#i might hope on before i get onto work to finish writing my plotting call post. i just wish i had like my old ones from old blogs for anide

[cornelianlute]

i'm going to use this as my permanent starter call from now on so you'll see me reblogging it from time-to-time. if you'd like a starter, please like this post!

if there is a specific verse of mine you'd like to write in, please let me know in the replies or my IMs!

[lalacliffthorne]

📃 the basic rules of friendship 📃

Azriel x Reader

summary: the basic rules of friendship. and how to break them.

notes: oh boy. writing this one was pure and utter chaos. it gave me a headache. it did not want to work out. I changed the whole damn plot like five times, because I just wasn't happy with my ideas; they didn't work, they didn't feel right, but I had this specific part that I really wanted to write around, so I couldn't just give it up and call it a day either. then once I finally had it figured out, it still took ages to finish the whole thing, because my brain just wasn't braining - to sum it up, this lil piece of writing basically fried me. but, the last few days, it got easier, I wasn't just staring at the words anymore and what I wrote finally didn't feel blah - and I made it!

so here are the basic rules of friendship. they are long af, and even though they strongly advise against it, there's smut. steamy steamy smut.

______________________________________________________________

the basic rules of friendship

no. 1: friends are there for each other (friends also never get jealous).

Staring up at the male in front of me, I hoped my facial expression didn't convey my current thoughts.

Someone help me.

" - so of course we went in, and even though it was a bit of a struggle, we managed to get them all." The male sent me a grin, and I felt my lips curve, though it probably looked slightly pained.

Mor had decided it was that time of year again where she tried herself at being a matchmaker. She had picked me as target of the night, using the festivities as a clever cover to drag me from one male she thought might fit the requirements to the next.

The one I was talking to now was by far the most pleasant one this evening, which was probably why I hadn't bolted yet. He had even managed to make me laugh a few times, while the few males before that had been closer to making me cry in despair. He was fairly pretty too, with a cheeky smile, dimples and warm eyes. And I really should have been interested, because he seemed sweet, and funny, and actually charming.

But it just didn't click.

There was something about him - no, actually, it was something that wasn't there. His humor wasn't dry enough. He was a bit too reserved. He didn't quite get my teasing.

There was just something missing.

The way he smiled didn't do anything for me; no little skip in my chest, no hitch in my breath. His voice didn't send tingles down my spine, the dimple in his cheek was not quite right, he was a bit too hulky -

Something churned a little in my chest, and I almost winced.

Gods, what was wrong with me?

The air behind me shifted, and for a second, I wondered if maybe I had left my mental shields down and either Rhys or Feyre had caught onto my thoughts and had decided to step in before I went down a rabbithole of possibilties of what could be wrong with me.

But then the male in front of me straightened a little, suddenly looking alert, a familiar scent washed over me, cool and frosty, like pine woods in winter, and something skipped softly against my ribs.

Quickly looking over my shoulder, my eyes moved up, and up, and my shoulders sank a little when they found the face of the male suddenly towering over me.

Azriel's eyes were piercing, unwavering and unreadable as usual, and they were fixed onto the male in front of me. Shadows were swirling around him, creeping over his wings and shoulders, some gently brushing over my back like a happy greeting.

The shadowsinger's face itself looked like carved from marble, jaw sharp and set, the muscles in his cheeks shifting with what looked strangely like tension.

"Hey." I hoped the relief didn't vibrate too strongly through my voice, quickly turning back towards the male in front of me with an apologetic smile.

I had to give it to him, he had balls: Even though the Spymaster of the Night Court was staring right at him, unsettlingly quiet and brooding, the male hadn't immediately shrunk into himself.

Though he did look very uncomfortable.

"I'm going to -" He pointed over his shoulder, sending me a soft grin, and I smiled back, again hoping the relief wasn't too visible in how bright it was.

One corner of the male's lips curved. Then he turned around, and I felt my shoulders sag.

"Thanks." I breathed out, turning around to send Azriel a relieved, crooked smile.

The shadowsinger's eyes followed after the male for another second before they turned down towards me, and his gaze lost some of that unreadable coolness, softening. His eyes moved over my face, and he seemed to catch onto something, because his gaze narrowed in, and a slight crease formed between his brows.

And because it was Azriel, he didn't even have to ask.

The words just tumbled out before i could stop them.

"Is there something wrong with me?"

Azriel's lips parted a little. Then his eyes sharpened, his shoulders shifting as his gaze moved up over my head, zeroing in on somebody behind me, and something skipped high in my chest at the way his gaze froze over, becoming steely and quietly raging like a rising tide -

Hastily, I widened my eyes.

"No, no; he didn't -", I huffed and breathed out, turning my eyes towards the twinkling night sky in a half-laugh. "It's not because of him, it's - me."

The dangerous promise in Azriel's eyes vanished with a blink, but the light crease between his brows deepend as his gaze returned to my face. The warm lights dotted all over the House of Winds' terraces threw shadows under his jaw and made his amber eyes glow softly, his dark hair tousled and skin rosy from the cool wind.

"It's just -" I exhaled again, furrowing my brows softly at myself.

"There's this male, who's actually not a jerk, and who seems good and funny and interested, and - nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just kept finding things that were wrong, even though I don't even know what would have been right, and -", I shook my head and looked up at Azriel, frowning gently as something churned a little in my chest.

"Is there? Something wrong with me?"

Azriel stared at me before huffing, and something tipped over in my chest when a soft snorted laugh broke from his throat.

I frowned, feeling something tighten a little under my ribs. "What?"

Azriel's lips were still twitching upwards like I had just made some sort of joke only he understood as he turned his face away, shaking his head a little. Then he looked back down at me. His amber eyes flickered over mine for a moment, and there was something in the way he stared at me that soothed the soft twinge under my ribs.

Azriel blinked, then he said steadily, his low, deep voice gently tickling my spine: "There's nothing wrong with you." His gaze moved over my face, and something I couldn't place shifted in his eyes, tinging his voice when he added: "He just wasn't what you're looking for."

"I don't even know what I'm looking for,", I grumbled under my breath, but there was a soft skip in my chest, that bit of tightness gone when I looked up at Azriel. "How am I supposed to find something when I don't know what it looks like?"

Az blinked again, eyes resting on mine. "You'll know."

I felt my brows furrow gently at the sound of his voice, a little quiet and distant but so, so sure.

Feeling my lips twitch, I raised an eyebrow. "That's sappy."

Azriel huffed, but his lips twitched even as he glared down at me, almost like he couldn't hold back the way they curved at the corners. Then he lightly raised a brow. "Mor looks like she's got the next target."

I cursed softly and quickly slid my hand into the crook of his arm, bumping my shoulder into his biceps.

"Come on, let's go, I need a drink."

no. 2: friends talk about their feelings.

“What the fuck was that?”

The door slammed behind me, and I raised my head just in time to see Azriel turn around, his eyes burning into mine so fiercely, I almost held my breath.

Running a hand down my face, I shook my head, my voice tired when I mumbled: “Can we not –“

“I told you to get out, and you didn't listen, you disobeyed orders –“

“Orders?” I stared at him, feeling something begin to bubble in my chest. “You told me to run and fucking leave you!”

“And you didn't!” Azriel's voice sounded like thunder, not simmering anger, but loud and deep. Shadows gathered around his feet, and his wings flared when he stalked towards me, blood dripping from the wound in his side, but he didn't even seem to notice. “You came back when I told you to leave; you could've fucking died!”

“You would have died!” My voice was incredulous as I stared up at him with wide eyes, and Azriel's jaw tightened as he took one last step forward, his chest almost pressing into mine as he glared down at me.

“Then I would have died.” His voice was quiet again and cold, so cold, but his eyes were whirling with emotions I couldn't decipher as they burned into mine. “But you would have been safe.”

Staring up at him, my eyes blown wide, I felt my breathing pick up as I tried to fight against the way my chest grew tighter with every second. Then I exploded.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Azriel blinked like I had slapped him across the face, but it felt like some kind of dam had broken, because the words just started falling, becoming louder with every second.

“I don't give a shit about being safe if it means you try and sacrifice yourself! You asshole! What the fuck is wrong with you?! I couldn't just leave you because I will never leave you to sacrifice yourself like your fucking life means nothing, because it does, it means everything!” My voice broke as my voice rose into a scream, and I felt tears well in my eyes as the ache under my ribs grew and I hit my fist against his chest.

“You're hurt, you would have died!! What the hell is wrong with you that you think I could just leave you for death, you moron, what would I be living for if you died, especially because of me; it wouldn't mean a thing! You fucking asshole!” My vision blurred as tears streamed over my cheeks. Azriel stared at me like he had never seen me before, frozen in place as I heaved with quiet sobs, my whole body trembling as I tried to fight for air.

“Don't you get it? You're –“ My voice broke.

Everything.

Azriel's eyes pierced mine, emotion whirling in them, jumbled, indiscernable. Then he blinked.

“Come here,”, he mumbled, his voice hoarse, and I breathed in shudderingly, tears streaming over my face when his hand closed around my elbow and he pulled me forward, not caring a bit that he was still dripping blood onto the carpet as he dragged me into his chest.

“I'm sorry.” I could feel his low voice vibrating through my body, quiet and rough when he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and buried his nose in my hair, and I hiccuped, feeling tears stream over my face as I slid my own arms around his middle and clung to him.

“Never ask that of me -” My voice broke, and Azriel tightened his grip, the tension not leaving his frame as he slipped his hand up my back to tangle his fingers in my hair, his thumb slowly brushing over my skin when he raised his head a little to press his lips against my temple.

“I'm sorry,”, he mumbled against my skin, soft but hoarse, and I buried my face in the crook of his neck, my body trembling with silent, heaving sobs as I held onto the male who held me.

no. 3: friends might engage in the occasional amicable teasing.

That was it.

Stopping in the middle of the street only a few feet away from the entrance to Rita's, I barely kept myself from wincing as I leaned forward, trying to balance on one foot as I started unlacing the straps of my heels. They were murderously high, and, together with the cobblestone streets and the drinks I had, that meant mortal danger for my ankles and my dignity.

Plus, they were beginning to hurt like shi-

I almost lost my balance, feeling myself tip to the side and my eyes widening. But then a hand slipped under my arm and steadied me, and my breath hitched a little when my gaze darted up.

Azriel raised a brow at me.

“Oh, shut up,”, I grumbled quickly under my breath, trying to ignore the soft skip in my chest at the way his amber eyes were twinkling almost indiscernably as I slipped out of the first heel.

Groaning happily in relief as I rolled my ankle, I carefully placed my foot on the cold ground, trying not to wince at the ache jolting through it when I shifted my weight onto it.

Azriel kept his hand under my arm, his scarred skin warm in the cool night air, even as I balanced a lot easier, undoing the laces of the second heel.

Slipping out of it, I straightened, breathing out and trying not to squirm at the soreness of my feet when I shifted on the cold cobblestone. Then I raised my head, and my heart skipped softly.

Az was still staring down at me, brows drawn together a little as he narrowed his eyes at me.

I frowned back at him suspiciously. “What?”

Azriel huffed, but his lips twitched upwards as he shook his head and stepped forward, and I felt my eyes widen when he leaned down.

“No, wait –“

The shadowsinger slipped his arms under my thighs and lower back, and a soft squeal broke from my lips when he straightened back up, easily sweeping me off my feet.

My hands gripped his back, and my heart jumped into my throat when Azriel hoisted me up a little to adjust his grip, the motion causing me to slide up and down in his arms. I hastily clung to him and stared at him desperately.

“Are you serious?”

Azriel's eyes were twinkling a little when he threw me a look. “You looked like you were going to hobble the way home.”

I huffed, scowling at him, but it probably looked more like a pout, because the shadow of a crease formed in Azriel's cheek. Then he raised a brow at me.

“All set?”

Grumbling softly under my breath, I leaned forward a little to gather my shoes in one hand. Azriel changed his grip to hold me steady, his breath brushing over my temple, causing something to flutter gently against my throat, and I tried to ignore the sudden dip in my chest.

Wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, I pressed my forehead against his collarbone and squeezed my eyes shut.

“Alright, ready.”

There was a soft, amused huff that made Azriel's body vibrate. Then he started moving, setting down the street, every long, steady step sending a soft jolt through my body.

I blinked before cracking open an eye and furrowing my brows in confusion.

“We're walking?”

From my position, I saw only one side of Azriel's face as he looked ahead, but there was a curve to his lips that caused something to swerve sharply in my chest when he threw me a look.

“Unless you want to almost throw up again.”

I raised my head quickly to glower at him.

“That was one time."

"I wasn't actually aware anyone could turn that shade of green before you did." One corner of Azriel's lips tipped upwards.

I scowled at him. "Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

Azriel still looked ahead, but I saw the crease in his cheek deepening.

“Unlikely.”

I scowled, trying to bite back the stupidly wide smile that was suddenly threatening to break out over my face as I narrowed my eyes at him. “I don't like you.”

“I know. You want to hold on any tighter?”

I lightly bonked one of my shoes against the side of his head and earned myself a glare.

Breathing a soft giggle that bubbled in my chest, I exhaled, slowly melting into Azriel's hold as I loosely draped one arm over his collarbones and propped my chin onto his shoulder. Staring at his profile, I felt something flutter softly against my ribs, my heart skipping steadily as my eyes tracked over his straight nose, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by the warm light of the lanterns and his soft looking lips.

The shadowsinger threw me a look, and I could see the amusement flashing through in his eyes.

“What?”

I shrugged.

“You're pretty.” I sent him a bright, cheeky smile.

Azriel blinked, and it almost looked like the top of his cheekbones started to darken a little, like the lightest shade of pink dusted his skin –

One corner of my lips slowly quirked as I softly narrowed my eyes.

“Are you blushing?” I started to grin widely. “Azriel, are you –“

The shadowsinger's grip shifted, and I squealed softly when I could feel myself being dropped for nothing more than a heartbeat.

Hastily clinging to his shoulders, I raised my head to glare at Azriel incredulously only to find him smirking, just the tiniest bit.

I huffed, something flutter harshly against my ribs as I scowled at the shadowsinger.

“I really don't like you."

no. 4: friends spend quality time together.

Diving, I avoided a swing of Azriel's wing, sliding over the mats and raising my head.

My heart skipped high, and I barely ducked out of the way, Azriel's wings almost translucent in the light of the sinking sun when he flared them to keep his balance, shadows whirling around him as he dodged a blow, a strand of dark hair falling into his forehead, muscles working under his sweaty, glowing skin -

Something caught against the back of my heel and ripped me off my feet.

My back hit the mats with a thud, and all the air was pressed out of my lungs, causing me to grunt softly. My heart skipped in its race against my ribs, and I relaxed into the mats with a huff, scowling when Azriel appeared above me, lips curving upwards as he squinted down at me, barely out of breath.

"Didn't we just talk about never letting your guard down?"

Huffing, I rolled my eyes, feeling a bead of sweat run over my temple and how my hair stuck to my skin when I just laid flat on the mats for a second before holding out my hand with a grumble.

The second Azriel's fingers closed firmly around my wrist, I pulled, my foot catching against his chest and using his own momentum to send him flying over my head.

The shadowsinger crashed onto his back with a heavy thud and a grunt, and I whirled around, using his hand to pull myself up and onto his torso, thighs clamping down next to his hips and my whole weight pressing down onto his chest as I pinned his wrists onto the mats right above his head and smiled widely.

But my remark along the lines of Right back at you, pretty boy got stuck in my throat.

Azriel's eyes were barely an inch away. I could count the golden spots in his amber iris, the dark lashes framing his eyes under dark brows between which a little crease sat that smoothed over slowly. I could feel his breath, warm and a little uneven as it brushed over my skin, could feel the steadiness of his piercing eyes as they stared into mine and how solid his bare chest was, pressed against mine.

My heart fluttered wildly; I hastily moved back a little, and suddenly, something in Azriel's eyes shifted, his body going still beneath mine.

I needed a second until I realised why; why suddenly, Azriel's gaze burning into mine looked different, why he had tensed and his lips were standing just a little agape. But then I shifted again, and Azriel grunted softly, his hips twitching.

Right under my ass.

My breath caught in my throat, my eyes widened a little, and I grew still, staring down at the male pinned onto the mats who had suddenly frozen beneath me as my heart thumped in my throat and something twinged tightly in my lower stomach.

"Sorry,", I whispered, my voice soft and a little breathy, and a spark flashed through Azriel's eyes.

The next second, I was pushed to the side, all the air escaping my lungs when I crashed onto my back again, and my heart simply gave out when my body was pressed into the mats, hips lodged between my thighs keeping me down and Azriel's face only an inch away, dark hair falling down onto his forehead as his eyes twinkled and one corner of his lips rose.

"Got you."

I blinked, something pounding and fluttering harshly against my ribs as my breath hitched and I stared up into Azriel's golden amber eyes, his lips curving and fingers loosely wrapped around my wrists, just lightly holding them to the ground next to my head as shadows whispered, slowly swirling over his flared wings. Then Azriel's lips twitched, and his hands slipped away, pressing into the mats as he pushed himself up and his weight disappeared.

I stared up at the soft blue sky high above, the first stars twinkling down at me while my heart was skipping, missing beats in my chest until Azriel offered me a hand, the twinkle still in his eyes causing me to huff.

no. 5: friends are comfortable with each other (but not overly).

Grumbling softly, I buried deeper in the cushions. There was a heavy weight resting on my waist, and something warm pressed into my back, a body, tall and solid, wrapped around me. A familiar scent surrounded me like a blanket, engulfing me and filling my lungs, and something started to flutter softly against my ribs when I tiredly cracked open an eye.

My sight was blurry with sleep as my gaze slowly tracked over the coffee table and the open doors leading into the garden, the sun already sinking and dipping everything in a golden light -

My heart jumped softly when the tall body curved around mine shifted, the arm closed around my waist tightening, and my gaze slowly focused on the hand wrapped around my wrist, laying on the cushion of the couch right in front of my face.

My mind was still tired and foggy with sleep as from under half-closed lids, my gaze dragged over the long, slim fingers, a palm far bigger than my own, veins running up a tanned forearm and the marred skin, scarred tissue rough but warm against my skin.

A soft, tired sound vibrated through my body, the thighs lodged between my calves shifting. Then I felt warm breath brush over my skin, and as I shivered softly, Azriel buried his nose at the back of my neck and grumbled lightly. Something skipped high in my chest at the deepness of the sound, how raspy it was.

There was a soft tap against my mental shields, and with a huff, I let them down.

"Please don't tell me you two are still napping."

Rhys' amused voice vibrating through my head made me grumble softly into the cushions, and from the way Azriel's lips curved upwards as he huffed softly against my neck, sending another shiver down my spine, the same question had sounded through his mind as well.

"Weren't you the one who told me that with less than ten hours of sleep, I get unbearably grumpy?", I thought.

There was a light snicker in my mind. Then Azriel growled softly. I didn't know what Rhys had said to him, but it made his grip tighten as he scowled into my neck.

There was one last chuckle in my head followed by a gentle sensation resembling a friendly headbutt before the familiar presence disappeared, leaving everything quiet again.

Breathing out, I squinted tiredly, the haze of sleep slowly dissipating.

Shifting on the spot, I started to wrestle myself around. Azriel grunted softly when I accidentally kicked his shin, and a breathy, sleepy giggle broke from my throat, then I buried myself in his chest. Exhaling, I felt Azriel slide his arm around my waist, his hand coming up to tuck my head under his chin. His fingers slipped into my hair, scratching gently over my scalp, and I groaned happily, causing the shadowsinger to huff in amusement.

His thumb lightly brushed over my cheek, and something skipped gently against my ribs, fluttering lightly.

no. 6: friends don't stare at each other (for too long).

Moving down the stairs, I slipped my fingers under one of the thin straps of the black silk dress softly swishing around my legs, pulling it up my shoulder. I could feel the hilts of my knives gently pressing against my thigh where they were tucked into the legs of my boots, the heavy heels thumping softly against the steps as the golden earrings Mor had lent me clinked softly. The heavy black leather coat Cass had gifted me a few years ago was draped over my arm, daggers hidden in the specially constructed lining.

It was time to charme some people. Maybe kick some ass.

Hopefully the latter.

Turning to walk down the last pair of stairs into the entrance hall, I grinned when Feyre tapped against my mind's walls, and when I let her in, her voice echoed through my head.

"Are you ready?"

Ready as ever.

"Alright, we'll be there and pick you up in a second."

Good. Feeling my lips quirk when I heard her chuckle, I raised my head.

My eyes met amber ones, and my breath hitched a little, my movement faltering for just a second.

Azriel stilled. Went completely quiet, head turned back to look up at me, eyes flickering over me, and his lips parted. Just a bit, nothing more than a little gap as his gaze slowly dragged down and up again, and he blinked, the crease between his brows smoothing over into nothing as he simply - stared.

"What?", I mumbled, feeling my lips curve into a soft, sheepish smile as I moved down the last steps.

Azriel blinked again, gaze sliding over me, and something shifted in his eyes, something I couldn't decipher but that made my breath hitch.

My gaze flickered over him, and there was a strange little hop in my chest. He was wearing his fighting leathers, nothing unusual, black shoulderplates making him look even broader, daggers strapped around his lean torso and onto his thighs.

Tearing my eyes away from his chest, I tried to ignore the way my heart performed a double flip when I found Azriel's gaze still pinned onto me, piercing my skin.

The shadowsinger blinked, and his throat worked a little like he was suppressing the urge to swallow. Then he slowly turned and stepped towards me. Wordlessly, he held out a hand, and I needed a second before realising what he wanted.

Huffing at myself and cracking a grin, I handed him my coat, and Azriel unfolded it, holding it open for me to slide into the sleeves. The lining was cool against my skin as Az slipped it over my shoulders, and I barely suppressed a soft shudder when his fingers, still out of his gloves, brushed against my neck, carefully pulling my braid out from under the heavy leather.

Turning around, I straightened the lapels and raised my head, and my heart fluttered up, getting caught in my throat like my breath when Azriel reached out.

His fingers brushed against my waist as he pushed the coat to the side, and a small crease formed between his brows when his hand ghosted over an empty sheath. He straightened a little, and my lips parted, something suddenly rising in my chest when he pulled a dagger from one of the sheaths strapped to his chest.

The silver blade flashed in the warm light when Azriel carefully pulled my coat to the side and slid it into the lining. Then his fingers brushed over the hilts concealed by the black silk, checking every single one of them as my heart thrummed into my throat and I stared up at him, his face a lot closer with his head dipped for a better view of the lining, brows drawn together in concentration, amber eyes clear and focused.

Sliding his hand against my waist to check the other side, Azriel raised his head; his gaze found mine, and my breath hitched when he slowly straightened back up a little.

With a soft swoosh of air, Feyre appeared in the middle of the foyer, and somehow, I managed to tear my gaze away from Azriel's to look over at her. She was wearing a silky dress similiar to mine, dark like the night sky and with high slits very practical for any sort of well-placed kick.

Feyre stilled for just a second as her eyes flickered over Azriel, standing so close to me that his chest almost touched mine and yet not making any move to step back, before finding mine, and something like a light twinkle flashed through her iris. Then she blinked and raised her brows.

"You two ready?"

Blinking, I looked back up at Az, and my breath hitched.

The shadowsinger was still staring down at me. I wasn't sure he had even looked when Feyre had winnowed in, and he didn't react when Mor appeared next to her either, wearing a dark red dress with a deep neckline. Both of them looked ready to smile charmingly and, if necessary, press a knife to someone's throat, but Azriel didn't even cast them a glance.

His eyes were on me, and suddenly, it felt a little hard to breathe.

Azriel's gaze cleared just a little, and he shifted, shoulders straightening.

"Give me a sign if you need me." I knew his deep voice was directed at the other two as well, but his eyes didn't stray away from mine, waiting until I nodded lightly. Then he took a step back, and shadows swallowed him.

Feyre cleared her throat lightly, and when I looked over at her with a blink, one corner of her lips had curved upwards, her iris twinkling. But she just raised her brows, and Mor held out her hand, her eyes bright as she beamed at me.

Staring at the two of them for a moment in confusion, I then blinked and shook my head lightly, moving towards them. Mor sent me a wink.

"You look hot."

I nodded. "As opposed to how I usually look."

Feyre lightly rolled her eyes and Mor flicked my forehead, and snickering, I took her offered hand.

no. 7: friends don't kiss.

Closing the bathroom door behind me, I raised my head, and my heart skipped softly against my ribs when Azriel raised his head.

He was sitting on the edge of my mattress, wearing only soft looking pyjama pants, his hair tousled and a little damp, like he had taken a shower earlier.

Sending him a soft, cheeky grin, I felt my brows furrow gentle. "Hey."

Azriel's eyes tracked down my body, over the large soft sweater and the too big pyjama pants that both had probably belonged to him at some point, and I shifted a little on the spot. Then his gaze turned back towards my face, and one corner of his lips rose into a small, crooked smile.

Slowly starting to walk towards him, I let my gaze flicker over his face, feeling the curious crease between my brows deepen.

"What are you doing here?"

Azriel blinked. His eyes tracked over my face, slow, a little tired but warm in the soft light.

"Just -" He broke off before huffing and shaking his head. "I don't know. Can't sleep."

I felt my lips curve and sent him a cheeky smile. "I could read something to you."

Azriel's lips curved, and his gaze moved over mine. "I doubt that would help."

"Hey, my reading skills aren't that bad, alright?" I grinned.

Azriel raised his brows, and I lost the fight against the soft giggle building in my throat.

"Oh, shut up."

The shadowsinger's cheek creased a little. He was still staring at me, and I caught something shifting in his eyes as a muscle in his jaw tightened and relaxed again.

Something shifted in my chest, and before I could stop myself, I quickly moved forward and hugged him tightly.

I could feel Azriel freeze a little. One second. Two. Then his shoulders sagged a bit, and his arms slowly slid around my waist, squeezing lightly. It was funny, like this; with him sitting on the edge of the mattress, the size different was reversed for once, me dropping my head to press my nose against his shoulder and Az burying his face at my collarbone.

Holding onto him for another second, I slowly moved back, feeling my lips curve softly. Azriel's arms slipped off my waist, and his muscles shifted when he turned his head. Then he went still, and when I looked up in confusion, my breath hitched.

Golden eyes stared into mine, lips parted just a bit. I could see the shadow of a few freckles on a straight nose, the softness of his lips. And suddenly, my heart was quiet.

The tip of my nose softly nudged against Azriel's, and his eyes fluttered, the muscles in his jaw working as his fingers dug into the cotton of my pants. Then he lightly raised his chin, and his nose brushed past mine again, causing a tingling shiver to travel over my skin, down my spine and into my fingers, making them tremble as I curled them into his shoulders.

I didn't know if I leaned down or Azriel up.

Didn't know if my hand slipping to the back of his neck was first, or his fingers closing around my hips, dragging me forward a little.

All I knew was that his lips were warm and soft and that they were pressed against mine, gentle but soon almost a little feverish.

That his breath was harsh, trembling when he exhaled against my skin.

And that suddenly, my heart wasn't quiet anymore. That it was rising in my chest like a storm, fluttering more violently with every second until breathing was difficult.

Slowly, Azriel broke away, just far enough for his nose to bump against mine again and his unsteady breath to hit my lips. When I forced open my eyes, something flipped against my ribs, because his were still closed, his chest moving quickly as his finger dug into my hips and he swallowed harshly. Then Azriel opened his eyes, and all air I had managed to get left me. Because the gold in his iris was melting together and his lids were heavy and for a moment, he looked a little bit like he wasn't quite there. But then our noses brushed and his lids fluttered and a soft sound broke from his chest that made the world tip over.

"You -" His deep voice sent a shiver down my spine, uneven and more hoarse than I had ever heard it, and Azriel's jaw worked, brows drawing together like he was forcing himself to focus as his eyes found mine, something in them that was strange and pleading and burning when he mumbled raspily: "If you let me kiss you again, I won't be able stop."

My heart skipped once and high and harsh. Then I whispered, soft and a little shakily: "I don't think I want you to stop."

Azriel's cheek muscles shifted and he shuddered, like the thought alone -

His fingers dug into my hips, tugging me closer as he pressed his forehead against mine and mumbled roughly: "If you kiss me again -"

I leaned forward and kissed him breathlessly, and Azriel's grip slipped before tightening as a deep rumble built in his throat and he pushed forward and kissed me back like he'd been waiting for centuries.

no. 8: friends never, ever, under no circumstances - well, you can probably guess where this is going.

My breath tumbled when Azriel dragged me closer, closer until my body curved into his sitting one and he kissed me like it was the only thing keeping him alive, deep and desperate and causing my heart to tip over in my chest when his tongue dragged over mine and his hand slipped under my soft sweater.

A soft shuddering breath left me when his rough fingers ghosted over my back, trailing up my spine, and my fingers curled into his hair, causing a deep sound to rumble through Azriel's body. His other hand closed firmly around my hips, then he pulled back, and my heart skipped into my throat at the sight of his eyes, glazed over and hazy.

Azriel's lips parted just a little and his throat worked when he slid his hand from my back to my front, fingers pushing up the hem of my sweater, up until it was bunched up under my breasts, and my spine turned to jelly when Azriel turned his burning gaze away from my face and dropped his head to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss against my ribs.

My hand flew up to tangle in the soft hair at the back of his head, my eyes fluttering, and Azriel groaned softly, deep in his throat as his hand slipped up to press against my back, pushing me into him until my thighs were pressed against the inside of his and he leaned forward, lips dragging over my skin as he began to trail hot kisses over my stomach.

My head fell back as something rose in my chest, wild and madly fluttering. My lower stomach tightened, quivering, causing my breath to hitch.

It felt like with every kiss, Azriel pulled the floor out from under me, over and over again, the whole world swaying around me whenever he got closer to where my sweater was bunched up under my breasts, my fingers digging into his hair when he dipped down again.

It seemed like he was trying to taste every inch of my skin, breath heavy and uneven, grip tightening around me when his teeth grazed over the skin right under the seam of my bra, and I whimpered.

A small, guttural sound built in Azriel's chest, and he attacked the spot, dragging my body into his, kissing and biting until I could feel my skin pulse. My eyes fluttered as my head tipped back a little and my lips parted, and the shadowsinger pressed a scarred hand flat against my spine, running his nose over the bruise like a breathless apology. Then he raised his head, and my heart skipped, tipping over at the sight of his hazy eyes, amber iris clouded, lids heavy and soft lips swollen.

A strand of dark hair fell into his forehead, and the way he was staring at me caused my breath to stumble, hitch and flutter, his throat working as he swallowed and tugged me forward, slowly pulling me with him as he leaned back, and my heart tipped over in my chest when he dragged me down into his lap.

I could feel Azriel's grip shift, saw the flutter of his lids as my chest pressed into his, and everything under my ribs coiled when his hot, unsteady breath brushed over my lips, his nose softly nudging against mine.

My fingers curled into his shoulders as I tried to breathe, even though it felt impossible with his scent invading my senses, his chest against mine and his arm heavy on my waist as his palm pressed against my back, gently urging me forward.

My hips rolled down, and Azriel's lids fluttered the same second my lips fell open as I felt his hard cock press against me, his hands slipping down to close around my hips, and I almost expected him to push me away, bring distance between us -

Azriel dragged my hips forward, and I inhaled softly, sharply, something hot zipping through my lower stomach and pulsing when I ground down against the bulge in Azriel's pants. His lips were parted just a bit, his breathing harsh as his nose nudged against mine, lids heavy. Then his grip around my hips tightened, fingers digging into my skin, and my breath hitched and stumbled when he started guiding my movements, his eyes fixed onto my face like they were burning through me, hazy but piercing.

