to the city… we can go our separate ways.”

“And if it’s not?”

He swallowed, looking away briefly before stepping closer, reaching up to cradle your face in his palm.  “If it’s not just fun, then… then we need to have a different conversation.”

You cleared your throat nervously.  “What conversation?”

“I need to know first,” he insisted, “or it would be wrong for me to tell you.  I don’t want you to spare my feelings, draga, I just want the truth.”

What you really wanted was to know his feelings first so you could spare your own, but he was so adamant on making you speak first, his gaze desperately searching your face as you tried to avoid the heat of it.  “I…” you began, not sure what to say.  You knew what you wanted to say, you just didn’t know how, exactly.  Looking up into his eyes again, you took a quick breath and started over, trying to ignore your heart racing inside your chest.  “It’s not just fun, Helmut, or a bucket list thing or a ‘trying something wild and crazy while I’m still young’ thing.  I’m serious about this… but, you know, if you just wanna stay casual I understand—”

He cut you off with a kiss, sudden but not quite desperate; rather relaxed, actually, and you melted into it as his arm snaked around your waist and pulled you close.  

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. 

“You— what?” you gasped, pushing back slightly against his chest.

“I love you,” he repeated.  “It’s not just fun, it’s not a bucket list thing or a midlife crisis thing— I love you, I’ve been in love with you for weeks and couldn’t think of what to say… I was afraid to smother you, you wouldn’t be wrong to want more freedom than you can have with me.”

A shaky breath moved in and out of your lungs as you looked away from his gaze— it was too wonderfully all-encompassing for you to be able to process this with his eyes on you.

“I hope it doesn’t bother you,” he mumbled nervously, “but I can’t change how I feel.”

“No, it doesn’t… it’s good,” you smiled, starting to laugh.  Your heart was beating so heavy you could hear it in your ears, you could barely even hear yourself speak as you answered him.  “Helmut, it’s— I love you too, of course.”

“Really?” he beamed.

“Really.” 

He kissed you again, harder, and neither of you could stop smiling through it.  "Say it again," he pleaded softly. 

"I love you," you repeated.  "I love you, Helmut."

“Mm, one more time,” he encouraged with a soft laugh as he lifted you into his arms and began to carry you down a familiar path to the cabin’s bedroom.

“I love you I love you I love you I—” you had to stop to gasp when he bit down on your neck, not too hard but still quite surprising, before he tossed you down onto the bed and pounced on top of you.

“Is it fair to say that we’re dating now?” he presumed, making you laugh.  

“Yeah, I think so.”

“So it’s just us, you and me, girlfriend and boyfriend?” he continued.  “Nobody else?”

“There was never anybody else,” you promised.

“I know, and now there never will be,” he cooed, placing a kiss right on your ear.  “You’re all mine now.”

A shiver ran up your spine instantly.  “God, how do you do that?  Go from sweet to filthy in a split-second?”

“Mm, a habit of mine,” he hummed, “because it makes you all cute and whiny.”

You frowned as he kissed your nose.  “Hey!” you, proving him right, whined; he laughed and held the back of your neck as he kissed you again.

Just the sex that followed that conversation would’ve been enough to make this an amazing weekend, but it was even better to leave the vacation as a couple when that wasn’t even how you’d started it.  

Afterwards, you laid together in bed and commiserated how silly you both had been to assume the other didn't want more, deciding from now on to be open and honest as much as possible.  That was what inspired you the next day to spend the morning trading secrets over the breakfast he'd made.

"I cheated on my eighth grade Spanish exam," you admitted, making him put down his fork in pretend shock.

"¡Chica traviesa!" he gasped.

"Maybe if I'd actually studied, I would know what that means…"

"Truthfully, I can't judge you.  I did something similar in my primary studies,” he recalled.  “I broke into the teachers' desk and stole an early copy of the exam.  But I didn't use it myself, I used it to impress a girl in my class."

You smiled trying to imagine that.  "I can see you as the romantic type when you were a kid," you hummed.

"I was more the rebellious type, with girls being one of the more reliable ways to rebel."

That piqued your interest, and you gave him an excited grin of anticipation.  "Did you have a punk phase?"

"It was Eastern Europe in the early 90s: of course I had a punk phase," he chuckled.  "How else do you celebrate the end of a brutal capitalist revolution but by importing every Western record you can find and dying your hair black in a petrol station's bathroom sink?"

"Oh my god!" you giggled.

"But it was rather minimalist, I wasn't permitted much stylistic freedom so it was little things like that… I wanted an ear piercing, but my mother would've truly had a heart attack."

"I guess you're better than I was,” you shrugged, “my rebellious phase was brief but with a much stronger willingness to sacrifice my mother's sanity."

"Yes, that's more typical," he nodded.  "I suppose my real secret was that I didn't want to rebel from my parents nearly as much as I thought I did… I just wanted to make them happy."

You smiled at him as he stared down at his plate.  "You sound like a sweet kid."

"Horrifically stupid and a bit self-involved but sure, sweet," he agreed with a chuckle.

"So, all our secrets are out, huh?" you grinned.

"Perhaps I have a few left," he smirked as he leaned across the table to kiss you softly.  "I'm saving them for a rainy day."

The weekend went by much too quickly, but you couldn’t begrudge the return to daily life now that you were returning to it together— so far, you’d found that together was the best way to experience life. 

Almost as fast as the vacation, so went the seasons as well: you both had classes through summer, and you enjoyed the freedom that came with a much more empty campus; fall, as always, was damp and chilly yet comforting— sometimes the leaves turned just the right color of brown before they fell to remind you of his eyes; winter sent you back home to see your family for the holidays, just for a few days, and you told them you’d bring your mysterious boyfriend next time even though it made your heart race to imagine that.

Your birthday passed at some point during the year, and he took you out to one of those slightly-hipstery barcades where he revealed his secret talent for skeeball— you were glad he felt comfortable completely annihilating your high score even on your birthday.  He invited your friends, too, and it went significantly less horribly than you imagined; they only asked him weird questions about being a professor a few times, but otherwise everyone got along oddly well.

And soon it was another spring again, one of your last ones before you graduated, and you let yourself focus on things other than what might happen when you left the university and he almost certainly stayed.  For now, you just needed to worry about how you’d ever find time for each other during finals season when both of you were busy for different reasons.

           Dinner tonight?  I have a reservation at 7 for a place in the museum district.  They have a dress code so wear something evening ready if possible.  -Z

you don’t have to sign your texts you know.  I know it’s you.  it says your name right above the text.

           It’s more formal this way.  -Z

it’s a text message, it will never be formal??

          Will I see you at dinner tonight or am I in trouble for asking over text?  -Z

I’ll be there

          I look forward to your company, draga

hey, you didn’t sign it!  progress!

         -Z

goddamn it

“This place is… really nice,” you noticed sheepishly, glancing around at the minimalist-yet-luxurious decor of the restaurant while you took your seat across the white-linen-covered table from him.  “Like, significantly nicer than I’ve ever been to before.”

“Well, you look like you fit right in,” he assured, and you almost believed him— it was the nicest thing in your closet, but still seemed like the wrong energy compared to how him and everyone else seemed so casually flawless.  “I took the liberty of ordering for you,” he explained as he poured water into your glass for you from the basin at the table, “I was going to make you order the salmon anyways, it’s really impeccable.”

“What’s the occasion?  I’m still feeling spoiled from the anniversary celebrations last month.”

You two had decided to celebrate a year since the day you’d met (and had sex for the first time; it was an action-packed day) instead of the day you had officially began your relationship, since there was no reason to commemorate months of pretending to be casual while you were both quietly devoted to each other.

“I just want to have a nice date with my girlfriend, is that so terrible?” he smiled.

“No,” you answered quickly, “but that’s a load of bullshit.”

He chuckled a little.  “You’re right.  I wanted to do something nice with you before I go.”

“Yeah, that’s not ominous at all,” you frowned.  “Care to elaborate, international man of mystery?”

The conversation paused briefly as the server came by with your meals, and you gave him a little nod of appreciation before he left; the salmon did look pretty amazing, and you trusted your boyfriend’s taste even if it was often more refined than your own.

“I need to make a trip home in the next few months,” Helmut finally clarified.  “Nothing particularly interesting, and thankfully all very temporary— boring estate management stuff, comes up every once in a while,” he shrugged.

“How long will you be gone?” you asked, hoping you didn’t sound as needy as you felt.

“No more than three weeks.”

“Three weeks?!” you yelped.

“You know I’d never leave your side if I had the choice,” he smiled.  “It’ll go by in a moment, you might not even notice I’m gone.”

“Are you kidding?  I practically live at your apartment.  We probably haven’t spent three days apart since we met.  Hell, we have sex, like, five times a week!”

You heard the chatter of nearby restaurant-goers die down, and you awkwardly looked around to find some of them staring at you as Helmut tried to suppress his laugh.

“I… may or may not have forgotten we’re in public,” you whispered harshly as most of them seemed to get back to their own conversations.  “Let’s not eat here again.”

“Oh, would you like to announce our sexual frequency anywhere else?” he joked, though his tone remained as serious as ever, and it made you laugh even though you were the butt of the joke.  “Olive Garden, maybe?”

“Shut up,” you demanded between hiccups of laughter.

“The Texas Roadhouse?  I’m sure they would love that,” he continued.  “They seem like a real liberal crowd.”

“Stop,” you snorted, trying to catch your breath and not laugh too loud in front of all these people who already had a poor impression of you.

“Or we can go to the drive-through at Taco Bell and you can tell them through the little speaker thing,” he offered, and you hid your burning face behind your cloth napkin.

“You’re mean, I was just trying to say that I’m gonna miss you if you’re gone for so long!”

He leaned across the table to grab the napkin and slowly pull it down from your face, smiling at you when he could see you again.  “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised.  “We’ll have sex fifteen times when I get back, for lost time.”

“That’s not really my issue,” you sighed.  “I mean, yeah, we’re still definitely gonna do that, but that’s not what I’m gonna miss most.”

“I know,” he nodded, “don’t think I’m going to do anything but miss you terribly the whole trip.  In fact, that brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about tonight.”

“Telling me you’re leaving for three weeks isn’t the main topic of discussion?” you realized.

“It was, but now I’m here with you and it has me thinking all sorts of things,” he explained.

“Okay… what are you thinking about?” you asked quietly.

“Well, I was just thinking that I don’t want to keep you from living your youth while you can,” he answered, looking back at you as you took a sip of your drink, “but that I’d like to marry you.”

Just like that, you inhaled some water and began coughing and choking.

“Hypothetically!” he blurted out, leaning forward to make sure you were okay but you waved him back into his seat.

“I, uh,” you began, coughing one more time before you started again, “I didn’t think that was what you were thinking about.”

“Well, clearly,” he mumbled.

“I mean, I didn’t know you were thinking about that at all,” you explained, “like, I wasn’t sure that we were there yet.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t notice when I told you not so long ago that this year with you had been the best of my life,” he recalled, making you smile a bit to yourself at the memory.  “I’m there.  I’m just asking where you are.”

“I guess I need to think about that,” you lied.  You didn’t need to think about it, you knew that he was talking about exactly what you wanted, but you needed to convince him you were taking this question seriously— god knows he was constantly worrying that you shouldn’t be tied down to him when you were so young, and although you typically handled that by making a bondage joke (and he typically handled that by making a non-joke bondage offer), you didn’t want him to worry about this.  

“Maybe you can think while I’m on my trip,” he decided, “and when I come back, we can talk about the future.”

“I just meant for, like, a few minutes,” you admitted.  “I don’t need that long, Helmut.  I know what I want.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“To be with you, whatever that looks like,” you said, sounding more confident than you thought possible.  “That’s what I want.  And I don’t wanna hear you saying anything about how you think I might be too young for marriage or that I might change my mind later… I have a right to love just as much as you, and to know what’s right for me.”

“And it’s me?” 

You smiled as you reached for his hand where it rested on the table, squeezing his fingers in yours.  “It’s you.  Obviously.”

He looked at your hands held together before he smiled back at you— but it faded suddenly, and he pulled his hand away to lean back in his chair.  “There’s something else I should tell you, before I let you say too much...”

You swallowed thickly.  Oh god, here it comes.  Secret family in Canada, glue-sniffing addiction, absurdly specific and disturbing fetish… the wheel of misfortune was already spinning in your head, and you took a bite of your fish to try to look natural.

“You should know the truth about my family, back in Sokovia?  We’re, in a certain sense of the word… royalty.”

You started choking again; why did he keep telling you this stuff while you had something in your mouth??

“Shit, are you alright?” he asked nervously, and you nodded in spite of your fit of coughs.

“Are you a prince?!” you spat out as you started to catch your breath again.

“A baron.  A little less romantic, I know,” he smirked.

“And if… if what you’re talking about, actually happened, then that would make me…” you trailed off, raising your eyebrow expectantly.

“My baroness,” he finished for you.  Funny enough, the word my was doing more for you than the royal title.  “Hypothetically.”

“You keep saying that word,” you noticed.  “I hope we think it means the same thing.”

“Maybe a better word would be ‘eventually,’” he decided, and your back straightened because oh shit, this is really going to happen.  “Maybe an even better word would be ‘soon.’”

You almost choked again, with no excuse this time as there was nothing in your mouth to actually choke on.  “H-how soon?” you whispered, and his lips curled into a mischievous grin as he lifted his drink.

“Sorry darling, I don’t think I can tell you that,” he decided as he took a sip slowly, still staring you down over the rim of the glass.

You shifted nervously in your seat, trying to imagine how you were supposed to be anything but jittery after this conversation. 

“Can I ask an inappropriate question?” 

He raised his eyebrow.  “Let’s try not to scare the other patrons again, but sure.”

“How rich are you?” you blurted out, and he laughed a little.

“Somewhere between ‘outrageously’ and ‘ludicrously,’” he decided.  “It might seem a little far-fetched considering I prefer not to live extravagantly here in the States… but we’ve made good use of the last dozen-or-so generations of wealth.”

“And you let me pay for lunch last week!” you remembered, leaning forward to smack him on the shoulder with a scowl.

“That’s all you have to say about that?” he realized bewilderedly.

“It’s all that I can process right now!”

“I should apologize for not telling you sooner,” he nodded.

You paused as you stared back at him.  “I sorta thought you’d continue with that by explaining why you didn’t.”

He sighed, looking away.  “I spent so much time worrying you were only with me in pursuit of a new experience with an older man.  And then if you knew how much money was involved… I didn’t want to jump from one insecurity to the next with you, if I could avoid it.”

“You’re insecure about being rich?  Next you’re gonna start crying ‘cause your cock’s too big,” you rolled your eyes.

Again, other diners turned to you and this time you looked back at them.  

“What are you looking at, huh?” you snapped, and they all stared back down at their plates quickly.  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“If you could stop antagonizing the public, that would be ideal,” Helmut hissed.

“I don’t think I’m handling this very well,” you groaned, hiding your face in your hands.  “I wish you would’ve told me before.”

“So do I, but believe me that I had my reasons,” he sighed.

You lowered your hands from your face to rest them on your elbows as you crossed your arms.  “I think if we are going to talk seriously about this next step, then you’re gonna have to tell me those reasons,” you decided.

“Right, of course,” he nodded, clearing his throat as he looked to the side.  “Well, I guess I should start from the beginning.  As good a place to start as any, yes?”

You wrinkled your brow; you weren’t sure why he was so clearly nervous.

“As you can imagine, I was born into the royal life, I didn’t have much of a say in it all.  From the time I was eighteen I was the 13th Baron in a line of Sokovian royals who controlled a certain amount of land.  In retrospect, I understand how incredibly fortunate I was, especially compared to the poorest people in my country, but at the time all I could appreciate was that it was stuffy and boring and allowed for none of the adventure I longed for.  Hence the aforementioned punk phase, but that didn’t satisfy for long.  I suppose that was why I enlisted.”

“You were in the military?”

He nodded.  “Briefly.  I liked the idea of being a part of something that had nothing to do with my name.  And I was two years into my contract when my unit was stationed in a little border town, mostly farmland, but Sokovian borders are always contentious places… anyhow, one night, while another Lieutenant and I were on patrol, there was an ambush.  They shot at us, we shot back, but we were just firing into the dark so we went down rather quickly… I assumed that was the end, everything went black in an instant before I could even think…”

You shuddered, appreciating how traumatic this was for him as he looked down at his lap, stoic but in that way that clearly held more underneath.

“I woke up in a bed, in a cottage,” he recalled.  “A farmgirl heard the gunfire and waited until the enemy forces moved on to render aid.  She told me I was nearly dead when she found me but that her uncle was the local doctor and had been able to remove the bullets and stitch me up.”

“You told me those scars were from being attacked by a dog as a child,” you remembered.

“Yes, I didn’t forget the lies I told you,” he frowned.  “I think that one should be understandable.”

You swallowed, regretting saying anything.  “O-of course, I’m sorry.”

“The important thing is that she told me my partner was dead when she got there, and she couldn’t do anything for him.  I was in shock— keep in mind I was young and dumb and thought of myself as some kind of invincible— but for the next month she delicately nursed me into… at least decent health, and helped me cope with it all.”  He took a deep breath, a soft and somber smile crossing his face.  “I suppose you can imagine what happened next.”

He looked at you again and you gave him a shrug, unsure what he expected you to guess.

“We fell in love,” he finished flatly.

“Oh,” you nodded, “right.  It sounds pretty romantic.”

“Yeah, the wounded infantryman and the rural farmgirl… it was all very pastoral,” he sighed, “but anyways, my family was more than hesitant to allow me to marry a poor girl, which obviously only made me want to do it more.  I even told her that I’d leave the title for her, and she gave me some pitiful monologue about how she’d never forgive herself if she was responsible for me being disinherited, she pleaded with me to find a way to gain my parents’ approval… but I knew that we were in love and that nothing could stop us, so I didn’t think much of it.”

You tried to imagine him as a young, hopeless romantic, and some part of you was a bit jealous that others got the opportunity to experience that side of him when you didn’t; but it wasn’t like he was exactly cold and hardened now, at least not with you.  Just wiser, with more experience and more scars.

“My parents had put their foot down and demanded I call off the engagement.  And, oddly enough, they told me that it wasn’t her social standing that bothered them but that they simply didn’t trust her.  That they thought I was being rash and had only known her a few months— that I was too young, I would change my mind.  I was incensed; I mean, not only do they dare to insult my foresight, but this was the love of my life they were talking about like she was some conniving witch.  So I said some things I regret to this day, and I told them to keep their title and their properties and have me formally disowned at their earliest convenience.”

“Wow,” you breathed.

“Well, the truth, as it often does, came out sooner or later.  That all along, her love was for the money and not the man.  When I told her I’d left my title behind for her, she… didn’t take it very well.  And by that I mean she slapped me so hard I saw white for a second.”

Your heart hurt to imagine him being treated like that.

“I told her that we would be poor but we would be happy together, she told me that she never wanted to be poor again, that the reason she did all this was to get out of this hellish farming town and live in a castle in Novi Grad.  I suppose I could’ve forgiven all that, after all I imagine she struggled greatly for a long time living that way.  But then she started ranting about how she didn’t drag some dying Baron through the mud that night on the patrolway just to marry a poor man.  I was heartbroken just realizing that she knew who I was when she saved me— that she might not have if I were anyone else.  Like, say, my partner that night.”

