#i cannot tell you how much I enjoyed drawing these two

[quakiebaka]

“I’d never abandon him when he needs me”- macaque/wukong to each other at some point probably

hello lmk fandom here’s my first genuine post on the show that’s had a grip on me for the past six months. and of course its shadowpeach. oh well! thank you monkie kid for getting me back into art! season 4 has broken me!!!

[hyunsvngs]

𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 - vampire!changbin x human!reader

wc: 3.2k

cw: vampire!changbin, human!reader, they r in love ur honour, 18+ smut MINORS DNI!!

synopsis: changbin may be a vampire with supernatural strength, but there's nothing he loves more than to let you take control.

a/n: based off of this post and this ask :3 ENJOY.... please heed the smut warnings tho!!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: blowjobs, blood kink, petnames, mommy kink, dom!reader, sub!bin, maybe slight strength kink?, MUZZLE KINK!, dirty talk, riding, unprotected sex, creampie

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

you can’t believe you’ve got a man this delicious. a man so pliant and malleable too despite his otherworldly, supernatural status. changbin would never use his vampiric strength on you, no - he’d much rather lay down on the bed and let you do what you want to him. 

you’d begged him to turn you when you fell in love. to be able to use your strength on him, you said, trying to convince him. he’d only retorted with a quick “i let you do what you want anyway, sugar?” and well… he wasn’t wrong.

he invited you into his home quicker than any man ever had. he sweetened you up, took you on traditional dates where he turned up at your door with a bouquet of blood red roses, and even sweet talked your mother enough that she approved of him and let you stay at his house. she didn’t know he was over a hundred years old with two pointed teeth, obviously, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

the seo estate is magnificent. the gardens are surrounded by an impenetrable stone wall, looking to be as fresh as the day it was built, and changbin has multiple bedrooms to himself. you’d gotten a bit upset - “binnie, doesn’t it get lonely here?” you said, bottom lip quivering, but he’d only slung one muscled arm around you. “i have you now, gorgeous.”

that was another thing about your man - he’s reassuring, and you always feel safe around him. you know that if you prodded at him a little more and begged him hard enough that he would truly change you and turn you into one of his own, if not purely because he cannot see spending his life with anyone else. 

he lays beneath you now, and you’re lost in your own thought with how much love you can have for someone who would be known as a creature of the night. his tummy quivers with an exhale, and you realise your fingernails have been digging into his pecs through the black silk shirt he’s wearing. he shifts beneath you, slacks tight with his erection, and you grin at his reaction.

“you like the pain, binnie?” you muse, digging your fingernails in just a bit harder. changbin whimpers, eyes fluttering shut, and you see his fangs poke out and dig into his plush doll-like bottom lip. not hard enough to draw blood, no, but just enough to the point you know he’s enjoying it. you grind your hips down and his hands fist in the black sheets on his bed. 

the candlelight flickers around you as you adjust yourself, your nightgown spilling off one shoulder and exposing your shoulder to him. when you grind down again, his eyes flutter open, pupils dilated. “i want you to tell me what you want, changbin.”

his eyes flicker to your shoulder, and you giggle when they slowly crawl up to your neck. changbin hums, fingers twitching as if they want to grab you, but he won’t. he’s a good boy. 

“i want-“ he huffs, one of his shorter, human teeth biting at his lip. “i want you. i want to- i want you to ride me, sugar, and will you let me- will you let me drink from you again? god, your blood is the sweetest thing i’ve ever had.”

“mm, maybe,” you respond, but you know you’ll let him. you just need him to beg a little bit more, sweeten you up a bit. “i’ll ride you, binnie. will you let me have your cock in my mouth first?”

“god, really?” changbin groans, eyes flickering in excitement, and you nod. your hand runs down his tummy, past the shirt and to the zipper of his slacks. it bulges out with how hard he is, and you use your fingernail to push it down, the slow noises of the unzipping filling the room.

you’re sure changbin’s going to scream if you don’t hurry up, so you’re quick to lift your hips up and pull his trousers and boxers down muscled thighs together. his cock is hard, unbearably so, slapping against his stomach and leaking against the fabric of his expensive shirt. the head leaks beneath his foreskin steadily. you want it in your mouth, but you have to make him work for it first - you wrap your hand around the base, lifting his cock off of his tummy, and then you’re stripping his cock at a rapid pace. 

“oh! oh, ah- ah,” he’s wincing, and you know it’s dry, but you can’t help but hurt your boy sometimes. tears bloom in his eyes and you can see that it truly must take his superhuman strength to stop his hips from fucking up into your fist, his hands almost tearing his sheets clean off of the bed. “gorgeous, sugar, your mouth- your mouth, please! please, fuck, i-“

changbin cuts himself off with a sharp keen when you flick your fingernail over his nipple, through his shirt. “what do you call me, binnie?”

he must be stupid with it already because he blinks at you, a tear falling down one soft cheek. he stammers a few noises out, your hand still ravaging his cock, and then it hits him. “mommy! ah, mama, mama! mommy, please, please, give binnie your mouth.”

“there you go, good boy,” you coo, hand moving from his chest to his hair. you pet just above his ear, and he leans into your touch, humming happily. you don’t comment when he turns his mouth to your palm, nipping just slightly with his teeth, but you do reward him with a soft smack to his face. “stay still. no biting, bunny.”

he whimpers when you finally begin your descent down his body. you kiss him through his shirt, and then you finally push the material up to his waist to see him in his entirety. you’ve still got a tight grip on him, and he stands prominent in your fist, his leaky tip just barely peeking out. your tongue darts to dip into his piss slit, and he really does rip the sheets a little this time, along with a strangled noise coming from his lungs.

it’s easy to deepthroat changbin’s cock. his girth is so delicious that it stretches your jaw a little, but you’re able to get his length to your throat with no issues whatsoever. you do so, engulfing his cock into your mouth, and when you start bobbing your head he’s done for. he wails with it, little murmurs of your name falling from his lips, and when you let your eyes flicker up to him he’s really crying.

“mama! oh, oh, my- binnie’s cock feels so good, mama, it’s- hnnng, oh!” he’s babbling as if he can’t believe it, as if you haven’t done this a million times, and you move your hand to his sac. his balls are heavy, full and swollen with his pending release, and you massage them with your thumb until he positively can’t control the bucking of his hips. you let him fuck your throat once, twice, and then you slap his balls hard. “sorry! sorry, mommy, binnie’s sorry.”

you let his cock slide out of your mouth, and it lands with a wet slap against the thatch of curly, pitch black hair at his base. “i said to stay still, bunny,” and your voice is hoarse, but he nods, chin quivering.

“‘m sorry,” he mumbles, and you can see how his cock jumps with his nervousness. “will you- will you still let binnie drink? and ride me, and-?”

“and what, baby? cum inside me?” you tilt your head to the side in question, and you swear you see changbin blush. he nods, bottom lip jutting out, and you can’t help your laugh. “we’ll see. be a good boy for me, okay?”

he wasn’t expecting you to move up his body again, but he’s pleasantly surprised when you pull your nightgown up. the white satin remains on your body, just barely held up by the curve of your hips, and you hold his cock upright. you’re soaking wet between your legs, and changbin moans out when you run his length through the folds of your pussy, just barely catching on the swollen bud of your clit.

“binnie,” you say, breathless. “binnie, tell me how much you want it.”

he’s instant with his response. “so bad! so bad, sugar, feel how hard i am? binnie’s that hard just for you, will you let me have it?”

“just for me, mm?” you ask, and he nods. you lift up just a tad, holding the hem of your nightgown up, and then you’re sinking down onto his cock in one go. his girth stretches your hole beyond belief, even with the added thickness. when he bottoms out, your toes curl, his cockhead resting in that one gummy place inside you that he’s taught you to love. “ah, there we go. that’s good, yeah?”

“s-so good, mama,” his voice is choked, and he lets his eyes flutter shut again. “so good. tight pussy, ‘s so good.”

“it’s all yours, baby,” you moan, and he nods frantically. you’re quick to start moving your hips, too horny to keep the facade going, and changbin’s hands move to grab the pillow either side of his head. your ass slaps against the tops of his thighs, wet noises ringing throughout the entirety of the stone-built room - and probably further out in the estate, but you can’t fathom the concept of changbin’s groundskeepers hearing anything. at a particularly well-angled bounce of your hips, his cockhead rams deliciously into your g-spot, and you know you’ve cracked it, continuing your grinds in that exact position. 

“is it good?” changbin asks, breathless, and he finally opens his eyes. his eyes land on your tits, bouncing in your nightgown, and he shuts them again as if he’s been branded with a silver cross. “sugar. i can’t even look at you, i’ll bust.”

you giggle, leaning forward to grip onto him for purchase. your hands land on his pecs again and you whine when your clit grinds against his pubic bone, fast and feverish, and you don’t reprimand him when his hands finally move down to your ass. he’s held back for so long, and you both know that it’s only so long that he can take not being able to touch you.

“ah, that’s so- fuck, binnie,” you moan, teeth digging into your bottom lip. you’re reminded of your previous plans when his fingernails scratch at your ass, his back arched like a cat. “mm, binnie? y’wanna taste mommy?”

in any other situation with any other man that would have completely different connotations, but changbin knows what it means. he shoots up into a seated position, eyes half lidded, and his head darts to the juncture between your neck and your shoulder.

“c-can i, mommy?” he questions, moaning when your hips grind down on him harder. “can i, please?”

“more, binnie,” you respond, and he knows what you mean. his tongue laves over your neck, and then he places a wet, open-mouthed kiss over the column of your throat. that’s where he’s going to bite you, and he’s tenderizing you like something he’s going to eat. you suppose you are.

“mama,” he whines, long and drawn out. “let me taste you. please, god, i’m thirsty, mama. let me, please?”

you sigh with your pleasure, and you finally halt your hips, stopping the boy underneath you from being jostled too much. his hands knead at your asscheeks while you pretend to deliberate.

“alright, honey,” you coo, voice soft. “you can bite.”

changbin’s fangs protrude from his mouth, and then he’s biting you. it’s slow, the way his teeth begin to bury themselves into your skin, and the moan he lets out is high pitched. changbin’s always messy when you let him do this, and despite the fact he starts to drink your blood instantly upon it hitting his tastebuds, it’s already started to drip down your shoulder. 

you pick the right time to start moving your hips again. he’s sighing and moaning as he drinks, and you begin a slow grind on top of him. changbin’s cock positively throbs inside of you, and you clench down approvingly, making him grip you just a bit tighter. 

he drinks and drinks until you’re lightheaded with it. when he pulls away, you’re a little dizzy, but not enough so that you can’t take in the sight of him. his chin and lips are covered in bright red blood, and it’s dripped down to your white nightgown and stained the fabric a dangerous colour. changbin moans in approval when he sees it, and his mouth goes to your nightgown to try and lick the excess up messily. fortunately for you, he licks over the pebbled peak of your nipple, and he’s fixated on it as soon as he catches it. 

the nightgown becomes drenched with not only your blood, but his spit too. he doesn’t let up, swirling his tongue around your nipple through the fabric, and you’re left to run your fingernails through his hair teasingly. he whines against you when you pull his hair back to your neck, before he’s quiet, lapping at the two pin prick holes in your skin soothingly. something about his venom over the wounds feels euphoric, and you can’t help yourself when you push him back down onto his back to ride him hard.

he looks debauched. his eyes blaze a crimson shade with his feed, and your blood is smeared all over the bottom of his face - streaks adorn his sharp chin and his fangs look like they’ve been dipped in it. he licks over his upper lip with a grin, and you can’t help but to smile back before you’re bouncing.

“fuck yeah! yeah, mama, yeah, ride me,” he murmurs, eyes flickering over your body like he can’t believe you exist. you can’t believe he exists, but you know you must look the picture of his wet dreams in your nightgown. the fabric over your breast is so drenched it’s see through, and your blood still drips a little bit from your neck. in the middle of grinding on his chubby cock, you let your thumb collect some of the red liquid on your thumb, and you press it into his mouth.

changbin whines. his hands move to your waist and he sucks your thumb like he would your strap, moaning around it like it’s the best thing he’s ever had past his plushy lips. you fuck the digit in and out in rhythm with your pace on top of him, and his cock leaks inside you so warm you feel it, flooding your gummy walls and leaving you breathless. 

with a strong grind on his cock, changbin’s fangs nip at your thumb, and you have to pull your thumb away for another little love tap on his cheek. his eyes roll back into his head, and you giggle. an idea hits you, and you know you just have to do it.

your hips halt, and you grab changbin’s curls tight, pulling his head back. “i think we better get your muzzle, bunny.”

“no! no, you let me drink, what- why?! why, why?” he wails, but you know he enjoys it. he just likes kicking up a little fuss when you get mean like this, and you ignore him to reach into the bedside table to grab the offending item. it’s only small, covering the bottom half of his face with black leather and miniature metal bars over his mouth, but changbin cums his fucking brains out every time you equip it over his gorgeous face. he’s still babbling when you loop it over his curls, pulling the strap tight and letting your pussy clench down at the sight of him so submissive, so pliant. 

“mm, that’s it. stay there like that, that’s it,” and you lean back, hands gripping his thighs. you’re feeling a little lenient, so you let changbin push your nightgown up with calloused palms and watch the space where his cock enters you over and over. he’s going to cum soon, you realise, and you’re going to have to make the most of the time you have right now. changbin snaps his fangs at you as if he’s a puppy about to bite, and you clench down on him with a sharp keen, pussy gushing down to his pubic hair. 

you reach around yourself with one hand, fingers rubbing messily over your clit, and it makes your pussy tingle deliciously. changbin’s still making strangled noises, legs thrashing behind you, and you can hear him mumbling quietly.

“please, please… let me drink again, sugar? mommy. mama, please, please-”

his hips cant upwards and you jolt. your pin prick wounds on your neck are healed from the after effects of changbin’s vampire venom, but you flick your fingernail over it, causing the wound to start oozing crimson essence again. changbin’s nose scrunches up beneath the muzzle as he inhales, and you wipe your hand over your bloody skin before you’re just barely letting your fingertips slide through the metal bars on his restraints.

“s-smell it, changbinnie,” you coo, chest heaving with a flush as you get closer to your orgasm. your hand speeds up on your clit when he nips softly at your fingers, and when he cants his hips up again he’s flooding you with hot cum. his own chest heaves as he cums, cock throbbing inside of you, and you whine. 

“fuck. fuck, sorry-”

“stay fucking still, bunny,” you groan. “you better not go soft on me. make mama cum, c’mon.”

and he does. he wraps his muscled arms around you, the material of his shirt scratching against your nightgown, and then he’s thrusting into you. it’s awkward, and he’s only half hard, but the show of strength is the only thing you need to push you over the edge. you shake and gush through your orgasm, arms moving to wrap around changbin’s neck, and you feel his chest rumble with a groan as he feels you throb around him. 

when you flop off of him, pussy messy and swollen with your sex, he stretches with a loud groan. you huff in response, and he sniffs. the unspoken communication makes him let out that loud, affectionate laugh that you love.

changbin’s out of breath next to you, limbs akimbo, and you giggle at his soft cock resting against his pubic bone. you pull the straps of his muzzle loose and let it drop onto the pillow, and changbin grins at you.

“the muzzle was such a good idea,” he says, elated, and you let him push himself into your space and lay his head on your chest. your nightgown is still covered in blood and his spit, but he doesn’t care, making little happy noises against you. “i love you, yeobo.”

you can’t help but smile, sated. “i love you too, changbinnie.”

[munivrse]

Takeout (on me)

tall sexy dancer gf! bada lee

cw: pussy whipped bada lee taking you in several different positions. cannot get enough of the noises you make and how good she makes you feel. good god.

a/n: i am so sorry for the filth that follows. free claim for a place in heaven!

your back arched as bada's hands ran down your sides, stopping to squeeze at your waist.

"please bada."

both her hands continue their journey down your body, spreading your legs to make room for her. she stands above you at the edge of the bed, hands massaging at your thighs, just shy of where you really want them.

"you look so pretty like this baby."

she wraps your legs around her waist and leans down to you, one hand by your head, the other rubbing up and down your thigh. she presses her lips against yours. it starts out so sweet. her lips ghosting against yours, kissing you and pulling back when you move in for more. but something switches in her when you moan into her mouth. the hand on your thigh moves up to squeeze your waist, the hand by your head grasps your hair and pulls. she bites your bottom lip, waiting for you to open your mouth. she licks her tongue against yours, groaning as she grinds against you.

"so fucking good for me." bada presses kisses in between each word. her brows furrow as she grinds harder against you, deepening the kiss by gripping your hair. you gasp, hands grabbing onto her shoulders,

"feels so good baby." your hips grind up into hers.

bada stops kissing you in favor of watching you move. you're so fucking hot. she loves the way your eyes flutter each time you meet her in the middle. your nails feel so good through the fabric of her flannel. she wants to take more from you. make you moan louder.

"fuck. fuck baby, stop." she draws out, hand letting go of your hair. she sits back up, taking a look at how flustered you looked. she's sure she looked nearly the same,

"tell me what you want, baby." bada's free hand, that was previously gripping your hair, dances down your stomach and cups your cunt. she lets you grind against her hand for a bit, enjoying the small gasps you were letting out.

"c'mon baby. tell bada what you need."

you open your eyes and bada's are peering down at you. the breath leaves your lungs as her fingers dance around your clit.

"want you to fill me up- please."

bada's eyes close. she needed to make you feel good. needed to see you fall apart against her.

"so polite," she bends down to leave a short kiss on your lips, "whatever you want, angel."

bada grabs her strap and watches as your eyes sparkle. she chuckles a bit. she's made a habit of wearing a harness underneath her pants as you've just been so needy lately. your hands reach out to help her, but she swats at you. she makes you watch as she puts it on. your head spins as you take in her appearance. she's got a loose flannel on, grey cargos unzipped just enough to account for the cock strapped to her, and a messy bun to complete her look. her bangs are starting to stick to her forehead and she's nearly panting.

she makes her way between your legs.

bada leans down and kisses you again. its so much sloppier this time. teeth and tongues clashing and when bada comes up for air, theres a line of spit between the two of you,

"open your mouth."

you comply, mouth opening almost immediately at the command. bada sticks her thumb inside and you instinctively close your mouth around it. bada kisses her way down your neck. she stops just above your collarbones and mouths over the area. she feels you take a deep breath as she sucks a mark into you. she bites at the skin first, makes her mark, and then tongues around the area, pulling away to lightly blow cool air. she loves to watch the goosebumps on your skin.

once she's done enough damage to your neck, she switches her attention to your chest. she takes a nipple into her mouth and groans. she fucking loved your tits. she pulls away with a pop,

"so good for me hmm?" she smirks against your skin when you whine against her thumb. she removes her digit from your mouth.

"'m good for you- your good girl- fuck." you moan out as she grinds her strap against your core. you try and pull her closer and she pulls away from you,

"say please." she teases, one hand takes the silicone cock and fucks just the head of it into your pussy. your back arches,

"please. please fuck me."

bada grins again, wordlessly sliding into you in one swift thrust. she revels in your gasp. she pulls almost all of the way out and grinds back into you. her hips are like water as the fluidly go back and forth. her hips stutter when she hears a particularly loud moan, making sure to grind up into that spot.

she wraps a hand around your neck and lightly squeezes, "you like it baby? you like when i take you like this?"

you respond by pulling her back down to your lips, she meets you in a messy liplock.

"deeper- please baby go deeper." you whine, hands grabbing at bada's back. she pulls out until only the head of her strap was left and pushes back into you. you inch up the bed at how hard she was fucking you. her hand comes to cradle the top of your head, making sure you never hit the headboard.

"what happened to my sweet y/n? huh?" she pulls out and slams back into you, "when you could barely ask me to kiss you, now you're begging for me to go harder, deeper." her eyes bore into yours, "you're just a needy little thing, arent you? "

your eyes water. she was fucking you too good. one hand cradled your head and the other was grasping onto the sheets to steady herself. you could feel her in your stomach and it made you lightheaded. fuzzy. you wanted her to crawl into your skin and stay there.

she taps your cheek, bringing you back to reality, "am i fucking you too good baby? mmh? or does my pretty girl need more?"

you whimper, murmering out a quiet "please" and bada takes this as an enthusiastic yes.

she leans back, the hand covering your head smoothes down your stomach and she leans back onto her feet, one hand going behind her for support. she fucks up into you, and in this position, she hits your g spot perfectly with each thrust. you also get a view of your girlfriend getting lost in your sounds. she's got one hand pressing on your lower stomach, her hips roll into yours. her bun coming nearly undone, stray hairs falling into her face. and- oh- she just put her shirt in her fucking mouth. her brows are furrowed, forehead creasing at how much she's focused on making you feel good.

your body lights up, eyes rolling to the back of your head. your hands grip the sheets behind you and bada's groaning out with each thrust as if she's fucking her own cock into you. she thinks she could cum like this. fucking into you, watching and hearing you getting mindfucked into oblivion. she fucks you like she wants you to only know her and the way she languidly rolls her hips into your own.

you were so upset earlier about how she acted in front of her class today. she put on a show for them, showed them something only you were supposed to witness; to feel.

what she doesn't tell you is that she imagined you under her the entire time.

so now she's imitating exactly what she was doing to that floor, this time, with a partner.

she knows you're about to cum when your eyes become hazy and unfocused. she cant help but be selfish in the moment. she wants to feel you cum. she wants to be the one making you feel this good. she wants to feel you clench around her, grip at her hair, shove her closer to your aching cunt. so she does what any sane person does and pulls out.

you don't even have the time to process being empty, bada yanks you by your legs to the edge of the bed and gets on her knees.

"wanted to feel you cum," she grabs the back of your thighs so that your knees are against your chest, a certain anklet dangling dangerously by her ears. she spits on your pussy and dives right in. she licks a stripe up between your lips, a stuttered moan leaving her mouth. she presses soft kisses to your sensitive clit, one hand coming down to rub at your opening.

your knees knock together, trapping bada in between your thighs,

she flicks her eyes up, "spread your legs."

you relax them a bit.

