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sonolynn · 3 months

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Forbidden Fruit

summary | Jace didn't want her, but Aemond did.

pairing | Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

tags | 18+ MDNI, Jealously, Aemond yearning, explicit sexual content, mentions of bastards, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, size kink (?), oral f!receiving, Angst if you squint. "Technical" infidelity but is it really if Jace started it? (yes). ooc!Aemond (probably). NOT PROOF READ (its one am, leave me alone).

w.c | 3.8k

note(s) | My first smut fic!! Ah I'm scared...I also think I have a problem with making Aemond want fem!reader when he rightfully can't have her. Also I swear I'm not a Jace hater!! I love Jace, but in this fic specifically I made him long and wish for Baela.

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“Why don’t you marry her then?”

Aegon’s voice was taunting, as if pushing Aemond to say something. Aemond stared down at the cup in front of him; even with a stoic expression, his mannerisms betrayed him. He tapped his finger against the edge of the cup, he picked at the skin around his nails on the opposite hand-all the tell tale signs of thinking, a mind that cannot be stopped.

“Because she is betrothed to Rhaenyra’s bastard.” His voice dripped with malice as he spoke. Aemond hated that Jacerys would inherit the throne enough; What his bastard nephew didn’t need was the girl Aemond had wished for his entire life. Ever since the two of them were children Aemond had a…weird infatuation with her. When he was a boy, he would pick flowers from the garden and he would purposely do good deeds for her, just to have her hug him or smile graciously at him.

But now, everything was different. She was a woman grown, and him a man grown. She was to be engaged to his bastard nephew, and he would have to sit and watch as they shared a kiss, held hands, smiled and danced as newlyweds. He’d have to hold a straight face as the two of them left to Jacerys’ bed chamber, only knowing the connotations that came with what would happen on their wedding night.

Ignoring his brother's tedious rants about hells knows what, Aemond stood from his chair, opting for a walk in the gardens.

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Aemond walked, hands clasped behind his back, and his gaze drifted into nothingness as he walked with just his thoughts, and the cool breeze that accompanied the summer evenings. He tried to distract himself from the thoughts of her, for they were all almost too painful to ever truly think about.

But he couldn’t help himself. He thought of her as a sickness, one that lingered and grew stronger by the day until it fully consumed your every waking moment. He thought of her laugh just as contagious as the plague, her eyes as intoxicating as the finest of wines. He thought her to be a type of sickness, and he so desperately wanted to be affected.

Aemond was never one to smile-one to truly-smile, his half smirks or half smiles were only ever in a sarcastic sense, but for some reason his smiles were real with her. With her he laughed a little more, with her he walked a little faster. He knew it was stupid, perhaps perpetually idiotic-to ever think, let alone long for such a pure and innocent creature.

As Aemond walked, he noticed her sitting by one of the fountains in the garden. She looked breathtaking, he thought to himself. Her hair was down and cascaded down her shoulders, her face was just the perfect amount of shaded with the moon's light. And above all, she held that intoxicating smile that she always held. He never knew why she was always smiling, nor did he wish to find out.

She turned her head, her smile widening at the sight of Aemond.

“Aemond!” Her voice was cheerful, slowly standing as he walked towards her.

“Princess,” Aemond smiled-a half smile-at her as he looked around, then slowly back at her. “It’s quite late. Should you not be in your chambers?”

She always thought the way he cared for her, even if he didn’t show it outright, was extremely enticing. She knew how he was with others, but she knew the differences he had with almost everyone in court-so what made her so different? Why her, the object of the second son's affection.

“Perhaps I do not wish to sleep. Perhaps…I quite like the quietness of the garden.” She smiled innocently, looking back towards the fountain as she started to walk. Aemond knew her well enough to see that this was a quiet plea for him to join her; Because no matter how much she enjoyed the quietness of the garden, she enjoyed it much more when he was with her.

Aemond stared at her, as he often did, but this time, it was different. The stare he held was nothing short of primal. He watched the light in her eyes as she smiled up at him and for some reason, now, he wished to watch as the innocent light in her eyes slowly dwindled as he claimed her.

“Aemond? Is something wrong?” Her voice snapped his thoughts back, if only for a moment. She stopped walking to look up at him and she crossed her arms underneath her chest. His eye trailed down slowly, fixating on the way that her cleavage just slightly out of her dress. He was like a man starved; Clinging to the littlest of details that would make his imagination run wild.

She seemed to notice the way that his eye raked over her chest like a starving man, and her face flushed with embarrassment. She-though subconsciously-reached up to place her arm over her chest, but to her surprise, Aemond gently took her hand, and when she looked up, his one sapphire eye was locked with hers.

“You needn’t cover up. Not around me.” He spoke calmly, though his heart was racing and his head spinning. He let out a shaky breath as he lowered her hand and looked into her eyes.

She watched him carefully, searching his gaze for anything that would betray him. In truth she didn’t know what she was searching for, but she felt as if she should be searching for something.

Aemond lifted a hand, placing the back of his knuckles against her hot cheek. The gesture was gentle, and slow, something he was not known for. His eye slowly trailed down her face, and his eye caught on her lips, his breath heavy as he reached his hand up and gently placed his thumb over her plush bottom lip.

Her eyes followed his, big, and full of longing. She stared at him as his thumb pushed against her lip. She didn’t know exactly what to do; She knew that this moment was intimate, far too intimate to be happening between a betrothed woman and a bachelor. But, the way he gazed at her made her feel hot, and the way he trailed his hand over her face and body made her want to see where this could lead.

His free hand shakily went up to her waist, cupping it firmly as he brought her closer. He leaned forward, just slightly, till his nose was pressed against hers. Her breath hitched, and her eyes instinctively closed. She waited for him to press his lips against hers, to feel his mouth on hers like she had (shamefully) always wished for. But, it never came.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw Aemond breathing heavily, desperately trying to restrain himself. He pulled away slightly, and he shook his head,

“I shouldn’t take advantage of you…not like this.” Though his words held conviction, it seemed his body betrayed him. His hand stayed on her waist, slowly trailing up and cupping her breast in his hand. She gasped softly at the feeling, and his thumb went to her lip again before he connected his lips to hers. She responded immediately, putting her hands on his arms.

He kissed her like he was dying, his body subconsciously reacting more to the kiss then he’d wish it to. He pulled her flush against him, his strong hands coming to cup her face, his shoulders shrugging in a futile attempt to have her closer. He opened his mouth, causing her to gasp at the feeling of his tongue against hers. Her mouth moved with his as if it was known to her; As if this was a dance she had practiced for years to perfect, as if the dance of her lips was a song that Aemond had mastered just for her.

She practically melted in his arms. She had been kissed before; Jace was a good kisser but he was soft, and the kisses were never not chaste. But, kissing Aemond was like walking through fire. Her entire body reacted to the way he clung to her body, how he pulled her impossibly closer. It was like a fire had escaped through his lips and was now coursing through her veins and settling in her abdomen.

Even though she didn’t know exactly what to do, it seemed her body did. Her hands slid down his arms and slowly made their way to his chest as she moaned softly.

The moan grounded him, like he had been falling from the heavens and down to earth. He suddenly pulled away, breathless as he stared down at her. Her eyes opened steadily, and she looked up at him with confusion while a frown graced her kiss swollen lips.

“We shouldn’t have done that.” He spoke breathlessly, his hand still gently stroking her side.

“Maybe not..but it felt good.” Gods, the way she spoke held him in a chokehold. He wished desperately to dive back into her; To drown in her lips and never come up for air, but..

“Not again. You are to be married.” He suddenly pulled away and at the feeling of his hands leaving her body, she frowned deeper.

“Aemond-” “Goodnight, Princess.”

And with that, the prince turned and rushed back into the keep.

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Aemond couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in bed, picking at his nails, biting his lip-genuinely anything to help stop the incessant thoughts of her lips.

The thoughts started off sweet and innocent. The way she looked up at him as he trailed his thumb over her lip, the way her lips pursed just slightly when he leaned forward.

But then the thoughts got venereal fast. He thought about how he felt to finally kiss her. The way his lips practically burned when they pulled away. He knew that as he gazed at her kiss swollen lips his night would be harbored with thoughts of what they’d look like doing gods knows what else.

His hand slid down underneath the sheets, firmly grasping at his length as he let out a shuddering breath. He hated doing this; Feeling so pent up and so desperate that he had to resort to using himself. But as of right now he couldn’t care less.

He imagined her lips around his cock, her innocent eyes gazing up into his. He’d imagine the way she’d gag around him, how her lips would look kissing the head of his cock.

He groaned at the thought, his head tipping back as he closed his eye and let his thoughts wander more. He’d think about how she’d look with his seed covering her lips and her chin, how she’d moan his name as he devoured her between her legs-

He peaked with a gasp, and a low moan of her name. The minute his orgasm washed over him, and he started to slowly come down, he felt an intense feeling of guilt, shame, but most of all pain.

Guilt and shame because he hated himself for touching himself to someone who couldn’t be his.

Pain because she’d never be his. Pain because he knew that no matter what he did, she’d still be betrothed to Jacerys.

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The next morning, she sat alone at breakfast, supposedly liking it more that way. With her fiance practically ignoring her, and her father too entranced with kissing the king's ass, she learned to enjoy the solitude of just…nothing.

Plus, she always had her thoughts. Even if they were only occupied with Aemond.

She played around with the food on her plate as her mind trailed. She remembered the way he kissed her, how he held her. She felt happy, something she so rarely felt with Jacerys.

She knew how he felt, how he longed for and wished for Baela. She did not blame him, she was beautiful, but she also didn’t feel sad, which, at a point did bother her but, not so much.

At least, not after last night.

She smiled to herself as she thought about the kiss, wishing that he would do it again, longing for the way the heat escalated through her body.

She didn’t register the voice next to her until it spoke her name.

She looked up, surprised. But, when her eyes met with Aemond’s, her heartbeat quickened, and she smiled.

“Aemond.”

“You’re not hungry?”

“What?” “You’re not eating.” “Oh,” Her cheeks flushed red for a reason unbeknownst to her, and with a soft huff, she pushed the plate away, “It seems as though I have lost my appetite.”

Aemond looked concerned at that, and he looked down at her. Despite himself, he found himself worrying yet again for her comfort, her needs.

“Is something the matter?” She shakes her head, but for some reason, Aemond was persistent. “If this is about what happened last night, then I should apologize-”

“Apologize?” She interrupted, sitting up straighter at the mention of the word. “Why?”

“Yes…apologize. Because we should not have done that-”

“But I wanted it to happen.”

Aemomd stopped and he slowly looked towards her. His eye pierced into hers as if to read every thought and emotion that crossed her brain. He just simply couldn’t believe her.

“You shouldn’t say things you do not mean, Princess.”

“You don’t know that I don’t mean it.”

“Princess-”

“Aemond.” She said his name as if to challenge him, and he knew that he truly could never challenge her. He saw it in her eyes, he saw by the way she looked at him and smiled that she wished for him just as he wished for her. But these feelings-these blockages-would only cause unnecessary trouble.

“Please, do not give me a hope that cannot be upheld.” Her heart broke a little at that, and, as he stood to leave, she instinctively stood with him, taking his wrist in her hand as she pulled on his arm. As if the small gesture would stop him from walking, (it did).

“Aemond please..You do not know what I wish for.”

His lip curled down into a small frown as he looked at her. He knew what she felt-at least he thought he did-but even if his suspicions were right, even if she did wish for him like how he longed for her, he couldn’t. He may dislike, perhaps even hate his nephew, but he was better than stealing his fiance.

Right?

“We cannot. To be with you would disgrace your family and the alliance-”

“Fuck the alliance!” She swore, her eyes boring into his as she studied his face. “Fuck the alliances Aemond, I wish for you. Desperately, I wish for you. Jace does not see me like how you do. Jace does not make me feel the way that you do-”

“It does not matter if Jace makes you happy or if he makes you feel desired-” “He does not wish for me as you do!”

“Princess-” “You do not understand! We are speaking of breaking it off. Neither of us wish for this.” Aemond went quiet at this and he sighed heavily, turning his full body towards her. He pried his arm away from her, staring at her incredulously, his body language giving no open window to how he was truly feeling. With no words coming from him, she continued.

“I love you.” At those words Aemond showed his shock. He took a step back from her and he raised an eyebrow.

“You do not mean-”

“Oh for the love of-Yes! I mean it! I love you, Aemond! I love you as if it is breathing! Instinctively, not thinking about it….I love you.”

Aemond couldn’t hold it anymore, he walked to her and gripped her face tightly, her cheeks squishing slightly in his grasp as he smashed his lips against hers. She initially was shocked at the sudden kiss, but she kissed him back fiercely, holding his wrists as she leaned up to kiss him deeper.

He led her back until he pressed her back against the table, holding her thighs as he pushed her onto the table. His body fit perfectly in between her thighs, just like he imagined it would. His hands gripped her thighs, one of his hands traveling up, feeling and savoring the soft skin as he groaned.

She pulled away from the kiss to leave small kisses along his jaw. He bit his lip at the feeling, the action presumably so innocent and so sweet it almost made him chuckle.

He pulled back slightly, his gaze intense and lust filled as his hand trailed underneath her breasts.

“Tell me to stop.” He demanded. His head was spinning with the lust that clouded it. He waited for her to push him away, or to whimper a soft “I do not think myself ready”- But she shook her head, bringing his head back to hers swiftly to connect their lips in another passionate kiss.

He pulled away from the kiss, groaning to himself as he left hot, open mouthed kisses against her jaw and neck. He looked down, his breath heavy as he stared down into her cleavage. He wished for nothing more than to rip her dress open and kiss every inch of her body, but being in the dining room came with its disadvantages. So, he settled for kissing her cleavage, before trailing his lips down the fabric of her dress till he came to her thighs.

Aemond pushed her dress up as far as he could, staring at her the whole time. He slowly pushed her thighs about, giving her time to stop him but she never did. Gently kissing the inner side of her thigh, he tried to reassure her. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes; The way she looked at him with both anxiety and lust. He stared up at her searching for any sign or signal that would make him stop.

“Is this okay?” Once he saw the light nod of her head, he disappeared underneath her dress.

She had never been intimate with a man-courtesy of her father, enforcing the “Women should be pure” melodramatic speech into her head ever since she could stand. She always thought it to be a chore, only having heard stories from unhappy married women who hated their husbands, and much less disliked their children a little less, but this? This was exciting, this felt good.

She placed a hand on his head, moaning his name under her breath as he ate her like a beast. His hands gripped her thighs as if to ground himself-He had tasted women before but for some reason she was so much sweeter, so much more divine. His eyes practically rolled back just from pushing his tongue into her heat, sucking gently on her flit before he pulled away slightly, focusing his attention on her clit as he dipped a finger inside of her.

The sudden stretch made her jump, and gasp loudly. She may have pleasured herself before but it really never felt like what Aemond was doing to her. He eased his finger in slowly, dragging it back out, and then slowly pushing it back in. Hearing the moans that graced her lips, he continued the slow thrust of his finger for a moment before he added another one.

She let out a loud moan, a hand on the back of his head as she pushed his head closer to her heat. She felt him chuckle against her, the vibrations only adding to the pleasure. She moaned loudly, perhaps too loudly for comfort, but Aemond only seemed to want more of those noises to come from her.

He slowly curled his fingers, his mouth praising her clit. The added pressure with the curl of his fingers, and the sucking of her clit made her eyes squeeze shut.

“Oh gods Aemond, I’m going to-” Just as her orgasm was going to consume her, it stopped. With her heavy breathing, and slightly shaky legs, she slowly sat up. Aemond smirked up at her, holding her gaze as he nipped at her inner thighs. “You stopped..”

“Yes. Because if you are going to peak it should be on my cock.”

Her face flushed at the words, and she stared at him with wide eyes as he pulled his trousers down slightly to free his throbbing cock. As their eyes met, he seemed to notice the slight anxiety in her eyes, because he pressed his forehead against hers and lined himself up with her entrance.

“Tell me to stop if it hurts too much.” She nodded in response, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders as he pushed into her. She let out a gasp; The feeling was new, discomfiting but..new. Her face scrunched up at the stretch, and Aemond shushed her quietly as he started to move. After a few thrusts, her body relaxed, and she started to moan his name.

Hearing his name fall from her lips was like a prayer answered, like a lifelong dream he had been waiting for. He grunted as he started to rock his hips back and forth into her slowly. It took everything inside of him to not pound into her, to fuck her like he had fantized about. He wished that her father could see her now, her maidenhood gone and her body fully submitting to the pleasure he so gracefully gave her.

“Aemond..Aemond oh gods-” Her voice broke as he went faster, her moans only getting louder. She tried to wrap her mind around the pleasure he was giving her, the way his hips moved slowly yet deeply, the way the tip of his thick cock rubbed against the spot so deliciously. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she held him close to her.

One of his hands was on her thigh, the other on the table as he thrusted into her, as if holding the edge of the table would stop the creaking sounds, or the way she moaned his name, or how his groans got louder as his climax approached.

White splattered her vision as her orgasm washed over. She cried out his name in pleasure, holding him close as his legs trapped him inside of her. The feeling of her core pulsating and tightening made Aemond’s head spin, and he grunted out a moan of her name as he came himself, spilling his seed inside of her.

As the two sat there, basking in the afterglow of being intimate, neither of them would move for what felt like hours. Even though the position that they were in was compromising, they smiled, and laughed softly at the situation itself.

Once they both got cleaned up-the best they could get cleaned up for just having sex on the dining room table-Aemond took her hand. She smiled softly at Aemond, her heart racing in a new, and exciting way. The two stared at each other for a while, trying to wrap their minds around the fact that now, they could truly be together, or at least, now, they had a hope that they could be together.

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hoonvrs · 1 year

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21st CENTURY GIRL — p. jongseong

PAIRING jay x fmr

SYNOPSIS where jay 'claims’ he has a girlfriend but none of his friends believe him because how are you a girl in the 21st century and don't have any social media, right? and if you and jay continue to let them think your relationship is fake for entertainment purposes, nobody has to know.

GENRE smau, fluff, est. relationship, crack

FEATURING (enha) all

WARNINGS swearing, kys/kms jokes, friendly bullying, sex jokes, nobody believing jay ( more will be added if necessary )

STATUS complete

TAGLIST ( CLOSED )

S. NOTE this is planned to be a short smau since the idea isn’t really suitable to be long but i hope u enjoy anyways mwah

also please don’t spam like as it shadowbans me and lessens engagement <3

PROFILE lightning mcqueefs

CHAPTERS

01 okay piss boy

02 galentines*

03 wtf bro

04 did the voices tell you that

05 fuck WHAT

06 brick tennis with tt a cat

07 be fucking for jinja

08 fowl play :3

09 crazy? i was crazy once…

10 no YOU have attachment issues

11 knee moan ya

12 don’t worry about it

13 cuh dey bord

14 je suis le bug de l'an 2000 whiz whiz

15 sacrificial lamb duh

16 nurse he’s out again

17 OUR girl

18 oh my bad gang

19 now break up.

20 tie my laces bitch

↳ extra: random

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daenysthedreamersblog · 8 months

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ONLY ANGEL

she's gonna be an angel, just you wait and see

when it turns out she's a devil in between the sheets

and there's nothing she can do about it

summary: you've been 'betrothed' to felix ravinstill since before he could remember, and as that official engagement day draws closer coriolanus is tired of pretending you don't belong to him

parings: academy!coriolanus snow x academy!reader

warnings: MDNI! swearing, mild violence, infidelity, smut, thigh riding, fingering, oral sex, p in v sex, lil exhibitionist kink, mild daddy kink, breeding kink, discussion of murder, reader is a huge slut for coryo, coryo is also a slut for reader, idk probs some more that i forgot

notes: this one was fun :) hope u enjoy!!!

Felix Ravinstill was his natural born enemy. He remembers deciding it when he was younger watching your small hand hold Felix's even though neither of you knew what it meant, he remembers it settling into his bones that very first day at the Academy when Felix had his arm around your waist and you had turned to look at Coriolanus, a small smile on your lips, a cherry sucker in your teeth as you spoke with the voice of a candy coated temptress, "Hi Coryo."

He hated Felix Ravinstill for having you, always had, always will. Today, he especially hated him. It was an ordinary day, most of the students crammed in the academy library to work on their most recent assignments. That's why he was there, stack of books next to him, mindlessly staring at a blank sheet of paper. He could hear the rest of his table too loudly to focus, hear as Festus made some crude joke, listen to how Arachne told him off, as Felix's hand was making its way over to you.

You.

Sweet, pretty thing you. He didn't understand what you saw in Felix enough to let him touch you, nor anyone at that table. But that was the only reason he truly hung around that crowd of elite children, so he could slither in closer to you.

You.

With your cherry sucker rolling between your lips, Felix's hand around the back of your chair as you leaned back the top buttons of your uniform shirt undone, sweat glistening slightly along your chest. It was a hotter fall day, the AC not working in the library, but he didn't mind, not with how revealed it made you. He glanced down, his pants uncomfortably tight as he imagined what your sweat would taste like. He sighed readjusting himself glancing up to see you looking at him. Felix was looking down at a book Festus was showing him as Arachne scribbled something down on a sheet of paper.

You pushed it into your cheek, tongue peeking out at the movement, your fingers dancing on the edge of the white stick. His eyes darkened as the wicked smile played on your lips, he knew you did things like this on purpose; sweetest torture one could bear. He palmed his hard cock, eyes quivering with the little bit of relief it gave him and all he wanted was it to be your hand rubbing him. He wanted to drag you by your hair and slam you on this very table in front of everyone and shove his co-!

"Coriolanus." Arachne Crane drawled .

He blinked up at her, the whole table now looking at him. "Yes?"

"Are you coming to the orientation event tonight?"

The event. The first event of the school year where the Academy stuffed all its students in a room to kick off the start of the year. "Of course." He nodded. "I have to give a speech for the underclassmen." And there would be food, and probably you.

His eyes met yours for a moment as your cheeks sucked in to roll the sucker back the other way. "Always the overachiever Coriolanus." Felix joked his fingers toying with the collar of your shirt and he fought the urge to snap his wrist.

He watched as you popped the sucker out of your mouth, lips a shade redder from it, and he knew if he licked into your mouth he would taste the cherry.

Felix Ravinstill's days were limited.

He knew it would go well, his speech, it was never what he was worried about, he was top of the class for a reason, he knew most of the students didn't care for being spoken to, but he knew once he saw you it would be over for him. He knew you were out there somewhere, maybe listening to him, maybe with your stupid boyfriend's hand around your waist.

And you were, staring him down while your lips wrapped around a strawberry.

He hid his throbbing erection behind the podium.

He wanted to wrangle your neck sometimes, wanted to curse the blood pounding in his cock as he watched you drop the fruit carcass onto your plate and lick your lips. He cleared his throat, his skin too hot, trying to avoid looking to see you pick up another one.

The words felt useless and he forced himself through it letting your eyes bore into his, letting himself press his cock against the podium just to ease the pressure.

You picked up another, taking another bite a little bit of juice sliding down your chin and he fought the urge to run off this stage and lick it off, to suck your chewed up fruit into his mouth. You took your hand, wiping it off your jaw, and sucked it off your own fingers.

He wondered how your mouth would feel around his cock, how warm and soft your tongue would be against him. He wanted to fuck his cock deep down your throat until you gagged, drowning in his cum.

He cut his speech short, getting to the point to get off the stage. He busied himself with food to avoid thinking of you even though that was impossible. He would stay for an hour, eat, drink a glass of posca, and then head home before he shoved a plastic knife into Felix's throat.

You all knew each other, grown up together, and it was always set in stone that you would marry Felix. It was something older families had set up before either of you could talk. You two were always together after that, and he kept you on his arm like a pretty accessory. Coriolanus figured you probably felt indifferent about the whole thing, he had never been able to really ask you about it, and you never gave him straightforward answers if you didn't want to.

He turned finally seeing you across the room. It was cruel of you really to wear a skirt that short in front of him and have Felix's greasy fingers pawing you. A skirt he wished he could push up and bend you over in front of your stupid boyfriend. You would let him too, he knew you would, it's what bothered him the most.

Your eyes met his and held them as you took a sip from your glass eyes burning into his over the rim. You turned, whispering something to Felix, motioning to your cup, and peeling off of him walking straight for Coriolanus.

"Hi Coryo." You smiled brushing past him to where all the food was being kept along the table setting your half eaten fruit down. He loved the way you said his name, how it rolled off your tongue like golden honey.

"Hey." He sipped on his drink.

You refilled your cup, "Your speech was nice."

"Not too boring?" He joked as your body turned to face his.

You smirked against the rim. "I don't think your boring." Your lips were still red from the strawberry and Coriolanus wanted to taste that sweetness, you're so close he can smell it off of you. He clenched his fist instead. "You're the most interesting man I know."

Man. You had said man as if your loser boyfriend wasn't 20 feet away no doubt watching this whole encounter. Coryo leaned down a little closer, "I don't think Felix would like to hear you say that."

You fucking shrugged, "Then he won't." You turned your hair brushing his chest at the movement. "Bye Coryo."

