#it’s not even good art my standards are slowly slipping away.

[onesleepyboii]

art dump except it’s a bunch of unfinished stuff and i suck at art

[kittenintheden]

Where were you, when I was new?

AO3 Version Here bonus gift art by tavplum!!

Even the masters have to start somewhere.

Rating: E Word Count: 5.6k Content: 18+, Virgin Astarion, Pre-Canon Astarion, Law Student Astarion, Young Astarion, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Intercourse, Gender-Neutral Partner (3rd Person), Unnamed Partner (3rd Person)

Astarion Ancunín is twenty years old, a law student, and a virgin. At least, he is for the time being.

It’s not as if he doesn’t know he’s an exceptionally good-looking young man, not as if no one’s ever asked before. Not as if he’s completely inexperienced. He adores kissing. Flushes with pleasure when someone plays with his long, elegant ears. Participates in a little hand stuff here and there. He even received head and gave it back, once, at some party.

Really, it’s simply that he’s had other things to do – other lessons to learn, other books to study, other concerns about his future position – and no one ever seemed worth sharing himself with fully. At least, not the first time. What can he say? He has standards.

It’s neither here nor there, to be honest, because he’s deep in his notes from a recent lecture when a friend puts a hand on his shoulder and draws his attention away. He grumbles, annoyed at being yanked out of his zone.

“What, arthehole?” he says from between his teeth because he doesn’t want to drop the pair of gold-rimmed glasses that dangle from his mouth by one temple. He never did quite outgrow his oral fixation.

His friend tilts their chin toward the large double doors that offer entry to their university’s library, which is where they’re currently holed up. “Look sharp,” the friend says. “The mock trial team from Neverwinter just walked in.”

Astarion sits up and shifts his gaze to the group of unfamiliar students following behind an enthusiastic prefect who seems to be giving them the full tour of the Grand College of Baldur's Gate. They certainly look like standard Neverwinter fare – wizard-chic robes, scrutinizing stares, Northern city attitude. He leans his cheek on his hand, lazily sizing up the competition.

There’s one that stands out and he quirks his mouth up as he observes. This student is smiling brightly, slowly spinning in place to take in the shelves around them with wonder. Their clothing is simpler than the others, more street-friendly than cosmopolitan.

“Huh,” he says to himself.

“I think we can take them no problem,” his friend says. “But what do you say about running a bit of an insurance policy? Some friendly distraction, if you will.”

Astarion glances their way. “I’m listening.”

The friend points to someone toward the front of the line. “I’ll take that one. You know I’m a sucker for tieflings with blue… everything.”

He laughs. “Have at. I think…” He folds his glasses and slips them into his pocket, training his eyes on the student who stuck out to him before. “... I’ll deal with that one.”

“Good man,” says the friend, holding up a hand for him to clasp.

***

Some time later, Astarion leans casually against a support beam in the university’s canteen with his supper in hand, waiting. It isn’t long until the Neverwinter students begin to filter in and he quickly spies his target.

They’re taking in the room and the people around them, eyes soft and gentle as a cow’s. Elven, like him, he thinks. They look over their shoulder and happen to catch his eye for a scant moment. He tilts his head and they give a polite smile before stepping forward in the queue.

Astarion examines his nails closely during the several minutes it takes the group to retrieve their food and find seats. As the elf walks along the line of chairs, he makes his move.

Before they even notice his approach, he steps just in front of them and then startles as they knock into him.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” they say, mercifully righting their tray before anything spills. “I didn’t see you.”

“No, no,” Astarion says, smiling bashfully. “My fault entirely. I didn’t look to see where I was going. I’m terrible that way. Please, join me?”

He pulls out the nearest chair and gestures for them to sit. They blink at him, wide-eyed, then lean around to look for their friends, then back at him in slight confusion.

“Ah, sorry, that’s presumptuous, I shouldn’t-”

“No, it’s fine,” they say, their face brightening with another grin. “We’re supposed to be here to meet other students, anyway, so. Yeah. Yes, I’d be happy to join you.”

“Wonderful,” Astarion says, pushing the chair in under them as they take his offered seat. Behind their back, he casts a look over at his friend across the way. They waggle their eyebrows at him and go back to chatting up their blue tiefling. Astarion smirks.