I barely bit back a soft whimper when Azriel's hot, unsteady breath grazed over my lips, my fingers digging into his hair as I rocked against him, tantalizingly but deliciously slow. Azriel's nose brushed over mine, his hands shifting on my hips, rocking me down harder, and something twisted harshly in my stomach, a wave of heat washing over me.

Before I could stop myself, I pulled him towards me, and Azriel's lips crashed onto mine.

My heart rose into my throat, fluttering as I felt myself twist around nothing, and I whimpered, curling my fingers into the back of Azriel's neck when he kissed me like I was his last breath, devouring, desperate. His tongue slid against mine as his hands slipped under my sweater, curving around my waist, and something swelled in my chest when his rough warm skin pressed against mine, his thumb brushing over my ribs, up against the underside of my breast.

I moaned softly into his mouth, causing his grip to tighten and drag me closer like I wasn't already pressed flush into his chest. His hands closed around the hem of my sweater and pulled it up, up until I had to break away for him to tug it over my head. My arms slipped back over his shoulders, and Azriel leaned forward, into me, kissing me again, deep and hard as he threw my sweater carelessly into the room.

My fingers dug into Azriel's shoulders when his hands slipped under my thighs. Then he lifted me up, turning to place my back on the mattress, his warm, solid body between my legs pushing my knees apart and causing something in my chest to rise and flutter madly, and a soft groan broke from his chest when his body pressed down into mine.

My fingers curled into his hair, and Azriel broke the kiss to drop his head, his hand sliding to the nape of my neck, tangling in my hair and dragging my head back as he began to press hard kisses against my throat, his heavy, uneven breath hitting my skin as his teeth grazed over my skin. A whimper fled my throat, and my eyes rolled back lightly.

A deep, rough sound rumbled through Azriel´s chest, and his lips brushed lower, kisses growing more deep, more desperate the lower his rough hands slipped on my sides as he slowly made his way down my torso. My body arched into him as he breathed harshly, kissing and nipping at my skin as he pulled down my pants. Then his nose grazed the rim of my panties, and my head fell back as my insides twitched and Azriel groaned deep in his chest.

His hot, harsh breath brushed over the soaked material, and his nose nuzzled against my hip like he was trying to reign himself in, the tension in his shoulders looking unbearable as his lips ghosted over where my thigh and middle met. Then Azriel's fingers hooked into the waistband of my panties and pulled them down, and a soft groan left him, almost desperate.

Raising my hips to help him shimmy the material down my legs, I expected him to move back up my body. But Azriel didn't. His shoulders pushed my thighs apart, and my heart stilled, simply stopped when without hesitation, Azriel sank to his knees.

My breath caught when his hands closed around my hips and dragged me towards him, and a whimpering sound left me when I felt his nose gently nudge against my skin, an ache spreading through my lower stomach like a weight.

My hips bucked, my fingers digging into the sheets, and with a soft rumbling sound leaving him, Azriel pushed one of my legs over his shoulder and dipped his head.

My lips fell open, my heart stilled, and my whole body became weightless when Azriel slowly ran his tongue through my folds. My eyes flew down, finding his, heavily lidded and hazy, a strand of dark hair falling into his face between my legs, and a deep groan rumbled deep in his chest. Then he dropped his head and dove in.

My head fell back against the mattress, and my back arched.

Azriel moved like a male starving, devouring his last meal. His warm tongue lapped at me, running over my clit, pressing down and flicking before his mouth closed over it, and my eyes rolled into my head as breathless moans spilled from my lips.

Azriel's fingers dug into the top of my thigh, his other hand slipping up to press onto my stomach as his eyes fluttered and a moan vibrated in his chest. He sounded more enthusiastic than I had ever heard him; like right where he was, settled between my legs, his nose brushing over my skin as he dipped his head to lap and suck at me eagerly, was exactly, precisely where he had always wanted to be –

His tongue flicked over my clit, and my hand flew up to press over my mouth as a loud whimper broke from my lips. But Azriel's fingers slipped around my elbow, and something flipped in my chest, rising and fluttering violently when he gently tugged my hand away from my mouth, his own sliding down my arm until his rough, scarred fingers slid between mine, lacing them together as his eyes pierced my face, clouded and lids heavy like he wasn't quite there. Then he ran his tongue firmly over my clit, and I moaned, breathily and drawn as I curled my fingers into the sheets above my head.

The weight in my stomach grew slowly, twisting tighter and tighter, and my back arched as a deep groan left Azriel, like what he was doing right now, fingers laced with mine, eyes hazy and hair dishevelled, was the best satisfaction I could give him. The muscles in his cheeks worked as he sucked eagerly on my clit, pressing his tongue against the sensitive spot, eyes never leaving my face even as they fluttered, and I felt my lips part at the sight of him.

My fingers dug into the sheets as I could feel myself pulse around nothing, the pressure in my lower stomach slowly building as whimpers left me and I squeezed my eyes shut tightly as whispered curses broke from my lips and my breath heaved, and Azriel's hum vibrated through me. Then his tongue ran over my clit and he sucked, hard, obscene sounds filling the room as he kept pushing and pushing –

The knot in my stomach collapsed and my back arched off the mattress, hips bucking as waves of pleasure crashed over me, my insides twisting and exploding like stars and loud whining sounds breaking from my lips as my eyes rolled back.

I felt Azriel's soft moan more than I heard it, sending vibrations through my body and causing my hand to fly down and dig into his hair. My hips jerked and rolled as my thighs twitched, sharp twinges of pleasure causing my whole body to spasm, but Azriel didn't stop. His tongue lapped at everything he could get, eyes fluttering as another groan rumbled through his body, making me whimper, and he moved, fingers digging into my thigh, keeping it wrapped over his shoulder as he pushed closer, sucking harshly, tongue swirling, and I could feel my stomach twist and turn as another knot built, even tighter and bigger than before.

My mouth fell open, my head pressing into the mattress; Azriel gave a soft sound, maybe an encouragement or a plea, and the world simply slipped away, bursting into a million pieces as the knot exploded, crashing down into a wave so violent, my body shuddered.

My insides tightened, tightened with pleasure so blinding, I couldn't breathe, no sound leaving me as I twitched and writhed, and Azriel kept going, kept sucking my clit into his mouth, tongue pressing against it and flicking over me until my trembling fingers curled deeper into his hair, because it was too much, too good, too much -

My insides twisted, twitching as my knees shook and a breathless whimper left me, and I dug my nails into Azriel's scalp and tugged, tugged harshly until with a soft rumbled growl, the shadowsinger pulled away.

My heart missed a beat, another.

Azriel's pupils were blown, eyes heavily lidded and a little far away when he raised his head, licking his swollen lips. His mouth and chin were glistening as he slid his hands off my thighs, and my breath hitched.

The bed dipped when Azriel pushed himself to his feet to move up my body, his arms pressing down next to my head, his bare chest brushing over mine and his knee pressing into the mattress between my thighs. His nose softly nudged against mine, like a silent question of you alright, and something tipped over in my chest, rising and fluttering.

Quickly, I slipped my hands into his hair and pulled him down, and Azriel groaned softly when I pressed my lips feverishly against his. His body sank into mine when he kissed back, deep and desperate.

My heart skipped against my ribs, and I wrapped a leg over his back, because he still wasn't close enough, not where my middle was pulsing -

The shadowsinger went rigid under my touch when I dragged him down, down until his whole body pressed into mine and I could feel -

Azriel caught my hand, grip tight around my fingers as he breathed heavily, his voice hoarse as he mumbled against my lips: "Are you sure -"

A moan slipped past my lips, soft and pleading as my insides turned, something hot washing over me as I nodded into the kiss, maybe a bit too frantic, too eager, but it didn't matter, not with the groan leaving Azriel's throat, rumbling through his body in what felt like pure relief and desperation.

I tugged at his pants, feeling them slip down his hips and over his legs as Azriel pushed my thighs apart. His lips dragged over mine, then I could feel the tip of his cock nudging against my folds.

My breath gave out, an ache spreading through my body as I whimpered, and Azriel's jaw shifted as he moved in the spot, trying to find an angle with him kneeling on the side of the mattress -

A soft, impatient sound left him; his hands slipped under my backside, and Az lifted me up.

My breath hitched, my arms quickly sliding over his shoulders when Azriel straightened, lips crashing against mine as my chest pressed into his, and I moaned when I could feel him rub up against me as he turned around.

My back hit the wall, and I whimpered, Azriel's tongue dragging over mine as he pushed closer, dragging my thigh up his side as his tip brushed through my folds, way easier like this for him to -

My heart got caught in my throat. My lips fell open, and my heart rose into my throat as I felt myself stretch around Azriel's cock, his hard length pressing at my walls he slowly began to push in.

Azriel dropped his forehead against mine with a strained grunt, his back muscles flexing as my fingers dug into the back of his shoulders, harsh breath hitting my skin as he slowly began to work his way in.

Whimpering softly, I shifted my hips, because he was big and I felt too tight and -

My eyes fluttered, a quiet sound leaving me when my walls closed around him, pulling him in, and Azriel's grip tightened when his hips settled against mine. His hand pressed against the wall over my head he breathed heavily against my lips, nose nudging against mine, and I whimpered, tugging him closer.

A soft groan left Azriel, and his hand slid down to the side of my neck, tilting my head back to kiss me. It was messy and breathless and I whimpered when his tongue slid against mine, his teeth sinking softly into my bottom lip and pulling lightly. His nose nudged against mine, then Azriel slipped his hand down to grip the back of my thigh, pulling it higher up his side, and I felt my lips part when it caused him to slide inside of me.

Azriel pressed his forehead against mine, out of breath as his throat worked, and I curled my fingers into his hair, nodding frantically as my insides tightened, and my head tipped back against the wall when Az slowly pulled out. Then he thrusted back in, and my lips fell open.

Slowly, little by little, Azriel took me apart. His lips dragging over my throat, heavy breaths hitting my skin, hot and ragged, his fingers digging into my thighs as his slow, deep rhythm shook me to my very core.

With every thrust, the world seemed to tip a little more, until there was nothing anymore, nothing but him, body rocking mine into the wall, his cock hitting deeper with every thrust. His arm gripped me tighter, then his hand tugged down one strap of my soft bra and his palm closed over my breast, causing a whimper to break from my lips that turned into a moan when Azriel's lips latched onto my nipple, a groan rumbling deep in his throat when he bit and sucked on my skin, rough palm squeezing and tugging at my breast until my insides tightened around him, squeezing as I shuddered and dug my fingers into his hair, dragging him back up, and Azriel moaned hoarsely into my mouth as our lips crashed together.

His hips snapped forward, and my hand flew out to grip the mantlepiece as my own rolled down to meet his next thrust.

Azriel's shoulders trembled as his fingers almost slipped off my thighs, and a sound left him that caused my chest to rise when his cock hit a spot so deep inside of me, I lost my breath. Lost my grip, felt my stomach pulse, and Azriel groaned against my lips when I dug my fingers into his neck and started meeting his hard, slowly quickening thrusts.

My lips fell open, my eyes fluttering as little by little, that familiar tightness began to form in my lower stomach. Only it felt even brighter, hotter and more pulsing than before, with Azriel buried deep inside me, hitting that spot that made my body writhe with every hard snap of his hips. I knew he could feel it too, the way my insides wound tighter with every thrust, fluttering and pulling him in, his grip bruising as he breathed harshly against my neck, deep, hoarse sounds leaving him somewhere halfway between moans and whimpers, and maybe those sounds alone would have done me in. But then his nose dragged up my cheek, and Azriel pressed his forehead against mine as my fingers scratched over his scalp, his ragged breath hitting my lips as his lids fluttered over his eyes that looked like melted amber.

His hand slipped between us, and my breath caught. Simply stopped when Azriel's rough thumb brushed over my clit, slow and hard, and the world fell apart. Became exploding galaxies and stardust as waves of pleasure crashed over me so intensely, I felt my body tremble and shake beyond measure, my eyes rolling back as my sight went blurry, and Azriel's thrusts faltered. His hips snapped once, twice before pushing in deep, then his head fell forward and lips opened soundlessly as his body shuddered.

no. 9: friends don't fall in love with each other.

When I woke up, Azriel was gone.

Something tightened a little in my chest, and I quickly sat up, my gaze moving over my clothes haphazardly strewn over the floor, the crinkled sheets and the window behind which, the sky was still a deep black, with galaxies twinkling in the far, far distance.

I couldn't have been asleep for long.

A little bit of pressure built in my throat, a gentle ache forming in my chest, and I quickly slipped off the mattress, picking up my sweater and tugging it over my head as I padded towards the door.

The townhouse was submerged in peaceful silence, the moon shining through the windows onto the stairs the only source of light as I soundlessly moved down the steps.

On the third floor, there was faint light shimmering out from under the door to the library, and my breath got caught in my throat.

Swallowing softly, I carefully opened the door and slipped through. Gently closing it behind me, I started to quietly move past the shelves until I caught movement over at the window, and my heart did a flip against my ribs when I came to a slow halt.

Azriel was with his back to me, slowly wandering from side to side, his bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floors, his shoulders tense, wings shifting and muscles working under his skin as he ran his hands through his hair. Shadows were pooling around his feet, completely quiet for once, just gently brushing against his ankles when he leaned forward, pressing his palms onto the window sill and dropping his head.

Something tightened a little in my chest, and I pulled up my shoulders, whispering softly and a bit hesitantly: "Az?"

Azriel stilled for a moment. Then he looked over his shoulder, and his eyes found mine, amber in the warmth of the fae lights.

I tried to fight against the soft skip in my chest and stared at him.

Azriel blinked before straightening slowly, his deep voice sending rushs of soft tingles down my spine when he mumbled: "Are you okay?"

I nodded, feeling one corner of my lips rise carefully as I fiddled with my sleeve and my eyes flickered back and forth between his.

"You?"

Azriel's gaze wandered over my face as he slowly turned to look at me, eyes moving over mine, almost like he was looking for something. Then he nodded lightly.

Feeling the curve of my lips deepen, I shifted a little on the spot, mumbling softly: "You don't look like it."

Azriel blinked again, and his throat worked a little, something shifting in his jaw. The tightness in my chest grew a little as I stared at him, feeling my throat close up.

I knew that look, knew how it meant he was in his head.

"Th-this doesn't have to change anything." I quickly shook my head, taking a step forward as I stared at him. "We can just forget about it, if you -" My eyes darted over his face, something tightened sharply in my chest, and I blurted hastily: "I'll get over it; I can push it away, I mean I think I have for centuries, I can pretend, and it'll go away, and we'll just -"

I broke off, my eyes darted up, and my heart did one mighty flip.

Because I had just realised what in my hurry to make Azriel's doubt go away had slipped from my lips.

And because Azriel had straightened. His lips parted as his eyes rushed over my face, and I barely suppressed the urge to swallow.

Shit.

"What?" Azriel's voice was hoarse as he stared at me, and I nearly winced.

"I don't know;", my voice rose to a panicked, high tone as I widened my eyes and quickly raised my shoulders, "you looked so in your head, and I know we messed up, but I can't lose you, and if you think this was a mistake or you don't like me like that, I -"

The shadowsinger stared at me, and suddenly, his eyes brightened. Started to shine like amber held into the sun, and his shoulders sank like the tension of centuries had flooded from his body. His lips parted a little more as he stared at me, and suddenly, the shadow of a crease formed in his cheek.

"Push what away?"

Something started rising in my chest, fluttering wildly as Azriel's eyes pierced mine and the golden spots in his iris started to dance.

Azriel stared at me. Then he began to slowly walk towards me, iris bright and twinkling. My heart tipped and tilted, and I swallowed, my gaze darting around the room.

Rough fingers gently closed around my chin, and my breath got caught in my throat, simply stopping when Azriel mumbled: "No, no, come on, sweetheart." His thumb and forefinger gently forced me to look up, up until I met his eyes flickering over my face, his deep voice tickling my spine and something shifting through his gaze, careful, anxious, when he said softly: "Push what away?"

I felt my lips open, my heart pounding harshly against my ribs, and my brows arched on their own accord.

"Oh, come on; really?" My voice rose desperately, and in any other situation, it would have been hilarious.

"What do you want to hear; that kissing you made the fucking world stop? That you probably ruined me for every godsdamned male out there, because there's no way anyone could ever make me feel that way again? That I was too stupid to realise I've fallen for my best friend like a complete idiot, even though you make my heart beat out of my chest everytime you just look at me? That you're everything? Tha-"

Azriel leaned down, and the world tipped off its axis when he kissed me, his hand slipping to the nape of my neck to tug me closer, fingers tangling in my hair. Then he started to smile against my lips, slow and wide, and my breath caught when he dipped forward and kissed me deeper.

Digging my fingers into his sides, I tried to keep my heart from fluttering out of my chest as something rose so violently under my ribs, a soft sound broke from my throat when Azriel's tongue slid against mine, and a slightly shaking exhale left him.

Gently brushing his thumbs over the side of my neck, Azriel slowly pulled away, his nose nudging against mine when he mumbled roughly against my lips: "If it makes you feel any better, you definitely ruined me for everyone I'll ever meet."

A trembling breath left me, and I pulled my head back to stare up at Azriel, that flutter in my chest growing when I saw the light in his eyes when he stared back down at me.

"You -" My voice gave out, and one corner of Azriel's lips quirked a little.

"I?" His voice was a little hoarse as his eyes tracked over mine, and he swallowed softly. "Am in love with you."

My breath caught in my throat.

Azriel's eyes moved over my face, and I could feel a gentle exhale leaving him as his hands pulled me closer until I gently bumped into his chest and he dropped his head, staring at me, looking like he was trying not to swallow as he mumbled lowly: "I've loved you for as long as I can remember. And I'll probably still love you when we're nothing but dust under the sky. The only reason I didn't tell you sooner was that I was scared to lose you if you didn't feel the same."

I breathed out and closed my eyes as my heart rose in a wild flutter and a warm thrum built in my chest as my lips started to curve into a ridiculously wide, desperate smile. "We're so stupid."

I felt Azriel's soft huff more than I heard it. Then his breath brushed over my face, and the next second, his hands slipped under the underside of my thighs and lifted me up.

My legs locked around his waist like instinct, my breath hitching as I held onto his shoulders, and my heart skipped when my nose almost bumped into Azriel's, his eyes bright as he stared at me.

"Remember when you asked me how you're supposed to know what you're looking for and I said you just know?" His low, deep voice sent a shiver down my spine, and I swallowed and somehow managed a nod.

One corner of Azriel's lips curved, then he dropped his head, and my breath caught in my throat, my eyes fluttering close when he leaned his forehead against mine.

"I was thinking of you." Azriel's quiet voice vibrated over my skin. "Because you became all I ever wanted, all I could see when I realised you were what I had been looking for my whole life."

My fingers curled into his hair, and a soft sound left Azriel's lips the same moment my heart rose into my throat.

"Sappy,", I whispered, my voice breaking a little, and Azriel chuckled against my lips before he pulled back, and something tipped over in my chest at the way he stared at me.

I blinked before looking down at his arms holding me up, chest pressing into mine, and something rose under my ribs.

"Now what?"

Azriel's lips curved, and my heart stumbled and skipped at the way his golden eyes twinkled when he raised a brow.

"Now I'll take you back upstairs and we'll do some more things that will ruin just thinking about anybody else."

no. 10 - the golden rule: friends make their own rules.

(and occasionally realize they aren't friends at all and they're idiots.)

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @ailyr92

[sapphire-writes]

I see you’re open for requests 😍 Could you write Aemond x Reader who is his childhood best friend (she could be like a commoner or a servant) I’m not sure about the plot…thought you might have some ideas, it could be angst and end with fluff 😚

Love, love, love this request! Thanks so much, nonnie, I hope you enjoy 💚

Aemond x Reader

rating: mentions of Aemond's eye injury, some angst & fluff

word count: 1.6k

masterlist

You opened the door to Prince Aemond’s chamber, sticking your small head inside. The room was dark aside from the beams of sunlight that shone through the gossamer curtains. The breeze made them dance across the floor.

“Prince Aemond?” you called, in a voice squeaking with nerves. There was no reply. You knew the young prince was supposed to be at the dragonpit, but something inside of you begged you to check. After assuming the coast must be clear, you entered, bringing with you your bucket. 

It was your job to replenish the fireplaces in the chambers of the royal families. You were still a small child, and this was the task that suited you best. You could enter any room in the Red Keep practically unnoticed. 

You walked over to his fireplace, getting started right away. You were eager to finish the job and be off before the prince returned. Digging through the soot, you cleared the ashes, placing fresh logs atop. When your work looked decent, you stood, brushing the soot from your hands onto the apron you wore. 

A breeze tore through the room through the open windows, sending several papers scattering from the prince’s desk. You rushed to collect them, taking care to not stain the pages with soot. As you placed them on the desk you couldn’t help but admire the pages of one of the many books that lay open. 

It was the drawing of a dragon that caught your eye, with descriptions and arrows pointing at various parts of the creature's body. You squinted at the pages in front of you.

“What are you doing?”

You nearly jump out of your skin as you turn wide-eyed to face Prince Aemond. Eyes wide, mouth gasping like a fish out of water, you do not answer him. Aemond raises a brow, looking from you to the book.

“Were you reading?”

You find your voice.

“N-no! No, my prince,” you stutter, feeling your cheeks warm. You desperately hope the soot from the fire hides the rosy flush.

“Do not lie, I saw you,” Aemond says, as though he is your father, not someone the same age as you.

“I wasn’t my prince,” you tell him, “I cannot read.”

Aemond’s face scrunches at this. He walks over to you then, pulling the book from his desk. He holds it across his chest, to face you.

“What does it say?”

Your lip wobbles. Embarrassment fills you and burns your insides like a fever. Surely, he means to humiliate you. 

“I do not know, my prince.”

He brings a finger under a word. 

“Balerion,” he says, looking at the page and back to you.

“Balerion,” you repeat, earning a nod.

Aemond traces the letter at the beginning of the word.

“That's a B,” he tells you, violet eyes meeting yours. 

From then on you found yourself lingering in Aemond’s chambers when you went to do your daily task. Each day he would show you something new, different words, different letters, the names of great houses and maidens in songs. 

Aemond and you became fast friends. Slowly, he was teaching you how to read. You enjoyed the company of the prince. He was patient with you and seemed to enjoy being able to teach you. Aemond did not have friends, and he was happy to have you. 

Soon, you were both reading books together every chance you had. In the library, in the gardens. Aemond would even forego the Dragonpit to join you on your rounds to the other chambers of the Red Keep, book in tow. 

When the royal family went to Driftmark for the funeral of Laena Velaryon, you found yourself missing the company of your new friend. 

You heard what had happened before the royal family returned. You found yourself shaking with nerves once more when entering the prince’s chambers. 

“Prince Aemond?” you called, opening the door. You could see his small body, tangled in the sheets. The curtains were drawn completely shut. You entered slowly, tip-toeing. 

“Aemond?” you called to your friend. The bed rustled, but he did not respond. Assuming he was not up for visitors, you went about your duties. When you had finished, you glanced towards the bed once more. 

“Aemond?” you tried once more, hearing a sniffle in response. You placed your bucket down and walked towards him. A book lay on the floor, seemingly tossed from the side. You gently picked it up. 

“I can’t,” Aemond whimpered, sniffling once more. He turned his head and your eyes widened at the state of him. The stitches across his face were red and swollen, his functioning eye was wet with tears. His whole face was an angry shade of red. 

“I can’t even read,” he sobbed, fingers clutching the sheets, “I’m fucking pathetic.”

Wet tears rolled down his face, snot leaking from his nose. The pillow he lies on is damp from his crying. 

You bring a hand to his shoulder and he flinches away from your touch. Aemond feels as though his shame is fire beneath the surface of his skin, threatening to boil him alive. 

“I shall read to you,” you whispered. Aemond looked at you through his tears. His hands begin to shake. 

“Here,” you told him, placing the book in his lap before walking to the other side of the bed. You climbed onto the linens sitting next to Aemond. Taking the book from his lap you turned the page. 

“The days before the Doom were quiet, though legends say this was an omen of death.” you began, as Aemond rested his head against your shoulder. 

~

“I want you to come see,” Aemond says, when you enter his chambers. He pulls the pail from your grasp, lacing his hand in yours. You have never seen him so elated, his smile is blinding. 

He pulls you from the room, dragging you down the halls of the keep until you reach a large window facing Blackwater Bay. 

“Look,” he says, pointing in the distance. You squint, the sun reflecting off of the bay nearly blinding you. Suddenly, you feel the castle shudder, it's as though again it has fallen down the serpentine steps. 

Vhagar flies overhead, out towards the bay. She lets out a roar, powerful wings causing the waves of the bay to change direction. 

“She’s mine,” he tells you, giddy with excitement. 

Your eyes are like saucers. You’ve never seen a larger dragon. 

“She’s amazing,” you admit, feeling a pang of jealousy. Now Aemond shall take to the skies, leaving you alone in the castle once more. 

You want to hate Vhagar for stealing your only friend, but you can’t seem to find it in your heart to hate the magnificent creature. 

Aemond’s hand still holds yours, you can feel your palm begin to sweat with the realization. He tears his gaze from Vhagar to look at you. The stitches have been removed from his face, the skin is now turning into a pearl-colored scar across his face.

“Now we can fly,” he tells you, the grin never leaving his face. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“We?” 

Aemond’s smile falters for a moment, his eyebrows crease together. 

“You and I, when  mother allows it,” he tells you, “Vhagar can carry many books, and we can fly to anywhere in the seven kingdoms. 

Your smile matches his. He has not intended to leave you behind. 

“I would like that, my prince.”

~years later~

You do not announce when you enter Aemond’s room now. Being friends for so long has awarded you that right. You have grown alongside him, rising in the ranks from lowly fireplace servant to chambermaid. 

Aemond is awake when you enter, as he often is. He has most likely already been to the training yard that morning before you arrived. While you detest early mornings, Aemond loves them. 

“Good morning, my prince,” you address formally, carrying new bedsheets. Aemond’s mouth twists from where he sits at his desk. 

“Ao issi biare tubī,” he says, barely looking up from his work. (You are happy today). 

You begin to strip the bed. 

“You’ll have to teach me sooner or later,” you tell him, and make a face, pausing your movements to glance at him. 

“What?” he inquires. His gaze has risen from his desk, a sly smile on his face. Aemond’s eyepatch is missing, he rarely wears it in his chambers (or around you) and the sight of the blue sapphire never fails to take your breath away. 

You narrow your eyes at your friend. 

“Teach me,” you demand, crossing your arms in front of you. Aemond cocks his head to the side. 

“Unwise to command a prince,” he teases, piling his papers away and rising from his desk. He walks over to you. 

“Oh come now, Aemond,” you pouted, causing him to chuckle.

“Teach me.”

Aemond bites the inside of his cheek. It is as though you are children again. You, a curious little creature peering over the knowledge he possesses. 

“Fine,” he agrees, “since you asked so sweetly, gevie.” (beautiful).

You swat at his arm, a blush creeping up your cheeks. Though you were close companions you could not help the feeling of butterflies in your stomach when he talked to you in such a manner.

“What’s that mean?” you inquire, “Gevie?”

Aemond lets the word hang in the air for a moment, enjoying the way his mother tongue falls from your lips. 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and the heat in your face nearly sets you ablaze. 

“Me?” you ask and Aemond lets out a real laugh then, from deep within his chest. 

“Of course you,” he tells you, “only you.”

[misspearly1]

Day Eighteen: Accidental Stimulation - Din D'jarin

Kinktober22 List

WC: 4.4k Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Talk of Dehydration. Mutual Pining. Accidental Stimulation. Female Masturbation + Getting caught. Unprotected PIV sex. Desperate Sex. Fluff. AN: Oof, this took me a solid minute to write my loves. Kinktober is taking its toll out on me but thankfully I only have eleven more to write after this. I hope you enjoy.

-

You look at Mando incredulously, fearing that all hope is lost, or fear that he has completely lost the plot with heat stroke, as he points to a sad and pathetic looking speeder bike sitting at the bottom of a small canyon in the desert. 

Two hours ago, a devious bounty managed to lure you and the Mandalorian out into the desert where he then tricked you to abandon your healthy, fully functioning, speeder bike to give chase on foot instead. Mando was so close to capturing him too, he was literally just an arm’s reach away before the target hopped onto the speeder and took off, leaving you both to the dust.

You raised your gun ready to shoot at the time, but Mando stopped you and you were understanding as to why, but now you wish you didn’t listen and just pulled the trigger. Your aim isn’t great at all, but you might have been able to hit the target, regardless of the fact he is wanted alive, and you’d have the speeder bike to travel back to the ship where the water supply is. 

Now after two hours have passed since then, you can see that Mando regrets not shooting the target himself. It’s a mistake and you don’t blame him for the judgement call in the heat of the moment considering the bounty is worth ten thousand credits, however the man is currently pointing to another speeder bike like it’s a miracle and you really do think that heat exhaustion is clouding his mind. 

“It probably doesn’t even work, Mando.” You shake your head with a huff, “And we shouldn’t waste our energy checking it out.” You explain, hoping that he could see common sense, but of course, just like Mando does all the time, he insists. “Worth a try.” 

You’ve been working with him for the last year, and you know there’s no use trying to protest when he gets determined. Watching the back of his cape swish side to side with each step he takes down the steep slope, you sigh frustratedly and wipe the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Getting down into the canyon isn’t your biggest worry, it’s coming back out, but you follow his steps and make your way down regardless of the worry. There’s no way you’re letting him go alone. 

Climbing down ledge from ledge then sliding down the slippery slopes and, in some areas, even sliding down on your ass until you reached the bottom, you immediately felt some relief from the big star in the sky when standing inside the shade. You damn bear wanted to moan from the relief it felt that good. Your clothes were damp, clinging onto your skin with sweat and your exposed skin would surely be sunburnt by now, but the dehydration is most worrisome. You can feel it starting to take effect. Your mouth is dry, lips too, and you have an insatiable thirst. 

“Here,” Mando gestures as he walks towards you, holding his canteen. “Finish this off, cyar’ika. It’ll keep you hydrated til we get back to the ship.” Apparently taking notice of your relief in the shade and seeing that you're clearly dehydrated, he couldn’t not offer up the last of the water supply for you to finish off. “But Mando, what about yo-” You tried to protest, but the man cut you off with his hand held out and a curt shake of his head. “Drink.” He says flatly, no ifs or buts - adamant as always. 

You reluctantly lift the canteen and take two sips, watching him pull off his cape and lay the item of clothing over his arm instead. It was harrowing to watch, painful even. No matter how hot you are right now, Mando is a thousand times worse inside all of that armour and you can’t drink all of this water for yourself. It would be wrong. You can’t do that to him, can’t allow him to suffer so you will be okay. 

“Mando, please.” You plead with him. Even reaching out for his gloved hands, you place the canteen in his palm then squeeze his fingers around the object reassuringly. “We both know that you need this more than I do. I will be okay, I had a drink, but you finish it off.” Nodding once, you walk away from him quickly before he could try to argue about it and now that your back is turned, you hope that he will use this moment of privacy to lift his helmet and finish off the water. You hope that he gets the message that you, too, can insist and be adamant. No ifs or buts. 