This was the game the two of you played, you would make your eyes, say little comments, accident brush into him, and then you were gone leaving him achingly hard.

You were walking away hip swaying as you walked. You were trouble.

You were his trouble.

Sweet, irresistible you who was forced to leave ten minutes later by your boyfriend leaving Coriolanus to steal your plate of half eat fruit simply to taste your leftover spit and take a long walk home alone to go over what needed to be done.

"Trouble in paradise it seems." Clemensia slid down into the seat across from Coriolanus motioning to you and Felix, upset expression's on both of your faces. "Daddy must have picked out the wrong ring."

Coryo furrowed his brow, "Ring?" He knew it was coming soon, but he'd thought he'd have time to climb his own ladder to take you from Felix by right.

“Oh you haven’t head the news?” Clemmie cocked an eyebrow a sly smile on her face. “They’ve been ring shopping, or their parents have been. They'll be engaged by the end of the year.” She chuckled peering over at the two of you. “He’ll head off to University and she’ll be at home getting fat with his child.”

The food on his plate went sour. “What?”

Clemmie rolled her eyes, “Her father is pushing hard to set the marriage in place. He wants his daughter to be First Lady of Panem, and he is President’s Ravenstill’s direct heir.”

Coriolanus Snow, future President of Panem, I salute you.

Well if your father wanted you to marry the president, he was selling you to the wrong son.

He pushed his food around watching you storm away from Felix. And because he didn't like to waste food, nor look that suspicious he finished his lunch. He waited a few minutes, excused himself, and he was on his feet following where you ran off too.

He looked for a while finding you deserted at a lone table in the library.

"Hey." He said softly to not spook you.

He watched you slowly look at him expecting red eyes and tears, but instead your expression was blank another sucker in your mouth. "Hi Coryo." You still said his name so sweetly like the sugar from your candy laced your vocal cords.

"You alright?" He stopped in front of you.

"Yeah." You sighed rolling it along your teeth. He wanted to ask why you were arguing with Felix, if you truly enjoyed his company, or was this one big farce to appease your family. Instead he stared at you waiting for you to fill in the gaps themselves. You wouldn't, you never did, you never liked to reveal your cards, and he could only assume the argument had everything to do with postponing the engagement and nothing about a ring. You only cocked your head to the side hair falling over your shoulder. "Did you need something?"

He did, desperately. And he was tired of denying it to himself.

He walked over, pushed your chair back and settled his hands on either side of the chair's arms, towering over you. "Where do you get all those?" He asked finger bouncing off the stick.

You smirked up at him your knees sliding between his thighs, "My daddy." He was hard. He felt his pants fighting with his cock as he stared into your eyes. "Do you want one?"

He was sick of this game you played, and he was running out of time.

He didn't answer, but his lips parted as he reached forward and pulled the one from your mouth. He thought you were sick of the game too because you let him, let him slide it off your tongue, watching the trail of spit still attached, and into his own mouth. He pushed it past his lips feeling his cock twitch as he finally tasted that sticky sweet sucker you always had on you. "Cherry."

"Hmm." You had a smug smile on your lips as you stared up at him and slowly he felt your legs begin to part between his own. He glanced down, glanced down as your uniform skirt began to ride up bare thighs. He wondered if he reached his hand under there if he would find you naked and drenched. He thinks knows he would.

"Your boyfriend will be upset if he finds you like this." He says leaning down a little closer to you.

You feign innocence. "I'm not doing anything."

You settle into the chair more you shirt collar widening as he views the dainty gold necklace around your neck with the letter 'F' on it. His fingers go to it, tracing the letter, then he's trailing up your neck tilting your face up more by your chin. He wants to strangle you with it. "Do you enjoy teasing me angel?"

"Do you enjoy getting hard by it?" You ask back and he shoves your sucker deep into his cheek to grid his teeth. Your eyes go to the bulge in his pants.

His hand tightens on your jaw, "Let me come over."

"My daddy won't like that." You shake your head.

His cock throbs. "I don't care."

Your hand splayed against his chest as you sit up more, "Why do you want to come over so badly?"

"You know why," His fingers dig into your skin fighting the urge, forcing restraint into his body.

You move forward more your face inches from him, "Do I?"

"Because you want me to." His eyes flicker around your face. "That's why your always making those eyes at me hmm? Rubbing against me like a bitch in heat?"

Your hand goes to his wrist to pull it from your face, and then your dragging it down between your legs. He can't look away from your face, not as you trail his hand up your thighs to brush his fingers against your soaked pussy. He was right, you weren't wearing anything under your skirt and he knew it was just for him, and him alone. "I can't help it." You pout rubbing his knuckles against your folds. "You make me so wet all the time Coryo."

He curses as you shutter when his fingers bump against your throbbing clit and he losing the battle of self control. He wants Felix to find you like this, find you screaming out for Coriolanus as you cum. Instead he runs his hand along your arousal one last time and straightens up, "Let me walk you to class."

You watch with a flush on your face as he sucks your wetness off his fingers, letting it mingle with the tart cherry of your sucker still on his tongue. He's surprised you don't force him to give it back before Felix's sees. "Okay." You say standing up and he sees your own wetness sliding down your thigh. You let him tuck your hand into his arm so he could walk you out and back towards class. "I think I'll sit with you today if you don't mind." You tell him as you cross the classroom's threshold together. He's not surprised after the earlier argument you seemed to be reeling from.

You take the seat on his left when you usually sit a row down with your stupid boyfriend. And when said stupid boyfriend walks in later a glare settles in his gaze watching him look between you and Coriolanus who still sucked on your candy. Felix grumbles, but sits down anyways with no more fuss, Coriolanus chuckled silently to himself. You don't speak much more to Coryo, just mindlessly doodle on some paper with you head resting on your hand.

But then class starts, and your knee knocks into his.

At first he thinks it's an accident, but a couple minutes later you do it again leaving your leg to rest against his. He wants to reach out, rub his hand up you thigh to bury in your cunt. He wants to watch you squirm and fight the noises he was pulling from you. He wants to make you cum a row behind your boyfriend, and you would let him.

He knew why Felix kept such a tight leash around you, if this was how you behaved off of it.

By some form of grace or luck of whatever watched over Coriolanus Snow, the class assignment required partners. He usually would partner with Clemensia, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up as he turned to look at you, an expecting glint in your eye, "I'll come over tomorrow night?"

You only laughed a little, but you didn't say no. And he watched as Felix came stumbling up from his chair to grip his hands against the edge of the table where you sat like the desperate swine he was, struggling for scraps. "Come over, we can work on it together."

You frowned sweetly, almost looking truly apologetic. "Oh I'm sorry. Coryo already asked me to be his partner."

Felix's angry eyes burned into Coriolanus, "We're always partners though." He leaned forward to whisper. "If this is about our argument earlier I can just..."

"No." You patted his shoulder. "Of course not, but really I can't say no to Coryo now that would be awfully rude."

"I'm sure Clemensia needs a partner." Coriolanus added. "Sorry Felix."

Felix only motioned for you to get up so he can take you home. You stood up and smiled down at Coriolanus, "Bye Coryo."

He watched you walk away wetness still glistening on your legs, the taste of it still on his tongue.

He arrived five minutes sooner than he was supposed to. He knew your parents were home, and wanted to impress them, wanted your father to realize how much better than Felix he was, it wouldn't be a hard task. He knocked, his hand lying limp at his side waiting for someone to answer.

It was your father.

He was a wealthy man, not as wealthy as Strabo Plinth, but enough. It was all about where he had put his money during the war, investing in the right places, unlike the Snows. You kept up with the league of elite children in school, you belonged there in the thick of it all. Snow did too, but he had to work harder to keep that image and he hated that that was the only thing keeping him from you.

He reached a hand out to shake your father's hand, “Coriolanus Snow.” He introduced.

“I know.” He offered a tight smile as he shook Coriolanus’s hand. “She told me you were stopping by to help with some…assignment.”

He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

But your father never moved as he took back his hand, never invited him inside leaving Coriolanus to stand awkwardly in the door frame. “Daddy.” Your sweet voice piped in shoving past his tall frame to open the door more. “Stop scaring him.”

Daddy. It sent a cool chill down his spine as you stared up at your father. “I’m not.” He held up his hands, “ Just wondering why you need help in school in the first place.”

“It’s a group assignment.” Coriolanus added as your eyes flitted up to him. “We got paired together.”

“Oh,” You father relaxed stepping away from the door. “You can work a the table then.” He motioned to your dining room table.

You walked away from him leaving him to follow you into your home and close the door. “We were actually goi-!”

“No bedroom.” You father shot at you without even looking as he disappeared into your home.

You sighed finally turning around, you motioned to the table, “You can set your stuff down here.” You instructed. “I’ll be right back.” You left, no doubt going to gather all your school work from your room. “Are you hungry?” You asked once you returned with your piles of books and papers. You were wearing one of you cute little plaid tweed mini skirts that hugged your thighs and he knew you weren't wearing anything under it.

“I ate before I left.” He lied.

“You can stay for dinner if you want.” You sat down next to him your leg sliding against his. He knew you did things like that on purpose just to touch him, just to drive him insane as your perfume wafted into his nose. He began to protest, he wanted to stay, if only to convince your father he was the better man. “Stay, please.” You set your hand on his wrist as you smiled.

He nodded. “Okay.”

The two of you did get to work after that as he educated you through what was needed for the assignment, your shoulder against his as you watched what he wrote down. Sometimes he truly thought you never payed attention, maybe you thought you were too pretty for school and it wasn’t needed. You were too pretty for it. You didn’t need it. He knew your father had set you up with someone wealthy to ensure you have a long profitable life without having to work for it. Yet, here you were working towards it anyways. He admired it for a moment, but your hand fell on his thigh and he knew he would end up having to do the whole assignment by himself.

He didn't mind as he listened to the quietness of your house. You glanced up at him, and he met your eyes realizing how close your face was, and he knew what you wanted as you bit your lip. "Does your daddy know what a little slut you are?" He whispered.

"No." You breathed slinging your leg over his thigh to straddle it.

His hands went your thighs, "Then you better be quiet angel." He glanced down as your skirt rode up your thighs your bare cunt pressed against the meat of his leg, he felt your wetness seeping through. He leaned back, watching as you rocked your hips against his thigh. He took a second, just one second, to enjoy the feeling of your body against his, enjoy the fact you were riding him, getting off to him, then he was sliding his hands up your bare thighs to wrap around your body. You were so soft under his touch like you had bathed in rose petals. His fingers dug into your waist forcing them to roll against him harder and you made a small noise from the back of your throat.

"Felix can't get you off can he?" You whine as your clit rubs against him, the sweet friction of it all making your head fall back slightly, "No he doesn't know how to handle you does he?" He stared up at you, at your open mouth, and he runs his hand down your hair. "That's why you came crawling after me." You grind against him faster chasing your own high as your hand goes to his pants palming his hard cock through his pants.

You're such a whore, he knows that about you, he knows you hide it so fucking well and yet here you were, fucking his thigh, hand halfway down his pants when your father could come find you any second. It makes him want to slam you back on the table and sink his cock into your wet heat just for him to see, just to prove he was the man of this house, of you. "Coryo." You moan out quietly and he thinks its the sweetest way you'll ever say his name. You slid your hand down his cock. He groans out taking in the sight of your hand working him, swirling your hand around the shaft pre-cum leaking out of the tip.

He wants to bury his face into your mouth, your neck, your breast, but he can only watch you, watch you get yourself off on top of him. He flexes his thighs the same time you tilt yourself forward and your grip tightens on him. He stares up at your face, eyes glazed over as you grind your pussy down hard against him, lip tugged between your teeth pumping his cock at the same rhythm as your body. He feels you clench your thighs and soon enough you cum, drenching his pants with your pleasure. He wraps his hand around yours to fuck your hand faster, harder, and then he's planting it against your soaked thigh to cum against you, hot white ropes of it splashing across your skin. You don't move off of him, you both sit there for a while breathing heavily against each other until you straighten up to stare down at him.

"I don't let Felix touch me." You say hands coming up to toy with the ends of his curling hair.

"Why?"

You only smile and he's never thought you looked more beautiful, sweat on your hairline, red cheeks, and his cum on your body. You glance down at the clumps of white covering your skin, and then you run two fingers through it, gathering it on your fingers, and shoving them in your mouth sucking his cum off. He's mesmerized as you groan gently popping your fingers out and licking your lips. You climb off his body to settle back into your own chair glancing down at the wetness staining Coriolanus's pants seeping down onto his skin a satisfied feline grin on your face.

Your mother came through the next second, “I’ll set the table for four?”

You smiled up at her, “Yes ma’am.”

He dined with your family, a deliciously huge meal, one he hadn’t had in a while and he wondered if your parents could smell your actions in the air. “She didn’t give you too much trouble son?”

Your father’s voice made him look up as he asked, “No sir.”

He turned to you, “Why wasn’t Felix your partner?”

“He went with someone else.” You shrugged pushing your food around.

“I’ll speak with him.” Your father said.

“Daddy no.” Coriolanus shifted in his seat at the whine. “Please don’t.”

Coriolanus cleared his throat watching both eyes snap up to him. “I asked to be your daughter's partner for this assignment, and she was too kind to tell me no.”

Your father relaxed as Coriolanus had saved you from some lecture. You gave him a sly smile as your mother chimed in, “I made apple pie.”

After desert, and a minor interrogation from your father about his plans after The Academy, you walked him to the door. He didn’t like that your father felt the need to exert his power over him. In all honestly he didn't trust your father's intelligence if he thought Felix was a good option for you. You stepped outside with him closing the door behind you. You leaned against it staring up at him biting your bottom lip. He planted his hand next to your head towering over you.

"Are you gunna kiss me goodnight Coryo?" You tilted your face up for him.

"I don't think Daddy would like that very much." His hand comes up to your chin.

You smirk, going onto your toes to brush your lips against his. "Oh I think Daddy will."

He attacks your mouth tasting the sticky sweetness that was you, always would be you. The taste of apple is still on your tongue from your mothers pie, apples and cinnamon everything that was nice layered your lips as he licked along it feeling you part your mouth for him to slip inside. His hands were in your hair pulling you closer as you braced your hands on his chest melding your lips against his. He swept his tongue into your mouth meshing it with yours. He yanked your head back to stick his tongue down your throat feeling your back arch so your breast press against him, and the salty remnants of his cum lace your molars. He nips at your bottom lips your moan vibrating through him as he sucks and tugs on it until he knows it will bruise. Then he pulls back, "Are you going to let me fuck you angel?"

You give him a breathy laugh, "See ya, Coryo." Then you disappear back into your home.

By the time next week hit you were back in your normal spot next to your boyfriend. It shouldn't have surprised Coriolanus, he knew you were just rebelling against the mold your family had forced you into, and he just happen to enjoy letting you use him.

But you turned around, that cherry sucker that tasted so good between your lush lips, and you would smile.

"Hi Coryo." You said it like you had a secret only he knew and he was sometimes forced to jack off in the men's bathroom just to take the edge off. Just to avoid wanting to fuck you right then and there in front of the whole class, and he knows you're waiting for the day he finally does it.

As he tucked himself back into his pants exiting the bathroom you were standing there, back against the opposite wall watching him. Your eyes met and he only leans his shoulder against the door frame of the bathroom. "Felix is mad at me."

He looks you up and down, "Why?"

"Because I told him you were coming over tonight." He chuckles to himself, your eyes studying him as he walks over to you.

"I am?" He asked as you trail your fingers up the buttons on his shirt.

You frown, "I'm needy."

He scoffs, "I hope that isn't the reason you gave him."

"Please," You whine your hand running down his arm to guide it to the middle of your skirt and he can't help himself, even your begging is sweet.

He guides his hand up your bare thighs, your soaked cunt greeting him like it had missed him too. "You need me that bad hmm?" He runs a hand up your center watching you tug your bottom lip between your teeth. He leans his head down taking your lip between his own teeth and sucking on it tasting that lingering cherry sugar as he pushes two fingers into you. Your mouth parts in a gasp as you part your legs more for him. "Does your boyfriend know his girlfriend is a dirty whore? Fucking soaked for me all the time?" You tilt yourself forward sucking in his hand deeper as he curls up against a sweet spot your quiet moan echoing around the empty hall. "You want someone to find us don't you, you want them to see what a fucking slut you are for me."

"Coryo." You whimper nails digging into his shoulders and he hopes you mark his skin forever. He presses his forehead to yours feeling you pant against his face as he presses his palm to your clit.

"That's right." He grazes his teeth along your jaw as he fucks you faster with his hand. "Call out my name when you cum angel." He growls out, "My angel." Because you were, his, he knew that long ago, remembering glaring at Felix when you all were children and he had his arm around you when it should have been Coriolanus. His tongue lolls against your damp skin of your neck and your hand twist in his hair as he pulls your leg up more around his waist.

It's a test of restraint to not wrap your legs completely around his waist and sink into you, to take what is so rightfully his. Instead he shifts his hand, thumb pressing into your clit to listen to your mewls, to the sound of his wet fingers dipping in and out of you at a brutal pace. He sinks his teeth into your neck rolling his tongue along the mark he knew he was giving you, and you love that it will be there.

He feels you clenching around his hand as you moaned out his name cumming against him. Your chest hits his with every panting breath as he slowly lifts his head to gaze down at you, hair slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed, blissfully dazed out from the orgasm he gave you. "I'm making cookies."

Of course you were, he groans as he presses his face into yours capturing your lips with his own hand still buried inside of you. "What kind?"

"Chocolate chip." You smirk against his lips. "I'll let you lick the spoon."

You opened the door for him this time and he wanted to yank you from the frame to run away with you forever. You wear wearing a pretty black minidress with a white long sleeve underneath it, an apron covering you, flour splattered across your cheek, and a pink ribbon tied your hair at the base of your ponytail. It's like you worked so hard to persevere girlhood and innocence to hide the adultery lurking under your skin.

"Hi Coryo." You batted your eyelashes at him as you opened the door for him more to come inside.

He did love the sound of you closing and locking the door for him, "Where's you father?" He asked watching you walk in front of him.

"Working late." You replied leading him towards your kitchen waving a hand around. "My mother is off doing something unproductive."

He leaned against your marble island watching you throw a cup of sugar into the large bowl, "They left you in here all alone?"

You chuckled, "I'm not alone, you're here with me." You cracked an egg your eyes glancing over towards his, "Do you think your parents would have liked me?"

Coriolanus looks you up and down. He thinks they would and maybe in a perfect world where he wasn't an orphan your father would have wed you to Coriolanus. "I could never take you home to mother in a dress that short." He smirks as you slowly begin to stir the batter. He sometimes was surprised Felix let you leave the house if this is how you acted, how you dressed.

"Oh yeah?" You pop your hip out a little.

He straightens up stalking over to you until your back was pressed to his chest, nose buried in your floral scented hair. "She would disown me for bringing home such a brazen slut."

"But her son loves when I dress like this." His hands find the hem of your dress as his fingers trace with the curve of your ass.

He plants his mouth against your neck, "Does he now?"

You push your ass back into his hard cock. "Oh I think he adores how I dress for him." His hand splays across your backside as his teeth graze the flesh of your jugular and he wants to sink his teeth in to stake his claim. "How I never wear any panties for him."

His nails dig into you because he fucking knew it. "All for me." He repeats sucking on your skin until you wince away hoping the mark is deep and purple and Felix knows it's from him.

You turn suddenly eyes flickering up to his face, "The trick is a little extra vanilla.” You motioned to the dough sitting on top of two fingers. "Try some." He wraps his hand around your delicate wrist and brings it to his mouth. He sucked in your fingers eyes never leaving yours as your mouth parted slightly the blush forming on your cheeks as his tongue swirled around your flesh. It tasted delicious, but your skin tasted better like sugar had ingrained itself into every pore. He let your fingers glide deeper on his tongue before he popped them out of his mouth.

"Hmm." He ran his tongue up the sides until all that was left on them was his spit.

You breath. "All for you." He's kissing you then, consuming your validation that you knew what he knew, you belonged to him. He taste the scoops of dough you had stolen, the chocolate and brown sugar mingling on your tongue and he adores that extra teaspoon of vanilla you added. He licks it off the roof of your mouth sucking on your tongue, and then your arching into him on your toes as his hands trail down your body cupping your ass as your dress rides up.

He reaches his other hand back pushing aside your large bowl of batter and then he's lifting you onto the counter loving the way he fits in between your legs. You were made for him, he knew that long ago, cut perfectly from that juicy forbidden fruit Eve ate. His hand goes to your chest kneading your breast over fabric as he slowly lowers you to the countertop spreading your legs open for him. He breaks the kiss descending down your body to peer at you decadent wet cunt. He knows you'll taste sweet down here too, his mouth waters taking in the sight.

"Oh she's pretty."

He can't help but moan into you as he licks up the center prodding your clit with the tip of his tongue feeling your hand find his blonde curls. Your feet come up around his shoulders as he passes over it gently at first savoring the taste of your arousal and knowing he would never taste anything better than you. He traces circles around it slowly feeling you squirm under his touch, hearing your pretty whines, nails scraping against his skull. He dares a glance up at you, at your agape mouth, your eyes squeezed shut as he begins to move his tongue faster.

He decides then he won't wash his mouth out tonight. He wants you stuck between his teeth forever and when tomorrow comes he hopes Felix will smell your cunt on his breath.

He tilts your hips up wrapping his lips around your clit pressing down on it with his tongue as you breath heavily beneath him. He's slithering his arm up your body squeezing your breast. "Coryo." You moan out pushing your pussy into his face more, grinding it against him. He's moving his tongue side to side, hard pressed rhythmic motions that have you a mess in his hands. Your thighs clench around him as you whimper one last time before you cum against his face. He drinks you up, everything you have to offer, lapping up what you give him as his tongue pushes into you for a moment feeling your walls spasming from your orgasm.

You yank his head up by his hair and you shoot up encasing his mouth with your own tasting yourself on his tongue as you sweep into his mouth and he groans pressing his groin into your island.

"Tell me how you like it." You pant out into his mouth teeth knocking against each other.

Coriolanus takes your expression in and he realizes, yes you never let Felix touch you, but you never touched him either. You have never touched another man besides him, saving yourself for him, and it makes him want to shove his cock down your throat even harder. He helps you off the counter onto shaky legs and your going down onto your knees in front of him. He lets you unbutton his pants and unsheathe his hard length running your hand along it.

"Put your mouth around it." He tells you as you bring it up to your lips, and you fucking lick the tip like it's one of your cherry suckers.

Then you open your mouth and wrap your lips around him sliding him inside. He always imagined what your mouth would feel like after so many times of seeing you suck on that hard little candy. It's even better than he thought. He hisses as his hips buck forward a little letting him hit the back of your throat. You bob along his cock once, twice, three times before you pop off blinking up at him with that coy little act, "You're so big Coryo."

He shoves himself back in your mouth, "Wrap your hand around it." That was all you needed to know as you worked his cock, taking him deeper, hand swirling around the shaft tongue lolling against the head. You work him faster, grip hardening around him, sucking in your cheeks as you look up at him with big doe eyes. "Fuck." He gritted out hand tangling in your ponytail to move your head against him, force his cock deeper watching the water well in your eyes, but you never stopped. "You like my cock in your mouth don't you angel? Want my cum down your throat yeah?"

You moan against him in response teeth gently grazing his skin. Your mouth too soft, too hot, hands gripping him so tightly, his hand in your hair holds harder as his thighs tighten. Your tongue sweeps out along his shaft and he's cumming, hot ropes of it shooting down your throat shoving his cock deeper to make sure you took it all.

And you did, greedily, your hand still softly gliding along him as he thrust one final time into your mouth. He wraps his finger around the ribbon in your hair and tugs it out slipping it into his pocket. You popped off, wiped your lips with your finger, and sucked it clean keeping your eyes locked with him.

His hands come around your face as you stand up. "Break up with Felix." He whispers out thumb tracing your puffy lips. He's sick of seeing you with him, not being the able to claim you in front of everyone like he wanted to.

"I have to preheat the oven." Is all you say back stepping out of his hold to go over the the oven.

He clenches his jaw, "I want Felix to know."

You shrug, your back still to him, "Then tell him." You turn after turning on your oven. "It won't change anything." You walk towards him a hand coming up to push his curls away from his face, "Unless..." You peered up at him manipulative innocence in your eyes. "You were the President of Panem."

Coriolanus couldn't get enough of you at that point, he had become addicted to your sugar sweet taste and once was never enough for him.

All it took was one little smile while you licked up the red ball of your cherry sucker, and he was pouncing on you, meeting you in the hallway every time.

In between classes he would shove you into random closets to force his cock down your throat. You two would time bathroom breaks unsuspectingly and he would have you up against the stall wall fucking you with his hand.

His favorite moments were when he hunted you down in the library pretending to read a book. You would look up with a little shy smile. "Hi Coryo." You'd purr and soon he'd have you sprawled out on the table like his own personal meal drinking your pleasure like it was nectar from the Gods.

He came over occasionally too, lying about some assignment or help with a test. Your mother always invited him to stay for dinner, and he would, of course, shove his hand inside you under the table until you came while he spoke to your father.