He schools his features back to neutral as he takes his own seat, giving the Neverwinter student a tight smile, playing the part of the nervy introvert superbly. Right on cue, his glasses slip down his nose a bit and he adjusts them back into place.

“Do you actually need those?” his guest says, their cheek already full of food.

Astarion’s smile drops for a second before he snatches it back and gives a laugh. “What?”

They chew and swallow their bite before pointing at his face. “The spectacles. I was just wondering if they were for show or…” They pause and their eyes go even wider than usual. “I apologize, that’s really rude of me, forget I said anything.”

His surprised laugh is genuine this time. “You know what? I don’t actually need them.” To illustrate his point, he removes them, folds them, and puts them in his jacket pocket. He leans in like he’s about to tell them a secret and quietly says, “Honestly, I just think they make me look smart.”

Immediately, they burst out laughing and he joins them. The conversation flows smoothly, after that.

“What are you doing all the way down at the Gate?” Astarion asks, placing a forkful of his own food in his mouth to chew as they answer. He now knows their name, their year, that they adore snow foxes, and that they are indeed visiting from Neverwinter.

They pick off a piece of their roll, then another. “I’m here with the mock trial group. You know that one? We playact cases like you’d find in the courts. We’re here for a competition with the Gate’s team.”

“Really?” Astarion says, the picture of innocence as he leans in closer, fascinated. “Like theater? I didn’t even know we had one of those.”

“Oh, yes, it’s a lot of fun.” They’re animatedly waving their forgotten roll around as they speak. It’s cute. “We each take the side of either the prosecution or the defense and we sort of, you know, duke it out.”

Astarion giggles. “Maybe I should come watch this thing. Which side are you on?”

“Defense,” they say with a wink. “And we’ve got a killer case.”

“Is that so?” Astarion’s grin spreads wide over his face. “I’d love to hear more.”

***

It had been quite the productive evening. His companion spilled the details of nearly everything that mattered, from their witness list to the evidence they hoped to sneak in last-minute with a legal loophole. Astarion flirted up a storm, keeping them talking. And talk they did, punctuated with laughter and light touches and a general aura of friendship .

Astarion grimaces as he organizes his notes for the trial. It should begin in an hour and he’s been hiding out in the nearby lecture hall that serves as the makeshift judge’s chambers. If he’s really, truly honest with himself… he feels awful. His opponent had been sweet, friendly, and genuinely enjoyable to be around, if a little… south of brilliant. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize he actually kind of liked them. Would maybe consider flirting with them for real, even.

If only they hadn’t been so naively trusting . That was their own fault, wasn’t it?

He swallows the sour taste in his mouth.

Around then, his friend swaggers into the room with a blooming bruise on their neck and a sleepy smile. They flop down in the seat beside him.

“Good night?” Astarion asks, cocking an eyebrow at them.

“Blue everywhere,” they say as if they’re doped up. “Everywhere, Ancunín.”

Astarion chuckles and shakes his head. “But did you learn anything useful?”

His friend doesn’t answer and Astarion clears his throat to prompt them. They focus back in on him and say, “Erm, we were supposed to be learning something? I proposed running distraction.”

“Oh for the gods’ sake.” Astarion rolls his eyes. “No matter. I got all the details from my date, anyway.” He taps his notes against the desk to straighten them and slips them into his satchel.

“You mean their team captain?” his friend says.

Astarion freezes with his hand on the latch of his satchel. Turns his head slowly to gawk at his teammate. “Their. What?”

The friend shrugs. “Guess I did learn one thing, after all. My companion said you were sitting with their team captain. Thought it was a pretty bold choice.” They wink at him. “Good for you.”

“Shit,” Astarion whispers.

His friend frowns, but before they can ask, he’s up and pulling open the door that leads to their mock chambers. The Neverwinter team is already well underway on their setup. He storms down the center aisle and sure enough, there’s his dining companion, looking polished to a fine shine with their hair properly styled and robes of deep blue setting off their elven complexion.

They turn just in time to catch him glaring at them with his jaw clenched.

“Glad you could make it,” they say with a much slyer smile than they wore last night.

Astarion has never been so simultaneously angry and infuriatingly attracted to someone in his life.