Your chest was too tight to gasp properly.  “You don’t mean…” 

“She held out on me for a minute but I finally got her to admit it… the other man was alive when she found us, but she left him to die while she saved me, apparently planning from the very beginning to seduce me and escape to Novi Grad like she always dreamed of.  His name was Miroslav Pavlović, and he was a good man…  a boy, really, only twenty when he died.  Alone.  In the dirt.”

Hot tears on your cheeks made you realize you were crying, and you awkwardly wiped them away in hopes that he wouldn’t notice.

He took another deep breath and seemed to reorient his mind, away from the mourning and back to his story.  “Of course, I, being a young man with all my pride, told my parents that I ended it in respect of their wishes, but I think my mother suspected what really happened.  Especially when the girl went ahead and married my cousin.”

“She what?!”

“An industrious young woman, I have to give her that,” he nodded.  “She didn’t need a Baron, she just needed somebody who could get her out of the farm and into whatever her idea was of a luxurious life.  And yes, it is exactly as wonderful as you’re imagining to see her on those rare occasions where the extended family all has to gather.”

“Yikes,” you mumbled.  “That’s… cold.”

“I suppose it all worked out for the best— I dodged a bullet much worse than the ones that hit me before I met her, she got her riches and noble husband, and my parents were free to arrange a marriage for me with a woman of more adequate social standing.  I was so convinced I was terminally unlovable that I actually went along with it.”

“You married her?”

“No, I just agreed to, on the condition that we meet a few times first, at least.  It was the second time we met when she confided in me that she was actually a lesbian.”

“Oh!” you chuckled, hoping it wasn’t inappropriate to laugh a bit.  Not as his misfortune, per se, or at the idea of a lesbian in general, but just the way this story seemed to get more complex at evey turn.

“Yes, well, my family was more liberal but hers were not the sort who would respond well to that news… I considered going through with the marriage to give her an alibi, so to speak, and the both of us would quietly have affairs with women— ideally different women— to keep up appearances for our families.  She and I actually got along alright, we thought maybe we could be good friends, which some husbands and wives aren’t even when they marry for more genuine reasons.”

You scoffed as you nodded, “yeah, true that…”

“But,” he shrugged, “I got cold feet, I just couldn’t bring myself to resign to an entire relationship built on a lie again, so, I decided to leave it all behind and study at a German university— I chose history because I’d consumed historical nonfiction voraciously throughout most of my life and it seemed like a good fit, and I suppose it was the right choice… because here I am.”

You took a long, deep breath, but you didn’t feel that much more stabilized afterwards.  “Okay, a lot to unpack with that,” you announced.  “I understand why you didn’t tell me about the money, with everything that happened before… but you lived this entire life that I knew nothing about.  You already know everything about me.”

“I couldn’t tell you much more than I did without burdening you with it.”

“Sure, but you can appreciate that this puts me in a sort of vulnerable position,” you offered.

“Right,” he agreed.  “That was, of course, never my intention.  I don’t tell anyone the things I’m telling you now, understand that.  Everyone at the university thinks I came from much more humble beginnings and has no idea about my military service— well, except for that one royal historian who unfortunately recognized my name, but I’ve been bribing him into silence from my first day.”

“Wait, you pay him off?!”

“Oh, god no— I just grade his final term papers,” Helmut shrugged.  “But still, I got pretty comfortable with my reinvention, weeks go by without me thinking about my life before this.  Especially with you… sometimes I thought maybe it would be better to quietly abandon it all and become the person you thought I was.”

You smiled a little; maybe you wished that you knew how to be angry with him even in times like this, but you just couldn’t do it.  “You’re still the person I think you are,” you assured.  “Where you come from is not who you are, it’s just one of those things that help make you who you are.  It’s up to you to decide what you do with it… and I think you’ve done something pretty great with it.  Plenty of people who didn’t need to work for a living just wouldn’t.”

“I know it sounds nice, and I won’t pretend it isn’t an invaluable resource, but I find it much more fulfilling to work.  I really love what I do, so that helps.”

Nodding a little to yourself, you reflected on how true that really was; after all, this all began in a classroom where you were enchanted by his passion.

“I suppose the moral of the story is… I’m sorry that I hid things from you,” he concluded firmly.  “I’ve learned that I can’t protect myself from heartache and love you properly at once— I have to pick one.  I want to choose to love you, I want to choose that every day for… well, forever.  If you’ll let me.  But if the secrets are too insurmountable, I won’t judge you.”

You let out a heavy sigh.  “That’s the dilemma of love, isn’t it?  You have to be willing to get hurt.  But the last thing I want is to hurt you, I promise.  And in the end, it really doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor or a fugitive from the law or an alien from space: I love you, really.”

For the first time since he started telling you everything, he seemed to relax.  “I love you too, I hope that much is obvious.”

You nodded, reaching across the table to hold his hand.  “Yeah, it is.  I’m still getting used to that, honestly.”

“Not that I don’t mind being the first,” he tilted his head, “but it’s a shame no one ever cherished you before, in the way that you deserve.”

“You do seem to mind it a little bit, when you always go on about ‘keeping me from my youth’ or ‘restricting me when I should be free’ or whatever,” you recalled, putting on a poor imitation of his accent when you quoted him.

“Well, I guess it’s that I never desired to be the first,” he clarified, staring you down suddenly, “but that I intend to be the last.”

That look… you were already biting your lip and you didn’t even notice it.  “Okay,” you sighed.

“Hm?”

“You can be the last, just take me home,” you whispered, crossing your legs to hold your thighs together as your tongue ran over your teeth.

He could only bear to tear his eyes from you for a second as he called out, “The check, please!”

wanna come over later?  I can’t focus enough to study

You stared down at the text you’d sent Kacey, wondering if it made you sound pathetic.  You didn’t want to seem like the sort of girl who made her boyfriend her whole life, and therefore had no idea what to do with herself while he was gone.  And to be clear, it wasn’t loneliness itself that made you so listless; of course, you missed him plenty, but your inability to get anything done or even enjoy some alone time was disrupted by that sort of numb, shocked feeling you got every time you remembered that he wanted to get married.

Even more shocking: you wanted to get married.

It didn’t feel too soon, it didn’t feel all that sudden, but it felt like it should feel too soon, if that makes any sense.  Maybe you could try to explain it to Kacey if she ever checked her damn phone.

You groaned as you tossed the device away, knowing staring down the screen wouldn’t make her answer any faster.  Having already watched everything good on every streaming service ever, you figured your next step was to move on to the mediocre things on streaming, but you couldn’t decide between a show about renovating tiny-houses or cooking using only leftovers.

It was hard to focus on your choices when you kept playing the moment before he left in your mind over and over.

You nestled in under his arm around your shoulders, tightening your grip around his torso until you caught a glance of his watch.

“Don’t you need to leave soon?  There will be traffic on the way to the airport.”

“No, there shouldn’t be, it’s only a ten minute drive.”

“What?  It’s at least half an hour.”

He laughed a little as he realized the misunderstanding.  “Darling, I’m not going to the airport.  I’m going to a private airport.  For a private plane.”

You cleared your throat.  “Oh… right.  Still getting used to the exorbitantly rich thing.”

“But I suppose I should finish my packing, I think I’ve put off the last of it long enough,” he sighed, sitting up and tearing himself out of your arms even though you were pouting about it.

Before he left he gave you a long kiss at the door, just meant to say goodbye, but then your knees went weak and he had to hold you and it all started to lead from one thing to another very quickly.

“Fuck, Helmut, your flight,” you reminded him breathlessly, holding onto his biceps as he kissed down your neck.

“They’ll wait for me, it’s my fucking plane,” he growled, grabbing your hips hard.  “I need to be inside you one more time before I go.”

Just as the best parts of the memory started to flood back, your phone rang and you jumped up instantly; the sound of 99 Luftballons, your custom ringtone for him that started as a joke but stuck for some reason, told you it was your boyfriend calling and it barely rang for a second before you answered.

“Hi!” you greeted instantly.  You looked at the clock on the wall and did some quick math to realize it was probably almost time for dinner there, when it was still before noon where you were.

“Hello, darling,” he answered back, his voice instantly soothing you as you leaned back against the headboard of your (his) bed.

“Your accent is stronger than when you left,” you noticed.

“This is the first time I’ve spoken English in days,” he explained.  

“How does it feel to be home?”

“Do you mean being in Sokovia, or talking to you?”

“Baaaabe,” you whined playfully, “you’re gonna make me all needy…”

“I just wish I was there to see the effect I was having on you,” he cooed.  “It’s been a bit boring without you— I’m going to bring you with me next time, I assure you.  Not just because I miss you so much, but so you can see the country.  I want you to see my homeland and there’s no one better to show you around than myself.”

“You really love it, don’t you?” you hummed.

“More than almost anything,” he answered, and you knew what he was implying he loved most.  “I know it has… struggled, it isn’t considered exactly a vacation spot by many, but it means everything to me.  I don’t have much family left for you to meet, but I’m sure I’ll find some people to show you off to.”

“I’d love to come with you,” you agreed, “you know I’d go with you anywhere, though.”

“And you need to try the ćevapi!” he added, and you could hear his beaming smile through the phone.  “Sokovian food is very different from Western dishes but I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Yeah,” you agreed dreamily, laying back on the pillow as you heard him sigh from the other end.

“God, I miss you,” he breathed, making you hum proudly.

“Miss you too,” you agreed.  “I’ve been thinking about you a lot…”

“Yeah?  I bet I can guess what you were thinking about.”

“Such as?”

“Things I can’t say right now, in case someone hears me,” he chuckled.  “We may not speak English much but they still understand it.”

“Well, I’m all alone,” you purred, “and I’ve been thinking about everything I’m gonna do to you when you get back.”

“Oh fuck, baby, don’t—” he pleaded weakly.

“I really wanna ride you,” you continued in a sultry voice you didn’t even mean to put on, “even though you’re probably too big for that, I just want you so deep in me I can’t fucking breathe—”

“You’re cruel,” he hissed, a low whisper, and you loved his helplessness.

“It’s been so lonely without you, Helmut, I’ve been fucking myself with every toy I can find but nothing fills me up like you do, god I just need your cock.”

“I should’ve had something custom made,” he decided, still whispering but you could hear him smirk, too.  “So it’s only ever me inside you.”

“Even then, it’s not the same… it has to be you, the way you fuck me is just impossible to recreate, nothing’s as good as you, professor.”

He made a strained noise and you giggled happily.  “How long has it been since you’ve called me that?”

“Too long,” you hummed, “I still think it’s pretty hot.”

“Oh, it definitely is,” he chuckled breathlessly, “listen, I have to return to my meeting, and you’ve made it impossible to focus on boring legal things now but I need to try my best.  Alright?  I’ll call you tonight, if you’re still awake.”

Of course, your tonight was his tomorrow morning; you decided not to make him worry by admitting you would stay up all night to be able to talk to him.  “Okay,” you sighed, “good luck in your boring legal meeting.”

He gave one last whispered ‘goodbye’ and the line beeped as the call ended; you sighed and flopped back onto the bed, staring up at your ceiling blankly.

He’d only been gone four days.  How were you supposed to make it to three weeks?

When his plane landed, you were waiting for him in the car, parked on the runway; it was a much quicker process than picking someone up from a traditional airport, plus you got to run to him the second he was off the plane and it made you feel like you were in an old movie or something.

Throwing dignity to the wind, you jumped into his arms and let him spin you around, setting you down to kiss you hard as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I missed you so much,” he mumbled against your lips, hands gripping your waist, and you’d been trying to imagine this moment ever since he left but you couldn’t have ever come close to how perfect it was.

“Missed you more,” you promised with a smile.  “Let’s go home, Helmut.”

“Or…” he trailed off, and you raised an eyebrow as you sank back down onto your heels and looked up at him.

“Or?”

“Or we could get back on the plane and tell them to take us wherever we want.”

“I-I have finals!” you gasped.  “So do you!”

“Not until next week,” he dismissed, “this is just for a few days.”

“I haven’t packed any of my stuff!”

“You have your phone, everything else can be bought when we get there,” he shrugged.

“What’s gotten into you?!” you giggled, looking back up at him wildly and wondering how he could seem so calm.

“I’m rich and in love and a little bit impulsive, is that so bad?” he smirked.  “Where do you wanna go, draga?  Rome?  Sydney?  Jakarta?  Nairobi?”

“...Luxembourg,” you blurted out.  

He chuckled a little, eyes sparkling.  “Why there?”

“First place I thought of.  Is that a good enough reason to want to go someplace?”

“It is to me,” he grinned.  “You get on the plane and get comfortable, I’ll tell the pilot where we’re going.”

“Okay,” you laughed.  “This is crazy, you know.”

“I know,” he nodded, taking your hand and guiding you up the stairs back onto the jet.

It wasn’t like you’d never experienced the concept of travel before, but it was still blowing your mind that you’d woken up in your (his) bed this morning and now, in the same day, you were spending your evening in box seats at the Luxembourg National Opera.  He picked out the gown you were wearing (only fair since he was picking up the tab) and at first you had worried you couldn’t pull it off, but the way he kept glancing over at you made you confident you looked just fine.

“You’re not watching the performance,” you whispered to him, leaning closer to his shoulder.

“You don’t really need to see an opera, do you?” he frowned.  “Can’t I just look at you?”

“These tickets cost an arm and a leg, you can look at me for free!” you hissed, but you softened a bit when his hand moved to rest on yours and he kissed your temple softly.

The two of you stayed that way for the rest of the performance, leaning on each other and holding hands.  Even when you'd been together this long, you still felt butterflies when he interlaced his fingers with yours.

When the show was over and the lights came up to a wave of applause, he looked at you with bright eyes and took your hand.

"Let's walk to the hotel, yes?" he suggested.  "Explore the proper way instead of a cab."

"I can't walk that far in these shoes," you frowned.

"I'll carry them for you!"

"I can't walk that far barefoot," you laughed.

"Then I'll carry you," he offered, extending his hand for you to take.

And that was how you ended up being carried piggyback through the streets of Luxembourg, across cobblestone that reflected the soft yellow glow of the street lamps and sconces, in the most expensive dress you'd ever worn.

Life is crazy like that, sometimes.

"You know, this place is a bit like Sokovia," he decided, "but with a better GDP and fewer churches."

"As I understand it, most of the world has a better GDP and fewer churches than Sokovia," you quipped.

"Hey!" he yelped in defense.  "Just because it's completely true doesn't mean you have any right to say it!"

You laughed, holding onto his neck tighter but trying your best not to inadvertently choke him.

"Typical of a Westerner to have something snarky to say while standing on the backs of hard-working Sokovians," he scoffed, "or, in this case, riding on the back of one hard-working Sokovian."

"Hard-working?  What exactly does a Baron do for work?" you interrogated.

"Uh, carry spoiled girlfriends around tiny European countries, for one," he enumerated, "and when we're not casually becoming distinguished professors in America, we have to manage the various projects of the estate… the Zemo family— which is just me, at this point— runs eleven orphanages.  I visit those sometimes and make sure they have everything they need."

"Okay, I don't know that I'd call that hard work, but it's very important so you get a pass," you decided.

"This is us," he announced he stopped walking.

"What's us?" you asked, looking around.

"This building, this is where we're staying," he explained as he set you down and made sure you were balancing right on your heels.

You let your jaw drop as you looked up at the building, admiring the carved stone face with its intricate detail, designs that evoked a certain prestige that just couldn't be found on American buildings.

"Wow," you nodded, "you really don't skimp on your last-minute random vacations, huh?"

"Not if I can avoid it," he shrugged, leading you inside.

For an exterior so gothic, the hotel’s lobby was modern and clean, though certainly not lacking in extravagant touches; you were a bit too tired to properly appreciate that, though, leaning up against his shoulder as he conversed with the front desk clerk in German in order to finish the check-in process.

The hotel had one of those elevators with mirrors on the walls, and a more energetic version of yourself might have noticed the fooling-around potential of the space, but instead you just let your eyes fall shut until you reached the correct floor.  Being an incredibly fancy place, the rooms had actual keys and not just RFID keycards— you thought Helmut looked quite regal in his opera tux, unlocking a mahogany door with a golden key.  Hard to imagine him in a windowless office and a messenger bag on his shoulder now, but you could remember falling for him in that state just the same.

He let you in first— a true gentleman, of course— and the moment the door to the room shut behind him, you groaned and flopped down onto the bed unceremoniously.  He, meanwhile, undid his bowtie and unbuttoned a few buttons of his shirt before he laid down on his side by you, running his fingers over your back left exposed by the dress for a few moments before he pulled away.

“Darling?” he called to you softly, but you were too lazy to lift your head from where they were buried in the pillows.

“Mhmm?” you answered back, muffled.

“I…” he began, sighing before he started over.  “Well, nevermind.”

“What is it?” you pressed, turning your head over to see him— but then you saw his face, and the conflicted look it wore, and you sat up to lay closer to him.  “What’s wrong?” you asked gently, watched the way his hair fell into his face when he combed his fingers through it and glanced away from you.

“Draga, I must admit that I lied to you before about why I was returning home,” he spoke, and you were confused but said nothing.  You would’ve worried if it weren’t for the look on his face— calm, yet with something brewing in his gaze that you couldn’t quite describe.  But you trusted him.  When your brain would normally fill the silence with a thousand awful ideas of his real reason for his visit to Novi Grad, it was suddenly quiet.  “It wasn’t just for management of the estate… I had to retrieve something.”

He reached into his coat pocket, fishing out a small velvety box with red and gold along the edges.  Your heart either stopped, or beat harder than it ever had before; at a certain point the difference was irrelevant.  

“I know I should wait longer, for the perfect time, or even just any other time than when you’re not jet-lagged and I’m not so nervous I can’t even think, but…”

A sudden sigh fell from your lips when he opened the box and showed you the ornate ring inside— you couldn’t tell if it was aquamarine or blue diamonds but they shined brilliantly nonetheless.

“My mother wore this ring from the day my father gave it to her until the day she died,” he explained.  “I would like for you to wear it.”

Too stunned to do much else, you looked up at him blankly.

“I want you to be my wife,” he clarified, like he thought you didn’t understand what he was asking, and finally you snapped back to reality (as overwhelming as that reality was).  You smiled, even nearly laughing,  as you leaned in to almost press your lips to his— but when he leaned closer you kept him at bay with a hand on his collar.

“Say it again,” you requested coyly.

“You’re going to make me propose twice?” he realized, and you nodded as you bit your lip.  “I’ll say it a thousand times, draga: be my wife.”

“Two down, 998 to go,” you grinned, laughing when he growled and pulled you closer to bury his face in your neck.  You definitely noticed the longer beard when it tickled your skin with every kiss to your pulse.

“Be my wife, be my wife, my wife,” he cooed, casually starting to slip the ring on your finger before you dodged him.

“No no no, you haven’t said it a thousand times yet,” you chided him, “and I haven’t said ‘yes’ yet.”

“Oh, darling, don’t dare me to make you say ‘yes’ as if I don’t make you scream it out every night.”

And that’s exactly what he did: make you say yes a thousand times to a thousand proposals, pinning you down and showering you in love relentlessly.  For once you just accepted it; for once he didn’t feel guilty.  