Felix was suspicious. It wasn't hard to be when you showed up with marks on your neck, the same neck still wearing that ugly 'F' necklace, and the pretty ribbon from your hair wrapped around Coriolanus's wrist. He would only glance back at Coriolanus, and Coriolanus would smirk back at him, but he never said anything.

Everything was wonderful.

Then one day things began to change.

"Let me fuck you." Coriolanus told you kissing your open mouth as you came down hard on his hand. He wanted to be inside you, wanted to trap you to him forever. You would let him.

Your head falls back against the wall, "No Coryo."

"Let me fuck you." He kissed you again. "Come on baby girl, I know you want to."

"I'm waiting until marriage Coryo." You unravel yourself from him fixing your skirt. He knows you're lying, "I'm a good girl."

He scoffed, "Yeah a real angel."

You sighed running a hand over your face. “My father is having Felix and his uncle over tonight.”

“President Ravinstill?” You cringed when he said it. "Why?"

"Because Felix thinks you're up to something and wants to speed things along." His jaw clenched, he was going to murder Felix and his stupid uncle. You flash him a smirk, "He thinks you're trying to corrupt me."

Coriolanus chuckled, "I don't play well with others."

You came closer, hand dipping under his shirt to rest against his bare chest. You kissed his jaw, "You play well with me, Coryo."

He waited outside your home watching through your windows as you ate dinner. You sat next to Felix, fake laughing, hand sometimes brushing his wrist with affection. It boiled his blood and he curses his father for dying, for investing in District 13 to make him poor. You were his. He should be sitting at that table with you planning your engagement.

He knew the only way he would take you from Felix was winning the Plinth Prize at the end of the year, going to University, and stealing that Presidency out from under him.

It was the only way.

He watched you kiss Felix on the cheek as him and his uncle left. He watched you arguing with your father, storming off no doubt to your bedroom. And then he was moving, sticking to the shadows until he was around your house staring up at your bedroom window. He scaled the wall ending up on your small balcony staring into your sheer curtains.

You looked so beautiful sitting at your vanity combing through your hair still in your dress from dinner.

He pushed the balcony door open quietly, but your eyes met his through the mirror. "Surprised you didn't storm into dinner earlier." You set the brush down. He took a seat on your bed raising his eyebrow, "I always know where you are Coriolanus Snow, even if its creeping outside my windows."

"Who gave you these?" He motions to the vase of fresh flowers.

"Felix." Your smile drips in sweetness. "My boyfriend."

You turned to him, "How was dinner?"

"Boring." You sighed leaning your elbows against your vanity. "He's going to propose after graduation." Coriolanus's blood heated. "The ring was beautiful though."

His eyes followed you as you stood, "I could buy you a better one."

Your hands rested on his shoulders as you cocked your head to the side. "With what money?" He glared at you. He didn't like that people suspected he was poor, let alone you.

"Would you say no if I asked you?"

"That's not up to me." You chuckled hands toying with the end of his hair. That 'F' necklace around your throat dangling in his face.

Coriolanus narrowed in on it, "I could just...kill your father, Felix, anyone that got in my way." He reaches up and rips the necklace off your neck hearing it clatter to the floor, broken.

You leaned down, nose pressed to his cheek, the words brushing his mouth in a sweet caress, "Then do it."

His hands went around your back pulling down the zipper of your dress feeling it loosen around your body until it fell around your feet. You stood up stepping out of the dress and Coriolanus looked up your body slowly, taking in every naked inch of your body. He landed on your face, "What do you want angel?"

"Even when you were a boy, you were a man." You slid onto his lap naked body pressed against him hands running through his hair. "I want a man. I want you."

He flipped you onto your back crashing his mouth to yours engulfing your lips with his own. You were unbuttoning his shirt, peeling it off his shoulders, running your hands down his bare chest. His tongue meshes with yours mouths gliding along each other as you burst open the button on his pants. He wants his skin against yours, to feel your warm softness against every inch of him. He pushes his pants down his legs until the two of you are nothing but flesh.

You capture his lips once more as his hand travels up your side his thumb brushing the underside of your breast. You blissfully sigh. He cups your breast, hushing your mouth with a harder kiss. His thumb passed over your nipple, rolling the pad along it, feeling it perk up to his touch a low whine in your throat that he swallowed up nails scraping against his skull. He moves his mouth off of yours trailing down your neck, tasting every sweet part of you until his mouth wraps around your perked nipple lavishing it with his tongue as your back arches pushing it further into his mouth. His teeth nip down on it, licking and sucking as your squirm under him.

He feels your wetness against his thigh and he shifts to run his hand along your folds. "Did you think about me fucking you all throughout dinner?" He presses a finger slightly against your clit. "Thought about all the pretty noises your Daddy would hear down the hall."

Yours eyes darken as you gaze into his. "I wanted you to fuck me during dinner; storm through my front door and take me in front of Felix and his stupid uncle."

"You're such a little fucking whore."

You smirked, "Daddy's little fucking whore."

He shoves his fingers inside you, lips parting at the intrusion. He wants to be inside you, wants to claim everything you are as he thrust his hand in and out of you, stretching you open, the room thick with the scent of your arousal and squelching sounds of your pussy. You buck your hips into his hand to meet him as his palm presses down on your clit and he already feels your walls clenching around him.

He presses his face into your chest, your heart thumping rapidly for him. You were breathless, your legs spreading open more for him as your body tightened around him as he brought you closer to your peak. He curls his fingers against that spot he knows you love and you came undone with a soft cry, clamping down around his hand, nails digging into his scalp. He straightens up admiring you. You looked so beautiful sweat forming across your chest, cheeks red, lips parted to catch your breath as you stared up at him. You simply glanced down at his long, hard length and then back up at him. He knows you're a virgin, knows you'll take his cock like a slut.

He lined himself up with your sopping entrance and pushed into you. He can't help but groan as he closed his eyes moving slowly into you, letting your tight walls adjust to him, squeeze around him. He pauses for a moment the only sound coming from either of you were broken breaths. And then he pushes in until he fully inside you. You gasp at the feeling, the fullness, as you gazed up at him.

Your pussy fluttered around him and he rolled his hips against you pulling his dick back and slamming back into. "You take my cock so well." You arched your back as he slammed into you moaning out for him, wrapping your legs around his body to pull him deeper. His mouth was on yours, a mesh of spit and tongue, your hands rooted in his hair as he fucked into you. He was kneading your breast with one hand, pushing the other into your mattress to fuck you harder. He glanced between you, watching his cock disappear into you soaked pussy, watching how well you took each brutal thrust. "Perfect fucking pussy, made just for me." He drags his teeth along your jaw as your breast press against his chest. He pressed his hot mouth to your ear, "You're fucking mine, you understand that angel?" His hips snapped against yours heels curling into his sides as you nod against him. "Not Felix's...not your fathers...mine." He growls in your ear.

You agree tilting your pelvis up allowing him to slid against that sensitive spot.

His curls spill across your face, he wants to hear you say it. "Say it."

Your brows scrunch as he slides his hand to your clit. You moan for him, "I'm yours Coryo." His grunts fill the room as he pounds into you as you cry out for him over and over again. He hears your bed knocking against the wall, the squeaking sound of the spring as it slides against the floor, neither of you care who hears it. You clamp down around him coming all over his cock squeezing him too tight.

"Gunna cum in this tight little pussy." He hisses out his thrust growing sporadic. "Gunna make you have my heirs." Your too fucked out to care as your teeth sink into his shoulder wanton pleas falling from your lips. He's spilling into you, cumming so deep inside you feeling your walls spasming around him, drinking in every drop of his seed. He thrust it further within you as your legs slowly uncurl from around him.

He pulls back to look at you his cock twitching one last time. "You have a lot of work to do." You tell him fingers twisting the curls along his face a devious smile on your lips and he knows you've never been an angel, not a day in your life.

You were the devil in a candied disguise.

"President Coriolanus Snow."

He will win that Plinth Prize. He will take you from Felix, from your stupid father, by right or by force.

He doesn't care what he has to do or who he has to kill along the way as long as he gets to have you at the end of it all.

PART TWO HERE!!

im a whore for those blonde curls

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus smut #coriolanus x you #coryo x reader #fanfic #coryo smut #coryo snow #coryo x you #president coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #daenysthedreamersblog #smut

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flowerandblood · 9 months

Text

The Fall from the Heavens Universe Series Masterlist

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, smut, angst, arranged engagement, obsession, violence, swearing, bullying, chauvinism, mention of injury, character's death ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

Author's note: The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them. I have decided that both Rhaenyra and Viserys' children are titled My Prince/Princess/Your Grace, and Baela and Rhaena are titled My Lady. For the purposes of this story, Lord Arryn has a son, to whom the female protagonist was later betrothed.

All Series & Scenes Moodboards The Lost Haven (Modern mafia AU) Play with my heart (Modern actors AU)

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murdrdocs · 11 months

Note

mike ,,,, thoughts ,,,,…,…,.,… hes kinda shy and it often comes off to others like he’s being cold or uncaring but you know he just gets nervous to say or do the wrong things so he prefers to be a quiet person

anyway rubbing him through his pants …. you’re watching a movie together and you just slip your hand between his thighs and slooowly rub up and down his length and he’s glancing down and glancing back at you because he’s too respectful to say anything about it and too shy to take it further and he’s trying to subtly cross his legs and hide the fact he’s so hard and biting his lip to choke back his whimpers and—

oh this made me dizzy when i first saw it 😵‍💫 SMUT 17+

in the time that you’ve been dating, you’d constantly encouraged him to speak up, forcing him to give a ‘controversial’ opinion on a food item just for the sake of it. he’d always seemed a little uncomfortable during the moment, but nights later he’d purpose something, inciting an impressed smile on your face while you engaged in conversation.

with mike, though, actions always spoke louder than words. he’s not the best verbal communicator, choosing to speak with his body instead. he would do something miles before he would say it.

hence why you know his squirming beside you is less the cause of discomfort and more so because he wants you to do something. he’s crossing his legs only to uncross them a few moments later. he’s scooting further away, then closer, and then ending up in the position he’d started in. he’s clearing his throat and coughing and sending not so subtle glances your way.

and truthfully you’re putting him out of his misery whenever you slide your hand over his thigh, palm grazing the textured fabric of his deep blue jeans.

the movie is reaching its end on the boxed screen a few feet in front of you, but you’d seen it so often that you can tell the scene just from the noises alone. mike, on the other hand, still seems to be a bit interested. that or his shy demeanor is preventing him from looking at you fully.

either way, you know what he wants, further confirmation coming in the form of mike bucking up into your hand whenever you spread your palm flat over his tented crotch. he sighs audibly whenever you curl your hand into half of a fist, groping him through the double layers.

you glance from your hand to him, sending a tiny smile whenever you catch his eye. you abandon the starts of your work only to unbutton and unzip his jeans, scratching at his happy trail when you use one hand to pull the elastic of his boxers down, and the other to free his cock from the restraints.

you receive assistance, too, mike pushing his boxers and jeans down to his mid thigh. then, he sits back and bites his lower lip as he watches you take him from the base in your fist.

it’s rough, too much friction and no lubricant.

yet mike still throws his head back and you swear you hear a little “thank you” slip past his bitten lips.

either way, you take your hand away only to lewdly spit in it, bring it back to his erect and leaking cock, and smile at him sweetly as you say, “you’re welcome, mikey”.

#mschmidtsworld!#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt #celeste writes fnaf

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pluvialpoet · 11 months

Text

how to disappear

Summary: a reunion ten years in the making serves as a reminder that absence doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder- especially when history has a tendency to repeat itself

Pairing: dick grayson x fem!vigilante!reader

Requested: no

Warning: nsfw!!! (18+ MDNI), porn with plot, lovers to enemies, unprotected sex, implied breeding kink, choking, angst, minor barbara gordon slander (for the plot, I swear)- do not read if you are not comfortable with the warnings listed above!!!

Word Count: 12,874

masterlist

Light reflects off the crystals that hang from the chandeliers above, and like a moth drawn to a shiny flame, you bask in the warmth of their glow. For as beautiful as the crystalline teardrops twenty-two feet overhead are, they dull in comparison to the- equal parts blinding and mesmerizing, simultaneously gorgeous, yet gaudy- diamonds that dangle from earlobes, rubies that rest against décolletages, and the pearls placed upon dainty fingers in an over the top display of money, power, and status. It’s the epitome of wealth, and though meant to allure, you find yourself disgusted by the flashy exhibitions of greed and corruption.

Every smile is artificial. Every laugh is humorless and diluted. Any feeling beyond complete and utter misery is a hoax. Yet, they play their parts. Each and every one of them continues to mingle, boast, and feign genuineness, but it’s obvious what they are, even beneath their disguises, you recognize the vultures circling the fresh carnage of the innocent- with blood on their talons and a hunger that’s never truly satiated. Do they even know what they’ve done? Do they even care? Given a chance to make amends, would any of them take it?

Revulsion counters amusement as you watch the elite interact with one another. It’s pathetic. In a room full of affluence, not a single person knows pleasure beyond material possessions, and that’s an injustice in itself. Amongst thieves, you’re the honesty that rivals them all- and that’s a scary revelation, all things considered.

Taking advantage of the large crowd, you continue to bump elbows with the rich- literally- as you weave your way through the opulent mass. A tight-lipped smile is granted when you pass an older woman, and an even wider flash of teeth catches your attention from a man around your age. Mimicking the gestures seal your fate, damning you- even if only temporarily- to this game of confusion, a game in which approval and disgust are indiscernible. Having had years to grow accustomed to the tricks of this elitist trade, it’s almost impossible to recall a simpler time. Back when you still thought there might be a modicum of authenticity behind the action, back before you were close enough to spot the invisible strings controlling the marionettes, you believed- and even hoped- that you had it all wrong. There was a time, long, long ago, when you were desperate to believe that there was still some good left in these people, but you grew out of your naivety. Now older, and wiser, you won’t make the same mistakes you once made. Under the influence of optimism, your purpose became convoluted. Not anymore.

Without anyone to dissuade you from reaching out- to challenge you from swiping a few bejeweled tennis bracelets, engagement rings, or even one or two watches and calling it a day- a thrum of urgency spreads through your fingertips. It’s an impulsive electricity you can’t deny. Besides, it’s not like social dynasties would crumble if a few diamonds went missing. If only it were that easy…

Wealth doesn’t doom these poor, unfortunate souls, but their greed- coupled with the blood on their hands- paints a distinguishable target on their backs. If you look closely, it’s impossible to miss that they’re all cut from the same cloth. A hundred different reflections of the same privileged archetype imitate the same gestures, mannerisms, and movements to a tee. An amateur would operate under the guise of distraction- causing a small scene and offering their apologies before making off with their prize- but you’re not an amateur. Not anymore. Not by a long shot.

A few women- four or five, at most- nurse flutes of bubbling booze a few feet away. The sound of their laughter is a little too joyous to be feigned and when one of them waves a manicured hand towards a waiter, signaling another round of drinks, you start to put the pieces together. Perhaps, the ladies in your sights are the most genuine in attendance- even if they’ve lost themselves to their cups. Matching their demeanor is child’s play. Once equipped with a half-empty glass from a server on their way back to the kitchens, you stumble towards the group, plastering on the same elated- intoxicated- grin, and hope that they’re inebriated enough to be welcoming towards a newcomer. Masking the bitter taste of insincerity with a sip of prosecco, a greeting rises from the mix, but it never has the chance to come to fruition because a large hand wraps around your wrist- effectively halting your heist before it even really had a chance to begin.

You should’ve known better.

As you turn to glare at the idiot who dared to put their hands on you, your breath catches.

Two birds die from the blow of one stone, and he takes advantage of your stupor- finding that you’re more pliant in your daze- leading you away from the women you intended to rob, and into the crowd. More witnesses make it less likely for you to cause a scene. At least, that’s his logic, anyway. While it’s not exactly flawed, it’s not all that accurate, either, but for old time's sake, you’ll play along. His hold on you remains firm, and he reaches for the flute in your hand with his other, placing it on a tray and discarding the prop. Your surprise begins to morph into anger- especially when he pulls you closer towards him as the orchestra starts to play a tune. Remembering the steps forced upon you as a child is muscle memory, and you glare daggers up at him- though, they don’t pierce nearly as deeply as the blue of his irises.

“Nice hair,” Dick revels in your obvious frustration of being thwarted, his lips curling into a smirk when your frown deepens, and he asks, “I thought you were blonde, last I saw you?”

“I was,” For the sake of maintaining appearances, you don a phony expression of your own and respond with as much benevolence as you can muster- even though you’re filled with animosity- as he leads you through the steps of the dance. “And you didn’t have a five o’clock shadow,” You note, allowing yourself a split second to take in everything that’s changed since the last time you saw him, before pressing your lips together tightly with a huff.

“Things change.”

As if he needed the reminder…

Chance has never meddled in your relationship. Coincidence doesn’t exist within the realm of precision both you and Dick operate from. Everything has always been on purpose, calculated and planned, never left blindly to fate or possibility- which is why this meeting isn’t an accident. As if he can feel you about to pull away, he flexes his fingers against you, tightening his grip and holding you in place. Ten years later- ten years too late- he’s found you. Not destiny, not a fluke, but with his own intention, and you wish that he would’ve just stayed away.

“What are you doing here, Dick?” As you abandon your costume, your smile falls away to reveal genuine loathing as you force the question from behind gritted teeth. Still, despite your obvious disdain, he doesn’t let you go. “Last I checked, you were in San Francisco- and more recently, Blüdhaven. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You keeping tabs on me?” His amusement contradicts your revulsion, and a shallow breath purges the threat of an outburst. Dick has always had a way of getting under your skin, of pushing your buttons and doing everything he possibly could to make you tick, but the sudden onslaught of such juvenile taunting fills you with a fire not even he can extinguish- not anymore. Despite his charming exterior, the steady flow of his breath, and the easy grin of confidence that was once impossible not to mirror, dampness swells where your palms meet, and you feel the rough, raised reminders that he’s kept busy during your time apart- that he’s evolved into a stranger despite how familiar he still seems- and you wonder if he can feel it too, if he can tell just by touch, that you’re not the same girl he once knew.

“I keep tabs on everyone who might get in my way,” Your eyes narrow accusatorially, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “You’re not special.”

“That’s not what you said the last time we-“

“Yeah, well, the last time was when we were teenagers, and a lot has changed since then.” Any attempt to remain cordial flies out the window when he dares to mention the last time- like it hasn’t plagued you for a decade. Not even he possesses the antidote to the venom your words carry, and he winces slightly as your rebuttal shakes. He clears his throat softly, the sound filling the lull where an apology should sound, and he takes a look over your shoulder before meeting your eyes again.

“Any chance I can convince you not to go through with whatever it is you’re planning?” It brings little joy to watch his smile dissolve into something more serious. His face hardens, and you notice lines and creases that you aren’t well acquainted with- unable to distinguish battle scars from the divots of age- and you quickly shake the thought away. Instead, you stare at him blankly, not revealing an answer. Though, he takes your lack of conversation as a reply, and with a heavy sigh, he shakes his head, “Yeah, I figured.”

He dares to express melancholy. Stunned by his nerve, after everything, not even shame or regret could rattle his courage enough for him to reconsider such a crestfallen expression, and the discouraged twist of his lips and the downcast slant of his eyes are so pronounced and dramatic that you’re unable to discern whether or not this is part of a ruse, or his genuine reaction.

“Did you think that would work?” Your skepticism is muddled with ridicule, a mocking scoff filling the line meant for his counter. It’s almost laughable- the nerve he has to look dejected by your questioning. To be fair, it’s been a while since he’s danced this dance- a routine once familiar, consisting of bite and bark, push and shove, before simultaneous defeat and victory- but he’s smart enough to know that that’s not how this works. “I mean what did you think would happen, birdy? I’d take one look at you, all grown and handsome, and reconsider my plans?”

Even in heels, he’s taller than you remember. He’s always been pretty- all mesmerizing eyes, slightly crooked smile, and sunkissed skin- but not even he was immune to the awkwardness brought forth by puberty. There was a time when he thought his shoulders were too broad, his ears too big, and the angular structure of his face too sharp and strong for a boy. It didn’t look right. Features that were admirable on their own, looked out of place on his face- or so he feared. You always thought he was beautiful- especially when he didn’t know it.

Now, Boy Wonder is all grown up, exuding confidence and oozing charm. He knows he’s attractive, but he doesn’t parade his arrogance- not anymore. His early twenties were a never-ending roller coaster of trying to find himself, his purpose, and where he fit into the grand scheme of things. Conflicted by right and wrong, tempted by lust and surrender, divided by good and evil, he’s had a lot of time to awaken from the grogginess inflicted by nightmares of freedom and liberation. Still, his eyes are just as mesmerizing, his teeth are straight- but his smile is still crooked- and he’s truly grown into himself. The man before you is a boy evolved- still a bird, but with a different set of wings. Robin is an old friend, a fond recollection of a different time, and though the stranger before you mimics the familiarity you’ve longed for, he’s not Robin, anymore- he’s Nightwing.

“Look, they’re anticipating for you to strike,” His warning is low and hushed, but even in whispers you’re able to detect his plea. Call it concern, or at the very least interest in serving justice as quietly as possible, but his timbre urges you to reconsider- if not for his sake, then for the sake of those around you. He really doesn’t want to cause a scene. “Security has been tripled, and you’ve grown sloppy-“

“Did you ever consider that the trail I was leaving behind wasn’t for anyone else but the one person I wanted to find me?” There’s no affection behind the way your fingers thread through the dark tresses at the nape of his neck. Without any fondness, without passion, or care, the action is mindless, meaningless, and merely muscle memory. There’s no repressed feelings you wish to convey, no animosity you’re trying to diffuse. With no hidden agenda, the gesture serves no purpose- except to unintentionally torture you both. Old habits die hard, and something undefined urges you to reach for him. He flushes, and the sight is so droll that you can’t bring yourself to stop. His lips part once, twice, three times, trying to produce an answer, but he’s at a loss. When you cock your head to the side, he tenses. “Of course, you didn’t,” You purr, and he clears his throat softly.

Dick’s no stranger to berating. He knows what it feels like to be chastised, scolded, and reprimanded. This exchange feels similar. The only difference is that you don’t raise your voice, your eyes don’t darken and you don’t threaten him- not with words, at least. If anything, the remark feels like a gentle rebuke, but the sting left from the impact of your insult brands him with shame. You’ve always seen right through him. Easily able to discern real from fake- truth from falsity- under both his domino mask and the hardened mask of his stoic expressions, you’ve always had a knack for exposing his most vulnerable self- welcoming his flaws, humility, and weaknesses to light. Even though he’s not the same kid he was when you first crossed paths, he feels just as naive and guileless as the boy he once once.

“You and the bat were never really known for considering every angle,” Spoken so thoughtfully, he’s almost able to forgive the verbal assault. As intended, the blow lands- precise, heavy, and unforgiving in the center of his chest- and the muscles in his jaw tighten with thinly veiled frustration. It seems, that in the moment he needs his voice the most, it evades him. He swallows consonants and vowels, a jumbled mix of letters that sit heavy atop his palate, and focuses on maintaining his composure- though, his steps are a beat behind and his footing seems, suddenly, unsure. You’ve struck a nerve. Whether or not you intend to wound, the damage is already done. Picking at scabs that should’ve scarred a long time ago cause his insecurities to bleed- a punch more lethal than brute strength and weaponry combined.

Blindsided by the truth, he feels utterly defenseless.

“Can I ask you something, Dick?” Your brows barely pinch together, your voice calm and steady as something softens in your gaze. Dick should know better than to let his guard down- especially when you lean in, and your lips brush against his ear, “If you’re the hero, here to save the day, does that make me the villain?”

“No, you’re not-“

“How about this, which is the lesser of two evils- knowing that you’re protecting a corrupted establishment because it’s what you believe to be morally correct, or taking back what was wrongfully stolen and returning it to its rightful owners?” As you tilt your head to the side, he hates the way that you look up at him through your lashes. It’s not a demure move. You’re demanding an answer, and a look like that- a look meant to allure, tempt, and bait- would have a weaker man spilling his deepest darkest secrets. With a sharp inhale, he reminds himself that the tricks up your sleeve aren’t new. He knows all of the cards you’re going to play- albeit, he’s unaware of the order in which you’re going to play them- and he won’t allow history to repeat itself. Purposely, your thumb caresses the back of his hand- the touch feather-light, but far from hesitant or accidental- and his breath hitches. Dick doesn’t undermine the small, sinister smile that threatens to spread into a victorious grin when he fails to answer your question. Perhaps, he doesn’t know the answer. Or, perhaps, he’s just distracted. Either way, your voice fills the absence of his own. “We’re not on different sides of a playing field, Grayson. You and I aren’t on opposite ends of a spectrum, we’ve always been right in the middle- dancing on a thin line.”

Prompted by the soothing symphony of strings, Dick twirls you- delicately extending his arm and leading you into a spin before pulling you back in- and it’s fitting, the push and pull between you so familiar it almost feels as choreographed as the steps of the waltz you’re dancing.

History repeating itself, just one more time.