"gonna make you cum in my mouth. wanna feel you."

she inserts two fingers into you, scissoring you open. you're so wet that she can hear squelching sounds as she pushes them in, pulls them out.

she wraps her mouth around your clit and sucks. that does it for you. your back arches and the only thing keeping bada's head getting squished between your legs is her arm holding your knees to your chest. a hand flies to her head, grasping her hair. your toes curl and you feel your stomach coil up in expectation. bada's fingers fuck you through it. her mouth not leaving where you've needed it most.

bada's eyes roll to the back of her head. she could barely fucking breathe and if she were to go out, theres no better place than between your legs.

as you come down from your high, you had to physically push bada from your weeping cunt. when she lets up, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glazed over. she crawls on top of you and forces your mouth open by pushing on your jaw. she spits in your mouth and leans down to swap your own wetness between each other.

you both pant as bada releases you, smoothing your hair down and chuckling,

"you still wanna switch places with the floor?"

[reiderwriter]

Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You🃏

Chapter 1 of That's What You Get

Next Chapter

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: After three weeks on a case in Vegas and a particularly draining phone call from your mother, you decide to take Reid up on his offer to show you the sights of Las Vegas. When you wake up the next morning, you realise one of those sights was a 24hour Wedding Parlor, and that you're now Mrs. Reid.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, loss of memory, marriage (yeah that needs a warning), mommy issues, mentions of emotional abuse, implied sex scene, use of handcuffs in a sexual way, they theorize a possible creampie but I will neither confirm nor deny at this point, talk of contraception, no actual smut though, you guys are gonna have to wait for that. 18+ Minors DNI

A/N: The first chapter is here! Sorry for drawing you in with a silly little premise and then giving you mommy issues, I swear that after this chapter it's not bought up all that much. If you enjoy this chapter, you can sign up to the series taglist here, check out my masterlist and if you want leave a request! :D have fun reading!! ✨

Las Vegas, city of sin and entertainment capital of the world. Population approximately 600,000, home to the most famous casinos in the world, and unluckily for you, your latest unsub.

You’d been in Vegas for three weeks trying to hunt down this specific murderer, but now the case was all wrapped up and you could finally breathe, the weight of the stress you’d been carrying for almost a month now dissolving as you finally finished up the paperwork in the local precinct.

“Thank god that’s over. I cannot wait to be in bed with a good book and an empty head,” you groaned as you met the eyes of Penelope Garcia, your favorite tech analyst in the entire world and absolutely the only one you knew. She’d ended up having to join you on this case because some of the crime scenes just happened to be casinos that weren’t so happy sharing their data, but also didn’t want to be lumped with the warrant from the FBI. She’d been working between their offices and the precinct, and looked just as haggard as you felt.

“Oh, I feel you sister, this free travel experience thing is nice, but I would like to be back at my own perfect little desk hovel ASAP, thank you very much.” The two of you shared a small laugh, and then began collecting your stuff.

“Come on now, baby girl, you’re telling me that you don’t want to hit up the strip while we’re here? See the sights a little?”

“Sweet cheeks, I have been working from the most harrowing of surveillance units all week on that very strip. I have already seen the sights and they were not pretty, and definitely not worth using up my precious vacation time for.”

“Unfortunately Garcia, I don’t think you’ll be needing to use any of that vacation time to stay here,” Hotch announced as he walked in, and every member of your team snapped to attention to hear what he had to say. “I just got off the phone with Quantico, there’s a storm cloud moving in directly in our flight path and we haven’t been cleared for take off. They’re extending our stay by another day.”

“Shit,” you let out a silent curse, and noticed that your other team members didn’t seem all that happy about it either. JJ quickly excused herself from the room to call Will, Garcia let out a faux sob and fell back into her chair, and Rossi had the look of abject Italian disappointment on his face that he usually only got when you talked about your love of pineapple on pizza.

“How’s about that drink now, baby girl?” Derek Morgan teased, but it was half-hearted and you knew it. You were all desperate for bed, and you could only imagine the mistakes you would make if you went drinking now after the month you’d all just survived.

The only member of the team who didn’t seem put out quite yet was Reid, but you chalked that up to the fact that this place was his hometown.

“If you guys do change your mind, I know a bar downtown where you’re 34% less likely to be propositioned, robbed or over-charged.” He smiled over at you, and you couldn’t help but let out a giggle knowing the man was 100% serious.

“Dare I ask how you found that statistic, Reid?” Emily inquired from the other corner.

“One part actually reading the annual crime report, one part personal experience?” Reid replied, and you laughed again, unable to hold it back.

“Count me out, thank you,” you replied, and you could have sworn for a second you saw a flash of disappointment flash over his features, but you didn’t get the chance to question it, because a call was lighting up your phone screen.

You quickly excused yourself and moved to pick up the call from your mother.

“Mom, hey, what’s up?”

“What, I can’t check in on my daughter now for no reason?” you sighed and rubbed your temples, knowing exactly how this phone call was going to go, because it was how the last ten calls home had.

“Yes, mom, of course you can. How are you?”

“Terrible. Cindy’s daughter is getting married, and it’s all she’s talking about now. Can you believe it? The girl was absolutely wild when you were friends with her in high school and now she’s settling down with a lawyer of all people. Someone should warn that young man before he realises what he’s got himself into,” she scoffed on the other end of the line and you did your best to not get worked up. If you got angry it only made her more self-richeous.

“I know, Mom, Jessica sent me an invite, and I’m sure Trevor knows exactly what he’s getting into since they’ve been dating since high school.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that? You never tell me anything.”

“I’m sorry, Mom, I’m in the middle of a case right now, can I call you back later?” You did your best to escape the conversation before it devolved into something you really didn’t want to talk about, like yourself, and more specifically your love life. But the gorgon had you frozen through the line and you weren’t about to make the mistake of hanging up on her.

“I’m sure your boss could spare you for five minutes, over-working you like he does. You haven’t had the time off to come and visit me since you got that fancy little job of yours, so you can do me this favor at least.”

“Sure, mom.” At times like this, you knew it was best to just let her talk and ride out the wave.

“And I’m sure you don’t even have time to date. Are you taking care of yourself, at least? Making sure you’re at least presentable, I hope? Its like I always say, you could meet your future husband in one of those precincts, you know. Get a big, strong man to take care of you.”

You had to resist the urge to throw your phone. You’d explained to your mother time and time again that you were perfectly content being the big, strong man for yourself, but there was absolutely no getting through to her. You received one of these phone calls everytime one of her friends or coworkers kids announced an engagement, got pregnant or bought a house, three things that she was desperate for you to do, as well. As soon as you saw the instagram post from Jessica you’d been counting down the days, almost thankful for your mothers lack of online presence.

“A crime scene isn’t exactly the most charming of meet cutes, Mom.”

“Well, then what about Virginia? There are some fine men working at the FBI surely. What about that one coworker of yours, what was his name?” Your heart-race increased for a moment, praying she wasn’t about to put a thought in your head that you wouldn’t be able to escape.

“Derek Morgan, was it? Now, that’s a fine young man.” This time you couldn’t stop the startled cry that came from your mouth. Sure, Morgan was an incredibly attractive man, but he’d joked around with you like a brother ever since you’d taken down your first unsub with the team. Your team was your family and your support system on the road, and they had your back on the case, so really, had your mother said anything, you’d have responded with incredulous guffawing. Hotch was like your dad, Rossi a fun Great-Uncle or something. You saw the sister’s you’d never had in JJ and Emily and of course Garcia was your best friend and you shared so many likes and dislikes that you regularly joked about being long-lost twins separated at birth. And Reid was Reid.

“Just give dating some thought, would you at least? The clock is ticking for you, you know.”

“Mom, I’m not even thirty yet. I’m in no rush.”

“That's what your Aunt Linda said, and look at her.” Your Aunt Linda was a perfectly content single woman in her late forties who had a high paying executive job, in NYC of all places, so yeah, you were in no rush at all.

“Listen, Mom, I’ve got to go, Hotch is calling me into the office to talk about some case files. I’ll speak to you later?”

“God, it’s like you don’t even want to talk to your mother for even five minutes. Go on, then, go do your big fancy job. Call me soon.”

“Yeah, Mom, I will.” And with that you finally hung up. Running a hand through your hair you paused for a breath for a second, closing your eyes and letting your hand just grip your hair for a second before releasing your breath for a second.

In the grand scheme of things, you knew that your mom wasn’t all that much to complain about. You and Emily had bonded over your respective mommy issues early in your time on the team, and you knew a lot of the other team members were either lacking some family member or the other, so you were just thankful that she was still around to annoy you, but god did she make it difficult sometimes.

Realising that any second, you’d have one profiler or the other come find you and ask you (with the best of intentions) what was wrong, you plastered a smile on your face and walked back into the office. You didn’t exactly want to relive that call anytime soon.

“Back so soon, Y/N? I thought that was your mom,” Morgan questioned you when you stepped back in.

“Yeah it was. One of my friends from highschool is getting married and you know how she loves to gossip.” You’d learnt early in the profession that you were in that the best way to hide something was to tell the truth about it for as long as you could, and then change the subject.

“Hey, Reid, you still up for a drink at that bar?” You looked hopefully at the man in the corner, and prayed noone would bring up your absolute change in attitude. “I was thinking a glass of wine or two after a successfully closed case couldn’t hurt, right?”

“Yeah, sure. You wanna head back to the hotel first and change, or do you want to go from here? Hotch said we’re free now until 2pm tomorrow.” You could see a questioning look from Morgan to your left, but you kept your vision focused on Reid, quietly thankful for the rest of the teams disinterest.

“Give me five to drop off my badge and gun in my room and freshen up a bit and we can be on our way. If this bar is bad though, Reid, you know I’m never letting you hear the end of it, right?”

“I ran the statistics, there’s only a 14% chance you’ll dislike it.”

“You know what’s scary is, I can’t even tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

–x–

Sarcasm or no, you had to admit, the bar he’d taken you to was pretty nice. It was a low-lit bar only a twenty minute taxi ride from your hotel and whilst it wasn’t exactly on the strip, it wasn’t so far out to be inconvenient. The best part about it was that it was lined with bookshelves, and each booth was blocked off by another, making it feel more like a library than a watering hole. You almost forgot you were in Vegas when you stepped in.

“Yeah, this is definitely a Spencer Reid place,” you said as you took the final swig of your wine, the glass you’d ordered on arrival having gone down easier than you’d expected.

“How so?” Spencer said as he returned to your table, carrying the replacement drinks he’d gone to order with him.

“Come on, Spencer. I’ve never seen the inside of your apartment but I’m sure it’s just this place with less furniture and more books.”

“Y/L/N, are you profiling me right now? Because that sounds pretty close to profiling?” Spencer teased and you rolled your eyes at him, grabbing your next drink from him and giving it a stir - the wine was good but at the price per glass you’d decided maybe cocktails were the thing for tonight.

“Besides, you did mention wanting to curl up with a book tonight, so I thought this bar was probably a good fit for you too.”

“Whose profiling who now, Doctor?” It was his turn to roll his eyes, and he took a sip of his drink. You knew he didn’t drink that often, but he seemed pretty open to the idea tonight, and you were absolutely glad for the company.

“Okay, I won’t profile if you don’t, but do you mind me asking you a question, Y/N?”

“Fire away,” you were playing with the stirrer in your cocktail, waiting for him to ask the question but he’d hesitated for a moment before speaking again, causing you to look up directly into his eyes.

“What’s going on with you and your mom? I don’t mean to pry and I didn’t overhear any of your call earlier or anything, but when you came in again you were all tense and you had that strained smile on your face. Then you suddenly changed your mind and decided we should get drinks so, I’m just guessing here, but you could probably do with talking about it, right?”

You let out a groan and let your head hang a bit. Yeah, you were starting to regret taking that role in the team of profilers. But at least Reid was sincere, and you knew his intentions were good. Of all the members of the team, you’d probably have described him as the safest. It was strange to think, considering all the comfort you found in your other friends, but there was just something so reassuring about Reid’s presence, the way most people overlooked him at first, how he could easily fall into his work and how you could see the cogs moving in his head as he made one genius leap to another that just made you think that everything was going to be okay if he was there.

So because it was him, you decided to talk.

“She’s just…She’s just a little much sometimes, you know?” He smiled back a knowing smile, but didn’t try to add anything and encouraged you to keep going.

“She’s been really persistent recently in bothering me about hitting some of lifes big milestones - marriage, kids, you know? And it always leaves me in a panic because though I’m pretty sure I want those things just yet, I don’t want the pressure of having them yet.” You swallowed the bile in your thoat and continued

“Everytime she says something, I feel bad that I don’t have them. And the way she talks about them its like they’re some kind of… of personal failure, that I’m not trying hard enough to catch a man or something, and I just wonder what if she’s right?” You start slow but you feel yourself gaining pace as you begin rambling, by the end you’re left wondering if Reid even caught any of that.

“I’m perfectly content living alone, but what if I’m secretly not, and I end up forty and alone and can’t even get a guy to look at me.”

“I can pretty confidently say that that’s not going to happen, Y/N.” Reid replied when you finally grabbed your drink ready to take another sip.

“How come?”

“You won’t have to put any effort into catching a man, Y/N.” Reid replied.

“You’re saying that because you’re my friend and you care about me Reid, of course you think that.”

“No, I’m saying that as an FBI Profiler that’s noticed the barman, the man on a date in the corner and the group of guys smoking outside the door eye you up since we’ve been here. And considering we’ve been doing paperwork all day, and the only change in your appearance since 8am this morning was the fresh coat of chapstick you put on while we were in the taxi, I’d think you hadn’t really put that much thought into what you look like right now.”

“You’re exaggerating,” and you really believe that, until you turn to look at the guy on the date and see him avert his gaze from you quickly, and you realise there might be something in what he’s saying.

“Okay, but that still doesn’t mean that I need or want to hear those things from my mother.”

“Y/N, take it from me, mother’s can be complicated.”

“God, I feel so stupid talking to you about something so trivial with my mom, I shouldn’t be doing that, we’re here to have fun.”

“Y/N, its okay. I can do the mommy issues talks, I’m perfectly qualified, but…” he trails off and grabs his drink for another sip and you find yourself hanging off his words begging for him to bring you more comfort and spoken caresses.

“But what, Reid?” you finally ask, as you realise he’s dragging this out on purpose to tease you a little.

“But how about a distraction instead? Have you ever been in a Las Vegas casino with a man that is banned from gambling in most of them?” He wiggled his eyebrows a little as he asked that and you giggled again, grateful for the reprieve from the serious talk.

“That doesn’t sound all that fun, Spencer.”

“Oh yeah, it’s not, but we could always use those vouchers we got as a token of appreciation earlier in the bars and drink some pretty fancy alcohol?”

“Spencer Reid, you are finally speaking my language.”

“I’m still speaking English Y/N, but if you wanted me to switch to russian or some other language, I could accommodate that depending on your linguistic preference.”

“It was a joke, Spence, now let’s get out of here.”

With that, he stood and dramatically offered you his hand like a gentleman, placing your hand in the crook of his elbow when you took it and guiding you swiftly out of the sweet bar. You were with Spencer, your safe friend, close work colleague and probably the least likely member of the BAU Team to get into trouble in a bar in Vegas. What’s the worst that could happen? You thought, as you took a final step out into the humid night air of Las Vegas.

–X–

The first thing you noticed in the morning was the pounding in your head, and it was pretty much the only thing you noticed for quite some time. When you managed to finally unglue your eyes, the second thing you noticed that this definitely wasn’t your room. The third thing you noticed was the gaping hole in your memories that explained how you possibly could’ve ended up wherever it was that you were. Or really any memories from the night before at all.

Letting out a quick groan you sit up in bed and take stock of your surroundings. Although the layout is different, you quickly recognise the interior matches the hotel you’ve been staying at, so you’re thankful that you’re at least somewhere relatively safe, and most likely in familiar company. The room looks to be neat on the whole, but there’s obvious signs of a drunken escapade strewn everwhere - two champagne flutes and a drained bottle, the contents of your purse spilt onto the chair in the corner, some random balloons in the corner you must have picked up somewhere in a drunken stupor, your clothes discarded in a trail to the bed.

That last one wakes you up a little bit more, and almost embarrassingly, you look down at yourself and see your lack of clothing, pulling the covers of the quilt closer to you as you feel yourself flush.

Fuck.

There’s a shifting in the bed next to you, and you look down in horror to see exactly which member of your team got you so plastered last night. You try to move to see who it is, but theres a tightness around your wrist and you’re pulled right back down into bed. You look down at your arm, and that’s when you realise you’re really screwed.

There, around your wrist and restraining you against the bed, is a set of handcuffs. FBI standard. The insinuation flames your face as you whip around to see which close friend and coworker you maybe - possibly - hooked up with last night, too embarrassed to look at your hand any more.

Luckily, your mystery man shifts again, and you catch sight of the nest of brown curls right before he turns over to see you, so when you finally meet the eye of Doctor Spencer Reid, you don’t scream in surprise.

“Y/N? What are you doi-” he cuts himself off as he lets his eyes trail down your body, quickly noticing your state of undress and pulling himself up into a seated position. He is similarly disrobed and it takes all of your strength to pull your gaze away from his bare chest to look literally anywhere else, your face practically flaming now.

“Spencer, would you mind helping me out over here?” you manage to squeak out quickly, as he does his best to avoid your eyes. “I seem to be a little stuck?”

That draws his attention back to you, and he finally notices the strange position of your arms and the handcuffs keeping you pinned to that spot in the bed.

“Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry, fuck,” he quickly pulls on the pants he discarded by his side of the bed and scrambles over to you, tripping over once in his haste.

“Do you know where the key is?” you ask as he arrives at your side again, your free hand clutching the sheets over your breasts like your life depended on it.

“If that’s my pair they should be in the safe in the nightstand with my creds, give me a second to look.” After a second, he reaches the aforementioned safe box, pulling it open. He roots around inside it for a few seconds and then he spots something ad you watch the blood drain from his face.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?” you spit out quickly, tongue still heavy, and lips probably still swollen, from the night before, so you trip over the words a little. He pulls out the keys from the draw, and you let out a sigh of relief, but you’re still tense as he reaches back inside the draw and pulls out something else.

“Y/N, there wouldn’t happen to be a ring on that hand would there?” Spencer still isn’t looking at you, still staring intently at whatever else is in his hands. You try to angle your head to look, but between the restraints and the fact that Reid had turned his back to you couldn’t quite see what it was.

“What? No, I don’t wear a ring on this hand-” you cut yourself off abruptly as you look down and see it. There on the fourth finger of your left hand, the one that is still chained to the bed by your partners handcuffs, is a ring. There’s a ring on your ring finger. You just woke up in Las Vegas with no memory, in your coworkers room, naked, with a ring on your ring finger.

Your heart drops to your ass as you snap your head back around to Spencer, who finally works up the courage to look you in the eye.

“I think you should look at this” he stutters out and finally presents you with the other item he pulled out of the draw. Your jaw drops open and the pounding in your head turns into a continuous buzzing as you see yourself presented with a marriage liscence. Pinned to the corner with a paperclip is a polaroid picture, and you recognise yourself and your clothes from the night before, with the addition of a veil and bouquet, your arms slung around Reid’s neck as he pulls you in for what you can assume was a pretty passionate kiss.

“Y/N I think we got married last night.”

For a second you could’ve sworn your heart stopped. This was not happening, not to you, not right now. How stupidly drunk could you have gotten to have actually gone and married someone you weren’t even dating. And considering your current lack of clothing, it was dawning on you that you had probably done a little bit more than what was in that photo.

“Spencer unlock these handcuffs right now, so help me God,” you breathed deep and screwed your eyes shut, hoping that wihtout the distraction of the glaring lights you’d be able to remember some of what you’d done last night, but nothing came to you.

Reid, for what it was worth, got you unlocked quickly. You winced slightly as you pulled your arm away from the position it’d been in for however many hours.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry, I should have undone those last night, I don’t know why I didn’t, I’m usually pretty good at remembering stuff like that.” Reid rambled, running a hand through his hair and pacing slightly at your side of the bed. You pushed yourself up and watched him for a minute, just looking at this man who was now, probably, your husband.

Your husband.

You shook the thought from your head and cut his rambling off quickly.

“You put me in these?” you asked, just desperate for any clarification on any of the events of the last 24 hours, not fully grasping the implications of what you were asking until Reid was looking down at you with a flushed face and a mouth gaping like a fish, struggling to find the words to say.

“This is my hotel room. Those are my handcuffs… I kind of just assumed…” he trailed off the thought and you were right with him, the embarrassment heating your face just as much as it had his. You found it hard to meet his eyes the, and dropped yours to your lap.

“So you don’t remember, either?” You almost sighed in relief at that. If even a genius with an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory was in this state after a night of drinking, then you really couldn’t be blamed for getting so drunk you married your coworker and most likely had some pretty kinky sex with him, remembering absolutely nothing on top of that at all.

“Do you need me to grab you something to wear?” he asked as he looked down at you, letting his gaze trail probably a little bit too low for a little bit too long. You grew heated under his stare, as your body reacted, and you realised how easy it must have been to fall underneath him last night if this was how you were feeling from just one look.

But you pulled yourself out of those thoughts quickly, and it seemed that so did he, as he began grabbing clothes from the floor and handing them to you, turning away as you started getting yourself into a semi-decent state.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you heard Reid mumble to himself as he made his way around the side of the bed, and in your concern for him, you called out.

“Anything specific those curses were for, Spence? Because I know this isn’t exactly the most ideal situation, but four Spencer Reid swears in a row is a cause for concern.” You tried to joke, hoping to relieve some of the anxiety of your predicament.

“I can’t find…” he started and then dragged a hand over his face, trying to wipe the exhaustion from his eyes. “Y/N, I think we didn’t use protection.” You could see him panicking now, and for a second you thought of joining him too, but you crossed the room and grabbed his arms.

“Spencer, look at me, it’s fine. If we did end up… doing that, I’m on birth control, and we probably have time to grab something extra just to make sure, right?” he looked down at you then and after a moments hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m so sorry about all of this, I’m so stupid for suggesting we go to that casino bar last night, I don’t know what I was thinking. You even said last night that this wasn’t what you wanted for yourself, right now, god I’m an idiot, you don’t deserve this.” He buried his face in your neck and held you tight, and you pulled yours up to his back, rubbing circles into his skin slowly.