You care for Mando, and he cares for you too; this is just one of the many examples that show how you both have each other's backs, although sometimes you can argue when there is a disagreement, you both mean well and only have the best interest in mind. While he hydrates, you approach the speeder bike and hold back a groan from the sun beating down on your exposed once again as you look the vehicle over. I’ll gladly take the cold over the heat any day, you thought. 

Luckily, there are no loose parts laying around on the ground so that’s a good sign, but you still have no hope simply because it was left out here at the bottom of a canyon. No one would leave a working speeder bike. It’s just absurd…. Or is it? You ask yourself while looking it over. Nothing at first glance looks seriously wrong with it, the power cell is intact and it’s showing half full on the gauge. The outriggers are a little rusty and one of the back thrust flaps is cracked but held together with tape. She isn’t perfect, but she’s all you’ve got. 

You wait for Mando to join you again before trying the ignition switch, not wanting to turn around to break the trust you have built with the man thus far in case he still has his helmet off. There wasn’t a whole lot you knew about Mandalorian's to begin with before meeting him, but one thing that pretty much the whole galaxy knows is that he mustn't ever reveal his identity, therefore you’ll do everything in your power to uphold that. 

Even when you hear his boots dragging across the sand towards you, you still don’t turn around to face him. Admittedly, sometimes you worry too much about stumbling across the man without his helmet, though you can never be too safe, right? You relax a little when hearing his modulated sigh from over your shoulder, knowing that his helmet is definitely back on now, however when he approaches, your body becomes stiff from the delicate touch of his gloved hand on your lower back, burning through your clothes. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s my fault we’re in this mess.” He apologises sincerely, then promises. “I’ll make it up to you one day, somehow.” You still remain shocked and confused, stiffer than a nail from his harmless comforting gesture. His words fall on deaf ears as all you can think about is how good his hand feels. You couldn’t tell whether or not you were burning up from the sun or burning up from his touch. Choosing the latter when he pulls away, you miss his touch and yearn to feel it again, which is really quite bizarre that you even miss his touch to begin with. 

Mando isn’t a physical touch kind of guy, he’s never really touched you like this. Sure, there have been little accidents before where he bumps into you, but to actually reach out and hold you in some way, reassuringly, is new for him and new for you to feel. And now that you have felt it, you want more. It makes your legs squeeze together with the dirty minded thoughts racing around your head then makes your cheeks blush with shame for even thinking about him in that manner. 

Miraculously, you even begin to feel the desire flooding your core. You’re dehydrated, you didn’t even think you’d be able to feel wet when dehydrated, let alone feel wet in the first place by the simple act of feeling a hand on your back. Stars! I need to get laid. You reprimand yourself, blaming the fact that you’ve gone too many months without intimacy for the sudden surge of arousal. That has to be the only reason for your sexual confusion right now; has to be the reason why you yearn to feel Mando’s gloved hands between your legs. 

Focus! You snap with your inner voice, directing your attention back to the task at hand and not your thoughts. The speeder bike. That’s more important right now, you can deal with whatever you were just thinking about later. “Ready to see if she’s alive or not?” You ask Mando in a small voice, still feeling the effects of your own dirty imagination. 

The man only nods in return and with that, you lean over for the ignition switch. She backfires loudly three times, rattling and clattering thunderously that makes you and Mando take a step back, fearing that she’s about to blow. After a few moments, she calms down and settles to an excessively loud hum, though still shaking violently. Always too good to be true. No one would leave a perfectly good working speeder back. You agree with your thoughts. 

It didn’t sound promising, so you kneeled to the floor and looked over the engine while Mando walked around the bike, no doubt to check if there were any problems on that side. One of your many skills is knowing a thing or two in mechanics. You know enough to get by, but any major problems are lost on you. A nasty smell was flooding your nostrils and the catalytic converter looked damaged - that’s your problem. 

“Hey, do you smell that?!” You yell to Mando over the loud racket coming from the engine, but when there is no answer, you look up for him. “Shit!” You gasp, not expecting him to be so close. He was leaning over the bike, the T shape of his visor directly above your face giving you a fight, but his proximity to you was most tantalising, even a little intimidating. And if you didn’t know any better, you would say that he was smirking inside the helmet simply from the way he was tilting his head to the side, as if amused from your reaction. 

He jerks his chin outwards, a wordless way of asking you to repeat what you said, but you gulped as your eyes roamed the broad expanse of his shoulders and wide chest towering over you in this position. It made you think of him laying over your naked body instead. “Um, I think it’s going to be okay,” You rise from the floor, explaining loud enough for him to hear this time. “She’s spewing fumes, that’s what the noise and smell is, but she’ll get us back to the ship if we take it easy and don’t overpower the engine.” 

“Okay, mesh’la.” Mando yells back over the noise, nodding, “Let's go back home.” He swings a leg over the bike and moves up the seat as much as he could for you to sit on the back, but you froze with surprise, thinking about the fact he has just called the razor crest home. You feel a concoction of different thoughts whirling around your brain, even though the ship is where you both reside day and night on your travels through the galaxy, he’s never called it home before. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. 

“What’s wrong?” He tilts his head to ask, worried. You snap out of it then, shaking off your emotions while replying. “N-nothing just… Nothing, don’t worry about it.” Upon looking at the backseat and seeing only one set of foot pegs, you ask. “Where do you want me to put my legs, speeders aren’t made for two carriers?” 

Jerking his head to the side, another wordless gesture telling you to just hop on, you reach out and hold his shoulder, then sigh breathily when feeling his brute strength under your fingertips. Has he always been this big and strong under his clothes? You ask, wishing to explore his bare skin without the clothing barrier in the way. 

You swing your leg over and sit down, now gripping his shoulder with the urge to moan out from the vibrations below caused by the engine. You clenched around nothing, feeling your clit pulse from the contact of the seat against your core. It was buzzing so loud and strong, that you already knew this journey back to the ship was going to be euphoric. 

“Just relax.” Mando yells, mistaking the fact that you are clearly turned on right now for discomfort as he reaches for your legs to wrap around his waist. “I’m sorry, it’s just for a little while, cyar’ika.” He justifies himself, and you immediately lean in close to reassure. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I promise.” It’s actually more than okay, Mando… 

He nods after you get comfortable then hands his cape to you. “Keep this safe for me.” He asks, and you know how much his cape means to him, so you handle it with care. Taking it from him then putting it behind his back, you move up the seat and keep it secured between your bodies. Quickly growing tired of the yelling, you just threw him a thumbs up instead and he then returned the gesture by taking both of your hands with a firm squeeze before placing them over his chest plate. You wanted to feel that again, something so simple as holding his hands was electric. 

As he accelerates, getting you both out of the canyon to make your way back home, as he newly calls it, you rest your cheek to his back and immediately close your eyes, picturing him pleasuring you instead of the vibrations from the bike. You couldn’t help it. You were just so turned on from his touch and now with the vibrations below, you were imagining it was his fingers working their magic. Although you felt so dirty and wrong for thinking about Mando in this sexual manner, you loved how good it felt to be pressed against his body like this. It felt like you were hugging him from behind, but it wasn’t a real hug. As much as you wished it to be, it wasn’t real.

Truthfully, you wished you could be sitting up front instead; up front and facing him with your legs wrapped around his waist. And that wishful thought makes you clench around nothing again, just imagining your burning heat sitting above his crotch while he rides the speeder back to the ship. There was no use trying to fight the inevitable. You were quite literally sitting on top of a vibrator and the sensations it was providing were too pleasing to ignore. 

Besides, would it really be all that bad to make the most of it? To make the most of this journey and get yourself off a couple times before you reach the Razor Crest and continue your hunt for the target? Who knows when your next moment of privacy will be as you can barely pleasure yourself these days with how cramped the ship is and how busy your workload has been. 

You’re always with Mando. He, as well as yourself, doesn’t have any real privacy. You’re always together, not that you mind it, but moments like this where you can release some of your pent-up sexual frustrations are sparse. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise, you ponder in thought. You’re clearly having mixed emotions about your employer and that’s because you are so deprived of intimacy. 

You need this release; need this sexual release so you can be able to think straight and get back to normal. After justifying your actions, you quit fighting your own needs and just relax, letting the vibrations pleasure you. Small gasps and whimpers slipped past your lips and your cheeks burned at the thought of Mando hearing you. 

Hope had you thinking that the man would love it, that he’d love the fact you were quite literally getting yourself off behind him, but thinking realistically, he would probably find it weird and disrespectful. Find you weird and disrespectful. You still thought about him though. Even after you justified that feeding your sexual hunger would make you think clearly, it didn’t stop you from thinking about Mando pleasuring you instead. 

You wanted him so badly and even thought about his leather gloved fingers sliding inside of you. The vibrations ramp up a notch as he speeds up the bike, thus causing you to bury your face between his shoulder blades and muffle your throaty mewls. Your head floats off into the clouds as you lose all sense of control. It’s like everything around you fades out into nothing and all you can focus on is Mando, as if holding onto him kept you tethered to reality. 

Panting heavily through your release, you feel another one rising again and ride it out, basking in the magnificence of over-stimulation. Your hands unintentionally grip Mando’s chest plate, the muscles in your legs tensing up with a fiery burn and your thighs squeezing together around his hips. You thank the stars above for the speeder being so loud, otherwise he would be able to hear you literally falling apart and whining through the aftershocks. 

It’s too much; too pleasurable that it’s becoming painful, but you don’t want it to stop. You want to be reduced to a quivering mess, to be soaked in your own desire as your eyes haze over with bliss. “Oh f-fuck.” You moan disgracefully, succumbing to your wants and needs; your need to tell him how you really feel about him. Even though he can’t hear it, you need to speak your truth and say the words out outloud. “Stars! I want you so bad, Mando.” You cry to yourself, “I want your fingers inside of me.” 

Minutes passed by like an eternity before the bike slowed down and you no longer felt the sun beating down on your back anymore, just the coolness of the shade blessing you with a break from the heat. “We’re home, mesh’la.” You hear Mando say but could barely form a reply and just nodded into his back. 

However, instead of getting off the speeder, he firmly held onto your thigh and hip, then pulled you around to the front. “M-Mando?” You gasp with surprise. You were now sitting on his crotch, gazing up into the T shape of his visor as he placed his thumb and forefinger to your chin, looking back down at you. “I heard you moaning, sweet girl,” He growls, hand on your hip squeezing the flesh hard as your cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment. He heard you, heard you moaning therefore he must have heard what you said. 

“I’m sorry.” You blurted, lowering your head in shame, but the man slipped his hand around the base of your neck and tilted your head back before pressing his helmet to your forehead. “I want it too…” He exhaled shakily, “I want you so badly, cyar’ika, I always have.” 

“You have?” You ask, disbelieving the words exiting his mouth. “B-but I don’t understand. How have I not noticed before?” 

“Because I do well with hiding my emotions.” The man explains, both hands now firmly holding your hips, his fingers slip under your shirt with request. “But not anymore cyar’ika. I won’t hide how I feel anymore, if you won’t hide anymore either.” 

“I won’t. Not ever again, Mando.” You moan, brows pulling together with bliss under his gaze. You can feel the warm leather on your skin, feel the burn of his fingers inside desperate to touch you without the barrier of clothing. Looking down briefly and whimpering at the sight of his gloved hands straining against the fabric, you look back up into his visor with a nod. “Touch me. Please touch me, I need you so bad.” 

Laying down and arching your back for him as he makes quick work on removing your pants, you moan falling on his ears audibly this time, you feel the desperation from the man during his bid to remove all barriers of clothing preventing him from pleasuring you. Mando hikes up your shirt, exposing your breasts to the warm breeze blowing over your skin before pawing at your booms with one hand. He tears your panties down your legs, the hurriedness of his actions making you blush. 

“M-Mando.” You whine; whine and beg without actually saying what you need from him. He heard you loud and clear anyways, he heard it from the way you moaned his name. Mando knew how much you wanted him; knew from the moment he laid his hand on your lower back earlier and your heart rate kicked up suddenly. “I know, sweet girl.” He breathes reassurance, telling you exactly what you need to hear. “I know and it’s okay. I will take care of you.” 

“Oh fuck!” You cry upon feeling two bare fingers sliding into your sex. When did he take them off? You don’t even know, but you don’t care either. His fingers are so big and fulfilling, bending into a come hither motion to caress your g-spot. “So wet, mesh’la.” He groans heavy and wanton, admiring the slick coating his fingers. There was so much in fact, it was drooling down his digits and making a mess inside the palm of his hands. “So tight too.” His modulated exhale reaches your ears, shaky and breathless. 

You clench around him, the muscles in your cunt aching with dire need to be stroked and stretched. “M-More.” You whimper. Hands trailing down your body to pull down your bra, exposing your nipples, you hold them between your fingers and plead with him shamelessly. “Please Mando. I want mo-yes! Like that, just like that.” You yell out, rewarding his actions with your words as he buries three fingers to the hilt beautifully. 

You don’t even feel Mando removing his hand from your breast, nor do you feel him fighting to open his slacks and free himself. All you can focus on is the way he grunts. Your eyes closed, lost within the bliss of his fingers pleasuring you, only when he removes them, you open your eyes with a needy whine. “N-no, don’t stop.” You look up just in time to see the man reaching for you, grabbing you by the sides and pulling you flush to his chest. 

“Cyar’ika!” He growls deep and low, cock thrusting inside of you and bottoming out in one swift motion. You mewl from the stretch, pulsing around his girth and grip onto his biceps from the burn his size was causing. It was phenomenal. You wanted it again, to feel him stretch you open again and again with each snap of his hips into yours. “Mando move!” You choke on the words, burying your face into the nook of his neck and rolling your eyes back with the scent of him flooding your senses. He smells so good, so heavenly. 

The man makes quick work of rutting into you, using your own body as leverage to pull you into his thrusts and meet him halfway. You could hear your desire squelching around him, could feel the damp spot it was leaving on his clothes, making a mess. Though it wasn’t enough for him. Mando apparently had his own sexual frustrations to release too. He needed more and he took more. 

“Hold on.” He grunts an order, hooking both arms behind your knees and using your ass to lift you up and down. The man even leaned back, getting himself comfy as he uses your cunt like his own personal fuck toy to get himself off. You don’t care for the romantics right now, you need raw primal sex, and Mando was giving it to you in the best way. 

Little squeaks and moans slipped into his neck as he grabbed the globes of your ass and began slamming you down onto his hips. His cock was bruising your insides, filling you up completely each time. “C-cum, I’m cumming.” You manage to utter before falling limp, just letting him take over and fuck you into oblivion. 

“Tell me when to stop.” He moans brokenly, still thrusting hard and deep. “I’m nowhere near done sweet girl but tell me when to stop and I will.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you nod into his neck. Falling apart on his cock, your high was intensified as he surges through your vice-like grip and continues to fuck you from below. “Inside me.” You moan softly, tiredly, “Come inside of me, Mando. Fuck me until you're satisfied.” 

You blew past the stages of over-stimulation and entered the realms of sexual exhaustion. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to, so instead you just held onto Mando like he was a lifeline and let him use your pussy for his own pleasure. The man had stamina for days. Stamina like you’ve never seen before as he comes multiple times, filling you up with his warm creamy seed. Even when he paused for a break, gathering some energy while allowing you a break, he started again with a slow grind, relishing in the pretty little sounds escaping you. 

“Tell me to stop, mesh’la.” He says, almost begging you at this point to give yourself mercy. Mando wasn’t lying, he is nowhere near done and can last for hours - for you. He’s dreamt of his for months, fisted his cock many nights thinking it was your heat instead and now that he has your cunt wrapped around his cock, he doesn’t want to stop, can’t stop until he has emptied his sac. “Do you want to stop?” You lift your head to ask, gazing into the T shape of his visor and picturing what beautiful eyes he must have behind it. 

“No, not at all.” He groans and gasps in reply, feeling you clench around him. A smile tugs on your lips, sweet and innocent like at first, but then it becomes devilish and naughty. You don’t want to stop and neither does he. You both want more. “Well keep fucking me Mando.” You sigh breathily, resting your cheek to his shoulder with a request;

“And don’t stop until we’re both completely spent.” 

-

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[catchingbigfish]

writing plans for the rest of 2023

aka, yet another accountability post i'll laugh at in a few months when i realize how off track my plans have gone again

i am freakishly close to done with the first draft of Conversion; i'm at 57k words as of right this very second, and i'm trying very hard to not go past 90k words on the first draft (even though i think it could edge closer to 120k if i let go with full reckless abandon), and really, my target is to make it a tight 80-85k words. plus, my weekend plans to swap my office and bedroom (who the fuck decided the largest room should be the place you sleep?? that makes no sense!) have been thwarted by my fiance getting sick again, so if i run another few 4-5k days in a row? i might knock this out within the week.

on top of that, i'm enrolled in julia inglis's new shadow doll course (it's a shameless indulgence of mine) which starts august first, so it seems like the prime time to consider exactly how i plan to spend late summer/early fall and nanowrimo this year. here's my current plan:

finish the first draft of Conversion by July 31. this seems very doable so far, unless i really do let go and indulge in all those side conversations and small subplots boiling around in my brain.

spend all of august really delving into the shadow doll course, giving my brain a serious break from writing, and channel all that energy into other types of creativity. this also seems doable, but there's a chance i'll be forced onto a business trip in late august. if that's the case, it'll probably be three or four days, and i'll go ahead and do my first read-through of conversion on the trip. (i read So It Goes way too early and i realize that now -- i have to find a way to force myself to give it at least three weeks before i read through Conversion.)

spend september working on a developmental, high-level, birds-eye-view revision of the first draft of Conversion. if all goes according to plan, i'll use the first few weeks to draft new character sketches and go back to tidy up any mischaracterizations from the characters developing along the drafting process, tighten plot points that i think are dragging, and do a new zero draft based on the first draft plus any new additions i think are necessary, then spend the last few weeks doing the actual drafting for any new scenes i need (and hopefully, for the love of god, creating actual chapter breaks in there). this also seems doable.

get Conversion ready for alpha-readers and zero draft the sort-of-sequel Apostate (👀) in october. yeah i'm basically fully committed to this idea now, lol. the working title is Apostate because i'm terrible at titles and i think it's a fun counterpoint to the title Conversion. i've realized my original cult fiction concept works unreasonably well as a follow up to Conversion (and that's one of the two reasons the ending changed so dramatically), so i'm going for it. i'm not confident i can do this all in october, but i'd love to do nanowrimo again this year and draft Apostate during the month, so this is like my stretch goal. also, i'm not comfortable calling it beta reading just yet, but i'm hoping to get Conversion to a point where i can hand it off to some people who can tell me if it's working, where things are lacking, and any glaring issues i can't see because i'm too close it. (if all goes according to plan, i hope to make a call for alpha readers in early october and have the draft handed over by november so i can force myself to only work on Apostate that month! i wouldn't expect readers to actually dive in until after november, since most likely, they'll be doing nano too -- but it's just the best way to motivate myself). this is definitely the goal i see most likely to fall off track.

spend november drafting Apostate. again, the entire concept of writing Apostate is definitely the weakest link in my plans, but it would be so nice to do!

take december off. seriously, if i actually do this in the way i want, i will need *so* much of a break it's unreal.

[ofstormsandfire]

9 & 10 for the ask game?

9: do you have any vague ideas for fics you might want to start in the future?

I have too many ideas for fics I might want to start in the future. all things considered I think my new years resolution is going to be to actually finish some of the ones I've already started.

send help. (or a fandom I'm into, if you want me to drop some actual ideas-)

10: how long have you been working on your current wip?

...which one. I have Multiple.

the main one at the moment is probably there's blood on your lies, a pokemon fanfic featuring cynthia punted a few hundred years into the past into the plot of pokemon legends arceus, which I've been working on since like... last? february? yeah according to ao3 that's when I posted the first chapter so. close enough. it's an absolute monster of a fic by multiple metrics.

the other fic I'm actively working on currently is called no one ever mentions fear, it was supposed to be my nanowrimo project, I hit 50k and wasn't done and I know from experience that if I just stop writing at the end of nano I just. won't ever bother to finish the fic.

that one's a fanfic for legend of zelda breath of the wild, in which I bonked my blorbo bird (blorbird, if you will) with the "amnesia," "character development," and "tragic backstory" sticks in no particular order. technically I only started writing that one at the beginning of november, but I was planning quite extensively for it during most of october, and it's a fic that I got the idea for a very long time ago and never actually wrote until much more recently.

I. am not actually sure exactly how long ago I got the idea for that fic, but I can tell you it has definitely been years. probably three. I remember thinking about it when I was visiting my stepfather and I haven't spoken to that man willingly in over a year, never mind set foot in the same state as him.

another wip I have, which I haven't done too much with in an embarrassingly long time but am co-writing with @thegreatandpowerfulversy, is a series of fics called Under a Broken Moon, which started when I realized that mantle in v7 of rwby in that first establishing shot really reminded me of warframe fortuna, and we consequently came up with backstories for rwby versions of all the fortuna characters, and from there it's just expanded into multiple main fics including such fun things like vox faunus in lieu of vox solaris, sienna khan cheating death with great glee, and the grineer causing Problems in vacuo.

that one, I can pinpoint when it started, because I still have the original prologue saved that never actually made it onto ao3. Vox Faunus was the first fic written in that series, back before I ended up bouncing so many ideas off of kira there that she eventually became an outright co-author. and that was originally written back in january of 2020.

anyway, those are the main wips I have at the moment, unless I'm forgetting something. I really hope I'm not forgetting something because three wips is a little much and I really, really want to get it down to two sooner rather than later.

girl help.

the relevant ask game, if you're curious?

[bagheerita]

Twenty Questions For Fic Writers

Thank you for the tags @lord-aldhelm and @anonmadsci and @chaniis-atlantis !! 💖💖💖

1. how many works do you have on AO3? Currently 93. I've finished transferring (almost) all of my old fics from FFN and AFF (for archival purposes, as most of them are not very good)

2. what's your total AO3 word count? 1,678,494

3. what fandoms do you write for? Formerly, 28 fandoms listed on A03. Currently, Stargate Atlantis (though I'm hoping to get some of my SGU ideas wrangled into actual fics soon)

4. top five fics by kudos: "Nemo" (SGA) "Nykteridalatry" (SGA) "One and One and One is Three" (MCU) "Regina Donum" (SGA) and "Written in Your Skin" (SGA) has (I believe recently) edged out "Your Prison is Walking Through this World all Alone" (MCU) for 5th ❤

5. do you respond to comments? Oh yeah! I've had some great comment conversations especially on "Nemo" and the earlier fics in that series, and I still try to reply to all comments.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Gonna say "Lie Still" (Angel/BTVS). It deals with a canon character death, sort of me exploring why I felt like this ending fit the character, though it's so personal to my own feelings that I feel like it's difficult for other readers to parse.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? This is difficult to say, as I much prefer to write happy endings so there are many!! I might say "Harbored" or "A Dram of Sweet is Worth a Pound of Sorrow" (both SGA), as they both deal with the main character overcoming painful histories to find happiness.

8. do you get hate on fics? Nothing I would call hate, though sometimes I get odd comments.

9. do you write smut? Lots.

10. craziest crossover? I adore crossovers. I'm gonna interpret this question slightly differently than I have in the past and say "One and One and One is Three" (MCU). Technically this isn't a "crossover" in the sense of different properties, but in the sense of the multiverse and 5 universes of people running around and seeing what their-self is up to in another universe.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware of.

12. have you ever had a fic translated? No.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before? No, but technically Eos and I are co-authors on "Aubade," as she contributed gorgeous illustrations!!

14. all time favorite ship? I have so many fandoms and characters I love that I tend to ship whatever characters' vibes works for me in that moment. Recently, I do tend toward vaguely evil/unbelievable snark as a ship dynamic, which has manifested in me writing over 100,000 words each for inussess, frostiron, and jodd

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? At the moment I'm fighting the pull of garashir. I do NOT need to get pulled into another fandom, especially one where I need to learn a whole new writing vocabulary that I haven't been paying that much attention to as I (re)watch the show. But I have a very specific vibe I'm searching for that I want to read and I haven't found a fic to fill that vibe yet, so I've opened a Gdoc to store some notes, and so I guess it counts as a WIP though I want it to exist as much as I do not want to write it.

16. what are your writing strengths? I haven't been writing much lately so at the moment I'm not really feeling that I'm good at anything lol.

17. what are your writing weaknesses? currently I'm gonna go with summer. it's too hot and i have no energy.

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language? Do whatever makes you happy, but if I needed to know what that said for the plot you better provide a translation.

19. first fandom you wrote in? OT Star Wars

20. favorite fic you've written? Whew, this one is hard to answer. My favorite moments that I envisioned in my head tend to not end up translating as well as I want them to onto the page, but "With Autumn Closing In" (MCU), "Oh Talk Not to Me Of a Name Great in Story" (SGA), and "Ivory Fanged" (Kiesha'ra) are probably some of my favorites.

Edit: was tired and forgot to tag people so @_yournamehere_ if you want to participate ❤

[majorblinks]

for all the right reasons, part 2 ((g)i-dle miyeon)

(smut, former teacher/student, cockwarming, breeding kink, facial, teacher/student roleplay [kind of], age gap, fluff, part 1 here, 11k words)

See, there's something about her: you get a girl like that, and she inspires all this reckless abandon, all the raunchy, risky sex, the danger and the biting and the begging - you're not that kind of guy, historically. You've just never been the type.

"Oh," Miyeon says, delighted, when you tell her this. "Oh, now I get it - I'm the one corrupting you."

Yeah, she might be - but there's also something about her that you'd do anything for, and that has nothing to do with the sex. It's everything before, everything after: the talking, the laughing, the sincerity, the honesty. You've told her things you've never told anyone. You look at her and you think she knows it.

"Maybe you are," you say to her, fondly, and you can't bring yourself to mind one bit. There's a story here - one day you'll finish it.

Miyeon's got her wide, irresistible eyes, and a smile sharp enough to kill. "Well," she purrs, and her tone's a blade, cutting right to the bone. You'd stand there, you'd let her: it's her, and it'd be a perfect way to die. "I guess I'll take it."

-

“Uh,” says Minnie, a week later, when she sees Miyeon attached to you, as you're both informing her that Miyeon’s going to be completely unreachable that weekend and not to call the cops. “Great. Thanks. Thanks for letting me know you’re going to be having mind-blowing sex all weekend and I’m not invited.”

“Call Yuqi,” says Miyeon cheerfully. 

“Fuck off,” says Minnie. “I hate you both. Go fuck and be in love or whatever. I don’t even care.” 

“It’s okay, Minnie,” you tell her. You and Miyeon sort of enjoy giving her a hard time - it’s routine, at this point. “You’ll find someone you connect with one day, probably.” 

“If they can look past your personality,” adds Miyeon, smiling prettily; she and Minnie adore each other - every moment Miyeon’s not with you, she’s with her - but you’d absolutely never know it by the way they talk to each other. “The ego… the fake eyes… the overwhelming sluttiness…” 

“My sluttiness is a very positive quality of mine,” says Minnie - she’ll give just as good as she gets. “Also, I hope you two get hit by a bus. You can keep being soulmates in hell.” 

“Satan would probably love us,” agrees Miyeon, blinking in her deceptively innocent, comically Bambi-eyed way, and you laugh so hard that Minnie gives up and leaves the room. 

-

“Soulmates,” Miyeon ponders, in the car. 

“It’s Minnie,” you point out. “She’s full of shit.” 

Miyeon raises her eyebrows at you when you stop at a red light, a mischievous smile tilting the corners of her mouth. “Oh,” she says. “You think so?” Before you can say anything, she’s already going in for the kill. “No, no, I guess you’re right. It’d be pretty fucked up for my soulmate to be my teacher who’s, like, twice my age. That’d be gross, on the universe’s behalf.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you say, and she bursts out laughing. “Seven years, Miyeon. And I haven’t been your teacher in so long.” 

“Huh,” she says, and her dark eyes are glittering. “Well, when you put it like that…” 

“Yeah?” 

Miyeon’s got her knees tucked up to her chest, and a grin like she knows everything you aren’t telling her. “Maybe she’s not that far off.” 

-

You’ve got your laptop turned on, and you’re busying yourself by writing your story - the words come so easy like this, you realize, straight from some deep-set daydream and right onto the page - there’s that same girl in your sentences, a pretty blonde with a grip around some unquantifiable power, there’s a plot but it’s meandering, there’s a romance but it’s all in the background-

“Sir,” mumbles Miyeon from your lap. 

It’s a little distracting, with how her pussy clamps down around your cock, but - facets of having a particularly compelling muse. You’ll work through it. 

You brush her hair to the side, press your lips to the side of her neck, and jerk your hips slightly just to hear her squeal. She’s light enough that the motion bounces her, disrupts her from her comfortable spot wrapped tight around your dick. 

“Princess,” you say, retaliating, and squeeze her hip. 

It’s only mid-day, and Miyeon still shudders each time you move her even slightly. She’s sniffling a little into your collarbone, and she’d worn makeup to your house just to smudge it, just so she’d let you clean it up, just to do it all over again - you’re wearing a black t-shirt, sweats. She’s naked, her pale, silk-soft skin all over you, one of her small hands scrabbling weakly at the nape of your neck every time you jostle her. Your dick’s inside her and you haven’t cum yet, but she has. She’s soaking your sweatpants. It’s all a very big ordeal. 

“Sir,” says Miyeon, again, and pulls back to look at you. She’s giving you those eyes, watery, irresistible - her bottom lip is trembling a little. You’ve had her like this for hours and you haven’t given her what she really wants. It’s dramatics, or maybe it’s not; her eyebrows are drawn together, as if in actual, physical pain. 

“Yes?” you ask, fight back a grunt as her cunt clenches around you. You slide your fingers into her hair, gentle - with your other hand, you delete a period, add a comma, copy and paste a sentence onto the end of a different paragraph. Multitasking: you learned it on the job. Oh, it’s high time you put it in practice. “Is there something you wanna ask me, Miyeon?” 

Her bottom lip wobbles more. Tears rush into her gorgeous eyes - it’s all the overstimulation, it’s how you’ve been making her cum over and over like it’s nothing. She’s so easy to please, but you’ll give her whole-hearted efforts, anyway. She’s your girl. It’s what she deserves. 

You thumb Miyeon’s pretty cheeks, swipe away splotches of mascara. “Use your words,” you tell her, stern enough that the way she rocks her hips doesn’t come as a surprise. She likes it when you get bossy with her, colder, firmer. You’ve got your own power over her - you exert it, and she soaks your cock. 

“You said,” begins Miyeon, in this thin, tiny voice, and there’s already a plea in it. “In the bathroom. That you’d…” 

“Uh-huh.” You rub the curve of her back, encouragingly. It’s a bit unbelievable how shy she’ll still get even while she’s wonderfully, shamelessly naked on top of you, your dick fully buried inside of her. Well, it’s her own part to play. No one’ll ever catch you complaining about that. 

“You said you’d cum inside of me.” Your eyes lock on Miyeon’s, and she’s blinking at you, hands suddenly fisted in the front of your shirt. “But you haven’t. You said you’d breed me, sir, and you haven’t.” 

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Someone’s needy.” 

