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michinnyun · 2 years

Text

No Simple Man

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (Minors dni)

Summary: For someone so gentle, Steven loves control. It's a good thing you like to give it to him.

Tags: Top Steven Grant (Marvel) × Dom Steven Grant (Marvel) × Soft Steven Grant (Marvel) × soft dom Steven Grant × BDSM × Making Love × Neck Kissing × Deep Throating × Rough Oral Sex × Rough Sex × Gentle Sex × it's both somehow don't ask × eating it from behind ftw × Female receiving oral × Dorks in Love × Rope Bondage × Submissive Reader × Aftercare × steven grant is my baby girl my best friend and also my lover × so jot that down × Post-Coital Cuddling x Dirty Talk

Words: 2k

AO3 Link

It’s such a cliché, to be on your knees like this for a man. That’s what you’d think, if you weren't on your knees for Steven.

He’d seemed so gentle when you first met at the museum. Unassuming. Maybe even shy. That was before you’d found out about Marc. And then Khonshu. And Jake. And Moon Knight. And everything else.

And then you'd fallen in love with him.

You had discovered that yes, gentle is an accurate descriptor. Unassuming, sure. But not shy. He loved to be enthusiastic with you about the things he cared about. Egyptology, his fish Gus, his general feelings and emotions. Everyone you knew as an adult was so washed out and done with life, and then there was Steven. Bright, beautiful, excitable Steven.

Then you'd started dating, which had only made things better. The sex was good, better than you'd ever had, but you could tell Steven wasn’t telling you something. It started small. Little quips here and there. Comments he’d make.

You finally cracked the code when you decided to try an experiment. A flash of panties under a baggy shirt. Fluttering away when he’d try to touch you. Sitting in his lap while he was working on translations and wriggling until he got flustered enough to grind into you, then pretending like you suddenly had something else to do. For a week you just kept up the teasing, pushing his buttons over and over until he finally snapped. He bent you over his knee and spanked you until you cried, and then fucked you until you could barely remember your own name.

Steven likes having control. He likes punishing you, and he likes telling you how pretty you are while he’s doing it.

It’s so hot. And the fact that it’s so unexpected from him makes it even hotter.

With your jaw cradled in his palm, you feel so safe. You nuzzle into his touch and he sighs, stroking your hair.

You paw at his zipper until he shows some mercy and unzips it for you. You pull out his length, practically salivating.

“Eager,” he murmurs, still petting at you so softly. You nod, mouthing at the tip and then whining when he uses your hair to pull you off. “Didn't say you could start, love. Don’t you want to be good for me?”

You pout, then open wide to show him how good you can be.

He still frowns, tutting. “Silly little slut. No teasing. Want to see your pretty little mouth take my cock. That sounds nice, doesn't it?”

You nod lazily, staring up at him with those huge, adoring eyes that he loves.

He hums, apparently deciding he likes that answer. “Hands off,” he murmurs, and you put your hands obediently in your lap.

Steven strokes the side of your jaw with his thumb, and you open your mouth wider as he slides in. Your lashes flutter and you suck in a deep breath before he reaches the back of your throat and keeps pushing.

You whimper softly, feeling him stretch your throat open with his length. God, you're never going to get enough of this feeling. His hands cradle your head and Steven gently fucks your face until tears slip down your cheeks. You're especially glad not to have a gag reflex during moments like this, when you can let Steven just use you until he’s panting ragged breaths.

“God, your fucking face. So fucking perfect. Look at you. My perfect girl. So pretty, taking my cock down your fucking throat,” he rambles.

He finally pulls out and you inhale giant lungfuls of air. Already, you're leaning forward and reaching for more of him with your lips.

He smacks your cheek a little. “What did I say?” he asks disapprovingly.

You lean in until the tip of him is resting heavy on your tongue, a challenge you know he’s secretly been hoping for. He pushes you until your back is on the floor and pins you there, kissing the giggles from your mouth.

“You think you're cute?” he asks, trailing his hand down your side. You shiver, nodding. Steven slides his hand down the front of your shorts until he can glide his fingers through your wetness. “Brat. You're not the only one who knows how to tease.”

His thick fingers circle your clit before they enter you, curling until your back is arching off the floor. You whine, pushing into his hand because you know what's coming next. He cruelly rips out of you and pushes his fingers into your mouth.

“Taste that?” he asks. You moan. “That’s all for me.”

Your panties are a mess. You’ll probably have to buy new ones after this is over. Oh well. That's usually how it goes nowadays.

He pulls out of your mouth for the second time, flipping you over until your stomach is on the floor. He has a rope off to the side, and you know now that this was always in the cards for tonight, regardless of whether you were perfectly obedient or not.

Jake is usually the one doing this to you, but Steven does love to try new things. He pulls on the knot to make sure it's not too tight.

“That alright?” he asks quietly. You nod, smiling. He kisses your cheek, then pulls on your binds until you're kneeling once more. So sweet, always. Gentle even when he’s being rough.

“Now,” he purrs. “Let’s try that again.”

Your hands twitch behind your back as he enters your mouth again. You nuzzle your nose into the thatch of curls at the base of his member, and he laughs breathlessly.

Your jaw clicks with how wide you’ve opened it for him. It aches, but you're used to it by now. He gathers your hair into one gentle fist before he really starts up a rhythm. This is one of your favorite things to do with Steven, and you press your thighs together while he uses you.

Steven won't stop talking. “F-fuck fuck fuck fuck letting me fuck your face, letting me fuck your pretty fucking face, filthy little slut.” A groan tears out of him and his head tilts back. He gets so vocal, you love it. You’re obsessed with him.

He pulls off again, and this time you don't have time to tease him. Steven hauls you to your feet and carries you to the bed, ripping your pants off in one swift motion.

Your face is buried in a pillow with your ass in the air, so you're pretty sure you know what’s coming next.

You’re wrong.

Steven surprises you by grabbing two big handfuls of your plush thighs before he goes to town on your cunt.

You cry out, pushing against his face. He’s practically making out with your clit, making desperate wet noises that make your heartbeat stutter and your eyes roll back in your head.

Your hands are still tied together, and your neck aches from the angle, but you don't even fucking care. Steven is making you see stars. He sneaks a finger into your folds and pushes in. You muffle a loud groan into the pillow.

“All nice and ready for me,” he murmurs. You almost don't hear him, you're so out of it. “Pretty girl,” he murmurs, untying you and giving your ass a little smack.

You reach for him, and he pulls you into his arms, twisting you until you're chest to chest. You clutch the fabric of his shirt, which is still on for some goddamn reason.

You lick into Steven’s mouth and he groans.

“I fucking love you,” you say, your voice a little hoarse. He gasps, pulling you closer.

“Love you,” he mumbles, rutting in between your legs. “Love you, fuck-fucking love you, fuck-”

He finally pushes into you, your back slamming into the mattress as he thrusts into you like the world is ending and this is the very last time he'll get to bury himself inside your cunt.

“God, I fucking love you,” he says and you whine, your back arching as you try to meet him thrust for thrust, desperately panting and writhing.

He grabs a big handful of your ass and pulls you closer, the angle rubbing perfectly against your clit.

“Can’t keep my hands off of you, you know that?” he asks, peppering your mouth with kisses.

“I figured,” you say breathlessly, glancing down and watching him disappear inside you. You mewl, head falling back.

“So fucking pretty like this,” he murmurs, brushing your hair off your forehead. You try to wrap your arms around him, pull him in closer, but he pins you down by your wrists. The bed shakes with the force of his thrusts. “Hands off, remember?”

Steven widens his legs, spreading you open. “S-S-Steven,” you groan, cock dumb and practically drooling. You’re so overwhelmed by sensation that you almost scream when he licks a hot stripe up your neck from your clavicle.

You struggle to free yourself from his grip, but he's too strong. You clench around him and he groans. “Fuck, gonna make me come if you're not careful, love.”

You whimper. “Please,” you murmur, pushing your hips deeper against him. You’re so fucking close, if he would just-

He mouths around your neck, pressing soft kisses there and sucking marks into your skin.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “That’s it sweetheart. I know you love to come when you're trapped like this. Let me feel it so I can fill you up, nice and full.”

You inhale a big breath, your orgasm finally washing over you while Steven pins you down and fucks you slow and hard.

“There you go,” he praises. “So pretty like this. What a mess you’re making.”

All you can do is take it while you melt into a puddle on the mattress, feeling safe and surrounded and so full.

Steven isn't far behind. You feel it the moment he snaps. He fucks you faster, the slapslapslap of your coupling becoming more noticeable when he suddenly stops talking and groans into your neck, hips stilling.

He lets go of your wrists. You smooth his hair, pressing kisses into the side of his head.

He sighs, collapsing on top of you. You laugh.

“That good?” you murmur.

He groans again, burying his face in your neck.

“I’m never leaving this bed,” he says, muffled by your skin. You snuggle him, ignoring the fact that you're wet and sticky and it's starting to become slightly unpleasant.

As if he read your mind, Steven extricates himself. You gasp as his warmth leaves you, and he pats your cheek.

“Aw, poor thing.” He smiles lopsidedly.

“Thought you ‘weren't leaving this bed,’” you grumble, mocking his posh accent.

“Cheeky,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek before he leaves.

The water runs in the bathroom, and he’s back a minute later with a washcloth and his underwear on. You pout. You like bottomless cuddles. They usually turn into more sex after a few hours.

Steven cleans you up, humming the song you got stuck in his head a few days ago. He gets you a new pair of panties since the ones you started with are definitely ruined, and settles into bed next to you.

It’s quiet for a minute, both of you basking in the after sex glow.

“You alright?” he asks quietly. You look at him, studying the lines in his face. The dark bags under his eyes, his sweaty curls. The hint of anxiety that pulls down the corners of his mouth. He’s so ridiculously handsome.

You wrap your arms around him and practically purr. “You did so good, Steven,” your murmur into his neck. His scruff scratches your cheek, but you don't mind. You like it when he grows it out a little like this. “You make me feel safe.”

He melts into your arms. “Just checking,” he says. He sounds so small.

“I love you,” you murmur.

“God, I love you,” he says relievedly, like he’s been holding that in for the past ten years, and you laugh again. Before you know it, you’re falling asleep together on top of the blankets, safe and comfortable and so, so happy.

#my fic #moon knight #moon knight 2022 #oscar isaac #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant x reader #steven grant smut #soft dom steven grant #steven grant x you #reader self insert #marvel

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made-nondescript · 2 years

Photo

i redid my entire template to make this as rainbow as possible. click to enlarge! more below the cut!

Hello gaymers! These were collected using a python program and Twitch/YouTube API. Graphs are labelled in BST and the axes in 24-hour UTC. (19:00 -> 8:00PM.) Enjoy!

Total Viewership Over Time

Peak viewership was 383,101 viewers at 8:42PM on the cusp of Parkour Tag and Survival Games, the second and third games of the event. Viewer retention was about 95.50% (383.1K -> 365.9K). There was no significant Dodgebolt drop off. Beautifully consistent!!

Team Viewership Over Time

The only real notable thing is how many viewers Pink drops during the break. Congrats to them on a likely successful rigging of the audience breakout lol. Red gains 21.4K viewers from the start of Dodgebolt to their highest point, roughly a 14% increase! Aqua meanwhile experienced a boost of 3.6K viewers, a 230% increase.

Individual Viewership Over Time

Important to note that players streaming on YouTube have their viewership collected through a more sensitive API which is why Grian and the YT Partner Streamers have comparatively sporadic lines!

The first interesting thing is the way Jacksepticeye's viewership shoots up during the break. Rarely is there an increase during the break! Second is the jump Sapnap has during Ace Race. Did people just want to see him play that game? Or was something else going on? It's also funny to me the only game that Grian noticeably dips on is Survival Games.

Viewership By Game

Trying something new again! Disclaimer still applies: game start and end times are approximate since I take them by hand. Don't put too much stock on Grid Runner's average viewership since it's the first game and people were still filing in even by the time it started. For a similar reason I removed Dodgebolt altogether. Game order also plays a significant role.

Otherwise these should be fairly accurate. Build Mart is 2/2 on being a low viewership game which could be a fault of it normally being a latter half game more than being generally disliked. I have a hard time thinking people close stream and then open it again during the next game. Ace Race is the latter half championship which is pretty amazing!

Median % Viewership

This is notably Grian's first top five appearance for median viewership (as far as the MCCs I've recorded go). Not just top five, but fourth. I was also surprised by just how big the YT partners (Valkyrae+Sykkuno+LazarBeam) were, which I probably shouldn't have been lol.

Median % By Group

Wowie new subgroup just dropped! The YT Gaming partners included three players, Valkyrae, Sykkuno, and LazarBeam. Everyone else is beating the DSMP back with a stick - not even 70% this time! lol

Individual Peak Viewership

Dark sections represent median viewership, and the light section is the difference between median and peak. Entire red team easily making top ten, super team viewership wise (and skill wise apparently?!).

There's a joke to be made about Valkyrae having the least change lol. Loyal viewers! I've done this about three times now and so far I'm not seeing much consistency on who tends to be in the top and bottom for fluctuation. Maybe it's entirely chance? It is really interesting though that not a single member of Red made top five for the most fluctuation, because previously both Dodgebolt teams have had a presence there.

Individual Median Viewership

This is THE closest two medians have been to each other!! I have pretty much no basis for this but in my head Ranboo and Dream have the least overlap in viewership at least as far as the Mega Creators go. They are always much more neck and neck than even Dream and Tommy are.

Thanks for reading!! Finally here! As you hopefully saw above I was busy revamping the TL;DR graphic, which I'm really happy with :D It's now much more customizable and less of a thrown together mess. Huge win! I'm also a bit sick rn so sorry if any piece of this sounds like nonsense it probably is

Feedback, critique, questions, and your own observations are appreciated! Data is best analyzed as a team :]

#minecraft championships #mcc #mccp22 #minecraft championship #ranboo #dream #nondescript post

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jokertrap-ran · 2 years

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(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Osborn’s 5✩ Inspiration: Congealing Azure Light [碧珀凝光] Date Translation (END 2 + 3: Approach)

"Are you taking this chance to whack me?”

*Light and Night Master-list | Osborn’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *This 5✩ Inspiration has 5 Endings!! *Osborn’s tag will be #For Night, For Freedom

✥ Choice: Approach [亲近] ⊹Touch⊹

Where should we start this creative journey of ours…?

⊹ Go to the Art Room⊹

I weighed my options. I had more confidence in drawing, if anything.

MC: How about we go to the art room then?

Osborn: You're the boss.

Under Ah Qiang's lead, we arrived at the art room.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

Upon entering, I could see a couple of kids hard at work at the tables.

Going closer, I saw that they were actually making a postcard with nature as a theme. There were life-like trees, stones, rivers… Just like a mini landscape that had been captured onto paper.

MC: How pretty! How did you make this?

Kid: It's called botanical illustration. Here, I'll show you.

Osborn and I watched for a while. Apparently, botanical illustration used natural materials which were then pasted onto the paper to form a new image after all the necessary trimming and prep-work.

MC: Don't you think this is pretty interesting, Osborn?

Osborn: Simple yet full of life. It's pretty good, I'd say

MC: How about we team up and make one together?

MC: I can design the image, and then we can go to the small forest at the back of the mountain to collect the materials we need!

Osborn: Sure.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

There was a small but lush forest at the back of the orphanage with a stunning array of plants and fauna. Osborn and I didn't even have to go a complete round around it before we procured everything we needed and more.

MC: Pine branches, setaria and pebbles… Looks like we have everything.

Osborn: Let's head back then.

MC: Okay. Uhh… Where did we come from?

I was still looking around when he suddenly picked me up by the "scruff" of my neck and turned me in the right direction.

I whipped around and was just about to give him a piece of my mind when I noticed something black on his shoulder…

Its translucent wings were covered in thin, but dense black veins and the keratin of its black head glistened under the light...

MC: AH!!!

All the birds in the forest freaked out, taking to the skies in a frantic cacophony of fluttering.

Osborn: What?

MC: Your...You… There's a bug on you…

Osborn: Where?

MC: On your shoulder...

He was unfazed at the revelation, even going so far as to step closer to me.

Osborn: Are you afraid of insects?

I subconsciously retreated a step backwards.

MC: No…

The smile on his face only grew as he advanced another step closer.

Osborn: Then how about you get rid of it for me?