“Spencer, listen to me. I can think of noone I would have rather had a shotgun Vegas marriage with, okay? This isn’t your fault, we were both drunk, and I’m sure a Reid who was thinking straight could give me some kind of statistic about inhibitions dropping with a certain amount of alcohol.”

“A study in the United Kingdom found that there was an increase of risky sexual behavior in young people who had participated in binge drinking, including unprotected sex with a new partner and the use of emergency contraceptives and I’m not sure why I’m still talking when that was probably rhetorical, right?” You smiled at his panic, finding him just as endearing as ever, even in this predicament.

“What I’m saying, Spencer, is that we’re going to be okay. This isn’t the first time someone has gotten married in Vegas on a whim. Hell, this isn’t even the first time it’s happened to someone on our team. In a sense, this was a very traditional wedding.”

He groaned into your neck again and you laughed up at him. Sure, you were panicked still, but just having him in your arms there sharing his honest feelings with you instead of bottling it up and leaving you to deal with it on your own in your head too was doing you a world of good, and you found the words you used to reassure him soothing you, too, in turn.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. One, find the nearest pharmacy. Two, find whatever Elvis-inspired love shack wrote that marriage license and figure out if it’s actually legally binding. Three, avoid all of our coworkers until 2pm. How does that sound?”

Reid pulled himself out of your neck then, and you were almost sad at the loss of that warmth near you.

“It sounds like I made the smartest choice of a wife I was ever going to make,” he smiled down at you.

“Oh you got jokes now, Doc? I see.”

“Thought I should let you know all my deep dark secrets now we’re married.” You shared a laugh, and standing there amongst the debris of the night before, despite all the mistakes, you knew you were safe, and that the two of you would always be safe together.

🏷️ @sailortongue @bethanyhaas01 @reidscaffeine @high-functioning-cosplayer @average-sunflower @multifandom-on-the-side @anniewhalelover @prentissesredtanktop @abbyshmaby @academiareid @hugyourlungs @w-windy @babybluecakes @SwaggySagieWagie@reidandhotchsgirl @lover-of-books-and-tea @star0055 @Zaapsite @daddy-dotcom @bluecandycake

[themotherofhorses]

you can pretend it's not meant to be (but you can't stay away from me)

summary: to you, he is fictional. but to him, you are everything and more. he can't live without you. and, really, there is no use in trying to run away, he'll always find you.

pairing: (somewhat) dark!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: explicit language. noncon to dubcon. abduction. massive obsessive tendencies on aemond's part. breeding kink. slight spitting kink. pregnancy.

note: hey this is me practicing writing smut because ive never ever done it before and i don't know jackshit like wtf is a dick hahaha im dreading posting this hahahasendhelpplshaha

masterlist | series masterlist

part two | part three | part four | part five

How did you end up here?

That was all you could ask yourself, over and over again.

It had only been hours ago, maybe, that you were sitting at home, rewatching the first season of House of the Dragon for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Perhaps you dozed off on the couch too, but that was it. You have heard of shifting techniques before- ways to visit your favorite fictional worlds- but you never sought to try them out yourself.

College left you too busy with assignments and textbook readings, as well as the constant and unwavering pressure to maintain both your scholarships and high GPA.

Ever the dutiful and driven daughter, hungry for academic validation and success.

Oh, fuck, your scholarships!

Your GPA!

All those assignments and discussions and exams!

And what about your family? Your mother and father? And your best friend?

Aemond Targaryen seems not to understand your words, and why you tell, beg, and plead for him to let you go. “Please, I need to go home,” you cry loudly, while yanking at the thick knots that bound you to his bedframe, “please! My family, my friends. They will be worrying when they don’t hear from me, and all my hard work and accomplishments, it will be for nothing! Please, I beg you, let me go home.”

But he just chuckles and kisses your forehead and says, “Oh, my sweet girl, I’m your family now. Or what is of it.” His lips feel so soft and wonderful, and how desperately you wish to enjoy the feeling. But not like this. You cannot think properly nor muster any sort of response, too distracted and stressed and focused on calming your breathing.

“Although,” he then adds with a smirk, “it truly is not considered a family until you have a babe of your own…or two.”

At his words, you tremble and whimper and try your best to break free, though it is all in stupid and foolish vain. There is no going anywhere, the knots are too tight and Aemond can easily overpower you. All you can do is stare up at the man you once considered your favorite character in the series, ever since the eighth episode aired and he stole your heart and soul and burrowed himself deep within your most inner thoughts and fixation.

“Do not worry,” he says, and you can see a twinkle in the violet of his eye. He rests a hand on your collarbone, gently drawing little shapes across the skin. “Good things will come out of this night, my love, I promise you that.”

Look on the bright side, you tell yourself, in some dumb attempt to steel your nerves, better Aemond Targaryen to lose your virginity to.

“You need to be quieter, my darling-” Aemond murmurs close to your ear “-we do not need curious ears listening in, do we?” He has you riding him, both hands clutching your hips as you do your best to bounce on his cock and match his thrusts. You’re sloppy and inexperienced, and a bit confused on what exactly to do, but it is so endearing that his lips curl into a grin.

Oh, you were made for me, he thinks, watching the way your glazed-over eyes try to hold his gaze. He will have you believe that by the end of the night, dawning if necessary.

There is much rush now that he found you, now that he has the chance to claim you.

You still moan, loud and high-pitched, and he slaps a hand flat over your mouth to shut you up. It makes your pretty and teary eyes widen more as you grab at his wrist, holding onto it while he tuts. “I’ll move my hand when you learn to listen to your husband and stay quiet. No one is allowed to hear my wife in her pleasure. No one but I.” At that, you bat your eyelashes at him, breasts heaving as he leans you down, so close your lips nearly touch, and Aemond can feel your heavy pants against his mouth.

“They will take you away from me, and ship you far across the world where I can’t find you,” he hisses, pinching your swollen nipple between his fingers, “I can’t have that. No, no, do you hear me? I will not survive being torn from you.”

The mere thought of losing you, either at the hands of his mother and grandsire or you returning to your homeland, fills him with sheer dread.

He does not know how to tell you that you are the girl of his dreams, everything he has desired and more. He has seen you in his nighttime slumbers and in the gleam of the summer sunlight and up among the black midnight stars.

But the words fall apart on his tongue, and all he can do is lay beneath you and marvel at your beauty: cheekbones and pretty puffy lips and the curve of your nose, the way your eyebrows furrow in pure pleasure, and how you look utterly delicious and ruined.

“You were made for me,” he breathes in awe, palming at both your breasts. You have to believe him, this sweet and pretty girl of his, how could you not? The gods above created you for him, he will make you see it. “You are taking me so fucking well,” and Aemond flattens a palm against your belly, where he can feel the slight bulge of his cock. “Look at you, you’re my dream come true.” He thrusts his hips up, fucking into you harder and deeper. It makes you squeal and go cross-eyed.

“Is this too much? I know you can handle it, my darling. My love, my sweet girl,” he purrs.

Aemond swipes at the drool pooling at your lips before stuffing two fingers in. “Fuck,” he whines, breathing hard, slipping his other hand in between your thighs, and with his thumb, rubbing at your clit. Your face twists in a gasp as you tremble, your entire body tightening until you cream over his cock, your loud moan muffled by the fingers in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he hums, slowing his thrusts, “Such a good fucking girl. Look at that, did that feel good, my love?” he asks you.

You nod, rocking your hips back and forth. Your thighs shaking and your face scrunching in complete bliss as you start again, taking his cock deep in your stomach with tiny bounces. “Please- please- please-” you babble against his palm. “I-I want- I need-”

“Want what, my sweet girl? Need what, my darling wife?”

You don’t answer, too overtaken by the pleasure. Aemond chuckles and leans upwards, to bury his face between your breasts. You are absolutely stunning, gorgeous, a living goddess; how he went this long without you is baffling. “You wish for my seed. Is that what you want?” he mutters against your nipple, “of course you do, this belly is too empty, isn’t it? My son should be sleeping inside.” His fingers pinch your clit, and you gasp again. “You’ll be the prettiest mother. You were made to carry my children. You were made for me,” and he pulls your face back to his, with a rough grip on your chin.

“Tell me,” he demands through a pant, “tell me how fucking badly you need my seed. Tell me…tell me right now.”

“I- I need it-“ you choke out, but then you shake your head. “No- No I can’t! I- I need to go- go home!”

Aemond laughs, so hard he flings his head back. The sight takes you by surprise before he shoves you off, causing you to land next to him on the bed. You stare up at him, wide eyed and puzzled and swollen and covered in countless bites and bruises. In one swing, he forces your face into the pillow as he mounts you from behind, fucking you hard. His fingers return to your clit, squeezing and tweaking and not caring one bit about your muffled yelps and whines

“You’ll learn, my sweet girl, but perhaps not tonight. I am your home now, do you understand? I’m your family, your husband, and the father to your children.”

He grabs a fistful of damp hair and yanks your face back, never once slowing his thrusts. Your mouth is open with many moans spilling out, eyes clouded with tears, and cheeks flushed. With his lips next to your ear, he whispers, “You are going nowhere.” Then propping himself on one arm, he trails small kisses up your back to your shoulder blade until his mouth slams down on yours in a heavy and wet kiss.

And when he pulls away, his fingertips squeeze your cheeks together as he demands for you to open your mouth. "You are mine," he grunts, "you belong to me," before spitting into it. "Good, now swallow."

And when you do, he smiles.

"There, see?" he coos, leaning to kiss your forehead as he feels you tighten around his cock. He was going to seed you again, deep inside your womb. Come the morning, he knows his son will be in there, and he can hardly wait.

"My wife, my darling girl, the only woman deserving of me and all of me. Only me." He watches you sob at that, pink lips pressing in a tight line as fat tears streak down both cheeks. "Oh, do not worry, my love. You're too lovely to be crying," and he uses his thumb to brush away the tears, "I'm here to give you the life you deserve," he vows, so lovingly, "you will want for nothing."

With a loud huff, you plop yourself on the couch.

The saying “home sweet home” never felt more sincere until now. It took much time and planning and effort and sneaking around on your part, but you managed to find a way to escape from Aemond Targaryen, though not without consequences. Your belly was growing only larger with every new moon, and your babe was starting to shift around more. At most times, you could feel the fluttering sensation across the bottom of your tummy, and every now and then, the tiniest kick.

It was adorable, you admitted, and you tried your best to find enjoyment throughout the pregnancy, sometimes wondering at night about who your child would resemble.

Would their looks favor yours? Or would they favor their father, with his Valyrian features- that iconic silver hair and violet eyes. The latter worried you the most. How could you even begin to explain why your child looked as if they belonged in the Game of Thrones series, specifically in House Targaryen?

Speaking of such, you had not touched House of the Dragon since you arrived back home all those months ago, too unwilling to turn on the tv and see the man whose child you were mysteriously carrying in your womb. It just did not make any sense, it felt more like a weird dream than reality.

But you were dying of boredom. The dragonling (you had taken to nicknaming the baby that, it sounded both cute and appropriate) was stealing away most of your time and energy, and your mother refused to allow you to do anything that could cause harm or add more unnecessary stress.

So you bit your tongue and swallowed down your grumbles and settled comfortably on the couch before opening Fire and Blood.

“Fucking crazy to think that this is a book of your family’s history,” you mumbled to your baby bump, “fictional my ass.”

So you read, to yourself and to your babe. Read about Aegon’s Conquest and the Year of the Three Brides and King Jaehaerys and his Alysanne and their triumphs and tragedies and legacy, and you read until you reached The Dying of the Dragons, the Blacks and the Greens, where you just sighed.

“And when Alicent sent for her second son to fly to Storm’s End, with the purpose of securing Borros Baratheon’s loyalty to Aegon II by winning the hand of one of his daughters, the Four Storms, the truth was finally known. One-eyed Prince Aemond, twenty and one, had taken a wife of his own in secret, a young maiden not of Westeros (according to Mushroom). Yet Prince Aemond lost her a month into their marriage, although by that time he had become so besotted with his bride, to such an extent that he could not bear the thought of living without her or taking another woman as his new wife.

With Prince Aemond refusing his mother’s orders, Queen Alicent had little choice but to send her youngest, Prince Daeron, in his place to Storm’s End. And by the seventh month, Prince Daeron wedded Floris Baratheon, and Prince Aemond One-Eye had reunited with his wife, who was heavy with child by the time he found her.”

You suddenly glance up from the book pages, feeling your heart hammering so hard in your chest that it seems at the end of your throat. On the wall, to your right, hung the calendar which you had taken to use as a means of tracking your pregnancy.

In two weeks, you’ll be at your seventh-month mark.

[sixstepsaway]

so here's the thing

i've seen a bunch of people say on twitter and stuff how... ed's behavior is very abusive and his anger is dangerous and he isn't romantic lead material because of it

and i get where they're coming from

but to me the main issue isn't putting ed in the position of a romantic lead, but not crafting the narrative around his characterization so that it allows for a spicy romantic pirates-in-love narrative instead of...whatever this is.

i'm going to try and explain this. idk if i'll do well but i'll try

the way she show presents stede is as an innocent baby who isn't really equipped for pirate life. he goes into a fugue/disassociative state whenever there's any real violence, apparently, and needs protecting by other characters when things get too rough - for example when ed is telling ned lowe not to take the poker to stede.

that's fine! it's honestly adorable to see a masc character being so soft around the edges and being protected by other characters this way.

(i'm not going to touch on stede's... eh... not great characterization this season rn)

then there's izzy, who is shown as a bit violent, a bit rough around the edges. he's more likely to draw a sword or throw a punch or hit someone with a chair or take a punch like a champ. violence is just part of life for him and that's okay, it just Is, from small things like smacking stede on the ass to bigger things like being wall slammed, it's not all that big or bad for violence to happen around and with him, he tends to give as good as he gets (there's some nuance here but i'm talking the macro themes not the micro of what izzy does vs is done to him)

and finally there's ed

ed is presented as violent (stabbing knives at guys, telling fang to use the snail fork etc) and used to a life of violence, and then in season 2 he's presented as really violent, his anger coming out in dangerous and terrifying ways

and frankly, i'd be super into it if he and izzy were the main ship and that twisted dynamic from the first two episodes of s2 was explored and fleshed out into something deeper

friends to enemies to lovers who fight and fuck. angry pirates who lay hands on each other, who break the whole ship with each other in the heat of passion.

except instead, s2 gives us... abuse. it gives us izzy cringing and lowering his head and trying to protect the kids crew from ed's angry outbursts.

so when stede comes back and he's still soft around the edges and ed headbutts him and it's deliberate, it's... not a great look, and the vibes are a bit skewed

if stede fought back, if when ed struck out at him he struck back, if they fought rather than it being one-sided, if it was friends to enemies to lovers and not presented as healthy, but maybe they can work their way there, who knows, maybe even more like anne bonnie and mary read because hey, they were doing something very similar?

except they were both into it. they were both enjoying the fighting and the fucking and the burning down the house.

stede's not enjoying it.

i cannot describe how much i hate this sequence just because of the way stede flinches

anne and mary don't!! mary jumps at the unexpected bang but she doesnt flinch, she doesn't cover her face like she thinks the vase will be coming for her not the wall and anne? looks so into it

and the thing is that in real life, no, you don't want to date someone who throws shit around, or headbutts you

but in fiction when it's two fucked up people doing this shit together like anne and mary?

that can be fun.

but instead what we've been given is stede flinching and apologizing to ed and then all of ed's...what, semi-redemption???? is done away from the other collection of people he abused, and then he spends some time on a fishing boat wearing a dog collar and everything is fine because he's good now and won't be doing anything bad ever again

and it's just... poor writing. the vibes are rancid.

i spent a really big chunk of time between s1 and s2 defending ed. i kept saying how what he did to izzy by making him eat his toe wasn't abuse, it was a one-off and abuse isn't a one-off thing it's a pattern, and then s2 made it a pattern.

explicitly. explicitly a pattern.

not just one toe but three.

jim saying "you're in an unhealthy relationship with blackbeard"

and all ed offered izzy was a "sorry about your leg" which might've been fine if izzy survived and they could work on this more, but instead that's all the apology and closure izzy will ever get

ed threw a chair and a vase and made stede flinch in fear and stede was right to do that. what part of any of this implies this will never happen again? that stede won't press the wrong button at some point and be on the receiving end? none of it

and if we'd been presented with a s2 stede bonnet who could handle himself and stand up for himself and fight back, then maybe i could imagine that turning into a weird sexy fucked up anne/mary like thing and maybe that could be why they put that episode in, but instead it feels like that episode was going, "look, see, ed's violence is fine because these two are fine with it with each other"

but stede isn't

ed and izzy or ed and stede in an unhealthy battle of a relationship could be such a fun, interesting and downright sexy thing to watch unfold on tv, and could honestly end somewhere far more down the chill end of the spectrum, but that's not what we've been given here

i cannot argue that ed isn't an abuser anymore, and not just of izzy but of the whole crew. he terrified frenchie.

it's not good writing to try and lean into the idea that ed and the pirates are violent and live a life of violence, so it's okay that ed's been violent, while simultaneously presenting his violence as traumatic and abusive, and then less than three episodes later saying oh it's fine now, he's just a little meow meow who can do no wrong, see?

especially considering they had him murdering people at the end of the season. and sure, you can say the english are just cannon fodder and they dont 'count', but they did before. ed explicitly did not kill before, and that included the english, or the spanish, or anyone else. so either they count or they don't, but flipping him on a dime makes no sense.

ALSO

having ed be the son of an abusive man who threw plates at his mother and made her cringe and then having ed kill his father to protect his mother and then a season later having ed become the kind of man who throws chairs and vases and makes his love interest cringe is, again, not bloody optimal

i want to say again i dont CARE about tv always presenting healthy relationships or tv always giving us aspirational goals. i want messy fucked up dynamics and terrible people making terrible choices, and still, to this day, i fucking love ed teach. i would honestly love to have seen them continue with ed's darkness and bring stede into it and see where they went with that, to have stede kill ned lowe and not just bury his feelings in ed but get off on it, enjoy the violence, and see where that led, but no

and so instead all we end up with is a protagonist who is being set up for a lifetime of abuse from an intimate partner, and a romantic lead who abuses his love interests (and yes. izzy is a love interest, he is set up like one and positioned like one and treated like one), frightens his love interests with his violence, is erratic and most of all inconsistently written. he was so sorry about scaring fang as though he hadn't been deliberately terrifying the whole crew for fuck knows how long? what?!

the whole fandom has spent so long saying, "no no, i know stede bonnet irl was a slave owner, but ofmd is using the names and not any real piracy, it's more disney piracy, you know? so that kind of stuff doesnt exist!" and then they flipped around and went "blackbeard is blackbeard and so he is evil and does all these horrible things" and i dont know how to rationalize the two sides of that because it feels so out of place

i'm getting rambly, this isnt a particularly well constructed thought process, i just feel like we were robbed both of a toxic, violent relationship that could be fun to see explored on tv and a soft and sweet love story between two middle aged men exploring their first loves in one fell swoop and there's no way for s3 to bring either of those things back because they got utterly torpedoed by making ed a horrible person

ugh

[velvetm00light]

Taken

gif: pinterest dividers: @benkeibear, @mariariley, @haerinism

Chapter Two of Save Me

Previous Chapters: one

Word Count: 3.7k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: You and your team at the BAU come to the disturbing realization that you're the final target of a brutal serial killer. Without any leads, your team determines you need to be the one to draw him out. As you sit alone in your apartment for hours, on edge, you can't help but want your coworker, Spencer, to be there with you. But, is your little crush enough to get you through the upcoming torture?

Warnings: Mentions guns, sexual assault, murder, serial killer, torture, stalking, physical harm, kidnapping, fear. In future parts, will mention vivid torture, PinV, oral, domxsub situations, grief, bondage, physical harm, etc.

A/N: I'm actually enjoying writing this soo much. I hope you all are enjoying reading it! I'm going to write the next chapter in both (y/n) POV and Spencer's POV, so I'll probably post both at the same time!

YOU CAN'T HELP BUT fidget in your seat at the round table as the rest of the team takes their seats and waits for Hotch's word to begin. You couldn't bring yourself to be in the same room as them as they discussed different ways for you to lure him out, unable to listen and play out those possible scenarios out in your head. Spencer at first fought against your wishes for him to discuss with the team, but all you could do was look into his sad eyes with yours and tell him, "I need someone who is going to fight for me. I trust that you will know when enough is enough." He stopped fighting then and did as you requested.

He was the first to arrive back at the round table, immediately taking the seat next to yours, not even hesitating to give you his hand. You took it greedily, needing any kind of human contact to keep your mind grounded, bonus points because it was him.

"Let's get started." Hotch announced, and you noticed that no one would meet your gaze directly as your eyes wandered to your friends around the table. Your heart sank into your stomach and you had a feeling the discussion they had was a hard one. You can't imagine it being easy for your friends to discuss the best way to capture a brutal serial killer by using your life without actually endangering it.

"(Y/), tonight you're going to go home as normal. We have to assume he watches your every move so he cannot know that we're aware of you being his final target. We obviously will not leave you unguarded, Rossi and I will sit down the street from your apartment, Morgan and Reid will sit in the back of the parking lot so they can see anyone who exits and enters. If he's not bold enough to do anything tonight, we will simulate a day of errands for you, each of us posted where you go."

A chill runs down your spine. It's hard to believe you're about to be sent home and expected to act completely normal. To sit in your apartment alone, just waiting for him to try to break down your door or draw you out.

"You'll let me know every hour how you're doing and call Morgan or Reid if you notice anything since they'll be closest. If it makes you feel more comfortable, we can send someone ahead of you to replace your apartment security guard so someone with a little more training is there."

"Yes, please. I think that'll help." You almost whine. The more you sit here, the less you want this conversation to end because you want to avoid going home at absolutely all costs right now. You know you can't push it off forever or else you risk other women's lives. Before the meeting ends, JJ meets your eyes. "I promise you, we will find him."