Miyeon nods her head, a little wildly. “You don’t understand,” she pushes on: “I need it. I really need you to cum inside of me.” There’s that look on her face, again: the one she gets when she’s so far gone, stunning and slightly tortured, after you’ve made her cum over and over again, merciless - when her porcelain-doll exterior’s cracking, fractured at the edges. It’s art incarnate, it’s an angel corrupted, it’s something you’d love to photograph, frame, but - you’re a writer. Your words are the best you’ve got, here. “I’ve been really good for you, sir, I know I have - I’ve been on your cock for hours, I’m your good little cockwarmer, I came so many times just because you wanted me to-” 

It’s like you can pinpoint the exact moment she decides to switch her approach; her dark eyes get bigger, sadder - she inhales like she’s choking on her own tears. “Is my pussy not good enough?” Her walls suddenly tighten around you - you groan, clutching onto her waist. See, it’s taken a lot of self-control to have Miyeon on your cock like this without truly railing her, slamming her up and down on your cock until she’s crying; she’s pushing on your patience like the way her fingers dig into your bicep, a threat in the contact, a teasing. “All I do is try to be good for you, sir - I’m so sorry if it’s…” 

Miyeon trails off when she spots your expression, mouth half-open, lips wet. She tilts her head, waiting: either she’s caught or she’s won. 

“Guilt-tripping,” you say, dryly, and it’s not a question. “That’s a new one.” 

One of Miyeon’s fair, fine eyebrows twitches upwards - so, she’s certainly not as far gone as she’s pretending to be. She’s still lucid enough to fuck with you, and you kind of love her like this, conniving even while she’s begging, even with your cock in her. “Is it working?” 

(It’s Cho Miyeon, and everything about her’s working - it’s her, and it’s you, and it’s hopeless - but you keep that to yourself.)

“It’s cute,” you tell her, “that you’ll say anything just to get me to cum inside you. Desperate and slutty,” you amend, just to see her squirm, chastised, “but cute.”

It’s something about how you haven’t actually properly fucked her yet - you haven’t wrecked her like you told her earlier, haven’t pounded her pussy until she’s openly screaming and sobbing. Miyeon’s still got that bite to her, even with the sweat-slick curve of her neck, how her clit must be sore and swollen from how you’ve been toying with her, making her cum. You haven’t ruined her like you said you would. 

Well, turns out she’s getting the best of both worlds: she’s caught and she’s won. 

Your hand snakes over Miyeon’s taut stomach and up towards her tits, your fingers pinching at her right nipple - it gets a whimper from her, a ducked head, her hair falling into her face. “Is that really what you want, princess?” you murmur. “To be fucked and bred? To be used as my little cumdump and nothing else?”

“Yours,” gasps Miyeon, jerks from an exceptionally rough tug on her nipple. “Just yours. Do whatever you want with me - you own me, you know that, use my pussy for whatever you want - cum in me until I get fucking pregnant - I need it.” She’s begging again, giving up all her games; for her, she’ll always take it to her basics, her fallbacks. There’s a whine in her voice, tears building in her Bambi eyes - what she wants is exactly the same thing as what you want, so there’s no point in dragging her through this. 

Maybe it’s cruelty, maybe it’s curiosity: testing how far she’ll go for you. You already know but it’s another thing entirely, hearing Miyeon say it out loud. 

“You need me,” you conclude, all the consonants with their sharp edges, scraping your blunt nails down her waist. The faint red lines you leave: they’re a point made and proven. 

“You.” She says it like it’s something religious, holy - a chant, a prayer. “You, it’s only you. I belong to you, sir. I don’t care how many times you make me say it - it’s always going to be you.”

There’s this way Miyeon looks at you when she says it, when her features skip past their usual faux-innocent routine, and instead she’s watching you with this striking, clear intensity, so fierce it steals your breath for a beat, for two. 

“Miyeon,” you mutter, gripping her tight to you. It’s possessive, it’s instinct. Your story’s forgotten on your laptop, or it’s writing itself, composing sentences in the delicate line of her jaw, her intoxicating mouth, her blown pupils - there’s prose in the hardening points of her nipples, lyricism in the defined cut of muscle at her midriff - and she’s looking at you like she means everything she says as more than sex, more than your cock buried inside her cunt, how her hips are bucking again. There’s layers to it, but they’re all unraveled now; she’s bare, she’s not hiding a damn thing. 

Miyeon leans in close and presses her lips to yours, feather-light, too sweet for the moment. There’s a memory here, informing all the buildup - oh, there are multiple. 

(You think of this one, a week and a half ago, after fucking her in a public bathroom and then walking her out of the store, trying to keep her from stumbling in her platform shoes. She’d attracted stares - she always does, but especially like that: gorgeous, exhausted, fucked out like she might be on the verge of total collapse. 

You’d kissed the top of her head, let her work through the aftershocks. It’d have been an old routine - but then she started talking. 

I like other people knowing I’m yours, Miyeon said, dreamily, woozily - it was like you’d branded her, the hickeys rapidly darkening across her neck, the tops of her tits; the fingerprint-bruises on her silky thighs, the cum dripping down her leg. Everybody knows how good you fuck me. Everybody knows you own me. Everybody knows that I’m a whore for your cock and you made me that way.)

“Yours,” she begs, now, and all the words are blurring together, every version of her alluring, hungry mouth forming the same sentiments: I need you, I’m yours, you own me. You’re mine, somewhere hidden in there. You belong to me, too. “Please. Please. I need your cum.” 

You slot your hands under her thighs, press your thumbs into the pale, satiny skin. She’s unblemished, currently, unbruised and unbitten - you’ll fix all that. You’ve got a long weekend ahead of you. You’ve got all the time in the world to mark her body up like it’s your God-given right. 

“Alright, princess.” Well, if you’re being real, there are no gods in this room - Miyeon’s your one religion and you’ll act like it. There’s really nothing else you’d want to believe in. “Since you’re being such a good girl for me.” 

In one quick move, you’re lifting her - her legs wrap tight around your waist, a broken, moaning gasp falling from that pretty mouth as your cock jolts deeper inside of her. “Thank you,” she pants, and you’ve barely done anything yet, but you will - you turn and push her onto the sheets, press her tiny frame underneath yours - it’s this power, it’s like a drug; she’ll let you manipulate every limb, push her into any position. She’s so small, so helpless, drooling and pleading: “Thank you, sir,” Miyeon’s choking out, again, and there are fresh tears in those stunning eyes. “Thank you - fuck, your cock - thank you, thank you.” 

It’s her own way of showing all that divine gratitude, her devotion, her faith - you’ve been buried in her cunt for hours, but now you’re really using it, you’re taking what you want, exactly what she’s giving - now she’s sobbing like she won’t survive it, like she’s in the midst of rapture itself. 

“Please,” Miyeon cries out, and it’s like she’s praying, again; you’re pushing her knees to her chest, you’re quickening your pace, roughing up that perfect pussy. “Please. Your cum - I need your cum, breed me, sir, fill me up - I’m your cumdump, I’m your good little fucktoy-”

It’s a seal snapped, a barrier broken: it’s the first load of many. Miyeon’s back arches, and she’s right there with you - she’s blubbering gratefully, she’s trembling on your bed, she’s praise and worship at work. There’s not a deity alive or dead that compares, but you know this, and she does too, or she must-

“Good girl,” you murmur after, head spinning, tracing her slack mouth with your fingertip. “My good girl.”

Her eyes are shut, and her lips pull upwards, expression faintly loopy. “Always,” she tells you, soft and secret like she’s at confession. “I’m always going to be yours.”

Confession, sure - but she’s not repenting for a damn thing. It’s one hell of a skill to make a sin feel this close to heaven, but, inexplicably, Cho Miyeon’s managing it anyway.

-

Miyeon’s right about your handle on the logistics: there are breaks, to eat and stay hydrated, to use the bathroom - you’re nothing if not practical, and despite everything you do to her during sex (that’s the rough shit, the bruising, the biting; the weekend’s already taking its visible toll by early evening, and Miyeon’s preening every time she spots the damage in the mirror) you’d actually sooner die than really, truly hurt her, so you stick to plans, rules, safewords. See, you care, so you’re careful. You call her princess for a reason. 

(Well, sort of - you’re not sure how many esteemed royals are out here begging for cum like they can’t function without it, are on Miyeon’s level of utter insatiability, so brazen, so desperate - you aren’t trying to put a number on it. You’re also not sure how many people would define being careful as using a girl as pretty and delicate as Miyeon as a living fuckdoll, shoving your cock from her pussy to her mouth, making her gag, making her bawl and beg-)

“I love it,” Miyeon sobs, and she’ll redefine it all, she’ll rewrite whatever rules she needs to. “I love it, I need it - use me, sir, that’s why I’m here, that’s what I’m made for - for you, it’s all for you.” 

You break her, you rip her apart, you leave her a sloppy, slutty, cum-filled mess - that’s how you love her, really. There’s not much more to it than that. 

-

It’s a Sunday, and so it’s delightfully on-brand for you and Miyeon - the sun’s streaming through the window, and it’s a perfect morning, and it’s the Lord’s day, you know that - but you jolt awake with a gasp to find Miyeon’s wet little mouth wrapped around your cock, reformulating religion. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you groan, and she looks up at you through her lashes, cheeks hollowing, concave. 

You can never have your dick down her throat without fully fucking it, and Miyeon knows it - your hands tangle into all that hair, and she’s still a fucking mess; you’ll clean her up later, you’ll save it for the after-credits scene - and suddenly she’s relinquishing control entirely, letting her hands fall to your thighs, letting you slam your cockhead straight into her gag reflex - and she’s still looking at you with those eyes, wide and glassy and entirely submissive, subservient. You’ve got all the power, all the control, tight in your fists like your grip on her blonde waves, tight like the way her hot mouth’s choking your cock-

(She’s yours, and you’re cumming - she’s yours, and you have no problem proving it.)

There’s this way the pale column of Miyeon’s throat works as she gulps down your load, tears sparkling in her irises and spilling - it’s the kind of face you see in fantasies, the kind of debauchery men like you only dream of witnessing - your orgasm rips through you, spots your vision, gets you saying, “Baby, baby-” 

It’s violent, how you force her head down your cock, how she tugs herself back; Miyeon’s gasping, drooling, but her mouth’s tripping up at the edges, delirious, amused. You’ve just fucked the life out of her throat, but you always do; she’s addicted to it, like she always is. It’s your routines, your habits. You treat her like she’s your property and then she presses herself to your chest, into your arms, and you hold her like you’ve never had anything more precious in your life: see, there are those layers, those juxtapositions. You’ll never be able to let this go. 

“Quite the wake-up call,” you tell her, breathless, lips to her hair.

Miyeon giggles, self-satisfied, and one of her dainty hands drops to your chest, slides lower. “I knew you’d love it.” 

“You were sucking my cock,” you point out, always ready to debate technicalities. “There’s not a man on this planet who wouldn’t die for that, Miyeon.”

“You think so?” Miyeon’s smile flickers on like a light, and all of yesterday’s makeup is still smeared on her delicate features - you’re desecrating a Louvre-worthy work of art, you’re seconds from being locked up and fined. “Then it’s a good thing yours is the only cock I want.” 

“Romantic,” you deadpan, charmed despite the vulgarity. 

Miyeon allows her smile to sharpen, to twist to a smirk - it’s an edge that lasts for two seconds, because then she’s sliding your cock inside her cunt in this smooth, slick motion. It’s clearly meant to catch you off-guard, but it’s too perfect a fit. She doesn’t roll her hips, doesn’t fuck herself on your dick, doesn’t ask you for anything more than to fill her; she hums, happily, and just tucks her face into the crook of your neck.

“Oh,” Miyeon sighs, and she’s half out of her head, or she must be, voice raw and sweet and revelatory. It’s clear she has no plans to leave your arms any time soon. “It’s you and me, baby.” 

“Whatever you want, princess,” you murmur, sated, and kiss the crown of her head. 

It’s the Lord’s day, and Miyeon’s heaven-sent, she’s everything. You’ll take fines, sacrifices, the wrath of some far-off celestial being - it doesn’t matter. She’s in your bed, she’s found herself a place to call her own between veins, heart valves, slipping right into your bloodstream. You’ll take all the time in the world. 

-

(It’s clear she has no plans to leave, ever.) 

-

Here’s where it has to end, because it always does - here’s the fade-to-black, here’s the credits rolling - and Miyeon’s curled in a ball on top of your sheets, face tipped into your pillowcase, staining it with spit and makeup, and you’ve just spilled your last load inside of her. Miyeon shuffles when you skim your hand down her middle, bumping your fingertips across ribs, bitten bruises. 

“I’ll run a bath,” you say, skirting a vicious hickey at her hip. 

Miyeon makes an indecipherable noise in response. 

See, you just spent the last forty-eight hours - give a few, take a few - fucking her brains out, using her flawless body like a toy, like she’s got your name stamped into her skin - but that’s all over, that’s all done. You fill up your tub for her, get all the necessities: you’re not sure when it happened, but your bathroom is stocked with her shampoo, her conditioner, her body wash - it’d probably been a split-second decision, a move for logic, reason; oh, she’s over at your place all the time, she showers here constantly, she needs the essentials - you’ll make your excuses. You know exactly why she’s carved out her own space in your home, by now.  

When you come back, Miyeon’s tilted further on her side, eyes stubbornly shut, limp and half-asleep. You’d swear she’s an angel, all that golden hair, the silky skin - you grin at the way her bottom lip juts out unevenly, a pout without the conviction. 

“Can you move?” you ask, endeared, hand sliding into her hair. “Or do you need to be carried?” 

“You’re the one who calls me princess,” mumbles Miyeon, words slurring at the edges. “Carry me or you’re going to the guillotine, bitch.” 

You crack up in laughter - oh, this girl. “Watch that mouth.” 

“You love my mouth.” 

She’s entirely correct, but when it comes to you two, that’s old news. You sweep her body up in your arms, cradle her lolling neck, press your lips to her forehead - there’s a shift to the moment, feelings sudden and saturating the room - and Miyeon’s eyes stay shut. There’s something about the way she surrenders to you, so completely: you’ve sort of put her body through the ringer over the past two days, but you’d never truly harm her, and she lets you hold her like she knows it. 

(Well, maybe it isn’t sudden at all. She stills like she knows she’s safe with you - and maybe you’re just seeing something that’s been there the whole time.)

-

It’s nights like this, you think. There’s finally nothing for either of you to hide.

-

Miyeon slips into the warm, soapy water like it’s an invitation, lets you clean her up like she’s exactly the kind of royalty she presents as - monarchy, but without the haughtiness, the demands. She’s sleepy, exhausted, sentences blurring together as she talks, as she tells you every thought like she’s never had a reason to fear honesty. 

(Maybe she has - maybe just not with you. Maybe you’re giving her all the right reasons to trust you, instead.)

You’re wiping at her face with a washcloth, and she’s telling you the full story of her and Minnie, the one you always knew had to be coming eventually - they’ve been best friends for years, they have a past, a history: they used to hook up, Miyeon tells you, but feelings got involved, and it got complicated, and they had to break it off or she knew it’d destroy them. 

“I just couldn’t give her what she wanted, I guess,” says Miyeon, softly, as you brush her damp hair away from her face. She’s naked, but you’ve had her naked in front of you so many times - it’s different like this, like she’s peeled off her armor, her defense mechanisms; there’s her skin, there’s her soul. “So, if… if you’ve ever thought she seemed especially antagonistic about you and I - that’s why. I know you probably noticed it, at first. It’s different, after these past few months, but…”

You listen, and Miyeon looks at you closely, carefully, like you’re a decision she’s making. 

“I swear she likes you now,” she says. “She’s a lot more comfortable with you. I can tell by how she talks to you. It’s just - I think it was weird for her, at first. But she knows how much you mean to me.” Her nose crinkles prettily, and she leans into your palm on her cheek, your thumb stroking the high line of her cheekbone. “She knows that you make me happy.” 

She says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world, and maybe it is. 

“Well,” you say, and you’re forgoing filth for once in your life - you’ll give her the truth, no matter how soft it’ll come out. You trust her, too. You’ll show it. “That’s all I want, baby. For you to be happy.”

Miyeon blinks up at you, her eyes a little wide and wondrous - and then she smiles. 

“I know that,” she says, brilliant, radiant: there aren’t angels on Earth, you’ve heard, but you’ve got one in your hands anyway. “I know.” 

-

So - maybe there’s a lot more to loving her than just wrecking her. You break her to put her back together; you hold her, and listen, and make her laugh. Maybe you can’t get one side without the other: you love her, and there’s the ruination, and then there’s this.

(Maybe you wouldn’t have it any other way.)

-

Minnie’s jaw actually drops when she sees you two - that’s the first thing. 

“Why are you even awake?” Miyeon asks her, too content for her usual bite with Minnie, their banter. It’s early - you’re dropping her off on your way to work, but you had to walk her inside: it’s common courtesy, or whatever. You might have kept Miyeon as your personal cockwarmer at your apartment for forty-eight hours straight, but - hey, chivalry’s never dead.   

“God damn,” Minnie says - it’s a reaction to how Miyeon looks, or maybe you, or the two of you together; it’s a toss-up - and ignores the question entirely. “Please tell me you fed her something over the weekend besides just your cum.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you say; you’re used to the lack of boundaries. You get it, now, this open obscenity, the teasing: it’s Minnie approving of you, in her own weird way. “Took a lot of convincing, though. She was like-” 

“Oh, here we go,” says Miyeon, rolling her eyes mildly, and already entirely tuned in to whatever performance you’re gearing up for. She’ll play her parts and play them poorly - she’s holding your hand tight, and there are really no believable façades, after that. 

You’ll let her off the hook in that regard, and no other. “She’s like - no, no, you don’t even have to feed me, your bodily fluids literally work fine-” 

“This is disgusting,” says Miyeon, clearly loving it. “And slanderous. I don’t even sound like that.” 

“But obviously I’m like, well, I think I’m gonna have to veto that on account of not wanting your body to shut down from malnutrition, sweetheart-” 

“Responsible,” notes Minnie, lips pursed to keep from laughing. 

“Right?” agrees Miyeon, grinning openly, giving up all her pretense. 

Here’s the second thing, or at least how it starts: Miyeon can barely walk, and is so shaky on her feet that you kiss her temple, then pass her into Minnie’s arms, endeared as Miyeon laughs at herself, tries to keep her balance. 

“Thanks for bringing her back in one piece,” Minnie says to you, taking Miyeon’s arm.

There’s something about the strange, sleepy calm of the morning, the sun still rising - it’s softening the moment, turning it to something with presence, with intention. Minnie skips past the usual ribbing, maneuvers around the back-and-forth. She’s serious when she says it, and it’s maybe the first time you’ve ever seen her like this. 

“Of course,” you say. “I’d never let anything happen to her.” 

Minnie’s expression slants, shifts like it’s cracking open, and there’s an abrupt, blinding vulnerability there that throws you for a loop. 

“Yeah,” she says, quietly - she’s not wearing makeup, not any of her usual careful, curated adornments - but her eyes, richly dark for once, are every bit as intense as they always are. She pats Miyeon’s shoulder once as she passes through the doorway, accepting rather than possessive. “I know.” 

I love her, you think of saying, but you don’t. You see it in the look on Minnie’s face: this, too, is something she already knows. 

-

There are turning points, winding streets and landmarks. Miyeon stays a few nights, stays more. Look, you know this road, know exactly where it leads - you could hook all the rights and lefts with your eyes closed. You both know exactly where you’re going. 

It’s a Friday and Miyeon’s leaning on your bathroom counter, dazzling eyes squinted as she applies mascara in the mirror, runs a fingernail under her lash line, blinks once, twice. She’s in this tiny red top, light-wash jeans ripped at the knee, blonde hair loose and wavy down her back. There’s this meticulous way she inspects her own reflection, lips curling - she knows what she looks like, how people perceive her - knows she’s got the kind of face men would walk through hell for. 

(Well, those men will just have to get in fucking line.)

“Anyway, Yuqi’s band - Minnie’s supposed to be the keyboardist,” Miyeon’s saying, “but she flakes out on, like, every other gig. I took piano lessons for a while when I was younger, so I’m the next best option, or something - I fill in whenever she bails.” 

There’s a show next week - apparently it’s this recurring theme, the band drama, except no one can ever stay mad at Minnie despite her being notoriously unreliable. Somehow, she’s still in the band, and no one has the heart to kick her out. You won’t pretend to know the politics of musical performance. 

“I’m coming,” you say, and it’s one thing that’s not up for debate. 

Miyeon meets your gaze in the mirror, eyebrows raising. “Well,” she says, mirth threading her tone, like it’d been obvious, unspoken: like she’d prefer you to be in all parts of her life, out there cheering her on. Like she’ll always do the same for you - it isn’t even a question. “I’d hope so. Okay, it’s at Club Cosmic-”

“The strip club?” 

“Hey.” Miyeon’s mouth flicks up at the corners. “Burlesque club. Show them some respect.” 

“Classy joint, then?” You’ve never been; you wouldn’t know. 

“Oh, totally.” 

She tips into your arms, won’t let you smudge her lipstick - you settle for your hand at the nape of her neck, instead, thumb tangling in a curl. She looks at you, and you’re both so far gone, so far ahead: you’ll make your jumps sooner rather than later. You’re always here for me, her gorgeous eyes say, like some reckoning - let me do something for you. Let me even the score. 

“So,” you say. “There’s actually - so, I’ve been writing this story.” 

“I’m aware,” says Miyeon, bemused. 

“Right,” you say - this is your push, your leap - you’re falling, and Miyeon’s smiling at you like there’s never been a risk to it, never a single threat. You’re so far from where you started. You’re so close to so much more. 

“Well, then,” you say, and that’s the thing about trust: when it goes both ways, it’s everything. “Do you want to read it?”

(She’s smiling at you, and it’s like you already have all the answers.)

-

See, there’s a practicality to the choice: that’s one part of it. Miyeon’s almost obsessively well-versed in literature - she’ll pore over thick novels just as easily as she’ll run through screenplays, dozens on articles on films she loves - and she reads just as much as you do, so you trust her judgment implicitly. In any other situation, she’d still be a perfect first reader; she’d be fair, she’d be great. 

“It’s rough,” you warn her, beforehand. “It’s finished, but - it’s messy.” 

Miyeon laughs, and you think of your story, how every line is punctuated with a feeling, an emotion, a passion - you think of the way she says I’m yours like it’s this immutable fact, this law of the universe. It’s all there. If she reads it, it’s all out there - and it should make you want to run, but it doesn’t. 

“Don’t worry,” she says, and her fingers tangle in yours. “That doesn’t scare me.” 

(The other part is that - ah, there’s nuance, there’s subtext. You trust her to pick up on all of that, too.) 

-

You’re on all the right roads, rocketing down highways, but here’s one last detour: you tell her that weekend that you have to go into work to pick up some papers you left behind, and Miyeon offers to join you. 

“I haven’t seen the school since I graduated,” she says, lips puckering. “I mean, it’d be so cool to see it again.”

“Uh-huh,” you say. There’s an angle here that you’ll choose to ignore - she’s plotting, and you’ll let her. “Well, it’s a weekend, so no one’ll be there - I can bring you if you really want to go.” 

“Oh,” says Miyeon, and there’s that mind of hers: pretty, fucked up, taking fate by the throat and throttling it, making it hers and hers alone. You and she should’ve never happened, by any metric, any measure of morality or common sense - but you’re happening anyway, and she’s already miles ahead. “Isn’t that convenient?” 

-

(It’s a detour, but you two already know where you’re going. It’s a moot point. You think everyone else must already know, too.) 

-

You’ll take it to instincts: call it an accident, call it a fluke, call it bullshit. You’ll think of the first time you saw her in that bar, saw all the enticing lines of her body and knew you should never, ever cross them - there’s the glint of her smile like caution tape, the stunning eyes like stoplights - but you ignored all the warnings, so you’re here. Sure - actions, consequences. It’s her, and you’re paying every price. 

“Wow.” Miyeon’s leaning against the corner of your desk, surveying the empty classroom. Even having her here again - and everything’s different, she’s blonde and she’s not your student and you’ve fucked her into oblivion a hundred times - is still getting you tense, riled. “It looks exactly the same.” 

She’s in a big sweatshirt, one of yours. Her hair’s down, her shoes black and shiny. You’re entirely aware that this is dangerous territory, but you’re never gonna be able to pull yourself away. 

“Stop,” you say, at your desk chair. 

Miyeon glances over at you, all feigned innocence. “I’m not doing anything.” 

“Your tone, princess.” You’re opening up one of your desk drawers, trying not to look at her too closely. “You’re forgetting how well I know you.”

You’re right on the edge of it; you’re calling her princess in the exact place the nickname was born, you’re shutting your drawer to stare at her mouth, her thighs. Eternal damnation’s calling your name, Satan’s right over your shoulder - or she’s perched on your desk, ready to eat you alive, fangs bared and raring to bite.

“And you’re forgetting how well I know you.” Miyeon steps around your desk, tilts her head - here’s Eve with the snake, here’s the definition of temptation. “You don’t want me to stop.” Her eyes are dark, devilish: you’ve got all this power over her, but sometimes you misjudge how goddamn mutual it can be until she’s in front of you, her slender legs like satin, finger tracing the zipper of her sweatshirt. “You brought me here. You knew what you were doing.” 

You did, but you’ll die before you admit it. That’s the thing about a power play: when you and Miyeon are on opposite sides, there’s no backing down for either of you. 

“You’re the one who wanted to come,” you say, and the tension’s unbearable, intoxicating; it’ll blow the roof off, it’ll shatter the windows. 

“Huh,” she contemplates, like it’s just dawned on her. The suspense is a bomb in the room, ticking: you wait any longer and it’ll turn you both to dust. “You know - I guess you’re right.” 

And then she tugs her zipper down, and it’s every single abominable sin wrapped up into one. 

There aren’t even words for it, how she looks: she’s in this profanely fitted white polo, cap-sleeved and with too many buttons undone - and it’s so thin, it’s not hiding a damn thing - and there’s a tie, too, black and loose around the collar - and the skirt, pleated and plaid and so short the hem of her hoodie had covered it, so you hadn’t known, so you can’t even speak-

It’s this bastardization of a school uniform, defiling the very fucking concept of it. 

“Miyeon,” you get out - and then there’s nothing else. 

(Oh - it’s a lost cause, and you can’t say you weren’t expecting exactly what she’s giving you. There she is, that’s your girl: that’s your one-way ticket to hell, ready to throw herself right into your arms.)

“This is really fucked up,” you manage, finally, voice hoarse, guttural.

“Sure,” allows Miyeon, slipping out of the sweatshirt, tossing it to the desk. “But you love it.” 

She even moves like sin itself, slow and deliberate as she stands in front of you, between your legs - she rests her fingers at your shoulders, thumb scraping down the side of your neck as if she’s seconds from ripping out your jugular. It’s the outfit - the classroom - the knowing way she’s looking at you, like she can sense how close you are to losing your shit, to tearing her apart. 

“Come on, sir.” You’re right on the road to death’s door and she’s taking you there, she’s got her finger on the pulse, she knows all the right buttons to push - she’s so tiny and there’s all that fucking power, in her eyes, her blown pupils, her hand sliding downwards to grip your cock through your pants. “See - oh, you’re so hard.” 

Miyeon squeezes, and she’s all smooth, all seduction, but what really gets you is the way the muscles at her throat constrict on a swallow, a needy desperation that she’s trying her hardest to hide - and the only reason you spot it is because you know her. You know every inch of that body, every minute reaction: she wants to be fucked so bad, she’s barely keeping it together. 

“So hard for me,” she murmurs, and her tongue darts out, sweeps her full bottom lip. “It’s turning you on to think about fucking your favorite student, yeah?” There’s the rapid rise and fall of her chest: the things she can’t hide, the dead giveaways. “Thinking about filling up my tight little cunt with your cock?” There’s the corner of her mouth, tugged upwards, but the point’s not sharp enough for a smirk. “You’re gonna go insane if you can’t have me.” 

It’s the taunt in it, it’s the way she says favorite student - it’s so fucked, and she needs you, and you know it-

In a quick, vicious motion, you’re reaching out and trapping her delicate wrist in your hand. Miyeon inhales so sharply that she almost chokes, cheeks suddenly, violently flushed, eyelids fluttering; she’s so close to breaking, and you haven’t even done anything yet. 

“Actually,” you say - oh, you’re giving in, you’re absolutely going to hell - and you’re sure everyone saw this coming. It’s Cho Miyeon, and it’s you, and you can’t resist her - you’ll repeat history; you’ll make moves and you’ll never, ever learn from them. “I think you’re the one who’s gonna go insane if you can’t have me.” You tighten your grip - the whimper she makes is like a melody, the way she trembles in place like some obscene piece of cinema. “Look at you - you’re barely even breathing. That’s how bad you need to get fucked, princess.” 

Miyeon tries to hold your gaze, tries to breathe in, out: it takes so much visible effort for her not to just collapse on the spot, to start begging and pleading for your cock, your cum - she’s still pretending like she’s got the upper hand. 

You’ll show her that she’s never been more wrong. “You need to be taught a lesson, huh?” 

“Maybe I do,” bites out Miyeon, and it’s taking all her energy to even manage words. “You’re my teacher, aren’t you? Isn’t that your fucking job?” 

The tension fills the room, suffocating both of you, cloying like smoke in your lungs - you stare, can’t believe her god damn nerve - it fills, and it’s asphyxiating, and then all at once it snaps. 

In no time flat you’re out of your seat, you’ve got Miyeon bent over your desk and her panties down her thighs, both her wrists wrapped tight in one of her fists - you’re never exactly gentle with her while you’re fucking her within an inch of her life, but there’s something different about this, feral, animalistic - she never pushes you like this. It’s the plaid skirt, it’s the environment; shit, it’s not like it matters: you’ll fuck the attitude right out of her. 

It’s only seconds and then you’ve got your cock out, you’re bottoming out inside her cunt - “In case you forgot who the fuck you belong to,” you snarl, low at her neck, emphasize it with a thrust: “I’m the one who makes the rules, princess. I’m the one who owns this pussy.” You bring your other hand down hard on her ass, and she squeals, she’s already bordering tears - you’re gonna leave bruises on her wrists with how hard you’re gripping them. “Are you proud of yourself? You goaded me into fucking you in my classroom, in your slutty little uniform - does that make you feel good?” 

Even if Miyeon wanted to respond, she can’t - her cheek is pressed to the wood grain of your desk, and she’s whining, sobbing, moaning - and you’re laying your claim to her, you’re destroying her cunt - that’s what this feeling is: it’s so destructive. You were her teacher years ago and you’re right back where you started. She’s in uniform, you’re railing her wet, leaking pussy, she’s been your student and now she’s acting like it: it’s sick, it’s hot, it’ll cave in the walls and leave the doors to purgatory yawning wide open, waiting for the both of you-

“Sir,” Miyeon’s blubbering, as if it’s the only thing she remembers how to say. “Sir, sir, sir-” 

(Well, at least you’ll be together. At least you’ll know there’s nowhere else that'll suit you and Miyeon quite so perfectly.)

“Cum-” Miyeon’s choking out, like her own words are strangling her. “Cum - sir, please, please, I need - cum inside me, please-” 

Time slips away when you’re with her, inside her - you’re too enamored with the devil in the details, in her black tie by her mouth and spit-soaked, in her tears ruining her mascara for the millionth time - and it still all gives you this novel rush of satisfaction, of pride. You’re fucking her and you’re fucking her up. You know exactly how you got here and you still can’t fathom how it happened so fast. You’re gonna cum so soon - but for once in your life, you're not gonna give Miyeon what she wants.

“Not a fucking chance,” you say, venomous, right at her ear. “Only good girls get to be bred.” 