He was clearly trying to provoke me, but seeing the playful smirk on his face made me have the sudden urge to prove him wrong surged up from within.

MC: Sure thing! No problem at all! Now, who's scared of a mere insect!? Let me show you who's boss!

I mustered my courage and reached out towards him with a hand, yet I couldn't help but to shield my eyes with the other...

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

⊹ Interactable Areas:

♥ If you tap the right spot ♥

Osborn: Oh? You're surprisingly accurate.

♡ If you tap the wrong spot… ♡

Osborn: Be gentler. Are you taking this chance to whack me?

✖ If you tap lower… ✖

Osborn: Someone's trying to be inappropriate in broad daylight.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

⊹ E2: If you get it ⊹

The moment my finger touched him, I vehemently landed a couple of wild smacks to chase the bug away.

Suddenly, he caught my hand.

MC: Huh?

I was just about to turn back and ask what was up when I heard the buzzing of wings by my ear. I squeezed my eyes shut out of terror.

The buzzing sound that never ceased nor left made goosebumps rise on my skin, but the warmth of his hand managed to ease a little of that nagging discomfort.

I reopened my eyes after a while. There was no longer anything on his shoulder.

MC: Phew… It’s gone now?

Osborn: Yup. A certain someone was causing such a big commotion that I had to personally send it away.

I froze.

Doesn't that mean that I didn't manage to get rid of it? Then, which part of him was I touching earlier!?

MC: I didn't do it on purpose!!

Osborn: it doesn't matter even if you were. There's no need for you to be so nervous.

Osborn: You're clearly terrified of it, so why are you pretending to be strong?

MC: Hmph! Because I was afraid you'd laugh at me!

Osborn: Who? Certainly not me.

I wanted to refute him and call his bluff, but it wasn't like there was any evidence of what had been done. My face flushed as I withdrew my hand that had been in his grip, hung my head, turned around, and walked out of the forest.

I heard the crunching of leaves coming from behind. Osborn was following me.

Osborn: I know you’re not all that brave of a person, but I never thought that you’d be afraid of an insect.

Osborn: The bug was probably scared shitless at the dolphin-like cry you made.

MC: Look, you’re laughing at me!

Osborn: Why are you so upset about it? Looks like I’ll have to refrain from bullying you too much next time.

Osborn: I’m actually saying that you’re cute.

I was stunned, and my face felt like it was getting warmer. Osborn came up to my side, bending down to my eye level with a smile.

Osborn: You can be as cowardly as you want when you’re with me.

MC: ...You said it, not me.

Osborn: Mmhm. And I meant what I said.

Sunlight shone through the gap between the leaves, dancing upon his hair and eyes, bringing warmth to both my heart and vision alike.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

⊹ E3: If you don’t get it ⊹

I accidentally touched him elsewhere and quickly withdrew my hand in a rather awkward manner.

Osborn froze, smiling rather helplessly at that.

Osborn: Nevermind, I'll stop teasing you.

Osborn: Stand back.

After stepping a distance away, he offhandedly flicked away whatever had been on his shoulder. The insect swiftly made its escape, flying away.

However, the trajectory of the flying insect was very off. It suddenly flew low, brushing directly across the crown of my head, scaring me badly enough that I'd instantly jerked my head back on instinct.

Osborn: It landed on your head.

I wildly shook my head from side to side.

MC: Where is it now!?

I never thought that Osborn would be laughing to heaven and back from that. He even whipped out his phone and snapped a shot of me.

Osborn: It flew off.

I ran my hand through my messy hair to finger-comb it. Then, I spotted Osborn's impish smirk. That was when the realization of what I did dawned on me. I was so embarrassed I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.

MC: ...Did you just bluff me? Osborn! Just you wait—!!

I'd accidentally let him discover another one of my weaknesses. Now, I regretted everything. Oh, how I regretted it…

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

The day passed in a jiffy, and soon it was time for us to leave.

All the kids were unwilling to see us go, walking us towards the entrance of the orphanage.

Many of them gave us gifts which we couldn't refuse, so our arms were stuffed with many little trinkets; so much that I don't think we could hold another even if we tried.

Xiaoqiu: Don't worry about it! You're both the best, bestest, bested, people in the world!

Xiaodie: You must come back to visit us again!

MC: Okay, promise!

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

Osborn and I walked shoulder-to-shoulder with each other after leaving the orphanage, looking at the multitude of items we each had in our arms as we walked.

Handicrafts and artworks weren't all we got either. There were also home-grown vegetables and fruits, home-made fruit wine, and the like mixed into the array of items… They were all such simple things, yet filled with the children's goodwill. It greatly warmed my heart.

MC: Oh, they even made popsicles!

I excitedly opened the package and held the popsicle up.

MC: How nostalgic… I suddenly recall my childhood. I was raised in a strict household, so I never really had the chance to eat things like this.

Osborn: So you've never eaten a popsicle before as a kid?

MC: Of course I have! They might prohibit me from eating it as much as they want, but that still wouldn't stop me from sneakily doing it!

MC: I used to bliss out whenever I got a chance to eat a popsicle back then.

MC: I always wanted the happiness to last a little longer, so I'd make sure to eat it slowly...

MC: But in the end, the parts that I never managed to get to in time would melt...

MC: Huh, now that I think of it… maybe happiness is short-lived so that people can treasure it more.

Osborn: A popsicle is all that it takes to make you happy? Looks like your happiness isn't exactly all that expensive nor hard to fulfil.

MC: That's just how happiness is to kids!

MC: Maybe the kids back at the orphanage wanted to share this joy with us, so that's why they ma—

I was too caught up in trying to explain myself when I felt something cold slide down the back of my hand.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

Looking down, I saw that the popsicle in my hand had melted into a deformed lump, the liquid trickling down my hand at an undeniable speed.

MC: !!!!

I panicked and was about to eat the rest of it in a single bite, but I was still much too slow. The entire popsicle fell to the ground with a splat, creating a dark watermark in its wake.

The sudden turn of events left us both stunned speechless for a while.

MC: AHHH! My last bite!

MC: Aw, the joy on a stick that the kids gave me has all gone to waste now! Damn… I should have been quicker with eating it...

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

I slowly knelt down, looking regretfully at the popsicle on the ground that had yet to completely melt.

Osborn joined me, pulling out a handkerchief to clean the mess on my hand before patting me reassuringly on the head.

Osborn: It's not a complete loss.

Osborn: This popsicle has already melted into your heart the moment you accepted this token of appreciation from the kids.

Osborn: You can come here again for another share of happiness with the kids. I'll even come with you.

It was then that I realized, much to my surprise, that the melted pool of what had been my popsicle had actually formed a heart on the pavement, under the golden light of the sunlight.

MC: Whoa, looks like it's true!

Osborn: And when have I ever lied to you?

His smile was brighter than the setting sun, wiping out the last remnants of regret that lingered in the depths of my heart.

He hadn't eaten the popsicle, yet I found every breath of his sweet.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 + 3 | Choice: Approach [亲近] ⊹Touch⊹

END 4 | Choice: Listen [倾听] ❖ASMR

END 5 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Freedom⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: Prologue

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #For Night For Freedom #碧珀凝光 #Congealing Azure Light

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forever-rogue · 4 years

Text

In Name Only - Part 14

A/N: Hello friends, I’m so excited to share another chapter of INO with you! I hope you still love it as much as I do! Please note, I did do some research for this chapter, so what you’re reading is pretty much historically accurate! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: mentions of violence and injury

IN NAME ONLY SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

The journey back to Sunspear took just shy of a week and was...surprisingly tranquil compared to your brief stay in Starfall. It was such a shame really, because it was a beautiful place and the people were kind, except for the lady of the house herself. She hadn’t been inherently mean, no, you’d be lying if you said she was, but she just rubbed you the wrong way. The very wrong way with her accusations and contrite words against your beloved.

When you had left, your eyes had scanned the wood for any signs of the mysterious woman you had met. You were still questioning your own mental state and really did wonder if you had imagined the whole thing. But surely...you hadn’t made it all up....

That morning at breakfast before your departure, you politely declined the tea that was placed in front of you without so much as a word. Oberyn had glanced in your direction for just a moment but if his suspicions were raised, he didn’t show it. When you had departed, he had briefly asked what happened and you were upfront with him as you had vowed to be. You had nothing to hide from him, and no reason to ever feel the need, so why would you now?

“Moon tea,” you had told him calmly with a shrug of your shoulders as his left eyebrow arch raised in surprise as it was prone to doing. He opened his mouth to say something but you stopped him by gently putting your hand on his chest and giving him a small kiss, “don’t worry...there’s no need. Even if I thought….I could, I would not take it, dear husband.”

“Is that what the hurry to leave is about?” he asked quietly, an arm protectively finding its way around your waist. Stiffening for a moment, you gave him a small nod as he cast a furtive glance back at the castle, “did she do anything to you?”

“No,” you insisted, deciding to leave out the little detail that you had in fact drank the tea yesterday in a moment of confusion and worry, “she just...she drinks it in order to keep from falling pregnant by other men. Apparently she and her husband do not have great relations and she knows she can only have a child when there is no doubt that it is his heir.”

“Oh,” he said softly as you nodded, making sure that no one overheard your private conversations. If something was going to be spilling their secrets, you were going to make sure it was not you, “I see...why would she encourage you to drink it? We are married.”

A small pit formed in your stomach as you looked at him, offering him a soft smile before touching his cheek gently. He keened as into your warmth as he always did, and your heart felt like it broke a little. All the nasty accusations thrown out about him were disgusting and you would never allow anyone to do such a thing again. Next time you would have a more rigid backbone.

“She…” you trailed for a moment as you looked at him, finding his honeyed eyes watching you intently, “I love you, Oberyn. You know that, right?”

“Of course, my sunshine,” he promised, pressing a feather light kiss to the palm of your hand, “and I love you. More and more every passing day.”

“Lady Dayne is not immune to gossip and appears to love stirring up trouble when there is no need,” you decided to leave it at that as you walked over to your horses, pulling Oberyn along behind you. Part of you hoped he would leave it, let it go and be done with it, but you knew your husband better than that. He was silent as he helped you on your mare before mounting his steed. You could practically feel his eyes boring into you, so you turned to him, “Oberyn. People talk and spread rumors of things they know nothing about…”

“About me,” he said meekly, causing you to nod, “about-”

“It does not matter to me,” you cut him short, “I know the truth, you know the truth, and the people that matter do as well. That’s all that matters.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” just as you were growing proficient at reading him, he was the same with you.

“She said you would grow bored of me soon and then toss me to the side,” you finally admitted, “that you would tire of me once I am no longer shiny and new and find another plaything.”

Oberyn’s mouth hung open ever so slightly as his heart seemed to break slightly at your words - the shake to your voice. He reached for your hand and took it in his much larger one, giving it a tight squeeze, “that is not true. None of it. I-I -”

“I know, Oberyn,” you promised gently, almost wishing you hadn’t said anything at all at the upset look on his face, “that is what I meant - she likes to worry about things that do not concern and stir the pot when there is no need. I don’t like the lies or the negativity, which is largely the reason for my request for a sudden departure.”

“You know I would never do that to you,” he said softly, “that is not who I am, and I would not-”

“You have never given me a reason to doubt you, my love,” you insisted. He hadn’t; in fact he proved to you that you were his and he was yours, countless times, starting with when you had worried about a possible reconciliation with Ellaria, “and I do not. I have told you, as you have me, that if there comes a time when you wish to...take another lover you can do so.”

“That won’t happen,” he promised with an air of finality, “no one could take away the shine from my sunshine, not even on the most dreary of days, You have me, heart and soul forever, sweet girl.”

“You are a poet as much as a warrior and diplomat, my Prince,” you could practically feel yourself glowing under his praise as a gentle warmth flushed all over you, “I would be a fool to ever doubt your devotion.”

“Indeed you would,” he agreed with a small smirk, a bit of playfulness returning to his features. He spurred the steed on as he broke away from you, causing you to laugh before you chased after him. You would never have to worry about his love - that much you knew in your heart and soul.

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Oh," the words crashed around your ears like a ton of bricks as you tried your best to keep a neutral expression on your face. The look on his was nothing but apologetic but the words still stung. You had just returned to Sunspear the evening before and here he was, ready to depart again. Although you had spent countless hours together recently, it didn't take this any easier. You'd spend all the hours of all your days with him if you could, “oh.”

"I am terribly sorry, my love," he said as you nodded, "Doran just informed me - apparently this is one of those times when I get no say in anything. But he's too poorly to travel right now, so I must take his place instead as it my duty as both his brother and as the Prince.”

"What about Arianne?" you pouted at him slightly, a last bit of a desperate plea to get him to stay as you tried to keep your lip from trembling too much.

"She is coming with me," he said gently, "she's learning, but she still needs guidance sometimes..."

"And what about me?" you asked as he sighed lightly, not at you, but the situation rather, "its safe, right? Now that the young Stark is King? There's no need to worry-"

"Sunshine," he said gently but with a firm as he reached up and put his hand on the back of your neck, "please, please just listen to me. I know it seems safe, but there are always dangers out there. People will try anything to tear each other down, and in other parts of the kingdom they will not hesitate to do so, with or without the Stark King and Queen in the North. I just want you here...where I know I will come back to you safe and sound."

"What about you?" you were misty eyed by now as you tried to retain whatever little bit of composure you had to begin with, "what if something happens to you? I would never forgive myself-"

"Nothing will happen to me," he promised as he rested his forehead against yours, gently wiping away the few tears that had rolled down your cheeks, "no one would dare tread on the Red Viper. I will always, always, come back to you in one piece."

"Promise?" you asked meekly as you let your lips graze against his ever so slightly. You could feel his tug into a minute smile as he nodded; you never wanted to let him go.

"Always."

"And you'll be careful?"

"Of course."

"And you'll take Jeron and the best of your men with you?"

"Who will that leave you with here?"

"I have Asha," you reminded him of your young handmaiden that you adored beyond measure. You had been glad to reunite with her after almost a month apart, "and besides. I have all of Dorne at my side."

"I'm sorry about leaving so soon," he whispered as his hand started to slowly roam your body, pulling a small gasp from your lips, "I will make my stay as short as possible."

"Please do," you said softly, trying to stifle the moan from spilling last your lips, as he started to place light kisses along your jaw and neck, "I want you back here, in one piece as quickly as possible. I love you..."

"I love you too, sweet girl," he promised, "before I leave, let me show you how much..."

»»————-　♡　————-««

“What’s wrong?” Alistair asked, tugging lightly on your skirts as you turned to look at him. The small boy was watching you with wide, gentle eyes as he held a half eaten cookie in his hand. Your heart melted at the sight, and you quickly bent down to kiss the top of his dark, curly hair. You thought you had been masking your sadness and worry well enough, but apparently your efforts were not enough. It was hard enough to hide anything from a child anyway.

“Nothing, sweet boy,” you promised him, although the lie felt weak on your tongue and out loud, lingering slightly too long in the warm Dornish air, “I suppose I’m just a bit tired.”

“Are you sure?” he asked as you nodded, but before either of you could say anything else, he stretched out his hand to you, the cookie still in it, “do you want this? Cookies always make me feel better.”

“You…” you didn’t have it in your heart to say no, so you took the cookie and bit off a piece before offering him the remainder, which he eagerly accepted. The two of you ate it in silence, and you felt a wave of emotion wash over you, and there was only a moment of hesitation before you scooped him up in your arms and held him tightly to your chest. He quickly snuggled up to you, “you are an absolute sweetheart. Thank you so much.”

“You just looked sad,” he said softly, “my sister always gives me cookies when I’m sad.”

“Well that’s very wise of you,” you said softly, putting him back down, “now, why don’t you go outside and play with the other kids? It’s a beautiful day.”

“Okay,” he agreed, going to the door to start heading out but quickly turned back to you, “if you’re still sad, you can come out and play with us!”

“Thank you,” you shot him a wink as he laughed, giving you a wave before he ran out into the warm, golden sunlight.

“The stress weighs heavy on you,” Asha commented as she came back, causing you to give her a tightlipped smile, “it is best not to worry.”

"How am I not to worry, Asha?" you mused as you started to cut up fresh fruit for a snack for the children, making it a point to avoid the berries that reminded you so much of your husband. Your hands were trembling slightly as you tried to focus on keeping your knife cuts neat and clean, "it has been over a fortnight since I have heard from Oberyn. This isn't like him..."