“We both know you’re not here to turn me in, because if you were going to, you would’ve done it by now.” Your arrogance causes something to snap within him. Clarity comes rushing back as he breaks free from your spell. Without meaning to, his grip on your hand tightens.

“Look, I understand why you’re doing this, but-“

“No, you don’t.” Like a switch being flipped, your façade shatters- revealing a face so unbridled with emotions that not even a mask could obscure. He’s defensive. Tired of grappling for control over the situation, he tastes power as he parts his lips with a clever retort, but you don’t allow him the space to get a word in. “Did you know that last year, the city council held a vote to refurbish a few run-down parks on the south side of Gotham with the hopes of restoring the communities destroyed by violence, or increasing the GCPD budget?” The heat behind your accusation pokes and prods at his curiosity, coloring him intrigued. Admittedly, he’s not the most up-to-date on Gotham’s politics, but something this large shouldn’t have slipped under his radar- or the watchful eyes of those who swore themselves to protect the beloved city.

It’s deeper than that, though.

Your frustrations, however warranted, seem to extend beyond such an injustice. Between the lines, amongst all the words you haven’t said, there’s a decipher hidden in every twitch, gesture, and glare. From the way your eyes narrow, to the sharp exhale and tightening grip of your fingertips. To sweaty palms and clenched teeth, all the way to flared nostrils- there’s something just beneath the surface that he can’t crack. Too much time has passed for him to unscramble tacitness when he no longer understands the codes in which you speak, and, unfortunately, he needs you to paint a clearer picture than the vague abstract before him.

“When it came down to it, do you think that the citizens of the south side had a say in the matter?” Dick’s smart. He’s not just a pretty face or a nice body- he’s actually got brains to match. You know- deep down- that sooner or later, shapeless pieces will fall into place to reveal the completed puzzle, but you need him to come to the conclusion all on his own. It would be easy to simply reveal your motive, and while a straightforward approach may have been less complicated than the mental gymnastics you’re forcing him to perform, it wouldn’t have been as impactful. Dick needs to understand, and to understand, he needs to feel- the same anger, outrage, and upset you felt. “Do you think the people on the other side of the tracks were given a chance to speak in front of the council?”

“They can’t segregate who speaks publicly-“ The gears are turning- some slower, some faster, and others completely out of control as he struggles to make sense of your elusiveness. When the current song fades out, a scattered round of applause takes its place before a new song begins. Hardly anyone else is dancing, save for a handful of couples who look just about as miserable as you and Dick- without the coordination or grace, the two of you share. It takes him too long to jump to the conclusion, and you tire of waiting for him to put the pieces together on his own. He always did work better with a helping hand- though, the quality of his work declined greatly whenever your hands were involved.

“You’re right,” Your agreement further confuses him, until an additional explanation provides the last bit of clarity he’d been seeking. “But they can change the date, time, and venue of the meeting without alerting the other parties involved, parties that spent weeks building the foundations of a strong claim, and vote on the matter without them being present- subsequently, granting them access to funnel more funds back into their pensions.”

“That’s not possible,” His argument is backed by disbelief instead of reason, denial influencing his refusal to accept such an absurdity, even in spite of proof, and every ugly, undesirable, nasty feeling you’re not supposed to have swirls together in the pit of your stomach at his incredulity.

How can he still be so blind? How, after all of the evil that he’s witnessed, how can he deny the truth in favor of possibility? He may be a man grown, but he still lives in a delusional state of boyhood- where he still clings to hope and the prospect of good intentions even when the jury has already delivered a conviction.

“Why not?” You seethe, simultaneously demanding an answer without allowing him the chance to speak. Unfortunately, whatever’s been brewing amongst your insides finally bubbles over and your own reluctance to accept an outcome where he doesn’t justify your point of view sharpens the words at the tip of your tongue until they’re as lethal as any weapon. “Because good old Commissioner Gordon wouldn’t let that happen?”

It’s resentment- the concoction without a name- but it’s also envy, pain, and perhaps a bit of fear. At the very least, it’s petty, to bring her into this and force him to pick a side, but it’s been corroding your logic- eroding a place in your chest that’s been dormant ever since he last filled it with life and meaning- and you watch his demeanor shift when his lips part to defend her. You can’t bear whatever praise he’s sure to dole out in her defense, especially when she’s just as guilty as the rest of them, as far as you’re concerned. Before he has a chance to tear you to shreds with his ire, you interrupt.

“Look, just because the commissioner has a heart, doesn’t mean that the animals working for the force do.” Without any conviction, you start to claw at the mire on either side of you, closing you in. “It’s always been bad, but it’s gotten a lot worse.” He can’t argue with that. Worse doesn’t even come close to how downright doomed Gotham is now that someone’s poisoned most of the police force. The one group of people who are supposed to remain impartial to power and abide by the laws they’re sworn to uphold, have turned their backs on the people who needed them most, and the people hurting- the ones without flashy jewels or the stomachs for caviar and champagne- don’t have anyone looking out for them.

Not the way they used to, anyway.

“You don’t get to come here and lecture me about what’s right and what’s wrong, just because she asked you to.” Bittersweet tips towards bitter and a sour taste settles in your mouth at the suggestion that she had even the slightest part to play in your reunion. “You’re a few years too late for that, birdy.” This time when the song ends, you take a step back- though, his thumb brushes against the back of your hand before you pull away, the phantom of a silent prospect lingering even when the warmth of him is gone. Once, it was what you sought. He was what you sought. Years of desolation turned your desire for that same heat- tender touches and gentle caresses against skin- into favor of bleakness. You don’t regret pulling away from him, not as much as you did back them. This time, it’s warranted- a choice you make unobstructed by what you’re feeling, now that you know the outcome of what was fated to happen between the two of you.

“I appreciate the dance,” You swallow, your throat tightening with words you won’t allow yourself to say. Instead, a retort finds you, though it feels foreign as you speak it into existence. “Maybe we’ll do it again in a couple of years,”

Without waiting for a reaction, you head off down the same way you came, and this time, without any intervention, he lets you go.

The bathroom door shuts behind you, and the sounds of lively chatter and the hum of instrumentals fade away until you’re consumed by a silence so stark that it buries you. It doesn’t feel real. The soft tapping of your heels against the glossy marble floors cuts through the nothingness- even the slightest echo in the void registering as an alarm, coaxing panic and fear from the rusted, forgotten cells you banished them to long ago- and when you finally take a look in the mirror, you don’t recognize the face that stares back at you.

Your reflection is plagued by guilt, and haunted by ghosts of the past. Well, one ghost, in particular.

Running into Dick Grayson was something you’d prepared for. Since the day you last parted, you always knew that there was a possibility your paths could, and inevitably would, cross again. It was destined to happen, and you were doomed from the start. He makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak. Back then, before everything that drove a wedge between the two of you, you had a bit of a soft spot for him. He was the only other person in the world who truly understood the life you lived because he was living a different version of the same life. Both protégés, both headstrong and zealous- attributes recognized as both strengths and faults- and both dancing a choreographed routine in the shadows cast by the bat and the cat. The two of you were fated. It was only a matter of time before you started pulling your punches, and he started letting you get away.

The chase was always the best part- second only to the capture.

Still, it’s been years since he left. You’re not the same girl he once knew, and he might as well have been a stranger. More than a decade apart will do that to two people. For everything that’s changed, one thing remains the same- the chase and the capture are unavoidable.

With a shaky exhale, your chest tightens. Resting your palms on either side of the expensive stone washbasin, you attempt to focus on regaining your composure- but another heavy intake of breath punches your lungs. You haven’t come this far just to let him swoop in and gain the upper hand. You’re done pulling your punches. Flipping the golden faucet on, you allow trickling water to interrupt the unbearable silence that surrounds you- a lull so loud it sounds like buzzing static without the interruption of something mundane. With a few more deep breaths, in and out, you begin to fumble with the clasp on your clutch, opening the small bag to retrieve a tube of lipstick. The color has started to fade from your lips, and you use the moment of stillness to touch up your makeup. If nothing else, maybe your reflection will look less distraught with a signature swipe of dark red. You long for a sense of familiarity that you can control.

Above the trickling from the luxurious spout, the door squeaks- or perhaps, it cries- as it’s pushed open, revealing a mirage basked in artificial light and a custom-tailored suit. As your fingertips graze the fixture responsible for the steady stream of distraction, a thud sounds, and seconds later, the unmistakable click of a lock latching into place seals your fate. A wave of emotion- a tsunami of feelings- brings forth a myriad of everything, all at once. Just as you suspected you always would, you’re drowning- caught in a riptide of your past and present, finally merging in a deadly current that threatens to pull you below the depths of your worst fears and direful imagination. You swallow thickly as you close your eyes. It fills your mouth with delusions of saltwater.

This isn’t supposed to happen- at least, not like this, it’s not- but the one thing you’ve been running from has finally caught back up to you. Now’s the time to set the record straight. No more ties. No more draws. Tonight, the victory is yours- regardless of his intervention. He’s taken too much from you to take this too, and you’re done letting him.

“I already told you that this is pointless,” You don’t even look at him. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of meeting his overbearing stare. A swirling sea of darkening blue attempts to sail back to shore- pleading to find refuge within familiar comforts and intimacy- but you cast your gaze back to your reflection, focusing on fixing the corners of your lipstick and leaving him afloat. “You’re not going to stop me.” The promise is backed by conviction- though, you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him, or yourself.

The muscle in Dick’s jaw flexes as he grits his teeth- forcing ivories to clench and grind against each other, creating a perfect, white prison to cage the words he wishes to speak. Stifling his emotions is conventional. It’s a routine he’s perfected through years of reluctant practice. Though uncomfortable and daunting, the void in which he sentences all that’s repressed is secure. It’s safe- if only in the sense that it’s familiar.

You’re familiar- rather, you were once familiar- but he can’t cross a bridge that’s been burned, molten ash still ablaze amongst the rubble, and expect to be welcomed back with open arms. Not after everything that’s changed. Not after everything that’s happened.

Not after what he did.

“I need a list of names,” The determination in Dick’s voice contradicts everything he feels inside. His face hardens- a mask, a shield, protection- and he stands a little taller, fixated on resolving the one problem he could actually solve. “Names of the officers involved in whatever this is,” He clarifies with an uneasy edge to his voice- like he already knows he’s bit off more than he can chew, but he can’t stop himself from going back for seconds, thirds, and fourths.

For all that’s changed, Dick remains the same. A phantom- a spirit, a memory, a ghost- of the boy you once knew disappears just as quickly as your imagination teases familiar red, yellow, and green. He’s not the same. You know it to be true, and yet, you find yourself distracted by glimpses and figments from a different life entirely.

“Grab a pen,” A scoff, an eye roll, and the gentle shake of your head, disbelief and credence existing in tandem- contradicting each other when your eyes finally meet his. “It would be a shorter list if you started with the people who aren’t guilty of committing some type of fraudulent activity.”

You’re not a bad person. Despite varying beliefs, you’re not evil. Mayhem doesn’t bring you joy. Confrontation doesn’t get you off. There’s little pleasure to be found in being the itch that people can’t scratch. You’ve never sought out violence or peril, and you seldom plan on causing either. Just like Dick- just like Bruce- you operate under a different moral code, but a moral code, nevertheless. Even if the only thing it provides is an excuse to justify why you do what you do, you still hold yourself to a standard. Unlike the vile, chaos-thirsty cravens that would happily light the match and watch the world burn, you’re selfless- bound to your morals, if nothing else.

What you do, the sacrifices you make- everything that you’ve lost and everything you’ve fought for- is fueled by benevolence. You’re in a position to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves, to speak up for those who can’t speak for themselves. The power to defend those who have had their rights stripped from them- those who have had their power stolen by greed corruption and profit- is in your hands. You’ll be damned if you let anyone stand in your way and prevent you from doing what you know is right.

Through the reflection in the mirror, you recognize the face that stares back at you. Gone is the fear and doubt that mangled your features unrecognizable. With a heavy sigh, you unclip the earrings that dangle from your earlobes- and the buzzing sound of static fades away completely.

You know what you have to do.

The sound of your heels against the tile might as well have been deafening in contrast to the silence that follows your remark. As you cross the room, your resolve sharpens. Dick Grayson has taken so much from you, you won’t let him take this, too.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me-“ You feign saccharine, your tone phony and filled with counterfeit regret, as you reach for the locked door handle, but Dick blocks the latch, stepping in front of you before you have a chance to wrap your hand around the lever. He knows exactly what buttons to press and genuine annoyance, anger, and frustration fill the space where your poor imitation of remorse once occupied. Through gritted teeth, you command him, lowly, “Move, Dick.”

“You know I can’t do that, sweetheart,” He says it so easily, with a sorrowful sigh and undisputed repentance, that you almost buy the sincerity he’s trying to sell. Unfortunately, for him, you’re not in the market for his misery. He’s a few years too late. Dick can turn his charm up to ten thousand- he can say all the right things and plead with his perfect crystalline eyes- but you won’t risk everything you’ve fought for for a few crocodile tears. You know, now, that you’re better than that. One way or another, you’re getting out of this bathroom- and if you have to go through him to do so, then so be it.

“And you know I’m not above fighting you, right?” He’s entirely unprepared for your snark, the bite that fuels your reply nearly nipping his sense of control straight from the palm of his hand. It’s obvious that this isn’t the same game that it once was, but something much more dangerous. “The dance wasn’t enough?” With your arms across your chest, you challenge, and he hates the way you’re looking at him- like your eyes are piercing straight through him instead of actually looking at him. If you bothered to look closely enough, you’d be able to decipher all of the blatant emotions he’s never been the greatest at hiding. One look and you’d see him- and his heart beating proudly on his sleeve. It’s why you don’t spare him a glance. “You still feeling nostalgic for old times? Because this feels awfully familiar, doesn’t it?”

“What are you going to do with the money?” He asks, fighting to keep his voice stern. His poker face was never the best- or, maybe you could just read him better than most people could. Still, as he stands before you, he grapples with his devotion to whatever this competition is. This clash will never see a winner- only two losers- and he knows it. You do, too- but unlike him, you’re not willing to back down without a fight.

“Give it back to those who rightfully deserve it.” He doesn’t deserve your honesty. He has no right to the truth, but you don’t have it in you to scheme an elaborate lie. However gratifying it might’ve been to feed him false information and watch him fly in circles, you’re too exhausted for mental gymnastics. Like clockwork, you give, and he takes- his stare narrowing, almost accusatorially.

“And who are you to decide who rightfully deserves it?” There’s an edge to his question- like he can’t fathom justice without his divine intervention- and it’s grating, the way he can make you feel so small, and worthless with a single sentence. His arrogance is astounding. Who was he to seek vengeance against Slade Wilson? Who was he to target Heartless? Who was he to sentence Tony Zucco to his death- by placing him behind bars, and granting other enemies easy access to the crime lord, which ultimately led to his demise? The self-righteous guilt trip nearly gives you whiplash from how fast it makes your head spin. He’s no different than you are- no better or worse, since you operate on the same playing field. He doesn’t get to act like he is. Someone needs to knock him down a few pegs, and you’re happily up for the challenge.

“Who are you to try to stop me?”

“Someone who knows you,” He replies, instinctively. “Someone who’s a friend, not a foe.”

“Hmm,” With a bitter laugh, your stomach churns- twisting, clenching, and swirling with swells of irritation, regret, and sorrow- and although it’s a familiar discomfort, it’s been years since you’ve felt the threat of splintering cracks, chipping away at the stone-cold facade of your exterior. Come to think of it, the last time you felt this way was when Selina had told you that Dick left for San Francisco. The reminder fills you with a bitterness you’ve long tried to suppress, and as it bubbles to the surface, so do all of the repressed thoughts and emotions that’ve haunted you for years.

For a moment, you ache- chasing forgotten remembrance plagued by wistfulness. Then, you burn.

“Friends call every once in a while, and if they can’t make it to a phone, they send a postcard to let you know that they’re still alive and well.” Vexation forces your eyes to narrow, the color of your eyes morphing into something much more bleak. With a heavy exhale- filled with frustration and a semblance of humility- you remind him, “Friends don’t disappear into thin fucking air without letting you know why- especially, after those friends, were always a little more than just friends.” There’s a darkness behind your eyes that Dick’s not familiar with, and a weight settles in the hollow emptiness of his chest before sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of his stomach. His jaw clenches and he swallows thickly- the tastes of bile, rue, and shame all indiscernible from one another as he forces them back down.

He knows you’re right.

While his absence was abrupt, it had nothing to do with any ill will towards you. There was never a falling out- no crossing a line of no return or being pushed past a point that shattered a shared fantasy. Though the bullet posed no real threat of death by passing through his arm- beyond the phantom agony of lead tearing through flesh, and the hot, wet feeling of crimson pouring from the wound- a part of Dick Grayson did, in fact, die that night, at the hands of the Joker. The Clown Prince of Crime set off a domino effect when he fired at the young Boy Wonder, inevitably altering the course of his life forever. Acts of violent intent seldom harm a single soul, and as if it were fated, you became another casualty from an attack that was never meant for you.

When Bruce fired Dick, he was angry. Back then, thoughts of hanging up the cape never, ever, crossed his mind. Back then, he was content with fighting crime alongside his mentor, and never really considered what would happen next- or if there’d even be a next, or an after. He felt betrayed, abandoned, and filled with cynicism. As selfish as it was, you weren’t even really an afterthought in the downfall of his life caving in and swallowing him whole. He needed time to heal- time to rebuild- and prioritize who he was when he wasn’t hiding in the shadows left behind by a cape and cowl. Years passed, and with time to reflect, Dick’s bitter resentment morphed into a new kind of devotion to himself, and the few that started to look to him for guidance.

Before the Titans, he never really considered himself to be a leader. He spent most of his life abiding by rules and plans- roles and paths- that were set for him by another. Had he been hungry for control before, his first real taste solidified an insatiable appetite for the very thing he felt himself deprived of for too many years. Though, he’d come to learn that there was an ugly side to the power he wielded. Some days, the responsibility felt like a burden, and others, he felt like his guilt and uncertainty would swallow him whole. He bottled up all of his doubts, packed them somewhere deep inside the closed-off caverns in his heart where darker demons haunted, and forced them elsewhere- out of sight, and out of mind, but never truly gone.

It’s not fair that, somehow, you’ve come to possess the key that matches the lock on his Pandora’s box. Every emotion, every feeling, and every thought meant to be suppressed and banished to a place where they couldn’t torment or harm him, refuses to go gently when one simple, magnetic look threatens to release them from their cages of skin and bone. The most daunting realization of all, however, is that he’s the one to blame- for everything.

For all of it.

Selfishly, he’s hoped for an ember amongst the carnage he’s created. He’s held onto some convoluted idea of hope that whatever was once alight could be reignited again if he fully committed himself to an apology, but he failed to acknowledge the amount of ashes he’d have to sift through for a hint of a spark. There’s too much disappointment, too much duplicity, regret, and time passed between the two of you for things to ever revert back to even a semblance of what they once were.

He looks to you now, and he sees it- your anger is a mask for your pain. It’s so faint he almost misses it, but your lip threatens to wobble. Beyond the wrath you try to convey with the narrowed glare of your eyes, he watches as thinly veiled yearning mingles with what’s left of the color of your irises- simultaneously faint, yet prominent to the only other person who knows what it’s like to push away the person you love. What Dick and you shared wasn’t love, but it could’ve been and that’s what you’re both mourning- what could’ve been.

“You and I aren’t friends, Dick.” He hates the finality behind your conviction. It’s so cold, and void of the warmth he associated with you once upon a time. A split second threatens to expose the façade, and you blink back tears instead of allowing them to fall- swallowing emotion and banishing it elsewhere. Feelings have no place here. Instead, you grit your teeth, clenching them together so tightly that your jaw begins to ache. He watches you struggle to commit to the act- because that’s what your rage is, an outlet for your passions- and as you take a step closer toward him, his breath hitches. “Now, get out of my way,”

Toe to toe, you meet his gaze, and no matter how hard you try to fight it, despite your best efforts to disguise what you truly feel, Dick sees right through you- recognizing the parts of you that you try to mold and shape into something else. After all, he’s your greatest weakness- and you’re his. You always have been, and he always will be.

He dares to move. This close, he resists the urge to reach out for you and never let you go again, but this isn’t about him. It’s about you. Hesitantly, he raises his hand, his eyes never leaving yours as the shaky tips of his fingers graze your chin with a tenderness you’ve sought since the last time you felt it. The air is tense, passed back and forth by sharp breaths and thundering pulses- intimate with warmth and affection that mimics that of a simpler time- and when his palm rests against your cheek, cradling it with such gentle endearment in the face of betrayal, you let him. Dick’s throat bobs, and he pours everything he can’t bring himself to say into such a delicate touch. Every apology he wishes he had the courage to speak aloud, every declaration of devotion he was too afraid to voice, and every inevitable truth he attempted to ignore lingers, and you can feel it- in every shy stroke of his thumb across your cheek.

“You’re not going to distract me,” A single tear merges with the pad of his thumb- a testament to your resilience, but no match for the broken, battered, beaten bond you share with the man before you- and your certainty begins to dwindle. There’s a string that ties you to him- an invisible thread strong enough to stitch the two of you back together when you should remain apart- but you’re destined for him, the same way he’s always been destined for you.

It was foolish to believe any differently.

“I’m not trying to distract you,” Barely above a whisper, he pleads, desperate to make you understand, “I’m trying to apologize.”

He hangs his head with defeat, his shoulder slumping forward as he peers down at you. He’s never known such cruel torture. Such sick and twisted suffering is self-inflicted. The past erodes his future, but he can’t stop himself from resurrecting his demons. Foolishly, he invites them to haunt him further- and you’re no exception. His tightrope is stretched taut, and it’s a long way down. How much longer can he balance between anemoia and actuality before tipping one way or the other? It’s insanity- repeating the same act and hoping for a different outcome- but Dick can’t bring himself to accept that this time won’t be different. If nothing else, the possibility that this never-ending game could crown two winners is enough for him to play the martyr, and suffer whatever repercussions might follow after barring himself whole. What more does he have to lose, if not everything he’s already lost, again?

It would be so easy to reach past him and turn the lock in your favor, granting your escape. Hell, with the way he’s looking at you now, you know that he wouldn’t even put up a fight. He’d let you waltz right past him, slipping through his fingers for the umpteenth time because he knows that this time won’t be the last. It never is. Visions blurred by uncertainty flash before your eyes- infinite possibilities, each with consequences and punishments, rewards and sacrifices- but the unknown doesn’t elicit the same adrenaline-filled excitement that it once did. Maybe because this time, Dick isn’t fighting back. Surrendering his shield, he abandons resistance- instead, entrusting you with the vulnerability that spills from his heart, blood crimson against his fingers as he squeezes it with each thump and thud- crumbling before you, and submitting everything he has to give to you. Even if he can’t bring himself to support your cause.

You lean in closer, drawn to him- the same way you always have been, and likely, always will be- and your palm hovers over his chest. For a second, it’s unclear whether or not you’re going to reach out for him or push him away, but when your hand meets the fabric that covers hard muscle, you know you’re done for- because in the same ways he’s willing to fall before you, you’re willing to fall before him, too. Over and over again. Repeatedly and infinitely.

“Well, you have impeccable timing,” Your reproach is close enough for him to taste. It wavers against his lips and slips past his tongue, allowing him to savor parts of you he hasn’t been allowed to indulge in for so long. There’s no mistaking the invitation of your reprover, and Dick’s palm rests against your lower back, coaxing you closer towards him as his nose brushes against yours. It’s dizzying, and your arms find their way around his neck to steady yourself when he rests his forehead against yours with a soft sigh. The irony of the situation isn’t lost upon you- even when the two of you have ceded to one another, you’re still fighting to see who will give in first. As if he’s come to the realization at the same time, a large hand- rough and callused, but soft and tender in the way that it trembles against your cheek with anticipation- encourages you to tilt your head back, and you follow his lead. You hold your breath as your lips part, and Dick surges forward, slotting his mouth against yours in a kiss that’s fueled by the release of years of pent-up longing, need, and want. The gesture is foreign, yet familiar. Reminiscent of the past, yet entirely new. Everything you remember and everything you’ve ever dreamed of merge together in this moment and bring life to what had only ever been fantasy before his lips found yours once more.

It’s exhilarating.

“I missed you,” The affirmation rumbles against your skin, warm with fervor and urgency, and it’s completely unnecessary- considering that each movement acts as a balm to soothe wounds of time, fear, and doubt- but he vows with each breath, relying on words to convey what his actions can not, and vice versa. Masks are off. Shields have been abandoned. Capes remain long forgotten at the door. This is no longer about duty or morality. No, this moment is about two people seeking confirmation for what they’ve always known to be true- that a love unspoken, but never absent has always existed between them. Two people- not vigilantes or heroes- two hearts, beating to guide the other back, are bare, open, honest, and raw without the theatrics of a chase or the pretense of a game. Surrender invites you to balance on the edge of a precipice, and you’re the first to lose your footing.