In a certain sense it was sort of hasty, half-dressed and unexpected with him fumbling to hold your dress out of the way while you clung to his shirt and kissed him hungrily: but still, it was nothing less than sensual, due in part to every beautiful thing he whispered to you until you were too far gone to understand them.  He still kept going after that, even, just to feel the weight of his words on his tongue.  Just to promise himself to you whether you could hear him or not.

Who could say how far into the night it went?  That was the magical thing about it all— neither of you cared, neither of you worried or even thought twice about what time it was or if the sun would rise soon or if it would never rise at all and this was actually the beginning of the apocalypse.  It didn’t make a difference; because whether the world ended now or in a decade or in a billion years, you would be together for the rest of your lives.

We were young and in love and I knew nothing could stop us, you remembered something he said.  He said it like it was ridiculous, just a frivolous dream; and in retrospect, he may have been right about that specific situation, but now you understood why he had felt that way— you too felt that euphoric glow of knowing you were on the edge of something amazing.  Maybe not something perfect, but something that would work out for the best in the end.

When he was finally satisfied with how many times he had satisfied you and you fell asleep on his chest, he took the opportunity to slip the ring on your finger, admiring how beautiful your hand looked wearing it before he kissed the top of your head.

“Fits perfectly,” he whispered to you in spite of your unconsciousness.  “We’ll be so happy, draga… I promise.”

[gingersnaaps]

untouchable

keishin just can't stand the thought of anyone else being your first.

wc: ~2.5k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): noncon, explicit n*fw, alcohol, corruption of innocence, virgin!reader, mild misogyny, possessive ukai, masturbation, fingering, teasing, friends to lovers but fucked up, fem!reader with inner genitals

a/n: written for @seita and their collab! also i probably fucked up the characterization but oh well

i don't want minors interacting with my content

To Keishin, you’ve always been untouchable.

He’d grown up alongside you - seen you go from your pretty pigtails to your grown-up bob, watched you turn from a schoolgirl into a woman. And through all those years, he’d always thought you were beautiful in the way that spring flowers are, all soft and sweet and dewy, your expression dripping innocence.

You’re pure. Unblemished. Perfect.

But that doesn’t mean he’s never admired from afar.

He almost hates it, these urges he gets. Keishin sees your stupid Instagram posts, your Facebook updates - in fact, he’s practically inundated with photos of you. He can’t escape the pictures of you in your summer skirts, grinning cheekily and holding up a peace sign, or the ones of you in your sundresses, the fabric lightweight and loose, cascading over your body in ripples.

And sometimes, after spending a few hours with you in person - maybe at a concert, maybe just catching up with you as friends - these urges he gets are too much for him to control, too much for just a cold shower to tamp down. He’ll lay his head back against his pillow, groaning in relief as he palms him cock, guilt gnawing him raw as he strokes himself to thoughts of the soft swell of your breasts, the barest brush of your hand - every exposed bit of your skin that he can conjure from his memory.

He always gets this empty feeling in the pit of his stomach after.

Keishin will reprimand himself, muttering about how creepy it is, how wrong it feels, how he’ll never do it again, but soon enough, he’s seeing your pictures all over his feed again, and you’re inviting him to some new outing.

He knows it’s not right, but he can’t really stop himself, either.

So when you call him up just days later, giggling and chatting his ear off about some new amazing discount at this local bar - look, Keishin, I promise it’s not far - going on and on about how he should join you in celebrating your latest raise at work, a wave of nausea sweeps over him. He should say no. He should make up some vague excuse, awkwardly laughing, brushing off your invitation while promising to make it up to you.

But it’s just been so long since he’s seen you.

He clears his throat, and his voice comes out dry and a little unsure on the other end. “Yeah. Yeah - I can go. See you there, [y/n], okay? Take care.”

Keishin hangs up the phone with a click before you even get a chance to respond, his hand unsteady and trembling.

-

He gets there before you do.

His fingers drum nervously against the tabletops, eyes scanning above the sea of overdressed, garish bargoers, looking around for any sign of you. It’s hard to make out faces among the crowd, all finer features clouded by the smoke and mirrors that dim lighting creates, but he’s looked at you enough times to be able to tell you apart with his eyes closed.

“Hey,” your voice greets, pressed close to his left side. “Never been to a bar before or what? Just relax, Keishin. We’re here to have a good time, right?”

He startles at your sudden appearance, flinching slightly. “Right,” he responds, a smile tugging at his lips.

He beckons the bartender over, ordering a few drinks, and you get settled into a routine of easy conversation. It doesn’t take long for you to get woozy, alcohol flooding your system as your cheeks flush and vision blurs. It loosens your tongue, loosens your wallet, and before long, you start losing track of the time of the drinks you order. All you know is that it feels good to let go, to lose yourself in the light-headed headspace you’ve found yourself in, the kaleidoscope of people around you dissolving until indistinguishable, walling off the rest of the world from just the two of you.

If Keishin’s going to be completely honest, though, he’s not really paying attention to what you're saying.

He’s paying attention to the men around you.

Maybe he’s just being paranoid, but he could swear that half the bar is leering at you, eyes following every movement of your body in ways that are absolutely unacceptable. He’s not an idiot. He knows what those other guys are thinking about; he knows how their dicks are straining in their fucking pants, how their thoughts must be wandering, he knows because he’s been there before.

Because even in the middle of a bar, surrounded by debauchery and alcohol and sluts, you look absolutely angelic. The halo of hair around your head looks so, so soft - he wants to stroke it, kiss it, use it as a handle to maneuver you around for him - and suddenly he’s consumed by thoughts of how much he wants to be the one to force you down around his cock, choking and sobbing, how much he wants to smear his cum on your gorgeous face and ruin you before anyone else can get to it. He can’t tear his gaze away from you as you shift closer, wobbling on your stool, completely oblivious to the way everyone else’s eyes are undressing you.

He knows you’re not doing this on purpose. You can’t be, no matter how many times you wiggle your ass on the bar stool, no matter how far up your thigh the hem of your skirt rides up. You wouldn’t tempt others like that. You’re just not that type of girl - you’re innocent, so open and guileless - you would never.

Keishin isn’t going to let anyone else fuck that up for him.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before some sleazy man comes along, his hands groping at your body, mouth whispering sinful words into your ear, and the mere thought makes him shudder with revulsion.

No, if anyone is going to wreck you, it’s going to be him.

When you eventually get too drunk, words slurring and half delirious, he catches you in his arms and leads you stumbling back to his own car. He revels in how peaceful you look with your eyes lidded with fatigue, clinging onto his arm as he drives back to his apartment.

He takes you inside with him.

“K-Keishin..” you mutter. “Where are we?”

He shushes you softly, carrying you to his off-white bedroom of popcorn ceilings and peeling wallpaper, of warm lights dimmed low and an eerie silence that suspends your surroundings in stillness. Laying you down on his half-made bed, he tenderly brushes aside the hair that frames your face as he crawls on top of you.

“I’m taking care of you, baby.”

Your eyebrows knit in confusion at his pet name, but your mind is still too woozy to fully comprehend the meaning behind his words.

But even a drunk girl like you knows that something’s not right when warm, calloused fingertips reach beneath your skirt and slip under the hem of your panties. You instinctively flinch away from his touch, trying to close your legs back up, but he brings a knee up between your thighs to rest at your cunt.

“Please,” you whisper, sobered from the rush of dread that runs tingling down your spine. “Please, Keishin. We’re friends.”

He ignores you, pressing down on your cunt until you’re squirming beneath him, his gaze softening as your breath hitches with desperation. “You don’t have to worry. I’m gonna make this virgin cunt feel so good,” he breathes. “Gonna show you just what real sex is supposed to feel like.”

He presses his lips to yours, his kiss gentle yet insistent, lips and wet tongue probing your mouth as if he’s trying to pry you apart and open you up. You can taste the alcohol on his hot breath, puffing lightly along your jaw as he trails his mouth further down, dragging his kisses sloppily down the crook of neck to where it meets your collarbone.

You tell yourself that it’s gross, that it’s overwhelming, but it’s impossible to hide the way your clit throbs against him as he flicks his tongue out to tease at your sensitive nipples, a moan almost involuntarily slipping from your lips. His mouth curls into a playful grin, teeth scraping roughly against your tits, and brings up the palm of his hand to cup your pussy.

“See?” he says. “This feels good.”

You cringe at his words, desperately bucking away from his touch, but there’s nowhere left for you to go - one arm cages in your small, frail body, the other strokes at your clit through the fabric of your panties, his mouth is sucking and nipping at the soft flesh of your tits - he’s everywhere, drawing patterns across your skin with lips and tongue, tracing feather-light circles on your pussy until you feel that desire in your cunt pulsing with need. “No,” you whimper quietly, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself. “No, it doesn’t.”

Keishin ignores your weak protests, because he’s much too fixated on the way you look spread out beneath him. He didn’t think he’d ever get to see you this debauched, a flush riding high on your cheeks as you turn your head away in embarrassment, your hips bucking needily into his waiting hand, hair mussed and pupils blown out with lust.

You’re not the same girl he used to idolize, now that he’s seen you like this.

“I wonder how tight your pussy is,” he muses. “It hasn’t been tainted, right? Except for when you’ve touched yourself.”

Now there’s a sight he wants to see.

He withdraws from between your legs, but he moves his large hands to pry at your thighs and hold you in place. “I want you to do it for me,” he orders. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

You feel so fucking vulnerable in this position, legs forced apart and your glistening cunt bared to his hungry gaze, completely at the mercy of his whims and fancies, your body gone almost limp with fear at the thought of what he could do.

So you follow his directions like a good little girl.

You reach a finger to the entrance of your cunt, but the angle is awkward, and when you shove it inside, you’re barely able to feel even an inch of stretch. It’s frustrating, embarrassing, humiliating to be so helpless in front of Keishin, but you swallow the shame and begin to roughly thrust a finger in and out of your dry hole, even when the ache in your cunt is screaming for something much bigger - much more satisfying - to fill you up and satiate the need throbbing in your pussy.

He clicks his tongue mockingly. “Not good enough?” he asks. Keishin can tell from the pained expression on your face, from the slight twitching of your hips every time your stubby fingers brush against your g-spot, even though your face is turned away from him, and he knows what you’re really asking for with your panting and whining.

You’re asking for him.

Sweetheart, he’s more than okay with teaching you how to do it properly.

He moves your cramped hand away from its pathetic attempt at satisfying you, bringing a thumb up to rest at your clit, relishing at the way it pulses with need after just a few light circles. “More?” he asks.

Guilt is written all over your features, your eyes darting away, fingertips curling to grip at his sheets as he presses down more firmly. The twinge of stimulation sends white-hot arousal rushing to your cunt, your brain becoming hazy and unfocused, and the only thing you can think about is wanting more, more stimulation, more of his soothing words whispered in your ear, more of his deft touches and long, thick fingers.

“Mhm,” you whimper quietly. “Yes.”

Keishin stops the movement of his thumb, the warm palm of his hand resting against your throbbing clit. “More of what?”

You shake your head, embarrassment seeping into your veins. You don’t want to say it. You can’t say it.

He dips a finger into your cunt, teasing at the entrance before trailing light, soft touches up and down your folds. “Use your words, baby. I wanna hear you say it.”

“Please,” you beg, desperation written across your face. “Touch me.”

“Where do you want me to touch you?” he asks, malice glinting in his eyes. He wants to hear you say those filthy words, wants his precious, innocent best friend to beg him to do the things he’d only ever dreamed of.

“My…” you trail off, eyes now hazy and unfocused as you blink back tears. “My pussy. Want your fingers inside my pussy.”

What a good girl.

“Knew you could do it for me,” he growls, slipping his finger deeper into your twitching hole. “When you want something, you have to learn to ask for it.”

He doesn’t hold back now, adding another thick finger inside to stroke and pet at your sensitive walls, pressing up against your g-spot firmly as his thumb rubs steady, even circles on your clit. The stimulation comes crashing down like a wave of relief for your sore, aching hole, his fingers playing with your cunt better than you ever could, reaching deeper inside you, stretching you out further, making you cream around his skilled digits until your hole is left fluttering and fucked out.

You barely have the energy to resist when he pulls out his cock, painfully hard and leaking, and fits it to the entrance of your pussy. He pushes in slowly, gently, his deliberate movement a facade of tenderness, stretching you out until the pleasure pulsing in your core becomes almost unbearable from how unhurried he’s fucking you.

“Holy shit,” he says, swearing under his breath. Keishin wishes all the other undeserving men at the bar could see you now, sprawled out on his bed like his own personal fuckdoll, your eyes rolled back into your head, gasping and moaning as he breaks in your virgin cunt. He knows he’s fucking you better than any other man ever could, wrecking you in ways you’ll think about years in future when you close the blinds and dim the lights and slip a hand between your legs.

And as he finishes, groaning in pleasure as the waves of an orgasm wash over him, he pulls out of your slippery cunt and watches as his thick spurts of cum land all over the soft, smooth skin of your chest and stomach, marking you as his.

You look so beautiful painted white.

No, maybe beautiful is the wrong word. You’d always been so pure in his eyes, so clean and untouchable, but looking down at your quivering form, he begins to finally see what he’d been to blind to all along. For the first time, he sees how slutty your tits are covered in his cum, how they’re almost pushed up to your chin when you’re lying on your back. When he squeezes at your thighs, your ass, your waist, the excess flesh spills over in all the places that make you perfect for fucking.

You’re not innocent anymore, he realizes with a sense of twisted satisfaction. Not after this.

You’ve been ruined, haven’t you?

if you enjoyed this, please reblog or just drop by my inbox to say hi!

[proserpina-magnus]

Jealousy; Potter’s Little Sister [ P.P ]

a/n: lmao Peters initials are P.P and that is very funny. Also, this was a request by @sxsalvatore I somehow lost your request but I remembered a few key plot ideas. I hope you enjoy it! xoxo 

Word count: 1.0k 

[ Warning: fem reader, jealousy, possessive sex, d/s, breeding kink, throat holding (sorta choking), crying, words such as “good girl” “baby” and “lovebug”, some aftercare ] 

Peter was defiant with keeping his crush on Potter's little sister a secret, it was wrong for him to think of you like that in a romantic manner. Especially since Peter grew up with the Potters, going over with his mom for family dinners and game nights. He had no right to grow a fondness, but he couldn’t help but clench his fist when Sirius always made an effort to flirt with you. 

You had never had a boyfriend, James being the over protective brother and denying any guy access to you. But James always let Sirius slide with his little flirty comments, laughing along with him as you grew flustered. Peter was jealous, it was plainly obvious but everyone just played it off as him also being protective for you. 

“You’re like our brother!” James chants quite often to Peter, saying an “our” to indicate that you also viewed him as a brother. That however, was not true. You felt embarrassed for liking one of James' friends, Peter was just so kind and funny, it was hard not to grow attracted to him. 

After a long morning of constant flirting from Sirius, Peter was fed up. He made some shitty excuse to get you alone, bringing you up to his dorm to show you some of his new succulents. 

It wasn’t long until his thick cock was buried deep inside of you, his lips decorating your skin with simple hickeys in a mark to claim you. He groaned as he filled you up completely, your nails scratching his back with the intrusion. 

“Peter oh fuck,” you gasp, his lips connecting with your tit. The sucking sensation was new, Peter's hand moving to cup your other breast. Peter growls as he adjusts his hips, slamming deeper inside of your welcoming slick cunt. 

“You’re all fucking mine, I had you first,” Peter grunts, your walls gripping at his cock to try and make him stay. Your head falls back against the bed… correction, Sirius’s bed. You felt wild for fucking Peter, he was a friend since birth not to mention he was one of your brothers best friends. 

“Look at me, who’s fucking you right now? Who’s making you feel this good,” Peter snaps, his hand holding your neck as he gives a gracious squeeze. Your eyes shut, mouth gasping as his cock hits every good nerve. “You, you do Peter,” you pant, moving your hips to feel him connect with every point. The words that left your mouth made the blonde mutter a growl, his cock leaving your clenching cunt as he flips you onto your stomach. 

“Gonna breed this little pussy and make you all mine,” Peter groans, his hands grabbing your hips as he pulls you to sit up on your knees. He holds your waist, keeping you still for him to slide his cock back inside. You shake at the new position, his cock feeling so big in your slanted hole. His hand grabs your tit, pinching the erect bud between his thumb and pointer finger as he draws out a loud whimper. 

“Please, m’ all yours,” you moan, his lips connecting with the side of your neck. His teeth graze the flesh, nibbling against it to make you whimper once more. He fucks you from behind, not giving you a chance to breathe as he takes you to orgasm. 

“That’s right, cum all over my cock,” Peter tells you, your back arching as he pulls you closer. Your warm cunt squeezes around him, your fluids coating his cock for better lubrications. You’re tired out, body limb with tingles as you lean against him for support. 

“Please Peter, want your cum,” you whine, Peter letting you rest against the bed. He holds the back of your neck down, pining you to the bed for his own use. His hips meet the flush of your ass, the overstimulation driving you crazy and you cry with mumbled words. 

“Don’t worry baby, ‘gonna give you exactly what you want,” Peter comforts plainly, lost in his own bliss as he fucks into you with a fast sloppy motion. You cry into the sheets, gripping it between your fingers as you get used just for his pleasure; knowing this was making your head spin, thighs opening wider to give him a better angle. 

“So good, you’re being such a good girl,” Peter praises, his own end meeting as he holds your hips and pushes you to take his cock fully. He groans as he spills his seed inside of you, keeping himself still as you let out cries and mumbles from the pleasure. The feeling of his cum hits every pleasure point, a warmth invading your body as you cum for a second time. 

You both pant and catch your breath, Peter being gentle as he slides out in a quick motion. He helps lower you completely on the bed, his hand rubbing your lower back. 

“You did so well lovebug,” Peter coo’s, leaning down to kiss your shoulder before quickly picking up his clothes. He slides into his briefs with a hiss, tugging his pants on as he reaches for your discarded clothes as well. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed, do you want me to get you one of James jumpers?” Peter asked, grabbing some tissues on Sirius bedside table as he cleans the spilling cum. You sniffle, not answering as Peter slides your panties up and over your used goods. 

“What about your jumper?” You ask, rolling onto your back as you wipe your makeup stained face. Peter smiles, leaning down to give you a gentle kiss. You instantly get butterflies, leaning to meet his lips. 

“Of course you can,” Peter says, standing up to go over to his trunk. You slide a shirt over your body, covering the obvious hickeys and marks from Peter. Your hair sprawls out in wisps as you push it into a low messy ponytail. You wipe your face, cleaning the sweat off. 

Peter comes over, helping you into one of his comfiest jumpers. He helps you into your skirt, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your knees. 