"Perhaps he's just very preoccupied," she offered, coming over to your side and motioning for you to hand her the knife. Sighing lightly, you gave it to her as doubts swirled your mind, "business can take longer than usual sometimes."

You huffed slightly as you leaned against the counter, "Arianne is home and safe...while couldn't the fool come back with her?"

"It will be okay," she insisted although she too was getting mildly worried. It wasn't like Oberyn to just seemingly drop off the face of the planet like this.

"What if it's not?" you tried not to cry and have a complete breakdown, "what if he's hurt o-or worse? What if he's..."

"Stop," she stated firmly, such an edge to her voice that your head snapped into her direction. The young woman seemed surprised by her own sharpness and she set down the knife and gave you an apologetic look, but you just shook your head, "Oberyn is not...he couldn't be. He's the Red Viper...he wouldn't just die."

Your lower lip started to tremble as you tried not to completely lose it. The idea that Oberyn could possibly be harmed, or even worse...dead was a possibility that you refused to fully accept. Something was causing a delay, you were sure of it. Oberyn wouldn't just...leave. Or unnecessarily delay his return. Right? Right. So then why were you questioning it?

"You're right," you agreed quietly, trying to hide the worry and concern in your voice. She didn't need to worry unnecessarily, and if she saw you worrying, she likely would also. You had to remain strong, for her, for everyone else, and most importantly for yourself. That was your job now, as his wife and one of the heads of the Martell family. You swallowed the lump in your throat before hastily pulling off your apron and tossing it onto the counter, "you're right, Asha. Its Oberyn - he would never let anything happen to him. If his return is delayed, its for a reason. A good one."

"Are you-"

"Stay here," you gave her shoulder a gentle touch, "please finish up my duties for the day. I have to return to the palace...I just remembered that I was to see Doran this afternoon."

»»————-　♡　————-««

Practically sprinting back to the palace, you pulled up your skirts and ignored the curious looks of the people you passed by. You didn’t care, nothing in that moment mattered besides getting back to Doran giving him a little surprise inquisition. He had been calm, terribly calm, the whole Oberyn time had been gone. If he thought something had happened to his young brother, he would have been worried, surely. Doran, you had come to realize, was a lot of things. He was a good man - smart, kind, funny at times, but above all else he was a man that was deeply devoted to his family. Just like all the Martells were; it was a trait that was strong through with all of them. Doran had to know something.

You waved off all the inquisitive shouts of your name and made a beeline for Doran’s study, opening the door without hesitation. You must have startled him greatly because the book that was in his hands fell and tumbled to the desk, and he made a small sound of surprise. Taking a moment to gather himself, he earmarked the page he was on, something that would greatly wound Oberyn if he was there to witness it, before setting it down and softly saying your name before turning to you. You could see that there was just a glint of nerves in his eyes.

“Where is Oberyn?” you asked him before slamming the door shut and striding over to his desk, a look of rage and anger on your face as your chest heaved up and down. Doran’s face paled as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to figure out how to answer you. Putting your hands on his desk, you stared the older man down, “where is my husband?!”

“My dear, there is no reason to worry,” he insisted softly, trying to calm you down before you flew into an even bigger fit of rage. It was in that moment that he saw a little of Oberyn in you and he wondered if it was him rubbing off on you or your true self coming out. In reality, you were a calm, composed person, not prone to sudden mood swings, but now, in between your worry and fear, you were beyond yourself, “Oberyn is fine.”

“How can you be so sure?” you asked softly, a dangerous edge to your words, “unless you’ve been speaking with him or you know something I don’t. Now tell me, why wouldn’t my husband tell me where he was or what he was doing?”

“Sometimes the nature of these things is confidential and they can take time and-”

“I’m his wife,” you reminded him firmly, “he has nothing to hide from me - he wouldn’t. If you won’t tell me what is going I’ll just go to King’s Landing myself and find him.”

“You wouldn’t-”

“Try me,” you straightened up and crossed your arms over your chest as you stared him down, “who would dare to stop me? As much as I would hate to resort to this, I will use whatever pull I have, and I don’t think people would argue with Oberyn Martell’s wife.”

“You mustn’t resort to that,” he insisted quietly and you felt relieved and yet...you could see that he was still struggling with something. You signed lightly before softening your expression and coming to the conclusion that you might have gone on too fast and too hard, “I know where he is.”

“Oh,” you said in a surprised tone as you tried to figure out if that was a positive or negative thing, “oh. You knew this whole time? And y-you didn’t think to tell me?”

“It is was nothing to concern yourself over-”

“My husband is gone for weeks longer than he should be, I have been worried day and night and you didn’t think i should be concerned? If you’d at least have told me what was going on I wouldn’t be so upset!” you threw your hands up in exasperation, “I just...I don’t care about anything, but I just want to make sure he’s okay. That’s all that matters.”

“After he and Arianne finished their business in King’s Landing, Oberyn turned his attention to Old Town,” he explained as you almost jumped back in surprise.

“Old Town,” you repeated slowly, almost not able to believe the words he was saying. Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you tried to process the news, “Old Town...that’s the Reach...right by Honeyholt. Why on earth would he go there….without me? That’s my home...he didn’t mention…”

“He did not disclose his business to me either,” Doran admitted with a feeble sound from the back of his throat, “I pressed him to tell me and he refused. I encouraged the fool to tell you and he refused. Oberyn is a stubborn man when he wants to be and will not be forced into doing anything he does not fancy. I am sorry for I too have been a fool. I should have told you sooner - when he first informed me of his extended stay.”

“I just don’t...understand,” you admitted quietly, “what is there for him in Old Town? There’s nothing or there’s....”

Brothels. Plenty of them. Old Town was famous for many things but the most predominant things were by far the Citadel and the brothels that littered the land amply. You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word out loud.

“Yes,” Doran acknowledged as you held out a hand out to steady yourself. You weren’t mad, you weren’t angry…you were just surprised. Surprised that he hadn’t told you of his whereabouts, of his intentions, of anything really. You were sure that you could tell him anything and vice versa. But apparently you had been mistaken, “I am sorry, young one. But I would not worry about his safety or well-being. He should return soon, and I am sure in one piece. The rumors about him...his tendencies...I would not worry about them. They’re just rumors - folly.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” you pulled your trembling lips into a tight smile in order to keep yourself from crying. You felt like a fool - not because you had trusted or loved Oberyn, you still did to both, but for worrying for nothing. It was not your position to be angry for taking solace in the comfort of other beds if that was indeed what he had done. You’d made that clear many, many times. But you wished he would have told you something, anything instead of keeping you waiting around.

“Do not worry-”

“I am not worried,” you insisted meekly, “not anymore. As long as I know he’s safe, that’s all that matters to me.”

“You do not have to worry about his devotion to you-”

“Lady Martell?” the door to Doran’s slowly opened and a young man who recognized from around the palace grounds stuck his head in. You quieted any sniffles that had welled up and quickly dabbed at your wet eyes before turning to him. You offered him the warmest smile you could muster up as he looked between you and the older prince, clearly sensing that something heavy had just been discussed, “I-I’m sorry to interrupt. The Maester asked me to summon you.”

The Maester. Of course. In your haste and worry over your husband, you’d completely forgotten that you’d agreed to go and see the Maester that very afternoon. Sighing lightly, you nodded at him, “let him know I will be there in just a few moments.”

“The Maester?” Doran asked as you refused to meet his eyes, “is everything alright, my dear?”

“Quite,” you answered softly, “I suppose I will see you at dinner then. I-I’m sorry for coming and causing a scene for no reason.”

“There is no need for apologies,” he insisted as you offered a curt nod in response before seeing yourself out of his study. You did want to pity yourself and your foolish heart, but you didn’t have time for that now. That would wait until later, when you were in your chambers by yourself.

Straightening your shoulders, you tried to hold yourself as tall as possible as you crossed the palace grounds in search of the Maester. You’d never met him before, but you were sure that he would be as kind as everyone else in Dorne. You just weren’t so thrilled that you’d have to meet him in this state. It was no matter though, he was the Maester after all, he’d likely seen much worse.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You knocked on the door to the Maester’s chambers and were quickly called in but not by a voice you had been expecting - it was a soft woman’s voice. Stepping inside, you looked around the beautiful sunlight quarters, already feeling at ease. Scanning the rooms you saw all sorts of vials and bottles containing liquids and concoctions of all different colors and consistencies. The soft, delicate scent of warm spices lingered in the air. At the other end of the large room you saw a woman, modestly dressed with a kind face that appeared to be around Oberyn’s age motioning for you to close the door.

“Lady Martell,” she said gently as she came over to you and held out her hand. Still confused, you reached out and shook it, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Y-you’re the Maester?” you asked as she slowly nodded. You shouldn’t have been surprised you realized - this was Dorne after all. Women could be anything they wanted here and were not subject to the harsh realities that most other parts subjected them to. In some ways you were relieved that you were here with another instead of a man.

“Selsa,” she introduced herself as you told her your name, although you were unsure if it was really necessary. She had a warm, comforting presence and some of the tension who had been holding in your shoulders seemed to ease up, “and don’t worry, I was trained by a man-”

You laughed lightly at her little quip as she tried to get you to calm down, “it matters not. I trust you more than any man outside of Dorne. I have no reason to doubt your prowess simply because you are a woman, do I? That would be foolish of me.”

“A forward thinking woman from the North,” she said as she offered you a seat in the soft, plush velvet sofa she had near the window. You sat down it and the cushion deflated slightly, almost as if it was sighing along with you, “that must be why the Prince and all of Dorne adores you so.”

“I am but one mere woman,” you played it off, but you would not lie and say you didn’t appreciate the sentiment, “I just happened to get lucky.”

“Either way,” she said as she stood near you, “we are glad to have you here in Dorne. I hear you have fit in very well. Now tell me, what can I possibly assist with?”

You played with a loose thread of fabric for a moment, twisting it in your fingers as you wondered where to begin. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, and waited patiently for you to speak, “umm...children, I-I suppose. It’s just that for the moment. I want to...would like to...know if there was any way to know if I can have children. If there’s any chance of my husband and I...having one of our own.”

“Oh,” she seemed mildly surprised by your request, but her expression didn’t change or do anything to suggest her shock or that she was appalled. You just gave her a light shrug as she came over and sat down next to you, “well, there are some ways we can try and see. However, right now, there’s no definite way to know...I guess unless you are actively trying and it never happens. The things we can do are strong indicators but they're not exact. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” you agreed quietly, “sure, whatever it is, we can try it. I figure either way I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“I just have a few questions to get my bearings, “ she said as you motioned for her to ask, “do you menstruate regularly and for how long?”

“Yes...if I remember correctly since around my thirteenth year.”

“Have you ever had excessive bleeding or anything to concern you about it?”

“No.”

“Were you with anyone before your husband?” she asked, “sometimes when a couple is newly trying it can take a while for things to pan out…”

“We-we’re not trying,” you admitted almost sheepishly, “I-I just want to know...probably for my own peace of mind. But I was with someone before...he and I…”

“No need to expand,” she took your hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze, “it’s okay. Let me guess - you were not careful to try and prevent a pregnancy?”

“No,” you scoffed at yourself lightly before the two of you laughed, “we were young fools in love and it was never something I worried about. But I’m sure if it was a possibility it should have happened…”

“Hmm,” she mused quietly before standing up and walking over to the other end of the room. She rummaged around for a moment, leaving you to wonder what she was up to, before coming back with a large clay pot. She stopped by one of the large cabinets and pulled something out before chucking it into the pot. When she was satisfied with her handiwork, she stood in front of you and held out the pot to you, “I hope you have to urinate.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s an old test,” she explained as you curiously took the pot, “it’s been around for generations, used by Maesters and healers to check for fertility. Like I said. It’s old and far from exact, but it’s the best thing we’ve got to work with for now. “

“Oh...so you want me to pee? In that pot...”

“Yes!” she said as you just raised your eyebrows at her, “I put some bran into the bottom and you just pee on it. Then we leave it alone for about a week and come back and check it. If there’s nothing there and its clear, it means you are fertile, otherwise if things like bugs or worms get into it, it is supposed to suggest infertility.”

“That’s…odd,” you almost laughed at the little test, finding it hard to believe that people still used it. It sounded absolutely loony, but if people had been using it for this long...maybe it was accurate. Either way, you decided, you had nothing to lose and your bladder was pretty full. “I guess it can’t hurt anything.”

“It’s up to you, My Lady,” she promised and you stood up nodding affirmatively.

“I’ll do it,” you decided, “besides if nothing else it will be an interesting experiment, no?”

“Indeed,” she agreed, showing you to the room she used as a bathroom, “take your time and when you’re done you can just leave it in there. I’ll keep it safe for the week and we can take a look once the time has passed.”

“Sure,” you were nervous suddenly, and wondered just how accurate this would all be. Part of you was also scared that it would confirm the long buried doubt and fear you’d always had, “thank you…”

“It is no problem,” she promised, “and nothing to worry or fear over. We know here that some things are what they are and we cannot change them. The ability to conceive and carry a child does not define you, or anyone else. It does not define your heart or your character - remember that.”

“Thank you,” you answered quietly, relieved and comforted by her kind words. She knew what it would have been had you been married to another man in another part of the kingdom.

“Of course, and don’t worry. This will stay strictly between the two of us,” you gave her a thankful look, “and once you’re back, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look at everything in more depth. Just to make sure everything appears as it should.”

“Whatever you need to do,” you agreed, “I guess I just want some answers…”

“And we shall get them for you,” she insisted, “as best as we can.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Pushing the sheer curtains to the side, you immediately felt a wave of calm wash over you at the sunlight streaming into your chambers. There was a gentle, warm breeze, and everything was illuminated. You decided to change your linens, making it a point to keep things fresh and tidy for whenever Oberyn came back. It had been several more days since your conversation with Doran and there was still no word. You weren't worrying but -

"My lady," the door to your chambers practically burst open and Asha tumbled inside in her haste, almost falling to the floor. Rushing over to her, you held out your hand in order to straighten her up.

"What's with the rush?" you asked, taking her face in your hands and looking her over to make sure she was okay. Besides her erratic breathing and wild look in her eyes she appeared to be okay, "Asha?"

"It's the Prince," she managed to get out, "he's returned."

You could tell that something was wrong almost immediately. Dropping your hands from her face you ran past her, the linens already forgotten and discarded on the floor. You almost tripped over your skirts in your haste to run down the stairs, bounding them down two at a time as you rushed to get outside.

Your heart was bouncing around in your chest wildly as you tried to calm the horrible thoughts already racing in your mind. Every awful little thing that you could have happened was screaming as you burst out of the palace and through the throng that had gathered near the returned retinue.

“Oberyn!” you shouted at the top of your lungs as you spied his carriage and the crowd that was closely surrounding him. Jeron spotted you and his face, which was already in a grim expression seemed to fall even more. He tried to come over and grab you, in order to keep you from rushing straight to Oberyn’s side. His long strides made it easy and you were quickly held back in his strong grip. A small sound of frustration left you lips as you tried to pull away from him, clambering for any glimpse at your husband, “Jeron! Let me go! Oberyn-”

“You need to stop,” he said as calmly as he could, his heart breaking at the sight of the tears that were welling up in your eyes, “please, listen to me.”

“No,” you insisted firmly, “you listen to me! He is my husband and I want to see him!”

“Please, please,” he was practically begging you, a shake to his own voice as you gave up on trying to keep the tears that had pearled up from running over. You were a mess of emotion and all you cared about was seeing Oberyn. You stilled lightly and he dropped his voice, “listen for just a moment. H-he’s hurt. Badly.”

“No,” it was a choked out sob as your worst fears came true. This was what you had been worried from the start, from the moment that he first told you he was leaving again. The fact that he had been gone longer, that he had made a stop unbeknownst to you didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, absolutely nothing except making sure he was okay, “y-you’re lying! He’s...he can’t be hurt...”

“He’s in bad shape right now,” he said softly, an incredulous tone in his voice at the thought that the famed warrior ended up hurt, “I don’t know if you want to see him right now.”

“Oberyn,” his name well forth from your lips as you took advantage of his moment of indiscretion and pulled out of his grip and to the carriage. You shoved anyone who was in your way out of it and pushed to see Oberyn. You heard shouts of your name from Jeron, but you didn’t care - you needed to be by his side.