"We're going to get this sick son of a bitch," Morgan adds. The rest of the team chimes in and you feel grateful to being going through this with a support system by your side. It makes the tight knot in your stomach loosen a little, realizing that you know you're safe with them. You know your entire team would stay up for days on end to catch this guy, and wouldn't allow themselves a moment of relaxation knowing you're unable to sleep or feel safe in your own home.

Hotch sends an agent to your apartment before you to simulate security guards changing shifts. You hope this will be enough, but something deep in your stomach twists anyway.

Before Reid leaves with Morgan to get to your apartment before you, he pulls you into the kitchen - a public place, but with enough cover to make your body heat. The thought of getting caught doing something scandalous sends a shiver up your spine but you quickly chastise yourself. Your life is in danger, now is not the time for fantasies.

"Can I ask you to do something for me?" He asks softly, his face looks battered from stress and you're sure you look the same. "Of course."

"Can you text me too? To let me know you're safe."

"Of course I will." You try to give him your best smile, but it falls flat. His care is warming, but it's hard to feel anything other than absolute fear at the moment.

"You're going to be okay," he promises. He abruptly pulls you into an embrace and you waste no time relaxing into his chest. He smells of almond and lavender. You take a deep breath, trying to memorize the smell of him. Your embrace ends too quickly and he leaves you standing alone in the kitchen.

After a torturous drive home, you pull into the parking lot of your apartment. You quickly scan your surroundings, making sure to wait an extra moment before exiting the car to see if another car pulls in. You spot the car Reid described to you sitting in the corner in the back of the parking lot and you let out a relieved sigh. This whole situation is terrifying and ridiculous all at once. You remember Hotch's words and get out of your car, trying your best to act as if you aren't completely afraid for your life and you're not about to spend the entire night rechecking your door and window locks, making sure all your hidden guns are reachable and in place.

You pass the agent posed as a security guard and trying not to draw attention to yourself as you head down the left hall towards the elevator to your apartment. You would be out of your complete mind to take the stairs in this situation, but you're unsure if an elevator might actually be worse if he were to randomly enter it.

The elevator stops with a jolt and opens on your floor. You take a cautious peak out and check down the hallway left and right before exiting. You quickly make it to your apartment door, looking back to make sure there's no one in the hallway. If you're lucky, he might not know what exact apartment you live in, but then you realize with despair that if he's been watching you for however long, he could have easily seen you enter and exit your apartment multiple times.

You fumble with your keys as you try not to act panicked and open your door. You swiftly enter and lock it immediately behind you, making sure to lock the deadbolt and put the chain on as well. You loose a deep sigh and your eyes widen at the fact that you still might not be safe yet. You didn't even think about the fact that you'd have to check your apartment when you got here to make sure he wasn't already waiting for you.

You quietly pull the gun from the holster on your side and slowly work through your apartment, turning on every light and lamp possible, locking every single window you walk past, checking inside your bedroom closet, the kitchen pantry, the small storage closet just outside your bedroom, and even behind the shower curtain. Once you've decided that there's no possible place for him to hide, you finally feel your muscles relax. You place your gun back in your holster, unable to feel safe without it by your side.

You grab yourself a glass of water and some snacks and decide to stay in the living room. You're able to keep an eye on the door and balcony simultaneously. You don't risk turning the TV on or listening to music to relax you. You need to be at complete high alert until your team catches this son of a bitch.

Time goes by agonizingly slow as you try to keep yourself awake and entertained. A full pot of coffee sits on the counter for you to refill as the night goes on, although you're unsure if you'll even need it. The fear is enough to keep your blood pumping hard through you. You try to play card games with yourself and practice some card tricks Spencer taught you when you first joined the Bureau.

You aren't able to keep your attention on one task for too long, your fear pulling your eyes to scan every inch of the room. You decide to risk sneaking a peak through your balcony curtains. You look out from the side, just barely moving the fabric over so no one would notice a disturbance in the curtains from the outside. After deciding the coast is clear, you recheck the balcony door lock and do a walk through of your apartment once again, checking locks, hiding spots, your gun always close by.

The first hour passes and when your phone buzzes it just about makes you jump completely out of your skin. You reach into your pocket to pull it out and quickly read a text from Hotch, asking for an update. You reply to let him know that everything's normal so far, all possible access points are locked and you've gone through your entire apartment in intense detail.

You remember the promise you made Spencer and text him as well, basically explaining the same thing you told Hotch.

Me: im scared spence

Spencer: I know, that's okay. You're brave, remember?

Me: im trying really hard to be. i can't even turn on the TV or focus on anything long enough without getting worried im going to miss something and he's going to catch me off guard.

Spencer: You're the strongest person I know, don't let him control you. These offenders love control and making you feel helpless.

Me: he is controlling me though. i cant even imagine sleeping, im jumping at every car door being shut, every car horn from the street, every bug at my window. even if we catch him, will the fear ever go away?

The text bubble appears and disappears a few times. You start to wonder if maybe something happened, if they caught someone trying to get into your building when your phone buzzes in your hands.

Spencer: I think we both know the statistics. But, I promise that I will do everything I can do ease the fear and be there for you when it's too much.

You begin to get teary eyed at his promise. Never in your life have you felt cared for or protected. It was always kill or be killed and you fought for your life since you were a child, just trying to survive in a world destined to chew you up and swallow you.

Me: thank you spence. that means more to me than i think you'll ever understand. you mean more to me than you'll ever understand.

You set your phone down on the table next to you, feeling jittery after sending that text. You deleted it and rewrote it about 5 times, but if your life is in danger, why hold back? You also think about how he might try to profile you and believe you're forming an attachment to him due to trauma bonding or transference.

You let out an aggravated sigh and rub your face with your hands. This has complicated your life in just about every way possible and you promise yourself that if you ever get your hands on the man that feels like he can make you cower away, locked in your apartment, you'll make him regret it.

I pick my phone back up and when I see Spencer hasn't replied, I text again.

Me: have you guys seen or learned anything?

Spencer: Not yet. Few people have walked into the building but we're not legally allowed to deny people the right into their homes. You live on the third floor so hopefully that should deter him from your apartment.

Me: hope so. im not sure i could ever come back here and live my life without fear if he chooses here.

Spencer: That's understandable. I don't think he's prepared for his endgame just yet. But I'm also not sure he is disorganized enough to attempt to attack you in broad daylight in a public place like the grocery store.

Me: he abducted those other women in broad daylight in high traffic areas though and no one saw a thing.

Spencer: (Y/n), you're a federal agent. If he has an IQ that's at least half of mine, he would need extra planning. A damn good rouse to lure you away and that's only if he's confident we have no idea you're his target. Don't worry, okay? We will stay here all night for you.

Me: thank you..it helps to know you are here. i don't feel alone in this.

Spencer: You're never alone. Never again, (y/n).

Spencer: As much as I want to keep talking to you to make sure you're safe, I think it's best you focus on your surroundings. Deep breathing exercises actually trick your brain into thinking that you're relaxed and takes your body out of flight or fight.

Me: are those drs orders?

Spencer: Yes, now be a good girl and relax.

Your breath catches in your throat with his last text. It takes you aback at the pure brashness of it, something you weren't sure he was even capable of doing.

You do as commanded and you allow yourself to pull your legs up onto the couch, despite the impracticality of it in the sick chance he breaks into your apartment. You try your hardest to do breathing exercises you found on Google.

You are slightly surprised when your body begins to relax a bit and you feel less at edge. You don't allow yourself to completely let down your guard, but you welcome the slight relaxation of your muscles at least.

Minutes turn to hours and if you didn't have your phone to check the time, you would have thought days were passing by. All you've been able to do is stare at the ceiling when you're not making your routine patrols around your apartment. You feel as if you're starting to get a bit stir crazy.

You check in hourly with Hotch and Spencer, not allowing yourself too much of a distraction. But, as the hours tick by, your eyelids get heavier and heavier. You begin to lower your vigilant wall the tiniest bit. If he wanted to attack here wouldn't he have done so by now?

Me: im so tired.

Spencer: It's okay to sleep. It's highly recommended by every doctor, including me.

Me: alright smart ass. do you think he would've already tried something by now? the suns about to come up and it's been almost 12 hours.

Spencer: Go to bed. None of us are going to sleep so you're safe. You've been through a lot, you deserve some rest, even if it's just an hour.

Me: i guess youre right. ive got all my locks in place anyway and i guess i would probably hear if any glass broke but i dont know how anyone would expect to take an entire grown woman down 3 levels without risking being seen by using the stairs.

Spencer: You don't need to justify sleeping to me. You deserve the rest, no matter what. No justification needed.

Me: Thank you, Spence. ♡

Spencer: ♡

Still a bit weary, you decide to check the balcony and do your patrol once more before you allow yourself to relax. After determining the coast is clear, you decide to finally retire to your bedroom. You unhook your gun holster and lay it on your nightstand, making sure to keep it in reach in case.

You don't even bother changing out of your clothes as you finally climb into bed. You let out a small moan of relief and sleep consumes you almost instantly.

You're taken out of your sleep by a loud thud, confusion overtaking you for a few moments as you blink rapidly around the room, attempting to adjust your eyes to the daylight. You're frozen in fear as your vision clears and there's a gun pointed right to your face.

The man holding the gun is in a regular hoodie and jeans, seemingly normal. You reel your terror back as you hold your hands up in surrender, attempting to make him believe you're willing to do as he pleases in hopes he makes a mistake.

You eye the time on the clock on your nightstand, if you can only distract him for a little bit longer, Hotch will call you when he realizes you aren't replying to his hourly check in and they'll come up here and save your ass.

All your able to do is stare at your attacker and stay completely still. You rack your brain for the best possible thing to say to get him to deescalate or at least lower the gun. "What's your name?"

"My name?" He questions, tilting his head to the side. You thought he might be put back by the question, instead he seems to have gained a confidence your profile suggested he was close to growing into. You suppose he must have had some new found confidence to be able to sneak past multiple undercover agents, and into a room on third floor with all doors and windows locked. He makes no move to lower the gun and no attempt to answer your question.

"How did you get in?" You ask as calmly as possible, hoping he made a mistake that way at least. Maybe your team was already outside, discussing how to play it to where he surrenders. You realize your luck as probably fallen short at the way a wicked smile spreads across his face.

"Do you not want to talk?" You try again. The blog posts he made about you play over in your head. You're hoping he takes the bait.

"Don't you think it's a little late to talk?" The gun stays unwavering in your face.

"What do you mean?"

The smile falls from his face and if you were in a cartoon, you can almost bet smoke would come out of his ears.

"What do I mean? You know what I mean!" He roars, shaking the gun angrily around. You decide to take this as your opportunity now that the gun isn't pointing towards you.

You release your leg from under the covers and kick as hard as you can muster into his abdomen. He reels back and you stumble out of bed and attempt to retrieve the gun on your nightstand when you realize it's no longer there. You spin around in time for his fist to connect with your jaw, knocking you off your feet, your knees barking as they connect with the hardwood.

You sweep out his legs from under him, sending him to the floor along with you. You spot his gun laying on your bedroom floor, right next your dresser, which unfortunately, he is right in front of. Before you can think to hesitate, you're up on your feet and lunging for the gun.

Before you're able to reach it, he grabs you by the collar of your shirt and swings you around and slams you into the wall. The breath clears your lungs and all you can do is fall to the ground on once more.

Blood from somewhere, you assume your face, drips onto the polished floor below you. You attempt to play the defeated victim, hoping it draws him close enough for you to catch him by surprise.

His heavy feet slam against your floorboards until he is right in front of you, gun completely abandoned on the floor. He grips your neck with a strong hand and lifts you to your feet. When he brings your face to his, you spit blood into his eye, causing him to drop you.

You use the few moments you gave yourself to at least make it out of your bedroom, grab a knife or one of your hidden guns, anything to give you the upper hand against a man twice your size and strength.

"Bitch!" He roars, wiping furiously at his eyes as you scramble with the door to your bedroom. You swing it open and lunge towards the closet gun you can think of when you see the open compartment, your gun missing from it.

"You think I don't know every single detail about your life, (y/n)?" He laughs from behind you as you're frozen in the middle of your living room. "I've been waiting for a long time, (y/n). Do you like the presents I left you? I figured I'd show you what I would do to you."

"You have an odd perception of the word present." You deadpan. You scramble to come up with a solution. All your guns are gone, if you run to the kitchen you better hope to hell he doesn't shoot you first or get there before you. "What do you want?"

"You." He smiles, and before you can react he's on you again. As you fight tooth and nail against his raging grasp, you hear your phone begin to ring. You allow hope to bubble in your chest, just a few more minutes, you say to yourself. They'll save me.

When you finally think you have the upper hand on him, he lands a fist to your temple that throws you to the carpet. Your vision spins as you attempt to crawl anywhere but where he is. You feel his laugh in your bones and you can tell he is taking his time taking in his win and the power it gives him. Your sight becomes blurry and you fight as hard as you can against it. But, all you seem to have the strength for is to watch blood spill from your mouth and the wounds on your face, onto the carpet of your living room. You gather enough strength to at least look your attacker in the face and deny him as much of the power he craves as you can. "I'm not afraid of you," you whisper. Your throat feels tight, and it's almost impossible to swallow. You spit blood onto your carpet as you try to relieve the pressure in your throat.

"You should be," is the last thing you hear before you see his boot come down towards your head and the world turns black.

[merrybloomwrites]

Ants Are Going to Town in My Body

Summary: Your boyfriend Shayne helps you through the roughest night of your period after getting a taste of cramps for himself.

Title taken from the video that inspired this story: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kkn2dc4L7fE

Word Count: 1.7K

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

People could easily say that Shayne Topp has golden retriever energy. As his girlfriend of two years, you would completely agree with that statement, and you would say it as the highest compliment.

Shayne is the absolute best boyfriend you’ve ever had. It’s not uncommon for him to surprise you with flowers for no reason. He loves to cook. Sometimes you help him in the kitchen, and other times he kicks you out in order to surprise you with the new recipe he decided to try.

He gets excited to tell you all about the latest book he read or to watch a new movie or show with you. Day trips outside of the city happen a couple times a month, the two of you listening to music during the drive as you enjoy the fresh, non-LA air.

One thing that you found surprising at first is how much he dotes on you. It’s always in subtle ways, nothing overwhelming, but he does little things to show he cares. To show that he knows what you need, deep down.

He always takes care of you when you’re sick, grabbing medicine and making soup to help you feel better. If you’re sad or stressed he’ll go through the feelings with you. People often see him as a class clown type and might assume that he’d just do what he can to cheer you up and make you laugh, but that’s not always the case. He’ll meet you where you’re at. If you need to vent, he’ll listen. If you need to cry, he’ll hold you. He’s one of the most emotionally mature men you’ve ever met, and you can’t help but feel like the luckiest woman in the world to be able to call him your boyfriend.

He is also super supportive of you each month during your period. He has no problem picking up pads or tampons, not even batting an eye when fans recognize him in the feminine care aisle of the local convenience store.

He’ll make sure that you have pain medicine and a snack to take it with, so it doesn’t upset your stomach. He draws warm baths and makes sure your heating pad is ready for you. When you have cramps in the middle of the night you always go to the couch so that your constant tossing and turning to find a comfortable position won’t wake him. But without fail, he always comes to find you and bring you back to bed.

All that to say, he’s truly a perfect boyfriend. You don’t think it could be better than this. Until one day, he proves you wrong.

It’s day two of your period, and you’ve been curled on the couch since you got home from work. The pain meds haven’t kicked in, nothing is comfortable, and you’re extremely bloated. You’re debating if it’s worth it to drag yourself to the bathroom and take a bath when the front door of your apartment opens.

The very first thing Shayne does is press a kiss to the top of your head. The sweet gesture distracts you from the pain for a moment, but the relief is fleeting.

“Hey honey, how are you feeling?” he asks gently.

“Like it would be less painful to slice open my stomach and take out my uterus,” you reply through gritted teeth.

You finally look at him and see the most loving expression on his face. It immediately lightens your mood, and you say, “Sorry, that was a bit dramatic. I just hate waiting for the medicine to work. And I cannot get comfy.”

“I got something that might help,” he says before walking into the kitchen. You miss his presence next to you, but you’re also curious what he has for you. The microwave beeps and he’s crouched in front of the couch again. You look up and see him holding a stuffed rabbit.

“It’s one of those thingies that you can heat up and works like a heating pad. Plus, it’s your favorite animal so, I dunno, I thought it was cute.”

He hands it to you, and you place it on your belly, sighing at the immediate relief. “Thank you,” you say quietly.

“Of course, babe. I also have ingredients for your favorite meal so I’m gonna wash up and start making that, okay?”

You nod and smile, and he leans in to place a soft kiss to your lips. You’re comforted by the sounds of him preparing dinner in the next room and by the time the food is ready you’re finally feeling better.

“So, how was work today?” you ask as you dig into the delicious meal he prepared. You’d been too nauseas to eat lunch earlier, and you suddenly realize how starving you are.

“It was good, recorded a podcast, a reddit reacts and a challenge pit,” he replies.

“Busy day. What were the challenges?”

“Uh, it was a fun one. I’m gonna let it be a surprise for you when it comes out,” he says with a laugh. “How were the pups today?” he asks in reference to your job as a service dog trainer.

You tell him about the new dog that you’ve started working with as you both finish eating. Once you’re done you try to bring the plates to the kitchen. Since Shayne cooked you plan to do the cleanup, but he stops you before you can even stand. “I’ve got it babe, why don’t you choose a movie for us to watch tonight?”

You again wonder how you got so lucky to have someone who takes care of you and does so with a smile on his face. There’s a new documentary you’d both been wanting to watch so you pull it up and grab a blanket while you wait for him.

He joins you a few minutes later and hands you a bag of your favorite chocolates. You know that you didn’t have any in the apartment, meaning he’d picked them up for you. The kind gesture brings tears to your eyes, and you internally curse the hormones that make you more emotional than normal.

Shayne doesn’t comment on the crying, knowing that it sometimes makes you uncomfortable when he points it out. Instead, he just wraps his arm around you, pulls you in to cuddle against his chest, and presses play on the documentary.

His free hand moves to your belly, massaging and giving the type of pressure that always helps with your cramps. Even though they’re not bothering you right now, you appreciate how well he knows you and how he’s doing everything he can to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible.

For the next hour and a half, the documentary plays. You’re only half paying attention to it. The rest of your brain is focused on your wonderful boyfriend, who knows exactly how to take care of you. There’s no expectation, he doesn’t want anything in return. He just wants to make sure he’s doing everything he can to make you feel better.

The credits start rolling and Shayne turns off the TV before getting off the couch and reaching out to help you stand as well. The two of you get ready for bed side by side in the bathroom and you burrow under the covers.

It takes a couple of minutes for Shayne to join you, and you assume he’s checking that the door is locked as he does every night. But when he comes into the bedroom, you see he’s carrying the new bunny he got you. It’s warm, and smells of lavender, and you know he heated it for you in the microwave before coming to bed.

 You place it against your belly and Shayne gets under the covers, spooning you from behind. He places a kiss to the back of your neck and murmurs “I love you” against your skin.

“I love you too,” you reply, and fall asleep.

You wake in the middle of the night, your cramps coming back, so you quietly slide out of bed and walk into the kitchen. You find a snack already left out for you nearly cry again at how well Shayne takes care of you. After eating the food, you take more pain medicine and reheat the bunny. You notice a vase of flowers on the counter that weren’t there yesterday and immediately realize that Shayne must have picked them up along with the chocolates and the new stuffed animal.

Just as the microwave is about to finish you feel hands wrap around your waist.

“You okay?” Shayne asks, his voice groggy from sleep.

“I’m okay. Thank you. For the snack. And for the bunny. You truly are the best,” you say as you turn in his arms to press a kiss to his lips.

You grab the stuffed animal and lead Shayne back to bed. It takes half an hour for the pain medicine to kick in, and he rubs your back the entire time.

The next day is better, your cramps and bloating subsiding. But you can’t forget how well Shayne took care of you through the worst of it. He never diminishes your emotions or belittles the pain you feel.

A couple weeks later you get home from work and open YouTube to relax a bit before starting dinner prep. You see the new Smosh challenge pit video titled “Period Cramp Simulator Challenge” and you immediately start to watch it. The video begins with the rubber band chicken challenge which has you in tears with how hilariously ridiculous it is.

And then comes the period cramp simulator. You notice the outfit Shayne is wearing while he practically fights for his life experiencing cramps for the first time. Suddenly, his actions on day two of your last period make sense. Because that was absolutely the day they shot that video. He got a taste of what you experience every month and went even further in his need to take care of you. And for that reason, this video makes you fall even further in love with your boyfriend.

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Thanks for reading! If you have any Shayne Topp story requests let me know!

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Ten - Duel at dawn

♡♡♡

Meanwhile, at the art studio, Benedict was still lingering around. Most of the artists had vacated the room by this point, but Benedict Bridgerton was still present.

"You have great potential." Henry said, coming up beside him.

"It's nothing," Benedict says sharply.

"Though, for such a staunch critic of others, you certainly lack a clear eye for your own work."

Benedict sighs. "It's the lines. Not what they're supposed to be."

"Take the compliment, Bridgerton. There is no expectation or judgement here. You left all of that back in Mayfair. You can feel free to be yourself here... if that's what you should like."

Benedict smiles.

"It's what works for me, at least. And I haven't been dissatisfied with my lines in... well, quite some time."

Benedict chuckles again. "Well, I've done worse, I suppose, really."

"Mm. Fair enough."

"I seem to have enjoyed myself too much this evening." Benedict looks around at the empty room. "I should be on my way."

"As you wish," Henry says nonchalantly. "But know you are welcome back any time for practice or even conversation."

They both chuckle.

♡♡♡

By the time Benedict gets home, Anthony and Daphne are talking very seriously in the hall. He stops and looks at his two siblings.

"What is it?"

Anthony marches over and grabs him by the arm. "You and I need to talk. Daphne, bed."

Anthony drags his brother to his study.

"I will need you to stand as my second," he says after explaining everything to Benedict.