“Who do you belong to?” He asked, rubbing your thigh for a clue. You bring him closer, nuzzling into his chest. “I belong to you,” 

[ktheist]

take my whole life too | m

muses. jeongguk x heir!reader

genre. chaebol au. arranged marriage au. expecting parents au.

words. 5k

warnings. dad!jeongguk, house husband!jeongguk, simp!jeongguk, implied smut verging on actual smut, mentions of break up and arguments

x

you never gave much thought for jeon jeongguk - not for how he looks, not for how much he makes, not for how compatible you are together. nothing. so much for promising to stay together through health and sickness till death do you apart.

but that’s just the thing, you were willing to let go of your heart in exchange for the wealth of your family. which is inherently yours until the findings of your grandfather’s will appointing his administrators the task of safeguarding the billions of dollar estate against his unmarried granddaughter who to be fair, has always had her eyes on that bejeweled ring of his. it’s less about the diamond and more about what possessing - legally, of course - the ring could do. for one, nobody could challenge your legitimacy as the chairman of luxean. and boy, do your overbearing aunties like to nitpick every little thing you do at the board meeting just to put their sons and daughters in a better light.

so yeah, you would say sacrificing your non-existent possibility of falling in love would suffice. plus, jeongguk can go shopping for convertibles with a swipe of a card, fly from london to italy to greece and back to london within one night. heck, he can even have a steamy hot night with the locals and bring back a greek goddess of a mistress if he wanted to.

except for one problem: he wants to do all those things with you.

well, considering how he stripped down to just pants with the buckle undone and protrusion of well defined abs that leads to a tantalizing v-line beneath the contrasting black band of his calvin klein halfway to the bedroom of your suite after the ceremony, completely disregarding the fact you never spoke to him unless you were in the presence of other people - watching eyes - and the limited time you have to change into your second outfits, you figured he’d want more than just hot and steamy nights in paris and peaceful quiet mornings in athens in your sundress and off white spring hats.

he either hasn’t figured out that he’s just a tool for you to gain public opinion or he doesn’t particularly care as long as he’s getting some.

“you’re leaving?” the voice that asked the very obvious question bears a sort of despondency to it.

when you turn to face the man lying naked - and looking like a well sculpted greek god at that - in the bed, you curse yourself for forgetting the one simple thing that you promise yourself not to do: look at him in the eye. by god, you’ve never seen anyone -  any man - who could be so good at weakening your resolution and making you want to climb into bed and cuddle him like a puppy.

“didn’t soyeon tell you i have a meeting?” you manage to sound casual about it for the most part as you put on the earrings that lie abandoned on the vanity when jeongguk came in just before you were almost done with your make up and bent you over the vanity to fuck you once before carrying you to the bed and fuck you in your sensitive state.

“i know,” he mumbles.

and when only silence follows suit, you can’t help but let your hands rest on your hip as you raise your eyebrows, “but?”

it takes a moment of the man trapping his bottom lip between his teeth and leaving it with a sort of pinkish shine when he releases it, “can we have another go?”

“you’re hard?” this time, the surprise in your voice is unconcealable, “again?”

“i know - i’m sorry - it’s just... that dress looks really good on you,” he doesn’t even bother to hide his ogling.

so to answer the question of whether you fucked him that time at your suite when you were supposed to change, yes you did.

“sounds like a you kind of problem,” you wave with the hand that picked up your purse - all your essentials already there, “go out and have a look at athens before we fly for london tomorrow - oh and maybe grab some dinner for yourself.”

“when will you be back?” as much as you like to think you’re indifferent to your husband, you can’t help but think he looks endearing for shying away from your gaze and rubbing the back of his head hesitantly, “i thought maybe we could have dinner together.”

there’s a strain in his voice but you brush it off, shrugging, “what do you think meetings like this are held over? i am going for dinner,” you want to take that back as soon as it escaped your lips but instead, you turn around, “anyways, don’t wait up.”

that’s one habit that he seems to have - waiting for you until you climb into bed with him after long hours of frying your eyes in front of the laptop in the common area.

either way, you strut out of your suite, leaving your husband with a semi-hard cock, you didn’t miss the way it twitched at your blatant rejection just before you turned your back on him.

and so you go about your day, the meeting coming to a close flawlessly as with a signed contract and a meal worthy of the restaurant’s reputation. by the time you thought the approaching figure from the corner of your eyes is the waiter bringing your desserts, kim taehyung was in the middle of thanking you “for meeting me on such a short notice, on your honeymoon at that.”

“i should thank you for reaching out to my secretary when you heard i’d be here too,” you chuckle, hand pushing a stray hair to the back of your ear before your gaze travels up to meet the man’s, “my grandfather always says, there’s no security on this earth, only opportunity,” raising the wine glass mid air, you offer him a smile, “and god does not help anyone seize it unless they do so themselves.”

“the late chairman was a wise man,” he raises his own glass, only to freeze at an awkward angle when the waiter finally approaches you.

except it isn’t the waiter. 

it’s-

“___,” a voice fills your ears like velvet on skin, you already know who it belongs to before you even look up at the man whose out-of-character furrowed brows and pressed lips all but makes you want to shoot up from your seat and spout out explanations you don’t even owe him, “i thought i’d pick you up since it’s,” he checks his rolex - it was the first thing you bought him after assessing his lack of accessory after you’d both signed the contract, “half an hour till midnight and the polignotou isn’t going to wait for us.”

taehyung is the one to break the silence, “it seems i’ve taken up too much of your time.”

before you can even refute it, he’s already standing up and fixing his blazer before stepping to the side to properly face your husband. 

“congratulations of your marriage, mr. jeon,” then he turns to you, his smile just as excellent at yours when it comes to hiding your emotions and that could only mean that tonight is drawing to an end on a bad note thanks to your husband’s interruption, “mrs. jeon.”

and with a final words of ‘i’ll have my secretary send you the papers soon’, he’s gone like the wind.

“what are you doing here? i told you i had a meeting! not gallivanting with some greek men!” the words come out in a low hiss when he takes the abandoned seat across from you as you gaze around the vicinity in case there are other business acquaintances that happen to know you.

“i’m sorry -” he mumbles out, “i was walking down the streets and i saw you at the balcony of the restaurant and-” he stops short of his words, tongue darting out over his lower lip for the briefest moment.

“and?” you echo, brows arched.

“i got jealous of seeing you with another guy,” his voice is barely above whisper but you hear it loud and clear.

you’re almost sure that you’ve slipped but and let your eyes narrow at him like a puzzle that you can’t figure out but it’s gone in a heartbeat as you pick up your purse and clear your throat. possibly in search for the right words to say but perhaps also an admittance of your caught-off-guard situation.

either way you stand up, “let’s go, the street starts getting scarcer by 2 and i’d rather stay safe and walk with more people than less.”

x

you did end up walking.

it was a halfway walk but it’s still a walk, that was, until you saw jeongguk pulling on the material of his pants every two minutes. the lack of lights did well to hide it but even then, your eyes automatically pans towards the noticeable protrusion in between his legs. as if your body has completely adapted to his scent - that subtle but evident scent of masculinity, his gaze - the pure, unadulterated desire within the shadows in his eyes and his touch - the way his hand seems to inch lower down your ass before he traces back up to settle on the dip of your spine before it left you cold and unattended when he started to tug on his pants.

“jeongguk -ah, fuck,” you bite back the moan that spills over your lips, “you’re making too much noise.”

“yeah?” his voice bears a lull to it as he thrusts in and out of you in the way that makes your legs come together and your heart leap all the way to your throat as your hands grip onto the dampened cart jeongguk pushed you against in the closest alleyway you were walking towards before he bent you over, lifted up your dress and pulled your panties down.

not even a minute passed before you felt him inside you. and by god, did you feel filled to the brim. the sheen of sweat coating your skin is cold against the chilly night air, the sinful sounds echoing off the walls makes you pray for the first time in a long time that no one is nearby and the way jeongguk is hitting all your sweet spots has you gritting your teeth in hopes that it’d be one less sound to get you arrested for public indecency.

in a country that you’re not a citizen of, at that.

you’re not sure how you got back to your suite and how the hell did you switch into your night dress but you have an inkling that it has something to do with the man whose arm traps you against a hard, muscled body when you started shifting to wake.

his breath fans the back of your neck as he slurs his words but you can make out a ‘five more minutes’ after a grumble and a faint ‘chaeyoung’ at the end.

“no,” you’re not sure what or who you’re saying the words of rejection to, but you slam a fist into arm that’s holding you, “let me go! jeongguk! let me go!”

he finally does at the bloodcurdling scream that could wake up the whole city. but somehow security hasn’t come bursting through the door and the streets in front of your room hasn’t halted its hustling and bustling.

“wh-what happened?” jeongguk’s wide eyes scan the room for the one, solid minute before they rest on you but instead of settling with the deduction that your scream was caused by his own entrapment - possibly the unfamiliar name he blurted out - he crawls over to you, “are you okay?” hand on your cheek as he checks for something.

they return to your eyes when you slap it away though.

you’re not even sure why you’re seeing red but you attribute it to the fact that- “how did i get in this?”

he takes one look and blinks, “i changed you because you fell asleep in the cab and i carried-”

“why?” arms crossed over your chest, you speak over him.

“i... i thought you might be uncomfortable sleeping in that dress,” you can almost hear the screws in his brain turning in search for answers.

“stop, okay? don’t act like you’re some award-winning husband - you’re not, you were broke and was about to lose your only source of income when i came to you and asked if you wanted to not have to work a day in your life,” he must’ve not known that his eyebrows twitch at the words, “it’s always been about the money - i get it, so you can stop now. we don’t have to play house when no one’s around because this isn’t an actual marriage and we don’t even love each other.”

you expected the stars in his eyes to dim out, expected him to avert his gaze somewhere to the most random thing like the ugly vase next to the door or the phone on the nightstand or the window where the sound of kids laughing and vendors across the street obnoxiously greeting his neighboring competition.

but instead, he looks straight at you, “what is it then?” he asks, “what are we if those good night kisses, cuddling into each other in the middle of the night when we woke up briefly before falling back to sleep, holding hands while walking and making love every night-”

“i don’t know where you got that because i never kissed you, i never asked you to wait for me to go to sleep together and i never touched you first - they were all you,” your head dips to the side just the slightest bit, “and we had sex every night. that’s it - it’s just sex.”

the last thing you see before you climb off the bed and lock yourself in the bathroom, dialing up your secretary’s number to book a plane ticket for yourself, is what you’ve initially expected to see.

stars that don’t shine as bright as the morning they twinkle and greet for the first time of the day. brows that knit together but not because he’s anxious or nervous about telling you something.

when you stepped out, he’s gone and you don’t leave any notes. not even a text after you packed up your belongings, hailed a cab and went straight to the airport in your darkest shades and brightest dress.

and so it goes, not a single rumor about your early arrival in seoul and your lack of spouse with you. mainly because jeongguk and you have put up quite a show for those watching eyes. a love story worth spectating and an ending keenly awaited. but you’ve made it clear, during your about-to-hit one month honeymoon that you’re truly, deeply, madly in love with your chosen husband, so much so, that you’re willing to leave the chairman seat unguarded. 

it’s a gamble but it worked like magic. the board members welcome you back into the company without any inquiry even though you’re one week too early. mr. yoo even seems relieved to see you when you’re on your way to your office on your first day back.

“it’s nice to see you again, miss ____ -” he stops himself, “i mean, mrs. jeon.”

you shake your head, laughing, “miss ___ is fine for me, everyone’s known me as that for so long.”

when you reach the end of the hallway where you have to part to go to your office, and him to his, you tap him on the arm once with a hand that lacks a wedding ring but he doesn’t seem to care as he dips into a bow and bids you a good day.

and so it goes, you start burying yourself in your pending works while also juggling surprise visits from two of your aunts, to which each does not fail to not-so-discreetly give your left hand a once over. but you’re faster, having kept your ring in the drawer and pulling it out and slipping it on under the desk before standing up to greet the elder women both times without fail.

on the day jeongguk and you were supposed to return, you’ve debated on booking a hotel just because you don’t want to face him - soyeon briefed him about your sudden departure back to korea and that there was no reason for him to come back with you. and so he stayed. travelled to london and then to glasgow with a black card and unlimited possibilities - just liked you promised him on the day you signed the contract.

things might have gotten off track but coming back to the familiar scent of ocean from your candlewicks and the bonzai that belonged to your deceased grandfather in the corner of the room, you’ve found your purpose again - the reason you would go so far as to sacrifice your heart for this position.

you’re never going to lose sight of it ever again.

but when the door beeps once after you punched in the code, the smell of something delicious waft in the air after you stepped into your apartment and jeongguk greeting you with a pink apron with printed with hearts all over it, you feel yourself freezing in your spot.

“oh, you’re back?” his back is on you as he redirects his attention to the sizzling goodness in the hot pan, “i’m making fried noodles, it’ll be done it 10 minutes - why don’t you go and change first?”

it takes a moment of you staring at the black tresses of his head and the broad shoulders with a pink string hanging over the back of his neck before you actually take a step towards the stairs. once you’ve showered and dressed in your pajamas - you prefer those than the lingerie jeongguk has only ever seen you in - it takes another moment for you to stare at the golden strings layered with button mushrooms, beef slices and prawns and a fried egg over them.

“okay,” you shake your head, as if to shake away the trance that seems to come over you - jeongguk’s already looking at you with a curve on his lips, “what is this?”

“friend noodles,” he says simply.

“no,” another round of head-shaking passes, “i mean, what are you doing? i literally insulted you and called you a bum and a gold digger.”

he takes a minute to mull over the matter, bottom lip jutting out as if to say, “yeah, i kinda am.”

“you must also not realize that i only talk to you when we’re in public or when we’re having sex,” you point out, fork gripped tightly in your hand to which he gives a glance at before reaching to pull it out of your grasp and setting it on the napkin next to your plate.

“love making,” he reiterates but before you can even get a word out, he holds up a hand and tilts his head in a ‘wait’ kind of manner, “and a relationship is 50-50, you work and i cook and clean.”

your eyes narrow at him for the longest moment before you pick up the fork again, this time dipping it into the strands of gold and twirling it before directing it to yout mouth. an appreciative moan leaves you as the spice and sweetness spread over you like a whole new experience.

“good right?” jeongguk mimics your action, digging in and smiling proudly with the first bite.

it’s only when you’re done and loaded the dirty dishes into the washer, as you watch him take off the apron with his back on you whilst you lean against the edge of the counter, do you finally ask, “who’s chaeyoung?”

the way he freezes up with hands middair, in the middle of hanging the strap over the hook - isn’t the least bit surprising.

“wh-who?” the hesitant way he looks at you and then to his feet and then to the sink with a hand rubbing the back of his neck - is familiar. welcomed even but you don’t show.

“you tell me,” you shrug, “must’ve been someone important - someone who you’re used to having wake you up.” you let the silence hang in the air for several heartbeats, watching as his adam’s apple bob whilst his wide-eyed gaze shifts from the sink to the block of knives to the stool before they rest on you.

“maybe a girlfriend you left behind in exchange for money - the money i offered you,” and with that, you watch as his gaze shakes and his pink move but no words come out.

it’s only a long moment later, that he finally manages to find them, “i... i haven’t seen chaeyoung ever since we got married.”

“well, congratulations!” you bring your hands together in a crisp applause, lips curving into one of your schooled smiles, “soyeon contacted her and guess what she said? she said you told her you were going to the city to find a job and didn’t want her to wait on you which was why you broke up but poor little chaeyoung is still waiting for you on the country side - you can go see her and your parents.”

and with that, you turn your back on him for the first time since you left him to an empty suite and a cold bed. 

“why are you so...” but just as thought you could walk out of this like a winner, jeon jeongguk somehow manages to pull you several steps back with just words and eyes that bears more emotions than you can handle, “mean?”

“you’re always smiling and laughing with your secretary like you’re best friends, you always look sad when you talk about your grandfather and you always kiss your parents on the cheek every time you meet them... why-” he stops short when he meets your gaze - you’re not sure what he sees that makes him look like he’s been punched in the face with a wild ball. 

“i’ve always been mean,” you feel your eyebrows rising before you blink once, “you just had your head in the clouds, dreaming about how you can make a girl with a rotten attitude change and maybe fall in love with you along the way - well guess what? i’m not her,” and just like that night in athens, something in the way he stands, stiff like a rock and eyes darkened with a sort of desire, your eyes travel down to his pants where a painfully obvious erection protrudes against the fabric of his pants, “...and you like it.”

“no, i - this - it’s...” he fumbles on his words as he clasps his hands over his crotch, but the way his eyes seem to find solace at the sight of your cleavage screams desperation and agony.

“___... you don’t have- fuck,” the first moan falls out of his mouth when yours wrap around him. 

“only because i can’t have a proper conversation when all you’re concerned about is how to take my blouse off from all the way across the room,” you say after a delicious ‘pop!’ when your cheeks hollow out just before you pull away.

it takes only a few more pumps before he’s begging you to “wait- please - i want you.”

it’s the ‘please’ that gets you.

“fine but don’t come inside,” you relent, hands fiddling with the zipper of your skirt before jeongguk’s polite ‘let me’ as he bends you over the counter, chilly air kissing your skin as a tear echo against the wall and you wonder if you’re free in the weekend to go shopping for-

“oh my god,” the moan slips out of your mouth in a pleasured surprise - you didn’t expect him to get your pantyhose, panties and skirt out of the way that fast.

thought with the barely noticeable discomfort of your panties digging into your hips, you figure he opted for keeping them pushed to the side instead of getting rid of them completely.

they do come off anyway, left in the trail of clothes strewn along the way to the stairs where jeongguk decides to have you bend over because “it’s a perfect place for a doggy,” and you concur as you moan and whine while he fucks you like he owns you. hand keeping your hair in a lock whilst he holds your upper body up whenever you’re about to lose yourself and bury your face in the steps. 

but you do manage to get to the bedroom, just not the bed. you made a mess on the carpet - it’s going to stain an ugly shade of sex and lust but soyeon will probably not even bat an eye once you ask her to schedule an appointment with an interior designer. might as well give your room a make over.

so it goes, jeongguk likes to call your eye rolls and offers to lend him a driver to drive him to his hometown to meet the love of his life - cute. alternatively, jealousy. which you simply roll your eyes at, again.

at times, he comes over to your office - mainly to take you out for lunch but ends up fucking you over your mahogany table. and later in the car on the side of the road where an officer came knocking on the fully tinted window - you had at least 60 seconds to button up your shirts and pull down your skirt while jeongguk zips up his pants with a whine before you roll your window down.

how the rest goes, you rather not say.

but you’ve sworn against car sex - at least in daylight and in an open space.

so when you end up walking past a mirror in your room, just as you’ve donned an off white blouse and a grey pencil skirt, you find yourself freezing in shock. hands coming to cup your stomach, you squint at the woman who’s squiting back at your belly.

“honey, breakfast is ready,” jeongguk pokes his head into the room, the infamous pink apron tied around his front and a pair of light orang oven mitts on his hands.

“do you think I gained weight?” you quiz, knowing full well that he’ll spout a heartwarming but blatant lie about-

“no, i think you’re a healthy weight,” a man that looks like him comes to hug the woman in the mirror, kissing her head before glancing at his reflection once and turning back to it, squinting his eyes at the part where your hands are.

“uh,” he hesitantly starts, “how much chipotle did you have last night?”

“not enough that’s for sure,” you turn to him with an incredulous look, “i went to bed hungry,” a light smack lands on his chest - to which he doesn’t even bat an eye, “cause you keep stealing my food!”

“maybe we should book an appointment,” he suggests, voice smooth but the glint in his eyes and the suppressed smile on his face gives away his exitement.

“no, i can’t be pregnant,” you shake your head, walking over to the vanity to pick up your purse and keys, “it’s not the right time.”

“but what if you are?” you hear the hurt in jeongguk’s voice but your interest overrides your emotiones.