When the crowd seemed to part, already offering you pitying looks of sorrow you found yourself in front of Oberyn. He was sprawled out on a makeshift stretcher, and even if Jeron hadn’t told you that he was in bad shape, it was immediately apparent. His normally bright, bronze skin was paled and his chest was rising slowly, too slowly. No longer dressed in his normal regalia, but a simple pair of trousers and tunic, light in color, just enough so you could see the blood that had gotten on them from his abdomen. His face was covered in a sheen and his hair mused, a few lacerations on his face. He was not in bad shape - he was in horrible shape.

Your knees felt like they were going to buckle at any moment and you couldn’t help the almost hysterical cry that left your lips as lunged towards him. Several of his retinue tried to keep you back, but you were too quick for them. You dropped to your knees as you reached for his face to gently grab it and try to pull him towards, tears flowing freely as you blabbered incomprehensibly at him. He didn’t even open his eyes as you touched his face and leaned down so your forehead was pressed against his. The tears spilled from your eyes to on his cheeks, mixing in with the sweat that was covering his whole body, “O-Oberyn. No, no, no, please, please-”

“You have to get back,” someone insisted as you turned around and glared at him, not even caring that you were making a scene. A small ground had gathered around to see what all the excitement was about, and they were shamelessly staring. How dare someone tell you that you couldn’t be by your husband’s side, “he’s poorly-”

You quickly stood back up to your full height, wiping away the tears and summoning up as much of a commanding presence that you could manage. You are a Martell now, you reminded yourself, you have to be strong. And you would be damned if you allowed someone to tell you what to do when it came to Oberyn. Jeron rushed back over to you and stood by your side as you walked up to the man that had tried to stop you, “exactly. He’s hurt and he needs help! Get him inside and into bed now. Jeron - fetch the Maester immediately and tell her he needs help. We have to help him and quickly! The crowd needs to go and we need to tend him right now. Move!”

Without another word Oberyn’s men listened to your instructions and quickly sprung into action. It was almost like they had been shell shocked at the Prince’s state that they had somehow forgotten what to do. But in your state of panic, your wild thoughts somehow worked themselves out and you experienced a moment of clarity. Gods knew you wanted to fall apart then and there, but you could do that right now. Making sure Oberyn was safe and well was the first priority.

You watched silently as the men carefully brought Oberyn inside and brought him to your bedroom. You trailed after them, wondering what could possibly have happened to cause such injuries to him. You knew he had enemies, hells, everyone in the Seven Kingdoms had at least one enemy, but you never thought someone would be so bold as to openly harm him. If anything happened to Oberyn, it would be enough to incite a war - if not by your hand, then by the people of Dorne.

Time seemed to still in that moment as you tried your best to keep calm and not completely panic. You needed to be strong for yourself, for him, and for the rest of the family. Once he was settled in bed, and you waited for the Maester to come, you kneeled at his side, taking his hand ever so gently in yours, lacing your fingers together. You weren’t alone, several people were still milling about and monitoring him, but you didn’t care.

“Oberyn,” you whispered softly as you pressed a kiss to his palm, “my love, my moon and stars. Please just...just hang on. You will be okay. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you. And when I find out who did this to you, I will make them pay. They will rue the day they dared to cross the Martells.”

He remained still as ever, and you wondered if he could even hear you. You hoped he could, in your heart of hearts you believed he could. Someone came in and brought some clean rags and water and you quickly set to wiping the sweat from his brow and cleaning the cuts on his face. They didn’t seem very deep and mostly superficial, which gave you the slightest sense of relief. When you were satisfied with that, you moved to pull off his tunic, deciding in your haste to just rip it off instead of trying to slip it over his head and disturbing him more. Your heart felt like it was seized up at the sight of the bandages, bloodied bandages, on his side. It was enough to make your stomach churn in horror as you wondered what was underneath.

But before you could reach for them to inspect the damage, Sesla entered the room and quickly came to your side. You were grateful for her comforting presence and easily let her take over, pulling you to her help before quickly hugging you, “it will be okay, I promise. Nothing will strike down the Red Viper. I will make sure of it.”

“Please,” was all you managed to choke out as she turned to tend to Oberyn. You made a small, almost helpless sound as you watched her get to work. Jeron was standing in the doorway and his presence seemed to calm you down immensely. You strode over to him and he let out a long sigh.

“I have failed you,” he said quietly as you shook your head, otherwise remaining silent. You gave his shoulder a squeeze as you realized that he must have been beating himself up over his. He was one of, if not the most, trust man Oberyn had, and yet...he was the one injured, “I promise you he’d come safe and I promised him that I’d return him safely to you. I have failed you both and now he lies in this state because of me.”

“No one could have known -”

“I am sworn to protect him,” he scoffed at himself, “and I have failed. I should be excused from his service and sent into exile.”

“Jeron,” you insisted firmly, “it was not your fault. I know you would do anything to keep him safe if you could. Right now we both need to be strong for him.”

“Yes.”

“Can you...do you know who did this?” you asked quietly as he seemed to tense up, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Yes…”

“Who?” you asked quietly and he made a small sound in the back of his throat. You could sense his reluctance to tell you the truth, “Jeron...who did this? Who hurt Oberyn?”

“Your family,” he answered so quietly you almost didn’t hear him. But once you realized what he said you felt like you had been hit in the face with a stone. Your hand went to your chest as you tried to wrap your mind around it, “it was your brother. He attacked him under the cover of night.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Your husband was lying in front of you, on death’s doorstep because of your brother.

Your world felt like it was slowly crashing down around you.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #in name only

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captain-aralias · 2 years

Note

18, 26, F, % for the fic reader/writer asks 😉

thank you, my dear! here are some answers for you/here are some answers that will let me put off writing my CORB fic for a bit longer -

18. Favorite kinds of comments?

ALL COMMENTS. but the very best comments are ones that talk a lot about what you've written and (for me, particularly) ask questions or make observations that make me think 'ah, excellent - i'll put that in a later chapter'. we've got a very nice commenting culture going on at the moment, lots of people - particularly writers but not just writers - leaving really detailed and interesting comments on lots of CO fics, you're one of them <3

also, obviously, anything that's like 'here, i made this in response'.

but also also, i cannot stress how addicted i am to comments. i write to get comments of any kind. thank you for your comments.

26. Last sentence you've written

pretty sure i'm going to delete this - but for now this is the last full sentence i wrote last night. and then i stopped in the middle of a WORD out of disgust 😂

I’m apparently more than gay enough; now we just need to sort out the rest.)

“Hello Bunce,” Baz says, so c

(the word was 'cool')

F) Favorite trope(s)

faaaaaake relationship :D super excited to write some for CORB and work with an amazing artist while i do it. i've honestly been waiting for a good idea to justify this trope for years and then @asticou gave me one.

other than that it would be accurate to say i love all tropes, but particularly things like... 'magic made them do it' or anything that forces people who 'don't like each other' to deal with their feelings early. it's part of why i like fake relationship so much, even though the CORB is going to be friends-to-lovers, so a bit different.

i also love AU-canon divergence so much it's barely a trope anymore, and i guess i've been doing a lot recently with 'second chances'.

these were reader tropes, i've just realised, but the same is absolutely true of me as a reader. as a reader i like to read things that make me angry that i didn't write them.

%) A feature you wish ao3 had

great question!!! shockingly (not that shockingly) i have thought about this, so here's four - from most plausible to implement to least plausible.

move profile onto the dashboard - not even a new feature. no one uses it right now. maybe against the spirit of the archive, but i like encouraging people to engage with me as a human elsewhere as well.

a way to message people without commenting on their fic, don't need an instant message function just some sort of button that allows you to email them

arguably this goes against the premise of AO3 as an archive, but i feel like some sort of community hub would be invaluable, now it's so hard to find fandoms. i'm thinking something simple like a permanently pinned 'fic' at the top of every fandom tag, and then people could post 'comments' linking to things like the discord, facebook groups, tumblr, instagram, etc.

hosting for podfics and/or images. or they could team up with audiofic, which is gradually coming back online. here's my reader page (although it wrongly assigns a teen wolf fic to me as the first entry, so don't be surprised i sound different on that one. it's not me!)

otherwise, AO3 is generally great and i love it. i also enjoyed answering these questions, thank you!

from this ask list

#my content

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

Clubbing 101

Written by @alliswell21

Prompt 144: She has a night of fun before the start of the semester. She meets this guy, they hit it off that they sleep together. But when she shows up to her class the next day, she sees the guy again. But he’s her professor and he’s way older than she originally thought. #olderPeeta [submitted by @animekpopxx]

Rating: Explicit. NSFW.

Tags and Warnings: Canon Divergence; College!AU; Age gap, older man/younger woman; The opposite to slow burn? Smut; Unprotected sex; technically impaired consent since alcohol, but their both into each other while sober too 🤷🏻‍♀️; Ethical dilemmas; Teacher/Student relationship (sort of); One Shot, with an ambiguous open ending? Almost 10K words. Unbetaed.

Notes: Thank you to the moderators once more for putting up with us, procrastinating writers. You gals are saints! Thank you to @animekpopxx for her amazing prompts that never fail to snag my attention and give me the best ideas ever! You rock! I projected this story to be a smutty short thing, but it sprouted words and a background out of nowhere and I had to forced myself to stop adding to it, to get back to my other submissions waiting in my docs. Hopefully, it’s a good read for the ones who take the chance with it.

Thank you all!

KPKPKPKPKP

It starts with a harmless ranting.

“I’m not outgoing, or fun. I’m not even ‘cool’… hell, I don’t care what my sister says, I’m too old for this place!” I tell the handsome, bearded, guy sitting in the barstool next to me, “She’s a med student, you know, but she insists that partying is part of the college experience, especially when one’s career is so demanding… plus, is the last weekend of summer break, which apparently means you’re contractually obligated to party extra hard,” I roll my eyes, “I never saw the appeal personally, but I let her drag me out here so I can keep an eye on her. Is not like I’m gonna let her piss away her future for a night of clubbing,” I scoff, taking a long pull of my beer.

The guy chuckles, but I’m not done just yet.

I slam down my bottle and continue listing my grievances, “The thing that grinds my gears, is that she begged for a ‘girls’ night out’, and instead of drinking with me and people watch, she goes off with the first fucker that asks her to dance! I mean… did it ever occur to her, I may want to dance with her on OUR girls’ night out?!” I scowl and gulp another mouthful of beer, “then, to add insult to injury, thirty minutes later I get a text from her, saying to go on home without her ‘cause she found a ride, followed by that cursed eggplant emoji, like I needed an illustration of what kind of ride she’s getting,” I mock gag, rearranging the strap of my tiny purse across my chest.

“I guess she’s young, and beautiful, and does work very hard, but if you invite me to go clubbing with you, don’t abandon me within the first 15 minutes of arriving!”

My companion winces before sipping his drink, and smiling ruefully, “That’s harsh… sorry you’re having a shitty night,”

“Meh… little sisters, right?!” I shrug.

The guy smiles crookedly at me, and I find myself enjoying his smile, “I wouldn’t know about that. I’m the baby of three brothers, and the only thing I got away with was learning how to wrestle and spring awesome comebacks on the fly… the brutes kept me on my toes,” he chuckles.

“Three boys? Sounds chaotic. Your poor mother!”

“Yeah… life’s chaotic.” He averts his eyes for a second, his smile goes away. I’m afraid I’ve said something wrong, but he suddenly looks back at me, and confesses, “I’m not into clubbing either.” His eyes sparkle, despite the awful, dim, blue lights bathing the place.

I smile, “Look at us wallflowers, bonding over drinks and sibling shenanigans,” we clink our drinks together and sip. I’m chatty and relaxed, so unlike myself; I guess the two beers I’ve had are starting to get to me. “I’m Katniss, by the way.”

“That’s pretty,” he says, shyly; makes my chest warm up. “Nice to meet you, Katniss. I’m Peeta.”

I arch my eyebrows, “Peter?” I repeat, because I’m pretty sure I miss-heard him over the obnoxiously loud music.

The guy shakes his head, “Pee-ta… like the bread?” He chuckles. Then adds, “Family name. Everyone on my dad’s side are bakers.”

I snort-laugh, “Punny!” I say, taking another sip. Yup, beer’s getting to me, I’m not this cleverly funny. “My dad was into survivalism and botany… I’m named after a plant also known as Duck Potato, so I win the weird name competition!”

“Hey, it’s something else to bond over,”

“Cheers to that!” We clink our drinks again, and partake in our booze.

He orders another whiskey neat when he’s out… sounds both snooty and distinguished at the same time. Goes well with his put together image, though: nicely trimmed beard, nicely combed hair, nice polo shirt with what I believe is a tiny loaf of bread embroidered on the chest, and dark-wash jeans… I think. It’s hard to tell under the black lights of the club.

He offers to get me another drink, and I order an appletini.

“J.D. from Scrubs always drank one,” I explain, swirling the coctel in my hand, “I’ve always been curious to try, but didn’t wanna spend my own money experimenting on a drink I could potentially hate.”

“Makes sense,” Peeta says, “So… what’s the verdict?”

“Is pretty good, actually. But I think I’ll stick with my Miller Light,”

Peeta nods, “I honestly don’t enjoy alcohol that much.”

I giggle. “Then, what brings you to this fine establishment tonight, sir, if you’re not much for clubbing, or drinking?” I watch him out of the corner of my eye.

I like that when he smiles, his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“I lost a bet against a colleague.”

“Oh,” I’m suddenly self conscious and a little uncomfortable. I give the guy a scrutinizing look, and ask suspiciously, “what was the punishment exactly?”

The man rolls his eyes. “I have to spend one whole hour in the club, without criticizing anything, like the bitter old man I am,” he grins, “My friend’s words. Not mine!” He raises both hands, claiming innocence.

I laugh at the face he pulls, “Well, you’ve just defaulted on that punishment,”

“How so?” He beams.

“With the look in your face! It spoke volumes!”

“Am I that transparent?”

“You read like a preschooler’s board book, pal!”

We both laugh, I drink my beer, and he throws back his whiskey neat.

“So…” he makes a show of looking at his watch, “I still have 33 minutes to kill before I’m allowed to run out of this place… I know I’m not a Med student, co-Ed, sister of yours, but… would you, um, like to dance with me?” He sounds adorably hopeful.

I glance at the man sideways, toying with my bottle.

He smirks, mischievously, “I promise, spirits make me more coordinated on the dance floor. I become this amazing dancer when I have a couple of drinks on… or so my brain believes. I probably look like an idiot, but I’m too goofy to know the difference. You’re welcome to be the judge it for yourself,”

I take my sweet time finishing the last dregs of my beer, and wrinkle my nose, “You sure you wanna dance to this shit, kids call music nowadays?” I smirk, pointing a finger up, motioning wide circles into the ether.

Peeta gives a full belly laugh.

I really do like his laugh!

“Isn’t it our only choice?” He ventures.

Not if you follow me home, my thirsty brain supplies; my lips on the other hand, just let through a hint of a smile, because I’m buzzed, but not drunk enough to proposition a total stranger. I’ve never been one to sleep around anyway.

“Okay,” I say, too enthused. “As long as we both agree that this isn’t music,”

“Oh no, this just barely passes as noise!” Peeta agrees readily.

He guides me to the packed dance floor, and we start moving to the booming, deafening tunes playing overhead.

I’m not sure if one could call this dancing. Everywhere I look people are writhing against each other, like a pack of zombies without grace or rhyme.

I’m not sure Peeta will get an accurate assessment of his dancing skills, compared to what I’m seeing, he’ll probably look like a professional; plus, it’s too dark and busy in here to really appreciate anything, really, but after a few minutes of just shifting in place, robotically, I snatch two bottle beers from a waitress walking by, offering one to my partner, hoping that’s enough to get us loosen up. The waitress stares at me until I rummage on my crossbody mini purse and toss a crumple ten on her tray.

The liquid boost works. Before I know it, I’m grinding my hips against his. Peeta’s just the right height for his thigh to fit between my legs and brush against my front. I get tired of undulating my arms in the air, so I drop them around his shoulders, and feel just how firm and broad he is under my touch.

Our chests are tightly pressed together, and I’m at the right angle to just stare at his plush-looking lips. I turn around before I do something brash, like kiss him in the mouth. Peeta doesn’t question it, he just places his hands on my hips, and starts moving to the music’s beat.

I bring the beer to my lips, but the bottle’s empty… oops! It doesn’t matter, I’m having the time of my life!

Peeta’s swaying guides me. I basically drape my back over his front, and bump my ass into his groin. I feel the hint of a bulge there, and press my rear into it again, just to confirm if I felt what I hope I felt.