***

The first trial of their three-day competition is, naturally, a complete bust for Team Baldur’s Gate. Astarion is completely off his game and operating off of a strategy that proves totally useless. The Neverwinter team absolutely trounces them.

He got played. He got played and he’s furious about it.

Worse, he’s impressed by it. Gross.

Afterward, they come up to him to offer a genuine, friendly handshake. Astarion reluctantly accepts it.

“I’d apologize,” they say. “But honestly, I let you take the lead completely. You didn’t have to listen to a single word out of my mouth.”

Astarion sniffs. “Yes, well. Congratulations. You won.” He leans into their space ever so slightly. “This time.”

They laugh and it sounds almost the same as it did the night before. “Come on, let me buy you a drink.”

“You don’t have to rub it- wait, what?” Astarion says.

They shrug. “Secret’s out now, I guess, so I don’t see any reason for us to pretend that we didn’t enjoy one another’s company.” When Astarion doesn’t immediately respond, they put a hand on their hip and smirk at him. “At least, I enjoyed yours.”

“Well, I…” Astarion huffs and looks askance, then back at them. “I don’t even know which parts of you are real , so. I can’t say.”

The elf reaches out a finger and taps him right on the center of his chest. “You’re the one who saw someone from one of the top universities in the realm and assumed I must be some foolish bumpkin who’ll spill their guts to the first pretty face that comes along because I smile too much. I’m the one who should be concerned, I think.”

“Ugh, okay, fair,” he says, tossing his head. Then he smirks back. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Come on,” they say with a laugh and a tilt of their head toward the exit. “Let’s get that drink.”

***

Hours later, Astarion stands in front of the tiny vanity in his dorm, turning his face to examine his reflection. His cheeks are flushed from a second and then a third drink, his curls looking a bit flat at the end of the day. He pulls back his lips to examine his teeth, making sure the wine didn’t stain them. Fine. He looks fine.

He huffs at his reflection. Normally, his confidence in his appearance is, one might say, inflated . Tonight, he’s feeling unusually self-conscious about it. He pokes at the moles under his eye and grimaces.

It had been a marvelous time. True to their word, his fellow captain had bought him the first cup of cheap wine. He’d pitched in for their second round, and they’d each decided on a third. After agreeing that tonight would involve absolutely no discussion of the next day’s case, they simply let the conversation take them where it would, and took them it did. 

It was… easy. Instinctive. He told them all about leaving his terribly boring hometown behind for the call of Baldur’s Gate, determined to polish himself to a high shine and enjoy everything the city life had to offer. They told him that Neverwinter was a beautiful, sparkling metropolis, but woefully lacking in people who weren’t head-and-shoulders up their own arse.

Astarion fidgets with the wooden comb and brush laid out on his vanity, smiling. Wine loosened their tongues a bit more and they’d given into the compulsion to openly flirt with one another, and it had been… good. Very good. It’s been some time since he’s felt genuinely interested in spending an evening with someone this way. If anything, he thanks his dates for the delightful makeout session and goes on his merry way.

He runs his fingers along his bottom lip, remembering being partway into that third cup and snatched up with the overwhelming desire to kiss them. The air around them felt heated and heady, their laughs going lower in pitch as the night wore on, their eyes half-lidded when they looked at him.

He’d wanted to. He’d wanted to so badly. More than he could ever remember wanting to kiss anyone. And he’d let his nerves get the better of him.

They’d bid their goodnights, he’d come back here, and now he was flopping down onto his too-hard single bed with a huff, covering his face with his hands. He sighs and drags them over his skin, looking at his wall covered in parchment, his reminders and notes to himself everywhere, a few tickets to events he wanted to remember pinned here and there.

He reaches out and taps the flyer advertising the mock trial competition, feeling a slow grin spread over his face. They’d bested him today, but tomorrow… tomorrow’s another story.

***

The look on their face when Astarion delivers his final arguments to the judges is delicious. He’s back in the game, fully and completely, using every bit of performative flair to make sure all eyes stay on him. When he wraps it up, he pays them a smug glance and they’re looking at him with lips slightly parted.

Better yet, they’re blushing .

He positively beams.