“i just can’t be,” and with that, you place a kiss on his lips, “i’m sorry, baby.”

and with that, you left for the kitchen when jeongguk still tried to reason with you. he tried again for the next few days until you set your food down and told him a baby is never going to be in the picture.

but two months down, you barely fit your clothes and jeongguk has been kissing you good morning before bending down and pressing his ear to your belly, “and good morning to you, my little blueberry.”

and he’s been kissing you good night before pecking your stomach and wishing the life form growing inside you a ‘come out fast so mommy and daddy can meet you, okay?’

“good news and bad news,” soyeon said exactly one month ago after you’d fainted in a middle of a meeting and woke up in a hospital room, “you can’t be pregnant but you are and you’re gonna need an heir soon anyway so...”

“it’s bigger than a blueberry now,” you point out  - jeongguk’s been calling your child a blueberry ever since he rushed to the hospital after getting a call that his wife fainted and once he was there, got flashed with a sonogram the size of- “the doctor said it’s as big as a blueberry, not chipotle,” you’d been indifferent, mainly because a child wasn’t in your plan and you’d been taking birth control since way before you got married.

but jeongguk had been overjoyed. taking care of you everywhere you go, he didn’t even let you drive and instead searched up for drivers with a long list of the lowest rates of accidents in their records. he gets into the shower with you because he “can’t wait to have a family shower together” and packages of baby clothes have been pouring in with matching shirts and ‘mom’, ‘dad’ and ‘baby’ printed on each one and he shows them to you after you got back from work.

his love for your child had made you fall in love with being a mother. with having a family of your own - the two notions you never thought you could wrap your head around as you made your vows to each other two years ago. 

and it’s somewhere down the line, as you watch jeongguk rock your baby in his arm as she sleeps soundly amidst the beeping of the heart monitor, jeongguk’s voice like a lullaby as he murmurs ‘you’re so beautiful, you have mommy nose, and my lips, thank you for being born,’ and when he twirls around, probably feeling the heat of someone’s stare from all the way on the bed, he looks at you with that lost, wide-eyed wonder before his lips curl into a smile, eyes disappearing into crescents.

-it’s then, do you realize that jeongguk has become the person you smile and laugh with, the person you greet with a kiss and the person your heart beats for.

he’s your husband, lover, soulmate.

x

note. i have another preview with the same title and characters but from a historical era which i haven’t managed to finish but if you see a marquis!jk and x heir!reader then yk hehe. also if you like arranged marriage au’s do check my masterlist! i have a lot of them apparently (i just realized while writing this fic lol)

i’ve been super stressed and feel like i haven’t actually been doing anything i really like in the weekend so i sat down and decided to finish this draft idea once and for all! 

first off, oc is a douche bag who cares about herself a lot but it’s written in her pov which i hope portrays a justification (which isn’t necessarily okay) to the things she do. but in other people’s story, she’s that woman who stole a person’s man, or she’s that hard ass boss that nobody really likes but pays good, or that graunddaughter that seems to think about her grandfather’s money only. but no one is easily good or bad, it’s more than that just like oc. and i hope to send at least that message through this story. not one can be just ‘good’ or ‘bad’.

in my opinion, there’s no development in her character bc of the word count and the fact that i didn’t plan for it to be long enough to include a development. i just wanted to write about an asshole who has feelings and can be nice to certain people. she’s probably still an asshole but her feelings for jeongguk changed and so is her treatment towards him (as per foreshadowed) and he became one of the people she loves - and i say probably because we’ll probably never know for sure and it’s also not up to my interpretation alone. you, the readers, may think she has or may think she hasn’t - either way, this is just a story about someone who you might know, maybe someone who you’d dupe as selfish. either way, i hope yall enjoyed it!

[anonymousfiction211]

I will make you a deal Chapter 2: Finding out

Summary: After Loki and you made the deal, he has kept his word. After some time Tony walks in on the two of you.  Warnings: Smut

Word count: 2.883 words A/N: At request a part two of the very first story I’ve ever written (@ the-best-phineas). You don’t really have to read the first chapter, but if you want click here. You just need to know that Loki protects you in exchange for being his. You accepted the deal, because you were scared to go on missions and he was very persuasive ;). Hope you’ll like it. 

The pain in your knees increased while you were crouching down in the corner. You took a deep breath and tried to reload your gun as fast as possible. Already hearing the foreign screams of the creatures become louder. They were closing in on you fast, and you knew it. This mission was going south. “(Y/N), where are you? I could really use some help here” Tony yelled at you through your earpiece. You wanted to yell back that you too were in trouble, but that would only reveal your location quicker. Three creatures entered the room you were hiding in. They had a very pale complexion and white armour, which made it difficult to see where to shoot. Looking a bit like a reptile with bright yellow-green eyes. On the top of their head, they wore a golden band, which looked like a crown.

When the creature that walked in first saw you it screamed at you. You quickly got to your feet and pointed your gun at him. You shot him through his chest and the creature went down. The two creatures behind it put their guns up and you knew you were done for. You froze. Suddenly a tall figure appeared before you. There was a green flash, and two knives were fired at the creatures. They were hit right in their head and went down immediately. The person turned around with a wicked grin on his face. Still in shock and pointing your weapon forward it took you a moment to recognize the person before you. “You look ravishing today, pet” he purred. You lowered your gun, and he steps towards you. “Loki, where the hell are you?” Clint said with clear irritation in his voice. Loki grabbed you, pushed you flush against him and kissed you deeply. When you opened your eyes, he was gone, and you were alone. “(Y/N), I need you here NOW!” you heard in your ear. You quickly ran out the room to search for Tony, hoping not to encounter more of those creatures alone.

After the mission, the whole team gathered. “I saw a bar not far from here, drinks?” Tony asked. Everyone agreed to that, except Loki. “I’m going back to the tower” he said. Nobody seemed to mind that. “(Y/N), are you coming?” Steve asked you. Before you could answer you saw the dark look on Loki’s face. And you knew what your answer was going to be. “Ehm… I think I pass and also go back” you said to Steve. Loki extended his hand which you took. And a second later both of you were back in the tower. You had expected him to take you right there, but he didn’t. He let go of you and walked towards his room. You went inside your bedroom, locked the door, and hopped in the shower. The warm water felt good against your skin. You started to think about the last three months. Loki had kept his word and had saved you a couple of times. And in exchange he fucked you when he felt like it. But he was gentle in his own way. He always made sure you’d come at least once, and afterwards he took care of you. Grabbing you something to eat, or let you sleep in his arms. Sometimes the two of you talked for a bit, and you learned that he wasn’t all bad. You noticed he was more open when you were cuddling after sex. He opened up about his past somewhat, and you started to understand his outbursts, his view.  

The shower curtain was pulled back and suddenly Loki hopped in the shower behind you. You were startled and almost fell. But he grabbed your hips and steadied you against him. “How did you get in here? The door was locked!” you said irritated. He trailed his hands up and down your sides before settling them on your ass and pulling you even closer. “I know, I hacked into Stark’s computer and gave my chips access to your bedroom” Before you could protest he grabbed your cheeks with one hand and squeezed it hard. “You don’t get a say in this. And the only thing I want to hear from you now is you moaning my name over and over again” he growled. And you knew better than to argue with him. He grabbed your douche gel and started soaping you up. Taking his time, exploring your body with his large hands. He took extra time with you breasts and sometimes draw little circles on your clit. He had you panting and moaning after 10 minutes. He turned off the shower, lifted you up and threw you on the bed. “Great, now the whole bed is wet” you complained.

Loki gave you a scolded look and grabbed your ankles. He pulled you towards him and bit hard in your left ankle, making you squeal. “Not a word” he said. He opened your legs and before you could register what was happening his tongue was on your clit. You started to moan, getting lost in your pleasure. The peak of your pleasure hit you and you came hard moaning his name. He kissed upwards, until he reached your lips. Your hands started to stroke his back, lower and lower, and landed on his ass. “Just admit it, you enjoy this far more than you though you would” he smirked. You didn’t say anything, you didn’t have to. Both of you knew that was true. He took his hardened cock and pushed it inside of you in a very slow pace. He grinned widely at your gasps when he entered you. Once he was fully inside of you he set a moderate pace, pumping in and out of you. You arched your back, giving him better access to your neck. He buried his face in your neck, kissing and biting your flesh. You felt another orgasm building up inside of you. But Loki pulled out and flipped you effortlessly around. “Oh no, you don’t!” he growled. He grabbed your hips and entered you again. The angle he held you in allowed him to go deeper. You started to moan his name over and over again. Loki chuckled darkly behind you, while he was pounding into you. “You get to come, when I do” he said. “And you know why that is?” you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Because… I’m yours” you panted. “That’s right, pet. I got you trained rather well” he said with pride in his voice. When Loki’s hand travelled down your clit, you knew he was close. He started to tease you, almost making you come. His thrusts increased “Now” he growled. And you came hard. His had left your clit and pinched your nipple. He came moaning your name loudly.

He collapsed on top of you, and he laid down on his side, pulling you with him. His arms held your back firmly against his chest. A green shimmer cleaned the both of you up. Some things were really simpler with magic you thought. “So, what happened today?” he asked you. “It was 3 against 1, it was not much I could do about that” you complained. “If you acted quicker you could have shot all three of them in a row, why didn’t you?”

“I was hiding at first” not feeling up for this conversation you tried to squirm out of his grip. It only resulted in him holding you tighter. “You’re mine, you may go when I release you” he purred. You sighed, but secretly kind of enjoyed it when he was a bit possessive of you. “Thank you for helping me” you whispered. He kissed your temple “I told you I protect what’s mine. Beside this time, it was kind of my fault” You frowned, Loki never admitted if something was his fault. And it wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t even there when you got yourself in that situation. “Why do you say that?” you asked him. Knowing he was always more open after he had you. “That were the Chitauri, and the fact they were there means nothing good” he sighed. “But I don’t want to talk about it” he quickly added. You laid there for a while, not speaking, enjoying the feeling of him against you. “Have you already read the book I recommended?” he asked you. His hand started to massage your breasts, you knew he wanted another round soon. He started to kiss your shoulder and neck. Before you got to answer him your bedroom door burst open “We’re going to watch a…” Tony started but froze immediately when he saw you and Loki in bed. Loki quickly grabbed your sheets to cover you but didn’t let you go.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” Tony yelled. Your face became red, and you tried to sit up right, but Loki kept you in place. He sat up a bit, leaning on his arm that was underneath him. “Back from the bar already?” he asked. While you felt like dying inside, Loki didn’t seem to be fazed at all. “W- what? It, .. huh? It was closed, but what? How? When?” Tony started to stutter. Loki and Tony seemed to be in some sort of staring contest. You wanted to break the silence, but Tony began to speak “Jarvis, tell everyone to meet me in the living room in 5 minutes” He still glared at Loki. “Stark, I don’t think that..” but Tony cut him off. “Not another word, I’m sending your ass right back to Asgard” he said angrily. He turned around, slammed the door and left. Loki finally let you go. You jumped out of bed and started to pace back and forth. “Oh my god, oh my god” you muttered. “Relax, pet. It will be fine” Loki said while stretching on your bed. He then summoned his clothes and gave you a set of clothes as well. You stared at him “I CAN’T DO THIS!” you yelled at him. He glared at you “Put these clothes on and let me do the talking” he instructed you. And with that he vanished. Magic also makes things much more irritating you thought. You put on the clothes Loki had given you. A black lace lingerie set, black jeans, and a dark green t-shirt with a low V-neck. It fitted you perfectly and looked really good, which made you more annoyed with him.

You took a deep breath before walking out of your bedroom. It already has been 15 minutes, so when you entered the living room, the whole team stared at you. Loki sat alone on a couch and you sat next to him, as far away from him as you could. The rest of the team was scattered across from the two of you, some sitting down, some standing. They stared at you and you felt yourself become redder and redder. You wanted nothing more that to sink underneath the ground, not dealing with this. Everyone sat there in silence, looking at one another. Steve was the first one to break the silence. He cleared his throat “S- So, ehm.. Tony told us.. you know, what he saw..” Before he could continue Loki cut him off. “You can stop thinking I raped her or put some kind of spell on her. She wanted this as much as me” he said annoyed. “(Y/N)?” Steve asked. Even tough the first time was dubious in consent, you nodded your head and stared at your own hands. Tony started to yell “What the hell, don’t you care that he is a cold blooded murdered who has murdered 80 people in two days on EARTH ALONE. Who knows how many more he’s killed?” Tears were forming in your eyes, you really didn’t know what to say. You could make Loki the bad guy, but you have agreed to this deal. And he kept his word, kept you safe, made you feel good and even opened up sometimes.

Loki scoffed “And what about your past? How many people died because of you?” Tony replied, “That was a completely different situation”. “Maybe, maybe not… Steve? How was your time in the war? And Natasha, we all know that you weren’t always fighting for this side. And Thor, if I am not mistaking I wasn’t the first person wanting to destroy Jotunheim… Banner? Didn’t you destroy a part of Manhattan?” You looked at Loki who seemed angry, his voice filled with venom. The group stayed silent while they were reliving their worst moments, thanks to Loki. Clint spoke up “Was this the first time? Are you in love? Dating?” he asked while remaining emotionless. “We’re courting, if you all must know” Loki replied dryly. You shot him a confused look, not knowing what courting exactly entailed. Thor was the first one to speak up. “Congratulations” he beamed “I’m so happy for the two of you, she’s even wearing your colours! You really have done well brother, Lady (Y/N) is lovely” Thor said loudly.

“What the hell is courting?” Tony asked annoyed. “For you Midgardians it would be the equivalent of dating, if I remember correctly” Loki answered. You looked at him confused, because what the two of you have been doing, was everything except actual dating. Loki met your eyes and shot you a sincere smile, one you hadn’t seen before. “(Y/N), you seem awfully quite” Bruce noted. “Of course she is, he is the God of Lies after all! Thor I want him off this planet” Tony half-yelled. “Why? He has helped us so far, we still need him. He is only courting, that is not against the law here” Thor replied. Loki looked a bit surprised that his brother was actually defending him for once, you noted. Tony scuffed “I’m not buying it” He walked towards you and grabbed your hand, crouching down to meet your gaze. “If he is manipulating you, doing something you don’t want. I don’t care what he’s threatened you with. We have beat him and will beat him again, just say the word” he looked hopeful at you.

You were conflicted. You could tell them about the deal Loki made with you. Getting Loki in trouble, possibly off this planet. But the thought of not seeing him anymore somehow pained you. You could tell them it was not consensual, it wasn’t really at first. But right now, that would be a lie. He was controlling, very, but he was also sweet. Always making sure you were okay and he started to open up more and more. You looked Tony in his eyes, and you didn’t have to be Loki to read his mind. It was clearly that he wanted to hear that Loki was abusing you. You sighed, knowing that he wasn’t going to like your answer. “What Loki said is sort of true” you said. You heard Loki sigh “Alright, the first time I made her a deal. She was scared to go out on missions, so I protect her during those, and she would be mine” Tony stood up straight “I’M TELLING FURY” he yelled while walking out the door. Clint quickly followed him, and you were hoping he would stop him. Thor was still smiling brightly, not at all fazed about Loki’s deal. Bruce, Natasha and Steve remained silent and serious. “You sure about this, (Y/N)? If you don’t want you can stop now” Natasha said to you. Loki rolled his eyes but stayed silent. “I am” you answered. Everyone nodded at you. You got up and walked back to your bedroom, trying to think about everything that just happened. Knowing they would discuss this behind your back.

You closed your bedroom door behind you, but it was pushed open immediately. Loki was right behind you. He closed the door behind him and grabbed you by your shoulders. He looked at you intently “Are you okay?” he asked. For once he showed you a serious concerned look. “Courting? Why would you say we’re courting?” you asked. He chuckled “Because we are” he walked past you and sat down on your bed. “What?” you asked shocked. “Are you allowed to date anybody else?” he asked. “No” you replied. “Am I the only man currently in your life who gets to touch you” he said with an amused smile on his face. “Yes” you replied puzzled. “Are you not mine?” he asked, his smirk turning in a wide grin. “Yes..” you said. “So, I’m courting you” he simply concluded. “I just haven’t been flaunting it around, since I didn’t want anybody else to know yet” he added. “So, know everybody know, you are going ‘flaunt it around?”

“Now that everybody knows, I finally get to touch you whenever I want. And take you out, I already have a few dates in mind” he said. You stared dumbfounded at him and tried to remember every time you’ve been with him. He was still grinning at you. “I feel like I should have been asked, or at least told…” you said. He got off the bed, and pulled you against him, kissing you deeply. He broke the kiss “Come on, what did you expect?”

[yuta-senpai]

Full Moon | Kun

- Genre: Smut. Werewolf Kun/Human Reader

- Warnings: Breeding, marking, possessive, oral (female receiving), and accidental mating.

- Word Count: 1.7k

You looked out the window and eyed the full moon.  You knew it was going to be a full moon, you had to know the moon schedule, it was important in your life.  Yes, the moon is important to many people for various reasons but for you, it had to do with your partner.

Kun was different from everybody else, he has a secret.  It’s one the fans could never know about, and one that many idols have.  The kpop idol world is full of supernatural beings.  SM predominantly worked with werewolves, JYP fairies, Bighit vampires, and for other companies it varied.  This meant the members of NCT didn’t perform on full moons, as they had no control, the wolves took over.  It was scary to think about the fact that all these people are basically worshipping supernatural entities, that would happily kill them if given the chance.  They took suppressants and went through courses to learn how to keep their instincts under control, but sometimes they couldn't control it.  Accidents had happened and it was the company's job to cover it.  When you started dating Kun you found out on accident, he got worked up, and his canines had grown and hair grew on his hands.  It was shocking at first, but you accepted him for who he was and now helped take care of him.

On days of full moons, they were chained up since they would lose control.  

This was the only way to keep people safe.

You were ripped from your thoughts when you heard a low growl behind you and you turned around to see glowing hazel eyes.  Your eyes widened, he had gotten out of the restraints.

His voice was deeper, you could hear a slight growl.

You stepped towards him cautiously.  “Kun, why are you out of the restraints?”

He sniffed the air, “Woman, I can smell you are in heat.”

“Kun you know I am human and don’t go into heat.”

He sniffed again, “I’m not Kun right now, you know that.  You are ready for pups.  I smell it, don’t lie.”  He growled and stepped forward.

“No Kun, it’s the wolf talking.”

“Don’t lie, I know you are ready to be bred.  I’m gonna breed you.”

Your breathing quickened, and you looked around trying to figure out what to do. 

“Kun wants this too.  He has been wanting to pump you full of pups for months.  But he is a pussy and wouldn’t ask.  So I am taking care of that.”

He stalked closer, “I can smell your arousal too.  I know you want to fuck his wolf side, let me wreck that little pussy of yours.”

You gulped nervously, he took a step towards you and you took one back.  Your back pressed against the wall and he put his hands up beside your head.

“I won’t hurt you.  Kun very much loves you, and he would probably kill himself if I ever injured you.”

He ran his hand along your cheek, his nails significantly longer now, and you flinched.

His eyes softened for a moment, the glow lessening “I told you I won’t hurt you.”

His voice returned to normal Kun’s voice, “I won’t let him hurt you okay.  But I can’t stop him from doing this just trust me.”