Now it’s your turn to switch gears, to shock her: you pull out of her and her limp body collapses to the floor, her legs askew underneath her. Miyeon cries out, and doesn’t even have time to plead, to repent: she’s sprawled on the linoleum beneath you, her pussy dripping and her plaid skirt hiked up around her hips, and then she’s looking up at you, baleful, doe-eyed, staring at how you’re jerking your cock in your fist-

Your cum splatters all over her face. 

For a few heavy seconds - there’s been so much sex in the air, the slick sounds and noises, and now it’s wall-to-wall with this unearthly quiet, and you’re not even sure you’re still breathing - there’s this slackness to Miyeon’s elegant features, debased with sticky, creamy white: her mouth is open, the picture of sudden surprise, and there’s globs of your cum on her bottom lip, on her cheeks, on her right eyelid from where both eyes have fluttered shut. She’s frozen, some absolutely filthy marble statue, some pinnacle of degenerate artwork - you’ve glazed her gorgeous face in your cum, and she doesn’t move an inch. She’s so still that you aren’t sure if she’s breathing, either. 

Her mouth closes. 

You hold your breath while you watch her, mesmerized-

And then Miyeon’s lips tilt to this dreamy, satisfied little smile. 

“God,” she exhales, and skims a thumb across her eyelid, blinks her Bambi eyes open a beat later - and then she’s just staring at the cum on her finger. It doesn’t take long - an instant and she’s got her tongue lapping at her thumb, and she’s grinning around it, still, beaming dumbly as she slurps your cum off of her own hand. 

“Miyeon,” you mumble, and each syllable is shot. 

“Sir,” she says, and she sounds just as wrecked as you do. 

Slowly - you’d swear she’s on display, it’s performance art, she’s behind glass and showing off for all the prying eyes - she drags her slender fingers through the cum on her cheekbones, across the sloping bridge of her nose. It goes right in her eager mouth, and you’d think she’d been starving; it’s all hungry, kittenish licks as she cleans your semen off of her skin, tidying up her face meticulously, indulgently. 

There’s a pause. There’s still cum on one of her eyebrows, on her chin, under a heavy-lidded, sated eye. 

Miyeon asks, quietly, “Is it in my hair?”

There’s no dancing around it: it’s all over her - it’s all the build-up, it’s how you’re sure you’ve never cum faster, how you’ve lost all sense of time - in her blonde hair, sticking to the soft line of her jaw, soaking into the fabric of that sheer white polo-

“Sir,” Miyeon asks, again, in that same tremulous voice. “Did you cum in my hair?” 

“Yeah,” you say, almost croaking - you can barely get it out. “It’s - yeah. Yeah.” 

There’s that otherworldly quiet, again - she could be furious, but you know her, know the silence is born from something else entirely - and then one of her hands is on top of your desk, searching. 

“Please,” Miyeon says, almost shuddering with the effort, the desire, and her knees slide up to her chest; you don’t realize what she’s looking for until her palm slaps your phone screen. “Can you - I want to see, can you-” 

It’s like you’re on autopilot. You take your phone from the desk, and when you turn back Miyeon’s fingers have slipped between her thighs - there’s all these wet, vulgar sounds as she sinks one finger inside herself, then two, her cheeks pink, drool collecting at the corner of her mouth - she’s all desperation, complete carnal need. 

(You don’t ask what she wants, because you already know.) 

It’s all in front of you, the perfect, shameless snapshot. It’s so flawless a scene it might as well be scripted, practiced: her knees are parted, her hair covered in ropes of your cum - you open the camera on your phone, you point it right at her - her tie off-kilter, her fingers sloppy and soaked as they pump in and out of her pussy-

She’s filthy; she's yours, and no one else's. You aim your camera at her, and that’s all it really takes: you’re getting all the proof you need of exactly who Miyeon belongs to.

You flip your phone around, show her the photo - and her reaction is fucking unholy. 

It’s this visceral, full-body trembling that passes through her - and you know what she’s seeing: her in this depravedly slutty uniform, her dripping with your semen, her greedily finger-fucking her cunt, her tear-filled eyes and her wet, pretty mouth - and all at once she’s gasping, panting, like something in her can’t reconcile how shattered she actually looks when she’s like this, how she’s textbook corruption, taking purity and polluting every meaning of the word-

“You like seeing yourself like that, princess?” You can’t believe this girl - can’t believe she’s even real. “Covered in my cum?” 

Miyeon’s nodding wildly, strands of her blonde hair sticking to her face, tripping over her own pace as she fucks herself. Her eyes flick shut, open, keep landing on that photo of her: you don’t think she’ll ever get over it. 

“Come on, baby.” You’re standing, and there’s that dynamic - she’s crumpled on the floor beneath you, not an ounce of composure, losing her mind as she drips all over her own hand. You’re not even touching her, and yet she’s looking from that picture to you, fast, manic, waiting for permission, a green light, an open door. You won’t mind giving it to her. “Make yourself cum for me."

It’s an order in your mouth, and her fingers in her cunt, and she can’t do anything but obey.

When Miyeon cums, the way she looks is fucking pornographic - and it’s the sex, the setting, the photo on your phone as it slips from your hand and clatters to the ground - all of it: it decimates her. There’s something so dirty about you above her, watching her: small and spent on the classroom floor, limbs all limp and useless, doing exactly what you tell her and nothing else. 

“I-” she tries to say, wrought with the aftermath, and it’s garbled, it’s nonsense. This is the sweetest part - how any orgasm leads straight to incoherency. “I - Jesus fuck, I…”

Miyeon looks at you, and she’s still a disaster, helpless. She holds both her arms out to you, bottom lip wobbling: it’s an offering, a request for salvation. Oh, she's the most provocative angel you've ever seen, you'll give her that - you refused her once and you'll never manage it again.

“Alright, baby,” you say, and you’re laughing. She’s so cute - and suddenly, the indecency fogging up the room begins to filter out just from the look in her eyes. “Come here.” 

You lean down to pull her up by her elbows, settle you both back into your chair. Miyeon curls into your lap, catlike, inexplicably, immediately comfortable. Your phone’s still on the ground: that incriminating picture dims before the screen goes dark from disuse; that’s another step. You’re sitting in hell, flames licking up the walls, consuming - you’ll let them take you. You’re holding her and there’s no place you’d rather be. 

Miyeon’s nose bumps your neck, and she’s covered in cum, tears, sweat: there’s nothing right about this moment, not to any higher power. Neither of you are ever seeing heaven, but she’s all yours - no afterlife could give you anything better. 

-

You’re not sure how long it takes before she speaks again, but then she does. 

“It’s you.” It’s only a murmur, halting, like Miyeon’s right on the edge of some epiphany, and you’re not sure she’ll even remember saying it later. “I think - for me - I think it was always going to be you.” 

(It’s probably morally reprehensible, or whatever - but you’ve got her here with you. There’s nothing that’ll ever matter more than that.) 

-

“So, listen,” Miyeon says, once she’s at least partially recovered. “There were some implications going on there.” 

“Uh,” you say, unsure where this is going. “I’d say that’s sort of an understatement.” 

“I seem to recall you alluding to me being a bad girl around ten minutes ago, give or take.” Ah, here’s her angle. She’s listing her sources - she’d bring out footnotes, citations; she’d take it to visual aids, if need be. Okay, maybe she’s not completely out of character. “For example-” 

“Jesus Christ,” you say, one arm around her waist, thoroughly entertained. 

“I’m gonna quote you on this - ‘only good girls get to be bred’. Right? You said that? So - because you didn’t end up cumming inside me, I think making the inference that you were calling me a bad girl in that moment is, like - it’s pretty logical, pretty reasonable-”

“Okay - good God, Miyeon, you can tone it down.” 

“No, I’m not even playing into the student thing right now, babe. I’m dead serious.”

“You’re obnoxious.” 

“You’re fucking obsessed with me,” points out Miyeon, smiling sweetly, and she’s so right, she’s never once been wrong. “Are you gonna let me make my case now?” 

“You don’t have a case,” you point out, and you’re even more right than she is: that’s the two of you in a nutshell, always raising the stakes, always the devil’s advocate - going up to bat for hell and winning. “You just want me to call you my good girl again.” 

Miyeon shrugs, caught and unabashed - she’s got nothing to hide from you and she knows it. “Possibly,” she says, tries for coy and veers entirely off-course; she’s grinning too wide, her gorgeous eyes crinkled up, the faint dimple in her cheek winking at you. She’ll debate for the fun of it. She never seems to mind losing to you. 

“Possibly?” you echo, endeared, hand in her still-ruined hair. 

The mess, the sweat: you’ll handle it all. You’ll take her home, you’ll clean her up. See, you already both know what’s next - sex isn’t where it ends so much as it’s a gateway: it’s an open door, it’s the beginning of everything. You fucked her until she sobbed, and now she’s making you laugh, and you’re gonna take her back to your place and hold her until you both fall asleep: there’s a story in that too, you think. There are hundreds. 

“Can you really blame me?” Miyeon’s got her hand at your jaw, got her heart in her eyes, adoration with nothing to do but fill the room. There’s the dirtiest things you could do to her, and then there’s the way she looks at you: talk about underlying themes, context clues. She’s in your lap and there’s a bigger narrative tucked away in the wings, just aching to reveal itself - there's a time and a place; it'll get its turn.

It’s just like you said: there’s the ruination - the sex, the obscenity, the rough shit, the old tricks and nicknames and games - and then there’s this, hiding under it all. Everything’s so clear when you’re seeing it in the light. 

“I’m yours,” Miyeon says, and she’s grinning like it’s the only true thing either of you have ever known. “I like hearing you say it out loud.” 

(It’s not like it is in all the novels. It’s not a fairytale, and you’re not sure anyone here to witness it would categorize it as anything close to romance - but you have her, so you understand what they don’t: something doesn’t have to be romantic for you to know it’s love.)

-

It’s your own detour to wind your way out of, but you’re not doubling back on any of it - there’s that road, stretching out in front of you. There’s only one thing both of you want, and by some wholly sacrilegious miracle, you already have it. 

Miyeon’s in the passenger seat of your car, again, just like all those times before - the sun’s streaming through the windshield, turning her dark eyes warm, honeyed: you'll think of hearths, you'll think of home. She's with you, and you're already there.

“You are mine, you know,” you tell her. 

There's something different about it, saying it here: during sex, it's all possession, all power - it's getting your hand in her hair and tugging, it's using her like you've got your name branded to her body - but now you're not, and you're driving her back to your place, and she's wrapped in your sweatshirt, her face tipped towards the setting sun like something out of a movie scene. It feels gentler: care, connection, hope. It feels like you should kiss her at stop signs and red lights, let her laugh into each one - oh, they're clichés, you know that; it's a film you've seen before. Well, you know what they say about fiction: there's nothing sweeter. You'll emulate it. You'll say exactly what you mean.

“I’m yours, too,” you add, tilt it, attempt to go for humor, attempt to make it lighter. “In case I don’t say it enough.” 

“Oh, that,” says Miyeon, vague and fond, and her eyes have fallen shut - she doesn’t even have to look at you to confirm it. It’s then, that it hits you, a tidal wave crashing overhead: there’s not a single thing she’s more sure of than the way that you feel about her. 

“It’s okay,” she tells you, and she’s smiling. There’s the glittering sunset - the sea, evening itself out, finally reaching the shore. “I think I’ve known that forever.” 

-

She spends the night at your place, falls asleep in your arms. She’s made a home out of your apartment, your bed, your heart. She’s the kind of girl people wax poetic about like they’re getting paid for it; you aren’t, and you will, anyway. 

Miyeon’s in between your sheets, her body pressed against you, and for once there’s no suggestion, no innuendo. It’s you, and it’s her, and it’s the kind of love that has paragraphs flickering in bedside lamps, covering the ceiling, sewing itself on the forefront of your mind - it’s the kind of love that inspires invention, creation. There’s nothing closer to heaven than that. 

The writing’s on the wall, really. There’s only one way this can end. 

-

“Hey,” says Miyeon, the morning after. “I need to talk to you about something.” 

If it were anyone else - any other relationship, any other guy facing down a pretty girl proposing a serious discussion - those words would've set off wailing sirens, sent men running; you get it, you do. It's just that it's not the same, and it never is, with you and her: Miyeon's on the edge of your bed, legs tucked underneath her, tiny and soft in one of your faded t-shirts, looking at you like you hung the moon just for her. There's no threat: you're so far past that.

“Sure,” you say, sit up - she scoots towards you, knees pressing to your calves. "What's up?"

“So.” Miyeon's smile tilts a bit lopsided, a bit too tender for her usual flawlessness. Her pale neck's littered with purpling hickeys, her blonde hair a little messy; there's early light coming through your cracked blinds, turning her to a goddess, bathing her in gold. “I finished reading your story.” 

It should be a killing blow - a bid for anxiety, kickstarting your heart into high gear - but it lands so, so softly. It’s her. You’re not afraid of a damn thing. 

“And what’d you think?” you ask, hooking your thumb into the hem of her shirt - your shirt - tugging her close. You barely need to ask; she’s radiant, her sparkling eyes putting the sunrise to shame. You know the look. You know how long it’s been there. 

“Well,” Miyeon says. “I think that you’re in love with me.” 

(See, here it is, a moment straight out of cinema: let it all fall back on clichés, on swelling violins, on a laugh and a kiss and a happily ever after - oh, you'll give up talks of hell and heaven; maybe this is what you both deserve. Maybe you'll take it - just grab her hand and run.)

"Look at you," you say - you're so breathless, you're playing it off so badly - you skim her waist, and watch as she goes soft at your touch. "Noticing all the subtext."

Sure, there’s that thing you said about her being the best student you’ve ever had, about loving literature, about being able to read between the lines - but there's this, too, the real truth: no one understands you like she does. It wouldn't matter what you wrote - she's reading it, and she knows your mind like she knows her own, and there's nothing left that you'd ever want to hide.

“Yeah.” Miyeon goes for a sigh, a valiant attempt at nonchalance. It'd probably be more effective if she wasn't beaming the way she is, stealing sunlight just to keep it in her smile. "Which would probably be, like, super fucking awkward, but - I'm in love with you too, so I guess you get a pass."

There's something about it, something that knocks the air clean out of your lungs - and you've known it this whole time, but it's so different when she says it out loud - and there's something in the glimmer of her irises, love threatening to pour out of her and never stop, contained only by some grace of some god and nothing less - you don't know how the room's intact, how the sky hasn't fallen, how time hasn't stopped just to watch her: she's everything, you want to say, and you will, you swear - something about this moment, about everything slipping right into place-

“You love me,” you say, stunned, struck dumb.

“Obviously.” 

“I love you,” you tell her, because you can’t help yourself. 

“Believe it or not, that’s actually even more obvious.” 

There's that haphazard front of hers: Miyeon's trying to keep it snarky, sarcastic, but her arms are looped around your neck, and it's a battle she's already lost. She’s seconds from letting it all go, pressing your mouth to yours, saying I love you, saying you’re mine, saying there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and I mean it. 

It’s in those eyes: you see it. She’s so close. 

“Princess,” you say, smiling like you'll never stop, and that’s all she needs to break. 

Her blush is instant - so is the way she's kissing you. "Shut up," she exhales into your mouth, and she's giggling - your hands are in her hair, and she's almost in your lap - and her fingers trap your cheeks, claim you as her own. She's so vibrant she puts every other pretty thing to static, background noise; the world mutes itself, paints her as the focal point. "Shut up. You knew how I felt this whole time, didn't you?"

There's always space to take a joke as far as she'll let you. “Well, sure. It was the sex that tipped me off, you know: way too intense to be casual. I realized somewhere down the line that you had to love me at least a little bit.” 

“Oh, really?” Miyeon's catching your tone, calling your bluff. Every single front's crumbling, worthless with what they're up against. "That's what it was, then?"

“No,” you admit, giving it up - you always will. “It’s because it’s you. I don’t know anyone better than I know you.” 

You've been a writer for what feels like forever; you've penned every feeling to death and then some, dreamt up every figure of speech, every possible convoluted phrase. It's just that you've never felt anything like this before - call it fate and it's not enough, call it love and it is, but it's more. You'll never be able to put it into words - you'll spend the rest of your life trying.

(You'll be just fine if you don't find it. You feel it, and it's all you need. You'll be alright.)

You don't know when it happened, but there's a sheen in Miyeon's eyes - she's got your face in her hands, she's got your heart and made it her home - and you don't think there's ever been anyone so breathtaking, so happy, so alive.

"I love you," she says - oh, there's a declaration, a confession fit for the classics. You stroke Miyeon's jaw, and her tears don't fall, and her voice is thick, and she's smiling so wide. "I really love you. Like-" Miyeon's laughter breaks her sentence, and the sound's like music - you swear the universe goes silent just to listen in. "Fuck. This is really - this is kind of fucking crazy. What are we supposed to say when people ask how we met? I mean - god, people are gonna think we're insane-"

“I don’t care,” you say, blunt, and the laugh you earn from her is irresistible - even if you spend the rest of your life hearing it, you don't think it'd be enough. “I love you. What else matters?” 

There's no need to say it out loud: you already both know the answer. Miyeon leans in, touches her forehead to yours, eyelids slipping shut. "Say it again."

“I love you." You kiss her, because you have to - she's right there, and she's beautiful, and she's yours. “We don’t need anything more than that.” 

-

There's a pause here for a final score, an epilogue, a closing scene - it's there, but it never comes. Maybe the only way this can end is for it not to end at all.

"You and me," muses Miyeon, and it's an echo from nights ago, a line of poetry she'd left hanging - she'll wrap up every loose thread, write it all just for you. You'll have more. You've got all that road ahead of you, and her by your side: there's not a single conclusion in sight. "We're gonna be really good together, huh?"

"Baby," you tell her, grinning, and it's only just the beginning. "I think we already are."

-

thank you all for 600+ notes on the first part... hope you enjoyed <3

[superhero--imagines]

Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here!

A/N: not superhero themed. I just read midnight sun and had this idea and I don’t feel like making another blog so.... hope you like twilight lol

There will be a part two, and just a reminder, I’m still looking for beta readers so DM if you’re interested!

* It probably starts with you reading midnight sun, you remember reading the books/watching the movies when you were younger.

* Man, you really forgot how bad this book was. The writing itself is good, but the plot...

* It’s like everything revolves around Bella, everything is created for her.

* You almost feel bad for the other characters

* Well, whatever, you’ll finish the rest of the book tomorrow and never think about that awful franchise again.

* When you wake up you feel an ache in your head. But you didn’t drink last night, maybe you’re dehydrated

* You shift, noting the smooth silk of the covers. Now you’re alarmed.

* You don’t have silk sheets

* You see a mirror in the corner of the room, and rush over

* The face that looks back at you is different then yours

* It’s the same in some ways, but different all the same

* The curve of your nose is slightly off, your lips are thinner, eyes a little closer together.

* The memories begin to flood in, in this world you were on a graduation trip with your parents, you got an all inclusive package. Three days of sightseeing in Volterra.

* You got sick on the last day, when you were signed for a tour of the castle, your parents went without you

* That was the last you saw of them

* You dumbly followed, asking question where you shouldn’t. And ended up at the volturi’s door

* Aro had grasped your hand to see how much you knew, only too see nothing. Likewise Jane’s powers did not work as well

* They were astounded by this, it appears this was several years before Bella was introduced to the story

* And so, you became a prisoner of the tower

* Your soul must have been in this body for quite some time, but you’ve only remembered now, that’s the only explanation for why their powers didn’t work on you. Your consciousness is not of this world.

* There’s a short knock on your door

* “Are you decent?”

* You call back and Alec pops his head in.

* “Ready to go to the library?”

* He looks so kind. The boyish grin that stretched across his face as you shook your head.

* It was in direct contrast to the sadistic personality you had become accustomed to in the books

* “I need a few more minutes”

* You half expect him to lash out at you for being slow. By he only nods, closing the door and waiting outside for you to finish.

* He was you friend. You realized

* He IS your friend

* You think back as you turn on the faucet. He didn’t like you at first, being assigned to guard a human was insulting

* But he started to warm up to you once he heard you play the piano

* This body was quite used to the ivory keys. And so you charmed him as best you could, half for your survival, because the happier you kept him the less likely he was to kill you.

* And half because- you were so lonely, the Loneliness echoed in this body like an ache. Suddenly an orphan, in a continent where you knew no one. All you had was this boy.

* How long have you been here? You kept a talley at one point, but abandoned it after the thirtieth day. What was the point? You would either die or become one of them

* A shiver erupts through at the thought, in your past life you were a vegetarian, you didn’t relish in the idea of killing something alive and moving.

* You pull on a sweatshirt, ripping of the chanel tag. They bought you the nicest things money could buy, the most lavish food you could have.

* They did the same thing with the tourists they lured, keeping them happy and well fed, the same way the cows that became wagyu beef might be cared for. That way when it came time to slaughter, the meal was that much more delicious.

* You suspected this was similar, that should you be an unnecessary addition, you would make a meal suitable for their palette

* Alec basically talks your ear off the entire way to the Volturi library, mostly about literature

* “What are your thoughts on Anna Kerenina?”

* “That the patriarchy needs to be burned to the ground.”

* “That is.... valid”

* He even talks when you’re at the library, much to the annoyance of a few of the other patrons

* “Which book are you looking for now?”

* You stop mid motion on the ladder and turn to look at him. His ruby eyes glowing, he looks bloated. Like he’s fed too much.

* “Alec, why are we friends?”

* You really should keep your mouth shut. Alec was the only real ally you had, you shouldn’t say anything that might put him off

* And yet, it unnerved you, because the Alec in front of you was a very different character then the one you had come to see.

* He looks at you like you hung the moon,

* “Because you’re the most interesting human in the world”

* You burst out laughing, earning several glares.

* “I-I’m sorry Alec, but I’m not, I’m just the most interesting human you KNOW, there’s way more people who are more interesting than me.”

* You expect to see him offended, and he does, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes

* “I’m not so sure about that”

* The days creep by, reading books, eating snacks, it’s nice

* You learn, that Alec hasn’t talked to a human in a very long time. Outside of the screams he heard after devouring one.

* He hasn’t been outside the castle walls in many years, possibly a century.

* “What’s the best part of the human world?” He asked you once

* It’s the 90’s, so smartphones haven’t been invented yet.

* “One tree hill and friends”

* “Well you have a friend right here”

* “No friends the show”

* “The what?”

* And that’s how you got Alec hooked onto cable television

* Who knew the cure to vampire- sadism was a healthy dose of Jennifer Aniston fumbling about on screen

* “Is this what life is like?”

* You shrug, it was what college had been like for you in your past life.

* “It’s kinda what schools like, but i never got to be on my own”

* This body was only 18 after all.

* Alec doesn’t say anything, but his expression falters

* Alec’s only now starting to understand the life you will be denied once Aro decides when to turn you

* Jane joins later

* One day when you and Alec are lazing around the library when she appears, she says nothing, just sits down next to Alec and reads a book

* You’re sure they hear the uneven thumping of your heart as you turn back to your book. Her power doesn’t work on you, you remind yourself

* Not that she even needs it, she could snap you apart like a Kit Kat bar

* And if it came down to it, you’re sure Alec would let her, he might like you but his loyalty’s always remained with his sister

* “So... you watch human television together?” Her bright red eyes flickered from Alec to you.

* You nodded, never sure what exactly it was that would set Jane off

* You had seen enough in the books to know her moods were compatible at best.

* “I would...like to join” she awkwardly looking away, and you were sure if she could, she would be blushing.

* Honestly it’s kind of cute.

* “Sure, the more the merrier”

* And that’s how you basically adopted the sadist twins

* It’s a little harder to get Jane to open up, but once you make a comment about how Phoebe was the best character in friends, she starts to open up

* “Humans are cruel, even when they’re kind it’s only because they want something from you.”

* “Is that what you think about me? That I’m only nice to you because I want something?” she meets your eyes for a few minutes before turning away

* “I’m not sure”

* You understand very gradually why they’re so twisted

* They’d been treated terribly during their human life, in every kind act lingered a dark shadow, in even minor misunderstanding the image of a monster

* Their centuries in the Volturi didn’t help. Under Aro’s ruthless tutelage, and Caius’s sadistic tendencies, They had no one they could trust but each other.

* They were only surviving just as you were

* “Sometimes I wonder how much of my loyalty is real, and how much of it is Chelsea.” She whispers one day, so quietly you barley hear it

* You rest your hand on hers, it’s the only comfort you could think to offer

* When Jane grasps your hand in hers, she breaks every bone in your hand

* She doesn’t understand the pained screams or your mangled hand fit a second, and then she realizes what she did

* Alarmed she carries you halfway around the castle screeching for someone to help

* You pass out from the pain, when you come to you’re in your bed, a very cold hand holding your own

* “How are you feeling?” You don’t recognize this vampire, but you don’t really know anyone outside of Alec and Jane.

* You feel light headed, a warm feeling washing over you, you must be on some strong drugs

* “My body’s still grieving, but my mind is sharp.”

* It’s incoherent at best, but there’s truth to it, your body is still grieving for your parents and the life you’ve lost, but your otherworldly mind is ten steps ahead, cross referencing every action.

* The man offers a short chuckle

* “You really did a number on your hand. I’ve done what I can but...”

* You look down to your hand, half surprised by the bright yellow cast encasing it

* You had figured you would wake up to be a vampire, it just made sense, these were unfamiliar human aches to them after all and vampirism was a simple and effective cure

* They must want something from you, if they’re keeping you human

* You suspect it’s something along the lines of how they waited until Jane and Alec were burning at the stake to save them, so their power would be that much more potent

* Maybe they’re doing the opposite with you, trying to make you as happy as possible to see what effect it has on your ability

* It’s too bad you don’t have one

* “Thank you for your hard work.” You mumble, being human for a little bit longer is well worth the pain.

* “How did you break your hand?”

* “I held Janes’ hand”

* Your doctor let’s out a short laugh

* “That sounds about right”

* You smile, it does sound right, of course you would break your hand that way

* The conversation flows naturally after that, you talk about all sorts of things

* “You think vampires have souls?” He quirks an eyebrow

* “I’m of the opinion that a soul is something you create through hardship and struggle, being able to live longer means that you have more opportunities to have the experiences that result in a soul”

* “That’s an intriguing notion, I wish I had brought my son with me.”

* You’re about to ask about his son, when you’re interrupted by the door swimming open

* “I heard you were awake, are you alright?” Alec rushes in, his eyes frantic

* “Yeah these drugs are top notch” you press the button that releases the pain killers and let out a giggle

* “Is that alright? Humans are awfully sensitive.” Jane pipes up from behind Alec, you hadn’t noticed her in your haze.

* Your doctor chuckles

* “I’m aware,” he’s smiling but it’s strained

* “What’s wrong?” You ask, he was so calm until a second ago, he doesn’t answer you

* “I’ll give you three a moment.”

* You only register he’s gone when you hear the door close

* The twins rush over to you, Jane is kneeled by your side, while Alec hovers over you

* “I-I’m sorry I hurt you, I forgot-I didn’t remember.” You we’re sure Jane would be crying if she could

* “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it.” You raise your cast encased hand and give her a gentle pat on the head. “From now on, physical signs of affection will just be one sided.” You joke, which makes Jane grin

* “I’ll practice with some animals before I try touching you again”

* The three of you chat for a bit, they’re both surprised by your cast and ask several questions about its “primary function”

* “I didn’t know there was a doctor here” you murmur, feeling drowsy

* “Carlisle’s not with the Volturi, he’s from another coven in the new world.”

* Your drowsiness flies away in a second

* “That was Carlisle?”

* Jane looks somewhat confused but nods.

* A flutter of hope erupts in your chest, it’s so strong even your grief stricken body feels it

* You might have a chance. It’s slim, Carlisle has a family he loves and needs to protect. But still, they were strangers once too. No different than you.

* It’s a way out of here

* The next few days follow in a drugged haze, Alec and Jane visit every so often, and Carlisle engages you in occasional conversation while checking progress on your hand

* “Why are your eyes gold?” You know, but well, you need him to believe the lie

* “It’s a bit of a long story” he says with a wary smile.

* “I’m not going anywhere”

* He sighs, a genuine smile encompassing his face as he recounts the tale.

* Even though you’ve already heard it all before, it still makes you cry

* Even in the haze, you know something’s.... off

* There’s something about the way Alec won’t meet your eyes when he talks to you, and the uneasy weight that lingers in the air whenever someone else is in the room

* On the third day, it’s Aro who visits you, Alec and Carlisle in tow behind him.

* “Oh my, all that internal bleeding, how awful”

* Even you can feel the insincerity, but it’s the first you heard about internal bleeding

* So that explains it, the drugs and the aches all along your body, it wasn’t just your hand, you were dying

* “Don’t worry, we’ll save you” Aro’s smile is cruel “won’t we Alec?”

* Alec looks afraid, almost pained, but he nods

* Ah, so this was punishment for Alec too. Until that moment, when Jane broke your hand, Aro must have been ignorant to how close the three of you had gotten.

* You close your eyes, you knew this would happen eventually. There were only two ending to this story, and it seemed one had finally been picked

* You feel a pinch on your neck, right above your collar bone, no worse than a flue shot.

* You wait for the pain, the vivid screams you remember from the books and movies, but it never comes.

* Instead it’s just a warm numbness that spreads across your neck and left shoulder.

* “It doesn’t hurt” you murmur, you feel a cold hand rest against your forehead, Alex’s hand.

* It’s so gentle, he must have practiced on some animals first, you think.

* “No the pain comes later.”

* And so you drift into inky black unconsciousness, the last sleep of your human life in this world.

* You dream that you’re sitting at the bottom of a tree, a fig tree, like the one Sylvia Plath wrote about

* Each fig a different path, half of them have already fallen off, dark, as they rot at your feet

* “How do you do it?”

* You look to your side and find the person who’s face you see in the mirror, they’re hugging their knees to their chest, dark circles under their eyes

* “How do I do what?” You ask, they bite their lip

* “How can you be so strong when you’ve just lost everything?”

* You see their eyes brim with tears, and you look away, to the tree that looks over you both

* “I don’t know” It’s the truth, you have an unfair advantage in this world, because you know all the secrets each person carries, while yours remain shrouded in darkness. And yet... it’s not why you persevere

* “All I do know, is that I want to give them hell”

* Your counterpart grins at that, and to your surprise, you feel a smile stretch out across your face

* Yeah, it’s not about power, you just want raise some hell in this backwards misogynistic world.

* “I guess that’s the one you’re picking then huh?” Your counterpart points to a fig, it’s on the tallest branch of the tree, so far out of reach it almost seems unobtainable

* But you only nod

* “Yeah, I think that’s the way I’m going to go”

* They look at you and smile.

* “If you ever get the chance, I hope you punch that jerk Aro right in the face”

* You laugh.

* When you finally awake, you’re still laughing. A smile etched onto your face.

* Everyone’s there, all looking at you with concerned glances.

* Yeah, you’re going to have a lot of fun in this world.

[neonacity]

HYACINTHE | Chapter 1: Jaemin x Reader

Summary:

Na Jaemin is far from being your typical 20 year old. Instead of slaving through college, he wastes away his hours cracking safes. Weekends that should be spent partying with friends consist of illegal races on good days and small scale bombings on bad ones.

Na Jaemin is far from being average, unless you consider being a member of Seoul's top organized crime family normal.

There is no such thing as a sense of normality and peace in his trainwreck of a life, so when he met a barista who was brave enough to call out his dangerous taste in coffee, he was like a moth to the flame. Everything about her is normal, which means she is forbidden to him, in all sense of the word.