Desperation is an influence, and his lapels wrinkle with the severity of your hold. Through the haze of everything unknown, he’s the only thing that’s clear, and you reach for him- blindly, but intentionally- clawing at the fabric that keeps him from you. Clashing teeth and bruising grips don’t elicit pain, not when real suffering exists in the absence of the other, and you allow him to paint you violet, blue, green, and red with desire, becoming the embodiment of his want. Your only regret is that the evidence of this divine crime will eventually fade away to nothing more than a memory- another ache that will never dull, a moment so unique that it can never be replicated. As you rejoice, you mourn.

“Sure you did.” His blazer drops to the floor as you follow your script, hardly taking a moment to realize that the page you’re reading from is blank- without word or direction- as you venture into unknown territory. Even when you don’t mean to be, you’re combative. Even when you don’t want to be, you’re still on edge. This is different. This already feels different than before, and maybe it’s because there’s a lot more at stake now that both of you have already lost one another, but for as overdue as this homecoming is, something subconsciously prolongs it further.

“No, really, I-“ He begins, ready to mold rhetoric and force it to take on a form that would allow you to see just how much you mean to him, but that would make this real, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for this to be real yet- because if this is real, if this isn’t just a cruel imitation of memory like so many variations before or a concocted fantasy so vivid you can feel yourself shaking, then that means you can lose it all, again. Just like last time. Within your grip, one minute, slipping through your fingers the next.

“Don’t.” Fear sounds different when there’s a bite to it. It could almost pass as annoyance, if you’re able to keep your voice just steady enough, and he mistakes the command for irritation, rather than the timidity it actually is. Whatever you’ve intended and he’s interpreted gets lost along the way, and he takes a hesitant step back. It’s impossible not to lunge for him as he retreats, but you remain still- your breath hitching when he holds both hands out to you, surrendering his palms while he shows he meant no harm.

“Can I…”

“You don’t have to ask,” You silence his fears quickly, closing the space between you before you even realize that you’ve taken a step. This self-sacrificial eagerness to light yourself on fire just to keep him warm has always been one of your greatest downfalls, but a most ardent gesture, and with ash on your tongue and soot in your lungs, you strike a match the minute he begins to second guess himself. “Just pretend it’s like before.” The suggestion sounds just as unsure as you are, but with a heavy breath, you encourage, “Pretend that nothing’s changed…pretend that we’re still…” You can’t even bring yourself to say it, because the kids you were back then are gone. They’re never coming back. You can’t avenge them or try to seek vengeance for what they’ve lost. It’s over for them, but this is just the start of this new beginning for the two of you. “Just for tonight.”

He moves promptly, gathering the skirts of your dress in one hand, fisting the fabric- a blue so dark he mistook it for black, or perhaps it was, until his fingertips were close enough to paint the illusion with light, making it appear different than it was- without any regard for creases or lingering proof of your affair. Support rests at your back, his chest firm and protective as you lean into the rippling muscle, and Dick continues to illuminate shadows of the past with each touch- eager to help you forget all of the agonies suffered at his hands in favor of remembering glimpses of peace. He’s ready to give you more than just a taste. Now, he wants to gorge you with the pleasure he’s reserved.

His hands shake- not with hesitancy, but anticipation, and when you catch his eye in the mirror, you shiver. You’ve never seen a blue so dark it looks black- until now. Without warning, he mouths at your neck- kissing, sucking, biting, any part of you he can get his lips on- reacquainting himself with parts of you that were once so familiar, and you allow him to explore. Blindly, you reach for one of his hands, taking it in your own, and he begins to intertwine his fingers with yours, but you gently guide his hand where you want it most- and he lets you, following your lead just as impulsively. You jolt at the first brush of his fingertips between your legs, even though you were expecting it, and he lets out a few ragged breaths against the back of your neck. It’s paradoxical, the chills that contradict the flush of your skin, but this relationship has never really made sense before. Why should that change now?

Almost as if he’s in a trance, Dick is overwhelmed by the twists and turns of the evening, but the whiplash is starting to subside in favor of something much more exhilarating. He never thought he’d have this again. He believed moments like these to be lost to time, and he wasted years grieving memories he could never replicate, only to feel the weight of your body against his once more. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything he never knew he wanted or needed until it was stolen from him, swiped right out from under his nose by his own negligence. He won’t make the same mistakes this time. No, this time, he’s going to do it right. He’s going to-

“Fuck,” When you grow tired of his stalling, you force his hand, again. This time, when your fingers meet his wrist, you press your palm on top of his- coercing him to mimic the shape- and maybe you’re the one in control, or maybe he finally rises to the occasion, but with a newfound determination, he cups your cunt- a choked sound catching in his throat when he feels how wet you are. You briefly wonder how something so vulgar can sound so pretty, but you already know the answer- it’s him. It’s always been him. Had it been anyone else, the effect would cease to exist, but it’s Dick, and that desire- that pull that you can’t ever deny- will always bind you to him.

You can’t help yourself from rutting against his palm, and he presses himself further into your back, allowing you to feel the hard outline of his cock against your ass. The hand that isn’t between your legs rests on your arm, and when he tries to hold your hand, you don’t deny him. There’s just too much fabric for you to hold in just one hand and some of it drapes over his forearm, but you manage to keep most of it from obscuring his movements. It’s a strange angle, and both of you are fumbling to make it work, but you crane your neck in search of him, and he answers your call with an eager kiss. Your tongue caresses his, savoring the feeling and committing it to memory, just in case-

He swallows your surprised gasp when he nudges your panties aside and begins to circle your clit. With just a bit of pressure, a crease forms where your eyebrows pull together, and you untangle your hand from his hold to brace yourself against the counter. It’s been a while since someone else has touched you, and it’s been even longer since the last time Dick had, but it’s so much better than evocations of pleasure. You swear figments are tangible. Spurred on by the reaction his touch has coaxed from you, he’s torn between making the moment last as long as possible or picking up the pace. He settles on the latter, considering that if this is heading the way he hopes it’s heading, he’ll have all the time in the world to make it up to you, but right now, he’s on borrowed time. You both are. With the reminder looming overhead, he adjusts his hand so that he can continue to work your clit while lining up a finger with your pussy. You’re so wet, and warm when he curls his middle finger inside, and he can’t remember why he ever left in the first place. What persuaded him away from Gotham when you were always right here? Would you have waited for him? Would you have followed him if he asked you to? He supposes none of that matters now, but he can’t help but wonder…

He adds a second finger, and even though your body gives little resistance to the intrusion, you groan at the feeling. His fingers are so long, reaching that spot inside of you that your fingers are just too short to reach, and they’re thick enough for you to feel yourself stretching around him with each thrust- not enough to cause pain, but an ache that serves as a reminder that it’s been too long since the last time you’ve had him like this. You vow not to let another ten years pass before you let him have you, again.

He continues a steady pace, curling his fingers in such a way that sweat begins to glisten across your chest, and when a third finger threatens to join his others, you wrap your hand around his wrist- abruptly halting his movements.

“N-not enough time,” He doesn’t even get the chance to ask before you supply him with an answer, but he nods in understanding once you offer an explanation. He’s already reaching for his belt, unbuckling the clasp and roughly shoving his slacks down before you have a chance to catch your breath, and you’re grateful- if the speed in which he undresses is any indication of his own eagerness- that he’s just as desperate for you, as you are for him. Taking a moment to adjust your skirts so that you don’t have to hold them, you bunch them above your hips and lean forward, resting your forearms against the counter while Dick frees himself from his boxers, and when you look back in the mirror and catch sight of his cock behind you, you can’t help but swallow thickly.

He strokes himself a few times, smearing the pre-cum beading from his slit down his shaft as he prepares to take you. This doesn’t feel like last time. As he reaches for your waist and lines himself up with your cunt, this doesn’t feel like last time at all. This is new, and different and everything he’s wanted ever since the last time he had you in his grasp. This time, he won’t let you get away. With as much self-restraint as he can manage, you feel the tip of his cock against your opening, slowly splitting you open, and your back arches. Your own strangled cry prompts a groan from him he sinks into you, inch by inch until his hips are flush against you. You’re so full that you’re not sure if it’s too much or not enough.

“I’ve got you,” Dick assures, his grip on your hip tightening when he feels you struggling to accommodate him. He tries to be a gentleman. He tries to give you a few minutes to adjust- even though he wants nothing more than to take what’s right under his nose, what’s always been his- but his restraint snaps when he feels you begin to rock back against him.

“Move,” You command, and he doesn’t have to be told twice. With your permission, he’s happy to follow orders and obliges with a sharp thrust upwards. The sound you make is a mix between a sob and a moan, and his fingers flex against your hip as he repeats the action.

“I forgot…” Through clenched teeth, he confesses, and you don’t think anything of the admission, too lost within your own feelings to attempt to decipher his. Instead, he wraps an arm around your waist, offering thick muscle to serve as a buffer between your body and the stone he has you pressed up against- relying on intimate gestures to make up for words lost in translation. Even now, when you’re not on the same page, you still know. Somehow, you know, and he does, too. Every time. Without fail. Always. Your head rolls back to meet his shoulder, and your fingertips claw at the back of his neck awkwardly, with transparent desperation to pull him closer. Within reach isn’t close enough. Near is too far. With a muted gasp, you push back to meet his next thrust, and he hisses softly before elaborating, “I’m so sorry if I made you forget.”

“Dick-“ Realization begins to splinter the mirage of bliss, and you manage to say his name with enough caution to serve as a warning. You don’t want to think about the past. Not right now. Not when you can see your future so clearly in the foggy reflection of the vanity. He wraps his hand around your neck, encouraging you to bare your throat to him and he licks at the vein that calls out to him.

“I won’t let you forget, not this time.” He vows, bucking his hips faster and faster as you whine in his hold. In some sick twisted way, he loves that he’s the only one who has this power over you- that he’s the only one who could ever elicit such a reaction- and it’s a testament to how much the two of you care for one another; the influence both of you have over one another. “This time, I want to remember.”

It’s going to be impossible not to.

“I-“ He can barely get a word out with how good you feel around him, and he takes a breath before trying again. “I know you want to pretend, but fuck…I can’t.” Dick wraps his arm around you, guiding your back to rest against his chest, and one of his large hands splays across your stomach, where he can feel himself inside of you. “I really did miss you,” Somehow he manages to find his voice. “Not just like this, either,”

“I-I missed you, too.” You don’t seem certain, not with the way you stutter, but your reply is genuine. It only appears dubious because Dick’s palm begins to press against you, and you all but choke on your confession. He can’t help himself, but neither can you.

“I’m close,” He rasps, brokenly. “Shit,” His thrusts begin to falter, and his eyes meet yours in the mirror. “Are you-“

“Yes!” You yelp when his fingers start circling your clit, and he doesn’t relent, even when he feels you start to tremble beneath him. You’re overwhelmed by him, in the best way possible, and as eager as you are to chance your release, a part of you never wants this moment to end. “Dick, please d-don’t stop,” Your muscles grow taut, and when his thrusts lose their precision, you know that he’s almost there. “Just like before,” You encourage him, clenching hard when he bites your shoulder and your orgasm washes over you. “J-just like before.”

He knows what you’re asking for. He understands what you’re practically begging for, and in a fleeting moment of clarity, he catches a glimpse of the faded scar on your arm- his only regret being the fact that an implant still stands in the way of what he truly wants with you- but the thought disappears as quickly as it materializes.

A few seconds more and he grunts against your neck, pulling your hips to meet his and spilling himself inside of you. It’s even better than you remember and your body shakes with aftershocks of pleasure. Luckily, he’s there to keep you upright. Your vision starts to blur and the only sound you’re able to make out is both of you struggling to catch your breaths. With a heavy sigh, he pulls out, and you can feel his cum start to leak from you, but you’re too disoriented to clean it up. Instead, you lean forward, relying on the countertop for support as you hang your head and try to come back to your senses.

Dick leaves a trail of soft kisses down the back of your neck and his forehead is both warm and damp when it meets your shoulder, resting comfortably against your skin while he takes a minute to catch his breath, and these sensations- these tiny little reminders that he’s here, this moment is present and real- ground you. Where your mind is a mess, reeling with indecision, emotions, and thoughts you can’t yet process, your body is at ease.

As your eyes flutter shut, greedy gulps of air fail to satisfy your lungs, and you swallow thickly, allowing pressure to build up in your chest until you simply can’t take it anymore. Darkness saturates all that you can see, and you’re caught in a void- trapped, without any light to guide you back home. The gentle caress of his touch along your arm brands you, flush enough to make you burn with reminders of this fleeting moment- when embers of devotion inevitably fade into ashes- and you stiffen in his hold, not that he’s coherent enough to notice.

He seems to be in his little world as he tucks himself back into his pants and presses another gentle kiss to your shoulder before wrapping his arms around you. Violent delights really do have violent ends and it’s not fair that you let it get this far without thinking about the consequences of your actions. None of this would’ve happened if you just let yourself love him- without fear, without judgment, without regret- and if you had just been honest with yourself all those years ago, this mess would’ve never spiraled so far out of your control.

Whatever repercussion await you, you’ll brave. Regardless of what happens next, you know that you have to tell him the truth- even if it kills you. The thought is often more daunting than the action itself, but as you turn yourself around in his arms so that you’re facing him, you’re petrified.

“I’m sorry,” The magnitude of your apology isn’t supported by the handful of letters that arrange themselves as they slip past your tongue. There has to be a better way to express your remorse, but if one exists it evades you. Over and over again, the same words come to mind and it’s not fair that you know exactly what you want to say, but you just can’t find the right words to absolve your shame. At your inability to voice your regret, frustration overwhelms you. Your lips part, ready to divulge your sins, but only a pathetic, meek sigh comes out. Why is this so difficult? You know the answer, and yet, you play the part of the fool- leaning on ignorance as a crutch for what you can’t bring yourself to brave. He deserves it, doesn’t he? The truth- not something partial, but whole. Transparency is the only piece left of a nearly complete puzzle, the only thing keeping this tragic tale of two lovers who break each other’s hearts only to stitch them back together again from reaching its inevitably doomed end. When your lip begins to tremble, Dick reaches for you, pulling you into his chest and embracing you in a hold that’s absolutely suffocating. You don’t deserve his kindness. You don’t deserve his love or affection- his tenderness or his forgiveness.

You don’t deserve him.

“Me too,” He sighs into your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before resting his head on top of yours. You can hear his heart- how steady it beats- and the sound rivals the racing of your own where it threatens to burst straight from your chest, and your eyes flutter shut, savoring the gentle lull of his own serenity before you poison his relief with your own disruption. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how difficult it may be, you know that you have to tell him. With a breath, you prepare for carnage.

“No, Dick, I-“

“Dick? Are you in here?” Barbara’s voice seeps through the wooden barrier that separates the two of you from the rest of the world- from reality- and as soon as she calls out to him, the illusion of tranquility is broken. Of course, it’s her. Of course, she’d be the one to interrupt you before you had the chance to speak, and of course, it would be her that drives a wedge further between the two of you with one simple revelation, “They’re getting away!”

It’s almost impossible to miss the sounds of commotion that follow her declaration. Faint screams and chaos replace the background of symphony strings and he turns to you then, a divot dividing the smooth skin of his forehead while his eyes narrow. Blue is black. Dark, and unmistakable. The muscle in his jaw looks like it’s about to burst with the severity of his clenching and his nostrils flare with a shallow exhale. It’s excruciating to watch him slip back into consciousness after being caught up in a dream, but a nightmare unfolds before you, twisting your stomach into knots so intricate they threaten to snap. You can’t breathe, and when you gather enough courage to finally take a step forward, he takes a step back. He’s never looked at you with so much hostility before, and you open your mouth to explain, to shower him with honesty and desperate pleas to make him understand that this wasn’t meant to happen like this, but no sound comes out. Not even a sigh. Not even a huff. Not even a pathetic, broken whimper. Nothing.

Unfortunately, Dick’s left to draw his own conclusions- to fill in the gaps in which your silence fails to atone for your crimes- and he paints a picture so drastically different from the truth, relying on his interpretation to establish a story so vivid he believes it to be real- even if it’s a figment of his own imagination, a product of his own devastation. Dispelled doubts come rushing back, and he allows them to influence the narrative- since you still can’t seem to find your voice- and everything left unsaid becomes louder in the silence. He mistakes your tears for guilt, instead of recognizing the regret and shame that mingle with saltwater. As gutted as he is, he looks to you for an explanation, but you can’t bring yourself to justify what you’ve done- even if it wasn’t your intention. Distracting him was part of the plan. Keeping him occupied was your mission, but confessing your true feelings and allowing yourself to fall back in love with him- not just the idea of what it would be like to love him- wasn’t part of your job description.

The second your paths crossed again, you were done for. It was never about seeking vengeance or getting even for the hurt that he caused you, because the minute that Dick waltzed back into your life, you knew you were doomed- because he makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak- and you let him. Every single time. Always and forever. Infinitely.

When he looks at you, he looks past you and towards your belongings on the counter. No. You shake your head, vehemently encouraging him to look away. If his eyes would just meet yours, if only for a second, you know you could save this. If not for the sake of putting broken pieces back together you could at least salvage fragments amongst the wreckage, but he doesn’t spare you a glance. No, no, no. His attention is solely on the expensive stone behind you, and when you reach out for him, your fingertips shaking as you grasp his bicep with all of the strength you can muster, he shakes you off of him.

Everything splinters.

When he reaches for your earring, you know that this is the end. It’s all over. A new moment will erase everything you thought you knew about pain, heartbreak, suffering, and betrayal. This moment, as it unfolds before you, will plague you until you meet your demise, because the second that he dares to bring the jewel up to his own ear, the exact moment that he hears Selina’s command through the gravely static of the earpiece you discarded earlier in the evening, you know that any hope for a future together vanishes- ripped straight from your fingers before you even had the chance to hold onto it and guard it with your life.

Even with his back towards you, you can see his face harden in the reflection of the mirror. Through the thin material of his crumbled dress shirt his shoulders tense and when he finally looks up to meet your stare through the glass, all traces of red, green, and yellow are gone. A piece of him- the piece of him that you’re most familiar with- dies, sprawled out and oozing across the marble. It’s too late to try to revive him. All that’s left in the wake of his slaughter is blue and black.

Blue and black, forevermore.

There’s nothing left for either of you here. Not anymore. Hope begins to decay, and the hollow hole in your chest that only he could ever fill begins to die from rot. Nothing will ever be the same. Not after this. Perhaps the final thought passed back and forth between a glare is the last thing you’ll ever share- beyond moments of destruction and beautiful chaos- but it’s clear to you both, that not all ghosts are meant to be resurrected.

Some ghosts should just stay ghosts.

a/n: hey, I’m raen and I’m down bad for this man lol…anyway, I’ve been working on this story for months. I literally poured bits and pieces of my soul into this (so if you wouldn’t mind interacting or providing feedback I’d be forever grateful) but I just wanted to write a tale of doomed lovers who care about each other in such a way that it leads to their downfall. I wanted this to hurt, and I hope it did- in the best way possible! I’m not above begging, so please, please, please feel free to send some feedback- as this is my first time writing for Dick and I would love to hear what people think! that being said, requests are also open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

everyone who requested to be tagged: @js-favnanadoongi @kalulakunundrum @1lellykins @octodog17 @novelizt @nesta-houseofwindfantasy @corgiqween576 @whiteglovemanor @godcreatoreli @lassmich1 @consternat1on @deffnotnia @haloney @iananiko @noodlesketchbook @thescarletcryptid @obsessedwthdilfs @vanice-e @taintedmaroon @holybatflapexpert @whatismypurpos @heylookwhoitis @corpseflower6 @heavenlym0chi @lokiwannacry @boywondergrayson @tetzoro @oiztsy @naf3211

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Send me some feedback, or request to be added to my taglist! (please specify which taglist you’d like to be added to- character or general) !Requests: OPEN!

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mysticheathenn · 5 months

Text

What Booktrope Is Your Future Love Story?

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is for my Patreon All Tiers. This pick-a-card reading is all about what book trope is your future love story.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help. Tarot should be used as entertainment and not a for sure answer to your problems but as a guide, a sense of hope, and amusement.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

Extended Patreon Includes:

Who is your book trope lover? w/ Book Recommendations

Extra Messages

MasterList

Patreon Link

Ko-Fi Donations

Pile l:

What book trope is your future love story? Oracle: Wedding, Children, Love Yourself First, Calling in Your Soulmate, Passion.

Soulmates X Sworn Off Love. Pile l you probably have been through the ringer when it comes to finding "the one". Time and time again people have disappointed you and you have mostly given up on love. You are in the headspace of if love happens great if not, you don't care because you are currently focusing on yourself right now or will soon be focusing on yourself. I always find it wild because usually when you give up on finding love and you focus on yourself you end up meeting your soulmate. For clarity, when I mean focusing on yourself I mean better yourself and seeing growth of who you are as a person and growing your career not just sitting at home pretending to not think of love. When you focus on yourself it has to be for yourself not to bring in a relationship. It kind of defeats the purpose, it's like washing and drying off at the same time. Did you work on the parts of yourself that needs to be "fixed" so you arent doing more harm than good (energetically attracting the same people)? During this time of swearing off love you need to be healing and reminding yourself that you are worthy of a healthy love, nothing is wrong with you, and you are amazing. Your soulmate is out there waiting to love you out loud, passionately, and whole heartedly. Patreon Link

Pile ll:

What book trope is your future love story? Oracle: Free Yourself, Passion, Engagement, Playfulness, Pay attention to red flags, Chemistry

Enemies to Lovers X Alpha Hero X "Insta love". Because you have been burned in the past, you refuse to let another person smooth talk their way into your heart so you put up a wall for some of you. You may also have been attracted to Pile l but for others of you, there's something about this person where you feel the need to look for red flags every time you hang out with this person. You don't know if it's your paranoia or if there is indeed something wrong with this person but either way you slowly but surely lower your defenses and see this person for who they are and end up seeing that this person actually wants to get to know you and not waste your time. There will be an instant connection and for some of you this may possibly be one of the triggers to up your defenses because maybe you aren't the type to believe in "Love at first sight" but either way you will definitely give this person hell for a little bit. What I mean by that is you will be sarcastic (playfully) and basically make them jump through hopes in order to prove their worth to you and boy do they love jumping. Patreon Link

Pile lll:

What book trope is your future love story? Oracle: Trust, Stay Optimistic about your love life, finances and career, Romantic feelings, Give your relationship a chance, & Healing family issues.

Second Chance X Workplace X Opposites Attract. This pile has multiple messages but overall I feel this pile is mostly for those who have an on again off again relationship. Some of you may be with no contact with your person while others of you are in contact but not together and want to get back together but aren't sure. The few of you the other message is this person you could possibly know from work and you aren't sure whether you should give this person a try because of the saying "Don't shit where you sleep." Trust your gut to know if this will be a good idea or not it's never a bad thing to test the waters. If this person is mature and not a man-child where you will regret even considering this, I say go for it. You never know how far it will go. Now, for the vast majority of you with exes and on-again-off-again relationships...there seems to be some healing that needs to happen within the relationship. Some of you or maybe even your person acts the way they do because they never had a good example of how to treat, act, and go about relationships in a healthy way so they act out. My suggestion if you can afford to is going to couples therapy or establishing boundaries and better communication with each other on what is okay and what is not. Maybe even doing a trial period if you still aren't sure if you should give in to this person. Patreon Link

Pile lV:

What book trope is your future love story? Oracle: Chemistry, Playfulness, Engagement, Worth Waiting for, New Love, Free Yourself, Express Your Love, Attraction.

Friends to Lovers X Fling. This pile was kind of tricky to place into a book trope it was as if the possibilities for you are endless but I settled on Friends to lovers and possibly a fling-turned relationship. Either way, this person coming in could either be a new person in general who becomes a good friend that you develop feelings for a fling that is someone new and you develop feelings for either way this relationship is playful, fun, and light-hearted. You feel this person is exactly what the doctor ordered. Some of you may not want to get into a serious relationship right now because of either trauma or you just aren't ready for it so being with this person will feel very casual and fun. For whatever reason I feel like this person will make you feel like a kid at the fair. No worries, just fun in the sun. There is definitely a lot of attraction for each other and you will feel free to be yourself as well. For some of you, this may lead to an engagement while for others of you this is just something that will pass the time. Patreon Link

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay safe and be blessed

#spirituality #witchblr #tarot reading #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #pick a card #tarot cards #pac tarot #pick a pile #pac reading #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick an image #bookblr #books

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narcissistshandler · 1 year

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Can you write a yandere Sae x male reader smut where reader is flirty with others and makes Sae jealous and bratty? So then reader fucks the brattiness out of him.

𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗢𝗡 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗣𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗚 ��𝗜𝗦𝗧

✧ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 male reader x sae itoshi

✧ 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 light yandere!sae, light violent thoughts (not between sae and the reader), brat!sae, amab!reader, dom!reader, sae calls the reader sir, public, fingering (sae receiving), spanking (sae receiving), some swearing and insults, jealous!reader&sae, voyuer, non-consensual voyeurism

✧ 𝖠/𝖭 nothing to say, just that this was supposed to be much, much shorter (I'll edit this later, so ignore any errors for now)

“'This is so high I can't reach it, can you help me?'” Sae's voice loaded with poisonous sarcasm filled the distance purposely placed between you two. His beautiful green eyes were darkened with a shadow that could alert anyone but you and his arms were crossed in front of his chest, confronting you, mocking you... demanding an explanation.