He leaned forward and kissed you.  You melted in his hold, the kiss full of passion and love.  But soon the wolf took back over, a low growl leaving his throat.  He licked across your bottom lip and you opened your mouth allowing him access.  

He groaned and pushed his knee between your thighs making you whimper into his mouth.  His tongue ran across yours before he pulled back and looked at you.  His eyes glowed hazel again, “Oh how I have wanted to do this.”

He picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder then he walked towards the bedroom.  He roughly threw you down onto the bed, your body bouncing against the plush mattress.

“I want you to know now, I will not go easy on you.  Understood?”

You nodded, “Yes.”

He grabbed the collar of his shirt and ripped it off, making you gasp.

He smirked, “Oh so you like seeing me use my strength?  I knew you wanted this side.”

You looked away embarrassed and he smacked your thigh, “I asked you a question.”

“Yes, I do like it.”

He crawled onto the bed and hovered over you.  You felt extra small below his daunting figure with the gaze he held in his eyes.

He snarled, his prominent canines showing, “Can’t wait to be buried in that little cunt of yours, but first I wanna taste you.”

He gripped the hem of your pants, “Wai-”

He watched you closely and he growled against your clit at the sight, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

He ripped your pants and panties open then pulled them off your legs.  You whimpered, “Damnit, I liked those pants.”

“Kun will buy you new ones.  Be quiet.”

He placed your knees on his shoulders and hovered over your core.  He took in a deep breath, “Smell fucking amazing.”

His tongue licked from your core up to your clit, and he moaned against you, “Taste amazing too.”

You grabbed onto his hair and he growled, “Pull my hair, I like it.”

You pulled his hair as his tongue ran against your clit at an insane pace.  Your legs shook on his shoulders, and loud whimpers left your lips.

Your grip on his hair tightened as you neared your high.  He slipped his tongue inside, then back up to your clit.  His tongue moving expertly, and you whimpered.

He used one hand to hold your hips down and the other to keep your legs spread.

“A-ah so close.”

Your toes curled and your thighs clamped around his head, and your hips bucked up.

Your thighs shook against his hand and shoulder. 

His voice came out in a growl, “Cum.” 

The vibrations of his voice paired with his tongue movements sent you over the edge.  You gripped his hair extra hard as waves of pleasure ran over you, and your whole body shook.

Your vision blurred and your breathing picked up.

Once you relaxed in his hold he backed away and smirked evilly, “You really liked that.”

You blushed and looked away.

He stroked himself a few times and eyed you sitting in front of him.

“No shame, I see why Kun likes doing that.  So responsive to touches.”

He stood up from the bed and removed his sweats and underwear.  “Take your shirt off unless you want it ripped.”

You sat up quickly and took your shirt off throwing it off to the side.

The bed dipped behind you, and sharp fingernails dug into your hips.  You whimpered, and he growled lowly.

“On all fours, now.”

You flipped over, your ass up in the air.  You shook your ass and he groaned, “I’m gonna pump you so full.”

His wolf was behaving really well, better than you would have expected.

You looked back and his eyes were extra golden, his canines even more prominent.  You gulped nervously and watched as he guided himself into you.  A howl coming from his lips as he sunk in.  

His pace was fast and rough, and he growled with almost every thrust.

“Don’t look.”

He grabbed a handful of your hair and roughly turned your head forward.  He gave you no time to adjust before he pulled out and thrust all the way back in, your body lurching forward. 

He grunted and his nails dug into your hips further, likely drawing blood from you.  He leaned down and kissed all along your back, leaving marks.  “Mine.”

“Gonna fill you up with pups.  Can’t wait to see you pregnant with my pups.”

“Yeah, you wanna be a daddy?  Wanna fill me up?”

He tightened his hold on your hair and groaned, “Fuck, keep talking like that, and I’m gonna cum fast.”

“Maybe I want that.”

He chuckled, “So desperate for my cum you don’t even want to cum.  Such a little cum slut.”

He changed his angle and started thrusting faster, making your eyes roll into the back of your head.  

You reached behind you and gripped his hair, and he buried his head into your neck.  You felt a sharp pain, and then pleasure coursed through your entire body. 

He groaned against your skin as he filled you up, and everything was blurry from the pleasure.  You came right after him, and based on the low growls against your neck it felt good.  He removed his teeth, pulled out, and flipped you over onto your back.

You gasped in surprise and grabbed onto his biceps.

He sunk back into you and picked up a quick pace fast.  He placed both of your legs around his waist and he held onto your waist to keep you from moving up the bed.

He leaned down and littered your chest with hickeys, “The world needs to know who you belong to.”

His hips still snapped into yours at a rapid pace and you held onto his arms.  

He bit down into your neck again on the same spot as before, and he snarled, “My mate.”

“Ahhh Kun how are you still going?”

He smirked, “Didn’t you know my stamina is higher, and I can finish multiple times.”

Your eyes widened, this was gonna be a long night.

You felt your heart soften.  The two of you had spoken about mates, but he never would tell you if you were his.

You woke up the next morning in his arms and moved around to face Kun.  His face had softened back to normal, his nails shortened, and his canines went back to normal.

He grunted with each thrust and came again, “You better have pups after this.”

The two of you had sex 3 more times, and you couldn’t move after the abuse he put your body through.

He yawned and pulled you closer, “Good morning beautiful.”

“Good morning Kun.”  You could barely speak after all the moaning.

He buried his head in your neck then froze, and sniffed.  “Did I bite you?” 

You nodded and his eye widened, “I’m so sorry, but I gave you a mate mark last night.”

“What?”

“That mark will never go away, it means we are mated.”

You looked at his nervous face, “That’s fine Kun, you know I love you.”

He pulled you in and kissed you.

[hongism]

belong - p. seonghwa 18+

day 16 of kinktober: possessive sex - park seonghwa warnings: explicit smut, unprotected sex, marking, biting, fingering, possessiveness, creampie, paramour!seonghwa, princess!reader, lil bit of impregnation kink if u squint wc: 1.5k genre: pwp, smut, 18+

​​​

“The wedding is next week, Seonghwa,” you mumble as the man’s lips brush over your neck. The air isn’t cold, yet goosebumps rise over your skin. His touch is as soft as it is ghosting, and you lean back against him out of pure instinct. 

“And?” He counters. You can’t hear any emotion in his tone, no cues as to how he feels about the situation, but that thought slips away when he attaches his lips to your neck again. This time, he moves with greater force, teeth grazing your skin and sucking until a colorful mark blossoms. It’s only then that you realize you don’t need to hear his tone to know how he’s feeling. The fact that he’s making an effort to leave marks is telling enough; he usually tries not to leave any sign of your escapades in attempts to protect you from crude rumors. 

“We’ll have to stop th–” You cut off with a gasp as Seonghwa sinks his teeth into your skin, leaving a deep imprint but not hard enough to make you bleed. His tongue drags over the bruise and soothes the heated skin before he pulls back to whisper his reply.

“It’s a marriage of convenience and business, is it not? I would hope that after all this time, our relationship is more valuable than that.” He’s right, and you couldn’t deny it even if you wanted to. As forbidden as your relationship with Seonghwa is, you love him nonetheless, and he loves you in return. Neither of you has ever been foolish enough to think that this wouldn’t happen. You knew it would come to this, but your choice has always been Seonghwa. That won’t change, and he keeps reminding you of that fact with the way his hands roam your body. 

“Touch me, Seonghwa… please,” you exhale as you twist to face him. He wears a soft grin, gaze impossibly soft as he looks down at you.

“I am touching you, my princess.”

“Oh, don’t be a tease!” You retort. Seonghwa laughs a little but tugs you closer. He wraps his arms around your waist, guiding your body backward until you feel your knees hit the edge of the bed. Still, Seonghwa doesn’t stop there. He eases you back until you lie flat against the mattress, bringing his body over yours without breaking eye contact once. It’s a different kind of teasing — one that leaves you wanting more just from the gleam in his eyes. They’re brimming with lust and desire, his hands sliding lower until he clasps the front of your robe.

“Am I still teasing, love?” Seonghwa inquires as he pulls the robe open. You shiver from the sensation of cold air washing over you, but Seonghwa’s warm hands are right there to ease the chills.

“You never stop.” A huff of air escapes you, one that shifts into a gasp when Seonghwa presses two fingers to your folds. They’re already dripping with arousal, and Seonghwa’s touch only serves to make that heat pool more. He pushes your folds apart with little resistance on your part.

“You’re mine,” Seonghwa murmurs out of the blue. You blink up at him with a bit of confusion shining on your features. “All mine.” Two fingers breach your hole, and you gasp at the sensation, throwing your head back against the mattress. Seonghwa hums at your reaction and crooks his fingers deep in you.

“Y-Yours…” You let the word roll off your tongue. It’s more experimental than anything else, to see how it feels and what Seonghwa’s reaction might be. It proves to be worth it though, just thanks to the way Seonghwa’s body jerks and a low growl passes through his lips. He pumps his fingers in and out of your sopping cunt. The movements cause a wet squelching noise to resound from between your legs, and you almost feel embarrassed by the lewd sounds, but the pleasure is more intense than those feelings. 

“Fuck, I need to fill you up,” Seonghwa groans as your walls clench hard around his fingers. He focuses on scissoring you open first though, not rushing his process in the slightest. You can’t hold back from teasing him a bit yourself – a small revenge for his earlier goading.

“Fuck me full of your cum, Hwa,” you say with a slight lilt dancing through your tone. He moves upwards to come face to face with you, fingers still thrusting in and out of your cunt.

“Say it again, princess.”

“I said – I want you to fuck me so full of cum that I still feel you in me at the wedding next week.” Seonghwa’s fingers disappear from your heat in less than a second. He rushes to grab at his pants and free his cock that already strains against the confines of the fabric. He pulls it down just enough to expose his member, kneeling back over you after a moment. Jerking at his member with the hand he just had between your legs, Seonghwa captures your lips with his own. You let him dominate the kiss with his tongue pressing between your lips and filling your mouth in an instant. 

His cock breaches your folds and prods at your home without too much pressure at first. Then he dares to penetrate you, slowly pushing into you as he leaves a trail of searing kisses down your jaw and neck. He pauses at your neck and begins to kiss you there instead. He eases you through the stretch of his cock by sucking at that sensitive area until he’s fully buried in your tight heat. 

“You feel so good, princess,” he groans.

“Your princess,” you remind as you wiggle your hips a bit. Seonghwa hisses at your sudden movements, encouraged by the words that cater to his possessive side. 

“Mine, all mine.” He rocks his hips, and his cock rolls against your walls. The movement draws a moan out of you. You almost beg him to continue, but you don’t need to because he moves anyway, building up a steady rhythm with his thrusts. The pleasure is unreal; his cock presses up against your sweet spot, but he doesn’t hit it with every thrust, thanks to the angle. You throw your legs around his waist and try to slide further under him. Seonghwa seems to get the hint and saves you the trouble by gripping your hips and tugging you down. You release a startled and choked moan as he hits your g-spot head-on now. 

“F-Fuck, oh – Seonghwa, th-that – shit!” You can’t even complete a coherent thought; the pleasure keeps you distracted and babbling as Seonghwa rolls his hips against yours.

“I’ll make sure you – ah, remember who you belong to,” Seonghwa grunts into your ear, and you moan at the words, head falling to the side. The continuous pressure on your sweet spot brings you closer to the edge rather quickly. Seonghwa picks up on your closeness and offers a teasing bite to your neck. The shockwaves of pleasure that follow cause you to curl your body into his, and your orgasm hits then with his cock deep inside you. Your walls clench hard around him as your lips part in a silent scream. 

“I’m yours, Hwa. Yours, yours, yours,” you babble like it’s a prayer. The mantra urges Seonghwa to his own orgasm, and he only makes it one more thrust before cumming hard and fast. Warmth blossoms in your gut; the feeling of his seed filling you up and seeping deep inside you only adds to the euphoria running through your veins. “Feels so good, Hwa, so so good.”

“Feels good for me too, love. Fuck, you feel so good.” Seonghwa doesn’t move away from you even after his orgasm passes, and you don’t want him to anyway. You cling to him like a vice, hand pressed to the back of his head so that he stays near your neck. He still traces his lips over your sweat-slick skin, and a small hum of approval vibrates against you when you start combing your fingers through his dark hair.

“I love you,” you murmur to the air above you. Seonghwa’s kisses hesitate for only a second so that he can reply with a declaration of love himself.

“I love you too, my princess.”

...

a/n: okay this idea kinda sexc i can’t lie, i like this universe maybe we’ll see more of it in the future!! :p

link to kinktober masterlist

taglist: @noonawriter​ @daniblogs164​ @felixity​ @okokokok123-45​ @jeonartemis​ @crescent-hwa​ @wheresmymoniat​ @nlost21​ @lonely10vely​ @atletino​ @monbecaratstayarmy​ @hello-its-ya-boi​ @onyxblade01​ @kimnamshiks​ @poutychangbinnie​ @toothlessshiber​ @xxbluestrifexx​ @lokihoeforhyunjin​ @ice-cold-taeyong​ @essantial​ @blueish-sun​ @etaerealboy​ @notbeforelong​​ @wideawakeficrecs​ @adestinyuwu​​ @simpforhyunjin​ @naajix​ @lilyliline21​ @leaz-kpop-life​ @hyunjinsicedamerican0​ @marigold-bebee​ @changbinswifu​ @xcookiemonsteer​ @ddalgi-yong​ @seoha​

unable to be tagged: @sailing-goddess-of-ateez @gingerale-addict

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

Kissing / Making Out HC’s

Pairing: Kaminari x reader

Warnings: Just a ton of kissing, making out, and mentions of groping (I talk about boobs, uh oh). Still gender/sex neutral

Author’s Note:

Almost didn't have anything ready for this week, but this one only took me a few hours to write up, so here you go! This may end up being my Valentines Day fic. Idk, we’ll see. I haven’t been feeling well lately :/

Enjoy

-Sugar

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● I think this goes without saying, but

● Denki is an absolute s u c k e r for kisses

● As soon as you get together, he wants them constantly

● And who are you to deny him?

● He really doesn't mind PDA (he kinda likes it, actually, getting to show off that he has an s/o)

● So, unless you're uncomfortable with it, he'll kiss you no matter where you are or who you're with (especially around his friends)

● But as I said, if you're not interested, he'll respect that

● It just means he gets to love on you more when you're finally alone together!

● Kaminari loves your lips. Big or small, soft or dry, he's staring at them from across the room, just thinking about when he can kiss them again

● Boy is devoted to you, you don't leave his mind

● After he started dating you, Denki applies lip balm religiously

● He usually goes with vanilla flavors, but he also likes fruity ones

● And he makes special note of what you like. If he knows you'll be kissing soon, he'll pull out your favorite chapstick of his just to make sure he's extra tasty for you

● His 👏 lips 👏 are 👏 so 👏 soft 👏

● Every now and then they'll get a little chapped, but he's pretty good about exfoliating them when they do

● He wants to make sure you have the best kissing experience with him at all times, so he stays on top of things

● Not only does Denki like receiving kisses, he likes giving them as well

● Cheek kisses are his go-to. If you were to keep track, I'd say he'd give you a cheek kiss at least fifteen times a day, if he's around you that much

● Morning kisses, hello kisses, goodbye kisses—a lot of them end up on your cheeks

● But he also loves kissing your nose! He sees those as more intimate kisses, so usually he saves them for when you're cuddling together

● He just loves the way your face scrunches up in a grin when he does it >w<

● He loves to smother your face with little pecks, and he especially likes to tease you by kissing anywhere but your mouth until you get frustrated

● But he doesn't have that much self-control, so he may just kiss your lips soon enough anyway, if you're patient

● You can expect him to prelude a ton of kisses with either a joke or a pick up line. He thinks he’s being smooth (he’s really not), but he loves seeing you happy and giggling

● He also likes to zap you jus a teeny bit here and there. Never enough to hurt (he'd cry if he ever hurt you), but just enough to surprise you

● Sometimes he accidentally static-shocks you when you kiss, especially right after he used his quirk, so that can sting a bit. He always apologizes when it happens and offers you more kisses

● He likes sweet kisses, especially the ones during or right after dates, where he just gets to close his eyes and let the world fall away into nothing but your warm lips. He likes wrapping his hands around your waist to pull you close, and tilt your chin so he can get the perfect angle on your mouth

● Sometimes he smiles and giggles while you're kissing, and that can make it a little difficult to stay on his lips. But it's so darn cute, you have no intentions of ever telling him to stop

● He loves making out with you. So much

● He likes to “set the scene” if he has time, but it’s usually just dimming the lights a little (he's not above making out to music tho, so if you're interested, he'll be happy to deliver)

● But just having you in your or his room with him, on the bed with you on his lap, kissing you slow for all you're worth—

● Fantastic, easily one of his favorite parts of the relationship

● And he likes the hungry kisses too, where he pins you to the mattress (or you pin him; he's into both 👀) and it's all just sloppy tongue and teeth

● 😞👌

● If you allow it, his hands will be all over your body

● If you possess boobs (no matter the size), he's touching them

● With permission ofc

● I headcanon him to be a boob/chest guy (I mean, he loves all of you, but come on. Boobs. Need I say more?)

● Buuuut, he's also touching your butt. Homeboy's a groper

● He likes to grab handfuls of you wherever they may wander, squeezing your warm flesh around his fingers

● You may have to tell him at first not to do it so hard

● He's a hornee boi, so he likes to make out with you a few times a week. If you have to miss a couple of sessions, he'll get grumpy and you'll have to make it up to him (with extra kissies, ofc)

● If you were to pin him to the wall and passionately kiss him, he'd probably die from how hot he found it. Or he’d just short-circuit

● Any time you kiss him, he'll melt

● He loves kissing you, but there's something a little extra special about when it’s you initiating

● It makes him feel so loved, even if you just walk up to him and peck his forehead

● It's important to him not only that he loves you, but that you love him back just as much. That's what makes him go 🥺🥺

● He simps for one person and one person only now, and it's you

● Extra: He draws fanart of you and him kissing in his free time 👀 just little doodles in the margins of his notebooks. Aizawa always makes a face whenever Denki accidentally leaves one on his homework but otherwise doesn’t say anything

The overhead light is turned off, a screensaver on his monitor providing a soft glow to the bed opposite in the room. You're seated comfortably on his lap, his hands lightly resting on your ass.

He starts with simple pecks on your lips, each one lingering longer against your skin, heavier in pressure. He's soft but moist, warm underneath where his saliva had cooled in the temperature of the room. An electricity seems to dance between you, and you're not sure if it's just your imagination or if he really is using his quirk.

Finally his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, and you grant him access. Your fingers lace through his hair, displacing the black lightning bolt that had been shaped so perfectly among the golden-blond strands. His tongue comes into contact with yours, touching and licking before securing itself behind your teeth. You're drawn even closer to him, locked in a wet embrace as his hands squeeze.

He could never get enough of you, enough of this feeling. He was obsessed with the way his heart still pounded in his chest, obsessed with the way fireworks went off in his stomach no matter how many times he'd done this before. All it took was a touch, a kiss, a squeeze, and he was gone. In moments like these, you were the only thing that mattered. Not his failures, not his inadequacies, not the stress of school. Just you, and only you.

One of his hands moved to cup your cheek, keeping you close while the other slid down your thigh. He released your lips, only to come back for more more more, desperate to show you how much he loved you, how badly he needed you. A whimper escaped him, swallowed by the kiss but present nonetheless. You answered in your own pretty little moan, fingers alighting on the base of his skull to pull him ever forward into you.