Peeta’s fingers tighten on my hip, emboldening me to keep going until I’m practically twerking into him, and his slight bulge morphs into a full blown hard-on.

I twist in his arms to face him, my lust idled brain barely thinking rationally, “Are your 33 minutes done yet?” I yell into his ear, so he can hear me over the noise.

He doesn’t even look at his watch, “To hell with time! I‘ll stay here all night, if you want me to,” He answers loudly.

“Come on, then!” I push off his chest, and snatch up his hand before he can reply.

Leaving the dance floor is surprisingly easily, considering the crowd bouncing in place together.

I make no conscious plan on where we’re going; I’m arguably familiar with the layout of this place from my many visits since Prim turned 21; I’m only mildly surprised when we navigate across the club, all the way to the restrooms. It’s like my clit is making all the decisions tonight… good for it!

There’s a line of disgruntled women waiting to get inside the Ladies Room, but the Men’s Room is available, and Peeta lets me guide him into it, like one of those pull toys children have.

“It stinks in here,” I comment blandly, but make a beeline for the last stall with a door.

There’s one guy at the urinal, but he doesn’t even look up from his pants, so I just shrug it off and yank Peeta into the stall with me.

The space is tight, but once inside the stall, I push Peeta into the door, and attack his mouth.

He makes a startled noise at the back of his throat, but his hands and arms immediately press me into his body more fully. My own hands trek down to his belt, where I fiddle with the buckle until it’s undone, and I can access his pants’ button and fly.

He hisses when my fingers graze his warm erection, and bucks into my knuckles. I’m in the process of sticking my hand inside his boxers, when Peeta growls, sucking my lower lip into his mouth, and letting it go with a wet pop.

“Switch places,” he pants against my mouth, and hoists me up, until my back hits the door and his hands grab my hips possessively, jutting my pelvis forward, “I’m hungry, would you mind if I eat you out?”

“Okay,” I gasp.

Thank you for forcing me to wear your tiny, clubbing dress, Prim!

“You’ll allow it?” He asks, incredulous, rubbing circles on my hips with his thumbs.

“Yes… I’ll allow it!”

His smile is sexy, his stare is hypnotic. Damned my drunken ass! I can’t believe I’m willing to do this in a smelly bathroom stall!

Peeta sits on the toilet and licks his lips while staring up at me. His hands disappear under the stretchy material of my skirt, bumping my purse out of his way. He skims his fingers under the elastic of my panties, and I bite my lip, nodding eagerly.

Slowly, Peeta slides my underwear down my legs, the tips of his fingers follow, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced!

Once he brings my panties to my knees, his hands rush back up my thighs, pushing the flimsy skirt around my waist. My underwear drops to my ankles on their own.

Peeta’s level eye with my crotch, and I squirm restlessly. “Beautiful… absolutely soaked,” he whispers in a daze, he inhales pulling me closer, “You smell divine!” He descends, nose first, into the thatch of dark curls between my thighs, making me moan. He ruts his face against me, and suddenly drops to his knees, grabbing my calf to pull my leg up.

But the movement gets prevented by my stupid underwear, tangled in my ankles. Without missing a beat, I toe my panties off, so Peeta can maneuver my body however he wants.

He drapes my leg over his shoulder, opening me up to his ravenous mouth. He grunts, burying his face into my core, and finally, FINALLY, his tongue swipes between my folds.

“Fuck!” I squeak.

My hands fly to tangle into his soft, perfectly coiffed hair. I nearly smother him, holding his face to my pussy, but he’s doing wicked things to me with his tongue: lapping, sucking, and nipping at my labia; drawing number eight figures around my clit with the tip of his tongue, to then sinking it deep inside my core. I can’t stop bucking into his mouth over and over.

When was the last time I was given head? Fuck if I know! Darius probably, he was decent, but didn’t do it often. And Thom was so boring at it, I actually preferred he didn’t do it. But this guy is amazing! A real expert in the matter!

“I’m so close! Please… I’m so close,” I wail like a cat in heat, writhing against the door.

Peeta looks up, and despite the horrendous lighting in the room, I realize he’s got the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen… too bad I can’t hold his gaze too long, because he starts rubbing my clit with his thumb, while fucking my hole with his tongue, and is all I can do not shout and scalp him in my delirium.

He doesn’t stop drinking my juices while I convulse above him. On the contrary, he retrieves his thumb, but keeps his mouth busy, lapping away all the slick I give him.

It’s too much.

I tug on his hair to pull him off of my sensitive privates.

Peeta takes one last lick with the flat of his tongue and looks up at me, smiling wolfishly, “Was that good?” His beard’s dripping with me, he wipes some of it off on his sleeve.

I snort, unsexy and definitely rude. “You made me cum so hard I saw stars… yeah, it was good. Better than good, really!” I smile down at him, and try to pull him off from the floor.

All the gel holding his curls in place is gone now, rubbed off on my palms. His hair is sticking up on the top and towards the back of his head. I reach up to try and smooth it back, “I’m sorry, I seem to have made a mess of your hair,” I giggle. It’s adorable, but I feel bad that I ruined it.

“You can mess my hair any time you want, Katniss.” He says, almost shyly, he places his hands on my waist, over the bunched up dress.

It’s a big turn on to me, how his words are so flirty, but he delivers them so sweetly and awed. Is unexpected and endearing… which is odd, because I don’t usually find people endearing at all!

We both chuckle.

He licks his lips, and I feel heat pool in my lower belly again.

“Come’ere!” I wrap my hand around his nape, and pull his lips to mine.

He responds immediately, licking the seam of my mouth. I suck on his tongue when he slides it against mine.

He moans.

“Fuck me, Peeta,” I rasp into the kiss, palming his dick through his jeans.

He groans, “Are you sure?” He barely holds back another groan when I squeeze his clothed erection.

“Cock. In me. Now!” I command through gritted teeth, trying to pull his cock out of his pants with one hand, while taking his hand, and splaying it on my boob.

“Okay… shit… this is… surreal! This has never happened to me before!” He kneads my tit, gently.

I’m not sure I was supposed to hear that, so I pretend I didn’t and turn, facing the door to wiggle my ass, in an attempt to convince him.

Peeta makes a noise in his throat, quickly followed by the sound of shifting clothes, and a metallic thump from his belt buckle hitting the toilet.

I whine when Peeta’s warm, heavy cock caressed my bare ass cheek. “Please don’t tease me,” I beg.

“Fuck, Katniss… do you really want this?”

“Yes, Peeta… put your cock inside my cunt, and fuck me all the way to next week! Now!”

His warm body cocoons mine, “Anything you want, sweetheart,” he whispers into my ear, and I feel the blunt head of his cock parting my folds, coating himself with my natural lubricants.

He finds my entrance, pushing inside just the tip. He gasps, “Fuck!” One big hand wraps around my hip to keep me steady, bracing his other arm on the door, above my head.

“Peeta… Please!” I wiggle my ass, making him sink another inch deep.

“Hold still,” He hisses, “I’m trying to hold back… not ramming in too roughly… embarrassing myself, cumming too fast,” His hot breath warms my nape. “You feel like heaven!” He growls, tightening his hold on me.

I’m torn, wishing he’d drill into me without mercy already, while another part of me is grateful he’s trying to stay under control… I don’t know which I want more…

When was the last time I had sex?

As if reading my thoughts, Peeta shares haltingly, “It’s been such a long time for me. I want it to last, but I’m

Not sure if I can,”

I don’t have time to second guess myself, because Peeta’s moving, and he’s massive!

“Don’t hold back!” I bleat, “I want it rough… I want it fast!” I gasp, clenching down on him. I paw at the door for purchase, trying not to face-plant on the cold, hard surface, while Peeta’s fat prick stretches me to the brink of pain! I can’t stay put for him any longer; I buck into him.

“I said to hold still!” He slaps my ass, hard. It stings, but it’s a welcomed feeling.

I moan and melt, finally relaxing enough for him to penetrate me all the way to the hilt. He stays there a moment, breathing harshly into my neck, squeezing my hip on and off.

“You’re so tight. So warm. So wet, Katniss.” He nuzzles my ear, “I’m gonna move now, I apologize beforehand in case this ends too soon for you…” He drags himself slowly out of me, just to plunge right back in with a swift, hard thrust.

I squeak; he grunts..

Peeta holds me by the waist, “You’re so pretty and sexy, Katniss. I can’t decide if you’re real, or the most vivid wet dream I’ve ever had…” he’s fucking me like a jackrabbit in rut.

I’m speechless, vaguely wondering if I didn’t dream him instead?

His cock head hits a spot deep inside me I’ve never reached before. I start babbling nonsense— mostly praising his cock and his strength— I don’t really know what I’m saying, but he seems to be enjoying it thoroughly by the increase in his speed and the volume of his grunts.

I’m joisted up and down his shaft like a rag doll; I wish I’d thought of hanging my stupid little purse somewhere before we started, because now it’s bumping on my thighs, distracting me from the great ducking I’m getting; it’s no matter… I can feel my orgasm building in my belly.

“I’m gonna cum, sweetheart… I want you to cum too,” He nibbles on my earlobe.

“Yes, Peeta! Please make me cum, I’m so close!”

One of his hands slides around my waist to play with my clit, while his other tweaks my nipples over my dress and bra. That, added to the sensation of my g-spot being prodded repeatedly, sends me spinning over the edge.

I must’ve screamed or something, because he clamps his hand over my mouth, and then he’s grunting, digging his forehead between my shoulder blades, and pulling me back against his unyielding body.

“Fuck…” he gasps and shivers behind me. I feel his dick pulsing, his rhythm faltering, and then he goes still.

Peeta sags a little, wedging his shoulder into the door to keep from falling. I’m surprised he still has the strength to hold me up too; I have to be dead weight at this point, since my legs feel like overcooked noodles and my arms gave out a minute ago.

We both try to catch our breaths, too spent and weak for much more, at least for a few minutes.

Peeta stirs. “Are you okay?” He breathes out, ruffling the loose wisps of my hair with his breath.

I chuckle, leaning my sweaty temple on the cool door. “I can’t feel my toes… which is excellent!”

“Good,” he sighs.

Three heart beats later, he straightens up and pulls out of me. An indecent amount of spend flows down my legs as soon as his cock dislodges from my pussy, but Peeta shoves something soft between my thighs quickly, before I have time to freak out about the mess.

I look down mildly curious, staring at an embroidery of a tiny loaf of bread. Vaguely, I wonder if that’s his uniform? He said he was a baker, right? At least he’s named after bread or something. I giggle. “Is this your shirt?” I ask, widening my stance to gracelessly wipe myself clean.

“Yeah,”

“Thank you,” I say, dazedly, turning sideways to smile at him gratefully.

He’s wearing a simple, white, cotton t-shirt when I return the polo to him, now spoiled with cum and slick. I’m caught off guard by how broad shoulder he is, and by how nice he smells… cinnamon and sweat. Weird combination, but pleasant. I wonder if he baked any bread today?

“Um… would you… would you like to put these back on?” He asks awkwardly, leaning down to pick up my discarded panties from besides the foot of the toilet bowl.

I wrinkle my nose, “Not really,” I mumble. “Who knows when was the last time that floor got cleaned. Gross.”

Peeta smiles and shakes his head, “Here,” he grabs his polo, covered in our juices, and wraps my underwear in it. “Now it’s hidden.”

My body is finally catching up with the advanced hour, the beers and the two amazing orgasms. I’m starting to feel sore everywhere, and my eyelids are getting heavy. “Wow… think I’m officially all partied out,” I chuckle weakly.

“Ditto,” Peeta agrees, his smile is shy. “So… there’s this little dinner about two blocks from here,” he starts, eyes downcast; the space seems to shrink around us, now that the frenzy of our physical activities is done with. “Would you like to grab a pancake or som—“

My phone rings, startling us both into silence. I frown, but scramble to find it in my purse, to check who could be calling me… apparently at 2 a.m.!

My frown deepens. Prim’s smiling face flashes on the screen. She was supposed to be getting some herself! “It’s my sister,” I whisper, tamping down my rising panic. I don’t ask if it’s okay to answer, I just do it. “Prim?”

“Where the hell are you?!” I have to pull the phone off, or risk eardrum rupture by my sister’s screeching. “I’ve been texting and calling you! I’ve been worried sick!”

I scowl at the wall, confused and little annoyed, “Prim… Prim, are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need me to come get you somewhere?” I try to ask.

“What?! No. I’m home! But you aren’t, and I’ve been scared shitless trying to find you!”

I give Peeta an apologetic grimace, and blindly feel around for the lock to get out of the stall. “Um… why are you home so early? Last time I heard from you, you were getting a ride,” I’m trying to sound unaffected; It’s all I can think to say in my mortification.

“Never mind that! Why aren’t you home already? I thought you had to work in the morning and then go to sch—”

While Prim rages at me, I place a hand on the phone and turn to Peeta, still in the stall, awkwardly facing the wall, I assume to grant me some privacy. I’m sure he can hear my sister’s frantic chastisement from where he’s standing. “I’m sorry… you’d think I was a teenager instead of a grown ass adult,” I roll my eyes.

Peeta waves me off good naturedly. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for keeping you so late,”

I’m about to say something else, but Prim yells loudly, something about calling the police and checking the hospitals for me, which truly prompts a reaction from me, “Calm down! I’m still at the club, exactly where you left me!” I cover the phone with my palm again, and turn to him. “I’m… I’m gonna go? Before she threatens to send the marines in,” I try to joke, but our situation takes all the levity out of it, and my attempt dies off, lamely.

Peeta nods, smiling softly; somehow I can tell it’s not genuine.

“Little sisters, right?” I offer halfheartedly, twisting my lips.

“Can I… walk you out at least?” He asks quietly; Prim hasn’t stopped nagging this whole time.

“I… it’s not necessary, but thank you…”

Peeta nods again, looking disappointed.

I don’t get to tell him a proper goodbye, because two dude-bros come in the bathroom, letting the noise from the club filter in; one of the idiots elbows the other, and both start making some lewd comments about me, but Peeta steps in, eyes wild with anger, and tells the guys to knock it off. Prim hears the whole thing of course, and goes nuts herself asking what’s going on?

Peeta looks at me, and motions his head towards the door.

Message received, I step outside the bathroom and book it out of the club, “I’ll be home in a bit. I’m gonna call and Uber,”

“Call me as soon as you’re in it!” Prim demands.

“Fine! Now stop nagging me, will you?!”

I don’t realize I never looked back at Peeta to wave my goodbyes until I’m in the car, heading home. Regret truly is a bitch. I can’t help feeling like I just lost something important, but I have no idea what it is.

>>—————> * <————<<

It’s been a very long Monday. I’m mainly running on caffeine at the moment, and can’t wait to get home and pass out in my fluffy bed, to see if I can catch up on last nights lost hours of sleep.

I enter my last class of the day and find a seat in the middle of the third row. I pull my laptop, a writing pad and my mechanical pencil out of my bag, and watch as my classmates start filtering in one by one, greeting each other and finding their places, lazily.

I’m the oldest student in this class, which is not surprising. I’ve only just come back from my extended— 5 year— sabbatical; and did it only after I was completely sure I could handle my workload and the financial strain of both me and Prim going to college at the same time, without giving myself an early grave.

It’s been hard, but I’m glad I came back to finish my schooling, I only need a handful of credits to graduate, which is great!

I check my watch. We still have a few minutes to kill before class starts. The professor— Dr. Mellark, according to the copy of my schedule— is not here yet, so I pull up the banking app on my phone to give it another glance. The balance is still the same as the last two times I’ve seen it, but it doesn’t hurt to be extra careful when one is on a tight budget. I scheduled payments for the power, gas and rent to go out in the next few days, and I want to make sure there’s enough money in the bank to cover them. We’re looking fine for the month, financially speaking.

The door to the classroom swishes open, and I start signing off my app.

“Good afternoon ladies and germs; I’m doctor Mellark, and provided you’re in this room for an English class, I’ll like to welcome you to the amazing world of Classic Literature!” Says a deep, male voice I find oddly familiar. “By the way, don’t any of you dare to disagree with me on the awesomeness of classic lit… I’m a doctor, I know what I’m talking about… unless you ask me about medicine, then please be free to disregard everything I say, because I’m not ‘that’ kind of doctor!”

A murmure of little chuckles fills the room; even I smile, silencing my phone and putting it away, before looking up at the professor.