You held back a sigh as you reached out with one hand to grab Sae's arm and finally close the distance between you. Sae stepped back, avoiding the touch.

“She needed help and I helped, no big deal,” you explained for what felt like the twentieth time since it happened. Maybe it was.

“She was flirting with you,” Sae pressed, his anger an icy, sharp thing. “And you flirted back,” it was an accusation that if was intended to anger you, so it succeeded.

Your temple throbbed with the onset of a headache and you brought your hand back to press against the spot, genuinely trying to understand what part of your interaction with the unknown woman had been seen as 'flirting' by your boyfriend.

The poor woman, who looked barely younger than you, who was kind, gave you a toothy smile and who seemed to follow you down the supermarket aisles for a while before she worked up the courage to ask you for help, wasn't flirting with you by God. And you promptly helped her and then let her engage you in a suspiciously long conversation about how the woman was single and preparing a party to celebrate her new status, believing it would be too rude to cut her off.

Until the figure of Sae, who was completely ignored by the woman, despite standing right next to you, began to analyze the woman from top to bottom, in that way as if pondering how she would react if he put his hands around her neck or broke her fingers - fingers that she continued to touch your arm with - or how easy it would be to find out her address and then... That's when his eyes darkened and you finally ended that conversation.

It wasn't flirting, you thought. You were just being nice, trying to get to know the new neighborhood.

“Don't be childish, Sae,” you said, knowing it was the last thing that would make him calm down.

“Childish?” Sae repeated, his voice rising in tone, seeming not to remember that you two were standing in the middle of a supermarket aisle, or maybe he just didn't care. He wanted to embarrass you, you realized. “You shouldn't have even paid attention when she spoke to you!”

“That's not how the real world works.”

You continued, elbow resting against the shopping cart:

“I moved to the furthest house from the city that we found, don't think that just because I agreed now I'm also going to stop making friends or chatting around. You act like a spoiled child when he receives a new gift, just before breaking it.”

Sae's face turned to stone.

“I'd rather break you than let someone else have you,” he said, as if it were the most normal and passionate thing to admit.

This conversation wouldn't go anywhere, you knew, so instead of standing there and arguing with Sae, you sighed deeply and started pushing the cart. Even without turning back, you knew that Sae was following you, still keeping that pathetic distance between you. Sae's feelings towards you weren't normal, even though most of the time your relationship was as normal as any other. But you saw his darkness, you discovered that all the accidental encounters you had with him and all the familiarities between your and his tastes and hobbies had been faked and yet, you chose to stay.

“You can't just end the conversation at will,” Sae said, without even coming into your line of sight, still stuck on the previous topic. He was angry, so you should be angry too, that's how his reasoning worked. “You know I hate it when you turn your back on me.”

That's it. You snapped.

The cart slid on its wheels a few inches as you let go in favor of turning to face Sae. There, in his eyes, was defiance. And when your hand grabbed the back of his neck, nails digging into the skin beneath the curls of his hair, you saw something else stir there, fear.

“Shut your mouth up,” it was an order.

“What else would you do if I wasn't there? You already let her touch you and rub against you, what was the next step? Fuck her right there in the middle of the market while I was at home or participating in a match?” He stirred faced with the sudden order. Sae was like a wild animal, trying to shift your grip while making the accusation, testing your dominance, testing how far he could go, how hard he could bite you. “You're no better than a whore who can't keep the dick in the pants-”

The anger was heavy and immediate, falling like a stone into your stomach.

“Shut. Up.”

That shut Sae up, but you knew it wasn't enough, that in a few minutes, hours or even a few days later he would bring up the subject again. He needed to be put in his place.

With a firm hand grabbing the back of his head, your other hand fell to Sae's belt, but then, seeing the look of panic that filled his face, a thought crossed your mind and you pulled your hand away. Sae, however, didn't have time to relax before the order came:

“Unbutton your pants.”

“We are in public,” he said, the voice that had once been so loud and commanding now quiet. You both knew how famous Sae was and that even in this small town someone could recognize him. That would end his career.

“I gave you an order, didn't I?”

Sae's hands went down to his pants, the green eyes searching around the empty aisle as his trembling fingers released the button and lowered the zipper. Despite the fear and anxiety on his pretty face, it didn't take a command for him to fit his thumbs into the band of the pants and push them down, as well as his underwear. Obedience under the anxiety and embarrassment, the anger still there even when he asked please. Sae knew how to move his pieces, but you knew how to move him.

Standing in the middle of a supermarket aisle, with his lower body naked, his softening penis hanging between his long, slender legs, Sae was embarrassed. The same embarrassment he wanted to make you feel when he started an argument with you and told you all those poisonous and sharp things.

“[n-name],” he muttered, eyes still roaming around. “Let's go home... ple-please.”

You ignored his whining, that just sounded anxious, not genuine. “Turn around. The faster you comply the faster you can put your pants on and stop someone from seeing your naked ass.”

Sae looked once more for invading looks before obeying. He pressed his hands against the shelf in front of him, his small, round ass facing you.

Your hand fell to one of his pale cheeks. The sound of the slap echoed around. Sae seemed to bite back a grunt.

“I don't need to tell you how bad you were, do I? You know that.” A second slap, in the same place where the previous one had landed. “You chose to irritate me, you chose to insinuate that I would cheat on you with the first person who appear in front of me.” Slap. Slap. Slap. A hard and fast sequence of your hand connecting with his soft ass cheek. “Do you think I'm afraid of you?” you inquired, your tone full of mockery, treating Sae exactly as he was: a spoiled brat.

No response other than grunts and bitten moans came, the hyperawareness of being in public seeming for the first time to do the magic of preventing him from trying to answer you. Sae's slender body seemed to try to run away from the hits, pulling away from your hand, but he didn't get very far between your body and the supermarket shelf. The shirt pooled around his waist, the dark color contrasting with the pink that bloomed on Sae's pale ass.

Your hand rubbed the soft flesh, feeling the skin burn beneath yours. Your fingers dug into his ass, without care or gentleness. And when you squeezed harder, you could see the place between those round, firm cheeks glisten with moisture.

Your laughter sounded like bells under the noise of footsteps, wheels and movement of the supermarket. “Is that why you're all angry and upset and talking to me like that? Because you want to be fucked?”

Sae's ears burned. “Don't treat me like a-” He was interrupted by your index finger pressing against his soft, lubricated hole, previously prepared for you before left the house that afternoon.

“Like what? A whore?” You punctuated the mocking question with your finger plunging inside him hard. “You better lower your tone if you don't want anyone to see us.”

His hole was already relaxed, opening easily to the intrusion, the walls wet and tense just from the current situation. You pulled your finger back and pressed two in, stretching them inside him. Sae made a small whimpering sound in response, his pink cock now hard between his legs, dripping pre-cum onto his own pants, like the pathetic little thing he was.

Sae was muttering something under his breath, a jumble of words and phrases, among which you could make out a 'who do you think you are', but which shortly afterwards turned into a 's-sir... please' when your fingers curled inside him and rubbed against his prostate, eliciting a twitch in his cock.

Your own cock was hard between your legs, pulsing and demanding release, but you knew this wasn't the time or the place, it was pure luck that so far no one had walked in this aisle, and that there was no security camera nearby. Deep down you wished someone would see him, and recognize the famous player now being fingered in public like a cheap whore. And that selfish desire flared up when a small, shocked sound reached your ears.

A third finger sank inside Sae as you recognized the woman Sae accused of hitting on you standing right there at the entrance to the aisle, shocked eyes darting from you to Sae, still completely oblivious to the new spectator as he struggled to be silent while your fingers fucked him the way he loved: hard and deep.

“We have company,” you warned Sae. It took a whole few seconds for him to understand your words and move his face, trying to understand what you were talking about. As soon as his eyes met the woman's, his hole suddenly became tense and tight around your fingers.

“This little pig,” he muttered under his slightly panting breath. There was no shame in any inch of him though - shoulders still high, lips pursed, body still willing under your touch -, it was something different, it was pride. A phantom feeling of being better than most people, but especially better than that unknown woman who had tried to hit on you.

The woman didn't move, feet still on the floor, eyes going from Sae to you, then back to Sae. She seemed to be finally putting the pieces together, regretting offering you her phone number right in front of your boyfriend. But there was also desire beneath it all. She looked at Sae like most people did, as if she was mesmerized by his beauty.

Sae however was jealous and possessive and all he saw there was her wishing she was in his place; have your fingers inside her. “I-I want you to make me cum, sir,” Sae asked, sweet and obedient when faced with a 'rival' and dark and petty at the same time. “So she knows she can't have you. You are mine. You can only touch me this way.”

He was a spoiled brat. But his words made your dick get even harder and you pressed your hips against his ass so he could feel your hardness, to let him know that only he made you hard and hot like that. You thrust your fingers with recovered strength and speed into and out of him, eliciting the most beautiful moans and sighs from Sae's mouth, calling him 'mine', 'good boy' and 'pretty whore' while rubbing your digits against the sweet walls, attacking his prostate.

The display of passion and eroticism could have lasted minutes or hours, until Sae's legs contracted and his hole tightened, erratic hips rocking back against your fingers and when you pressed your pinky against the wet, supple rim, Sae came. Clear liquid splashed from the pink head of his cock, hitting his pants, which had fallen to his ankles, and the supermarket floor. The wetness of the lube covering his hole as if Sae had produced lube on his own, just for you.

Sae's eyes, however, were not on the spectator when he came and neither were yours. You only had eyes for Sae, especially when you saw him feeling pleasure. And Sae only had eyes for you.

Just as the tremors of orgasm shook Sae's legs, however, and his hole began to convulse around your fingers, you leaned in to place a kiss on the side of his neck, feeling the salt of his sweat and the bitter of the perfume - your eyes went briefly to the woman standing a little distance, who faced with reality blushed and ran away, but not before you saw wetness dripping from beneath her skirt.

“I think she had a little too much fun with our show,” you said to Sae, fingers moving in and out of him again with delicious slowness. “But she can't have you.”

“Ah- she can't have you too,” Sae said back, almost daring you to say otherwise, the wobbly legs forcing him to lean on the shelf.

Maybe that was why Sae never scared you, you were starting to understand. You were a lot like him in some ways. You rubbed his ass where the impact of the slaps had already softened from red to light pink to match his cute hole.

“No. She can not.”

#x male reader #x male top reader #x top reader #x top male reader #blue lock x male reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock smut #itoshi sae smut #itoshi sae x male reader #sae itoshi x male reader #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #tw yandere #yandere male #male yandere

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wraithdance · 1 month

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The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Synopsis: When your fiancé breaks up with you, you start to question your timeline; who needs a man when you can have a baby yourself? Who better to ask for help on creating one than your arch-nemesis Kyle Garrick?

Note: F!Reader, Fat/Plus sized Reader, Reader is implied to be Black but can be read as WoC, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use Content warning: none; besides a terrible grasp of british-isms

Chapter One: Piss off Kyle

It was while sitting beneath the awning of your favorite bistro that you’d come to a great realization. Hugo Montclair, your fiance of three years, was not just a bore but a bit of a jackass.

Also, the lavender cake was no longer listed on Le Misa’s menu. So, technically two great realizations. As bad as it sounded, one concerned you more than the other.

Squinting you give the laminated sheet another thorough read to confirm your suspicions and… ah, yes. It’s not there. Where it should be between the ladies fingers and the lemon cake is an empty, discolored space.

With a manicured finger you chip away at the corners to reveal the sloping letter ‘L’ beneath the meticulously placed correction tape.

This was no good.

“Siggy, darling have you heard a word I said?”

You hum in reply, still deeply baffled with the current conundrum. Hugo calls your name again, not satisfied until you’ve given him your attention.

He leans his head down to be in your line of sight. He’s a bit too blonde and polished for you not to focus your attention on. Like a shiny beacon. You try not to sigh deeply and instead plaster on a smile.

“Yes, I heard you darling, you want to break up because you’re seeing Maddie from downstairs.”

Hugo extends his dainty manicured hands across the small table to cover yours above the menu.

“I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you this way.”

His eyes are carefully soft and his expression does that awkward stretch people do when attempting to project a facsimile of contriteness. In this case it just makes the skin around his mouth pucker oddly, displacing the filler he swears he gets for preventive measures.

You pat his hand politely with a smile “It’s fine, Hugo, really. Do you think I can borrow your menu? I think there's been a bit of a mistake.”

You are sliding the paper to your side of the table before you can finish the sentence. Hugo is a bit taken aback and blanches.

Another sweeping glance at Hugo’s menu reveals much of the same.

There’s no lavender cake.

“Look, I know this is hard to take in but I want us to try to at least be amicable. We’ve been together for years and your parents and friends adore me.”

At this you snort but quickly cover it with a cough. Your parents tolerated him at best and your friends had made it well known they disapproved of Hugo. (Something about being a posh chihuahua enamored with its own self importance.)

You frown thinking of the dramatics his mother would put on inevitably, so sure you’d ruined the engagement to her son on purpose.

But really what could you do?

It wasn’t the most convenient thing to have your boss's beloved son kick you to the metaphorical curb, but technically you were the one who had been cheated on. Totally not your fault this time!

“I said I got it, you can’t help who you love and etcetera.” You give a cluck of your tongue before looking up once more hoping to catch the circling barista's eye.

The mid afternoon lunch crowd at Le Misa’s is blessedly tame for a Thursday. The gloomy weather outside makes it easier to spot the jittery teen in a crimson red apron. The poor girl is glued to a corner, hunched over and clutching a notepad in white knuckle grip.

She sees you shift in her periphery and snaps terrified eyes to your half raised arm. You do your best to smile sans teeth as you wave her over, coaxing her closer with small fluid movements.

You hope you’re projecting calming vibes because she looks a bit green around the gills from the very thought of being needed by a customer.

When she’s meters from your table you lean forward, your tits and belly squash a bit over the table causing your empty saucer to clatter before settling. Hugo, despite his offended chittering, stops long enough to stare at your chest. With a roll of your eyes you ignore his open panting. Typical.

“Hi darling,” you chirp in an octave higher than your usual. “I just had a quick question about the cakes? There used to be a lavender one here, I’ve been ordering it for years. Can you tell me what happened to it?”

“Um w-well.” The trembling girl blinks are twitchy and rapid, sputtering out um’s and oh’s.

‘Oh, no’ you think to yourself.

You might have broken her. Still, you nod your head in support waiting for her to gather her wits. The poor thing was obviously a new employ with a bitch of a case of social anxiety.

Your efforts are for nothing in the end because a loud clearing throat causes you both to freeze, just as it’s seem she’d gotten up her courage.

Your cheek ticks as you watch the skittish girl clam up again. Hugo’s gaze has pried off your cleavage long enough to laser something disapproving and pointed at the side of your forehead.

He’s even doing that thing with his face that you’ve always hated. His cheeks suck in like a goldfish and he does the eyebrow raise and head cock that screams ‘I am very displeased.’

“What? I just need to ask her something. I'll be just a sec.”

Hugo’s frown only deepens and he lets out the most dramatic sigh you’ve ever heard from a thirty two year old man.

It causes you to roll your eyes. Really, why couldn’t he just break up with you through text? This whole kerfuffle was starting to drag on and ruin your already limited lunch hour.

What happened to just saying ‘it’s not you, it’s me?’ or ghosting like a normal person?

You give the hovering teenager a tight smile and lift a single manicured finger to signify the need for a moment. She scurries back into the safety of the French doors into the cafe's interior before your hand has a chance to lower.

“Hugo darling,” Your tone is careful, neutral like the one you use to disarm your irate clients.

“I’m really not upset I promise, we’d barely begun planning the wedding and we never got around to moving in with each other. Really there’s no harm-”

“She's pregnant.” he blurts out suddenly.

A record scratches in your brain because, “What?”

Hugo grimaces. “She’s about three months pregnant. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

One blink. Two… before you’re sure there wasn’t a punchline coming.

“Are you taking the piss right now?”

“Sweetheart,” His hands raise in defense “don’t get upset-”

“Oh what the actual FUCK Hugo? You told me you wanted to wait until marriage before considering children!” Your hiss is low and dark.

More than a small part of you is satisfied with his flinch back to avoid your venom. You're slightly aware of the scene you’re causing but really! The man had kept his sperm under lock and key like his swimmers were precious jewels!

It’s the one thing he’d put his foot down about, content to let you drive the relationship otherwise.

‘I have to be considerate of my legacy as a Montclair, Siggy.’

‘We can talk about it after the wedding, Siggy.’

You didn’t understand the hang up because the Montclair clan were as distant from the crown as you were to Beyoncé! Still he’d been adamant about not having a child out of wedlock.

You’re not very kind about reminding him of the fact either.

“I did mean that, I swear,” he ruffles his coiffed blonde hair, the pomade holding firm but is no match for the havoc his slender fingers trail. “It just happened and Madelyn and I decided it was a good thing.”

He huffs “I mean let’s be realistic Siggy, she’s different from you. She’s a bit more equipped to take care of a child than you are.”

Oh ho! Now that was rich. You were chomping at the bit to hear how the barely legal heiress was better equipped to birth a baby than you were!

“How so!” Your tone is one translating the utmost disbelief and sarcasm.

Hugo waves a hand in the air, it’s so dismissive and you consider punching him in the nose for it. “She’s just much more flexible.”

Well ouch?

There’s a Rolodex of adjectives your litany of exes used to describe you before they dumped you.

Uptight, strict, aloof, intense. ‘Heartless harpy who feeds on the souls of innocent men’.

The last one came from a starving poet who’d been freeloading on your nice suede green couch before you'd kicked him and his lute out. How you managed to find the one man in London with dreams of being a modern day bard, who knows.

(You did admire his ways with words and his tongue was capable of art). It had admittedly stung a bit more than the others and you needed an extra hen session with the girls to unpack the resulting feels.

Nonetheless, you’ve never been called inflexible.

Matter of fact, you were pretty fucking flexible! Your Pilates teacher had crowed about it several times during class, thank you very much. (Maybe he was just trying to get you to put out but still, a compliment was a compliment.)

Momentarily you consider if that was actually supposed to be a dig at your weight but Hugo frantically rambles on as if reading your mind.

“I just mean that you work long hours at Mum’s firm and you’ve told me yourself you wouldn’t stop working even if you were pregnant.”

“So what!”

“So, that’s an awful way to raise a child Siggy! Madelyn works for herself and has the time to dedicate to a baby that you don’t.”

“Of course she has the time!” you cry out in exasperation, ignoring Hugo’s shushing. If he wanted you to react better he shouldn’t have dropped this bomb in public!

“She teaches yoga to the elderly in her perfect fucking apartment! I’ve been a barrister for all of 2 seconds and I can’t just give up my position!”

Hugo rolls his eyes with the dramatic flare only an aristocrat could pull off. “I’ve been trying to work on our relationship for months; you’ve blown me off every time saying you were working or there was a crisis with your friends.”

“I thought proposing would change things but…” The sad look does make some guilt well up into your veins.

Hugo’s shoulder drop and his blue eyes are a bit misty. It makes your throat close with panic. Hugo was prone to sobbing and you really needed to intercept that train before it derailed.

“Hugo-”

“It doesn’t even feel like you like me sometimes!” He’s hiccuping and throwing his hands in the air in exasperation before you know it.

Oh for fucks sake!

“It’s like you view me as more of a convenience than a partner. I’ve only ever seen you truly happy over coupons or work or cakes!”

Fat tears roll down his face and you’re handing him your linen napkin with a sigh. He thanks you and blows his nose loudly enough for other tables to glance your way. Wonderful.

When he composes himself you try to refute him.

“Hugo, that's not true, I like you,” His gives you a look of complete disbelief that sets you on the defense. “Really I do! I just…”

Your brows furrow as words evade you. You really wish he would have just broken up with you via text.

“I show it differently that’s all.” Your shoulders sag in defeat.

Hugo gives you a sad smile. It’s watery and his face is still a bit splotchy.

“But not like Madelyn does. Be honest, did you ever love me?”

You feel like an absolute bitch because you can’t answer him. After a while you both accept that it was about as much as you could say.

It’s only when you’re halfway to the office that you realize you never did get an answer about the cake.

Kyle Garrick had a radar for when you were about to make a fool of yourself. The man had somehow been privy to every embarrassing moment you’ve had in your shared building. You couldn’t prove it, but he had to have some kind of sixth sense for your personal humiliation.

There was no other explanation because the entire six years you’d lived across from him, he was always conveniently near when shit went awry.

Like that time you locked yourself out wearing only a ratty towel when reaching for a parcel. His stupidly pretty face only twitched in amusement seeing you hunched over and dripping wet.

You’d been attempting to jimmy the cheap lock with a stray paper clip you found discarded nearby. It hadn’t gone well, as you’d been more focused on trying to keep your tits and thighs within the thin, cotton fabric.

(They really should make towels for bigger girls more accessible, honestly it was ridiculous!)

It hadn’t been your finest moment but he could have had the decency to look away. Instead, he leaned his broad shoulder against his doorway, content to watch you struggle.

You’d snapped at him asking what his problem was and his only reply was ‘nippy in here, isn’t it?’

He did eventually help you break into your flat, but only after you’d called him as many names as you could think of. He’d waited out your tantrum without as much of a twitch. He’d simply taken the paper clip from you and sank to the floor in front of the doorknob.

His big hands were surprisingly much more dexterous than yours. You’d never admit to the lump in your throat or the shudder starting at your toes while staring at the long brown digits.

It didn’t help that his whiskey colored eyes bore into yours with an unspoken question when you made a panicked sound. The side of his head had grazed your breasts and the back of the hand holding your towel when he shifted on his knees. The light touch was clearly accidental, but still molten lava shot through you like a rocket on fire.

Intrusive thoughts of him kneeling before you in another context caused you to choke on your saliva. You tried so hard to clear your throat subtly but an embarrassing wheezing sound still managed to escape. Add insult to injury, the infuriating man had to pat your back when your body wracked with coughs.

You weren’t proud that you told him to fuck right off when he finally got the door open. You ignored his sarcastic ‘You’re welcome, luv” and slammed the door in his smug face.

That was nearly two years ago and the start of your vendetta against the irritating neighbor.

Per usual, he finds you just outside your doorway causing a scene. This time, you’re being clung to by your now ex-fiancés mistress.

Madelyn’s wails are loud, keening things that are razor sharp against your eardrums. Her tearful pleading is loud enough for you to miss the ding of the elevator as it stops on your floor.

Kyle strides from the lift like a living bronzed Adonis.

With gritted teeth you curse every deity known to mankind.

Wonderful. Truly, amazing actually!

He’s clearly coming back from a run, His arms are comically large and gleaming with a thin layer of sweat on his brown skin. You’re able to make out the intricate tattooed shield containing the numbers ‘141’ on his bicep. It’s the first you’d seen of it (not that you were keeping an eye out for it before).

His sleeveless jumper is damp and half zipped to show off a view of his firm pectorals and the first row of his 6-pack. You’re about to peak lower to his loose gym shorts when he catches your stray perusal and raises a singular brow.

“Everything alright, love?”

“Just peachy, Kyle, thank you.” you snipe in a clipped tone. “Please feel free to run along.”

Your snarky dismissal is prickly enough that most people would call you a cunt but would blessedly sod off.

The disgustingly fit nuisance just removes his headphones from around the cartilage of his ears and continues to linger just outside his door with crossed arms. Behind Madelyn’s trembling back you make a harried shoo-ing gesture. It’s meant to somehow relay that you had everything under control.

You did not of course, but the last thing you could stand right now is Kyle fucking Garrick in the mix of this shit-show. No matter how angelic the bastard looked in the dim lighting of the hallway, he had an uncanny ability to piss on all of your emotional reserves.

“Siggy!” Madelyn’s blubbering cuts off Kyle's next words. “I’m so, SO sorry!” She immediately descends into another fit of sobs against your cleavage.

There’s a bit of an awkward lull when Kyle snorts out a laugh.“You think she can breathe in there?”

With closed eyes you lean your head back to look at the ceiling, shooting a ‘fuck you very much’ to the universe.

You’d come home 20 minutes prior with murderous miasma cloaking you like a second skin. After being publicly dumped (without even the comfort of sweets to soothe the humiliation) you’d gone straight back to work just to deal with piles upon piles of paperwork.

Your only reprieve was Hugo’s mother canceling her standing appointment with you. You’d still been forced to work with the old woman’s assistant and to your disdain, he was just as persnickety as his employer.

By the time you’d made it home on aching feet and a splitting headache your thoughts were filled with the desire to stuff yourself with a big fat American cheeseburger. Specifically one from the shady shop around the corner that you suspect may be a mafia front. They made damn good cheeseburgers though.

Your mind had then of course wondered to the possibility of being caught up in a police raid and if ‘wanting to support local business’ be a good enough excuse to get you off the hook.

It’s how you missed the pint sized ambush lying in wait for you.