So why, then, does he always find himself in the front steps of her shop, breaking all his personal rules even if he wishes he could stay away?

A/N + Disclaimer: this is a side story to Black Daisies, my main mafia fic feat. 0T23. While the plot is based on the main story, this can also be read as a standalone fic. As usual, this is purely a work of fiction and in no way am I implying any member of NCT to behave the way I write them here. tw: crimes, heists, potential death, mentions of drugs and other illegal activities.

PAIRING: Jaemin x Reader

BLACK DAISIES MASTERLIST

___________________________________________________________

I've known him for almost a year and a half when it happened. 

The small bell of the cafe's back door dinged so hard, I thought it would get ripped off from the wall. I looked up, eyes wide with panic and hands still wrapped around the cold corners of a metal tray when a head of jet black hair appeared on the entrance. It took me half a second to register what I was seeing before I found myself flying to his side in a heartbeat. 

"Jaemin! Oh my god, what the hell is going on!"

My first thought was that he was injured. He was doubled over and I quickly hunched to his level so that I could peer at his face. He looked paler than usual, beads of sweat stuck on his forehead, eyes glazed with a slight look of panic as he tried to keep himself from falling over. I threw out my hands to hold him by the shoulders and that's when my gaze caught it; the small black package that he quickly tried to hide inside his bomber jacket before I could even fully see what it is. I didn't give it much attention back then—I was far too focused in trying to see if he was hurt anywhere to worry about anything else. When his gaze finally focused on me, I thought I saw guilt there.  

"I need your help. Sorry, I don't know where else to go."

My brows furrowed together. 

"What the hell is going on—"

He reached out for one of my hands helping him up and squeezed it tight. 

"Please don't ask me questions. Just—can you trust me?" 

"I don't understand—" my voice started to rise. Is he hurt? Bleeding? In pain? 

"Please."

My lips parted then pursed again. 

"Okay."

Jaemin tugged me closer to him and threw a panicked look outside. He then pulled me farther into the now closed cafe, back into the storage room, the location of which he shouldn't even know in the first place. 

"Let me hide here for a bit. Just a bit."

That encounter was my second mistake since meeting Na Jaemin. 

I should have asked questions. 

Lots of them. 

___________________________________________________________

The first mistake happened about a year and half ago. 

"Welcome to Brick and Beans, what would you like to have today?"

I plastered on my practiced smile and looked at the stranger in front of me without actually looking at him. Working in the service industry sure does things to your head once you get used to it. Despite having to deal with people all the time, you also get to develop a kind of numbness and detachment to human interaction. A face just becomes a face, a customer simply becomes just another passing responsibility. I tried to blink a few times to make myself seem more interested on the boy standing in front of my counter, patiently waiting for him to give me his order so we can go ahead and get on with both our business. 

"Uh… I'll have an iced americano. No water. Eight shots of espresso."

My lips parted and curled on the sides to give him my service smile. My hand automatically reached out for the plastic cups stacked on my side while my other whipped out the marker clipped on the pocket of my apron to scribble his order. 

"That's one iced americano, no water, eight—"

I stopped and blinked once. Twice. My gaze shot up at the customer in front of me again and really looked at him for the first time.

"I'm sorry, that's eight shots of espresso?"

He nodded, seemingly unbothered by my question. 

"No water?"

A slight shake of the head. 

"...eight shots. Of espresso."

"Eight shots, yes." 

For a moment we both just stared at each other. He was looking at me patiently, probably only slightly weirded out by my question while I gave him a look that's a mix of worry and disbelief. Working as a barista has exposed me to my own fair share of weird coffee requests, but this is by far the one that takes the cake. 

I softly cleared my throat and turned my attention back to the words I was scribbling on the cup. As strange as it is, I really am not in the position to judge a customer. 

"That'll be 4.50 dollars. Is that for here?"

"Make it to go." 

"Got it. I'll get you your order soon…"

"Jaem." 

I smiled and scribbled his name on the cup. 

Foot traffic was pretty slow on the cafe so I was able to quickly finish the order on autopilot. As I worked on mixing, I found myself humming softly to myself, my tune shifting into short whistles every time I would dunk an espresso shot down into that cup. I didn't even realize that the customer didn't bother taking a seat on one of the empty tables, opting to lean on the wall by the side instead, hands shoved in the pockets of his jogs as his eyes followed me. 

"One iced americano for Jaem," I called out and pushed the packed drink into his hand. He handed me his card and I quickly worked on swiping it. 

"You sure like your coffee explosive, huh?" I shot him a question for the sake of making small talk as I punched some buttons on my terminal. 

"It's the eight shots, isn't it?"

I answered by giving him a shrug and a smile.

"It's the first time I ever did one like it. I can only imagine how it tastes like."

His lips slightly quirked into a smile. A...really cute smile if I might add.  

"Is there anything wrong?"

"It's really good." 

"Sure, Jaem. I'm not here to judge," I gave him a wink before handing back his card and receipt. "Well, thank you for dropping by. We hope to see you here again." He took both wordlessly and slipped them on his wallet. 

I was waiting for him to walk off with his drink with the practiced polite smile plastered on my face again. He turned, coffee in hand, took about five steps, before turning to me again. I blinked in mild confusion as he placed his cup back on my counter. 

"Actually… I'll have it here." 

___________________________________________________________

"I'm not going to try your death coffee, Jaemin." 

I didn't look up from the page I was reading but I could feel it, that deadly pout and puppy eyes combo drilling onto the side of my head. I flipped a page of my textbook over and I heard a sigh come from the boy beside me. 

"I bought it for you. You said you need to finish a paper tonight."

"I do. That doesn't require me to be awake for the next week and a half," I answered back with a quirk of my lips as I finally looked up to meet his gaze. We were seated at one of the far tables of the cafe for my 15 minute break, away from the handful of customers scattered on the smattering of tables and high chairs. This has become quite a routine already… but how it started, I can't really explain.

Ever since that first order, Jaemin had made it his routine to drop by almost regularly. At first the banter started similar to how a regular customer and his favorite barista would have, but since he would always come and visit during slow hours, we would always have more time for longer conversations. Casual talk turned into light-hearted jokes, and finally into a kind of banter that comes with familiarity with each other. Slowly, I came to know the complexities of Na Jaemin, and boy, is he an enigma and a paradox rolled in one. 

You never really know what to expect with him. There are days when he would be a bursting ball of energy—most of the time when he would order his drink from hell—but there are also moments when he would be quiet and reserved. I found it odd at first, but slowly accepted it since it didn't really hurt me in the first place. In fact, if I am going to be completely honest, I find this kind of personality set working for me. Imagine gaining two friends, except they're only in one body. 

But that's not the only odd thing in our dynamic, too. If someone would ask me now to describe the kind of friendship I have with him, I wouldn't really know how to explain it. We joke together, laugh together, sometimes even tease the crap out of each other like we've known each other for years. We work well together, but at the same time… I know almost next to nothing about him. I don't know his address, who his other friends are, if he's going to school or not… hell, I don't even know what his number is. Outside of this cafe and his regular visits, I don't have anything to prove that he actually exists. He didn't share, and I also didn't ask. 

Until today.

"Fine. I'm just going to drink this then."

I gasped before shooting him a squinted glare. 

"You are going to burn a hole in your stomach, I swear to god—"

He simply shrugged and made a huge show of sipping the previously untouched tears of Lucifer. 

I reached out to tug at the hood of his jacket in an attempt to call him out when I noticed it. His hair was initially masking it at first but now I could see it in full view: a purple bruise just on the side of his eye, almost to his temple.

"Oh my god, Jaemin. What happened?" I asked in a hurry as I tried to take a closer look at it. His expression changed in a heartbeat as he realized what I saw and he quickly leaned back and pulled the hoodie again over his head. 

"That's—it's nothing." 

"It looks so bad. How did you get that?"

He didn't answer. His eyes avoided my own and his hand gripped the plastic cup between us a little bit tighter. 

"Did you get into a fight?" I pushed, gently this time. 

His gaze moved to meet mine again for a few seconds. It's obvious he was contemplating what and how to answer. 

"Yeah… I got into a bit of a tumble with some friends."

I frowned and crossed my arms over my chest as I leaned back on my seat. He threw me a look that silently asked what else I want from him.

"Look. You don't tell me shit but at least I know enough to be sure you are lying."

Jaemin looked away and started tapping his finger against the table. 

"Why are you… why do you even want to know?"

I looked at him incredulously for a few seconds before leaning over. 

"Because you're my friend and I want to make sure you are okay."

"I am okay."

"Your black eye says otherwise."

"Come on, don't push this. Can't we be friends without," he waved his hand between us. "This?"

"Jaemin, I don't even know who you are."

That made him stop. He stared at me for what felt like a full half minute and that's when I saw it for the first time. The dilemma in his eyes. 

"It was because of work…" 

The look of confusion I made must have been so intense that he quickly tried to jump over it.

"Work—why, what do you—"

"I'm sorry, but that's really all that I can tell you." 

The sound of desperation in his tone wasn't lost on me. He looked so torn that I felt almost guilty for pressing.

"Fine… I won't ask again… As long as you are sure you're fine."

He peered at me once more as if assessing if he was finally off the hook. 

"So...we're still friends?"

"Huh?"

"You and me… we're still friends?"

"Uh, yes…" 

The look of relief on his face made me smile despite myself. He caught it and he made it a point to answer it with his best eye roll. 

"Don't laugh at me. I don't know how to do friends."

"You're so cute~"

"Shut up."

And that was the exact day I decided—I'm never going to let Na Jaemin feel alone again. 

Chapter 2

[marginalmadness]

Summer Nights: Chapter 1/4

Pairing: Rabbit!Hybrid Jungkook x Y/N

Rating: Teen (later explicit)

Genre: Hybrid!Fantasy, Romance, Fluff

Synopsis: A freak weather anomaly leads to a chance encounter with a rabbit-hybrid, and your kind nature results in you gaining a small, fluffy lodger, who questions your taste in television shows. It’s won’t be for long...will it?

Warnings/Tags: None right now, will add with additional chapters

Author’s Note: So the beautiful, wonderful, ever patient @johobi commissioned as we went into lockdown the first time, and it took me forever to write, and ended up being about 4x longer than I expected because, feelings and plot kept getting involved. Anyhow, the fic is finished, but with NaNoWriMo this month, and my already teasing this, I’m releasing this in 4 chapters, as I edit it, the next one will be next Friday, so I hope you all enjoy this, I got some wonderful comments from @johobi​ and she made this WONDERFUL HEADER <3, and I hope you all look forward to Chapters 2-4

Chapters: Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Word Count: 4.3K

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The events depicted here are entirely of my own imagining, and have no basis on actual people or events.

Summer Nights

The weather report this morning said nothing about rain. Not a shower, not a sprinkle, and even now, as you check your phone for the thousandth time, there’s no indication of the storm that is currently darkening the sky over the entire city.

You fight your way out of the subway station, pushing past people rushing down the stairs out of the deluge. As you clamber your way up through them and onto the street, it feels like you’re pushing against a wall of water.

You curse yourself and the umbrella that sits serenely dry and unused under the side table by your front door. Because according to the highest-rated, “most accurate” weather app available, it was supposed to be nothing but dry, sunny spells through the end of the week and staying warm and dry over the weekend.

You dash across the road, taking a shortcut through the park, hoping to find some relief under the canopy of trees but somehow the drops feel heavier under the leaves. Cold rivulets of water run down your neck, under the collar of your coat, completely defeating the purpose of you clutching it closed.

You’re halfway home when, as suddenly as it started this morning, the rain stops. You look up through the branches and the sky is miraculously clear, dappled sunlight falling across your face as birdsong suddenly fills the park, nothing but dripping leaves and ground puddles to indicate the previous weather. This must be the sunny spell that was previously promised.

You wipe your hand across your face to remove some of the hair clinging to it, but since your hand is as wet as everything else, it’s a losing battle. There’s just as much water on your face after wiping it, and strands of hair are now just pulled across your forehead rather than limply clinging to your cheeks. You sigh, readjusting the strap of your bag and hoping the contents inside aren’t as soaked as you are, when for the second time in less than a minute you are stunned to another stop.

Before you is a tiny, shivering, soggy ball of fur.

You could swear it wasn’t there a second ago, but it’s possible it darted out from under one of the surrounding bushes and you startled it as much as it, you.

Crouching down, you reach a hand out towards the small creature, which lifts its head, twitches its nose and shuffles towards you. It’s hard to tell under the sopping wet fur, but it doesn’t look like what you’ve seen of regular wild rabbits. Its fur is darker, but that might just be an effect of the rain. It also seems longer, but again it’s hard to tell when wet. The biggest giveaway that it’s no regular wild rabbit are the two long, floppy ears that hang down either side of its head, dragging along the path as it moves towards you.

“Hey cutie pie,” you say in as soft a voice as possible while shivering from the wet and the cold. “You don’t look like you’re from around here.”

The creature makes a full hop towards you and sniffs at your hand, and you’re almost 100% sure it’s a rabbit and not a hare. You slip your other hand beneath its tiny body and stand, clutching it to your chest. You wait to see if it’s going to resist or fight but it only snuggles into your coat. “Okay, let's get you home and dried off, and then see if we can find your owner,” you say, scratching its head gently.

Almost as soon as you tuck the tiny creature under your coat, the rain starts again, skies grey, water coming down in sheets as though it never stopped. You run the rest of the way through the park and across the road, not minding that you step into a puddle since your feet are already so wet. You barrel your way into your apartment building, stopping to catch your breath as you wait for the elevator.

As soon as you’re through your front door you carefully step out of your shoes, drop your bag and shuck off your drenched coat, vowing to come back and clean them up later. You’re so soaked your clothes cling to you, as though you weren’t wearing a coat at all, and you hit the thermostat on high as you run past on your way to the bathroom.

“Why don’t we get you all nice and snug in a towel? Let you warm up while I take a shower, hm, little buddy?”

Grabbing a hand towel, you carefully wrap the trembling creature in your arms, rubbing the wet fur carefully before placing the bundle in the sink and stripping down to jump in the hot shower.

The hot water stings your chilled skin the instant it makes contact, but it warms you up quicker than waiting around for your apartment to heat up or hiding under your duvet would. Stepping out of the shower, you wrap a warm, fluffy towel around yourself and notice the small rabbit has its eyes closed. You pick it up in its bundle, and it seems to blink in alarm at being moved.

“Awww,” you coo aloud. “Did the warm steam lull you to sleep, lil’ bun?” The rabbit looks up at you and then closes its eyes, nuzzling back into the towel covering it. You carry it into your room and place it on your bed before changing into something warm and snuggly and drying your hair. By the time you’re all done, the bunny has fallen asleep, curled up in a little cocoon of warmth.

You head back towards the front door, picking up your coat and moving your waterlogged shoes into the bathroom. You pick up your bag and hope your phone was buried deep enough inside to escape water damage. Luckily, all of the contents inside seem untouched and you send a prayer of thanks to whoever was watching over you to pull that one off.

Grabbing your phone, you quickly search for a local vet that’s still open, hitting ‘call now’ when you find a decently-reviewed one. You kneel at the foot of the bed until you’re eye level with the fluffy, dark-furred rabbit. It watches you with curiosity, whiskers twitching as your face gets closer to it.

“Hello, Park Place Animal Hospital,” a tinny voice says pleasantly through the phone. “Eric speaking, how can I help?”

“Hi,” you say cautiously. “I found a rabbit in the park, and think someone might have lost it. It doesn’t look like a wild rabbit.” Maybe it was a wild rabbit, you argue with yourself; you’re not exactly a rabbit expert.

“Can you describe it to me?” Eric asks.

“It’s got long, dark fur; black or maybe dark brown? Seems… fluffy?” you say with uncertainty. “It was drowned-looking when I found it in the storm, and it’s wrapped in a towel drying now. But its ears are long and floppy. Really long. Really, really long,” you emphasise.

There’s a chuckle on the other end of the phone. “Well it certainly doesn’t sound like a wild rabbit. Possibly a member of the lop family. It could be a lost pet, but are you sure it’s not a hybrid?”

That stops you. A hybrid? Never even crossed your mind. Why would a hybrid stay in animal form in a storm and let a stranger take them home?

“I-” you stutter. “I don’t know. I’m a mundane, I don’t know how I would be able to tell.”

“Well, scent is the easiest way to tell, but you wouldn’t be able to use that as a mundane and it’s a little late to bring it into the clinic. You could talk to it, ask it some questions.”

You frown down at the bunny. Maybe you were missing something. “I don’t speak Bunny.” You could hear Eric holding back his smile over the phone.

“But hybrids understand human speech,” he says, holding back his laughter. “Assuming you speak the same languages.” You purse your lips, eyes glancing around the room, cheeks burning in embarrassment. “Where are you right now?”

“In my bedroom,” you say. “The bunny-hybrid-whatever is wrapped in a towel on my bed and I’m kneeling on the floor at the foot of it.”

“And what is the ‘bunny-hybrid-whatever’ doing?”

“It's-” You look at the rabbit and are a little taken aback to realise it’s watching you, head raised, nose twitching inquisitively. “-watching me.”

“Okay, unwrap it and leave the room. Tell it, if it’s hungry, to follow you to the kitchen. If it’s a hybrid, it will understand and follow you.”

You blink owlishly at the creature, before nodding in determination. “Okay.” You unwrap the towel and move to the doorway. The bunny watches you leave.

“I need to make dinner. If you’re hungry, follow me. I have some veggies you can eat.” The bunny stands up on its hindquarters, giving itself a shake until its fur is sticking up in funny-looking spikes. It jumps down from the bed and lops after you as you walk towards the kitchen. You turn your attention back to Eric on the phone. “I promised the bunny veggies, and now it’s following me into the kitchen.”

“Congratulations, you have a hybrid-rabbit in your home.” Eric laughs. “It’s late now, we’ll be closing soon, but if they haven’t turned by morning you can bring them by the clinic and we’ll be able to either issue a T.o.C or take them in until we can find out where they came from.”

“T-O-C?” you ask slowly.

“Treaty of Care. Hybrids who stay in their animal form for extended periods of time need special care. It’s usually infant or adolescent hybrids born in animal form who haven’t turned for the first time yet, or hybrids hurt in animal form who need to heal before they can transform back. A Treaty of Care is usually served to a close friend or family member, but it can be anyone.”

“Even a stranger?” you ask, stopping in your tracks and looking down at the small creature by your foot. It looks up at you with big, dark eyes.

“If they didn’t fight you when you first picked them up, and they haven’t shown any signs that they want to leave, then they feel comfortable with you. At least for the time being. So the decision seems to be yours. Think about it tonight, and come in tomorrow.”

“Will do. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” you mutter, biting your lip and shuffling from foot-to-foot.

“No problem, have a nice evening,” Eric says politely.

“Thanks, you too.” You hang up the phone, motioning with your head towards the kitchen. “There’s apples in there.” The bunny-hybrid zooms off, hopping towards the kitchen, and you let out a little giggle at its enthusiasm.

Once there, you head to the fridge and pull out what you need to make yourself dinner, plus some extra veggies for your unintended guest. You dump them and the promised apple into the sink, making sure to give them a good wash before you start chopping things into rabbit-convenient pieces. A gentle pressure against your calf stops you, and you turn to find the long-eared bunny leaning against you as it stands on its hind legs, either trying to get a better look at what you’re doing or begging for a snack.

“Are you nosey or impatient?” you ask, and the hybrid drops to all fours before hopping around your feet. You lean down to pick it up, placing it on the counter next to you and offering it a slice of apple. Its tail—no, its entire body wiggles in appreciation as it munches on the apple slice, nibbling away with its eyes contentedly closed. You finish chopping the veggies and place a selection on a plate, setting it in front of the hybrid. The bunny hops high, kicking its back legs in excitement before diving into the pile to devour it.

With a tentative finger, you reach out to scratch behind the rabbit’s ear. To your relief, it doesn’t recoil. Encouraged by this, you settle your hand on its head and gently stroke its fluff. The hybrid leans up, nuzzling its face into the palm of your hand. You smile appreciatively, tickling the rabbit’s chin before you turn to cook your own dinner.

---

The rest of your night you spend relaxing, curled up on the sofa watching TV.  The hybrid decides to join you, settling at the opposite end away from you. Normally you wouldn’t allow a pet or an animal on the furniture, but it’s not really an animal and you’d feel bad forcing a guest to sit on the floor if there was space on the sofa. You’re second-guessing your decision, though, when the rabbit expresses opinions on your choice of entertainment, nudging the remote when it wants you to change the channel and thumping its feet when it sees something good. You spend a good twenty minutes having a one-sided argument with a creature that communicates through nothing but foot stomping and nose twitches before you come to a consensus: a superhero movie that you never got to see in the cinema. You drop the remote and the rabbit hops closer to you, shuffling into a loaf by your feet. Like that, the pair of you spend the night watching six unlikely heroes and their friends save the world from total destruction.

---

Your first real, big conundrum is when you go to bed and the little ball of fluff follows you, jumping onto your comforter.

“No. Don’t be ridiculous, you are not sharing my bed,” you try to say forcefully, but the surreal nature of what's happening makes your tone just a little bit hysterical. The hybrid simply lowers its head to the comforter, making itself smaller, lopping closer to your hand until it’s nudging it. It wiggles its head beneath your fingers. “Is this you asking for permission? No! Off! Down! Off the bed!” The creature shimmies its fluffy tail and doesn’t move an inch. “I know you can understand what I’m saying, and it’s weird,” you whine. The tail-twitching stops. Big, dark eyes blink up at you as it sits up on its haunches, front paw waving at you like it’s trying to grab you.

You can’t help but feel you’re in a pouting contest with a rabbit.

“Fine,” you huff, flopping back on the bed dramatically. The hybrid lops towards you and you turn to watch. Fluff obscures your vision as it boops you gently on the nose, and you laugh at the tickle of its fur. You shuffle under the comforter with a yawn and turn off the lamp. “Okay. Tomorrow, when I get your Treaty of Care, I’m picking you up an animal bed. This is only for tonight, because you’ve obviously had a stressful day, so don’t get used to it.” The second you say it, you know it’s a lie. You’d lose a pouting contest with that bunny every time.

---

Ten weeks later, the rabbit now has a side of the bed. 

The side of the bed where his animal bed sits unused on the floor. 

The vet had given the hybrid a clean bill of health, identified it as a young adult male and given you a T.o.C for as long as it wanted to stay with you. Or until you returned it. But that would never happen.

Somehow you’d just fallen into a routine; breakfast for the both of you, rushing to and from work, changing the litter box, dinner for two, TV in the evenings. And now somehow, suddenly, it’s summer. Gone are the spring storms that brought the two of you together. Now you have the stifling heat and humidity of the peak of summer.

All the windows in the apartment are open and have been for at least a week. You don’t even sleep with a cover anymore, just collapse on top of it in the flimsiest two-piece that can cover your modesty. Honestly, even that feels like too must most nights, sticking to you in the humidity. It’s so hot that the hybrid - who you had simply called “Bun” for lack of a better name - no longer lay close to you, but far on the other side of the bed, stretched out on his side, ears akimbo. The city desperately needed a storm to break the humidity.

Half way through summer, you get your wish. You flinch, even in your sleep, as the room fills with blinding, white light. The crack of thunder that immediately follows is explosive in the silence of your room thanks to all the open windows. The storm startles you awake. Turning away from the window, you bury your face in your damp, sweat-drenched pillow, just as the gentle roll of heavy rain starts to beat against the heated concrete city.

“You okay, Bun?” you ask in a sleepy, raspy voice as you reach for the small creature. But where you expect to meet soft fur, you meet soft skin, solid muscle coiled tight beneath it. It takes a second for your brain to register the foreign sensation, before your head snaps up and your eyes open. You’re used to sleeping next to a small rabbit-hybrid, but in its place is a very naked young man, curled in the fetal position. His large, terror-filled eyes stare at you.

You scream, scrambling off the bed and across the floor to press your back against the wall. The naked man shrinks in on himself when you yell, curling himself into a tighter ball. You can see just enough of him over the edge of the bed to spy a long, floppy ear drape over one of his arms.

“Bun?” you ask in a breathless voice. He lifts his head, and those eyes—those large, round eyes are just as dark as they were when he was a rabbit. 

They’re the same. 

He moves up onto his hands and knees, crawling cautiously across the bed to peer down at you. His fingers curl over the edge of the mattress, long ears dangling either side of his face.

“Sorry,” he whispers in a soft voice. He’s still tucked in on himself like a loaf, like he would sit when he was a rabbit. You can hear his foot tapping against the mattress; he’s agitated. “I woke up like this a little while ago, before the storm was over the city. I guess it scared me into transforming back.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” you ask, finally getting a handle on your breathing. It’s not everyday you wake up with a naked man in your bed…or any day recently, if you’re being honest.

“You’ve had trouble sleeping because of the heat. I didn’t want to disturb your rest.” Your heart aches. You knew the hybrid living with you was friendly and sweet-tempered, but hearing it makes it difficult not to reach out and pet and coo at him like you regularly would. There’s just enough light coming in from outside for you to see him bite his lower lip in the darkness. Your heart pangs again when you notice that he has bunny teeth even in his human form.

You shift, getting to your knees and moving closer to the bed. The hybrid doesn’t stir, still huddled in on himself, floppy ears falling each side of his face. They blend seamlessly into his long, dark, wavy hair. His eyes are impossibly large, as dark as the night sky, and reassuringly familiar. Just over his shoulder, down the slope of his back, you spy a fluffy tail twitching at the base of his spine. Resolutely, your eyes snap back to his face.

“That was very kind of you,” you say softly, watching his face spread into a warm smile, front teeth prominent and pressing into his bottom lip.

“You’ve been very kind to me,” he practically whispers, and you smile in return, resisting the urge to pat him on the head. You don’t know if it’s appropriate now he’s no longer a rabbit.

“Do you have a name?”

“Jungkook, but you can keep calling me Bun, if you want. I like it,” he says, louder this time. Confidently. And you decide, screw it, you’re going to pet him. But then thunder crashes again, bright light simultaneously filling the room, and for a single, breathtaking moment, in the stark light of the storm, you take him in. 

And he is absurdly beautiful.

Jungkook ducks his head. Curling into himself, one of his feet taps incessantly against the bed. You reach out, threading your fingers through his soft, chocolate brown locks until you’re rubbing his head, fingernails scratching lightly.

“Don’t worry, Jungkook, you’re safe. I’ll not let anything happen to you.” Slowly, he raises his face; eyes searching yours. “Treaty of Care, remember.” You give him a small smile. Jungkook leans forward then, pressing the tip of his nose into your cheek. 

You still. 

He used to do this all the time as a rabbit. It’s normal behaviour. Your research told you hybrids behave similarly to their animal counterparts. When in animal form, that is. You never expected it in human form.

His nose skims across your cheekbone until he’s rubbing it against yours. You can’t help but sigh at how incredibly intimate the act feels, and Jungkook must take that as some sort of sign, because the next thing he does is gently caress your lips with his. If it weren’t for how focused his eyes are, gauging your reaction, you might write it off as an accident. But then he does it again.

You pull back suddenly, shaking your head as though to clear it. “Let me get you something to wear,” you say, climbing to your feet and closing the blinds on your way to your draws. “I don’t know if they’ll fit you, but these are some old sweats.” You throw them to him on the bed, turning back to find him a shirt; something loose. You dig out an old t-shirt you won in a radio contest.

“Are you covered?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says in a small voice. You turn around, extending the shirt toward him and short-circuiting when he stands at his full height. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his sculpted abdomen. All of him could be cut from marble. You stare, open-mouthed, as he shuffles foot to foot, awkwardly rubbing his elbow.

“Is that for me?” He asks finally, motioning to the garment in your hand. You nod, holding out the t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of a radio station you don’t ever recall listening to. Just as he takes it, thunder claps again and brightens the room and his arm flexes, dragging you into his personal space before you can release your hold on the fabric. His chest heaves, breaths coming heavy.

“I’m tired. Let’s sleep tonight and we’ll talk in the morning, okay?” you say softly, going for the bed. Jungkook just nods and moves towards the door. “Where are you going?” you ask, laying a hand on his arm.

“The sofa.” He ducks his head, ears hiding most of his face. “I didn’t think you’d want me sharing your bed anymore since—” he motions to his human form.

You swallow. It’s loud in the quiet of the room. “Is that why you stayed a rabbit for so long? So I’d let you stay?”

Jungkook looks up at you through his lashes; you can see him biting his lip again. “Kind of,” he mumbles, avoiding your eyes. “You were so kind to me when you found me. I was scared you’d want me to leave if I transformed back, and I wanted to stay for a little while.”

“Why?” you ask softly. “Didn’t you want to go home?” He smiles, but it looks embarrassed, his nose scrunching.

“No, not yet,” he says meekly, dipping his head. He hides behind his chocolate brown waves and long, floppy ears. “Going home is… it’s complicated.” 

You lean forward, carefully reaching up to brush one of his ears aside so you can better see his eyes. His ear twitches but he doesn’t pull away, instead looking at you with all the stars of the cosmos in his eyes. “You can tell me when you’re ready,” you encourage with a soft smile. “There’s no rush. I’m also not going to make you sleep alone when you’re scared,” you say, taking him by the hand and tugging him towards the bed.

“Are you sure?” he asks, looking over your shoulder towards the bed. But his face is hopeful, so you can tell he’s only asking out of politeness.

“There’s plenty of space. And besides, you’ve had weeks to hurt me and you haven’t. I trust you.” You let go of his hand and clamber into bed.

Jungkook perks up and slips the shirt hurriedly over his head, inside out and obscuring those perfectly sculpted abs. He scrambles over the mattress to his usual side of the bed, a buck-toothed smile all over his face. His human form is impressively built, but somehow, when his head hits the pillow and he curls into a ball, he looks almost as tiny as he did in bunny form.

You lay facing him, watching him carefully. His eyes are huge and flitting between your face and the window, like he’s waiting for another crash of thunder. You sit up, reaching down to where your thin blanket had been kicked out of the way when the heatwave started, holding it up, your meaning obvious. Jungkook immediately shuffles closer, curling into your side and burying his head under your chin. It startles you for a second, your entire body going stiff, but you take a deep breath and wrap an arm around him, willing yourself to relax. You thread your fingers through his soft, brown locks, caressing his head the way you did when he was still a rabbit. 

And before either of you realise the storm has already passed, you drift off together into restful sleep.

Next Chapter

[gubler-me-up]

No Need to Rush

Request: can u pls do a spencer x bau fem! reader where she’s dyslexic but also a genius like spencer and like someone maybe another member of the team/unsub makes a comment abt her being stupid. and she gets really upset abt it. then later spencer comforts her and they have really romantic but rough sex. where he’s just like reassuring her of how smart and beautiful she is.

A/N: Thanks for the request, anon! Sorry this took a lil long to complete but I wanted to make sure I wrote this accurately and incorporate everything you wanted into it! Please let me know if you don’t feel as if this representation of dyslexia sits right with you and I will edit it no problem. This fic also concludes smut week (woo!) so I hope you enjoy 💓 

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!reader

Category: Smut

Content warning: Learning disorder degradation, mentions of violence, rough sex, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie, choking

Word count: 3.2k

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

It was the dead of winter in Seattle, Washington and a sniper decided it was the best time to have some target practice. His target practice ended up taking three innocent people’s lives as they were living their day-to-day lives. To top off his killing spree, he wrote handwritten letters to the police department. His letters were rambles about him not stopping until he finds his final target.