I choke on a strangled gasp when I finally set eyes on the man I assume is the teacher, dumping a worn, leather, messenger bag on the desk near the podium. He’s the last person I would’ve expected to have as a professor.

Oblivious to my predicament, Doctor Mellark— or as I know him: Peeta!— keeps introducing himself.

“I’ve been teaching this course for 14th years, but I’m always pleasantly surprised to hear the different points of views my students bring to our discussions on the classics we study, which in a nutshell, is the beauty of this class.” He pulls a ream of paper out of his bag, and gives it to a student in the front, “Please take a syllabus, and pass the rest to the next person, and so on… thank you!”

My face is burning. I think I’m gonna faint.

“But enough about me,” his voice booms, making my whole body shiver. “I don’t normally do roll calls or care about attendance, as long as you’re not missing assignments, and are here during discussions, so this is the first and last time I’ll be reading this list,” he rises a piece of paper above his head, I surmise has the students names on it, and he instructs, before reading, “I’ll call your names, and you’ll introduce yourself, briefly, that way we can all get acquainted with each other, yes?”

Ugh!

He can scratch my name off that list right now! We’re more than acquainted with each other.

Bile rises to my throat. An intrusive, bitter thought pesters me: how many of his students has he gotten ‘that’ familiar with?

But the thought dies off quickly. An even worse, more worrisome thought springs front and center in my mind: Did we use protection?!

Panic rises in my chest, a nervous queasiness settles in my belly; a distant memory of warm goo sliding down my legs comes to mind… Oh shit!

Oh shit, oh shit! We didn’t use a freaking condom? Who does that?!

Oh shit!

Would a Plan B still be effective right now? It’s been less than 24 hours…

Peeta’s reading names. People stand from their seats and talk about themselves. I haven’t heard one word they’ve said, but I’ve been watching how some of the female students bat their eyelashes and speak all breathily, smiling coyly at him… Peeta seems oblivious to the flirting, but I still feel a cocktail of unpleasant feelings in the pit of my stomach.

I realize, I’m jealous!

My ass is frozen in my sit, I’m not even breathing. I don’t think Peeta’s seen me yet, but… what will he do or say once my name comes up? I send a quick prayer to heaven, he won’t recognize me since I look nothing like I did last night at the club, with my hair down and my face all made-up. Right now and plain ol’ me… the rub is gonna be my name. Darn my dad and his awful naming whims!

Soon enough, he reads a name that makes him stutter, “Kat…Katniss? Everdeen?” He does a double take, “Katniss Everdeen…” his eyes are the size of saucers when he scans the lecture hall, swiftly. When he finds me, he looks back down at his paper, and says the name out loud again, unsure, “Katniss Everdeen?” Like he doesn’t believe what he’s reading.

I stand up woodenly, my voice cracks a little, “I’m—I’m Katniss Everdeen… hi!”

I’m about to drop back into my chair, but Peeta kinda mumbles, “You know, Arrowhead, or Katniss is a water plant? The root is edible… like a swamp potato?”

There are quiet little giggles all over the place.

Peeta clears his throat, his eyes flit away; his face’s blank of emotion, but his cheeks seem pinker than a second earlier, “I just read that online, believe it or not. Interesting facts about local flora, people. Reading is knowledge, but so is learning from one another… what can you tell us about yourself, Miss Everdeen, besides that you have a very unique first name?”

“I…” I harrumph, avoiding eye contact with Peeta at all costs, “I’m a part time student. Majoring in Botany. I took this class to fulfill my last English credits requirement for graduation. I do love books and classic literature, in particular.”

“Thank you… Miss Everdeen,” he rasps.

I sit down, clumsily, hoping this horrible, horrible moment is just a nightmare and that I’ll wake up any second now, drooling on my desk, with indentations of my notepad on my cheek, because anything would be less embarrassing than what I’m going through at this point.

Mercifully, Peeta calls a different name, and then another, and then another. I don’t look up from my notepad once.

Peeta for his part, sounds stiff and monotonous— or so I’d like to think— no more jokes or clever sayings. Maybe he’s not as affected as I am about this ordeal, and I’m just making it a bigger deal than it really is? Maybe he does have experience sleeping with students— I mean, it’s not unheard off, right?— Not that either of us had any idea we were engaging in a teacher-student affair last night…

Although, calling it an affair is generous; it was a measly one night stand. A chance encounter. Two people letting off steam before a busy week ahead.

I’m getting increasingly angry with all this thinking… and the class seems to drag on. It feels like an eternity, and my mind keeps churning up all kinds of questions: Why would he not say he was a teacher at this particular college? Did he lie about being a baker? Is his name even Peeta?

I scoffed at the thought.

To my horror, I hear him ask, “Anything to say, Miss Everdeen?”

Looking up at him requires a great deal of bravery and self admonishment, but I do my best and face him— he’s wearing glasses now, which makes my belly tightened for inexplicable reasons— “No, Doctor Mellark, nothing of consequence anyway,” I retort as venemosly as possible, without alerting anyone else there’s something weird going on between me and the professor.

Peeta grimaces slightly. Then looks away, “Very well, as I was saying, we will start with the basics: The Iliad and Moby Dick, since those are High school level works, I expect your reports to be sufficiently well researched, and your personal ideas on the text somewhat fleshed out. It doesn’t have to be in-depth. I’m just looking to determine everyone’s style and needs for the semester ahead…” he continues his spiel, and I feel free to go back to my stewing and my musings.

Before I know it, Peeta’s dismissing the class, wishing everyone a good rest of their evening.

I jump into action, packing my stuff with my head bowed, but then I hear him again.

“Miss Everdeen, a private word, please?” It’s much too quiet to have been said from his podium. I still startled when I look up and find him standing right against the first row of desks, directly in front of me.

His face is not quite stern, but he’s definitely less smiley than when we met.

I force down a gasp, because under the better lighting of the lecture hall, and close up, I can see a plethora of details I missed at the club; like the arresting blue of his eyes, the slight reddish of his neatly trimmed beard, peppered with silver whiskers all over, while his perfectly combed hair is almost all silver on the temples, and ashy blonde on the top. His shoulders are even broader than I remember.

He’s overall stockier than I originally thought, and just a smidge shorter, which is fine, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever met, and I wouldn’t mind climbing him like a tree—

I shake my head off the intrusive, lecheros thoughts. I’m literally lusting after my teacher, for goodness sakes! This is beyond a silly schoolgirl crush!

Peeta arches one dark blonde eyebrow at me, expectantly.

I nod curtly, because my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and gesture for him to lead the way.

I shove my laptop into my bag, and hastily shoulder the straps, hugging my writing pad to my chest, following my professor like a chastened little girl.

My stupid eyes find his ass, and I blink twice, at the exquisite sight in front of me. I groan internally.

He grabs his own bag, takes off his spectacles and slides them into his shirt pocket.

How old is this man?! He said he’s been teaching this class for 14 years, when do professors start their teaching careers? How did I never see him before now roaming campus? Is his age the reason he ate pussy like a master?

I shake my head, cursing my horny brain.

Peeta opens a door I have no idea how we came across, and then stands aside, gesturing for me to go in first.

I duck my head and step into a warmly decorated office, with a small desk and two chairs in the middle of the room. Bookshelves full of tomes line the office. A handful of pictures and framed diplomas hang from the only available wall space in the room, but I don’t get to study them before he catches my undivided attention.

“Let me start by apologizing,” Peeta stars, closing the door behind himself, “I assure you, it wasn’t my intention to cause you any stress, or embarrassment out there.” He pauses, “Would you like to sit?” He offers, wincing. He doesn’t wait and steps around me, to pace on the other side of his desk, “I… um, never been in this position before,” he scowls, “I’m not sure what assurances I can offer at the moment, except, that I will start the process to recuse myself from this class immediately, to not interfere with your academic—“

“Recuse yourself?” I cut him off, “what do you mean?”

Peeta squirms a little, and sits down heavily on his chair. My bag slides off my shoulder, and I just dump it in the empty chair I was offered a moment ago.

“Well, Miss Everdeen, it’s the right thing to do, given our circumstances. We’ve breached the appropriate boundaries of our pupil and teacher positions, and staying in the same class together will put you at a disadvantage… is a power imbalance situation, that calls for action.”

“Can you stop calling me ‘Miss Everdeen’? It’s weird…”

“I’m just trying to maintain an acceptable level of decorum between us,” he says sheepishly.

“That ship has already sailed,” I say tiredly.

“Perhaps, but it’s my responsibility to still try,” he rubs his forehead. “Anyway, I’ll call my department and see what is next. Stepping down myself is the only fair solution I see so far… it would be terribly unfair to ask you to switch classes. Simply disrespectful, but we both can agree this uncomfortable situation needs to be nipped in the bud, for both our sakes, Miss Everdeen.”

“This is bullshit!” I snap, “What happened in that club, isn’t that terrible of a problem! What we really need to do is stop acting so stiffly and guilty. By the way, you sound like a walking thesaurus!” I accuse, looking him in the eyes for the first time since he called my name at the lecture hall. “Stop it!”

Peeta inhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Miss Everdeen, our actions last night may have been honest, and even innocent in nature, but they still carry consequences… unexpected ones, especially in light of the facts. And the facts are, that it would be unethical for me to remain in a position of authority over you. In any case… if you feel the need to report me to the school administration, for… harassment or inappropriate behavior or anything else, I won’t dispute any claims. I promise to distance myself from you and give you space so you can continue with your education without interference, in a safe environment.”

I grunt, “I’m not going to report you, because you didn’t do anything wrong. Sure, I thought you were a baker… I mean your story about your name, and that little loaf of bread embroidered into your shirt, I thought it was your uniform,” I shrug one shoulder.

“Sorry about that… I never meant to mislead you,” he says bashful.

I ignore him, “Either way, I was the one pulling you into that bathroom. I threw myself at you. I begged you to do things to me, and you just granted me my wishes…” like a sexy gentleman, “The sex is on me. I’m 26 years old, I’m not some bumbling teenager who hasn’t learned to take responsibility for her actions, so, please… stop trying to shield me, or protect me, or whatever it is you’re doing,” my arms flap around in frustration. I finally push my bag off the chair, and sink into it. “Look, Peeta—“

“Professor…” he corrects, frowning a little.

I roll my eyes, if he knew he’s just making it sound kinkier than it already is, he wouldn’t be so adamant about the freaking titles.

“Fine… Doctor Mellark,” I enunciate, pettily. “I specifically chose your class as my last English elective for two reasons. One: it’s exactly the amount of credits I need to graduate at the end of the semester. And two: it fits my schedule to a T, which is important, since I do have a full time job when I’m not a college student. So, I’m sure we can both be adults about this unfortunate situation, and simply forge on. There’s no need for you to recuse from teaching this class, and I have absolutely no intention of switching. We both can wear our big people britches, and pretend last night was a… what did you call it?” I wave my hands, as if the answer will materialize from thin air, “A vivid wet dream? And leave it at that!”

Peeta glares at me, looking aggravated for the first time since I met him. “It’ll be unethical to continue like everything is normal, Miss Everdeen.” Peeta argues, stubbornly.

“Nobody has to know about last night,” I say, exasperated, then a horrifying thought flashes in my mind, “Unless you bragged about it already!”

“No!” He straightens in his chair, looking offended, “I would never do something so vile,” He looks indignant, “plus, the fact still remains that something did happen last night, and I know about it! I can’t, in good faith, be your teacher.”

“Are you planning on showing me favoritism because you know what my pussy tastes like, Peeta?” I deadpan, “Or are you gonna blackmail me into doing it again?”

“Stop calling me Peeta!” He growls through his teeth, his very thick fingers clenching into fists on his armrests.

I blink at his reaction owlishly, realizing I’m truly pushing it this time.

“I’ve always prided myself on keeping my nose clean. Being a decent man and tutor. Never in 17 years of teaching have I slept with a co-ed, let alone a student in my own class.” He breathes deeply, then pins me to my chair, with those arresting blue eyes of his, burning with controlled anger, “I would never extort you or anyone for sexual favors, Katniss. While I don’t really want to lose my tenure or face other disciplinary actions from the school authorities, the one thing I truly don’t want to damage are my personal standards, and my self image.

“Katniss, I’m already biased when it comes to you. Being your professor won’t be exactly fair to anyone. I’m not saying I would give you A’s willy-nilly, nor that I would grade your papers any differently than I’d do your peers or that I’d be less critical of your work,”

“That’s reassuring,” I roll my eyes. “You’re telling me that if I bring you a shit essay, you might not be persuaded to let me redo it?”

He sighs, “I don’t know…” he scratches the back of his neck, “I’ll most likely hover over your desk a disproportionate amount of time compared to your classmates. There’s also a chance I’ll call on your name more often than the rest of them?”

“I still don’t hear one unscrupulous, wrong reason, why you can’t do your job, and teach this class.”

We sit there, staring at each other, at an impasse.

“Why are you so set on keeping me in that room, Miss Everdeen?” He asks, softly.

Finally, I relent, relaxing my tense shoulders, and exhaling tiredly. I raise my hands in defeat. “I don’t know, Peeta. Because I want to protect you, the same way you’re trying to protect me. But… recuse yourself if you have to. I still believe you’re a better man than your urges.”

Peeta relaxes in his chair too, “Thank you, Katniss.You didn’t have to say that, specially because you don’t know me. It still means a lot.”

I chew the inside of my lip, calculating stuff in my head. “You’re right, I don’t know you, but I consider myself an okay judge of character.” He opened this door, it’s time for me to walk through it, “Can I ask you some stuff?” I ask innocently.

Peeta arches his eyebrows. “Shoot,” he says.

“How old are you?”

“45. I’m sorry. I knew you were young last night… I just didn’t quite grasp just how young,” his eyes shift downwards, sheepish and uncomfortable.

“I’m an adult. I’ve been the head of my family for years. At this point, age is irrelevant for me.” I state, dismissively.

“What about your family?” He asks, tilting his head sideways.

It takes me a minute to answer. I cross my arms over my stomach, and exhale, “It’s been only Primrose and I for five years now. My mother had cancer. My father passed when I was eleven.” I rock in my chair, slightly, “That’s why my sister was being such a clingy bitch last night. She can’t bear to lose anyone else. Neither can I for that matter.”

Peeta leans forward on his desk. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Katniss.”

I sit back, feeling like a huge weight just got lifted off my shoulders. “It’s okay, really. I’m back in school, about to finish my last semester, Prim is doing great in university, the only debt we have right now is Prim’s car and my Target card… we are actually okay,” I smile, meekly at him.

“That’s… that’s good, Katniss. Admirable, really.”

“Peeta?” I start cautiously, “Would you really remove yourself from the class because of me?”

He looks me right in the eye, sincerity emanating fro his eyes. “Absolutely. Without hesitation. As soon as you leave, I’ll email my Head of Department, explaining my situation. Don’t worry, I won’t mention any names or details—“

I shake my head, vehemently.

Peeta squints, studying me cautiously, measuring me.

“Please… stay with me…”

Something in my tone catches his attention, and he eyes me curiously. “I’ve already told you why I can’t,” he says, almost soothingly.

I stand up. Go around my chair, and drop back down into it. I start shaking my leg nervously. “I had this feeling in my gut since last night. Like I lost something precious, I just couldn’t put a finger on it… I still can’t, to be honest. All I know, in my loins, is that I can’t let you step down from your position, and I sure as hell won’t walk away on you without figuring out what this…” I wiggle my fingers, pointing to the mouth of my stomach, “feeling is about.”

He stares at me.

I stand up again, and this time I just pace, to the wall with the pictures, and stare at a bunch of faces, too similar to Peeta’s not to be related to him somehow.

“I know I’m not making sense, but I just needed to say that.”

He watches me for a long beat, weighing his options no doubt, before answering, “I can’t be your teacher, Katniss…” he sighs, and rubs his forehead, “because I’m afraid seeing you every week, without being able to touch you will be absolute torture.”

“Really?” I bite my lip, giving him an open once over, not feeling one iota self conscious about. “How come?”

Peeta huffs, avoiding my eyes. “I’d be wondering what your breasts look like the whole time.” He confesses, flatly. “I didn’t get a chance to see them last night, and it kept me awake an indecent amount of time.” He twists his lips, “I’m gonna be pinning the whole semester, whether you’re in the classroom or not, craving the taste of your juices in my tongue, and worse of all, I’ll probably embarrass myself, giving me involuntary hard on’s just fantasizing about you.”