"What if you get yourself killed?" Benedict asks. He wasn't exactly thrilled about what had apparently transpired, but even less so about the thought of losing his brother.

"Then the title and estates will pass to you," Anthony tells him.

Benedict didn't want that.

"And if you kill Hastings?"

"I shall have to leave the country, and you'll be head of the family in every way that matters."

Again, he didn't want that.

Chuckling I the hall draws their attention to the door.

You laugh with Colin as Violet hangs off the both of you. She's clearly been drinking a lot tonight. She can't even walk straight. You've never seen her so uncomposed before.

The door opens behind you, and Anthony and Benedict are standing there.

"You're clearly sover," Colin laughs with his mother.

"And I'm sober enough to know when you're being impertinent." She chuckles. "Good night, dear."

You giggle. Violet waves at you lazily, and you chuckle again at her inability to remain composed.

You turn to see the two brothers still standing there and nudge Colin. He looks at you and then at them. They wave him over.

"Good god. Did someone die?" Colin asks.

You look at Anthony, who glances at you, his sowlnt thank you for helping bring his mother home. Then your gaze shifts to Benedict, who looks at you with a strange expression. You wonder where he's been all evening.

Colin turns to you. "Get home safe, okay?"

You nod, knowing your maid was waiting outside. You watch him walk toward his brothers and then leave.

♡♡♡

You arrive early to the Bridgerton house the next morning. You had snuck out alone. You had hoped to be there early enough before Anthony left to duel the duke.

Unfortunately they had already left.

You had, however, arrived in time to see Daphne and Colin leaving. When Colin saw you he sighed.

"You cannot be serious."

"I am."

Daphne says your name as she looks at you. "You do not have to witness this."

"I want to. As your friend. I will not allow this stupid, and mind I remind you illegal, activity to take place."

Colin sighs and helps you up into his horse. "Hold on."

He spurs the horse on, leading Daphne to the agreed spot. You hold on tight to him as he rides.

All Daphne can think about is Simon.

"Anthont won't... kill him, right?" You ask, watching Daphne ride.

"No. Sound him, surely."

"Good..."

"Are you worried?" He asks.

"Yes. Are you not?"

Colin doesn't answer.

By the time you arrive within diat ne of seeing them, the two are already stood feet apart with their pistols aimed. It's Daphne who rides faster to get between them.

"Stop!"

Anthony fires his pistol as soon as she shouts, the horse his sister's on rears back and Daphne falls to the ground.

"Daphne!" Simon shouts.

"Sister!"

Both men run toward her.

Colin pulls his horse to a stop, and you both climb off, rushing to them. Benedict drops the pistol case and does the same. He doesn't have time to ask why you're here.

"Are you hurt? Tell me!" Simon demands.

"I am perfectly well, no thanks to you idiots," she says, standing up.

"What are you playing at?" Anthony asks.

"Says the man who just shot at me!"

"You just rode into the middle of a duel!"

"I require a moment with the duke," Daphne says softly.

Anthony tries to stop her, but she stops him in return. Benedict pulls Anthony back and says, "make it brief."

Daphne and Simon walk off to talk.

"What are you doing here?" Benedict asks once they're out of ear shot.

"I came to help stop this ridiculous display."

"You could have been hurt," he says.

"No one got hurt, luckily."

Benedict looks a little lost for words. You sigh and look at him and then at Anthony. The eldest looks at you and nods once, softly. His eyes then flick back over to his sister.

"We must resume before someone should find us," Anthony says to the pair.

Simon nods at him.

Daphne watches him walk and then says, "there will be no need to resume."

Everyone turns to look at her.

"The duke and I are to be married."

You look at her and then turn to the duke. You're not sure what they discussed. He stares at her.

The three brothers look between the duke and their sister.

Whatever they discussed, Daphne made up her mind.

When Simon does not speak against her statement, it becomes clear to everyone that the matter is settled.

Now you all just need to get home before someone sees you all.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @crazymar15

@cosmixstar - @bree3parchen -

[daycourtofficial]

Training Day

Summary: you ask Azriel to help you demonstrate some moves for training and it very quickly changes things

Author’s note: yeah this one just took on a life of it’s own I guess? Anyway, it’s lots of fun

“Can I use you tomorrow during the demonstration?”

Azriel looks up from his paperwork. The two of you were working in the library, a place you find yourselves most nights. You both enjoy working simultaneously - whether you both have paperwork, research, or personal reading. Most nights were spent on a secluded floor of the library. You two are down here so frequently, Clotho has stopped asking you to return the furniture the way it was, just allowing you two to use this space as your own sanctuary.

“I need a body to use when I’m showing the girls how to defend against an opponent,” you elaborate, and Azriel can’t help but notice a faint blush across your cheeks.

Azriel chuckles, but nods. He can’t say no to helping the priestesses, and he certainly can’t say no to you.

You two return to your previous attentions - you to your book, and him to his paperwork, which he finds much less interesting than you.

It started by the two of you using a table and chairs to work, but you had complained about reading for so long in the chair, that you rearranged the furniture so a table was pulled up to the couch you two are sitting on.

These nights started with you two across the table from each other, and tonight Azriel feels your toes pressing against his thigh, trying to form an entrance underneath his leg. You two now sit on the same couch, more often than not touching in some small capacity. The most recent nights start with you toeing your feet against his thigh, until he eventually grabs legs, sliding you down the couch, and placing your legs across his lap, draping his arms over them. When he’s feeling extra bold, or extra sleepy, he finds himself drawing patterns on your calves with his hands.

-

“Goooood morning!” You chirp to the priestesses, Nesta, Cassian, and Azriel. Azriel left the morning part of training early to bring you up for your demonstration and to talk to the preistesses and Nesta.

They all looked tired and out of breath, no doubt due to Cassian’s training.

“You can all sit for my demonstration. That way I become your favorite teacher.” You smile, eliciting a huff from Cassian.

“First, I want to say that while Cassian and Azriel are great teachers, there is one aspect to training that they cannot grasp. They do not understand what it’s like to be smaller than most of your enemies, to be at least 50 pounds lighter than most of your opponents.” You glance around, and the priestesses seem to be receptive, so you continue.

“Which is why I’m here. Cassian can spend 100 years teaching you proper balance, proper techniques, proper stances. But those things mean nothing if you cannot contextualize what you need to take down an opponent.”

“So today, we’ll be doing a little walkthrough of a fight. My opponent will be Azriel. The goal for today is for us to walk through, step by step, of a fight, and win. So, let’s start by thinking: what are some things that I need to think about when I’m facing Azriel. We don’t know anything about him, we don’t know who he is. We know what we can see, sans shadows. Most opponents won’t have control over shadows, so I’m sorry, but you’ll have to sit the demonstration out.”

With that, his shadows retreat, looking as if they too were looking to sit and watch the demonstration. Azriel doesn’t think about the fact that he didn’t tell them to leave, that they listened to you, not even seeking his approval for the command.

“So, what do I notice about my opponent?”

Gwyn speaks up, “he’s much taller than you.”

Another priestess speaks up, “he’s unarmed.”

“He has wings.” “He’s wearing protective leathers.”

You interrupt them. “All good observations. He’s bigger than I am, unarmed, but protected. These are all important notes when facing an opponent. So, what should I do first?”

Someone immediately yells, “kick him!” You’re pretty sure it was Cassian, but you let it slide. “Where am I aiming my kick?” You ask to the crowd. “His head!” You hear Nesta call back.

“Do we think that is the best course of action?” They all nod, you’re unsure if it’s just because they want to watch you kick their teacher, but you swing your leg out, aiming for his head, holding it right next to him when you ask, “why would this not be the best tactic for me?”

There’s a pause, then Emerie speaks up, “your foot won’t make contact with his head.”

While still holding your leg in the air, mere centimeters from his face, you pull a small chocolate from your pocket and throw it to Emerie. “Correct! I can’t make perfect contact, is there any other problem?”

Gwyn yells out, “you’re vulnerable to be pushed!” You throw another chocolate. “Excellent! Yes, since all my weight is on one leg, he could easily” you prompt, alerting Azriel to his next move. He simply pushes you a little, making you lose balance, “make me lose my footing.”

You stand back up and brush the dirt off.

“If I’m going to execute a move that leaves me vulnerable, I need to be very sure that I can execute it. My legs are not long enough to do so. And our opponents will not stoop down so I can attack them.”

Azriel crouches just a smidge, where if your leg were still in the air you’d be able to connect it to his face.

“When the odds are against you in a fight, you need to even the playing field. Do anything you can to subdue your enemy. A tactic I use frequently is messing with their senses. May I?” You ask Azriel. He nods, curious where this is going.

“My height might be considered a disadvantage, but it allows me to move faster and with more ease than larger opponents like Cassian.”

He rolls his eyes, ready to retort back, but you’ve started talking again. “Showing this in slow mo won’t give you a great idea, and it’s a bit more difficult to do, but here’s what I do. I use my opponents height to their disadvantage.

You plant your right foot on his left thigh. “What do small creatures do? They climb. So I plant one foot on a thigh, and use momentum to swing my other leg onto their shoulder.” As you say this, you swing your left leg over his right shoulder, him holding your right leg planted on his leg so you can move.

“from here, I have one leg secured to a shoulder, so I use that planting to bring up my other leg,” doing as you say, bringing your right leg onto his other shoulder, your legs holding onto his shoulders.

Azriel can’t breathe with you so close to him like this. Do you have any idea the effect this is having on him? How close you are to his face, to his mouth? He’s dreamed of having you like this, pressing you into a wall while he devours you like it’s his last meal.

Your voice brings him out of his thoughts, reminding him of where he is. “From here, I bring both of my fists out wide, gaining as much speed as I can before coming down on my opponent’s ears. This impact will leave their ears ringing, and could disrupt their balance if done hard enough.” You mime the motion, but only lightly hit his ears.

“Then I grab their face,” you say, holding the right side of his jaw, “and I smash my palm as hard as I can into their nose.”

Azriel knew you weren’t going to, but he could think of no better way to go than at your hands while your legs are wrapped around his neck.

You start to uncoil yourself from him, and it takes all of his self control to help you get your feet back on the ground. You start explaining why jabbing a palm through a nose is a good idea. The priestesses didn’t seem to think anything of you being on top of him like that, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cassian’s shit eating grin. He glances in his brother’s direction, wanting him to knock it off before he scares off their trainees, but Cassian mouths the words “loverboy” to him, while kissing the air, before pretending he was paying attention to you the whole time.

-

Your demonstration goes on for a bit longer, you and Azriel having a pseudofight that the priestesses eventually walk you through how to win. You have him pinned to the ground, and their cheers are so loud you’d think you had slain a dragon instead of taking him down.

You’re positively glowing at their praise, and the fact that this method of teaching actually worked. Before he could grow too accustomed to your weight on his chest, you get off of him, offering a hand to help him up, which he gladly accepts.

“Thank you for letting me beat you up today,” you giggle, as the priestesses start heading back toward the library, leaving you and Azriel behind.

He laughs, thinking about his next words, “how could anyone say no to letting you straddle their face and pinning them down?”

Your cheeks are on fire. The two of you were something, you just didn’t know what. On top of spending most days together, you two flirted constantly, once prompting Feyre to throw you in a cold fountain to cool you off.

But flirting was words, and these words were based in real actions you took. Sure it was to show the priestesses some defense moves, and maybe you had some ulterior motives, but you can’t pretend you didn’t enjoy seeing his face between your legs, even if you two were fully clothed in a self-defense seminar.

You were done with flirting that led nowhere, and before you can think about them the words are out of your mouth, “so if I asked you to do it again, with less witnesses and less clothing?”

You physically watch him shudder, at first you’re afraid you went too far, but then he leans down into your ear and whispers, “don’t make offers if you don’t want to follow through.”

You two have been dancing around whatever is between you two for too long, you think. The gentle nights spent in the library, the constant flirting. You spend more time with him than anyone. You’re terrified to move forward, but then you meet his eyes.

They’re full of lust, yes, but there’s an incredible warmth there. A softness, reserved just for you. He always looks at you with delicacy, as if you held his world and too harsh of a stare would break you.

You grab his neck, pulling him down to you as you kiss him. The first thing you feel is his wings wrapping around you, providing you privacy from the world, even though you’re alone in the training area.

Your hands clutch at his face, and your lips cover his, moving in tandem, as if your lips have found the place they belong.

His hands grab your ass, prompting you to jump and wrap your legs around his waist. You’re so caught up in the kiss and the heat of it that you don’t even realize he winnowed you two into his room.

You hardly take note of the room, just taking in his smell, his taste, his warmth. You’re not sure how long you guys are kissing, thinking of nothing but the way his hands feel holding you, amazed you two are still wearing any clothes, let alone being fully dressed, when you hear a cough.

You two break away very reluctantly, to see a very smug Cassian standing ten feet away.

“You,” he points directly to you, “owe me $50. Pay up.”

“Now?” You ask incredulously, your hair moving as you whip your head to glare at the intruder.

“Yes, now. It’s my money, and I earned it fair and square.”

Azriel’s confusion shown all over his face, you covered your face in your hands while Cassian says, “I bet her $50 that if she had you help with her demonstration and got on your shoulders like that, you wouldn’t be able to contain yourself.”

“I- um - I didn’t know how to make the first move,” you say meekly, “and he seemed so sure of this working.”

You were so concerned he’d be mad that you manipulated this situation, but Azriel, while still holding you, tells Cassian, “I’ll give you $100 if you leave and don’t let anyone disturb us for a week.”

Cassian, always ready to make a quick buck, quickly agrees and scuttles out of the room, closing the door on his way.

“How do you go from not knowing how to make the first move to doing that?” Azriel asks, amusement shining on his face.

“Well, I thought my shameless flirting wasn’t getting me anywhere, so I had to take more drastic measures.”

He roars in laughter, and you can feel the vibrations through his chest. “You’ve always had my attention,” he says, looking at you the way a predator would, “but now you have my undivided attention. And I just paid a hefty fee to get us some time away from everyone.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you as you giggle, holding onto him tighter, “oh no, a whole week with no distractions, whatever shall we do?” You ask, trying to sound distressed, but your giggles give you away.

“I think I stopped paying attention during your presentation, do you want to remind me again about depriving your opponent of their senses with your legs?”

You throw your head back in laughter, and he tilts your head down to capture your laugh in his kiss.

[moremaybank]

For the vampire Mikaelson’s, what part of their lovers body is their favourite place to bite? Neck, wrist, inner thigh etc and how likely are they to ravish them or make it a more intimate experience? 🖤

vampire!mikaelson's favourite place to feed from you...

a/n: i didn't include finn because ik he hated being a vampire and i honestly don't think he'd really enjoy it. also, i'm lazy. oops. 18+, sort of sexual content/sexual themes (not full smut but explicit mentions of it)

mikaelson siblings masterlist

elijah

i think elijah would love drinking from your wrist

i feel like his biggest fear would be hurting you, especially after how he learned that he was the one who killed tatia

he often doesn't trust himself when it comes to the women he loves. in turn, he will pierce your wrist as he drinks from you, one hand pressing it to his mouth while his other hand cups your face gently, holding your gaze on him. his eyes remain open, and they're fixed on you as a silent reminder not to get carried away and draw more blood than he should

i also feel like the eye contact makes it so much more intimate and makes the experience more special

if the two of you are making love and you ask him to feed on you, he has mixed emotions. he doesn't want to cause you any pain, but the feeling of feeding from you while he fucks you is wondrous

and so he hesitates

but all it takes is a whole lot of love and encouragement to get him there. you tell him you know he wouldn't willingly hurt you, and that you trust him more than you've ever trusted anyone

"please, 'lijah. i want you to. i want to satiate every one of your carnal desires. let me do this for you."

he is now putty in your hands

klaus

klaus loves sinking his fangs into your neck

99.9% of the time that he feeds on you is when you're in bed

the man is kinky, we all know that

once he gets a taste of you, he's going full on feral

he can truly feel you everywhere and he's so obsessed with you that it just gets him excited

he'll have one hand bracing the side of your neck he isn't drinking from, keeping you in place

he'll litter wet kisses over the skin, nibbling here and there and leaving behind small love bites if he's in the mood to mark you a little bit more

he begins to pound into you rougher as he feels the satisfaction of your blood sliding down his throat

it's hot, and tingly, and you

the man simply cannot resist

your cries are getting louder and it's spurring him on even more

he pulls back from your neck and you see the blood dripping from his lips, and he kisses you

you taste the savoury, metallic flavour of your blood

it's so sexy you lose your mind and fall apart as he pounds into you

is it hot in here? i just started sweating randonly. wonder what that's about

kol

kol, kol, kol

our cheeky little bastard

he's obsessed with feeding from your inner thighs

his large hands are kneading and squeezing your flesh, fingers brushing and trailing over your skin and getting you all worked up as he inches closer and closer to where you yearn for him the most

"kol, stop teasing"

he draws his fangs out

"all in good time, darling. i'm enjoying you"

he's such a fucking tease it's torturous

but you can't lie about the fact that it pays off in the end

also, not to be crude, but...if you have a uterus and happen to be on your period...

man is straight FEASTING

this is just so on brand for him though, not gonna lie

he's a psychopath in the best way possible and he's down for anything

"i can smell you from here, love, but i'd much rather be tasting you"

like babes, you can do whatever you want

"did i mention that orgasms help soothe menstrual cramps? no? well, they do. i'm just saying"

rebekah

i feel like our bex is a tits person

i can just imagine it

you're walking around in a low cut top and her eyes land on the bite marks adorning the ample flesh of your breasts

and it sends her off the deep endddd

she does her little smirk as her eyes trail down and you're blushing

"bex, stop. i can't focus"

"i'm sorry, love. i just thoroughly enjoy seeing the marks i've left you with. it turns me on"

and then you guys are back in bed

you're both insatiable

in-sa-tia-ble

or a back-of-the-shoulder person

you're both sat in front of a mirror

you're in front of her in between her spread legs and she's feeding on you as her hands roam all over your body

she may or may not be toying with your clit softly as she soothes you from the slight sting

rebekah just give me a chance

pLS

i beg

~

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[calypsocolada]

213 DAYS | f. dostoevsky

(click here for part two)

synopsis: you seek out a demons help not realizing just how long he’s waited for you.

authors note: LOL this was completely out of left feild. I binged bungo stray dogs in less than a month and CANNOT stop thinking about this man (and every other character) who would definitely manipulate me to death. LOL anyways enjoy this mess, i didn’t have much of a plan just kinda wrote.

cw: suggestive, soft!fyodor, lovesick!fyodor (he’s literally obsessed with you), manipulative, fluff, making out, cussing, plot convenience lol

wc: 3.9k

————————————————————————————————————————

Your hands were shaking terribly so you clenched them tighly as you followed a guard down a long, long hallway. It’s lights sickly, everything looked the same, the doors, windows, ceilings and flooring. All without a single identifiable difference. You took a steadying breath as the guard a few feet in front of you slowed. He turned slightly to talk to you over his shoulder.

“No one comes to visit this guy, your the first since he’s been here.” He says. You knew a lot about said prisoner. A bit of a complicated past, very, very complicated. “He doesn’t have any existing family, or so I’ve heard.” You could tell with the way this guard was talking he was sweet on the prisoner. That didn’t surprise you, the man you were about to see for the first time in months had a lot of things under his belt. He was manipulative, he could trick the soul right out of your body. The guard rounded one last corner and you knew which padded cell was his. Your hands shook even worse as the guard approached the door.

“I’m sure you know how dangerous he is.” The guard starts as you give him a sharp look.

“I do. Do you?” He looked caught, like the jig was up. He cleared his throat.

“Of course, ma’am. Our city thanks you for capturing him.”

“Just open the door. Oh and,” you take a step towards the guard. “Whatever he’s promised you, I advise you to not take it, or you’ll have me to deal with.” You threaten, the guard's eyes go wide as he slowly nods his head. “Good boy.”

The doors swung open and you saw him just mere feet away, locked tight in the middle of a room.

Fyodor.

There were countless scraps of paper littering the white walls. A various drawings of you. You walked forwards, eyes catching each piece. He started to not remember your face after some time so on some papers there were just hazy outlines but you knew it was you.

Your heart sped like crazy, his sharp snake like eyes met yours and a wicked grin spread across his lips. HIs eyes dragged every inch of your body, probably thinking this was a once in a lifetime visit and he had to memorize your features all over again. He told you you’d come back to him someday, you didn’t think it’d be so damn soon.

All alone the giant room seemed small. You walked forwards, feeling all sorts of things, sickness and anxiousness from seeing Fyodor again. You’d been driven right into the hands of a demon. You could feel his grip beckoning you to come closer. A dangerous energy swirling. You'd felt that since you first met him, unexplainable and new.

“213 days was all it took for you to come back to me.” Fyodor greeted as you walked the distance towards him. He’d counted the days, it wouldn’t surprise you if he knew it all down to the second.

“That’s quite some time.” You answered and Fyodor cocked his head to the side just barely, coal black hair falling over his shoulder.

“It is, my love, too long if you ask me.”

“Not long enough.” You quipped. Fyodor’s eyes locked onto yours. He was devilishly handsome, whatever pull to him back then you still felt in the pit of your stomach when you were around him. Like a magnet or a string tied from you to him. Everywhere you went didn’t matter because it all led back to him. Something kept you thinking of him for those 213 days just the same as him.

“You say that but your eyes tell a different story.”

“Mhm, is it the same story you so crave for me to want.”

“You will want it in due time, my love, but until then a new story is being written.”

“What story is that?” You ask. Fyodor grinned, eyes lighting.

“Well, the story of us.”

“It looks a lot like a tragedy.” You said and Fyodor sighed, amused with your comebacks.

“Now it does, but that’s just the first act. Can’t have a resolution so early on.” He’d wave off if he could. He was currently in a straight jacket, chained to the floor beneath him. He was a dangerous man and this was the only way to keep him from trouble.

“You’re smart, I’m sure you know why I’m here.” You say, you were now mere feet from him, his coal back hair looked like silk, his red crimson eyes looking up at you with something like amusement. You knew he was going to play dumb just for the sake of you talking more to him.