He could stay here forever, drowning in your taste, your touch, your scent. What harm would it be?

Kaminari picked you up, turning you over and laying you down softly onto his bed. He quickly loomed over you, supported by an arm on either side of your head as he dove in for another kiss.

Forever was a long time, so maybe he'd start with tonight.

His thumb traced along your cheekbone, lips still pushing and pulling against yours. He loved the way you caged his hips in with your thighs, keeping him in place. Loved how your hands softly rested by your head on his pillow.

He paused, suddenly realizing just how lightheaded he was. Reluctantly, he pulled back for air, chest expanding and contracting with each soft breath. 

You were under him. He was so thankful it was you. He'd never witnessed a person so beautiful—never experienced lips so addictive, so kissable. You were intoxicating, the way your shining eyes locked with his as your own hand came up to trace his face.

Even in the low light, he could make out every feature he loved—from your nose to your cheeks to your chin, nothing escaped his gaze.

"I love you," you whispered to him, and just like every other time you said it, he knew it was true.

"I love you too," he whispered back, because that was also true. How couldn't it be?

He kissed you once more before shifting to his side, pulling you into his arms where he knew you'd be safe and warm.

'I love you' hummed through his every nerve as he showered your skin with his love—your forehead, your nose, your cheeks. All of it perfection in his eyes, and he wished nothing would change.

You nestled into his neck, your hot skin brushing over his own.

"Sleepy?" he asked, rubbing your back.

He felt you nod, and he couldn't help but smile. Burying his nose in your hair, he inhaled your scent. It was nights like these when he truly knew what the word 'comfort' meant, since he felt it to the very marrow of his bones.

Absolutely nothing could compare to the way it felt to have you fall asleep in his arms. Your breaths began to even out as his hands continued to wander, intent on caressing you and worshiping every inch of skin he was able to touch.

Even before he pulled the blanket over your shoulders, you were warm. Drifting off to sleep in his arms, his lips still lazily pressing kisses to your hair, you felt content.

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Taglist: @aahilovetheatre @basicaegyo @hyunmin-1404 @iiminibattlehero @katsugay @nabo39 @pyrofanatic @rainy-skys-and-bright-stars​ @sendhelpimstupid @sxngwoos-ash-box @xoxopam4​

[talonwings]

Who We Are - Empires SMP writing

a gift for you, empiresblr, courtesy of my now 5 hours of fWhip headcanons. feel free to kill me when you're done. (also sorry i don't yet have an AO3 i can link to, i've been on the wait list foreeevvveerrr).

CW for slight body horror, angst, and i guess suffocation kind of?

“fWhip? Hello? Are you in here?”

He heard the call--how could he not have, when the voice was hers? Still, he did not move, remaining where he slumped against the wall of the underground room. One of the redstone crystals blooming from the stone was jammed against his shoulder blade, but even the pain could not entice him to rise.

“fWhip, come out!” Gem’s voice was a mixture of frustration and concern, a tone he rarely heard from her--well, the frustration he had heard before, but the worry was new. Gem almost never fretted about anything; it was how she had kept him and Sausage so well in line up until now.

“I’m going to come down there!” The threat echoed down the passageway that separated the secret room from the unassuming shopfront above it. “I know where your lair is, it isn’t a secret! Don’t make me come down there!”

“Don’t,” fWhip rasped. “Please.”

Gem either couldn’t or didn’t hear him. “I’m giving you one minute, and then I’m coming down there whether you like it or not!”

“Please,” he tried again, but his voice would not obey him. It petered out almost as soon as it passed his lips. He licked them, swallowed, coughed, tried a third time. “Gem, please, go away.”

This time, it seemed, she did hear, for she answered, “I will not go away! Nobody’s seen you in two weeks, fWhip! We’re worried sick!”

“I’m fine,” he croaked--a lie.

“You don’t sound fine,” she retorted. “I’m coming down.”

He opened his mouth to warn her off again, but the tell-tale sound of the painting door sliding back masked whatever he might have tried to say. Seconds later, her footsteps started up, the familiar click of those heeled purple boots getting ever louder as she marched along the passageway toward his laboratory.

fWhip’s gaze darted around in a panic, searching out anyplace that would be suitable to hide. He hadn’t moved from his current spot in over twelve hours, and his limbs protested as he shoved himself violently to his feet, teetering off-balance from the unfamiliar motion. Finally, he settled on a small cranny near the back of the chamber, and limped over to it, cramming himself inside just as Gem’s footfalls indicated that she had reached the door to the lab itself. He heard her swing it open, and then her voice, much clearer now, softly called, “fWhip? Where are you?”

“Go away,” he replied, hating the stony rasp that he couldn’t seem to get rid of now. “Don’t want to see you.”

“Well, that’s just rude,” she replied. He could imagine the look on her face, and fought against the lump it brought to his throat. He wanted to apologize, to beg for her forgiveness, to throw himself into her arms.

“Didn’t ask you to come,” he croaked instead.

“No, actually, Jimmy did,” Gem replied waspishly. “Your enemy. You remember him? The one you stole his most precious possession from? He sent me a message three days ago to tell me he hadn’t seen or heard from you in over a week. Mind you, this was after I’d been questioned by Sausage, Pearl, and Shrub as to why you’ve missed the last two alliance meetings. fWhip, even your enemies are worried about you. Where have you been?”

Oh, if only you knew. His mouth twisted with a hateful, bitter little smile. “Busy.”

Gem audibly scoffed. “Right.”

“Leave, Gem.” The order tasted strange in his mouth, when he desperately wanted her to stay.

“Not until I see you.” He heard her start moving around the room, picking things up and nudging them with her feet, rearranging boxes and sliding barrels aside as she searched.

“Leave.” The cranny was small, but he squashed himself further inside anyway, stone scraping against all the places where his skin was exposed.

“Are you back there?” His stomach squeezed with terror as he heard her move toward him, squeezing between two of the suspension tubes where he had once stored specimens he was researching. “I can’t see you.”

“Please, leave, please.” If he couldn’t order her, he could at least beg her. “Gem, please, if you care about me at all, go away.”

“fWhip, I do care about you,” she said gently. “That’s why I’m here in the first place. Please come out. I just want to know you’re safe.”

He could feel his heart ripping itself in half--desperation to hide warring violently with the desire to finally be seen, even if it would cost him everything. It felt like it might burn a hole in his chest, and his hands tightened reflexively into fists as he battled himself for what seemed an eternity.

“Please, little brother,” Gem whispered.

It was as if she had caved his chest in. A sob dragged itself from his throat before he could stop it, but he finally let himself unfurl from the cranny to drape limply across the floor, gazing up at his sister’s blue-violet eyes as they widened in shock, which turned to horror, which turned to sorrow.

“Oh, fWhip…” Gem reached out a hand toward him, but hesitated, drawing her fingers back before she could reach him. “What happened?”

“You really want to know?” He had to shove back another sob with a monumental effort, watching the way her fingers trembled as she gazed at him. “Or do you want to leave, like I told you to before?”

“No, I would never,” she gasped. “Not now. Not like this.” She sat down on the floor, her violet cloak flowing behind her like a pool of silky water, and slid closer to him, although not quite close enough for their hands to touch. “Tell me what happened.”

He let his eyes drift away from hers, toward the ceiling and the red crystals dripping from its shadowy recesses. “Well, it began two weeks ago.”

Two weeks earlier…

fWhip was not a stranger to surprises, but he liked receiving them far less than he liked planning them.

It had been a long elytra flight from the undisclosed location of the Wither Rose headquarters back to his home in the Grimlands, and the multiple hours in the air were wearing on his body--even though he had been wearing his scarlet goggles for the duration, his eyeballs still ached as if the wind had been hammering them, as did his shoulder blades from the yank and drift of the elytra against his own muscles.

“Maybe next time I take a horse,” he muttered to himself as he angled in for the landing. The deepslate roofs of the Grimlands were beginning to glide by beneath him now, and he made for the circular patch of dirt at the back of the manor that was his customary landing site, his eyes trained on it until something else caught his attention.

“I am positive that was not there before…” One hand came up to tap his chin as his gaze caught on the massive outcrop of deepslate that had bloomed at the front corner of the manor gardens, studded with glinting redstone crystals. A darker shadow within the ring-shaped formation suggested there might possibly be a hole there, though how deep was indiscernible from this far above.

“If somebody has been trying to steal from me again--wait.” fWhip narrowed his eyes at the spot, investigating it more closely now, for it seemed more familiar the closer he drew. He could vaguely recall setting a circle of rocks within the closed hedges, and in their center, a red container, filled with--

“Damn! Xornoth again!” His breath huffed out harshly as he realized what had happened. First the explosion, and now this…

Veering off-course from his typical spot, he carefully glided down until he was low enough to snap the elytra closed and drop gracefully to the ground between the wide hedge rows. From down here, the deepslate ring seemed much larger than it had from the air, its jagged edges stabbing into the blue sky. He could tell now that there was, indeed, a hole at the center, exactly where he had placed the shulker-box filled with Xornoth’s corruption.

“Damn,” he whispered again. He edged closer, peering carefully at the hole as he neared in an attempt to see what might be at the bottom. It appeared to be deeper than he was tall, however, and he was forced to maneuver up to the very lip of the hole to get a good look at the bottom. Thankfully, there did seem to be a bottom, lurking maybe ten feet below the surface; the depths of the hole were quite dark, though, only dimly illuminated by patches of glimmering red crystals, and he was unable to determine much more than that.

fWhip wondered, briefly, if he ought to just ignore the hole. Common sense would seem to suggest that it was involved with Xornoth in some way, and therefore worthy of at least being avoided for the time being until he could request the help of his allies. fWhip, however, whether fortunately or not, had always been availed of a strong sense of curiosity--it was how he had developed so many of his gadgets and tools. Besides that, there was something about the depths of the small hole that seemed to call to him, and him specifically.

He glanced around, taking stock of who might be nearby in case he needed to call for help, and saw no one in the immediate vicinity. There was a groundskeeper’s cottage just on the other side of the hedge row, but he had no way of knowing whether anyone might be inside.

“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to take a chance,” he murmured. “Here goes.”

Gingerly, he sat down at the edge of the hole, dangling his legs off the side and exploring for possible footholds. It took him a minute, but his toes finally caught on a ledge, and he was able to hoist himself down and into the vertical shaft. Thankfully, the same jagged-edged property of deepslate that made it look menacing also made it excellent for climbing, and he had relatively little difficulty lowering himself the full ten or eleven feet to the bottom, where his feet landed on solid stone. Looking up, he was surprised how dim the sky seemed to be after such a short descent.

Now what? he thought to himself as he gazed around at the narrow walls on all sides. Surely I didn’t make an ass of myself climbing down here for no reason.

He had but a few seconds to wonder, as a strange hiss caught his attention, echoing from the rock walls. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but the small hole began rapidly to fill with a reddish mist, which, when he inhaled it, made the inside of his nose and throat burn as if he had inhaled fire. He coughed, accidentally inhaled again, and coughed more violently, and still the stuff spewed into the cavern, and he began to wonder whether this was a trap, and whether he had been an idiot for climbing down here, and whether his allies--his friends, his sister--would find his corpse rotting down here. His hands scrabbled for handholds to lever himself back up, but the mist had filled his eyes now, and it stung, forcing him blindly to his knees. He couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, could barely think. Lights danced behind his eyelids, and his throat was a tunnel of fire, and then he was unconscious, and knew no more.

Present day…

“And the next thing I knew, I woke up. And...this.” fWhip gestured down to himself, unable to keep his mouth from curling like he had tasted something sour. “Or, well, part of it.”

“Part of it?” Gem cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it was just the wings at first.” He tugged at the grey-black appendages, hating that he could feel it when his fingers brushed the leathery flesh. “And to be honest, I thought they were awesome. Who hasn’t dreamed of having wings? Sure, they looked a little gargoyle-ish, but it seemed like a small price to pay for not having to use elytra anymore. And it felt like the redstone magic was helping me, maybe giving me a gift to fight against Xornoth. I thought it might be something good.”

“And then…” Gem prompted when he trailed off.

“And then...the rest started,” he whispered. “I tried to ignore it at first. I thought maybe I was hallucinating, or getting sick, because it started with just my eyes, and I felt like maybe it would go away if I just, I don’t know, pretended not to notice. But then it was my skin, and then my hands, and then...and then my face.” He turned away from her as a visible shudder made its way through him. “I look disgusting.”

“Why didn’t you call us for help?” Gem murmured.

“Because it was my fault it happened!” he growled, shaking his head. “Because I was an idiot and went down that hole and breathed in that gas, and now I’m a monster, and I have no one to blame but myself. Because I couldn’t wait for you.”

“fWhip, no!” He could see the glimmer of moisture in her eyes, and he hated himself even more for it, for making her upset. “It isn’t your fault. You didn’t know what would happen, and you’ve always been an investigator. And now you’ve had to suffer alone, and I had no idea, and…” Her voice caught. “I was so worried. I thought maybe the demon…and especially after those dreams...”

He swallowed. “I...I’m sorry. I just...I didn’t know how to face everyone like this.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, simply listening to their own breaths. Finally, Gem said, “It doesn’t look that bad, you know.”

fWhip eyed her dubiously. “Gem, I look like a gargoyle. Like some kind of…” The word demon couldn’t force itself out, but he could see she understood, for she vigorously shook her head.

“No, you don’t look anything like that,” she said. After a long pause, she quietly added, “You look like my little brother.”

He tried, but couldn’t stop the tears from sliding down his cheeks. “Thanks,” he whispered.

She reached over and finally took his hand, and he almost shouted with joy at the touch of another person; her skin was warm and soft, her delicate tiny fingers gentle as they closed around his rough, clawed ones.

“We’ll figure this out,” she promised. “Together.”

He nodded, and squeezed her hand. “Together.”

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 3

Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: You and Din have an unexpected heart-to-heart about what it means to be Death and a Cupid on route to a planet where Din’s potential soulmate lives.

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,500

Warnings: Pining, smidge of angst, more plot development, Razor Crest (RIP I miss you darling!), a made-up home world for the reader (yes, yes, there’s like a million I could have picked but my brain said NOPE)

Author Note: Ahhhh, the comments are so amazing from you all! Thank you everyone out there sparing time to check out my little universe, it makes me sooo happy you have no idea! As always, I hope you enjoy this new segment as I try to plot this story out and get these two idiots to acknowledge there just might be something between them. 

Also special thanks to @codenamewitcher​​ for including the first two parts on Weekly Fanfic Recs. Be sure to go check out the list for a whole bunch of fantastic stories!

Links to Part 1, Part 2 and Part 4

Photo Inspiration: (What I imagine is beneath the armor in this scene...*dreamy sigh*)

There is a distinct silence that can only be found in hyperspace when the stars outside resemble sparkling streaks of silver tinsel and your breath is trapped within your lungs as you’re awestruck by the sheer beauty of it all. You experience this silence aboard the Razor Crest, sitting in the cockpit behind Din as he pilots his beloved gunship. It isn’t the first time you’ve been a passenger, having traveled with Din on two previous ventures where your Cupid services were required on planets far away from your home on Umbriel.

Off-world assignments for you were generally rare since your bosses were more inclined to choose Cupids of higher ranking to handle those clients, but sometimes you were the only available option left. Which, come to think of it, is exactly how you became the one roped into meeting with Death every full moon. Your bosses decided someone needed to check up on him to make sure he wasn’t reaping anyone before their fated time and thus messing with the natural order of things. You privately have reached the conclusion it was a decision made during a fit of paranoia as you had yet to find any evidence suggesting Din ever broke a single one of the universe’s rules, let alone even considered the mere possibility.

When you did travel for assignments, you never stopped feeling like a goldfish being dumped out of your familiar little bowl and into a massive ocean full of strange oddities. You would often find yourself wasting time trying to successfully navigate the unknown world when you should have been focused on tracking down your client’s soulmate.

That’s why Din had offered to start traveling with you. Actually, in his own words it was because, “You think about love so much you don’t see trouble until it’s an inch in front of you. Someone’s got to be there to look after you.”

You’d tried to argue, told him you had never experienced trouble and that if you did then you could handle it with your bow. All Cupid’s were required to master archery for self-defense purposes, though Din’s responding snort of derision made you suspect he wasn’t convinced of your skills. You wondered if he thought, just as humans incorrectly did, a Cupid only used their bow to spread love and lust. Or maybe he just thought you weren’t capable of such finesse. It was an insulting assumption, fueling you with the burning desire to prove him wrong. One day, you keep telling yourself, a repetitive chant. One day you’ll show him just how capable you are with your weapon and you imagine his look of shock, whether worn openly on his face or hidden beneath the visor of his helmet, will be utterly priceless.

But in the meantime, you’re in no hurry to encounter trouble. Finding enjoyment in taking these trips with him on his ship instead.

The Razor Crest had actually been a complete surprise to you when Din first welcomed you on it; primarily because the notion of him using such a primitive form of transportation despite the powers he possessed as Death was too outrageous to wrap your head around. However, it took less than ten minutes soaring through space for you to discover just how many details of the universe you were missing by relying on your Cupid abilities to teleport yourself between locations. Never would you have imagined Death to be the one to teach you to love the slowness of travel, to let your eyes linger on all the beautiful wonders along the way. But that’s exactly what happened.

You turn your head away from the window to look at Din. From your angle, all you glimpse is the back of his helmet, reflecting the passing starlight. Soon you’ll be introducing Din to the first immortal on your list of potential soulmates.

Death, you quickly correct yourself. He’s only Din when he’s around you.

You initially thought he elected to wear his armor because you told him he could to ease his comfort, but now you think it’s because this is him meeting his potential soulmate as himself. It is easy to forget sometimes this is the image of Death—a warrior enshrouded in beskar, cunning and ruthless—that is recognized throughout the universe. And feared.

If the handsome face he concealed was known instead, you wonder if mortals would readily choose to embrace the ending of their lifetime, rather than foolishly seek to run from its inevitability.

“What is it?” Din’s baritone voice startles you as it shatters the quietness. The modulator within his helmet gives his tone a low raspiness that never fails to send a chill down your spine when you hear it.

“Huh?” You respond ineloquently.

“You’ve been staring at the back of my head for the last five minutes, angel. I figured you had something worth saying.”

“Oh, no. I was just thinking about you.”

Immediately you wish a meteor would collide with the ship, providing you with the necessary distraction to escape and find somewhere you can hide until the end of time.

“...What about me were you thinking?” Din wonders after a solid thirty seconds of pure silence, voice somehow conveying an equally blended mixture of intrigue and wariness. He flips on the ship’s autopilot and turns in his seat to pin you with his gaze, apparently unwilling to let you try and weasel yourself out of the conversation.

You roll the question around in your mind, wanting to give an answer that satisfies him without it also embarrassing yourself further.

“I was thinking how much of an enigma you are,” you murmur at last, leaning back in the chair with your arms crossing over your stomach. “You wield such incredible powers and yet you choose to wear a human face, to call this man-made ship your home and to also spend your spare time living amongst those you will eventually reap. Why are these your choices?”

He tilts his head, and you just know there is a little crease of bewilderment appearing between his eyebrows right now even if you can’t see it. For as much as he is a puzzle you can’t put together, he is also at times an open book that you will never tire of reading.