Madelyn had been planted outside your door in electric pink spandex and light up sneakers. She’d spotted you coming out of the lift and attached herself onto you before you could make a proper run for it.

Since then you’d been stuck holding her instead of the greasy end of a heart attack masquerading as a sandwich. Fat tears continue to wet the collar of the fleece outer coat you’d nabbed at a bargain sale.

“How long has she been like this?” Kyle asks with a raised brow.

Ignoring him, you do your best to wrestle Madelyn’s stiff form back enough to meet her eyes.

The younger girl’s face is red and splotchy, snot and mascara darkened tears stain her usually fair skin. Her mousy brown hair could use a wash as well but you aren’t unkind enough to point it out. Even though she did shag your husband to be, it was clear the girl was torturing herself with guilt.

It is a bit unfair that the smudged makeup does nothing to detract from her beauty, much to your petty disdain.

She’d make gorgeous babies with Hugo…

The thought makes you scowl. It was time to make a retreat.

“Madelyn, I’d really like to get into my flat. I don’t want to speak to you to be honest and I need you to let me go.”

More helpless wailing comes out of the younger woman.

“P-Please Siggy, I just need you to know I never meant for this to happen! Hugo and I tried to keep away from each other and I don't want you to hate me or the b-baby!” By the end she’s blubbering herself into hyperventilation.

From the corner of your eyes you can make out the door of your neighbor adjacent to you crack open. Whipping your neck to get a look at the nosy pissant gets the older woman to slam the door closed with a fearful squeak.

This had gone on too long.

Forcibly you use your hip and extra weight to maneuver the hysterical woman from your person. You hold her flailing arms to prevent her from launching herself back to your front. When she whines you’ve finally reached your breaking point.

“For fucks sake, you’re making a bloody scene!” You bark out, “I don’t care about Hugo!”

Madelyn flinches.

“But you care that we’re having a baby, right?”

It’s only when Madelyn lets out a whine of pain that you notice you’d been holding her thin wrists in a vice-like grip.

A forgotten Kyle chooses that moment to slink closer, his hands cup Madelyn’s shoulder carefully, despite your death glare.

“Maddy, darling, why don’t you let go for me.”

The brunette woman startles having finally noticed his presence in the vicinity.

“Oh, Kyle! I didn’t know you were here!” It’s insulting how quickly she wriggles from your hold to catapult herself into Kyle’s waiting arms.

With disgust you watch Kyle pat the shorter woman’s hair much like one would do a pet. Something about watching him with her makes your hackles rise farther.

“Why don’t you come in and calm down, hm? I’ll make you that tea you like and we can watch something.” Kyle makes a humming noise meant to soothe. It pisses you off but seems to work like a charm.

Madelyn’s sniffles subside dramatically and she rubs her hand across her button nose.

“Yes, that does sound lovely, but I need to talk to Siggy...”

You flinch as the two turn towards you once more. Kyle must see the cornered look in your eyes because he rubs his hands along Madelyn’s shoulders and whispers something in her ear.

Madelyn nods and enters Kyle’s flat without any further hesitation.

It’s like the nearly thirty minutes of being held hostage outside your own home means nothing against his soft words.

God, you hate this man with every fiber of your being.

With a scowl you rummage through your bag for your house keys. Why did you have so many gum wrappers inside? You really need to clean your bag out.

It’s not until you hear a throat clear that you realize Kyle still watches you from the threshold of his home.

“What?” Your tone makes a muscle in his cheek twitch. You hate to say it but it satisfies you to know at least you have some effect on him.

“Are you alright, love?”

That causes you to abandon your search. You squint at his open expression and the genuine concern you see there. It’s unexpected and makes you a bit uncomfortable. How pathetic did you look that even your enemies pity you?

“I’m fine. Not like you actually care anyways.”

The last part was said in a mumble but Kyle’s sharp ears catch it.

“Oy, what is that supposed to mean?” He steps closer to you crowding your space.

Your senses are bombarded by the heady scent of the bergamot and cedar wood notes in his cologne. Coupled with the tangy smell of his natural musk, your brain does that thing where it shuts off and reboots itself.

“Siggy.” Kyle reaches out to touch your arm sending an electric current between you two that causes you to jolt back. He frowns, stepping closer, crowding you before you wield your bag in front of you like a shield and sword.

“Garrick, I really, really don’t want to talk right now.”

“Sig-”

“No, no, no! I don’t want to hear it! I’ve had a shite day and the cause of it is currently waiting for tea and cakes in your flat! I’m the one that deserves bloody tea and cakes for fucks sake!”

Enraged, you shove your hand through your bag and come in contact with the puff ball attached to your keys.

You’re frantically unlocking your door and shoving inside your home, refusing to give the universe another moment to make a mess of your ruined day.

You look at Kyle as he stands in utter confusion and give him the dirtiest look in your arsenal.

“Cheers, I hope you enjoy your sweets with Madelyn but you can piss right off, Kyle!”

You slam the door with finality.

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#the five year plan #I promise there's a point to the cakes conundrum!#baby face #kyle gaz garrick #wraith writes #kyle garrick x black reader #kyle garrick x reader

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inkykeiji · 8 months

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anonymous said: i just wanna sit down on sukuna’s massive thigh. is that so much to ask?? character: ryomen sukuna notes: anon, i want to ride sukuna’s massive thigh so so so badly!!!!! and so of course i had to write something!!! warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, size difference, thigh riding, implied cureless!au, fem!reader, humiliation and degradation, toxic relationship, bit of noncon overstim right at the end words: 1.8k

It’s custom practice, at this point, that Sukuna places you on his lap whenever he’s engaging in an activity that requires sitting; when he’s working in his office, when he’s in a meeting (because his precious little baby is always with him, no matter what time or place or occasion), when he’s reading, when he’s lounging, when he’s eating.

It isn’t always in the same position; sometimes you’ll rest against him, your back pressed flush to his chest, one thick arm wound around your waist for stability; sometimes you’ll straddle his massive thigh, your face buried in his neck, lips painting strokes of saliva across his collarbone in messy little pecks, lashes leaving gentle butterfly kisses against his shoulder.

But irregardless of the situation and your posture throughout, if he’s sitting, you are there with him.

It is also customary that you behave while you’re in Daddy’s lap—no fidgeting or squirming, no whining or whispering, no complaints of boredom at all, and no getting down until he releases you.

So it’s not a shock, exactly, that a low, dark chuckle rumbles beneath his ribs the moment your hips begin to rock—barely anything more than shallow ruts, something that might’ve been mistaken for an innocent restlessness, had he not known better.

But he knows you much too well.

“I thought Daddy had a rule against wiggling, sweetheart.”

“Can’t help it, Daddy, swear I can’t.”

“Is that so?” he hums, flexing the muscles of his hard, defined thigh between your legs, snorting a little when you gasp. “And why is that?”

“M’horny, Daddy,” you whimper, nuzzling your cheek against the column of his throat. “Don’t wanna bother you, Daddy.”

“Oh? And what makes you think this isn’t bothersome?”

It’s not—you know it’s not.

Because as well as your Daddy knows you, you know him, too.

His four simple rules don’t exist because he can’t concentrate when you’re on his lap—he most definitely can. If there’s one thing you’ve come to learn about Sukuna in the short but intense time you’ve been his, it’s that he retains an exceptional amount of control over himself—body, mind, and soul—and it’s a fact he takes immense pride in.

Because, sure, Sukuna may live for the pursuit of pleasure, a hedonist in the purest sense, but that doesn’t mean he can’t control himself, his self-discipline and restraint sharper and stronger than a tungsten needle when he wants it to be.

His four simple rules are all about power.

Doesn’t mean they’re going to stop you, though.

Your hips are still shifting, cunt pressed flush to his thigh with only a thin layer of lace separating it from his pants, slit sliding along his firm, strong muscles in slow, hard strokes.

“Are you sure one pitiful little orgasm from pathetically humping my thigh is worth it?”

No, you’re not. One measly clitoral orgasm probably isn’t worth the hefty punishment that’s going to follow, but you’re too sleepy, too needy, to care.

An indistinct little noise vibrates at the back of your throat, head moving in ambiguous motions, rubbing thick cords of drool across his shoulder, leaving tiny webs shimmering on cashmere.

Your hips roll with more purpose, falling into a steady rhythm of rocking—back and forth, back and forth, smearing your cunt along the sleek muscle between your legs.

It already feels so good, using his thigh to stroke your clit in repetitive motions, the cotton twill of his trousers providing just enough resistance to make the friction delicious, a dull, dense heat flooding the pit of your stomach.

“God, look at you,” he scoffs, a peculiar mix of disgust and devotion saturating his voice. “Trying to fuck my thigh like you’re some sort of animal.”

Exhaling a snort, he jiggles his thigh in accentuation, sneering a little at the choked moan you try so hard to snuff out, pleasure clawing at your tongue.

“I guess it doesn’t make much of a difference to a desperate little slut, does it? My sick little girl will take whatever she can get, won’t she?”

Your head nods lethargically, smearing your own saliva over your chin.

“Aren’t you embarrassed to be acting like this? So eager, so ardent.”

“Jus’wan’ you, Daddy,” you slur out.

Because it’s true; you just want him, in any way you can have him.

Maybe you really are just a dirty, desperate little slut. Maybe it doesn’t matter either way.

“You know, I can feel your slick soaking through my pants,” Sukuna says, lips against the curve of your ear, dark, low voice reverberating against the cartilage—little tremors that snuggle into your flesh, skittering down your spine in a shiver. “It’s fucking disgusting, how wet you are from this.”

It is, he’s right, an obscene amount of arousal already staining his leg—far too much to be decent, to be normal, don’t you think, baby?—the copious amounts of slick making the grind along his strong muscles effortless, lace molded to your drenched folds and soiled all the way through, leaving a large gleaming patch on the material of his trousers, fabrics gliding together easily, aiding in your motions as your humping gains speed.

“Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how fucking lewd your cunt is?”

You do, of course you do, vulgar squelching echoing out among the home office with every buck of your hips, sopping clothes sloshing together, procuring a sick sort of gurgling.

It’s so humiliating, salacious sounds complemented perfectly by his silky laughter, but you can’t stop, movements accelerating to hard, quick gyrations of your hips as you lose the friction of his pants, now too slippery to be anything other than teasing.

His derisive remarks, coated in icing sugar, do nothing to tame the blaze in the pit of your tummy, his voice like kerosene, flames flaring with every word that drips from his mouth.

“You’re so easy, aren’t you? Easy to please, easy to pleasure, all you need is something nice and firm to rub your cunt on, huh?”

“Feels good, Daddy,” you mumble against his neck with another clumsy nod, words weighted with spit. “Feels s’good.”

“Yeah, I can tell, baby,” he snorts. “Look at how fucking sloppy you are!”

Leaning back a little in his office chair, he looks down at where you’re conjoined, a soft whine slipping from your lips at the loss of his chest. A thick layer of sheen coats his thigh, turning the charcoal shimmery in the beams of sunset streaming through the windows. His tongue clicks against his teeth in a disapproving tut, as if it’s such a shame that you’ve ruined his trousers so terribly.

It really is, though, sticky substance having accumulated on his pant leg so much that it’s merely collecting atop the material now, unable to soak any further. You whine again, yearning to bury your scorching face, pricks of humiliation stinging your cheeks.

“I should make you lick it up, honestly,” he muses to himself, humming a little at the prospect. “Such naughty little girls should be made to clean up the messes they make, don’t you agree?”

Aside from the light notes of beguile infusing his voice, he sounds normal—calm and unaffected—and you’d think him to be, too, if you couldn’t feel his massive cock, hard and straining against expensive slacks, brushing against your thigh with each of circle of your hips.

It twitches a little with every gentle graze of your body, but Sukuna does nothing to pursue it, nothing to satisfy it or solve the problem, too focused on you to care.

Your arms wind around his neck, bringing him back to you with a discontented little mewl, and he laughs again, going willingly.

Always so needy.

You’re really riding his thigh now, vigorous enough that the wheels of his office chair shift against the hardwood, Sukuna planting his feet more resolutely, keeping you both in place, muscles pulled taut with the motion.

Damp little moans seep into the skin of his neck as your hips work, each one pushed from your throat on an airy little gasp, and he can tell that you’re close.

Because that’s so easy, too—you’re so fucking obvious with it, with the way your thighs keep tensing around him, almost as if they’re trying to readjust their grip; squeeze him tighter, hump him harder, siphon his thigh up further, urgently chasing that building high.

That heavy heat is amassing in the pit of your stomach, sinking into your gut as it grows with every swivel of your hips, hotter and hotter, higher and higher until it feels smothering, sweltering, engulfing you from the inside out and weeping through your pores, ragged little pants of his title exhaled from parted lips.

“You’re such a perverted little girl,” he murmurs in your ear, voice deep and decadent, tinged with just a hint of amusement. “What would everyone think if they knew how sordid that pretty little mind of yours really is? All of your university professors who praised you so much, all of your esteemed colleagues at work, how would they feel to know of your true nature?”

“They’d be disgusted,” you sigh out, almost dreamily.

A chuckle rumbles behind his ribs, rubbing his jaw line along your temple in a possessive caress.

“Yeah, they would. And you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’re so sick.”

“Only for you, Daddy, always for you, Daddy.”

“That’s right,” he purrs, hands finally finding their rightful place on your hips, so massive the tips of his thumbs overlay your ribs. “Now be a good dirty girl for Daddy and make a mess all over his thigh, sweetheart.”

And that’s all the permission you need, really.

Oh, it’s so cute, the way your cunt clenches against his sculpted muscles, the way he feels your hole flutter eagerly around nothing as wet, sticky warmth floods his thigh, the way your clit throbs in time with it, pressed tightly to his leg.

You’re whimpering out his name, skin clammy and glittering with sweat, tiny dewdrops beaded along your temples catching in the waning sun rays as you snuggle into his jaw, pliant and languid.

But Daddy isn’t done with you just yet.

The hands on your waist flex, blunt nails carving deep crescents into the flesh—latched onto you, firm and stable, using his grip as leverage to force your hips to keep moving, even as they start to jerk.

A hiss is spit through the gaps of your teeth, sharp and sudden, whole body recoiling from the involuntary overstimulation. Shudders ripple through your flesh in vicious bouts as Sukuna aggressively rubs your sensitive cunt along his leg, pressing his thigh upward and grinding strong, defined muscle into your aching clit.

“Daddy!” you wail, clinging to him despite the agony, fingers twisting knots in his immaculately pressed dress shirt. “St—ah!—S’too much, it hurts!”

“Oh, poor baby,” Sukuna pouts, oozing condescension. “You didn’t really think Daddy would just allow you misbehave in such a manner and get off without some sort of punishment, did you?”

No, you didn’t; of course you didn’t, but—

“Quite stupid, my pretty girl is,” he shakes his head with a chuckle, spikes of ice prickling your spine. “You wanted to ride Daddy’s thigh, so you are going to ride Daddy’s thigh, over and over and over again until your cute lil cunt has been rubbed raw, until Daddy decides it’s enough.”

#sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #my gosh he’s so bIIIIIG

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lessi-lover · 9 months

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jealous darling? II l.williamson x reader

★ jealous darling? II l. williamson x reader

your heart swelled with pride whenever you watched your favourite blonde play, especially in those times when the defender had her best moments. there was a magnetic energy about her on the pitch, she was nothing short of extraordinary on the field, a force to be reckoned with in the world of football. her skills were unparalleled, and her determination was unmatched. with a ball at her feet, she gracefully glided across the grass, making every movement seem effortless, yet incredibly precise.

today, she played exceptionally well, making smart passes and moving up the pitch when needed, showcasing her ability in all areas of the sport. you had always enjoyed watching the game from afar, but seeing her play brought an entirely new level of joy towards the english sport. as the match ended with a 4-1 score, you joined the other family of the players on the pitch to celebrate the win. wearing her number and name proudly on your back, you couldn't help but beam as you spotted her jumping up and down with her teammates. her face lit up upon seeing you, and she climbed over the barrier with a large grin that showed her post-match high.

"you were outstanding, as always, williamson," you complimented her as she reached you. her smile widened at your words, but not before telling you off for the replacement of her favourite name, - babe. feeling like you were sorry enough, she leaned in and smashed her lips against yours for a special celebration kiss. "your into the semi's!" you exclaimed joyously, her excitement visible from head to toe. "and you're wearing my shirt," she responded, clearly delighted at your choice of clothing. you giggled at her energy, her gaze never wavered from you, admiration evident on her features.

she pulled you in close to her arms, voice carrying a sense of intimacy that made your stomach flip. "couldn’t have done it without you my girl," she murmured against your lips, her proud smile never doubtful.

"it was all you, my love. I just showed up," you chuckled, reaching up to peck her still red and puffy cheeks. "you played so well." "thankyou," she blushed slightly at your praise, grin never fading as she tucked her head tightly into your shoulder. "did you enjoy the game?" she asked, her eyes searching for any sign that you hadn’t had fun. it was her caring nature that made you love her ten times more.

"always. i love watching you play, leah," you replied and her heart swelled at your confession. ”Cmon, let's get out here.” she whispered into your ear, quickly collecting your stuff and making your way out of the stands.

_____________

the celebrations continued for hours after the game, many of the arsenal crew - including you and leah, had organised to have a gathering in a quiet bar you were all familiar with. unfortunately, this resulted in a lot of alcohol being passed around, which meant the majority of the celebrants were teetering on the edge of full-blown drunkenness, something the blonde wasn’t too fond of participating in the middle of a season.

you found yourself heavily engaged in an intense debate on why spitting on the pitch is a complete ick, between the new ‘it couple’ of the arsenal squad - caitlin & katie. “it’s not on purpose, it just happens.” katie defended, her accent somehow even thicker at the unhealthy amount of alcohol she had consumed throughout the night. revelling in the playful banter you were able to create, you added that “it’s not impossible to not do it," and that you had successfully managed to get your stubborn girlfriend to quit it. amidst the laughter and lively conversation, you felt a pair of familiar hands wrap tightly around your hips.

"leah!" katie greeted her. "have you come to save me from your dreadful girlfriend? I swear all she does is complain." katie joked, jabbing you lightly in the shoulder, which resulted in a glare from you. "she's gorgeous, so watch your mouth miss yellow card." leah retorted, referring to the yellow card the left-winger had received in the game against brighton.

"i'm afraid I have to end your little debate though, sorry girls." katie grabbed caitlin's hand leading them away, but not before brushing passed the blonde, whispering something in her ear. her grip became more and more possessive, as she pulled you even closer into her body. she led you away, pulling you into an empty room, seeking a little bit of quietness, all the loud bar sounds. making it hard for you to hear each other "what's wrong, my love?" you asked, trying to remember what happened during the night, if anything had upset your favourite girl. she held you firmly, arms tightly secured around your waist. "you're mine." she murmured against your neck, her tone possessive yet still loving. "i only want you to celebrate with me.” Her voice carried a subtle pout, eyes fixated on you as though you were her entire world - you were.

"feeling possessive today, are we?" you teased, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. leah made a dismissive noise, clearly unfazed by your sudden brattiness, - she'd deal with that later. “stupid katie," she muttered, peppering soft kisses on your collarbones. "what did she say to you?" you questioned, intrigued at whatever the blonde would say next. "don’t worry about it, not important," she replied, obviously more engaged in making out with your neck, instead of answering you. snd there it was, clear as day, - jealousy. s newfound trait, which intrigued you to try and see how far the girl would go. "jealous, darling?" you teased, your eyes glinting playfully. “it’s baby to you.” she scolded. amused by her sudden possessiveness, you continued to tease her, your grin unwavering. "perhaps you're just jealous because you've never outplayed katie in the midfield," you said, the smile on your face matching your teasing tone.

how much could you wind up the blonde you wondered."you're mine, don’t forget it." she responded simply, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

#leah williamson #woso blurbs #woso x reader #arsenal wfc #woso

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thepixelelf · 1 year

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ah! love

genres: married life au, family au, fluff, [best friends to lovers?] relationship: husbands 95 line x reader (feat. baby doremi line) words: 2.0k warnings and notes: coarse language. suggestive. the most self indulgent thing I've ever written; tropey, cringey, lovey dovey, I literally fought this fic while writing it and lost, no one look at me. I wanna write more of this au but will I? only god knows

ah! love masterlist

Seungcheol conducts a very serious interrogation.

"Okay," Seungcheol says with a tinge of authority once you've all sat down in the living room.

The boys are asleep in bed — finally, (you had to read Goodnight Moon twice just for Chan to let go of your hand, and had to give Seungkwan six forehead kisses goodnight, which of course you had to give Vernon and Chan too) — and Jeonghan has already tugged you to his side of the couch, playing with your fingers while he pretends to listen to Seungcheol's Dad Mode engaging. Joshua scoots along the cushions to press himself against your other side, and he crosses his arms as if none of you know he did that on purpose for your attention.

Seungcheol, on an armchair across from you, furrows his brow ever so slightly and holds all of you down with a firm stare.

"Who did it?"

You tilt your head. "Did what?"

Joshua steals your other hand.

"Who's swearing in front of the boys?" Seungcheol finally reveals, sending a pointed look at the husband on your left. "Jeonghan?"

"Me?" An exaggerated gasp leaves Jeonghan's lips as he puts a hand over his chest, then silently takes the opportunity to pull you onto his lap (and subsequently further from Joshua). He wraps his arms around your middle and rests his chin on your shoulder to send a pout towards Seungcheol. "I don't swear around the babies."

You reach out to take back Joshua's sad, lonely, abandoned, totally casual and not bothered at all hand, and he rubs his thumb over your knuckles.

"You know how hard Jeonghan works to use his good words when he's with the kids, Cheol," you defend. "He used to swear like a sailor, remember?"

"Oh, I remember." Seungcheol nods, then directs his gaze towards the husband on your right. "Anything to say?"

Joshua frowns, thinking. "Why do you think one of us is swearing around the boys?"

"Vernon's block tower toppled this morning, and you know what he said?"

You smile. "I can make an educated guess."

"He said, 'Oh fuck,' like it was nothing!" Seungcheol bursts out. "He was like, 'Oh fuck. Shit,' and I was literally just standing there like— like—!"

Unable to help yourself, you giggle at the image of your middle child swearing in that monotone, relaxed, and yet remarkably toddler-esque voice of his.

Jeonghan lifts his chin off your shoulder and presses a kiss to your cheek. "Sounds like something you would say."

"Who, me?!" you ask through more giggles. "I don't swear."

Joshua scoffs. He brings your hand up to his lips and speaks upon your skin. "You absolutely do. Back then I thought curses made up half of your vocabulary."

Your mouth drops open. "Wait, actually?"

"Being a parent has made you soft," Jeonghan adds, squeezing a hand at your side to make you squirm. "You seriously don't remember your prolific ways?"

"...Was it bad?"

Humming against your neck, Jeonghan presses one, two, three more kisses there. "I thought it was cute."

Joshua resituates himself so he's facing you and grazes his fingers up and down your arm. "So did I."

"Yah," Seungcheol says. Forgotten. Ignored. Annoyed. He leans back in the armchair, and his leg bounces in irritation. "I'm trying to have an adult conversation over here."

Jeonghan chuckles in your ear. Then kisses right behind it. "Okay," he tells Seungcheol, lifting one hand to lazily wave him off. "You stay over there then."

A hand touches your chin and tilts your head. "Look at me," Joshua whispers.

Seungcheol huffs, crossing his arms and sinking further into the chair. "I thought it was cute too..."

⭒-⭒-⭒

"Fucking... motherfucker cunt-faced shit-eating bitch of a... fuck!"

After hearing your ex's automated "I can't get to the phone right now" voicemail message for the fifth time in a row, you angrily threw your phone down. (Onto your soft bed, of course. You weren't made of money.)

"God damn it," you muttered, utterly frustrated.

The boys, sitting on your bed while you paced around your room, all shared a look with each other before facing you.

"Why are you trying to call this douche again?" Seungcheol asked, his stance on the asshole you were semi-dating clear.

"Yeah, didn't he cheat on you?" Joshua added.

Jeonghan nodded with a frown. "Shouldn't he be the one calling you? Begging for forgiveness like the loser he is?"

Rubbing your hands over your face, you let out a long, tired sigh. "I honestly don't care about an apology or begging for forgiveness or whatever from him. It was probably going to end sooner or later anyway."

The boys looked at each other again. They knew they didn't like the guy you were seeing, but since they also knew why they didn't like him, they never said anything. The fact that you seemed to think it was going to end even before the dickhead cheated? That, they didn't know.

Even though there was barely enough room, you flopped onto your bed face first, then shifted so you were on your back with a groan. "I just wanna call him, tell him I'm coming over, grab my things, and cut him out of my life for good."

"Is your stuff even worth it at this point?" Seungcheol poked a finger into your forehead, making you scrunch your face and swat his hand away. "I mean, it's just like, clothes and a toothbrush, right?"

Suddenly, you seemed much more shy than angry. You pulled the sleeves of your sweater over your hands and picked at a loose thread. "I like my stuff..."

"Nuh uh." Jeonghan leaned over you, his head upside down with your ceiling as a background. "You don't get worked up like this over clothes and a toothbrush. What'd you leave there?"