“I’m sorry, you might have to catch me up.” You needed his help and there was little Fyodor wanted in this word, but the biggest, most glaring thing he wanted was you. He’d been infatuated the moment he saw you fighting alongside the detective agency, he’d even foiled some of his comrades plans just to make sure you weren’t hurt in the process. Still, he was a highly dangerous criminal and should be treated as such. You needed to remember that. You slowly sat on the chair across from him.

“Dazai’s been captured and has been missing for three days now. The kidnappers have given us a week. If they were smart enough to trick Dazai they’re well over our heads. I’ve exhausted every avenue, I can’t sleep, I’m scared they’re going to kill him. I'm alone in all of this. If anyone is close to Dazai’s level it’s you.” You explained, Fyodor’s face morphed into something you hadn’t seen much except in your loved ones faces. He looked worried. “What is it?” You asked, scared that he knew something you didn’t and that he couldn’t help you, this was really a last resort.

“You haven’t been sleeping?” Fyodor asked, genuinely concerned. Your lips parted in surprise.

“What?” Was all you could say, he’d surprised you.

“How long have you not slept, my love?”

“That’s- that’s not what’s important here, Fyodor.” You dismissed.

“That’s what’s important to me. How long?” He asks, a bit more commanding this time.

“I- I don’t know. Two days at least.” You answer. Fyodor’s face goes serious.

“I will help, but you will not. You will sleep.”

“We’re working this together. Faster you solve the faster I can sleep.” You counter, wondering if this really was the only stipulation he needed in exchange for his help.

“Deal, we should get started at once.” He says, hastily working something behind his back until suddenly his damn straight jacket clicks and falls to the floor. You gasp, shocked. He could’ve broken out of that this whole time. You wondered what other measures put in place to keep him here were really just laughable to him. If he could escape so easily why hadn’t he before now? Was he really just waiting all this time for you to come back to him?

“That’s- that’s it?” You stutter as Fyodor stands, holding a hand out to you to take.

“Your precious company is more than enough to repay me for my services.” He beams and you know he means it. You're not sure what is it about you that has him to utterly captivated, whether it's all a lie and a part of some plan of if he really, truly cares for you.

Cautiously you take his hand and gently he pulls you to your feet, tugging you against his chest, long white fingers tucking hair behind your ear.

“You’re still as beautiful as the day I met you.” He says and you feel a traitorous blush creep across your cheeks. His eyes look hazy this close, you could feel on hand ghosting your cheek and another around your back. "Now, listen closely love, I own three out of four of the guards outside my door, plus the warden. You use those powers of yours on the last one and we can escape peacefully." He says, hands sliding off your body as he knocks a serious of knocks on the door, most likely some sort of code. Your mouth drops open.

"You what?" You burst out. He really was just relaxing here, not confined at all. Fyodor cocks his head at you, confused as though he hadn't just told you he practially owns the prison.

"I like to play games, dear, you know that. As long as I'm back in the morning no one will know." He says. Your jaw ticks as you strut across the floor, closing the distance between you two. You grab him by the front of the shirt.

"I'm not bringing you back here just so you can break free behind my back!" You growl, he looks at you as though you claimed the stars in the sky.

"I'm quite content here for now, but here, I'll make you a deal." He offers as you furrow your brows.

"A deal?" You echo and he nods his head. You let go of the front of his shirt.

"You visit me once a month and I'll stay put."

"You're crazy." You breath out, but the conviction on his face was real. He'd rather see you once a month than be free. It was fucking insane. You bit your lip in contemplation. "You give me the names of every worker here under your payroll as well." You say and he instantly nods his head.

"Do we have a deal?" He holds out his hand for you to take, and for the second time today, you take it. His cold hand envelopes yours, fingers gripping you gently as a smile spreads across his lips.

"We gotta go." You say and Fyodor nods his head.

"Swipe your card and put the guard with the blond hair to sleep." Fyodor says and you nod. You do as told, the door sliding open. There were four guards, three with dark hair and one women with blond hair. She looks up and smiles when you walked out. You smile back.

"Sleep." The power drips from your voice and the other guards are startled when the girl falls to the floor snoring lightly. They jump up, guns at the ready.

"Gun's down," Fyodor directs coldly, walking out behind you. The guards do exactly as told.

"Sorry, boss." The guard from earlier says, eyes meeting yours. You felt like an idiot, warning him earlier to watch himself around Fyodor and now here you were aiding his escape.

"We're going on a little date, keep things quiet while I'm gone." Fyodor says as the guards salute to him. You stroll out of the prison, Fyodor a step behind you.

“If you had an ounce of malice in your body you could destroy anyone that you ever came across, you know.” Fyodor said when you loaded into your car, the look in his eyes like a kid looking at their favorite superhero. Like he truly admired you. You had a hard time believing that but he was here and if he tried anything you could shut it down with your powers quite quickly. You had the power to control anyone with just your words. You were the one who captured him all those months ago, you could do it again.

“You're over estimating me.” You say as you turn down a backstreet that led towards the agency. Everyone else was out on various tasks, you were on this job alone. Everybody else just assumed he’d find a way to save himself, you didn’t like taking that chance. Dazai had saved you millions of times and you’d try your hardest to repay him.

“I think you’re underestimating yourself, dear, your agency friends would agree. You could be completely devastating.” Fyodor says as you roll your eyes.

“Well you must all be so lucky.” You wave off, pulling into the agency. You met Fyodor at the front of the car. Giving him a serious look.

“Don’t try anything, I really don’t wanna have to kill you.” You say tiredly, too tired to stop his hand from crossing the space between you two, tucking your hair out of your eyes. You freeze at the contact.

“To die by your hands would be bliss to me dear, but you won’t be rid of me yet.” He says, the look in his eyes like admiration, he looked at you the same way your father looked at your mother. It makes you feel unwanted things.

“When will I be rid of you?” You ask, but it was a loaded question and you weren’t sure what you meant. If you meant physically or mentally because you thought about him all the time when he was gone. Fyodor’s eyes slide down to yours, his hand lingering on your cheek.

“Dear, when we’re done here you’ll be begging me to stay.”

“In your dreams.” You challenged and he just smiled.

“Yes, those too.”

You swallowed and waved Fyodor forwards. As you walked, Fyodor turned to speak with you.

“You could’ve used your powers to bring me here.” Fyodor points out as though you didn’t know that.

“Yes, I could’ve.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Maybe I did, then I told you not to remember.” You jest.

“Oh dear, how I would love you to manipulate me. But alas you are nothing like me, but that’s what I like the most. The purest of intentions.”

You slide the key into the lock, pushing the door to the office open. Fyodor gives the place a once over as you lead him towards your desk.

You slide into your chair, taking out the letter that was sent to the agency about Dazai’s disappearance. Something you’ve looked at time and time again, it almost made you dizzy with exhaustion seeing it again.

Fyodor leans against your back, face close to yours as he reads the note over your shoulder. Your heart speeds at the contact. Fyodor’s hand slides down your shoulder to the note as he points to something.

“Dazai sent this himself.” Fyodor says quietly next to your ear. You snap your head to the side to look at him. He’s so close as he slowly slides his eyes to meet yours.

“What?” You force out.

“Look there, love,” you look at where his finger is pointing. It’s small so you bring the note just a little bit closer. A smile smiley face. You hadn’t noticed that before.

“What the hell?” You ask.

“Some letters are darker than the others, it reads out, ‘be back in two weeks, Dazai’.” You feel like a complete idiot. Anger builds fast in your chest. You rip the note in two and push yourself up from your desk.

“I just helped break a highly dangerous criminal out of a maximum security prison to find out Dazai’s on vacation.” You huff, falling back down into your chair. You hear a soft chuckle behind you. “Screw this.” You growled, storming out of the office towards your car. In your anger you totally forgot Fyodor but that didn’t matter because he followed you just a few steps behind. It was later in the day now, you were so tired and so angry as you stormed to your car. “Get in.” The power slipped into your words as Fyodor tripped over himself to get in the car, you hadn’t even noticed you did it, sometimes that happens when you lose control of your emotions. This was still so new to you. When you slipped in beside Fyodor, you pressed your head against the steering wheel, sighing heavily. “I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot.”

“Don’t say that, dear.”

“But it’s true. It took you seconds! I haven’t slept in days, searching that note night and day.” Frustration built in your chest as angry tears formed in your eyes.

“Dazai’s lucky to have a friend like you, someone who would lose sleep to help. Doesn’t matter how fast I figured it out, you would’ve gotten it out.”

“The note said a week till he was dead.”

“And you still had four days. Stop being so hard on yourself.” You slowly lifted your head off of the steering wheel, eyes fluttering to Fyodor’s. His voice was so calm, so non judgmental, it was messing with your head. You clear your throat.

“It’s too late to take you back now, we’ll have to go in the morning.” You say, trying to snap yourself out of whatever spell Fyodor was casting onto you. His face softens.

“Okay, dear.” He says, settling into the seat. You were hesitant bringing him to your home, he could kill you. But some stupid part of you thought differently of him, some part told you he wouldn’t hurt you. And that stupid part, driven by exhaustion had you driving back to your place, leading him inside and locking the door behind you too. You turned to him in the dim light of your hallway, his eyes shining red.

“Do I have to make you behave yourself?” You ask, the tightness of the hallway had you two quite close.

“You do whatever you like to me.” He whispered, his pale lips smirking in the dark. You swallow against the dryness in your throat, something tugs in your stomach. This was a terrible idea. The way he was looking at you was more dangerous than anything. The space between you both was barely existent. He was so tall, so handsome, all dark and magnetizing. You felt it all washing over you now. A invisible pull. A terrible turn. You let out a breath in your chest, eyes locking with his. Your hands had their own mind, reaching for the front of his shirt, his eyes watch over you. Your fingers knotted in his shirt and you stepped in his space. His lips parted. “Love, you’re crossing a line.” He whispers and you pause, drunk on something you weren’t sure of. Clearly you weren’t thinking straight but sobering up felt like going against yourself. It was strange.

“Should I stop?” You ask. His hand slides up your arm to tuck under your jaw, cold fingers pressing there.

“Never.” He says huskily. “But if you kiss me now then throw me in prison in the morning I’ll be quite hurt.” He jokes, his accent thickens. The air in your chest that you didn’t know you were holding exhales. You leaned into him and watched his eyes drift close, felt his body slack in anticipation. He was completely whipped, he was the one under your spell.

“You thought I was going to kiss you?” You ask, gaining a bit of attention back. Fyodor cocks his head just a bit, eyes fluttering open.

“You weren’t?” He asks, his lips slightly pouting. You grin sharply, slowly rocking on the tips of your toes to pull him down to your lips. A soft press, an answer. Something shoots through your body at the contact. You wanted this. You’ve wanted this since meeting him. He’d wanted the same. You pretended it away the best you could but you couldn’t fucking help it. He wasn’t a good person but he was to you. It was like he was two different people. One made for you. Fuck, you couldn’t help yourself any longer. Your hands dragged up into his hair, tangling. He groaned into your mouth, letting you walk him back into the front door, pressing your body against his, pinning him. You pulled back, kissing his jaw down to his neck, he whimpered at the contact, melting against your touch. “Love, you— you can’t,” he panted, unable to form a coherent sentence. Your cold hand slide under his shirt, feeling warmth beneath it, he gasped at your touch. His hands held you softly, as though you’d realize who you’d be kissing if he held you even tighter. But you knew who he was, what he’d done. But fuck it. You kissed him all over, his neck and jaw and cheeks and lips, you couldn’t stop. He shivered and his fingers slowly dig into the fat of your hips as he pulled you closer to him. He sighed, head falling to the side to give you better access. You kissed softly at his open throat and he made a low sound.

“I’ll show you to my room,” you whispered into his neck, hand sliding into his. When you went to tug him he didn’t move, you turned to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“We shouldn’t.” He says and your heart dips.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” you say, dropping his hand but he catches your fingers, shaking his head.

“You misunderstand me. I want to. But not right now, you’re not- you’re tired and it’s been a long day, I’d rather you sleep then keep you up all night.” You find yourself blushing at his words. You swallow.

“What if I want that?” You barely whisper as though your words held too much gravity. You watch his jaw tick, something flashing in his eyes. It was clear what he was thinking about.

“Love, please, I have just a shred of chivalry left, don't test it.” God you wanted to test it so badly but you felt light headed, exhaustion plaguing you now.

“Alright,” you say softly, he closes the distance between you both, pressing a soft and quick kiss to your lips. When he pulls back he pauses a hair’s width from your lips and when he speaks you feel his breath tickling you.

“Let’s go.” He says. You fumble through the darkness, Fyodor’s arms around your body, pressing soft kisses to you shoulders and neck as you push open the door to your bedroom. You strip down, changing into a large t shirt, letting Fyodor borrow something to change into. Something an ex left at your place, you decided not to tell him that. You both fell into the bed together, exchanging tired kisses in the dark. His body on top of yours, the weight of it heavy, you brought your hands to his sides pulling more of him on top of you. “For someone who hasn’t slept in days you have a lot of energy.” He mutters against your neck. You shutter.

“I want you so badly.” You say before you can stop yourself.

“Trakhni menya…” he groans softly, rolling off of you. You roll to face him, blushing and hot. “You have to sleep.” He says, his hands sliding around you to pull you into his chest. You settle in his arms, his heart beating steadily against your back. He presses a kiss to your shoulder. You close your eyes, listening to his steady breathing. How things escalated was beyond you but you’d never felt more comfortable in your damn life. He pulled a cover over the both of you, reaching to flick off the light. He brushed your hair back out of your face as you wondered what the hell you were going to do in the morning. Taking him back made your stomach twist. You realized for those 213 days you were looking for a reason to seek him out. That when an opportunity fell into your lap you grabbed and ran with it because despite everything you tried lying to yourself about, you wanted him badly enough to break him out of prison. You settled closer to him, sleep slowly tugging you deeper. You tangled in bed with Fyodor, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

One last thought formed before you were taken by sleep.

You weren’t taking him back. He was yours to keep now.

[mokulule]

The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached 3

Part 1|Part 2

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence

I'm not entirely happy with this, but I hope you enjoy it anyways. Some things will probably be changed for the Ao3 version, this is very much first draft and I want to do a proper rewrite before then.

Jason parked his bike next to the Batmobile. There was a strange air in the Batcave or maybe it was just him being different. He couldn’t tell for sure. He stepped off the bike so he had his back towards Bruce, who sat by the Batcomputer with his cowl off. Jason could still feel his gaze when he looked up. He didn’t know what to feel. Where was he supposed to start?

“Little Wing!” Dick announced happily, suddenly slinging an arm across his shoulder from behind. It was only all his training that stopped him from jumping three feet into the air from the fright and he managed to just tense - but that was normal. Dick would consider that normal. Pull yourself together, Jason, he scolded himself. Normal, act normal, for one long moment he was grasping for what was normal. It definitely wasn’t the urge to lean into his big brother.

“Jay?” Dick asked quietly, worried, thankfully too quiet for anyone to hear. Panic grasped him and he elbowed Dick to get him off. Dick bent over with an oomph. At least elbowing Dick was a normal response, even if it was for the wrong reason.

Ignoring the strange urge to check on Dick, he squared his shoulders, firmly didn’t look back and walked forward towards the Batcomputer, where now that he had arrived the rest of this night’s patrol team gathered. Damian already out of his suit with damp hair and a towel slung around his neck glanced surreptitiously at Jason out the corner of his eyes even as he pretended to look towards Bruce - brat was still worried. Tim was curled up in an office chair doing who knew what with his laptop in a way that did not seem conducive to the healing of the broken ribs he’d been benched for. Bruce himself, paused what he was doing and spun around in his chair. Even sitting he managed to draw everyone’s attention, Tim even closed his laptop.

Jason purposefully crossed his arms and widened his stance. That’s what they expected of him, probably? How did he usually stand? He usually always felt one wrong comment away from a fight when he was here, he should stand like he expected it, right? Defensive.

This was exhausting.

At last Dick walked up to them completing their loose circle. He was rubbing his side and Jason felt a stab of worry and guilt. Had he aggravated an existing wound? Shit. Fuck. What was wrong with him? Why was he so worried?

“Oracle,” Bruce spoke, “please start.”

“Thanks to Hood, we now have a better headshot of the thief,” Oracle announced from the computer speakers“The Ghost,” Dick interjected in a sing song voice, “after what happened tonight you can’t disagree.”“Nightwing,” Barbara replied flatly, she didn’t even need to say she thought it was a stupid name. “The thief,” she reiterated in a way that left no room for any other arguments and Dick wisely held his silence. At least Dick knew Barbara well enough when to stop. Finally she pulled two photos up on the large screen. The one on the right was an older/early photo with the green glassed goggles obstructing much of the upper half of the face, a grin was a sharp line of white on the lower half of the face in the blurry photo, the quality was terrible and caught in movement.

The newer photo on the left showed a young man, maybe even late teens, eyes were wide, bright green, not quite glowing and his face beet red in embarrassment, mouth slightly open - this was taken just after he’d pushed away from Jason. His goggles sat at the edge of his messy black hair, just high enough to see the way he was beginning to swell on his forehead where Jason had clocked him.

Jason looked from one picture to the other, something was off to him. The grin was an obvious difference, but these where snapped in very different moments, and he shouldn’t let different emotions cloud his judgment.

“He’s lost weight.” The realization hit him with the certainty of a sledgehammer.

There’s dubious mumbling around him, about the blurriness of the first picture. But Jason is unmoved, there’s a hollowness to the guy’s cheeks that wasn’t there before.

“We can’t really judge that sort of thing with the quality of the first image,” Barbara cut through the murmurs. Jason knows he right, but he doesn’t feel like arguing.

He doesn’t feel like arguing, it’s another realization that leaves him wrong footed and he’s not listening for a minute. Checking back into the conversation he only caught the tail end of the conversation that was apparently about the Meta’s skills.“-we can now add phase shifting powers-““Like a Ghost.”

Tim groaned and Barbara outright growled - Jason reevaluated his earlier thought that Dick knew Barbara’s limits. Damian had already accepted the logic and Bruce had long since become immune to this sort of Dick antic.

“Back on topic,” was all he said. “Tim.”

Tim opened his laptop back up.

“Yes, so the items the thief-” There was a small beat as everyone waited for Dick to interrupt, Tim was side-eyeing him but continued; “-is stealing are still painting a very alarming picture, and there is a multitude of very dangerous uses, not to mention what kind of world ending horror they could be built into. Luckily he didn’t get the prototype spectral calibrator tonight, and we’ll be keeping it here for the time being and set the project on an indefinite hold at Wayne Enterprise.”Tim looked up at Bruce. “We’ll be needing to monitor Star Labs as they have a similar project, but so far the Ghost has not operated outside of Gotham to our knowledge.”

Bruce nodded, “I’ll arrange something.”

It was a signal for Tim to continue, “we’re still no closer to a way to capture him and the phase shifting is a whole other added concern. We’ll need to figure out if there’s something he can’t phase through, some denser materials perhaps. I just finished looking through tonight’s footage and from what I’m seeing at least the new filter program is holding up; both the audio and visuals have very few glitches now. But we still don’t know how he’s sending out the electromagnetic interference.”

“Ghoooost,” Dick said quietly under his breath.Tim’s left eye twitched dangerously. Jason couldn’t help smiling, it was very good he was wearing the helmet. Bruce once more ignored Dick looking to Damian.The kid straightened imperceptibly at the attention, it really was adorable, but his voice was as haughty as ever. “Blood sample is already being analyzed of course, tt.” Blood sample? Oh, that’s what Bruce had been doing on the roof, when Jason was distracted. A sick feeling rose in his stomach thinking of the blood, was Ghost even alive? He could be bleeding inside the head for all they knew.

“Hood,” Bruce asked quietly, “do you know why the Ghost reacted to you like that?”Jason stiffened. Fear grabbing cold onto his heart. There was no way he could tell them he thought it had to do with the pits. They’d think Jason was being influenced by the Ghost and bench him. He couldn’t let that happen, he needed answers. He didn’t need to fight his family.

“No damn clue,” he scoffed, hoping he sounded nonchalant and none of his panic shone through, “some weird trauma response? He’d just hit his head real good.”

Bruce looked at him dubiously, but he was clearly unwilling to risk pushing. Their truce was a tentative one after all, one they’d come to after many false starts and stops. Jason had never before been so glad for their tattered relationship.

“So to conclude,” Dick drew everyone’s attention off Jason, “the Ghost is still a mystery, we don’t know if he’s just a thief or a supervillain biding his time.”

“He’s not a supervillain.” Jason could have cursed himself, he’d just gotten their attention off him. Now he was forced to elaborate. “He’s not wearing any sort of body armor, just that hoodie.”

And he’d definitely broken some of his ribs landing on him, Jason thought with a pang of guilt.

“Not all villains wear body armor though,” Tim pointed out carefully, and now Tim was worried too, Jason had no clue what had given him away.

“The ones who engage in close combat with us usually do though,” Dick returned, and Jason could have hugged him for bailing him out again (if that had been normal, which it was NOT).

“He could just not be a very good villain?”

“Or he’s just banking on the fact that he’s very good at dodging,” Barbara interjected with annoyance before the discussion got out of hand, “or did you all just forget you’ve been chasing this guy for weeks without landing a substantial hit on him?” She could always be counted on to be the voice of reason.

Dick scratched the back of his head sheepishly. Tim looked down at his computer. Damian scoffed, trying to look unaffected but that was definitely almost a pout.

Bruce’s eyes twinkled in amusement as he stood up and was that almost a smile? How was this happening? It felt… His fingers dug into his arms. It felt like all the things Jason had convinced himself had never really been there. And there was Bruce’s hand landing on Damian’s shoulder; a silent comfort-encouragement, because Bruce was terrible with words but his touches always spoke volumes. And as the small smile bloomed on Damian’s face and he quickly looked away to hide it, Jason remembered exactly how that felt. Shit.

“Oracle, that’s all for tonight, we’re not getting anywhere without more information.”

“You got it, B, Oracle out.”

Jason spun and stalked towards his bike, before he did something, he didn’t know what exactly.

“Jay?”