“I would think you, more than most beings, would understand the discomfort that stems from loneliness and the lengths one will go to ease it,” he says, not unkindly. He mirrors your position, maneuvering himself until he’s comfortable in his seat and totally oblivious to the dilating of your pupils as you observe every subtle shift of his armor-clad body. “Isn’t that the true purpose of Cupids? To spare individuals the ache of living a life of solitude by introducing them to someone to love so they no longer feel it.”

“That’s a poetic way of putting it,” you answer, smiling softly and shrugging your shoulders. “My superiors would just quote our mantra back at me when I used to ask. Amor vincit omnia.”

“Love conquers all.”

You shouldn’t be surprised he’s able to translate such an ancient and obscure language, but your eyes widen regardless. “That’s right.”

His voice is unusually soft when he asks, “Do you like being a Cupid?”

You stare at him, caught off guard by how easily he’s changed the topic of the conversation from himself to you. You’re used to taking orders and being thanked for your services, but no one has ever asked you if you liked doing any of it.

“I’m good at it,” you finally say, even though it’s not really an answer.

He nods his head still, as if he understands. A part of you thinks he actually does.

You lick your lips, eyeing him hesitantly. “Do you...like being Death?”

“I’m good at it,” he echoes, but your words sound somber coming from his lips.

The cockpit fills with hushed silence again, but there’s a unique tenderness unlike ever before. Minutes seem to stretch on for entire seasons as you watch one another, content to simply coexist and revel in each other’s presences.

It would be so easy to slip off his helmet and kiss him right now.

You stiffen, stunned at your own thought, but you aren’t given the chance to analyze it further as an alarm on the ship’s control panel announces with a resounding beep you’ve reached your destination.

Din spins in his seat, reclaiming control of the steering to begin the ship’s landing process. You look out the front window at the large green-blue planet drawing nearer with every anxious tick of your heartbeat.

“We’re here,” you say needlessly, forcing excitement into your voice. Fake it till you make it, isn’t that the human expression?

“Who is it we’re meeting on this backwater skug hole?” Din asks, pressing a series of buttons above his head.

You kick the back of his seat. “Be nice,” you scold when he shoots you a look. He mutters something unintelligible under his breath as he turns back around, prompting you to roll your eyes. “She’s a goddess of springtime and motherhood. The locals call her Omera.”

Tag List: @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @eleine-t1d​, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee​

[mehbzz]

I dreamt about Avery. Well I dreamt about having an argument with Avery. Which inspired this. F!reader x Avery 18+ Daddy Kink, gaslighting, possessive/controlling behaviour, blowjob. Dialogue heavy

“It could be better.” You tease but Avery doesn't look amused and your smile falters slightly.

“Sorry.”

You look back down at your plate and half heartedly jab at the salad he'd ordered for you. Conserving your figure he'd said. You're pretty sure if he wants to conserve your figure you'd have been off with the steak he was currently eating.

Between the stress of school and having to find money to pay Bailey every week you were hardly eating, barely having enough money to even buy food. In fact your school skirt had felt a little looser than normal that morning.

“Eat your food don't play with it, you're embarrassing me.”

He's voice is quiet and cold, and you aware he's close to being angry with you.

You take a reluctant bite and give him a small smile. He still doesn't look happy but he relaxes a little.

“I was disappointed not to see you this afternoon, after school.”

“Sorry I had plans. I didn't know you were waiting for me.” You try to keep your voice light, casual, but you can feel the disappointment radiating off him.

“It's Wednesday. I told you I could be free on Wednesday and Fridays to take you home.”

Could be free not would be free. You mutter in your head, taking another bite of salad to stop yourself from answering out loud.

“You were with your friend?” He says friend like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth and takes another sip of his wine.

“Robin.”

“What?”

“His name is Robin.”

He doesn't look happy with your explanation. “You spend a lot of time with… Robin.”

His lip curls in obvious distaste and it sends a chill down your spine. You think you've misjudged his mood; he's not disappointed, he's angry.

“Well he's my friend,” You say weakly, “and we live together. It's hard to avoid each other.” You try to joke but he doesn’t smile.

“I think you should spend less time together.”

“What? He’s my friend.”

He glances around and then leans forward, reaching across the table to grasp your hand. “And what am I?”

“I, you’re-” His low tone flusters you and you stutter over your words.

“I'm what?”

“You’re my daddy.” You whisper.

His lips twitch in an almost smile. “Yes I am. And when daddy tells you to do something, you do it.”

You nod.

“I didn't hear you princess.”

“Yes daddy.” You don’t raise your voice from your quiet whisper but you look up at him. He enjoys teasing you but if someone overheard he would not be happy.

He sits back, pleased at your submission. “You will need a new dress for the party,” His eyes swoop over your evening gown with a hint of disapproval. “You’re taste is-” “Party?” He looks annoyed at your interruption. “On Saturday.” “I don’t remember you mentioning that.” He frowns, “If you paid attention when I talked you would.” “I’m sorry. I’ve just been busy with school.” Had he really told you about it? Whitney had made you promise to keep the weekend free and you felt your stress rise. You did not want to risk his or Avery’s ire. He’s quiet as he watches you. “How are your grades?” The quick change of topic surprises you. “They’re good.” He raises an eyebrow and you take that as permission to continue. “I passed my tests this week with A's,” He smiles and you feel a little calmer at his obvious approval. “And I’m working on a solution for the maths competition. I think I have a pretty good chance of winning.” “Wonderful,” His smile widens. “I’m proud of you.” Oh. The praise makes you warm and you feel your face heat in a blush. You’re not sure when this relationship started becoming more than a money maker to you but his praise and affection made you feel good and you found yourself craving it more and more. He looked after you; sometimes you even thought he cared about you more than he let on. It was something you’d never felt before and you couldn’t help latching on to it. “So um, the party?” He sighs, his irritation evident and it stings. “We just talked about this.” You shift awkwardly. “I already have plans this weekend.” You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye. He’s going to be mad. “No you don’t.” it’s a warning. “I really can’t I’m-” “You’re being difficult.” He waves his hand dismissively. “You have plans with me. Just because you say you don’t remember them doesn’t mean they weren’t made. I will pick you up at eight.” You stay silent and focus on finishing your food. Arguing now was only got to get you in more trouble.

You see the waiter approaching out the corner of your eye but Avery waves him away, placing a pile of bills on the table and stands up. “I'll take you home. Your behaviour has been disappointing tonight.” His words stab at your heart and you feel a lump in your throat. You were not going to cry. It would only disappoint him more.

The ride back to the orphanage was quiet and tense. His displeasure was clear and you chewed your tongue in an effort to stop yourself crying. He pulls up opposite the orphanage, under the broken street lamp and you both just sit there silently. Are you dismissed? Does he not want anything from you tonight?

“Here.” It’s curt, cold, as he holds out some cash. It’s less than he normally gives you and with no request for a kiss your heart sinks a little. He is really upset with you. You’re heart was aching and all you wanted was to hear him tell you how good you were, how proud he was of your behaviour.

You bite you lip, unsure before leaning forward and pressing your lips tentatively to his, if he’s going to reject you. He doesn’t pull back but he doesn’t respond either. You kiss him again, chaste fluttery brushes of your lips over his. “I’m sorry daddy.” He relaxes at your whisper, finally responding to your efforts and kissing you back. “Say it again princess.” “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me daddy.” Avery sighs, tucking your head into the nape of his neck and running his hand down your spine “Such a sweet girl, I can’t stay mad at you.” You melt into his touch, and between his body heat and the calming motion of his hand down your back you feel yourself starting to nod off.

The stern murmur of your name draws you back from your sleepy state, and he brushes a loose strand of your hair back behind your ear as you sit up. "You can make it up to me.” You nod, hands already reaching for his zipper but he catches your wrists with an amused huff. “No. You do as I say in the future. Am I clear?” “Yes daddy.” You smile, not really registering what you’re agreeing too; just glad he seems happy with you again. “Good girl.” He pulls you back into his arms, hand resuming the comforting touch down your back. The two of you stay pressed together for a long while until your muscles start to ache at the awkward angle and he eventually lets you go. “For a dress,” He hands you some more money, pulling it out of your reach when you try to take it. “I want you to show me before you buy it.” You nod. It was by far the least embarrassing thing he’d asked you to send him pictures of. Avery shifts in his seat, spreading his legs a little wider and looks at you expectantly. “Now, why don’t you show daddy how grateful you are?”

You nod and quickly undo his trousers, wasting no time in taking his hard cock into your hand lest his good mood turn sour again. You give the head of his cock a gentle kiss, and his immediate sigh of pleasure encourages you to lick a long, slow stripe from base to tip. “I’m not in the mood for teasing, princess.” You hum in response eager to please and suck the entire head of his cock into your mouth, the satisfied grunt from above making your cunt clench in response. He always sounds so good when he moans, the sounds of his enjoyment nearly always turning you on. You swirl your tongue round the head of his cock a couple of times before taking it down your throat as far as you can. Tears are starting to gather at the corner of your eyes but Avery’s moans and gasps of pleasure make you persevere. Retreating and going down again, not stopping until your nose is buried in the dark pubic hairs at the base. As Avery’s hand tightens in your hair, stopping you from withdrawing you try not to choke, relaxing your throat and trying to breathe through your nose. Tears are running freely down your face and drool runs down your chin, and you hope he’s not going to punish you for making a mess. Just as you’re reaching your limit he relaxes his hold, allowing you to pull back just a little. “Be a good girl and swallow.” his voice is strained; you hum in agreement, you wouldn’t dare do anything else. You’d learnt the hard way that getting stains on his expensive suits earned you pretty harsh punishments.

It doesn’t take long, only a couple more swirls of your tongue before he cums with a loud moan. It’s thick and slightly bitter and more than you expected but you swallow greedily, determined not to spill a drop. He holds you close, the head of his cock just resting on your tongue until he manages to catch his breath. Once he lets go of your hair you tuck him back in his trousers and sit up, giving him a pleased smile. Hand cradling your jaw and his thumb stroking down your cheekbone he smiles in return. “I want you to think about me when you touch yourself tonight.” It wasn’t what you were expecting him to say and your face heats fiercely as he chuckles. “You don’t want to disappoint daddy now do you?” His smile turns wicked as your embarrassment increases but he has mercy on you and pulls away to just rest a hand on your knee. "Don't I get a reward for bringing you home safe and sound?" He taps a finger to his lips. You lean in and press a chaste kiss on Avery's lips. His fingers flex on your knee and you think he’s going to deepen the kiss, maybe ask you to stay, but he doesn’t and you climb from the car, happy but a little disappointed. He watches you for a moment, making sure you reach the door of the orphanage before driving away.

[wh6res]

sedan | jaemin

—part 2

synopsis. it was only a matter of time until he snapped. he was right, you should've seen it coming.

warnings. noncon, swearing, yandere themes, there’s a knife lmao

note. yalls idk :( it keeps deleting paragraphs when i add a readmore wtf is this sorcery IM SO SORRY

[read part 1]

apparently, your captor had enough respect for your dignity not to take you in the backseat of his old sedan. saying something along the lines of how you had completely ruined the mood by how much you were crying underneath him. “it’s not even pretty crying!” jaemin had exclaimed, hauling you up to your feet and carrying you bridal style towards the house. 

respect? pft. he has long passed the line of respecting your dignity—the moment he forced that drug into your system and shoved you inside his car, he was a goner. 

you don’t bother thrashing against his arms, having thought better. with your wrists and knees duct-taped together, running seemed like a joke. instead, you stare longingly at the outside world over jaemin’s shoulder—it definitely isn’t the last time you’ll see it, but if you were here because of his fucked up possessiveness over you, then escaping will be a challenge. 

three months of working alongside jaemin is enough for you to know how thorough he can be. he’s quite the perfectionist, and you remember admiring his keen attention to detail but now you only fear for the things he has in store for you to make sure you’ll never leave his side. it was due to this train of thought that you involuntarily start shaking against him. the automated lock in the front door beeps into place and now you were stuck here with him, once and for all. 

before you are able to take a look around the house, scoping enemy territory, a hand comes up to cover your eyes. the moment your fingers wrap around his wrist to pry it away, he hisses, and you let go immediately. 

“stay still or else,” you obliged, scared of what he can do now that he has you all to himself inside the house. “i know what you’re thinking. still so fucking predictable. you’d have to earn my trust until i let you roam around here.”

the loud clicks of your restraints locking together prove that he is a man of his word. 

the basement he keeps you in is disgusting. the tiles beneath you are cold, a few leaking pipes in the corner, dust everywhere, and a tiny window across the room—you doubt your chains can reach that far. but what captured your eyes the most is the numerous pillows stuck onto the walls and ceiling. the colors of its casings are faded, none of them matching one another at all. it was as if everything was messily put together at the last minute and you almost feel a tiny bit of relief that maybe, jaemin isn’t as thorough as you thought he’d be. 

“i soundproofed the walls and everything, isn’t that romantic?”

you don’t answer, too caught up thinking about how you’ll stay warm that you don’t notice the way his eyes trail over your shaking figure, knees tucked under your chin, pressing yourself firmly against the wall to appear smaller. to create as much distance from him as possible. 

jaemin frowns in distaste, a low hum resounding in the back of his throat as he thought; no, this won’t do.

“are you cold?” he asks. 

once again, he’s met with silence. 

if there is one thing jaemin absolutely hates with a passion, it was being ignored. the feeling is so foreign to him. maybe it was because of how much he naturally expects to bear the spotlight, that when you refused to even slightly acknowledge him as anything, he was confused. fascinated but frustrated at the same time. 

it is the same frustration he felt when you turned him down. the same frustration he felt when you fought against him. the same frustration he felt when you don’t stop crying underneath him. the same frustration he felt right at this very fucking moment.

“i don’t think ignoring me will do you good, sweetheart. i asked you a question, didn’t i? i’ll say it again, one last time,” the edge in his voice is unmistakable. “are you cold or not?”

at this point, jaemin feels stupid for even thinking about granting you the slightest bit of leniency by leaving you alone tonight. jaemin had been willing to put aside his desires and wants for you. but his patience can only stretch so far until it comes snapping back. 

and boy, were you in for it. 

he utters your name, low and threatening and you just knew what it meant. as the victim, it should’ve been in your best interest to keep your captor from losing his shit and hurting you… and yet, you remain silent. you don’t know what’s gotten into you. the words are right at the tip of your tongue but you don’t say anything. it was as if time had stopped and your brain had short-circuited, making you forget how to speak. 

when he stood up from the stool and started stalking towards you, you knew it was too late. 

“jaemin…” your voice shakes. “jaem—yes, yes—i feel—i feel cold—”

the sting on your right cheek is the only thing to register in your mind for a few good seconds until it all clicks into place. he just backhanded you. 

“i never thought you’d be such a fucking bitch,” he hisses, pulling at your restraints. “you were so silent, i thought you went mute, baby. how can you treat me like that? it’s no way to treat your lover.”

his soft tone catches you off guard for a fraction of a second. it was the same way he spoke to you before… all of this. it was the same tone that had once lulled you into a sense of security when you were stuck in a new environment, scared, making mistakes left and right, but jaemin had proved he can be someone you can depend on.

and look at what that cost you.

jaemin’s eye twitched when he noticed the slightly dazed look on your face, eagerly slotting himself between your thighs before holding your legs down with his shins. his hands dart out, grabbing your jaw in one hand before placing the other snug around your neck. the man can feel the rush of his blood flowing through his veins, ears ringing as he admires how pretty you were underneath him—pretty and helpless.

with a sudden urge, he darts his head forward to take a long whiff of your hair, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. he barely even registers the tears wetting the hand holding your face. jaemin is too far gone in his head because finally, fucking finally, he has you right where he wants you and absolutely no one can steal you away from him anymore.

meanwhile, you try hard to push him off of you but the pressure he’s applying to your legs proves too much. the hand encased around your throat pulls away and your happiness was short-lived as jaemin reaches for something above your head. it glints against the sole fluorescent light in the basement—

you freeze at the sight of his pocket knife.

he laughs, sounding too sweet and lighthearted. “now, now. i won’t hurt you…” 

you hold your breath when he drags the knife across your body. from your collarbones, down the valley of your breasts, and finally settling at the bottom of your shirt. “i won't hurt you if you don’t move around too much.”

the sound of fabric ripping against the sharp blade made you want to thrash as hard as you can but jaemin had purposely angled the knife so the tip dragged against the surface of your skin. bile rises up your throat when you notice the way he eyes every inch of your torso as its slowly revealed to him. 

“see, i know you’re a good girl. i just have to force it out of you sometimes, huh?” he mocks, quickly hooking the knife under your bra so he needn’t struggle reaching for the hook in the back. 

his reaction is immediate the moment he sees you bare before him. he doesn’t even grant you the chance of hiding when he’s managed to hold your wrists in one hand, the knife clattering loudly on the floor as he surged forward, lips latching onto one of your breasts as his free hand feels the other one up. you turn your head to the side, not wanting to see his ministrations. until one particularly hard nip makes you yelp, his teeth latching painfully against a nipple before glaring at you through his eyelashes. 

“eyes on me.”

jaemin can’t have you turning away from him. it simply looks like another act of defiance, as if you were depriving him of the expressions of pleasure found in your face as he continues to lick and suckle at the skin of your breasts, purple and red blooming on your skin. 

when jaemin retracts from you to pull his shirt over his head, you made the last feeble attempt of trying to escape him. you’re able to free one of your legs from underneath him and have successfully delivered a kick to the groin. jaemin folds in pain. you managed to flip onto your stomach, dragging your body away with just your arms. you’ve only managed a few inches, chains rattling aggressively, when you felt his nails dig into the back of your thighs. 

“fuck,” he grunts. “you’re going to fucking pay for that, pretty thing.”

he turns you around with one hand, unfazed by the pitiful look of your tears and snot cascading down your face as he looms over you, his knife in one hand as he fists your hair. 

you shook violently as you brace your hands against his bare chest. jaemin would’ve revelled at the feeling of you touching him if you hadn’t kicked him in the balls only seconds ago. 

“jaemin, please… i don’t want any of this—”

“you’re so cute, begging like anything could get you out of this.”

you flinch, eyes shutting closing on instinct. you feel something sharp poking on your neck, and it only takes you a fraction of a minute to register that jaemin is now holding his knife against your throat. digging the blade enough for you to know it’s there but not hard enough to draw blood. 

“look how much you’re shaking, baby,” he coos, the tightness in his pants becoming unbearable as he gives you a one over. “such a sheltered kid, aren’t you? no wonder you’re so fucking naive, always making mistakes. always making the wrong judgement. you’re used to depending on someone, right? well…” 

jaemin slices the skin above your collarbone. you don’t scream, the fear of him slicing your throat all together lies heavy in the air. 

“…it’s a good thing you met me, huh?”

fuck you.

“i’m here, baby. you can depend on me all you want,” the giddiness and the sudden spark in his eyes make you dread what he’ll do next—you hear the sounds of a belt unbuckling. “i’ll bathe you, i’ll feed you, dress you up, but…”

there are no tears left when you feel his fingers pulling your shorts down together with your underwear. no tears left when you feel the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance. 

“…you’ll have to give me something in return. that’s what good girls do, right?”

you screamed.