Baldur’s Gate comes out victorious, leaving the teams one-and-one. Tomorrow will decide the competition.

Tonight, they all go out together to play.

The Neverwinter team is desperately competitive and worth every bit of the name they’ve made for themselves on the university circuit, but they also love to party. The two groups find a rager of a soiree happening at the winter house of one of the Upper City students. There’s dancing, and drinking, and no small number of heated exchanges.

Astarion doesn’t waste the opportunity to rub elbows with anyone notable – he has long-term goals, after all – but most of his attention is devoted to spending as much time as possible with his new Neverwinter friend.

They share a dance or two on the trellised patio, purple and white wisteria hanging down all around them and perfuming the air. Nothing salacious… at least, not at first. That second dance ends up a bit close, with their hand on his chest and his just the tiniest bit too low on their hip for propriety.

In the twilight, they look into his face, their own expression open and affectionate, and it hits Astarion again – that overwhelming desire to kiss them. His heartbeat quickens, fluttering his pulse up along the side of his neck, and his breath catches. Heat swirls through him from the place their hand sits on his chest.

This is ridiculous. He’s never had a problem kissing anyone else before.

He’s never wanted to kiss anyone like this before, though. This thing between them… it’s chemical. Magical.

The music drifts away and they drift apart.

He does not kiss them.

***

Day three of the competition dawns and it’s the fiercest one yet. Every member of each team is out to win and they bring their very best to the table. The professors and other staff acting as the competition's judges watch the back and forth with raised eyebrows, thoroughly impressed by their students’ passion.

And no passion is so intense as the passion between the two team captains, who pace around one another like a pair of territorial wolves, seeking any weakness at all. They stand on either side of a long table, making their cases back and forth. Occasionally they address the judge, but clearly this is a battle between the two of them.

“The evidence is crystal clear,” the Neverwinter captain states, eyes narrowed. “This man is corrupt, feeding information to the highest bidder with complete disregard for any life ruined in the process. It is unconscionable, and the court must see justice through.”

Astarion slams his hands down on the table for effect and leans closer, eyes on them. “The evidence reveals he feared for his life, for the lives of his family. He performed these misdeeds under duress. The true culprit is not in this courtroom. And that…” He pauses for effect, letting the tension stretch. “... is why I move for a mistrial.”

There’s a bark of laughter behind him from his teammate and the room goes nearly to shambles under the sudden upswing in feverish whispering. Astarion grins.

Astarion stands his ground.

Astarion wins his requested mistrial .

In the end, the final judging declares Baldur’s Gate the winner of the day, but Neverwinter the overall mock trial champions – decided by a single point.

The entire mock chambers breathes a collective sigh of relief for the end of a battle well fought and new friends made. Astarion’s teammates are swarming him, slapping his back and praising his performance. He’s grinning ear to ear and looks up just in time to see the Neverwinter captain come barrelling through the crowd to catch him in a hug. He gasps and instinctively wraps his arms around them in return.

After a solid squeeze, they stand back and put their hands on his shoulders. They’re flushed with the fight, with the win. Their eyes shine a bit in the light.

“Well done,” they say, beaming. “You were incredible.”

Astarion gulps and manages to pull on a smile. “Congratulations on your win.”

“You’ll be at the party tonight?” they ask, looking between his eyes.

“Of course,” Astarion says. “I'll see you later.”

***

And he doesn’t miss it.

Astarion stands in the mock chambers again some time later, the air far less tense and much more celebratory. The teams and their judges and staff mingle amid the catered trays of sandwiches and pitchers of cheap wine. He looks around with two cups in hand, seeking out his new friend. Friend. Friend?

When he spots them, he simply can’t stop the smile pulling at his mouth. He wants so badly to be cool tonight and they make it so hard.

He takes a breath and approaches them. They turn from the person they’re currently chatting with and light up when they spot him. Their companion looks at Astarion and takes their leave with raised eyebrows, clearly aware that their conversation is now over.

Astarion clears his throat and offers a cup. They accept it.

“It’s really very bad,” Astarion says with a scoff. “But it’s something.” He takes a sip.

They continue to smile coyly at him as they bring their own cup to their mouth.

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Astarion says, looking into his cup so he doesn’t have to see their face.