Hotch had left Spencer and you to go over the letters to try and figure out any indications of who his final target could be. He had sent JJ and Morgan to interview the victim’s family members to try and see if there were any similar people in their circle. Having you four working diligently on piecing the entire story together could end up saving another person from meeting an early demise.

You loved working with Spencer because the two of you were always up to speed with your thinking process. Both of you analyzed each letter with care, making sure nothing was missed which could possibly be used as a clue in identifying who this person and who their real target is.

You felt as if you were taking too long to go through every letter. There were about 20 of them and his incoherent rambles were giving you a hard time efficiently reading them. You had 10 to go through and Spencer was already finished and writing on the whiteboard clues he found in the letters. You were still on your seventh letter, dissecting and writing down what you thought was important. You couldn’t help feeling bad you were taking a long time.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

Spencer looked back at you with a questionable expression. “For what?”

“For taking forever. I’m taking up time reading these letters when I should be brainstorming with you.”

“Y/N, you’re not slowing down the process. If anything you taking your time can identify some major evidence.”

“Yeah, but you could do it within two minutes.”

“Doesn’t mean anything. Valuable information is valuable information no matter how long it takes you to find it. Besides you’re the smartest person I know, so nothing will get past you.”

“Doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”

“I’m here to remind you it’s all the time. I’ll be here to remind you every day if you ever doubt yourself.”

You smiled as you felt your worries drifting away. You were always self-conscious about having dyslexia. Growing up with it was the hardest part of your early years because people would see your extraordinary capabilities but questioned them whenever you had to read or spending longer than usual completing tasks. It was embarrassing for you. Even in adulthood you felt anxious about letting people know you were dyslexic because you were worried they wouldn’t see you as a genius.

When you let the members of the team know you were dyslexic, they accepted you as you were. It made you feel welcomed and understood for once in the longest while. It was especially nice hearing Spencer say you were a genius regardless of your dyslexia. You felt as if he understood you the most out of everyone because he had a rough time growing up as a child prodigy.

As you continued to read through the letter you were on, something caught your eye. You looked up at the whiteboard to see what Spencer had written. He had written about sunsets, trees and a park. He had concluded it was about Kerry Park in Seattle and speculated the unsub could possibly live near there. What you had read though made you think of a different possibility.

“Kelly Park,” you said aloud.

Spencer turned to you. “Kelly Park?”

Before you could explain your findings, Hotch and detective Royce entered the room. You were happy they did, so you could explain to everyone your theory as to who the unsays actual target is.

“Find any useful information we can put towards finding the unsub?” Hotch asked.

You nodded. “Yes. Kelly Park’s the end goal.”

“Kelly Park? You mean Kerry Park by West Highland,” detective Royce said.

“No, I mean, yes, but the unsub slipped up…uh no, they-uh- replaced Kelly with Kerry because there is a Kelly Park who lives nearby,” you explained.

“Wait, so is it Kerry or Kelly the name of the person who lives nearby Kerry’s Park?” Hotch asked.

“Sorry, sir. It’s Kelly Park who lives nearby Kerry’s Park.”

“How can you even speculate that?” Detective Royce asked.

“Because it’s in this letter. He says, ‘I spend my days looking at Kelly Park and wondering when I’d be brave enough to leave. I don’t think I am but one day I’ll be free,’” you said while holding it up.

Detective Royce took it from your hand to take a closer look. He furrowed his eyebrows as he read. He looked back up at you questionably.

“Maybe he’s dyslexic. Only an idiot would write Kelly instead of Kerry when referring to Kerry Park,” he said.

You clenched your jaw as he said his ignorant statement. You knew the unsub wasn’t dyslexic and you had a clue right infant of you. You snatched the letter away from his hands as you took a deep breath to calm yourself down.

“I’m actually dyslexic myself and I can tell you right now this unsub is not,” you said.

“I should have known from the time you mixed up Kerry and Kelly in your explanation. For a genius you sure don’t talk like one,” he said.

You felt your eyes stinging from the tears which were trying to breakthrough. What he said was familiar to everything you heard from your childhood. It was degrading to hear it when you knew you were on to something. Especially evidence which could potentially save someone.

“Don’t talk to one of my agents with such disrespect, Royce. My team and I would never slander your team, so we expect the same courtesy back,” Hotch said.

“Hotchner, you can’t seriously believe this is a connection,” detective Royce said.

“Who said it couldn’t be?” Spencer said.

“Common sense. He’s trying to mess up his words on purpose to take us off track from what really matters,” detective Royce said.

“Well, I’m not taking that risk. While you stand there with your arro…ignorance, I’ll actually go and do something about this piece of evidence,” you said as you walked by him to exit the room.

You could feel your heart drop with every step you took. Before you called Garcia you took a trip to the washroom. You went into a stall and made sure it was locked before you let your tears escape. You hadn’t felt humiliated for the longest time. The questionable look and harsh comments detective Royce spat at you made you feel sick. You knew you were smart and you knew you were onto evidence to save someone’s life. Yet you were doubted.

You wiped your tears away and took a few deep breaths before exiting the stall. You couldn’t let what he said distract you from finding Kelly Royce. You knew it would affect you for the rest of the day but you would sleep better at night knowing you saved a life. You didn’t want to be crying over two things tonight.

------

You sat on the edge of the hotel room bed. You had finished getting ready for the night and were ready to get into bed to forget about the day. You were happy you were right about Kelly Park and saved her hours before she was scheduled to go into the heart of Seattle for an appointment. Her ex-boyfriend, Michael Richards, had plotted for months on how to make her death look like an accident. Too bad his guilty conscience and ego didn’t mix well and he compulsively wrote down his thoughts.

It bothered you immensely detective Royce still didn’t give you your flowers at the end of everything. You understood not everyone would apologize for their ignorance and you should be used to it by now. However, you couldn’t help but think about it over and over.

You heard a few light knocks on your hotel room door. You looked at the clock. It was 11 p.m. You got up to go peek through the peephole to see who was trying to get your attention this time of night. You looked through the peephole and saw Spencer standing outside. You opened the door. As you opened it he looked at you with a smile but you could see the concern in his eyes.

“What brings you to this part of town so late?” You asked.

“I want to make sure you’re okay before you go to bed. I know how frustrating today was for you and I don’t want you going to bed with doubt on your mind,” he explained.

You stepped aside and gestured him to come inside your hotel room. You were happy he had stopped by. He was always the first one to give you words of encouragement and a reason to put your doubts aside. You closed the door and made your way over to the edge of the bed to sit. You patted the spot next to you for him to sit down. He took the seat next to you, sitting closer to you than expected. You two were shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh. It was comforting to you for him to be so close.

“You know, if it wasn’t for you pointing out Kelly Park in his letter, she might not be alive,” he said.

“I know and I’m glad it worked out in the end. I just…”

You trailed off as a wave of doubt overthrew your thought process. You started to think if you had been wrong, if it were just your dyslexia getting the best of you, an innocent life could have been taken. A tear slipped from your right eye. You quickly wiped it away before Spencer saw. He must have seen it escape because he placed his hand on your thigh and squeezed it.

“You have a beautiful mind, Y/N,” he assured you.

“It doesn’t translate properly when I say the wrong words, read slower than average, mix up-”

“And all that doesn’t make a difference to how you save lives every day. If detective Royce wasn’t so prideful he would have thanked you properly for bringing to light what they brushed off,” he said.

You chuckled. “Yeah, he is a prideful idiot.”

“Exactly, so don’t let him or other doubters get to you. I believe in you wholeheartedly and always will. The team does as well, so we’ll always back you up.”

You smiled brightly at him as you felt your deep sadness fade away. He had such a way with words you felt as if you could rule the world solely based on his encouragement. You opened up your arms and embraced him in a hug. He wrapped his arms around the small of your back. He rubbed your back gently as you placed your head comfortably in the crook of his neck.

“I love how you’re always here for me, Spence,” you whispered into his neck.

“I’ll always be here to remind you of your worth and beauty,” he said.

You leaned up from his neck and faced him straight on. Your faces were just an inch away from each other as you lost yourself in his eyes. You softly smiled and found yourself saying things before your brain could process them.

“I could just kiss you right now,” you blurted out.

“Why don’t you?” He asked.

You were now speechless as you weren’t expecting him to be open to the idea. Perhaps he did find more than just your mind to be beautiful. One of his hands moved from your back and found its way to the side of your face. He moved your face closer to his and your lips finally met each other. He gently eased his tongue into your mouth before he dived fully into your mouth.

You placed your hands on his chest. You pulled on his shirt to bring him forward even more to minimize the space between you two. He moved his hands and placed them both on your hip. He brought you onto his lap without breaking your kiss. You glued your hands to his face to prevent him from even considering moving away from you. His hands squeezed before slipping his hands down your pyjama pants.

You didn’t give it a second thought and raised yourself off his hips so he could pull your pants off along with your underwear. He leaned away from your lips as he stared at you with a deep yearning in his eyes. He caressed his hands up your thighs, to your hips and then under your shirt. He pulled your shirt off to reveal your bare breasts.

“I hope you like what you see,” you said.

He smiled. “Of course. You’re beautiful beyond words.”

He then placed your right nipple in his mouth and swirled his tongue around your nipple. You moaned loudly as his tongue made your nipple feel a stimulation you never thought they could feel. He freed your nipple from his mouth as he quietly hushed you.

“We can’t let anyone know where in the same room together,” he whispered.

“I don’t care,” you said as you desperately leaned into him to steal another kiss.

He kissed you back. You held his head in place so he wouldn’t dare move away from you again. You soon felt his thumb circling around your clit. It wasn’t enough to make you stop kissing him but it made you release endless moans into his mouth. You then felt him shove two fingers into you which made you stop kissing him and set your moans free into the atmosphere. He pumped his fingers in and out of you so quickly you couldn’t find the time to catch your breath.

“If you can’t handle my fingers, how do you expect to handle my dick, beautiful?” He asked.

“I…I can,” you stammered.

He smiled. “I haven’t doubted you yet, have I??”

He took his fingers out of you and went to work on undoing his pants. You stared down at his huge bulge as he slipped down his pants and then his underwear. Your eyes widened as you saw his dick. He looked at you to see the amazement in your eyes. He softly chuckled as he grabbed your ass and squeezed it tight as he brought you forward to position you.

“Sit down on it and try not to be too loud,” he demanded.

You did what he asked and lowered yourself onto his dick. The further you went beyond the tip the more your mouth went agape. You could barely even get to the base without feeling as if his dick was already completely inside of you. He did you the favour and forced you all the way down on his dick. You let out a shriek which was cut short by him sticking his two fingers coated in your juices inside your mouth.

“Bounce on it and don’t make a sound. Understand?” He asked.

He nodded your head ‘yes’ for you and you started bouncing on his dick. You could feel your legs quaking as you engulfed his dick in and out of your repeatedly. Once you established a rhythm, you rolled your eyes to the back of your head and enjoyed every inch of his dick stretching your walls.

“How about we pick up the pace?” He asked.

Your eyes shot open as he bucked his hips up and disrupted your rhythm with his new set motion. You moaned heavily around his fingers as his dick kept ramming into you with no mercy. He used his other hand and squeezed your left breast. He licked your breasts before gently biting your nipple.

“Fuck,” you moaned.

“I only ever treat extraordinary women like this,” he said.

“Really?” You moaned.

He lifted you off his dick and laid you on the bed. He gently wrapped his large hands around your throat as he positioned himself on top of you. You could feel your adrenaline pumping as he lowered his face down to yours and kissed you softly on your lips before he stared into your eyes.

“You’re the only extraordinary woman I know,” he said.

“Fuck me like an extraordinary woman,” you said.

He obliged and rammed his dick into you with urgency. You moaned repeatedly as you took in every inch of his dick inside of you. He kissed along your jawline before reaching your ear.

“Who gets fucked like this?” He asked.

“Extraordinary women,” you whimpered.

“And what are you?” He asked.

“An extraordinary woman,” you whimpered.

As he continued to fuck some sense into you, he whispered nothing but the sweetest things in your ear. He called you beautiful, brilliant, amazing and his favourite, extraordinary. It felt nice hearing those things being repeated over and over in your ear especially by him. His dick definitely enforced the message as with every word he said to you, his motion would intensify. You wrapped your legs around him as he continued to fuck you.

“Where do you want me to cum, beautiful?” He asked.

“Inside of me,” you moaned.

He tightened the grip around your neck. “Louder.”

“Inside of me,” you shrieked.

“Look at me while I cum inside of you,” he demanded.

He grabbed your face to keep you still so your eyes were focused on him the whole time. He bit his bottom lip as he stared at your worn-out expression as he fucked you. He slowly stopped going at his rapid pace and soon stopped. You felt his cum fill your insides and you let out a soft moan at the feeling.

He let go of your neck and eased up from on top of you. You felt him stick two fingers in you and he pulled them out quickly. He placed his cum covered fingers on your lips. You opened your mouth and licked the cum dripping off his fingers.

“I don’t ever want you to doubt yourself again. You’re fucking amazing,” he said.

You leaned up on your elbows and smiled. “You are too.”

“Since I can’t stay in your room for the night without raising suspicions in the morning, how about we do something when we get back home and you can stay the night at my place? You know, for extra reassurance,” he said with a smile.

You giggled. “I’d love that.”

He leaned into you and gave you another big kiss on the lips. As he parted from your lips he stared at you with softer eyes from before and brushed your hair back.

“Maybe I’ll stay for a few more minutes. You like cuddles?” He asked.

“I love them,” you said.

He chuckled. “Great because I have a deep desire to cuddle you and make you know you’re treasured.”

You could have cried when he said that. Instead you wrapped your arms around his neck and pecked him on the lips. It wasn’t the best time to cry. You wanted to cherish the moment as a positive part of the day.

“Thank you, Spence. You’re extraordinary.”

“I guess that makes us a perfect match.”

“It sure does.”

—–

Tagged: @shadyladyperfection​, @slutforthegubes​, @pinkdiamond1016​, @spencerreidsthings​, @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​, @slutforsr​ @bxtchboy69​, @fallinallinmendes​

MASTERLIST

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

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[swissmissficrecs]

Favorite Sherlock Holmes fics from 2020

Usually I put a bunch of explanations and disclaimers on these lists but you know what, it was a weird year and I’m not going to try to justify or apologize for what I read or didn’t read so here are my favorites that were completed last year, in descending order of length:

and your very flesh shall be a great poem by CaitlinFairchild (151K, E, Johnlock) After a tragic confrontation with terrible consequences, Sherlock and John follow Mary as she flees to America.

Drawn to Stars by Silvergirl (107K, E, Johnlock, Sherlock/OMC) After the Culverton Smith case Sherlock is clean, working, and looking for a romantic partner—since John has told him that’s what he needs. Shame John didn’t mention he was interested in that role himself, before Sherlock went off to Rome with a gorgeous Italian copper to try to fall in love and become a complete human being. (This one is very slightly cheating because it was finished on 30 Dec 2019, but it didn't make it onto my 2019 list because I didn't read it until after I'd made the list. And it deserves to be on a Best Of list, so here it is.)

Thermocline by J_Baillier (83K, M, Johnlock) John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Do No Harm by Calais_Reno (79K, T, Johnlock) In 1923, Dr John Watson is on trial for the murder of his lover, Mary Morstan, a writer of popular mysteries. If convicted, he will hang. Sherlock Holmes sets out to prove his innocence, but finds himself more and more infatuated with the handsome doctor, and deeper and deeper inside the bohemian world of London's painters, playwrights, and poets. Will he uncover the evidence needed to acquit him in time?

To Be Human by ohlooktheresabee (78K, NR, Johnlock) There is a serial killer on the loose with a penchant for collecting the brains of his victims. Sherlock, John and Scotland Yard are on the case, but something about the chosen victims has Sherlock on edge. While they piece together the clues that will lead to the killer, John begins to realize that the way his best friend thinks may sometimes be more a hindrance than a help….

immediate and inglorious by simplyclockwork (72K, E, Johnlock) Bodies are showing up in back alleys, with no sign of a struggle, no trace of drugs. If not for the strangulation bruises on their necks and the scythe carved into their left shoulders, they could have died peacefully, in their sleep. With New Scotland Yard dumbfounded by the Grim Reaper Killer case, Sherlock is called in to consult. The more he investigates, the deeper Sherlock finds himself drawn into the work of London's newest serial killer. As his views of good and bad begin to blur, he risks losing himself to a darkness he never imagined. And, even more pressing: where does John Watson, grieving ex-boyfriend of the Grim Reaper's latest victim, fit into all of this?

Curtain Rising by tiger_in_the_flightdeck (61K, E, Johnlock) A disgraced television star is the target of a series of death threats just after a theatre production’s adaptation of The Sound of Music is announced with her as the lead. The suspect list is a mile long and growing, Rosie Watson is in the spotlight, and Sherlock might be getting too fond of his time on stage to focus on the case. With opening night approaching, can he and John figure out who wants their client dead before her final curtain rises?

The Fire Finds a Home by fearfully_beautifully_made (61K, E, Johnlock) After Sherlock and John decide to give having a relationship a go, this is how their relationship starts to develop. There a little bit of plot, if you squint, but it was mostly an excuse to write John and Sherlock having sex in a lot of different ways and learning to love each other.

Borrowed Ghosts by DiscordantWords (57K, M, Johnlock) In the aftermath of the Culverton Smith case, John spent one painfully stilted afternoon hanging out with Sherlock. He counted the minutes, finished his tea, and left for home without ever clearing the air between them. And once he'd left, he found it very hard to go back.

You Might Just as Well Be Blind by ArwaMachine (56K, E, Johnlock) When a serial killer starts targeting couples, Sherlock and John must do what they have to do in order to get to the bottom of things. Unfortunately, John already has a girlfriend. Surely pretending to be in a relationship with Sherlock won't pose any problems with his relationship, will it?

The Broken Tether by J_Baillier (54K, M, Johnlock) Maybe he thinks that you only enjoy his company because of the Work, because of the way his dazzling intellect shines when he's in his element, but the truth is this: it is when he is at his most human, most bare, that you feel closest to him.

how the light gets in by subtext-is-my-division (Quill_A)  (54K, E, Johnlock) Red wine always makes him tipsier than usual and he finds himself saying, the words slurring a bit. “You know, I’ve got to ask. Do you always shoot cabbies for people you barely you know?” John meets his gaze over the rim of his glass, and there’s something there that Sherlock can’t pin down. “Not for everyone,” he says, meaningfully, pointedly, his smile all teeth.

Erosion by saintscully (53K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock’s father falls ill, leaving the surviving family members broken and rudderless. James Sholto shows up in London unexpectedly, his intentions unclear. John has to navigate the consequences of crime, illness and death and their impact on his frayed relationship with Sherlock.

Hold You Like a Weapon by MissDavis (52K, E, Johnlock) Eurus shows up at 221B Baker Street in labour. Things go downhill from there.

Chances Are by Berty (51K, M, Johnlock) Sherlock is spending some time in his mind palace - so far, so normal. But why is John there, why do things keep changing and why are there only two exits from the sitting room at 221B, neither of which seem to go anywhere useful? It's a case like no other for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

Sine Nomine by SilentAuror (45K, E, Johnlock) As Mycroft reviews the footage from Culverton Smith's morgue, he revisits his original question: whether John Watson would be the making of his brother, or make him worse than ever. He's come to a conclusion, but decides to give John one last chance. So he gives him a choice.

Cockaigne by HollyShadow88 (38K, E, Johnlock) When John’s contacted by an old uni friend about problems in his new art exhibition, he doesn’t think it will be worth Sherlock’s time. After a glance of the crime scene, however, they’re both pulled into the project in ways John didn’t expect. Will a week of erotic performance art finally be enough to bring them together in the way they both secretly hope? (Spoiler: it’s a tropey fic, of course it will)

Written in Ashes by 88thParallel (37K, M, Johnlock) Sherlock becomes the prime suspect in a homicide case, and recently unearthed memories of his childhood are complicating matters. It's up to John to track down answers — can he help Sherlock before it's too late?

A Desperate Indulgence by LollipopCop (34K, M, Johnlock) John thinks it's 2012 after waking up with amnesia, having no memory of Mary. Sherlock, exhausted from years of tension and hiding his love, pretends they got married instead.

Inhale With Ease by Vulpesmellifera (25K, E, Johnlock) In the years after Vivian Norbury's capture, life seems to work out just as John planned. He's got that respectable job at the surgery and goes home to his wife and child. He joins Sherlock on cases a couple times per week. It's a rhythm he can live with - just enough adrenaline highs to balance out the drudgery of a normal bloke's life. Until a pandemic, and Victor Trevor, arrive in London.

The House on Rue des Boulangers by Berty (24K, M, Johnlock) After being invalided out of the army and without any other prospects, John Watson has relocated to a small town in northern France. Now he has to decide what to do for the rest of his life. One morning there's a mad stranger in his garden chasing a swarm of bees, and it seems John's decision is made.

High Mountain Tea Leaves by disfictional (23K, E, Johnlock) A mountaintop robbery on a Japanese-occupation-era train where the only item stolen was a small case of mysterious tea leaves in a backpack? An ideal Christmas gift, two days late. Sherlock convinces John to travel for tea.

Detours by saintscully (22K, M, Johnlock, Sherlock/OMC) During the better part of the first year following Mary's death and the events at Sherrinford, Sherlock and John are slowly rebuilding their lives and their friendship. All seems (relatively) well and John takes comfort in once again being a father, a doctor and a friend. An unexplained shift in Sherlock's behaviour catches John by surprise, and he begins to worry about his place in his friend's life. John has to examine everything he thought he knew about Sherlock, himself and their relationship in order to win his rightful place yet again.

hands full of matter by simplyclockwork (21K, E, Johnlock) When Sherlock is captured in Serbia, Mycroft cannot afford to involve the British government in his rescue. Instead, he sends John. After two years spent thinking Sherlock was dead, John finds himself navigating not only Sherlock’s rescue but their fractured friendship as well.

The Victim Experience by J_Baillier (16K, T, Gen) A case takes Sherlock and John deep into the seedy underbelly of the haunted attractions industry. With audiences craving more and more intense experiences, is a real murder the next logical step?

On the Fence by BeautifulFiction (13K, T, Johnlock) The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

Plus bonus ACD era:

"Baker Street: The Sleep of Reason": A Memoir by John H. Watson, M.D. by Gaedhal (98K, M, Johnlock, Johniarty) This is a Victorian Era story in the "Sherlock Holmes" (2009) Ritchie-verse. The main characters are Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson and is from the doctor's memoirs. It was written before "A Game of Shadows" so there are differences in this story and film canon, mainly in the person and backstory of one particular character.

The Taste of Truth by sanguinity (25K, T, Johnlock) Two and a half years after Reichenbach, John Watson discovers the magical tree that caused Holmes to fake his death.

The Adventure of the Vatican Cameos by Garonne (18K, E, Johnlock) How should one behave when waking for the first time in the bed of one's dearest friend? Holmes and Watson solve a case in Catholic London while navigating the turbid waters of their new relationship.

Hot Water by wordybirdy (13K, E, Johnlock, Watson/Gregson) Dr. John Watson's libidinous affair with a respected Scotland Yard inspector abruptly judders to a halt when the former meets a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, for the very first time. The attraction between the two is strongly mutual, but misunderstandings only multiply and tensions abound, as all three men attempt to deal with the new situation.

[keigosphatcock]

Kitten

Pairing: Erwin x fem!reader 

Word Count: 2.3k lmao 

Genre: SMUT (pls do not read if ur a baby) 

Warnings: Uhh degradation, kinda exhibitionism, Erwin being a mf dom, dirty talk, daddy kink, masochism/sadism, spanking (but not on the ass), biting

Author: Izzy  (*¯︶¯*)

Plot: Basically Erwin is just jealous lmao 

A/N: PLEASE I WROTE THIS IN AN HOUR IN A HORNY FIT ITS RUSHED AND ITS A MESS BUT HAVE FUN 

You were nervous, your heart pumping as the cadet led you to Erwin’s office.Why did he have to send for you in front of your squad? When there were already countless rumors circulating about your relationship with the commander that he was aware of.  

“Good luck, captain,” The cadet bowed before leaving you standing in front of the door, heart racing and head pounding - who the hell did he think he was? Feeding into all these rumors like this, God, for his sake you wished it was important. 

The metal of the door knob was cool in your hand and you didn’t bother to knock as you walked straight into his office, “Commander.” Your voice was stern, face stoic as you watched him continue with his paperwork on the desk. 

You couldn’t help but watch his concentrated face, the curve of his eyebrows and the subtle movements of his muscles under his button up shirt that came with the slight movements of his writing. 

A sigh left his perfect lips, “You didn’t knock, captain.” Erwin didn’t look up at you, only spoke as a way to acknowledge your presence in his office. 

“I’ll remember it for next time, commander.” You were calm, well you tried to be, but you were still pissed at him for his abrupt command for you to meet him. 

He looked up at you, his eyes flashing as he noticed your stoney expression, “Don’t disrespect me, even if you’re pissy, captain.” He said the words calmly, yet rose from his desk and his serious facade dropped for a second as anger briefly flashed across his features. 

You swallowed thickly, realising perhaps he was more angry than you, and he was going to take it out on you. “Yes sir.” Your posture stiffened slightly, watching him make eye contact with you fully. 

Erwin looked at you momentarily, not speaking as he studied your expression, his own decaying into one of slight anger as each second passed. 

“Why did you-”

“You know why.” He said the phrase sternly as he cut you off, yet with restraint as if he was trying not to spit the words. 

You cocked an eyebrow, “I’m sorry sir, but I believe I don’t.” You tapped your foot lightly against the wood, your arms crossed against your chest as you watched him lean on his desk, his hands splaying across the polished surface as he stared at your expression harder. 

“Come here, kitten.” Erwin’s voice was stern, the glint in his eyes changing slightly and you swallowed at it, your own attitude melting away as he spoke the nickname. 

“Yes sir,” You responded less confidently than before. 

Erwin sat back in his chair, gesturing for you to come closer, your heartbeat thumping harder in your chest as you took another daunting step towards where he was sitting. “Sit.” He commanded you, waving slightly to his lap, his eyes boring into your flushed expression. 

A rush of excitement burst through you, pushing any ounce of attitude you had before to the corners of your mind as you obediently sat gently in his lap. His hard body was always a comfort against your own, the feeling of his broad chest against your back and his warm breath in your ear had you forgetting your own name - not to mention the way his hands sat dangerously close to your thighs. 

“Kitten,” His voice was hot on your neck, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he whispered the name into your skin, “I thought we agreed you were off limits to anyone else.”

“I-I- havent been-” 

Erwin’s hand cut you off, his grip leaving your thigh to cup your already wet pussy. His hand held your heat tightly, despite your pants being in the way, he would know that you were soaking just from that. 

“Are you sure?” His hand tightened against your sopping heat, his lips brushing your ear as he held you tightly against him, “Because according to Captain Levi, you’ve been more of a whore than you usually are.” 

“I-I don’t understand sir,” Your words barely came out, you were too focused on not trying to moan or grind against his hand. 

“Quit it with the sir charade, we both know what you’d rather call me, “Erwin growled in your ear, his grip hardening against your pussy.

“Sorry, daddy,” You whimpered, your lip tugging between your teeth as you tried to control your raging arousal. 

“I suppose I’ll let you off the hook this time,” Erwin spoke, yet his hand let go of your pussy, only to come straight back, slapping your sensitive heat through the thick fabric of your pants. A whimper escaped your lips, your body tensing as you desperately tried not to moan as the pain mixed with the pleasure of what he’d just done. “But a dirty fucking whore like you needs to be punished, especially for flirting with other captains without my permission.” 

“I wasn’t-”

“I don’t want to fucking hear it, kitten,” His voice was angry, a growl in your ear as he pushed his boner into the small of your back, “You’re such a slut you’re making daddy punish you at work, but I suppose that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to fuck you senseless in my office and claim your pussy as mine in such a risky place.” Erwin chuckled slightly, his other hand coming up to rest at your neck, “I bet you’re hoping for Levi to walk in, so he can see how much of a fucking cum slut you are? Watch your face as I fuck you so hard against my desk, huh? Is that what you want?”

You bit your lip, your body tensing as you felt Erwin’s hand squeeze your neck gently, “Daddy, you know I’m yours.”

“But does Levi? I’ll have to prove it, I’ll have to claim you right here and now, kitten. I can’t let other people think they have free reign on my cum dumpster.” His hand squeezed your neck again, harder and longer, enough that you could feel slightly light headed and it only fuelled your arousal, his words and grip already leaving you a senseless mess. 

“Bend over my desk, kitten.” Erwin let go of you, leaving you with a slight disappointment at the lack of pressure on your burning heat. Yet you did as he said, unbuttoning your pants, yet Erwin pulled them down, his hands rough as he shoved you onto the polished wood of his desk. 

“Too slow, kitten.” His voice was a growl and you felt his bulge brush your thighs, his eyes gleaming as they took in your defenceless form. “Stay still, or I might have to punish you harder, baby girl.” You could hear the metallic clink of his belt unbuckling, yet you didnt have time to process before he had your hands pinned behind your back and the leather tightening around them in restraint. 

Erwin smirked at your restrained arms, one of his hands grabbing your ass roughly as he watched you helplessly splayed out in front of him. “What a fucking good little whore you are…” 

You whimpered slightly, your cheek pressed against his desk, completely at his mercy as you waited for any sort of pleasure, “Daddy-” “Hush kitten, I only want to hear you screaming my name.” Erwin didn’t give you time to process what was happening as he pulled down your panties with one hand and landed a harsh spank to your ass with the other. 

Your body tensed and you bit your lip to stop yourself from moaning loudly, your eyes screwed shut and you hoped that no one was walking outside of the office. 

“Did you lock the door, kitten?” Erwin smirked as he saw your eyes widen, “Then I suppose we better gag that beautiful mouth of yours to stop people from hearing.” His fingers hooked in the delicate cotton of your panties before ripping them off your legs, smirking at the red marks the fabric left on your legs. 

“Erwin-” 

“It’s daddy or commander to you sweetheart.” He growled in your ear before shoving the panties in your mouth. Arousal and shock was all you could feel as the taste of your own wetness hit your tongue, you blushed, slightly embarrassed at the gesture yet the degradation of it only fuelled you as you felt your own heat drip down your inner thigh.

Erwin seemed to notice it as well, his hands cupping your ass as he bent down, bringing his face close to your sopping pussy. “Well it’d be a waste if I didn’t taste my meal before completely ruining it.” His breath fanned over your pussy, yet his lips never quite reached it, instead he placed small kisses along your inner thigh, getting tantalisingly close but never quite there. 

You twitched slightly, frustrated at his teasing yet the way he suddenly sunk his teeth into your skin had you glad he shoved your panties in your mouth. Erwin smirked as he heard your muffled moan, his lips coming in to suck hickeys across your thighs. “I would usually agree that a pretty pussy like yours needs to be savored, but when you realise how much of a cum slut you really are, I guess its best not to play with my food when you barely deserve it in the first place.” Erwin smirked as he backed away from your weeping pussy, his hands leaving your ass and thighs to sit on his pants, which he was quick to undo.

“I do have a meeting in about 15 minutes, so I suppose I better be quick with you, kitten.” You felt his hardened cock rub between your thighs as he lent over and you moaned into the cotton stuffed inside your mouth, “You know I’ll just have to finish you off later tonight, really give you a drawn out punishment for what you’ve done.” 