Bruce’s voice stopped him in place. He glanced over his shoulder to see them all watching him. Don’t give anything away, he scolded himself.

“What is it, old man?” Jason asked trying to interject as much annoyance into his voice as he could, but it was so hard dredging up any of that when they looked at him worried like that, and his chest ached and he just sounded tired.

“It’s late,” Bruce said with a small unconscious wave of his hand as if anyone could tell the time of day from within the cave, “you could stay the night?”

After a beat he added, “Alfred would love to see you.”

Jason’s jaw clenched. Alfred would, but that’s not what Bruce was really saying, he was saying he would love to have him stay, but didn’t think Jason would be receptive to that and so he brought out the Alfred card. It was plain as day and how had Jason never seen that? Seen the longing on his dad’s face? His chest ached, he knew why. He was always so busy reading everything Bruce did as him trying to control him, every interaction tinted in green. His chest ached. Every inch of his body wanted to stay, to take a step back, see where this could lead, but he couldn’t.

He had to act normal. Normal Jason would never. Normal Jason could be back tomorrow for all he knew. He couldn’t do that to any of them, to himself.

With great difficulty he tore his gaze away from his family and walked the last steps over to his bike.

“Tell Alfred I’ll be coming over for tea on Tuesday,” he said loudly over the noise of his bike, not looking, because he didn’t want to see any of their reactions, then he tore out of there.

This was better for everyone.

Poor Jay really is having the time of it, maybe next part he'll get to actually enjoy not being angry.

next Masterpost for subscription link

[meowzfordayz]

when you're apart

Author’s Note: is my Sanemi favoritism showing? 🤍 Spoiler Alert: yes. 😂 Don’t mind my psychology major brain showing ~a bit too. 🤓

when you’re apart

Hashira x Reader

Word Count: ~1,300

CW: anxiety disorder, explicit language, mild sexual content

Emergency Request Fulfilled: I was wondering if you could do how the men hashira react to a female reader with separation anxiety

I have a fear of being alone which makes me very clingy. My longtime boyfriend recently broke up with me due to me being “to much to deal with.”

Being clingy is such a bother I know I just hate being alone

~faqs~

When you’re apart…

… Gyomei doesn’t mind receiving calls from you throughout the day. He’s endlessly patient, always willing to listen, and warns you in advance if he can’t talk for long. His strategy for setting and respecting boundaries? Planning ahead and communicating his availability to make sure you feel prioritized and included in his decision making, while still fulfilling his own wants and needs.

… Obanai dislikes it as much as you do, but is ~somewhat more subtle about it. He, at least, has Kaburamura to keep him company, but kissing you is decidedly more pleasant. He’s mindful about maintaining healthy boundaries and expectations—he knows codependency shouldn’t be romanticized—but he’s also so wholly in love with you, that sometimes he gives up and surprises you anyway. “Obanai? You’re two hours early?? Are you okay???” He nods sheepishly, already pulling you into a hug, “I’m fine. Missed you.” “Is Sanemi going to complain to me the next time I see him?” you sigh, scrunched grin revealing your contentment despite the exasperation in your tone. “Probably, I don’t care. I left him enough to cover more than my share of the tab.”

… Mitsuri totally understands your anxiety, and is lovingly firm about ensuring you don’t slip into unhealthy habits. “You can text me anytime, but only call if there’s an emergency, okay?” she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your earlobe. You nod slightly, resisting the urge to pout. “I’ll be home before you know it.” Even though it stings, you know it’s never personal. Her willingness to draw straightforward boundaries, as well as her willingness to cross them if you’re truly upset, are just another reason to cherish her.

… Shinobu checks in every couple of hours. Sometimes it’s just a single sentence text, other times a quick call, but she knows how important feeling connected is to you. It’s important to her too, of course, but she’s apt to lose track of time when she’s at the hospital or her lab—she enjoys her work—so she puts in conscious effort to be proactive about your anxiety. When she anticipates a busier or longer day, she’ll ask, “Is it okay if I only check in during meals today?” Generally, you’ll reassure her that, “Absolutely, I’m so proud of you,” and if you’re having a low day, then she always figures out a compromise with you before she leaves.

… Kyojuro unknowingly reassures you, because—apparently—everything reminds him of you. Whether it’s a photo of a flower shortly after he arrives at work Pretty flower, but you’re prettier 🌻, a photo of the sky during his lunch break The cloud formations remind me of you, so soft and mesmerizing ☁️, or a blurry selfie as he finally heads home for the day Cannot wait to see you! 😁, you’re kept in the loop. The one time his phone fell into a puddle (he was trying to photograph a reflection of willow branches Elegant and dreamy, like you 🌿), he immediately visited the nearest shop to borrow their landline Hi, yes, how are you today? Would it be possible for me to make a call? I am happy to purchase something. I would just like to tell my partner that I will be unavailable for the day.

… Sanemi often forgets to explicitly text, call, or otherwise contact you. He doesn’t mean to aggravate your anxiety: he just doesn’t quite ~get it, and assumes it stems from insecurity or jealousy — which also confuses him. “You have nothing to worry about. How could I fall in love with someone else when I’m already in love with you?” he snorts, lightly tapping your nose. “That’s not…” you bite at your lip, unsure how to explain yourself. “I’m not big on texting, you know that. It’s not that I specifically dislike texting you.” You smile despite yourself, eyes rolling fondly, “I know it’s not specific to me.” “So then what’s the issue?” he’s determined to understand. “I’m afraid of being alone,” you shrug, gesturing vaguely, “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.” Arms crossing, he leans in, forehead bumping yours, voice warm and low on your skin as you gulp, “It’s okay to be afraid of things, and being afraid isn’t nothing.” Arms uncrossing, he settles his hands on your hips, kneading gently as he pulls back slightly, fixing an even gaze on your flushed expression, “I can’t be with you all the time, but I can promise that I love you and think about you.” “All the time?” you ask quietly. It’s his turn to blush, eyes closing as he dips his face into your neck, muttering softly, “All the damn time.”

… Muichiro is a bit absentminded, and rarely thinks to check his phone, but he sets reminders—around noon, and later in the afternoon—to make up for it. If he’s occupied and misses his usual look-at-his-phone time(s), then he’s never bothered by a call from you coming through (besides your number, his phone’s always on Do Not Disturb). In the bathroom? He’ll pick up. About to bite into his lunch? He’ll put it aside. Presenting during a meeting? He’ll literally answer his phone mid sentence, and leave the room (creative liberty: thank gosh he’s the boss hah). He’s aware of his head-in-the-clouds tendencies, just as he’s aware of your anxiety, and feels that having a specific routine is perfectly fair: if he forgets to uphold his end of your expectations, then you’ve every right to remind him. Conversely, if he’s feeling overwhelmed, he’s more than capable of reasserting his own needs — an infinite practice of mutual respect and taking necessary space.

… Giyuu feels uneasy too, but his discomfort stems primarily from how most people tend to socially drain him — you’re one of few that he can feel both stimulated and rested around. Therefore, if it’s a spend-time-with-you versus spend-time-around-others situation, then he’d prefer to be with you. Spend-time-with-you versus spend-time-by-himself situations are more complicated. It takes a lot of discussion, some heavy evenings apart, and tense evenings together, but you gradually nurture a shared understanding and acceptance of your varying needs. He’s always happy to reassure you that I’m not upset with you, nor am I tired of you; I’m just tired, while you’re slowly learning to trust him and his commitment to loving you.

… Tengen could care less about how clingy you are. Super duper clingy? He loves it. Not clingy at all? He’s cool and confident — he knows you adore him as much as he adores you. His easygoingness, however, isn’t the most productive in terms of processing and reducing your overall anxiety. In fact, you eventually have to tell him that he shouldn’t answer your texts or calls immediately, every single time, without a hint of irritation, because it reinforces your self soothing behaviors. “But I’m happy to?!” he grins, kissing the top of your head. “I know, and I appreciate you,” you chuckle, tucked snugly into his side, “But I don’t want to feel afraid of being alone-” “Sooo don’t be alone!” he interrupts enthusiastically, “Again, I’m happy to keep you company!” Inhaling deeply, you gently grip his jaw, a silent request for him to focus, “And again, I appreciate you, but sometimes I have to feel afraid to stop feeling afraid. If I’m never alone, then I can’t ever feel afraid,” hesitating, voice softer now, “And I know you’ll promise to never leave me, but shit happens. Y’know?” He’s silent, maroon eyes steady and tender as he holds your gaze. Before you can nervously murmur Tengen?, he touches his nose to your forehead, still smiling. “I love you. I’ll do my best to help, even from a distance.” “Well don’t go too far away,” you quip. “Of course not,” he laughs, “I’ll just go wherever you tell me to,” declared earnest and true.

[fieldofdaisiies]

Azriel x Reader | The Beauty of Intimacy

type: smut (& a bit of angst) warning(s): explicit descriptions, curse words, mature language word count: 3.1k words

request: Hi could you write some thing where reader and azriel have been in a relationship for a little bit but whenever azriel tries to like do anything with her she brushed him off and be begins to think she’s not attracted to him but then she tells him that it’s because she’s never really had a positive experience with sex and so azriel shows her how amazing sex with him can be and like just worships her??? Srry this is so specific but I love your writing and would love to read this!!

- all rights reserved -

"Is it because of the scars?" Azriel’s demeanour is solemn, his shadows calm, his eyes empty, sad.

A small crack appears in your heart and you quickly lift your gaze to meet your lover’s. "No," you say. "No, of course not."

Crossing one leg behind the ankle of the other Azriel leans his shoulder against the doorframe. Then his head, and his eyes close for a long moment. 

"What is it then? Y/N, please tell me." He is almost begging you to be honest with him, his tone desperate. As desperate as all his attempts for the two of you to be intimate have been. It isn't that you don’t want to sleep with him. It is way more complicated. You have never found pleasure during sex, you have never had one single positive experience and at this point you think it is because of you. Yes, you blame this lack of sensual heights on yourself. Maybe you simply cannot enjoy it? Maybe you do something wrong? Maybe there is something wrong with you?

"I thought you weren’t a virgin. Did you not tell the truth when we talked about our past? Are you scared? Nervous?” Azriel asks and blinks his eyes open. "I don’t care at all, we can go slow. But please, just tell if it has something to do with me. If it is about me. Are you not attracted to me? Not sexually attracted?"

Gods, you are. There is no male who is only half as beautiful as Azriel, and you are more than attracted to him. 

"I am no virgin and that is not the problem—"

"Then what is the problem? I don’t want to push you. I don’t want to force you to have sex with me, but I would like to understand. That is all. I just want to understand," Azriel says, his voice turning softer and gentler. He pushes off the wall and slowly makes his way over to the bed you sit on.

His throat burns when his mouth parts to ask one last question. "Did someone hurt you? Did someone touch when you didn’t want it? You can be honest with me. Always."

You love Azriel so much. And especially for that. For how good his heart is, how thoughtful he is, how understanding.

Sliding your hands over his, you draw in a deep breath and give your head a shake. "No. Thank you for asking, but no." Azriel exhales a shuddering breath of relief.

Leaning forward, you let one hand slide up his arm to his neck, you lips meeting his in a soft and quick kiss. "I just don’t like…sex."

"Sex is something beautiful," Azriel says and a sheepish smile blooms on his face.

The corner of your own mouth moves up at how adorable he looks. "Is it?” You raise your brow.

Azriel nods his head frantically and places his thumb under your chin, tipping it up. "One oft the most beautiful things in this world, I might say." His eyes have turned darker, the shadows becoming alive around his figure. The shadowsinger’s posture changes from formerly rather reserved to confident and he rolls back his shoulders, sitting straighter now. Your eyes meet, and warmth fills your body.

Nervousness coats your insides, your skin prickling. "I am not sure if I am…capable of having sex. Good sex, I mean. There is not one positive experience I have made and I am over 500, Azriel. It must have something to do with me."

A low chuckle leaves the shadowsinger and he gives his head a tiny shake, silken strands of onyx hair shifting with movement. "There is nothing wrong with you, I am 100% positive about that."

You love his certainty, but you can’t quite agree with him.

"Why don’t I find it… pleasurable then?"

"Because you may have not yet been with the right male," Azriel says, his brow lifting in an almost cocky way. It is this slight arrogance that changes his demeanour that makes your toes curl and the hair on his body stand. 

Your voice becomes a breathy whisper when you feel a shadow dance over your bare thigh and you lean forward. "And now I am?"

His low chuckle reverberates through you, his lips brushing yours and tingling them with the vibrations of his laugh. Azriel pecks you shortly and then says against your lips, "Now you are."

You change your sitting position, stretching your legs. ”And you are going to convince me now that it is something enjoyable?"

The shadowsinger’s scarred hand smoothes up your foot, higher onto your leg and back down again. He lifts his gaze to yours and smirks. "I going to prove to you that sex is one of the most beautiful things in the world," he drawls, his index finger circling your ankle. "Only if you want that, of course."

Wet heat fills your body when you draw in a deep breath and bow your head. "I want that."

You really want to. You want it to be good. You want for yourself to enjoy it. You have faith— Azriel is a phenomenal male, he would do it right, would make you feel right. This is going to be good, Azriel is different to the males before him, he has already proven that many times.

His fingers curl around your ankle and he lifts your leg, carefully sliding closer to you and placing your leg over his lap, your other one behind his back. Azriel regards you, silently assessing you.

"So you’ve never come then?"

"Obviously," you whisper and avert your gaze when heat flushes your cheeks. Azriel’s fingers continue their exploration, dancing over your knee up to your thigh. The spymaster draws idle circles to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs which already makes you want to squeeze them together. "Never made yourself come either?"

You could practically the warmth radiating from your cheeks. "I think…I have."

"Thinking about me?"

Biting down on your lower lip you nod.

"That’s a good girl."

His praise almost has you squirming. Gods, you haven’t known that you would like that. But something about the way he said it, the deep tenor of his voice reverberating through your body, did something to you.

His hand giving your thigh a gentle squeeze, Azriel leans into you, damp lips coasting over your ear. "I should have known you like that. Should have known my lovely lady likes to be praised for the things she does so well." His lips curl when he pecks the pointy end of your ear, chuckling softly.

“Well, “Azriel drawls, his scarred hands slowly sliding over your skin, the calluses rough against it. "Lean back against the head board," the shadowsinger orders, his voice commanding yet soft.

You do as told, nestling between the pillows and behaving like his good girl. But there is still this teeny-tiny kernel of nervousness in you — what if not even Azriel can make you reach your height? What if it truly is something about your body and he just tries to be nice?

The shadowsinger must have noticed your unease, his smile faltering, happiness slowly fading.

Azriel swipes his thumb over your cheek. "I really want you to know that," Azriel says, his eyes piercing into yours, "you not finding pleasure has nothing to do with you. It is generally more difficult for females to reach their height, but if the male does everything right and takes proper care of their lover it most definitely should work. It has nothing to do with you, you can trust me on that."

Relief truly starts blossoms in your chest at that, the corners of your mouth tipping upwards. You slowly dip your chin and smile.

"I trust you on that."

A low but content growl leaves Azriel at that and he hooks his scarred hands under your knee pits, bracing your feet on the bed and easing your thighs apart. Your nightgown pools at your hips, Azriel’s gaze dropping to your centre. He leans closer and pecks your bent knee before his gaze lifts to yours. "Now," he drawls, "let me worship you. Let me show you how beautiful intimacy can be."

The shadowsinger’s damp lips brush down the inside of your thigh, his silken strands toppling over his forehead and tingling your skin. A strangled sound leaves you when a throbbing feeling starts in your core and you desperately want to squeeze your thighs together. Azriel’s grip is tight, holding your legs spread open. He tips his head back, a brow raising when your gazes met. "Uh-oh."

His tongue poking out he gives your inner thigh a soft lick, descending, savouring your sweet skin. Damp heat pools in your core, soft, quick pants leaving you when your lids start to feel heavy. Your knuckles turn white from how tightly you hold onto the pillows next to you, watching Azriel dip his head between your thighs. Azriel’s nose brushes against your still in undergarments covered core, adding just a light pressure that has you squirming.

The spymaster’s voice is a soft growl, the deep tenor rumbling through you when he says, "Lift your hips, beautiful." Azriel steadies you, helping you, and curls his fingers around the elastic, slowly peeling the undergarment off.

His desire stretches out, making it impossible for you to breathe when his heated gaze lands on the spot between your thighs. A low groan leaves Azriel, the sound so raw and primal it has you turning even more molten, your legs shaking slightly.

He leans into you and kisses your sex. You shudder, never having felt…anything like that.

The shadowsinger inhales deeply, the scent of your arousal beguiling. The strong tendons of his throat stand out when he clenches his jaw, his pupils dilating even more.

Azriel’s throat works on a swallow, his tongue feeling so thick all of a sudden when he says, "Ever been tasted before?"

The heated honey of his eyes meets yours, his need and desire laced into his features. You give your head a tiny shake, holding his gaze. His want, his need, his desire, it does something to you. To your heart. To your core. 

"Good," Azriel purrs and dips his head. He kisses your lower belly, tongue circling your navel, hands skimming over your thighs, before finally lifting them over his shoulders. "Perfect," he breaths, his mouth moving lower. Shadows softly travel up your body when Azriel parts you with his thumbs. It is the first stroke of his tongue, the first broad stroke through your silken folds up to the apex of your thighs, that has you squirming. Your back arches, your hips lift, pressing against his face when a lewd gasp leaves you. 

It is the firm grip of his scarred hands that places you back on the bed, that holds you tightly, that limits your movements. Azriel chuckles lowly, sending vibrations and hot air right into your core. You squirm against him and the shadowsinger tips his head back only an inch. “Sshh,” he cooes, grinning, his lips glistening. “Relax and let me worship you probably. Let me devour you, beautiful.” You get no chance to answer, his head dips again, his tongue poking out and he flicks it against your clit. And then he feasts, his tongue driving deep into. He licks and suckles, holding you firmly, the sounds that leave his mouth feeling like a sin in your ears. Azriel is like a starved male, some primal need fully unleashed, his restraints gone. You wreathe underneath him, something in your lower body squeezing, your walls clenching. It feels so good, it feels…nearly overwhelming. Your eyes roll back and then your orgasm comes crashing in on you. Wave after of hot pleasure overflows you, washes you under. You come with a scream that is a mix of curses and his name. Azriel.

He lets you ride out your height, softly guiding you through it, his tongue and lips still sloppily licking and kissing your sex. Proud at his work and your absolutely disheveled state, Azriel flashes you a full toothy grin when he lifts his head, his face wet with your arousal, with your release. 

Having made you come one time is obviously not enough for the spymaster. Just seconds later you are fully underneath his tall figure. He has only given you a short glimpse at his marvellous body before climbing onto the bed and caging you beneath him.

 Azriel flicks his tongue over the hardened peak of your breast, marvelling at how you shudder underneath him. His lips close around your nipple, licking, suckling. 

“More?” Azriel breathes against your breast. Your hips give a little jerk, moving against Azriel who growls in approval, reveling into the feel of your skin against his. You sigh and dip your chin. 

“Words, sweetheart. Use your words.” 

The shadowsinger takes your nipple back into his mouth, suckling and tugging lightly. It has you squirming and making your unable to form a coherent sentence. 

“Yes, more. Please, don’t stop,” you almost whine, burying your hands in his silken strands. 

“Good girl,” Azriel drawls, pushing himself up on his hands and looking down at you. With something like a predatory gaze he watches you, marveling at the sight of your ruffled hair, the flushed cheeks, the need and desire in your eyes. All he can think is that you are stunning and fully his. 

“Let me make you feel good.” The shadowsinger pushes your thighs apart, settling between them. “I need you to be my good girl again. You want that, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” you breathe. His hand reaches down between your bodies and he adjusts himself between your thighs. He lets the tip of his hard cock slide into you. It has you both gasping. Both of you look down at where you are connected. Azriel’s lips part in a silent hiss. “Fucking hell.” He carefully slides further into you, letting you adjust, but at the same time making you feel every glorious inch of his proud length. He leans in, softly brushing his lips against yours. “Tell me if I hurt you. Tell me when you want me to stop.”

Your hands find its place in the hair at the back of his neck the moment your lips close over his. “I will,” you whisper, “but it is perfect.”

Azriel’s lips curl against yours when he moves in to the hilt, stilling inside of you. You angle your hips, gasping at the sudden spark of pleasure when his tip touches one special spot inside of you. “Move, please,” you breathe and Azriel captures your lips, slowly pulling out of you.

He kisses you softly, one hand moving over your lower belly, gently adding pressure. You pull your legs up, curling them around his waist and moan at the feeling of it. Gods, this is perfect. This whole situation is pure satisfaction. And gods, you can enjoy it. It feels good. It is good. 

The shadowsinger has you pinned beneath him, his tall body, covered in a thin film of sweat, hovering above you, him moving inside of you, filling you so perfectly.

He lets go of his restraints, his thrusts turning deeper, harder. He pounds into you, always making sure you feel good and that you enjoy what he is doing. 

“Tell me how good you feel,” Azriel whispers when his lips close over your ear lob and he gives you a tiny bite. Azriel knows he is good at what he is doing. And this confidence, gods, it turns you on. You love it when he is like that, cocky and confident. “So good,” you breathe through gritted teeth, your head thrown back, your eyes squeezed closed, his hips slapping against yours. The sounds are wet, your high-pitched moans and pants the only things that are louder. 

Azriel regards you, your figure, how beautiful you look underneath him, with him inside you. And he feels you getting closer, you clench around him and that feeling, gods! It brings himself closer and closer to edge as well. 

The spymaster decreases his pace, slowly, steadily moving in and out of you. His thrusts are long and coordinated now. A lewd sob parts your lips, your eyes only opening for a split second. Calluses scrape over your soft skin when Azriel’s hand slides up your body, cradling your face. He lowers his forehead to yours, exhaling warm air that feels like a summer breeze against your skin.

"You" -thrust- "are" -thrust- "so perfect."

Your back arches, pressing against the solid body of your lover, your mouths meeting in a sloppy brush of tongues, and lips. Azriel’s stomach flexes, cock twitching and balls tightening. He knows he his close, wants you to come with him. 