You shrank into yourself. "Nothing..."

"Suspicious..." Jeonghan said, then looked at Joshua.

Who went, "Very suspicious..."

"Seungcheol," Jeonghan ordered.

Before you knew it, your unfairly built-like-a-brick-shithouse friend had both your arms pinned to the bed, and Joshua had thrown his entire body over your legs like a six year old attempting to wrestle.

Jeonghan, with his free reign, yanked your sweater sleeve up your arm to reveal your empty wrist. "Aha! I knew you weren't wearing your bracelet!"

Joshua gasped, affronted, looking absolutely ridiculous draped over your legs. "You left your friendship bracelet at his dingy ass apartment???"

Ashamed and a little bit fight or flight, you struggled against your friends. "Okay, first of all! You wouldn't know if his apartment is dingy!" (It was.) "And second of all: I didn't leave it there! I just so happened to take it off the night before I figured out he was a cheating piece of shit, so excuse me for being out of sorts when I stormed off in my PJs with tears in my eyes!"

Your words set off an awkward silence, and you groaned, shutting your eyes so you didn't have to see the pitying looks on your friends' faces.

But they knew you, and they knew apologizing for someone they weren't wouldn't make you feel better.

Instead, Seungcheol asked, "Why'd you take the bracelet off?"

You peeked an eye open, frowning in retaliation — they were still holding you down. "I'll give you one guess."

Seungcheol immediately let go of your arms and put his hands in the air like he was at gunpoint. Jeonghan just chuckled, shaking his head.

Joshua, dramatic as fuck, rolled over so his back was practically crushing your stomach. "Ewwwwwwwww," he whined. "I do not want to hear about how this guy fucks."

Your hands freed, you shoved him off, but he just went boneless and slipped to your side. "When did you get it in your head that I'd tell you how he fucks?" You crossed your arms and sat up. "It just... felt weird wearing our friendship bracelet while I... you know."

Joshua grimaced. "I'll make you a new one."

"No!" you protested, causing them to all give you a look you didn't bother to interpret. "It won't be the same. You made the original four at the same time. Together." Unable to meet their eyes, you looked down. "It's important to me..."

Another silence greeted you, and you scrambled to switch up the mood.

"If only that fucker would answer his bitchass phone."

Jeonghan and Joshua blinked at you, but Seungcheol just chuckled. You looked up at him as he stood from the bed, walking over to where he'd draped his jacket over your chair.

"Where are you going?" you asked.

"We're going to his dingy ass apartment," Seungcheol explained casually, tossing you your coat as well. "He's the one choosing to not answer his phone. He shouldn't be surprised when we show up."

The other two stood up, and Joshua dragged you by the hand to join them.

Seungcheol twirled his car keys around his pointer finger. "Let's go get that bracelet back."

You beamed.

"Fuck yeah!"

⭒-⭒-⭒

Seungcheol, after only so many seconds of enduring seeing you like that on Jeonghan's lap and with Joshua's stupid lips on yours, of course, relents. "Don't leave me out," he mutters through the poutiest pout he can manage. He gets up, strides two steps across the living room, and looms above you, though you don't see him with your eyes that have drifted shut.

The remedy for that, of course, is to grab your chin and kiss you like it's the first time all over again.

You giggle into the kiss, and he smiles too, both of his hands floating up to cup your cheeks.

Thud.

Your lips pause, and your brows furrow at the sound. Seungcheol hardly notices, tilting his head to kiss you deeper, but—

Thud thud thudthudthudthud.

You open your eyes to see Vernon lying supine, starfished at the bottom of the stairs he just tumbled down as he silently regards the ceiling, and you push Seungcheol off like he doesn't weigh anything.

"Oh my god, Vernon!"

Jeonghan's groin becomes the next victim of your haste, him groaning in pain when you launch yourself off the couch to run over to Vernon. You fall to your knees beside him, looking at his face with wide eyes.

He simply blinks up at you, face void of emotion.

Until you ask, frantically, "Are you okay?"

Vernon blinks again, and he suddenly realizes, oh, this is when a normal human five year old would cry. So his face scrunches up, and tears well in his eyes, and he looks at you with the most hold me right now or the world is gonna end expression on his face that you can do nothing but sweep him up into your arms and hug him to your chest.

"It's okay baby, it's okay."

Jeonghan's voice makes you look up. "What are you guys doing out of bed?"

At the top of the stairs, Seungkwan has one hand tightly gripped on the handrail — he's seen the consequences of not holding it now — and the other around Chan's tiny fist, which is really not that much smaller than his. Your youngest shifts on his feet, mumbling, "G'night kiss..."

Seungkwan, ever the all-knowing older brother, clarifies for him. "We didn't give the moon a good night kiss."

Your mouth drops open, and you can't stop the slight laugh that comes out. Vernon sniffles and buries his face in your shoulder, his hands scrunching up the material of your shirt.

"No good night kiss to the moon?" Joshua repeats. He begins up the stairs and scoops up a sleepy Chan into his arms, resting him on his hip. "That won't do, will it?"

Seungcheol's already hoisted Seungkwan up when he says, "Let's go kiss the moon goodnight and then go back to bed, alright?'

Seungkwan leans his head on Seungcheol's shoulder and nods slowly.

While you bring up Vernon (who you're pretty sure is already asleep in your arms and drooling on your clothes), Jeonghan keeps his hand on your back, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing back and forth.

The boys have their own rooms, but for now, they all prefer sleeping together in Seungkwan's. The room in which Seungcheol, as soon as he walks in without turning on the lights because it's late, knocks over an intricately built Lego city.

"Oh, fuck," he lets slip as he struggles to stay upright, then gasps when he realizes what he said and goes, "Shit."

Jeonghan snorts. Joshua muffles a laugh in Chan's hair.

You smile at Seungcheol with all the love in the world.

"Guess that answers that."

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redcherrykook · 4 months

Text

── ˙✧°📷 TORN PICTURES AND FROZEN LENSES 2

────୨ৎ────

College Photography Teacher!Jungkook x Student!Reader

27 year old, stupidly handsome asshole teacher Mr. Jeon has absolutely no human decency, he believes your victim complex is what keeps you from ever achieving anything, letting people use you as a bridge. When something unexpected happens, the ice starts to melt as a foreign word called "empathy" enters his egocentric lense. Maybe he will finally manage to teach you a lesson now, since you keep failing his class.

(Mini series)- Episode two!

Song recommendation: too sweet- hozier

Content: Cold, mean, distant, unprofessional Jungkook, hurt, stubborn reader, enemies to lovers, lowkey dramatic, accident happens, mutually beneficial relationship (emotionally), Jk learns a lot from her, Jk is mean but has a soft spot for reader (eventually), 6 year age gap, Reader is from a struggling background, Jk kind of rescues her, happy ending, angst at first, fluff, smut, comedy/crack, bickering, college setting, brief hospital setting

Warnings: swearing, name-calling,mentions of an accident involving a biker, mentions of hospital, mentions of injuries, really mean Jungkook, i promise he gets sweet, mentions of trauma and abuse (non detailed), mental health struggles (semi detailed), arguments

────୨ৎ────

"You´re early" he grumbles, surprised at the figure stood in the empty classroom. At 8;30 am, 15 minutes before class, it is only natural for the hall to be empty. So it was only you standing there, dressed neatly, seemingly looking put together.

But Jungkook knew better. He didn´t even have to linger his penetrating gaze on the face of yours long to notice the exhaustion painted on your features.

As always, he turns a blind eye.

Everyone gets tired sometimes.

You nod, "I know, kind of did that on purpose" Standing there while opening your bag, you begin setting your books on the table. A rose colored journal slips out, landing perfectly on top of the books needed for his class. You had woken up early today, determined to not come late for a sixth time. Determined to try and keep up that yes, it was just an accident. Nothing more, no conspiracies.

The wind whispers from the open window, slipping in the fresh morning air, waving your hair with it in a swift but gentle swish.

nonetheless, he notices,

"Close the window, it is getting cold" he sits down at his desk, folding down the sleeves of his grey button down that so delicately revealed his strong form.

So you comply, shutting the air outside of the class.

"Thank you" the sound of two very simple, very common words catch you off guard. With a lean on the window behind you, your gaze shifts to the tall teacher propped up on his desk. Your mouth opens slightly to formulate a response but, cannot seem to gather what to say. Although in every other situation, it´s simple. You´re welcome.

"Calm down, I just thanked you. My god if you´re gonna react like this to every time i comply to that stupid deal of ours I´m gonna be sick" his arms cross in front of his chest, annoyed. Of course.

"I won´t, don´t flatter yourself" you shake your head slightly, moving to sit down at your desk. Certainly the conversation had been closed now. At this point, you did not expect him to engage in your bickering, soon the room would be filled with students.

However, you find out you were wrong,

"How are the injuries. Never asked about that" he´s not even looking at you when muttering a question you weren´t even sure was genuine. His eyes examining the laptop in front of him, much more engaged in the importance of his own tasks.

But Jungkook was not one to speak for filling a room simply to escape silence.

The urge to make fun of him for showing concern is lingering at the tip of your tongue, nevertheless, you bite down.

"Fine. Medium grade contusion on my right hip and lots of nasty bruises" you allow your eyes to wander along his features, letting yourself smile just a bit, hoping he would grand you a look.

"Good. Heal up quickly, you really aren´t in dire need for more absences after all"

His eyes leave the screen momentarily, glancing at you from behind his large squared glasses.

"Trying to. Thanks" your eyes meet for the split of a second before he returns to his priorities.

Just as the next student walks in.

"Good morning mr Jeon" he greets, receiving a nod from Jungkook in return.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"When is this gonna end", you mumble to yourself as you turn yet another page of given material. Yawning and stretching your arms up, you glance at the small numbers on the bottom right of your laptop that has been opened in front of you for what must have been 6 hours now.

9:45 pm already?

The schools library is most quiet at this time. The deafening, still comforting silence only breaks when the crashing of ice inside your drink or hushed words from your monologues make their way into the large study.

Most likely because the college library is already closed and you weren´t supposed to be here either. It´s not like you have ever been caught or are disturbing someone. Even the cleaning staff have become familiar with the long hours you spend sitting put at one of many desks inside the library. Admirable, they call it. In reality, this is as usual as it can get for you.

Only this time, things are different. You will be here the entire night, not just because you forgot how quickly time passes and suddenly the small rays of the morning sun kiss your hands,

It is out of necessity. For possibly the following nights as well. Until you find a new shelter that is willing to take in a runaway college student.

For a couple seconds you wonder how long it will take to find a one bedroom apartment you can afford with the below minimum wage tutoring job of yours. Working part time is impossible since ambitious, home having first year you decided to pack every possible class you could take right in your schedule.

One of the many things you regret.

A set of loud footsteps sound closer than the cleaning personal has ever been, ripping you right out the dream of a small, well decorated apartment. Mentally you groan, wondering if the day you had to be caught, really needed to be the day you would otherwise have to sleep on a park bench.

When the darkly colored wooden doors open to reveal who is roaming the hallways at a time you should be getting ready for bed, you simply can not believe your luck.

"Y/n?" the stern voice can never be mistaken for someone else, his eyes widening as he steps inside to approach your desk.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" obviously rhetorical he asks, swiftly pulling out the chair to your left and sitting down on it casually.

"I need to study. I´m not doing something wrong i swear, even the staff is fine with it, I just have so much work to do" in an attempt to rescue your chance at a warm sleep, you hurriedly let out every explanations that come to mind.

His eyes look down to your face when he slightly tilts his head back, his hand is now carefully placed on the table, tapping it rhythmically with his long and artful fingers.

I´m doomed.

"Interesting. Try doing that work when the library isn´t closed. Get up, you´re breaking the rules" the same hand that was tapping away motions upward to signal you; no really, get the fuck up.

Like the troublemaker you are, you stay put on your chair

"I can´t, I gotta get this done"

A familiar scoff escapes his lips "You cant be serious. I wasn´t asking. I said get up idiot"

"Jungkook please I really can´t" you plea with him pathetically. The way you must sound or look to him right now is far from your concern, what matters is the need to convince him.

His frustration is painted on his face so visibly you would be able to spot it from a mile away. Instead of you, he gets up, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Your eyebrows meet to express your utter confusion,

"What are you doing"

Jungkook´s eyes move over to yours, deadpanned as if you asked him the color of the sky, he looks at you.

"Calling the cops obviously. You´re Trespassing"

Your head shakes quickly as you repeat the words no,no,no,no,no while standing up and trying to get him to stop dialing. He takes a step back and groans, putting his phone back in his pocket.

"Finally, leave now. I´ll come with you to make sure you actually leave and don´t try break in again"

"You're so annoying, model citizen over here"

"Thanks. You too" he grants you a fake smile before rolling his eyes so far back he would sure be able to see his brain.

You sigh, aware that any protest is useless or you might end up sleeping at the police station.

Gathering your things and already listing the possible parks and convenience stores you would need to pass time, sleep and study at in your head. Accepting the upcoming hardship you remember his words

Cruel world

A breathy laugh escapes your mouth at the memory.

"I can´t believe you were about to call the damn police on me" you turn to him while walking behind him and out the university. It´s pitch dark outside and you can barely make out any street signs.

"Well i believe in following the law. What way do you need to go?" his movements stop when he asked you that, waiting for a reply so he could make sure you were walking off in the right direction.

But, he was met with silence. You had no idea where to go and the freezing air combined with scarily dark surroundings had just made you register your situation. Where were you going to go?

Annoyed at the non response, he turns to look at you, expecting a pissed off stare or a blank look. He did not await you to look down with a frown of worry. Your head cocks slightly to the side, muttering "I don´t know yet"

Obviously, he doesn´t understand your reply. What could you possibly mean when saying you didn´t know where you lived.

That is until he remembered you living in a shelter.

She must be new there and had forgotten the address, careless as always.

"The hell am I supposed to get from that? Forgot your own goddamn address?" his hand rubs along his forehead, the tension between the both of you is as thick as the air around. Contradictory from his actions, his voice quiets down just a bit.

You decide to stay silent once more, debating if it would be worth telling him what is really going on. After the hospital situation you should be, you should be honest and try to let the deal actually work. Truth be told, the fear of being let down and belittled is much stronger at the moment.

Before you can open up your mouth to whip up a shitty excuse, he speaks again.

"Y/n, is there somewhere you can go?"

Jungkook could swear his heart drops to his stomach when he lets out these words, awaiting your reply patiently.

The question suffocates you, caught red handed you shake your head no, looking up to meet his concerned eyes. It was no use lying to him, he would be checking the library each and everyday, that would mean that you really had to spend multiple nights outside.

He lets out a sigh, placing both his hands on his hips.

"Why the fuck didn´t you tell me?"

"Seriously? I thought you were not gonna believe me and end up actually calling the cops, no thank you" your voice sounding almost unfamiliar after not speaking for a while.

"Sound like me can't even lie. Let's get back inside then" Jungkook says without waiting for your opinion, simply strutting back into the library. You can´t help but grin slightly at his abrubt nature. He goes back to sitting down at the very desk you were forced to leave 25 minutes ago.

"You´re gonna let me stay here?" the hopeful question makes his head shoot up from looking at the floor as he chuckles.

"No you smartass, that´s still illegal, and I´m still a law-abiding citizen. I´ll call around shelters and hotels with you, i guess"

Thanking whatever power rules this world at the tiniest amount of help you can get from Jungkook, you smile,

Meanwhile he is internally cussing himself out for being nice too quickly

"Thank you, seriously, didn´t think you would actually try and hold up your word"

"Didn´t you say you would not have this embarrassing reaction every time? Shut up before I change my mind" his eyes roll back to signal that he meant every word he said. Yours do too, to signal him that he is still an asshole.

His phone as well as yours end up getting taken out, spending the first fifteen minutes calling help centers and looking for cheap hotels

Unsuccessful at attempting to find an opening, you tell him that was expected since you were on basically every single waiting list you could register to.

"So help centers and shelters are off the list. Then let´s find you a decent hotel or something" he yawns, the inevitable need for sleep reaching him as the night deepens. You feel sorry for bounding him into your own personal mess, although it isn´t really your fault. He´s the one so addiment on not letting you stay at the library.

"Absolutely not. I really cannot afford that, I don´t even know for how long I would have to stay there, it´s too uncertain" your head meets the palm of your hand, closing your eyes while sighing at this stupidly vulnerable situation.

It must be past 11 pm already.

"I´ll lend you some money, just pay be back eventually"

"Fuck no" you laugh "That might take me years, and I´m far from comfortable with owing money"

Jungkook knows he can´t force you to, still provocatively he asks,

"What are your options then ?"

You open your mouth in disbelief, the obvious option being the room you are having the conversation in, "Just let me stay at the goddamn library, it´s safe and I don´t need to pay"

"It´s against the law and it is for more than one night" he remains sternly on his arguments

"Who gives a fuck about the law , will you seriously do anything to make me sleep on the streets Jungkook"

Your voice turns into somewhat of a yell, spitting out the frustration you feel towards this childish behaviour. Both of you are tired out of this hassle and want nothing more than to get some rest and peace of mind.

His eyes stay glaring, while his voice turns bitter, "You´re so stubborn, all that I´ve been trying to do is help you not sleep on a fucking bench you idiot. My god get that through the thick skull of yours. You think I´m gonna sleep well knowing one of my students, injured student at that, is spending the night on the streets?"

In all honesty, you knew he was correct. No one would sleep well knowing an acquaintance is in a dangerous spot and yeah, he had spend the past fourty minutes in your vicinity, the past 20 minutes trying to help and figure you out.

The night moves another ten minutes in silence, branches hitting the broad windows that are framing the lecture hall as the sighs of sleep deprivation and sorrow leave his lips.

You were begining to wonder how this would play out, assuming he would just sit there with you in silence until the sun came up.

But what then?

The guilt of keeping him entangled in your mess only continues to feed itself with each wordless minute that passes, you decide to tell him to go home, you would just figure it out yourself.

Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook had thought up something of his own,

"Stay at my apartment then. I have a guest room. We´ll get you something tomorrow and never speak about this again"

Nothing could have prepared you from the sentence that just left his lips. What is even worse about this, is how carelessly he said it, like a passing comment. Even when he basically suggested something comparable to running to the end of the rainbow for a goldpot.

"WHAT" you can´t help it, it just comes shooting out at the complete buffoonery of this situation, that somehow keeps happening with him.

He chuckled briefly at your outburst before combing through his raven hair, his eyes never changing from the standard glare

"Look, it´s fucking close to midnight, I need sleep and you need somewhere to sleep so I will be able to actually go to sleep"

His explanation is as self centered as you had awaited it to be,that does not take away from the fact that your teacher asked you to stay the night as his place.

"I- I can´t believe you would rather i sleep in your apartment than the library. No thank you, I´m taking the bench" your head shakes violently as your face turns from surprise to cringing at the idea.

There is no way in hell you would spend the night at your teachers house

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Okay, maybe i lied.

"Turn off the damn radio and- god fasten your seatbelt for fucks sake" Jungkook groans over to you in the passenger seat of his car.

It feels like a parade of clowns are banging on your door by the second you sat down into the black hyundai. Laughing at you like you were the circus performer, not them.

Somehow, he had managed to persuade you into taking up his offer. It is only for a couple hours after all, only to pass the night. So now, he´s bitching to you about something from the drivers seat, 8 minutes past midnight.

Ridiculous, so fucking annoying already. He thinks while reaching over your torso to loosen the seatbelt that is stuck behind the carseat.

Your breath hitches at his closeness, his arm grazing over yours for a millisecond when he reaches over.

Too close.

So close you can smell the cotton scented shampoo he uses, so close you could count the moles on his arms.

You haven´t spoken a word to him since agreeing on his offer and you don´t plan to. Originally, to lessen the awkwardness of everything, now, unsure if that made everything even more awkward.

Even your attempt to lighten the mood with the radio playing got rudely rejected by him.

What a long night it has been.

The drive is short, twelve minutes void of conversation and barely lit streets. Jungkook´s eyes don´t avert the road once, his stare never creeps it´s way over to check if you were still breathing. Given by the quiet as a mouse attitude of yours, it would certainly be a possibility.

Apart from the engine rumbling and the tires rolling on the concrete roads, you noticed his habit to hum whenever the traffic lights would turn green. He also only uses his right arm to drive, keeping his left pressed flat on his thigh.

Endearing, kind of.

Once parked in front of a small apartment complex, he gets out with you and your trusty backpack following right behind. The car locks as he enters the complex, then the elevator.

"Did you loose your voice or are you purposefully getting on my nerves" his tired speech cuts through the thick air,

finally

"Just don´t really know what to say. This is all so strange" you reply, trying to sound non-chalant when the hammering of your nervous heartbeat is so far up your throat, you might actually be sick.

"it is" he says, stepping outside of the elevator and rustling his keys to unlock the door, as if it is not his fault you guys ended up like this.

When the door opens, you are greeted with a white, dimly lit hallway. He takes off his shoes first before you repeat the action and walks into, what you would assume, the livingroom. The apartment is far from the cold and empty modernity you had expected. It´s quite cozy, small but filled with photography and paintings. The apartment generally smells just like him, cotton, a hint of wood and leather.

There are four doors around, one that is open clearly leading to the kitchen, two that are across from each other and one at the very back.

"Sit down on the couch, don´t stand there so awkwardly"

His suggestion is once again, more of a demand that you, as usual, comply to. Jungkook doesn´t try to show you around, skipping all the weird hosting formalities, except for one.

He sits down next to you, keeping a comfortable distance between both of your bodies

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

"Water would be good, yeah" the reply sounds painfully forced in an effort to keep the small talk and get to sleep as soon as possible.

The thought of having to face him the next morning made you want to rip your hair out, to try and distract yourself you look around the open space, taking in the beautiful pictures hung up around.

Once he sets the glass of water down you accept it gladly, drinking from it in another attempt to conceal the uncomfortable situation.

"Did you take these?" curiously you point to a collage above the coffetable in the corner of the room. It´s a collection of damp flowers and pretty fields, the color scheme is white and lavender.

It suits him, you think

"Mhm, took em´ four years ago" his voice echos through the walls of his home, following your stare directed at the collage.

"So photography can be pretty, maybe I´m really just talentless" you scoff, remembering the awful portfolio you handed him in.

"Yes, to both of those"

The comment seems to have softened the mood a little bit, you can physically feel your shoulders release tension.

"Jungkook?" now it is his turn to look at you, trying to guess what would follow the sound of his name out of your mouth. He can´t help but jump a bit every time it rolls off of your tongue, natural but uncomfortable at once.

"yeah?", he says

"i know you hate this but I really can not, well, not say this. Thank you for your effort. You may be an asshole but you definitely are a man of your word. You wasted way too much time and concern and fuck, even let me stay here. I owe you something" once your rant is finished, you laugh before searching his face for the scoff you usually see presented there, regardless of the situation.

Only to find it gone,

It has been replaced by a soft smile, something so foreign on his face, it made you feel a spark of joy.

"I guess that was pretty nice of me. You definitely owe me some shit. I´ll get you the sheets yeah? we need to get some rest" Without really acknowledging what you had told him, he brushes past the attempt of a heartfelt conversation. To you, he didn´t have to say anything, the smile was enough to signal,

You´re welcome.

Now you stood there, sheets in hand, trying not to look at your teacher in his guest bedroom.

While putting the sheets on the bed, he stays leaning against the doorframe, watching you blankly

"Mind if i ask, you know, what happend?"

It hadn´t occurred to you before that you never actually spoke the words i got kicked out of the shelter

"With things like shelters, women with children have, righteously so, priority over runaway college kids. That´s all" , you explain,your eyes fixated on the task before you, finally finishing it up, the satisfaction of sleep inching way closer that it is now basically in reach.

He hums in response, making you look at him, leaned against his doorframe, full glory in grey sweats and a black shirt, hair laying messily over his glasses

When did he get changed?

"So. about tomorrow then, I´m guessing you won´t be able to find something so fast" tainted by exhaustion his voice tries it´s best to sound stern, nevertheless, a yawn escaping his lips makes him feel much less distant than usual.

Maybe it's just the fact that you're in his house, but that is besids the point.

"Yeah sherlock that is why i kept trying to tell you to just let me sleep at the damn library" you roll your eyes, this is the fifth time you tried explaining that to Jungkook. As a teacher, you expected him to be a little faster than that.

"Oh my god this again? I´ll kick you out if you protest one more damn time. You can just fucking stay here until a shelter calls you back, Why are you so attached to that library"

The last part arrives to your ear fuzzily as he had already shut the door of the guest bedroom, leaving you to think for yourself with what he had just uttred

Slipped secretly between his cussing he offered you to live with him temporarily. Just like that, blatant, sudden, plain. The words ring in your head, over and over again.

You can just fucking stay here

Like it´s no big deal

Whatever

You would deal with it tomorrow, it was just a comment. Sleep is far more necessary, begging you to finally rest for the remaining couple hours of the night. Too exhausted to continue thinking,

"Good night to you as well" you yell, opening the door just a bit for him to hear, earning a groan in response.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook bts #jungkook angst #jungkook au #jungkook fluff #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #redcherrykook

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