Erwin didn’t give you warning or time to adjust as he sunk himself balls deep into you. He growled, the sound primal and from the back of his throat as he pulled back and slammed himself into you again. You felt full, stretched and pushed to the brink as his cock filled you up. Erwin was bigger than anything you’d taken before - the first time he fucked you made you feel like a virgin again, yet you could take it. You were made for it the way he filled you up so perfectly, his cock rubbing the spot that had you biting hard down on your panties. 

“Fuck kitten, you seem to just get tighter and tighter,” He groaned slightly, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he plowed into you, his hips slamming into yours roughly and quickly. 

Erwin didn’t hold back, his hands pulling you back onto his cock while his hips smashed into yours relentlessly. You felt your clit throb and you knew with how worked up he had you he didn’t even need to touch it to have you finish on his cock.

“Fuck kitten-” He moaned slightly, his thrusts speeding up as you felt him harden inside of you, one hand letting go of your hip to slap the front of your pussy. 

The action made you cry out, the sound muffled by the panties in your mouth but still loud enough for Erwin to hear, for him to be encouraged to do it again because he knew just how much pain mixed with pleasure for you. 

You felt the belt dig into your back as your arms pushed against your back for some sort of stability, Erwin grabbed your pussy with one hand your wrists with the other as he pushed you into the desk harder and pounded you further towards your release. 

Your back arched involuntarily and you felt that bubble build up inside of you and Erwin getting close to popping it and sending you into the blissful abyss of your orgasm. The wood of the desk dug into your hips but the pain only made everything feel better, his fingers digging into your sensitive heat, the leather of the belt chaffing against your wrists, it all pushed you closer to that inevitable feeling of release. 

And you could tell Erwin was close as well, his breathing was getting heavier, but his thrusts never got sloppier, he only went harder and more precise, he was focused on pushing you to your breaking point. 

Which he did, you barely realised it before he landed a particularly hard thrust that had you tumbling towards your release. Your body was flooded with the pleasure pounding from your heat and Erwin groaned as he felt you clench around him from your orgasm, yet he didn’t let up his thrusts. He continued to pound you through it, his fingers digging tighter into your pussy as he held you firmer for him to fuck. 

Until he had his own release spill into you, his thrusts stopping as he buried himself deep into your weeping pussy, a moan of your name falling off his lips as he spilt himself into you. 

He stayed there like that for a second, his cock buried deep inside of you and letting himself recover from his own orgasm, letting a ring of white cum form at the base of cock as he filled you up with his own pleasure. 

Erwin pulled out eventually, groaning slightly as he saw the white, hot seed that threatened to drip out of your wrecked pussy. He sighed gently, untying your wrists of his belt and pulling your panties out of your mouth. 

“Fuck Erwin…” You moaned gently, pulling yourself up and letting your legs shake gently from the pleasure he had just given you. 

His eyes flicked to you momentarily, his fingers tucking the ripped cotton of your panties into the drawer of his desk, “Remember kitten, no one can fuck you as good as that.”

___________________

thank u for reading have a nice day uwu and if u can leave a like and reblog  (〃＾▽＾〃)

[sunshineseung]

Journal Part 4 // Jeongin

🍄 | genre: smut mini-series ☁️ | pairing: Yang Jeongin x female!reader 🌿 | wc: 5.8k holy shit i am so sorry- 🌸 | includes: milf!reader x babysitter!college student!jeongin, plot 🤢🤮, smut within smut (mentions of marking, pet names/degrading names), anal toys (plug), jeongin wears feminine underwear, nipple clamps, mentions of rule breaking/punishment, begging, face sitting, praise, degradation, mentions (not use) of safe word, pegging, the obvious overuse of the word “mommy” and “ma’am”, aftercare, buttered pasta :)

🌊 | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Finale |

The sound of his own foot tapping was enough to make him more anxious than he already was, and the light shining through the window directly onto his shiny desk to reflect on his eye wasn’t helping. He’s practiced the conversation a million times over in his head. The plan was simple: class ends, ask Professor Lee about his missing journal, and get it back. How hard could it be?

Evidentially, pretty damn hard. All throughout class, Professor Lee was staring at Jeongin, picking on him when no one else would answer easy questions, and overall making his life a living hell just by his presence. 

“Yang Jeongin, come see me.” Minho sighs, adjusting his glasses as he looks up at the clock on the wall of his classroom. “The rest of you are dismissed.” 

Ending class 15 minutes early was extraordinarily unusual for Professor Lee, but the other students hardly batted an eye as they collected their belongings and shuffled out of the room, leaving as Jeongin stepped up to his professor’s desk. He was practically sweating bullets at this point, all of his plans flowing out of his head with every step. The glare Professor Lee was giving Jeongin was intimidating to say the least, but Lee Minho knew all too well what he was going to say.

“You wanted to speak to me, sir?” Jeongin tilts his head, standing over his professor, giving the illusion that Jeongin had the upper hand in this situation. 

“Yes, Jeongin. You left your notebook behind last class, and I just wanted to give it back to you.” Professor Lee opens his top desk drawer, pulling out Jeongin’s journal and holding it out in his hand towards Jeongin. Before his student could grab it, he pulled away, reeling Jeongin in like a fish. “You really ought to be more careful with your stuff. Don’t want anyone else getting their hands on this, do we?” 

Jeongin shakes his head, holding his hand out, patiently waiting for his teacher to put the book into his hand. The room is coated in silence despite the chatter from the hall. Jeongin can feel his heart beating out of his chest, trying his best not to jump over the desk and snatch the journal out of his professor’s hands. 

“So, do you like writing?” The smirk stretching across Professor Lee’s smug face is breaking Jeongin. He feels this odd sense of deja vu on top of the overwhelming anxiety. Jeongin nods again, slightly shaking his outstretched hand, urging his professor to finally hand it over. “Is that what this journal is for? Writing?” 

“Professor Lee, can I please have my journal back? I have another class to get to, sir.” Jeongin dodges the question like a professional, but Professor Lee isn’t satisfied. He laughs in Jeongin’s face, rolling his eyes slightly at the boy’s wit.

“I ended class early. You have plenty of time to talk, Yang Jeongin.” Professor Lee stands up, walking to the other side of his desk and pulling out another chair from a student desk. “Sit down, take a load off. You’re one of my star students. I’d like to get to know you.” 

“Aright, professor.” Jeongin’s staring at the journal, loosely dangling from his professor’s hand. Still, he sits in the uncomfortable chair as the older man leans on his desk, facing the boy. Jeongin holds out his hand again, looking up at his professor with emotionless eyes, desperate to leave this room and go home, because him saying he has another class was a complete lie. Just for right now, Professor Lee wants to play a little game with Jeongin, a game the younger doesn’t even realize he’s playing.

“You don’t have to call me professor. Right now, you can call me Minho.” Jeongin nods, slouching in the chair. “You never answered my question, Jeongin. What do you write in this journal? Notes for class I’d assume.”

“Yeah, notes for class.” Jeongin’s voice cracks as he looks back at the journal, Minho now having one of his fingers between the pages. He winces just imagining what his professor would think if he read a single paragraph on any page. “I need them to study, so can I have it back now?” 

“Well, if it’s just notes, then you’re okay with me reading it, right?” Minho jolts his arm up, opening the book to a random page. Jeongin’s about to run out of the room in embarrassment before Minho holds a hand up, successfully stopping him. “C’mon, Jeongin. Do you honestly think I haven’t already read this?”

If Jeongin had anything in his stomach right now, he’d surely throw up. You reading the journal was one of his fantasies come to life, but this was a bit overkill. He’d never want anyone other than you to read his journal, let alone one of his professors.

“What’s got you so quiet now?” Minho raises the pitch of his voice to taunt Jeongin, playing up the scene. “You’ve had the audacity to write about Y/n in this book nearly every single class, but now that you’ve been caught, you bite your tongue?” 

“Don’t say her name!” Jeongin gets extremely defensive, standing out of the seat to be the same height as his professor. “What do you want from me? Just give me the journal and I’ll go. I’ll even switch out of this class if you want. I don’t care!” 

“Aw, Jeonginnie~” Minho rests his face on his hand, holding his own cheek as he watches Jeongin’s face get red with anger. “Just tell me, how is Y/n doing?” 

“How do you know Y/n?” Jeongin’s confused, unable to connect the pieces to this puzzle. 

“You’re not as smart as you let on.” Minho gets closer to Jeongin, getting right in his face to scare the young boy. “I was her husband. We were your neighbors.”

Jeongin could feel his legs shake, finally connecting every conversation, every question, every action. He steps back, vision going blurry as he’s flooded with memories of seeing none other than Lee Minho in your front lawn, playing with his daughters in the back, or sneaking out to a taxi late at night towards the end of his memories. Jeongin didn’t know your name until he started working for you, let alone know your estranged husband’s name. He felt like such a dumbass at this moment.

“So, how is she?” Minho puts his hand on Jeongin’s shoulder, forcing Jeongin to focus on him. “If you’re going to fuck my ex wife, you could at least tell me how she’s doing.”

“She’s doing well, certainly a lot better without you.” Minho scoffs, laughing at Jeongin’s weak attempt at a diss. 

“And the girls are doing well?” 

“Yup. I watch them every night after my classes.” Jeongin folds his arms, turning his chin up at Minho. How soon he forgets that Minho still has his precious journal.

“So that’s where she gets ya, huh?” Minho brings the notebook back to his face, flipping to a random page, putting his finger on a random line. “Is that where she, in your words, ‘gripped your cock like you’ve wanted her to for so long’? Or did that happen later?”

Half of Jeongin’s brain is struggling to come up with a response, while the other half is thinking about the first time you gave him a blowjob. He’s clenching his fists with anger, hoping Minho didn’t see him starting to pop a boner. 

“What goes on between us is none of your business.” Jeongin jumps forward, finally snatching his journal out of Minho’s hands. He holds his journal tightly in his hands, clutching it close to his chest. “I’ll be leaving now.”

Just as Jeongin turns around to get his bookbag, Minho grabs his wrist and turns him around, once again finding each other inches away from the other’s face. 

“She didn’t tell you anything about me, did she?” Jeongin shakes him off, rapidly walking back to his desk to get his bag. “Answer me, little boy.”

“She’s never said a word about you, Minho.” Jeongin goes for the door, finally seeing his exit within his sights. “Now leave me alone. I’ll see you on Thursday, sir.”

And with that, he’s out. Finally within possession of his journal, he minds his business walking down the hall, heading back to his house that’s less than a 10 minute walk from the campus. 

Just wait until Y/n hears about this.

🍓🍰🐤🍀💐🍯

“He really hasn’t changed at all.” You stare out the window, taking a sip of tea from your mug as Jeongin finishes retelling the entire story to you. “I’m proud of you, Jeongin.”

“Proud of me? Why?” 

“You handled him very well. Any other boy your age would have crumbled under the pressure.” You sit next to him on the couch, putting your hand on his thigh more as comfort than a tactic to get into his pants. Regardless of your intentions, Jeongin can’t help but blush and bite his lip being the horny boy he is. “Lee Minho has a way with words. His charm worked on me in high school, and I’m sure it works on the other students in his classes.”

“Oh yeah, all the girls have crushes on him.” Jeongin covers his mouth with his hands when he realizes what he says. You just giggle at him, recalling some of the sweet, romantic moments you had with your ex-husband before everything went to shit. 

“Well, you know, the girls are going to his house this weekend. Maybe you should come over?” You ride your hand up his thigh teasingly, making Jeongin freeze as if he hasn’t had sex with you literally days earlier. “I’m always so worried about the girls when they’re with him. Maybe you can help me destress, baby boy.” 

“I’ll help you destress, mommy!” Jeongin smiles, mentally clearing his schedule for this weekend. “Can I ask something though?” 

“Ask away, baby. I’m an open book.” You lean back, one arm flailing behind your head as you take another sip from your mug.

“Why did you two… separate?” Jeongin cringes at his own words, realizing he might have crossed a line as your facial expression changes from a soft smile to a frown. “I’m just curious, sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry. I’ll tell you.” You huff as you sit up, swinging your arms forward so you can straighten your back. “He started acting distant out of nowhere, and some nights I’d wake up to find him gone from his side of the bed. A quick glance at his phone and I saw texts from another woman. I’d rather not get into gruesome details, but that’s the jist of it.”

“You don’t have to get into details. I shouldn’t have asked.” Jeongin shakes his head, leaning on your shoulder to comfort you. You put your arm around his shoulders, pulling him close to you. “Thank you for sharing with me.”

“No, thank you for asking. It feels good to get these things off of my chest.” You sigh, feeling an odd sense of relief. You’ve never talked to anyone about this other than a therapist you had for a brief time before work took over your life.

“So… was he a sub like me?” You nearly spit out your tea, Jeongin sitting up and patting your back to stop you from coughing on the drink. “Sorry! Sorry!” 

You can’t help but laugh at the curious boy, his face getting redder than you’ve ever seen. That’s the hardest you’ve ever laughed in a while. 

“Do you really want to know?” You raise an eyebrow, Jeongin covering his face with his hands in embarrassment.

“I mean… a little.” He uncovers one eye, looking at your cheerful expression and immediately calming down after seeing you aren’t mad. “You’re good at… ya know. You have to have experience being a dom, right?” 

“Actually, I’ve always been the submissive. Do you really think the egoist Lee Minho would let someone else be in control?” You laugh at your own remark, Jeongin catching on and laughing with you. “But thank you for saying I’m good at sex I guess. Although, I don’t know how much of a compliment that is considering you’re a virgin” 

“Hey! I’m not a virgin anymore!” The red-as-a-tomato Jeongin makes a return as you laugh at his defensiveness. “Can I ask… one more question?”

“Jeez, are you interviewing me or something?” You take another sip of your tea as you gesture for the boy to ask away. He gulps, calculating his final question before he has to go home.

“Can I be your boyfriend?” Pause. You stare at the floor, thinking critically to yourself. How can you let down your sweet little boy without breaking his poor heart?

“Jeongin, you know we can’t be together.” You take one of his hands in your free hand, squeezing his fingers between yours as he nods, looking down at his legs. “I’m over 10 years older than you. That would be absurd.” 

“What if no one knows?” He’s really harping on this, huh? “Or can we be another title? Maybe friends with benefits?” 

“Yang Jeongin,” your quiet, commanding voice makes Jeongin look into your eyes, seeing the seriousness in your expression, “I’m your mother’s friend, not yours. I’m not sure how to define our relationship, but if you really want a label, we can be… sex partners. But no one can know that, alright?” 

“I understand.” Jeongin squeezes your hand back, allowing a comforting silence to fill the room. “So, this weekend?” 

“You can come over Friday night. He takes the girls in the morning, but I have work for the first half of the day. I took the weekend off, though, so I’m all yours, pretty boy.” You kiss his lips, getting caught in the taste before you pull back, stay your goodbyes, and send him home for the night before you go to bed for yourself.

When Jeongin gets back to his room, he sighs and takes out his journal, cracking his fingers before laying the pencil on the paper.

I want Lee Minho to pay. I want him to pay for breaking the heart of the woman I love, even if she doesn’t reciprocate the feelings. He must be insane for cheating on such an amazing woman. If mommy marks me up, leaving hickeys all over my pale neck, I’ll boldly wear something with a low-cut so Lee Minho can see all of the marks left by the most beautiful woman in the world. I’ll make sure he knows that I satisfy her more than he ever could. Y/n, if you’re reading this, please leave pretty bruises all over my body. I want mommy to mark me so bad, make sure everyone knows I’m hers. Regardless of the label anyone puts on our relationship, no one can deny that I’m hers. Her perverted boy, her slutty toy, her little prince, all hers. Only hers.

🍓🍰🐤🍀💐🍯

The weekend flies closer than he could have imagined, and after seeing you come home exhausted and drained every single night, nothing pleases Jeongin more than knowing he’s the one that will help you relax. As he walks to your house, he regrets not going to the store and getting lotions so he could give you a massage from his unqualified hands. 

“Hey, baby.” You smile at him, bright and gorgeous as always. You invite him in and offer him a drink, which he politely declines. You notice he’s shaking more than usual, and although he was always nervous and awkward, you’ve never see him get this shaky. “Are you okay, Jeongin?”

“Mommy…”

“Oh, we’re right out the gate with this one?”

“I have a surprise for you.” Jeongin takes his shirt off and pulls down his jeans, revealing a hot pink, lace thong covering his half-hard cock. You look up from his cock to his chest, seeing fake, silver nipple rings adorning his pink buds. You cover your mouth as you gasp, indescribably turned on from the presentation this boy had planned. “That’s not all.”

He turns around, bending over so the thong dives deeper between his ass cheeks, but you quickly notice what he was hinting at. There’s a little pink rose peeking out of his ass, a clear decoration on a plug. He looks so fucking hot. You can’t take your eyes off of him.

“What do you think, mommy?” He holds his arms out as he turns around, facing you again as your body hasn’t moved since he’d last faced you. “Don’t you like it?”

“I love it, little prince.” You walk up to him, holding his waist in your hands as you pull him closer, licking one of his nipples, tasting the distinct metal flavor of the ring. “You never fail to surprise me, baby.” 

You kiss from his nipple to his panties, getting down on your knees as you lick over the thin fabric. He twitches under the lace, getting harder every second. Before your mouth can properly suck his cock, you stand up and kiss him harshly on the lips, tasting a faint strawberry flavor. You smile against his mouth, holding his by his waist again as you pull him into your body, your chests coming in contact. 

“Mommy, please sit on my face. I want to make you feel good,” Jeongin whines between kisses. Your hands run up and down his body, feeling him up and making him shiver in anticipation. For right now, you’re content with just sucking on his sweet lips, but his cock clearly needs some attention. “Please~”

“Let’s go to my bedroom, sweetheart. I’ll ride your pretty face as much as you want.” You take his hand in yours as you take him back to your room, practically throwing him on the bed. He palms himself over his thong while you undress, totally forgetting about the rules you’d set up. When you turn around, your gaze goes immediately, almost instinctively, to his hand on his cock as he half-assedly strokes himself. “Is my naughty little boy touching himself? Without my permission?” 

“Sorry, mommy. I couldn’t help it.” Jeongin presses his bottom lip out as he pouts, pulling his hand off of his cock. You roll your eyes and get onto the bed, sitting over his chest before staring down at him like you’re a shark and he’s your next meal. 

“I don’t know if you deserve to eat my pussy anymore.” You ponder, bringing your hand to your chin as if you’re genuinely considering not riding his face until you’re dripping. He puts his hands above his head and pleads again, whining in his adorable high-pitched voice. “Alright, baby boy, but only because I want this.”

You scoot up to his face, hovering your naked cunt over his gorgeous face. As you slowly start to lower your hips to his mouth, Jeongin eagerly sticks his tongue out and fights against his reflexes to just grab you. He laps at your folds, humming from the sweetness as you grind on his face and grip the headboard of the bed. 

“Good boy, Jeonginnie. If you make mommy cum, you’ll get a reward.” He moans into your pussy, his cock twitching under his lace panties just at the thought of you rewarding him. For being so hungry for punishment just days prior, he really wanted to be your good little boy just for today. He sticks his wet tongue into your cunt, inciting you to ride his face even harder, raising and lowering just enough for his tongue to never leave your tight, needy cunt. 

His tongue pulls back, leaving you empty for a moment before he starts kissing and sucking at your clit. You lean forward, putting your clit right up to his mouth all for him. Your sopping cunt was absolutely begging for an orgasm, and Jeongin was getting you there faster than you could have ever imagined. The moans leaving your throat only made Jeongin want to make you cum even more. 

“Please cum on my face, ma’am.” Jeongin wastes no time returning his tongue to your pussy, his wrists still above his head as if he were cuffed. Your legs start to get uneasy, shaking around Jeongin’s head as you breath heavily and mindlessly moan out his favorite pet names and countless praises. He’s smiling against you, sucking your folds until you finally release, your cunt tightening around his tongue as you whine and grind, riding out your high on his face. You were undoubtedly euphoric, slowly coming down from an extremely intense orgasm, but Jeongin was also through the moon, tasting all of your juices leaking into his mouth. 

“Ah, thank you little boy.” You flip your leg over his head, stepping back onto the floor with your weak, tired legs, a hand on the bed so you don’t fall over. You run a hand down his leg, Jeongin starting to shake with anticipation. He holds his wrists steady above his head without any help of restraints. Your palm runs over his cock, touching him over his thin panties. He lets out a huff, needy for more. “Does my sweet prince need to be fucked?” 

Jeongin’s whine are so fucking pathetic. A tear runs down his cheek just from the thought of you fucking him. He watches you as you turn around and reach into your drawer, digging through until you pull out a harness and a bright pink dildo that oddly matches his panties. Jeongin tightens his hole, remembering the bulb nestled in his ass. As you put the harness on, he lifts his hips and shakes his as against the bed.

“Mommy,” he whimpers, “please fuck my ass. Need your cock in me so fucking bad!” He sounds so overwhelmingly lewd, but you loved every second of it. You attach the dildo to your harness, tightening it perfectly so it won’t budge. You cup his cheek as you reposition yourself on the bed, lifting his legs over your thighs. You watch his cock tremble, begging to be touched, as Jeongin stares directly at your face, watching your eyes dart from his cock to his hardened nipped to his quivering lips. “Mommy?”

“Yes sweetheart?” You tilt your head and smile, making a burst of warmth erupt in Jeongin’s chest. 

“Please be gentle, okay?” You giggle at his cuteness and nod, reaching to your bedside to take out lube. Squirting it onto your hand, you rub the length of the dildo with one hand while you teasingly pull at his plug, pulling it out just enough to make him groan. 

“You look incredible, baby boy.” You lean down to kiss him while your hand moves from your dildo to his ass, both hands pulling out the plug before you finger him with lubed fingers. All of his moans are lost on your lips, his tongue letting out and into your mouth, dancing with yours. He squeals when your fingers leave his ass, and he knows exactly what’s next. 

You take his hands in yours from above his head, pulling them down to be next to his head. You lean over the boy while you line your cock with his hole, teasingly pushing the tip against his entrance. 

“I’ll go slow, don’t worry angel.” Your hands hold your hips as you slowly push the strap into Jeongin, watching it disappear into his tight little hole. His thong is pushed to the side of his hole while painfully rubbing against the bottom of his shaft. You would have taken it off, but he just looks too damn sexy in them. 

Jeongin writhes as you stop halfway, petting his sides to help him calm down. He feels so full, so stretched, something he’s never felt before. He’s wanted this for so long, he just wants to enjoy it so bad, especially for you, but the pain is starting to get to him. He’s whining loudly, biting down on his lip harshly in hopes of silencing some of his sounds. 

“Jeongin? Are you okay?” Your voice is soft, but not delicate. You’re speaking at a regular volume, an attempt to pull Jeongin out of his head. He opens his eyes and looks at you, tears threatening to fall out. “What’s the safe word?” 

“Avocado.” 

“One more time for me, baby. What’s the safe word?” Without moving your hips, you lean forward to hold onto his face. He looks so gorgeous, messy and covered in sweat. You just want him to be happy. 

“Avocado.” He pushes his face against your hand, his voice returning to a regular pitch. “You can go further now, mommy.” 

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” You lean more to kiss his forehead, admiring his sharp facial features. 

“I want you to fuck me, please.” His tone is flat, sounding almost unenthused until the final word. You nod and patiently push into him, carefully watching his face for any indication of pain. Jeongin starts to groan loudly as you bottom out, pressing the bottom of the harness against him. “Thank you.” 

“Good boy, Innie. My angel’s so pretty like this.” Your hands go to his chest, dainty fingers pinching his nipples just how he likes. His moans are back to being the high, pathetic whines you’re used to from the boy. His cock twitches, a drop of precum dripping from the tip. “You ready for me to move, my little prince?”

“Yes, mommy. I’m ready!” Your heart warms watching Jeongin’s face light up for such a perverted sentiment. He looks so excited, finally starting to enjoy it. You grip his hips tight as you pull out, watching his cock stutter and his mouth hang open. When you pound back into him slowly, Jeongin feels that familiar warmth in his stomach. 

“You like this, baby boy? You like getting fucked by your mommy?” Your voice is sinister as you increase the pace, rhythmically moving your hips against Jeongin’s ass. His legs shutter as you fuck him, all of his nerves standing on edge. “Who’s mommy’s little cumslut?”

“I am, mommy! I’m your little c-cum… fuck!” Jeongin throws his head back as you wrap one hand around his cock, your other hand is grounded on his hip. You start to jerk him, fast and aggressive, coaxing him to an orgasm even faster.

The dildo drags against Jeongin’s walls, brushing past the sensitive spot he didn’t even know he had. With every thrust and stroke, he can feel himself start to fall apart, all of his speech devolving into incoherent whines and cries. Sweat drips down his forehead as he finds it harder and harder to hold back his release. 

“C-close,” he whimpers, “gonna cum.” 

“Aw, my sweet little boy ready to cum?” You speed up the movements of your hand, tightening your iron grip on his sensitive, red cock. Jeongin feels his reality start to fade, only being able to focus on his impending orgasm. “Cum all you want, baby. Be a good little boy and cum for mommy.”

Your eyes stare intensely at his cock as he’s pushed over the edge, his body convulsing as he has the most powerful orgasm of his life. He shoots his load all over his abs and chest, some dripping onto your hand. Your hand goes still on his shaft, but your hips still slowly rut into him, easing him through his high. 

“Gonna pull out now, alright pretty boy?” He nods, bringing his hand up to his face for him to bite down on his finger. You gently pull your hips back, eventually slipping out of him, watching him breath heavily as you let go of his hips and cock. “Did you like that?” 

“Yes, Y/n. You felt so good,” he smiles, watching you as you stand up to pull the harness off and toss it towards the drawer for you to clean later. “Can we get dinner now?”

“Sweetheart, you need to rest!” You walk to the side of the bed and give him a peck on his forehead, soon kissing him on his plush lips. He lays on your bed, limbs spread out as he’s lifeless and naked. “You did so well for me. I’ll cook you dinner while you take a nap, alright?”

“I’d like that, mommy. Thank you!” You pull the discarded comforter over his body, forcing him to get warm and cozy under your covers. He looked so sweet in your bed, snuggled against the soft bed that smelled like you. 

“How about pasta? Does my boy like pasta?” He nods, shutting his eyes and rolling to his side, preparing to sleep. “I’ll be back in an hour. Rest well, Jeongin.” 

“Thank you~”

Jeongin dozes off as you get dressed in lounge pants, a loose shirt, underwear and no bra. He looks so peaceful sleeping, so you’re extra quiet when you slip out of your bedroom to the kitchen. 

You gather the ingredients and start to boil the water when you get a call. Just as before, it’s your ex-husband, Minho. You groan and hesitantly press the green phone button, turning the call to speaker before setting your phone on the counter. 

“Y/n? Hello?”

“What do you want, Minho?” Your voice sounds disinterested to say the least, and Minho immediately gets the hint that his call was not wanted. 

“I’m gonna cut to the chase. One of my student’s grades are suffering because of your relationship with him-“

“Shouldn’t you be watching my kids?” You don’t have the mental capacity to listen to Minho scold you right now. Your motherly instincts are tingling, and he should be watching your little angels right now. 

“They’re with their stepmom right now.” You grumble at his use of the word “stepmom” considering your daughters still call her by her first name, but nevertheless, you go silent, hoping he’ll get on with this call. “As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, you need to stop playing games with Yang Jeongin.” 

“Playing games?” Your face turns red as anger suddenly fills your brain. “We aren’t playing games, Lee Minho. We’re adults. Neither of us need your permission.” 

“You’re playing with this kid’s feelings. Don’t you feel bad?” You pause, watching bubbles start to rise in the pot. “This kid is suffering just because you want to be fucked and you’re too prideful to-“

“Don’t even say that, Minho.” You reach for the box of pasta, dumping the noodles into the pot of boiling water. “I’ll never get back with you. You know that.” 

“What does he have that I don’t?” You hear a loud tsk through the phone, Minho taking a break in his talk to ponder his next move. “You’d rather fuck a college student than a real man?”

“Jeongin’s more of a real man than you’ll ever be!” You’re nearly yelling at this point, rage overwhelming you. “What do you know about our relationship anyway? It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, but it is!” Before you have a chance to respond to his outlandish comment, he chimes back in. “He writes in his little fantasy book every single class, and every time I look over his shoulder, I have to see your name scrawled over every page. He’s obsessed with you, Y/n.” 

“Shut up! Just, shut up!” You stop stirring the pasta to collect your thoughts, breathing in before you lash out at Minho over the phone. “Go watch my kids-“

“Our kids.”

“Go watch our kids and never speak to me about this again. I’ll tell Jeongin to get his grades up. Just, for fuck’s sake, leave me alone.” You hang up, angrily throwing your phone onto the counter again. You hear the floor squeak behind you and you turn around, a scared Jeongin standing behind you with the blanket wrapped around him.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” His eyes well up with tears, fearful of how you’ll respond. “This was a mistake.” 

“Jeongin, baby, no!” You drop the spoon to the edge of the pot and bring Jeongin in for a hug, squeezing him tightly. His arms wrap around your neck, the blanket falling to the floor to reveal him wearing one of your big shirts. “Don’t mind him. How much did you hear?”

“A-all of it.” He sniffles, collecting himself with deep breaths. “I didn’t know I’d cause so much trouble.”

“It’s Minho who’s causing trouble, not you.” You pet down his back, trying to get him to calm down and stop crying. “Go back to my room and lay down, babe.” 

“Can I stay out here and watch you?” You lean down to pick up the blanket, wrapping it around Jeongin again. His eyes are puffy and red as if he’s been emotional for a while, and your heart aches just looking at his disheveled state. 

“Of course, baby. Go sit on that stool.” He pulls the stool out from under the kitchen island and gets comfortable, leaning on the counter with his elbows. You go back to stirring the pasta, watching it rise and fall. “I love you, Jeongin.” 

“I love you too, Y/n. Thank you for inviting me here today.” He swoons at your bright demeanor, a stark contrast from the bitter persona you’d taken while on the phone with his professor. “What did you mean when you said I’m a… real man?” 

You laugh a bit, dropping the spoon to the side and getting butter and a bowl out for the pasta. “Lee Minho was never a good man. He takes advantage of everyone who comes into his life. You’re not like that.” 

Jeongin tilts his head. “Then what am I like?” 

“You’re, uh…” you put your hand on your chin, scratching at your skin in thought. “You’re very kind and genuine, which is a bit surprising for a boy your age.”

Jeongin hated every time you brought up age. It only furthered to remind him about how different you two were, and how he never had a chance with you from the start. In your eyes, he’ll never be more than a kid, and that ate away and him. Jeongin’s only goal with you was for you to see him as an equal rather than a child, but he wasn’t sure how to go about reaching that.

“So I’m a real man?” Jeongin smiles, his heart fluttering thinking of you calling him a man. 

“Pasta’s ready! Do you want cheese?” You pour the pasta from the strainer into the bowl, mixing it with the butter. Per your request, Jeongin gets the powdered cheese out of the refrigerator, sitting at the kitchen island again, this time with you right next to him, piling pasta onto his plate before yours, your motherly instincts kicking in again. 

“Thank you mo- I mean, Y/n!” You both giggle at his adorable slip up, appreciating each other’s company. 

“You’re welcome, baby boy.” You push his hair from his forehead and kiss his nose, his cheeks quickly turning a deep shade of pink. “So cute.” 

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