Azriel nips at your jaw, his thumb circling your clit, rubbing, adding extra pleasure that brings you closer to edge. You clench around him, rocking against him when a lewd cry breaks through the noises of your panting and moaning.

"Gods," you pant. "I am close, Azriel."

He doesn’t want to make you beg, does not want to torture you, edge you. He wants you to come, to fully enjoy this moment.

"Let go, angel," Azriel says and angels his hips differently to hit that damnable spot inside of you with each thrust.

Your pants come out quicker, your moans turning a pitch higher. You claw at his shoulders, flecks of white and black sparking in your vision when your eyes roll back. 

 You come simultaneously, a loud sob leaving you when a tidal wave of satisfaction washes over you. The shadowsinger trembles above you, his warm release spurting against your walls, his forehead dropping to yours. Your hips rock against each other with sloppy thrusts, riding out your heights together. 

After easing out of you, Azriel collects a wet cloth for you to clean up. He kisses your forehead, his clothed hand carefully sliding between your thighs and over your lower belly. You are still in a blissful steady, knees feeling wobbly, legs numb. Soft pants leave you while your eyes follow your lover until he disappears into the bathroom. You fold a hand over your forehead, grinning to yourself and exhaling loudly. Gods! Love making was good, was enjoyable, was something you wanted more of. And you were were also a tiny bit relieved—there was nothing wrong about you. It was not your fault that you did not enjoy the times before. 

Getting back into bed, Azriel brings you close to his body, wings stretched behind his broad shoulders. You rest your head on his chest, hand placed right above his heart. 

Azriel brings your leg over his hips, holding your thigh tightly. “Could I convince you that sex is not so bad?”

You wiggle your head, mischief glinting in your eyes when you met his gaze. “I believe I definitely need some more convincing.” Azriel’s whole-hearted laugh is like balm to your soul. He cradles you to his body, kissing the top of your head, smiling. “I love you and don’t worry,” Azriel mumbles into your hair, giving your rear a soft smack. “You will get a lot more.”

Feedback and critics are always welcome, as I still try to improve my writing. Please let me know what you think 💙

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tag list (crossed-out I couldn't tag):

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[somekindofpoet]

Oh! Dealer

Summary: Vada calls Reader for a ride after she does E, they get high together and experience some new highs

Word Count: 4.4K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language, drug use

A/N: I cannot confirm nor deny my personal experience in a situation like this...just enjoy this very detailed ecstasy fueled touchy touchy. Also, is the back story in the beginning necessary? No, but I have to world build, I cant help it.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, drawing the attention of everyone in the silent room. You wince, hit the decline button, and clear your throat. The man sitting across from you glares at you. You gulp, really not wanting to piss him off. The phone vibrates again, and he clenches his jaw, the dagger tattoo on his temple flexing as his skin moves. You hit the decline button again.

“Who the fuck is calling you, kid?” He growls, his eyes burning into your head, his anger palpable. 

Every muscle in your body is tight, anxious tension rolling through you. You glance down at the phone and look back at him.

“It’s no one. Just a girl.” 

The man sitting on the couch next to you laughs, slapping your shoulder, “I bet you’re a fucking lady killer, aren’t you? Lookin like that,” he looks to the man across from you, “You think so, Whisper?”

You clench your teeth, your expression unsure. You shrug. Whisper curls his lip, his tongue running across his teeth.

“Well, are you?” He asks, cocking his head.

You frown, “Am I what?”

“A fuckin lady killer. Noodle asked you a question, didn’t he? Answer him.”

You glance at Noodle. He’s leaning toward you with childlike glee on his face. He raises his eyebrows and nods at you, his lank, oily hair swishing back and forth. You look back at Whisper across from you, unsure how to answer. Every time you came here was something different. The only consistent thing about these two was their supply of drugs and their ability to make you fear for your life. 

You gulp, “I do alright.” 

The room falls quiet again. The clock in the kitchen may as well be Big Ben, with how loud its ticking has become. Whisper barks out a hard laugh, breaking the tension and leaning forward to dump a duffel bag on the coffee table. A mountain of small bags filled with pills spews out, sliding over each other. 

“What’s your body count?” He asks, his laughter stopping and his face growing serious again.

You try to keep your composure, but you can feel your brows knit together and your lips tighten. You don’t have a choice, you have to give him an answer. The truth or making something up, the number matters. You don’t want to sound like you’re lying, but you don’t want to sound cocky either. Your phone starts to ring again. Whisper looks down at it and smirks.

In an effort to distract him, you say, “S-six.” 

Noodle cackles next to you and stomps his feet on the floor, slapping his knees, “See Whisper, I told you! She’s a lady killer!”

Whisper snorts, nodding, “Respect. Six at what? Nineteen? Okay, little buddy. How much you taking today?”

You sigh in relief, the muscles in your jaw relaxing. You don’t bother telling him you’re twenty, and your actual body count is four. The moment has passed, you’ve passed their test. You pull a roll of cash out and hand it over to Whisper, a nervous smile quirking your lips. 

“Same as last time. I’ll move it in a week or two.”

Whisper nods, “Good man. Don’t spend too much time crushin' girls, little buddy. You need to make Daddy money.” 

He reaches across the table and slaps your cheek lightly. His hand smells like machine oil and gunpowder. You unzip your backpack and use your arm to sweep the baggies into it, zip it up and stand. You don’t look back as you hustle out the apartment door, letting it slam behind you. You try to keep yourself from running down the stairs, ending up in a half-jog until you’re in your car. You start it and peel out, only looking back once the complex is in your rearview.

By the time you’re pulling into your driveway, your nerves have settled. You park the car and pull your backpack into your lap, digging through the little bags until you find the one you want. Little red pills shake around in the bag. They’re stamped with the silhouette of a pin-up girl, the naked lady stamp usually reserved for eighteen-wheeler tire flaps. You open the bag, take a pill out, bite it in half, and let the back half fall into the bag. You chew the pill, grimacing at the taste. You’re testing the product is the excuse you always give yourself. In reality, you just enjoy E, but it can be dangerous and laced with shit that will kill your consumers. Testing it is a win-win, you get high, and your revenue doesn’t get merc’d by a bad pill. 

Your phone vibrates at the bottom of your backpack. You dig around until you find it and pull it out, Vadas name is on the screen. Again. 

“What do you want, Vada?”

“Remember that pill you sold me last time? The yellow one that looked like a Simpson? Like a week ago. We talked in the parking lot, and you-“

“Vada.” You interrupt her, knowing she will continue to talk until she runs out of words. You haven’t actually found the bottom of her word pit yet, always having to interrupt her to get her to stop.

“Right. Sorry. But do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Remember the pill, the yellow one!” Her voice goes up an octave as she grows impatient with you.

You sigh heavily, resting your head on the car seat. “Yeah, I remember it. What about it?”

“So I took the blue one that day and saved the yellow one, and you know how the grass feels when-“

“Vadaaaa,” you groan, praying the red naked lady you’d just chewed kicked in soon.

She huffs into the phone, “I took it, and I’m stuck can you give me a ride home?”

You close your eyes, then lean forward to rest your head on the steering wheel. The first day Vada approached you asking for drugs, you laughed at her and said no. She was persistent, tailing you and nagging you until you’d given in and sold her half an E pill. That was three years ago. Now she comes to you occasionally to buy when she’s going to a party or wants adderall (even though you’re pretty sure she could get this prescribed for her). Your relationship had developed against your will, her stubbornly insisting you were friends and you reminding her your only role in her life was to take her money. She refused to believe you. 

“Where are you?” You grumble, hoping she’s not too far so you can get to her before your drug kicks in. 

Briefly, you consider that maybe you are friends. You don’t know any other drug dealers that are willing to give rides to their customers. So maybe you’d developed a small soft spot for Vada, even if you won’t admit it. 

“I’m at the park on D street. You know, the one with the-“

“I’ll be there in five.” You interrupt her, hanging up.

——

You’re surprised to find her alone at the park. She’s lying on her back in the grass, moving her arms like she’s making snow angels. The streetlights flicker on, and you’re coming up, getting anxious about driving and someone seeing Vada writhing in the grass. You honk your horn, and she sits up, looking around. 

You roll your window down and lean out of it, “Let’s go, Vada!” 

A huge grin slides across her face, her eyes low-lidded and dopey. She pulls herself to her feet and lurches across the grass to the parking lot, throwing the car door open and dropping into the passenger seat. She shuts the door and turns toward you, smiling, rubbing her cheek on the headrest. Her eyes are nearly black, the drug making her pupils expand unnaturally. She reaches out and runs her fingertips across your forearm, and you bite your tongue. Your pill was kicking in, the touch felt more like silk on your skin than fingers. Vada’s house was too far to drive, you wouldn’t make it before you started to peak. Your house was only five minutes away, so that’s where you take her. She hums to herself, rubbing her hands up and down her thighs and sticking her head out of the window. 

Your body is thrumming when you park, the nerves in your skin fooled into finding everything pleasurable by the sudden burst of serotonin in your brain. Vada sits up, a small pout on her lips.

“This isn’t my house,” she drawls. 

You rub your eyes, and it’s difficult to stop because it feels so good. You nearly forget why you’re rubbing your eyes until you stop and see Vada staring at you.

“It’s my house. We need to go inside now.”

She nods, accepting the information immediately. You both climb out of the car, but it feels more like a slither. You unlock your front door and shut it behind Vada, leaning your back on it to ground yourself. She makes her way through your entryway, headed for the couch, but you call to stop her. Your grandma is in the living room; it’s her soap hour.

“No, no not that way. Come with me.” You hold your hand out for her to take, and she does, an intoxicated smile on her face.

You lead her to your bedroom, not really thinking it through. You just know you don’t want your grandma to see Vada like this, so it seems to be the safest place to hide her for the next few hours. Her hand in yours feels like the brush of rose petals in your palm, so you hold it gently, hyper-aware of it. She lets go of you and falls into your bed without asking, kicking her shoes off and low crawling up to the pillows. You raise an eyebrow as you watch her roll herself into your down comforter, breathing deeply in the blankets. You’re lucky you’d only taken half a pill, or your self-control would be nonexistent. Just like Vadas now. 

If she’s unfiltered when she’s sober, high Vada is a faucet stream of consciousness. Every single word that enters her mind leaves her lips, no second thought, no thought at all, really.

“You know you smell really good,” she says, her voice muffled by the blanket on her face, “like, so good I want to live in you. Can I do that? Or can I just live in your bed? Why do you smell so good?”

You sigh and drag your desk chair over to the foot of the bed, watching her. She’s going to regret what she’s saying when she comes down tomorrow. Even with only half a pill in your system, it’s taking every ounce of self-control for you not to crawl into the bed and roll around with her. At that moment, you decide her voice is better than music, and you hope she never shuts up. The tone and pitch of whatever onslaught coming out of her lips are better than the Chopin records sitting on your shelf. Your thumb and forefinger have the hem of your shirt pinched between them, rubbing the cotton together and feeling every ridge catching and sliding over themselves. 

Vada sits up, the blanket wrapped around her head, “Y/n. Your bed is the best place I’ve ever been in my whole entire life. Do you think I died and this is heaven? What are your sheets made out of? I think it’s probably a blend of silk, cotton, and clouds.” She giggles at herself, “Wait, no, you can’t put clouds in houses. Then the house would float away.”

You chuckle, your inhibitions falling away as you feel the ecstasy taking hold of you. Your laughter makes Vada freeze. She drops the blanket and crawls over to the foot of the bed, staring at you in awe. She reaches over and runs her pointer finger down your nose, tickling you. You think if you were made of anything, it’s ashes, and she’s just brushed away the skin on your face with the softest touch you’d ever felt. The sudden compulsion to know what her shirt is made of has you pushing out of the chair and crawling on the bed. She cocks her head as she watches you take the bottom of her shirt between your fingers, rolling the fabric the same way you had done your own.

You look up at her, and to this day, you’d swear there was an ethereal glow behind her. In reality, it’s probably just your desk lamp, but in the drug haze, you’re positive she’s divine. 

You lick your lips and run your knuckles over her cheek, “Have you always been so pretty?” 

She sucks in a breath, then nods enthusiastically, “I was born with this face! Have you always been so pretty?” 

She makes you laugh, and you lean away from her. The tiniest part of your brain is screaming not to make a mistake. You may not have realized how you felt about her before, but you certainly do now. Maybe that soft spot was bigger than you thought. The distance doesn’t do much because as you back away, Vada is leaning forward. She wraps her arms around you in a hug, and you fall backward, landing with her head on your chest. Your entire body lights up, her weight on you setting a fire in your gut, making your breathing quicken and your heart race. 

“Woaaaah, you’re so soft,” Vada rubs her cheek over your shirt. 

Against your better judgment, you let her continue, wrapping your arms around her and reveling in the comfort of cuddling her. She wriggles her hand out from under you and runs it up your arm. The sensation gives you goosebumps, your skin prickling in a trail following her fingers. She plants her hand on your chest to sit up, straddling your hips.  If you were both sober, it would have been enough to make you blush because you’re not wearing a bra, and her fingertip grazed over your nipple, making her eyes widen. She looks down at your breast and runs her finger across it again. You almost forget to stop her it feels so good, but you’re finally able to shake your head and straighten a few things out in your mind. 

She moves to touch you again, and you cover yourself with your hand, frowning up at her, “Don’t do that.”

You don’t mean it. You want her to keep doing it more than anything, but you’ve really got to fight to preserve some self-control. Her brow knits together in confusion, and her bottom lip juts out. 

“Your nipples are pierced.” She states as if it’s news to you. 

You snort and shake your head, removing your hand from your chest, “Only one.”

That tickles her, she laughs, and you can feel it in your belly. “Why do you only have one nipple pierced?” Her eyes are bright and curious as she looks down at you.

You twist your mouth, the slightest bit of embarrassment creeping up your cheeks in a blush, “They were both done. I lost one of the bars when I was cleaning them, forgot about it, and it healed up. So now there’s only one.”

“I want to see it.” She says as if she’s not asking you to get half-naked in front of her.

“Too bad,” you snort, frowning up at her.

She looks down at you, her eyes flitting across your face while she processes some bit of information in her mind. Your hands move against your will to rest on her thighs. You might be denying her, but that doesn’t make her touch feel any less incredible. She looks down at your hands and licks her lips. 

“I think I’m peaking,” she says, looking back into your eyes. 

You smirk, “Me too.”

“Wait, you too?”

“Yeah, before you called, I was testing the new product. Picked you up before it hit. We’re rolling now.”

She nods, thinking hard again. Then, without explanation or reason, she pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it aside. You’re too shocked to do anything but let your mouth drop open. 

“What are you doing?”

She shrugs, “Taking my clothes off.”

“Why?”

“Do you not want me to?” She tilts her head, her hands lingering around the waistband of her shorts. 

“I…no. I mean, yes. I mean…I don’t not want you to?”

She scratches her head, then gets distracted and runs her hands over your ribs. “I think we should have sex.”

You choke on your spit, sitting up on your elbows, “What?” 

“I think you’re pretty. You think I’m pretty. Everything feels so good right now. I'm basically having sex with you right now. Can it get better? Like how is it on E? I’ve never done it. I’ve never done it on E. I’ve wanted to do it with you for a while. Sometimes I even-“

You hold your hands out to stop her, “Hang on hang on. How do I know you’re not going to freak out once you’re sober?”

She scoffs, her hands pushing your shirt up to your ribs, “Freak out? It’s just sex, y/n. Plus, like I said, sometimes I’ve thought about you-“

“Wait, wait, I can’t think when you’re doing that,” you stop her wandering hands and try to pull them away from your stomach, but there’s nowhere else to put them. 

Her weight on your hips is fogging your brain. Her exposed skin looks like velvet. You want her to lay on top of you so you can feel all of it. She smells good, too, like freshly cut grass and cherry chapstick. She starts pushing your shirt up again, and in your musing, you forget to stop her. You help her pull it over your head and fall back when she throws it aside. Her eyes go straight to your boobs. She sits on you, unmoving for a minute, just appreciating you. Her eyes linger on your right side, the side with the metal bar through your nipple. She licks her lips again. Her hand slides up your ribs, and she stops just under your breast, looking back at you. You shrug and nod, figuring why the hell not. Her blown out pupils go back to the silver jewelry as her hand slides over it, the bar slipping between her fingers. 

You bite your knuckles, trying not to moan. Before you understand what’s happening, Vada's mouth is latched on to you, her warm tongue flicking at the silver, and this time you do moan. Her other hand rolls your jewelry free nipple between her fingers, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to cum from that alone. Nope. You know you are. Your fingers slide into her hair, and your hips jerk, and you feel like you’re falling through the bed. Floating on the clouds Vada believed couldn’t be brought inside. You’re not even going to address the fact that she’d done this without even taking your pants off. It would go straight to her head. You’d never hear the end of it. 

You desperately need to gain control of this situation, or Vada is going to have you a squirming mess. And you’re not even a bottom. Usually. You lift your hips and flip her on her back, her mouth separating from your nipple, leaving it freezing cold as the air hits it. Her breath comes out in a rush and a giggle under you, her eyes unfocused and hands wandering. 

“I love boobs,” she says under her breath, then louder, “Yours are incredible. Probably top ten boobs I’ve ever seen. Definitely the number one boobs I’ve touched. This feels like sex, but my pants are on. Can you take my pants off please I want to have sex with you. Are we having sex?”

You blow your hair out of your eyes, resigned to your fate with her. You like her more than you want to admit. And you do really want to have sex with her. But you need to set ground rules first.

“Okay, we can have sex, but-“

“Yessss!” Vada fist pumps, punching the headboard in her excitement. She hisses and pulls her fist down to her chest.

“But! You have to make a promise to me first.” You look down at her, trying not to laugh when her face grows very serious.

She nods, waiting for you to continue.

“1. Promise me a real date when we’re sober.”

She smiles and nods quickly, reaching up for you, but you shake your head and grab her hands, pinning them to her sides.

“And 2. Tell me you want this. Full consent. We’re not having sex until you say it. I’ll say it first. Vada, I consent to have sex with you right now.”

“A date and consent? No problem. Y/n I promise I consent to do a date with you and to take you out on a sex right now…” she frowns, mulling over her words, “that’s not right. I consent to have sex with you immediately. I’ll take you on a date tomorrow.”

“Good enough.” You hook your fingers under her bra and pull it off her head, eager to have your skin on hers. 

You drop down, your chest pushing into hers, and she groans, “Oh fuck, I think you’re made of like marshmallows or cashmere or something oh my god, you’re so soft.” 

She leans up and kisses you for the first time, and now you’re absolutely sure how you feel about her. The drugs just knocked your walls down, now Vada was under your skin. She kisses you with fervor, her hands all over you. She unbuttons your jeans and pushes them down your hips without breaking your lips apart. You do the rest of the work, kicking them off behind you. You pull her shorts and underwear off in a hurry, your leg slotting between her legs like you were made to fit together. You lean into her, applying pressure to her center, and she gasps, bending her knee to do the same to you. You don't think you’re going to make it through an actual sexual encounter. Not while you’re as high as you are. Every single touch feels like an orgasm, every whisper of breath, every inch of your body is in pure…well…ecstasy. 

You settle for grinding into her, mutual sighs of satisfaction escaping between your lips and noses as you kiss her frantically. She pulls you down with her hands on your back, pushing you so your stomach is pressed into hers. You dip your head to kiss her neck and almost regret it because she starts talking again. 

“Oh my god, y/n I think my skin is orgasming. Can your brain have an orgasm? Mine is. Your skin- oh shit do that again -“ she pulls you up her thigh, her eyes rolling back, “I don’t know what or how you’re doing that but please never stop.” 

Her voice is breathy and light, quieter than usual, but still, it feels like music to you. You keep rocking your hips, your thigh pressing into her as you grind yourself down on her leg. The growing sensation in your lower stomach is just a touch less than too much for you, it’s almost too good, but you keep moving. You move to kiss her chest, but she’s pulling you back to her lips, then pushing your face away as she leans up to wrap her lips around your nipple again. Normally, you would have stopped her and put her in her place, but she felt so good you couldn’t even fathom arguing with her. 

Her hands are on your sides, and she pushes you over, regaining her position above you. She ducks her head down to kiss you again, her hands on your breasts. She’s probably not going to let go of them again, which suits you fine. You use one hand to grip her waist, pushing her to keep moving, and the other hand holds her jaw, keeping her with you. You’re not sure how much time passes like that, your hands running over each other, lips tracing over skin, teeth marking soft spots. It’s like being in a warm pool of constant pleasure, Vada is your oxygen, and you are hers. You’re not sure if you ever actually cum, or if she does, or if you ever weren’t cumming. It’s all very hazy and melded and fluid. 

Eventually, you do have to stop, and you both splay out on your backs, gasping for air. You reach over her, flipping on your ceiling fan, kissing her breastbone, and falling onto your back. The cool air licks across your sweaty skin, making you shiver. Vada rolls to face you, and you’re half afraid she’s going to get on top of you again. She doesn’t, she just rests her hand on your chest and watches you, quiet for the first time in hours. The comedown is barreling toward you, you know it. 

You turn your head to look at her, “We’re going to crash soon.”

She yawns, “That’s okay.”

“You staying here tonight?”

She closes her eyes and nods, her thumb brushing over your sternum. She cracks one eye open, “Actually, I do need one thing, though.”

You frown, your eyes growing heavy, “What’s that?”

“I need so much water. I could drink a bathtub full. Or a swimming pool, or-“

“Okay,” you roll out of the bed and pad into the bathroom attached to your room. 

When you come out, you have two huge glasses of water and hand her one. You sit on the edge of the bed, gulping yours down. When it’s gone, you set the cup on the nightstand and look over at Vada. Her cup is empty and lying on the pillow next to her. Her dark hair is splayed out on the pillow, her chest rising and falling peacefully as she sleeps. It’ll be the best sleep she has in her life, you know from experience. Tomorrow would suck, the chemicals in your brain at an all-time low, but if Vada is there, you can’t imagine being too low. You drop back onto your pillow, sling your arm over Vada’s stomach, and let the post-ecstasy crash suck you down into dreamless slumber.