I practically prowl towards him. “You poor thing,” I coo, pouting. “Would you go home to masturbate on the soiled pair of panties I left behind on that dirty, bathroom floor?” I ask… more like, purr, really.

Peeta chuffs out an incredulous laugh, covering his face with both hands. He grunts, “Aw, fuck! That sounds so… it’s probably exactly what could happen. I’d try to stay professional in the classroom, but in the privacy of my home…” he chuckles weakly, shaking his head.

“What kind of fantasies are we entertaining here?” I ask, invested, and sit on the corner of his desk.

Peeta thins out his mouth, “Katniss… that’s a slippery slope you’re trying to climb,” he warns.

“Humor me?” I cajole.

He takes a stuttering breath. “I’ll bring you into this office, same way I did today, except I’ll rip your clothes off, throw you on the desk and take you hard and fast. From behind.”

I can’t stop a small sound at the back of my throat, nor the need to rub my thighs together.

I clear my throat, “I expect you’d want to fuck me on every surface in this office?”

Peeta pulls on the collar of his shirt, his face turning crimson, “And probably the lecture hall as well,” he adds conversationally.

I nod, scooting closer to where he sits. “I’m curious too you know. I didn’t get to see ‘any’ part of you naked. But my muscles still are deliciously sore from last night. A girl has to wonder… just how big a dick has to be to cause so much wreckage?”

It doesn’t take much effort at all to work him up. Peeta’s pants are tented in what looks like the most uncomfortable erection ever; he shifts in his chair to try and hide the effect my words have on him, yet, his hands remain folded on his lap, white knuckled with the effort of keeping himself in check. He’s really committed not to touch me while I’m still his student, but he rasps a question, full of concern.

“Did I hurt you?” His eyes search me, earnestly. “I’m sorry I was too rough, really,”

My heart gives a little somersault. “No, Peeta. You were pure perfection. I loved how you handled me.”

His lips twitch, and I’m amazed at how expressive his face is, even partially hidden under his near facial hair. “You said you were hungry last night before you got on your knees…” I murmur, “I think, next time I’ll return the favor,”

“Next time?”

I slide closer to him, but we both keep our hands to ourselves.

I lick my lips, resisting the urge to drop on my knees between his legs and gobble up his cock. I didn’t lie about wanting to see him in all his naked glory, but I can show the same level of restraint he does; I respect him for trying to keep a moral and ethical compass.

I smirk at him, slyly. “Are you sure you wanna abandon your post as my professor, now that my education is on the balance? We can wait a handful of months, Doctor Mellark… I promise not to tease you,” With that, I mean, I promise not to aggravate what could potentially be the worst case of blue balls in the history of slow burns.

Peeta hisses a mirthless chuckle, “You’re too much of a temptation, even if you don’t actively try teasing me, Katniss,”

I start playing with the end of my braided, dark hair. “You know what I’m most really looking forward to, from when I’m no longer your student?” I pose, shyly, “Going to that dinner you mentioned last night.” I shrug one shoulder. “I’ll let you buy me a stack of pancakes to celebrate my graduation. I’ll probably introduce you to my sister, Primrose… and we’d go from there… if you wanted to…”

Peeta smiles, disarmingly. “I’d love that too, Miss Everdeen.” He says quietly.

I let go of my braid, and hug myself, “Stay in the class?” I practically beg one last time. “We can do it, I know we can. We can have a platonic, completely innocent teacher-student relationship until I’m done with college,”

Peeta shakes his head. “We’ll see after I talk to my head of department. Who knows, maybe all the schedules are already locked in place, and I have no other choice but to stay put. There’s no guarantee a replacement is available for me.”

“We’ll make it work!” I say enthusiastically.

“Maybe…” he sighs, not entirely convinced.

I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time. Time is running out, I gotta get to the pharmacy before my window of opportunity closes.

“Hey, Peeta… um, invasive, weird question?”

I wait for him to nod.

“Have you by any chance, have gotten a vasectomy at any point?”

“Mmm no, never had. Why?”

Aw shit!

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Hopefully no reason.” I say quickly, too nonchalant for my own good, and he catches on it, I can see the gears turning in his brain, “Okay,” I make a big show of yawning and stretching my arms, “I have to run some errands before going home and crashing for the night.”

Peeta cringes, “Are you… okay? Really, okay? You said you were sore?” His eyes rove over my face full of concern.

“I’m fine,” I smile, “nothing a long soaking in Epsom salts can’t cure.”

“Okay,” he says, unsure. “I don’t want to overstep any worse than I already have, but… I’ve been anxious, wondering if you were alright, if you got home fine to your sister since you left the club. Which, obviously you did… but, I wanted to kick myself for not asking your number, just to be able to check on you… and this is frown upon, a d completely unethical, but—“

“I’ll email you,” I say quickly. “Nothing explicit. But I’ll let you know I’m home and okay.” I’ve spoken to people in code before, this shouldn’t be a problem, and really, sending my professor an email with a time stamp and some innocuous question about the syllabus doesn’t have to be nefarious at all.

“Alright… Just let me know if there’s anything wrong, okay? I swear this won’t become a routine thing or anything, just this time, to give me peace of mind, and because it is late… and well, yesterday…”

“It’s fine, professor. I don’t mind. And… everything will work out,” I say shouldering my bag and pocketing my phone, “everything will work out, even if my Plan B doesn’t,” I smile and scurry out the door, before the puzzlement in his face has time to settle.

After all, a semester is only 15 weeks long, give or take… that’s plenty of time to figure things out.

#alliswell21 #animekpopxx #prompt 144 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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nat-20s · 3 years

Text

what’s poppin everyone please have this fun lil writing warmup/short story inspired by me thinking “Dancing in the Moonlight” was definitely 100% about werewolves

~*~

“So, this your first transformation?”

The counselor? Leader? Tour guide? Asked this with a perfectly jovial tone, as if the typical social mores surrounding, ugh, lycanthropy, didn’t apply to her. They didn’t know what exact title to call her, and her name tag just said “Luna”, which, reflecting on it, either was a joke on her part or a reflection of her parents’ sense of humor.

Picking at the scabs from last month, they cringed and replied, “No. Uh. Second.”

Luna lets out a low whistle. “Oof. That sucks. Guessing you got bitten rather than inherited the ol’ wolfman gene?”

“That’s...kind of personal?”

Unlocking the front door of the log cabin that served as King Harvest’s Headquarters, Luna shrugs and says, “Shit, sorry. Forgot the whole weird stigma around your source of the once monthly nightmare, as if it fuckin matters. Also, I know, I know, ass out of you and me. Hey, you got any dietary restrictions? Gluten, peanut allergies, the like?”

Voice flat, they tell her, “I’m vegetarian,” and waits for the obvious response.

As they wander through the cabin towards the kitchen, Luna flipping on the light switches, generic club music starts to filter in. Instead of the obvious response, Luna asks, “You like veggie burgers? Or maybe pasta? I’d offer salad, but that’s really not gonna cut it for tonight.”

“I ate before I came.”

With a snort, she tells them, “Oh yeah? Did you have about 4000 calories?”

“No? Why would I have?”

Sweeping out her arm, she gestures at the food laying out on the counter and tells them, “Then eat up! 4000 is really a minimum for the night if you don’t want to feel like someone physically beat out all of your energy in the morning. 6000 is more the target area, but we got, hmm, about 15 minutes before things get uncomfortable, and half an hour max before things get dire.”

They glance down to the food, and, admittedly, the broccoli alfredo does look pretty appealing. Still, they have to ask, “Is this a cult?”

Luna lets out a bark of a laugh that has nothing to do with her (maybe) being a werewolf. “Okay, first of all, what kind of cult is like ‘fuck yeah, we’re a cult’? Secondly, despite the first thing, I can say that we’re not a cult. I know how “King Harvest: Center for Movement Therapy” sounds, both clinical and vague enough to be suspicious as hell, but I didn’t come up with the title, blame my long deceased dad for that one. Plus, ‘King Harvest: Bitchin’ Wolf Dance House’ probably wouldn’t look good on the grant applications.”

“Grants?”

“Oh yeah. This bad boy’s been publicly funded since its opening in 1972. Hence no membership fees.”

“Is that why animal control is giving out your business card? Are they one of your sponsors?”

“Nah, that’s just Jack. Me ‘n’ him go way back, hell, to his park ranger days. I mean, yeah, I think he’ll campaign for us, but mostly I think he just hates capturing a wolf in the night only to have a naked, trembling human in the morning, and he knows that our program significantly reduces the odds of that happening, at least in this neck of the woods.”

They let out a hum, then glance back down to the food. As appealing as it down look, they’re still about..30% convinced this is an elaborate organ harvesting operation. Or sketchy sex thing.

Apparently sensing their hesitation, Luna says, “You got a favorite chip?”

“Salt and vinegar.”

Grabbing a sealed family sized bag from the overhead cabinets, Luna tosses it to them. “If you come back next full moon, either eat enough in advance or have a real meal here. That being said, excuse the turn of phrase, you should wolf that down. It’s sure as hell better than nothing.”

They catch it, and the bag opens with a puff of air that speaks to a reassuring lack of tampering. As they toss a chip into their mouth, Luna grabs a water bottle from the fridge and places it down next to them. “So? Any questions for me? We’ve still got about ten minutes before we have to go out there.”

Rolling their eyes, they tell her, “No. None at all.”

“Great! Soon as you’re done eating we’ll get you started.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Yeah, no shit, smart-ass. Seriously, what are your, we haven’t got much time.”

“I don’t know? The whole..thing? I mean, how is it supposed to..work? Like? At all?”

“You ever see Amok Time?”

“Is that relevant?”

“It’s a yes or no question babe.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then the explanation is going to be a lot more technical and take a lot longer, ultimately to likely make less sense.”

“...I’ve seen it.”

“Great! So, Pon Farr is basically this chemical blood imbalance that results in fuck or die disorder, yeah? But then Spock neither fucks nor dies, and eventually the vulcans get their shit together and find out that an intense fight can serve the same function, and the blood fever chills out. Lycanthropy operates on a similar enough basis for comparison. You’re compelled to act out on energetically heavy base instincts, returning to the ways of the wolf or whatever. Traditionally, that’s done through running and hunting, which has, historically, been a crapshoot at best. Theoretically, sex can also get the job done, but I’m sure you can imagine how that gets extremely dicey extremely quickly. Either restraints or isolation has been implemented for a while, but, c’mon, they’re bandaid solutions, and they’re far from foolproof. Luckily for us all, my grandmother decided to connect back with her ancestors, and there was a handful of stories having huge festivals to deal with ‘moon violence’. She tried it out, and, yeah, dancing works.”

“That sounds…”

They don’t know how that sounds. Made up, mostly.

“Like a bunch of hippie bullshit? Yeah, it kind of is, Grandma Josephine was a huge hippie, but it’s hippie bullshit that works. In fact, let’s go see the others, it almost always makes things clearer.”

Figuring that whatever they’re about to see can’t be worse than their transformation last month. They head through the sliding glass door out the back, the thump of the music suddenly loud enough to be felt in their chest. The sight that awaits them makes them drop their chips and let out a gasp. Barely able to speak, they exhale out, “None of them...they’re not wolves. How..how??”

Indeed, the roughly forty people jumping to the pulse of whatever they’re listening to (some to the in house DJ, some, apparently, to what’s playing over the large headphones they have adorned), resemble the image of a wolfman much more accurately. They bare claws, fangs, elongated snouts, upright ears, and serious amounts of hair, but they’re on two legs, and moving like humans. Some of them are even singing along to the lyrics, which really shouldn’t be possible.

Luna grins, making it obvious that she’s used to this level of shell shocks. “Ultimately, you do have to give into some damn rigorous instincts. But dancing is a human instinct, not a canine one, so you end up, well, humanoid. Pretty nifty, huh?”

“And they all..they all keep their minds? I didn’t...they don’t blackout?”

“Not since we banned alcohol in the 90s! Here, watch this.”

Luna nods her head at the DJ, and the DJ, obligingly, turns down the music for a moment. The members of the crowd not listening to their own music pause, then look towards the door. She cries out, “Hey gang! HOW WE ALL DOIN’ TONIGHT?”, and gets a mix between a howl and “WOO!” cried back. The DJ then turns the music back up, and the general movement of the crowd resumes.

They should be more skeptical. They want to be more skeptical, they were just minutes before, but it’s hard to disagree with something right in front of you. “This will work for me? I just..have to dance?”

“Well, it’s not guaranteed. Few things are. But we have yet to have someone turn violent on us. If you start to fell yourself slipping from consciousness, though, I do ask that you start heading further into the woods, as to not hurt other guest. If you find yourself just getting tired, there’s beds inside, and a fair amount of pillows around the edge of the quote unquote dance floor, if you end up in more of a nesting mood. Also, I recommend taking off your shoes before you start.”

“What? Why?”

Luna gives a pointed glance at the dancers’ feet, which, ah. They’re about twice as large as normal and at least twice as sharp. The converse on their feet would be no match. “Ah.”

“Ready?”

They shove off their shoes and place the remainder of their chips aside. “As I’ll ever be.”

Good thing, too, as they’re starting to feel an uncomfortable pressure in their chest that was the prelude to disaster last month.

Luna strides to the center of the dance floor, which is really a plush lawn surrounded by forest. The crowd naturally moves around her, and she yells out, “Aiyana! Play my song!”

Aiyana gives a nod, and the opening notes of “Dancing in the Moonlight” start to sound out. “Seriously?”

Luna shrugs, grinning like a fool, and says, “It’s a classic!”

“It’s cliché at best.”

Luna shrugs, and then begins dancing. She’s hardly elegant, but she is dazzlingly joyful in her uncoordinated movements. As the song reaches the first chorus, she gives a twirl, and in the split second it takes, she’s transformed. They blink in shock, not knowing you could transform that seamlessly, that quickly, that painlessly. Luna in half wolf form is just as expressive as the human Luna, and she gives a nod over her shoulder as if to say Come on.

Feeling somewhat foolish, they start to bop their head to the tune. Luna lets out a huff and grabs their hands, spinning them around and forcing them to get moving. At first, it’s them indulging Luna, but as they let themselves get lost in rhythm, they feel a stretching sensation in their face and limbs. It’s not unpleasant, more like when you wake up and work out the tension in your spine. They open their eyes and look down at their hands, now covered in fur in and made for slashing. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt, and they’re still themselves, and they had no idea that full moons could be like this, maybe for the rest of their lives.

They turn their head to the night sky, and their body can’t help but continue to dance. Despite all their fear, all their dread, “movement therapy” worked, and they can admit, at least to themselves, that they feel warm and bright.

#my writing #nats journey into writing short stories based on 70s songs continues lmao

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thechangeling · 4 years

Text

Shame

Kit reflects on his life and his sexual orientation. I guess this is kind of a character study peice but also partly headcanon.

Ok so massive trigger warnings for internalized homophobia and biphobia. Also a 2012 definition and understanding of bisexuality and gender sk sorry about that but I wanted to be accurate to the time period.

I still have a lot of internalized homophobia even in the year of our lord 2021 so I wanted to work through it in my writing I guess.

"I think you're only fighting for the sake of fighting. Because it's the only state in which you can function. The only way to stop that voice in your head from driving you insane. The one telling you that you should be ashamed of yourself for having loved him."

- Black Sails: Season 2 Episide 5

Kit could remember the first time he felt it as clear as day. The first time he felt that twinge at the pit of his stomach after being reprimanded for talking about his crush on a boy. The inward cringe that followed. That disgust others showed him, reflected back onto himself.

Self loathing became as easy as breathing at such a young age.

He could distinctly remember being in mundane first grade and being asked by a loud girl with light blond hair and crystal blue eyes who he had a crush on. Kit had seen no reason to lie at the time. He had told the girl that he had two crushes. One on a girl in their class who was shy and asocial (he had always had a thing for nerds apparently) with her jet black hair that was always full of hello kitty clips, and another on a boy in a different class who was blond like him with a round face and a giant friendly smile that Kit loved to stare at.

At the time he had no real sense of the seriousness of what he was saying. No sense that he was breaking an unspoken rule in the eyes of his classmates. But Kit would never forget the look on the girls face. The eyes that narrowed in distain, the curled lip and the way her nose crinkled in disgust as she she said, "boys arent supposed to have crushes on boys. That's gross." And the cackling laughter of his classmates surrounding him.

And the feeling that followed, the one that would become as familiar and easy as breathing.

Shame.

That pinch in his gut and the way his blood went cold like someone had just injected him with antifreeze. And then the sinking in his chest accompanied by the realization that he had done something terrible. Kit realized that day that he could never make that same mistake again. So after that day he vowed never to talk about his interest in boys ever again.

The first time he heard the word gay he was eight and it was as an insult. It wasn't directed at him but it still felt like it was. He learned to make the connection between the word and disgust and contempt. But as he grew older he became relieved, because he knew he liked girls. He had always thought they were pretty with their soft skin and nice smelling hair. This meant he wasn't gay so he was safe. He convinced himself that he had just been confused before when he was younger.

So he grew up pushing those feelings to the side and telling himself convincing lies over and over until he finally believed it, and Johnny Rook made it easy. Kit was often so preoccupied with running cons and keeping a low profile that he didn't have much time for self reflection. When he found his gaze wandering, he told himself he was just being curious or suspicious or just appreciating an attractive guy from a purely aesthetic point of view and there was absolutely nothing else to it. He kissed pretty girls whenever he had the chance and enjoyed it and relished in the fact that this meant he was safe.

From an outside perspective it may have looked like Kit Herondale was losing control of the situation.

Maybe they were right.

Tiberius Nero Blackthorn felt like a giant fuck you from the universe for believing that he could ever escape this. Or maybe he was a test. But whatever Ty was, it was a little hard to care when he was animatedly explaining the reproductive cycle of a starfish and beaming at Kit with his rare carefree smile that made Kit feel like he was drowning in bliss.

And despite everything. Despite Kit's fear, it made him want to smile too. The urge to reach out and touch Ty was like a burning in his veins, accompanied by the foolish belief that if Kit could just run his fingers through Ty's matted black hair or press his forehead against his, then everything would be alright.

Kit wasn't sure if he should be grateful or furious.

"How beautiful" had been his first thought upon seeing him. Slipping out of some deep treacherous part of him before he could stop it. Followed of course by the shame.

But he wasn't gay. It didn't matter that Ty was beautiful and captivating and made him feel like he was strong enough to fight the gods themselves given the challenge. It didn't mean anything. He was just confused.

And when Julian made a comment about Herondales having a certain type when he called Clary hot, he ignored the twisting of his insides and the painful fact that his thoughts were drifting off into forbidden territory. He pretended that he was what Julian said he was. What he was supposed to be.

When Livvy had asked him to kiss her it felt like a lifeline. A way to distract himself from all the chaos in his life as well as a way to take his mind off of Ty. A pretty girl was giving him something to cling onto, if only for a moment. He still paused to look upwards. An automatic reflex. Almost as if he was a magnet trying to snap back into it's original place.

Livvy kissed him and although it was nice and sweet, he still felt nothing. Only longing for something else.

Then he learned about Kieran and how he was basically Mark's ex boyfriend. He had been sure that Mark was dating Emma so he asked Livvy about it. She had given him a confused look and just said that Mark was bisexual.

Bisexual.

He had heard the word before, mostly to describe celebrities who wanted to make a name for themselves in the tabloids. Kit had always quickly dismissed it before he could allow himself to actually ponder the idea. It was safer to assume it wasn't actually real, because if it wasn't real then it couldn't be him. He wouldn't have to face up to the fact that an attraction to men and women sounded uncomfortably accurate and familiar.

Bisexual. It gnawed at him in his sleep. Poking at his insides and refusing to let him forget it. And so Kit clued his eyes shut and squirmed his way out if it. He thought of the way Ty's smoke coloured eyes seemed to bore into Kit's soul. The sharp angles of his cheekbones and curve of his cupid's bow. Kit thought of the way Ty had asked if he could give Kit a permanent rune and when Kit had answered sarcasticly, Ty's crestfallen expression had horrified him to the point where Kit had practically begged Ty to do it.

Anything to get that look off Ty's face. But it wasn't like that he reminded himself. It wasn't love. It wasn't love.

Jesus. Love. Just the idea of the word sent Kit into a blind panic. And there was that old familiar feeling curling around his gut. That same disgust. That shame.

Not towards Ty. No of course not. He could never feel that way about Ty, or Mark or Kieran or Helen or Aline or anyone else because they didn't deserve it.

But he did. He always did.

When Livvy was killed, Kit almost felt a sense of relief because at least now he had something else to focus on, something g else to worry about. If he was focused on protecting Ty from his own worst instincts then he wouldn't have time to get list I'm thoughts he shouldn't be having.

He knew this made him a selfish horrible person. Kit accepted it.

Kit knew this plan of Ty's was a reckless and horrible idea but he just couldn't stand to see him in pain. He also couldn't bare the thought if what might happen if he refused to help Ty. Also he was helpless in the face of Ty's pleading gaze. Deep down Kit knew that he would probably do anything for him.

He would break himself trying to put Ty back together.

It wasn't until Ty actually attempted the spell that Kit finally cracked. He couldn't let Ty go through with this. He couldn't risk it.

Why? Something inside of him pondered.

Why?

Because Kit was going to die if something happened to Ty. The spell was going to go bad and Ty was going to get hurt or killed and Kit's heart was going to be brutally ripped from his chest and it was going to be unbearable.

Because-

"I love you Ty," he breathed, hating himself instantly. "I love you."

Ty didn't respond. He didn't react, didnt even flinch. Just stared blankly at Kit.

Shame.

It was going to ruin him. It was going to swallow him whole.

Yikes that was kinda all over the place sorry.

I'm basically tagging all if my mutuals at this point. Let me know if you want me to stop tagging you. @scrat-is-god @playwithravenclaw @lavender-scented-rat @knifescythe @ti-bae-rius @irene-blacxthorn @dianasarrow @doitforthecarstairs @jazzkaurtheglorious @waterlillies @zfoxdraws @julieandthefandoms @older-brother-kit @anxiousbookenthusiast @ilikebooks8 @nott-the-best @stxr-thxif @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @autumnangel20 @hufflepuffyskam

Also let me know if you want to be added!

#tsc #tda #the dark artifices #kit x ty #kit herondale #twp #ty blackthorn #tw internalized homophobia #tw internalized biphobia

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starlightinhumanform · 3 years

Text

24/7: Chapter One

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Romantic Loceit, Platonic Demus, Platonic Logicality

Summary: James (aka Janus) works the graveyard shift at a open-all-night convenience store. Logan is a college student who stays up way too late, way too often. While pulling all-nighters, he often visits the store James works at. As time goes on, James begins to care about Logan as more than just a customer.

Warnings: Moderate Language, Some suggestive jokes, Mentions of ignorant/negative sentiments regarding vitiligo, Mentions of intoxication— some implied to be underage (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: College AU, Coffeeshop AU but weird (that’s literally the best way i can think of describing it), Mutual Feelings, Fluff

A/N: — Janus’ name in this AU is James (mostly because when I began planning this, his name hadn’t been revealed). I may still include his name by writing in a name-change but we’ll see lmao — I do not have vitiligo and do not personally know anyone with vitiligo; Janus’ experience with the condition is based entirely on my research. That being said, I did my best to give an accurate representation but I do not claim that it is flawless in anyway. If there are any improvements you think I can make in this area, please please let me know 🖤🖤🖤 Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Fic Masterpost Fic Request Info

James’ first shift started normally. That is, as normally as he could assume 24 hour convenience store shifts could be. It’s not like he had much experience with it.

Being his first day, he had assumed that the manager would’ve at least stuck around for a while. Instead, the woman had pointed out the bathroom plunger— advising him to not let anyone steal it— told him how to use the slushie machine, and said that if someone tried to rob the store, let them take the money; she even showed him the quickest way to open the cash register. Then she left within the first hour of James’ shift.

James didn’t mind being alone but he couldn’t fight down the frustration at his manager for abandoning him without actually telling him anything useful. He kept worrying that someone would ask a question that he couldn’t answer. What if the customer got angry and then he got reported and lost his job on the first night? Not to mention every time someone walked in, he was ready to bargain for his life with the $225.67 and a random condom in the cash register.

The adrenaline was getting to his head, stirring up usually dormant worries. He couldn’t stop glancing down at his hands. They were warm tan, patterned at random with lighter splotches. He had a condition known as vitiligo which made areas of his skin lose their pigmentation. For the majority of the time, it wasn’t a big deal; the worst part was the weird looks people gave him and even then, he could usually brush them off. Still, there was always the occasional idiot who felt the need to say something rude or inform him that he showed signs of demon possession. He hoped beyond everything that one of those incidents didn’t occur while he was alone in the store.

Thankfully, the only customers for the next few hours were a couple groups of teenagers at varying levels of intoxication and a traveling family made up of two parents suffering from highway-hypnosis and a small child who tried to climb into one of the drink refrigerators.

By one in the morning, the flow of incoming patrons had completely stopped. By that point James had already thrown back an entire 5-hour Energy drink and reorganized the chip rack— twice .

When the entry bell finally rang again at around two, James’ head was buzzing so badly he wasn’t sure if he had imagined the sound or not. A young man walked in— college aged with messy hair and glasses. He disappeared into the rows of brightly coloured plastic bags without a word and so quickly it made James once again question whether or not he was hallucinating.

It wasn’t until the man had made his way back to the counter, setting down a bag of chips and a couple energy drinks, that James was sure he existed. The man’s hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed in two days and his dark circles were so deep they could be seen from beneath his squared glasses. Yup, definitely a college student.

Despite the obvious signs of exhaustion, the man was undeniably pretty. Counter to his tired scowl, his eyes were bright and alert, framing a sharp nose. The way he kept his strong chin tilted slightly upwards and walked with purpose gave him the appearance of someone who actually knew what he was doing with his life— so basically, the opposite of James.

James was hardly ever self conscious about his appearance but this man— this stupidly pretty, oddly perfect man— made James squirm just a little bit, made him wonder if he was living on one side of some scale while the customer lounged on the other side. James tried to shrugged it off, focusing on the items in front of him instead.

The man spent the entire interaction at the counter muttering to himself and never once making eye contact. It was a little strange, but he was cute and James was bored so he decided to just appreciate the entertainment while it lasted.

It wasn’t until James went to hand the man his receipt that he seemed to even become aware of James’ existence. James held out the thin slip of paper, apparently causing the man to flinch backwards. His reaction was strong enough to make James wonder if he was one of those people— the type that thought vitiligo was some sort of deadly, contagious disease.

His eyes darted up quickly, his gaze sharp as it scanned over James’ face, “You’re not the normal cashier.”

He was taken aback by the accusing tone in the man’s voice, “No, I guess I’m not? I just got hired; the other guy got let off… something about trying to steal the plunger.”

“Oh,” His face transformed into a noncommittal scowl that James simply could not read, “Expect me regularly.”

The man turned on his heels and walked briskly to the door as James stood frozen and mystified behind the counter, “Oh, uh… see you soon then.”

——————

James woke up to the smell of something burning. He didn’t even remember dragging himself home and collapsing in his bed but based on the smell bothering him he evidently had made it back. No one could burn food quite like his roommate.

“Remus what the fuck are you doing?” James shuffled out to the kitchen where his roommate was poking at something on the stove.

“Making lunch.”

Based on his bed head and near-complete lack of clothes (Remus always slept in booty shorts and nothing else) James could guess that he had woken up only a few minutes earlier himself, “Dude that does not smell like anything humans should eat.”

Remus gave him a wicked grin and James decided not to push the subject. He walked out of the room with a sigh and hoped that the smell would clear up soon.

He made his way into the living room, sitting down and flipping open his laptop. James groaned at the lack of new email notifications. No new emails meant no new job acceptions.

“Guess I’m working the night shift again.”

James was grateful he got the job at the convenience store— no question. Getting a job as a college dropout was both necessary and nearly impossible at the same time. He was lucky to get a job at all and being a graveyard shift, he got paid nearly double the normal wage for his position. For now, his sleep schedule would just have to suffer.

——————

The weeks drifted by and James fell into a dull, but easy rhythm. He would go to work every night, spend the hours rearranging chip bags, guarding the plunger, and— if he was lucky— the pretty college boy would come in for a few minutes to grab salty food and a caffeinated drink.

James wasn’t sure when it became “lucky” for the man to come into the store. Maybe it was lucky because he was entertaining, always preoccupied and wandering around the store like his mind was a hundred miles away. He had this odd sort of duality— somehow both spaced out and intensely focused at the same time. It was like he was concentrating on the dimension beyond the one James was living in. He floated through this world, always preoccupied with world in his head. It was endearing and intriguing and James found himself looking forward to seeing the man. James wanted to see the world inside his head, to know what was so captivating that he had no use or interest for what was outside of it.

The student was quickly becoming his favourite customer— something James never thought he would have— and he genuinely enjoyed having a chance to talk to the other guy. He was handsome, obviously intelligent, and, if given the chance, James definitely would’ve asked him out for a drink.

As it was though, James looked awful in his uniform so he would never have the confidence to make a move the only times he ever saw him.

James started to watch for him. The man came at least once a week, always between midnight and four in the morning. He must have lived nearby because he always walked over instead of taking a car like most of the other patrons. Either that, or he lived further away and walked all the way just for a bag of chips and an energy drink.

It was a Thursday like any other when he walked into the store and James’ curiosity got the better of him.

“So,” James leaned across the counter as the man sat his items down, “you come around here often?”

He tilted his head quizzically, “Yes? I do come here often? You’ve seen me.”

“No I— it was a joke,” James resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was… not going the way James would have hoped, “What’s your name? We might as well get on first name basis since we see each other all the time.”

“I’m Logan,” Logan seemed surprised by the question.

“I’m James.”

Logan gave a curt nod, “I know.”

“But— how? I—“

“It’s on your name tag,” And with that, Logan turned and marched out of the store.

——————

Logan laid on his back, arms and legs spread over the entirety of his bed. The only leftover space of the bed was occupied by Patton, one of his housemates.

“So how did the all-nighter go?”

Logan groaned, “Well… it sure as hell did go all night. I’m so fucking tired.”

“This is what you get for viewing the entire American university system as a challenge.”

He squinted up at Patton. With his blond hair and round, smiling face he looked like the direct inversion of whatever pale little zombie Logan currently felt like, “I gotta stop staying up so late.”

“I don’t know, you kind of seem to like it,” His housemate patted his leg and stood up to walk out of Logan’s room, “By the way, where do you keep going? I hear you leaving the house, like, super early all the time.”

Sunlight was streaming through his partially open blinds. It was probably quite pretty but to Logan it just looked like a headache-inducing glare. He threw a pillow over his face, muffling his voice as he answered, “Booty call.”

Patton laughed as he stopped walking, “Yeah right. The day you answer a booty call is the day I will shave my head.”

Logan shifted the pillow slightly to look at Patton again. The man’s hair was his prize possession, like a curly fluffy cloud that he kept as a pet on top of his head. Logan didn’t know how Patton could afford the time and money he put into his hair. What he did know, however, was that Patton would never risk its safety. Logan frowned in (mostly) fake insult, “You really think there’s not a single person who would send me a horny text at three in the morning?”

“Nah I think there are quite a few people who would do that. I just doubt there’s anyone you’d actually find worth answering.”

Was there anyone he would actually answer? Logan stared up at the dark fabric above him. The pillowcase was a deep navy blue and if he really squinted, he could see the weave of the thread, a thousand random threads coming together to make a greater whole. The way the individual pieces created something far larger than themselves was fascinating to Logan. He had never given it much before, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever find a random individual worth making something together.

In the darkness covering his eyes, a vision of the convenience store cashier flashed across his mind. The face he saw was light brown and across that warm canvas, lighter portions sprawled. For the first time, Logan began really thinking about that face. He had sharp features, tired eyes, and when he smiled with lips sloped upwards at a lopsided angle. His skin reminded Logan of the glossy photos of nebulae in his astronomy textbooks— bright splashes breaking up the sameness of the night sky. How had he never noticed that before? What was his name? James.

He heard the creak of their old floors beneath Patton as he walked out of Logan’s room. He probably thought Logan had fallen asleep as he lay there in silence. He was far from asleep, though. His mind was racing, trying to find the missed connections and continually finding new ones in the process. His eyes flickered as previously unrecognized thoughts began surfacing. And they didn’t stop. How had he never noticed?

“I’ve been going to that convenience store down the street,” Logan called as Patton walked away.

James.

Maybe there was someone for him.

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