There’s a pause, and then softly, they say, “Yes. Late morning. We’re hoping to make it back to Neverwinter before the snows start on the road.”

Astarion takes another drink of his wine and sets it down before he looks back at them. “That’s unfortunate,” he says with a soft, sad laugh. “Because I’ve rather liked the time we’ve spent together.” He pauses and swallows. “I’ve rather liked you .”

They tilt their head, wine held aloft in one hand, and let their smile widen.

When they don’t respond, Astarion says, “That is, you’re very clever to be around. Fun. Fun to be around? I like to be around you because you’re just…” He looks around desperately like he’s going to find help for this. “... incredible.”

They turn and set their cup down on a nearby bench.

Astarion rambles on, “I only thought maybe you might be, I don’t know, interested in letting me show you what else I’m capable of.” High-pitched laugh. “Outside the courtroom.” Clears his throat and blinks rapidly. “If you want.”

With a giggle, they grab him by the lapels and pull him in, pressing their mouth fully to his in a kiss that makes him immediately swoon, his legs going a touch weak as he leans against them for support. The chatter around them goes muffled in his mind as they both adjust for a better fit and he feels his ears flush pink to the very tips.

When the kiss breaks, Astarion can feel his heart beating in his throat, in his fingertips, in his lips, in his… oh, that’s going to be an issue very soon.

They catch his eye and say, “You want to get out of here?”

He’s never nodded his head “yes” so quickly in his life.

***

They don’t make it anywhere close to the dorms.

Now that the seal’s been broken, Astarion simply can’t keep his hands off of them. They escape into the hall together and run a few steps down the way when he crashes into them, wrapping his arms around them from behind until he gets them to turn so he can kiss them again, both hands on either side of their head as they stumble.

They run a ways, kiss a ways, run a ways, and so on until Astarion yanks them down a side hallway behind the library, looking from door to door. When he finds one he likes, he gives their hand a tug and they use the momentum to slam against him until his back hits the door. The pair of them laugh deliriously as they kiss again, tongues testing and discovering, but then they break from his mouth to kiss toward his ear.

The moment they suck on the lobe, his cock goes fully and painfully hard, hips bucking out as he whines into the air beside them.

“No, no, not there,” he says in a breathy whisper. “Not unless you want to call it a very early evening.”

They bury their face in the side of his neck, giggling, and he scrambles his hand around behind him until he finds the doorknob and they both go tumbling inside.

Astarion collapses onto the floor with his companion on top and doesn’t even think before he kicks the door shut with one foot and reaches up to bring their face back to his for another kiss. This time, he uses a thumb to stroke along the length of their own elven ear and then groan into his mouth, grinding down hard against him.

Oh gods, this is happening.

He wants this to happen.

On impulse, he reaches down their bodies until his hand's between his companion’s legs, gently cupping them there, and they sit upright, head thrown back in the very low magical lantern light of this filing room, and rock themselves against it. He does his best to give them the friction they’re seeking.

A minute or so later, they tilt their head forward and meet his eyes, their eyes stormy and lustful. They take his hands and pull them both back to standing, backing him up until he slams up against the side of the nearest filing shelf. Fingers fumble with the buttons of his doublet and he tries to help, getting them undone enough that they can reach their hands inside and scrape their nails over his ribs through his undershirt. Astarion’s chest arches forward, goosebumps prickling over his skin as he makes contented noises through their kiss.

Then they kiss down his neck, giving him a little nip near the collarbone that makes him squeak, which he attempts to cover with a purr. They keep going until they kneel on the floor and work at the lacings of his trousers. His tongue feels so heavy in his mouth, and he’s about to say that they don’t have to do-

But then their mouth is on his freed cock and he throws his head back, swooning into the overwhelming sensation of wet heat surrounding him. He’s done this before, and it was fine, but it wasn’t like this . Maybe it’s because he’s so attracted to them? Maybe it’s because they’re doing… that thing… with their tongue…

He whines and pulls in a deep breath, trying to keep his wits about him, because he highly suspects that one-sided head is not how they want the night to end. Before he reaches a dangerous place, he puts his hand on their head and gently slows them. They pull off of him and look up with a smile, their eyes the exact mix of mischief and sexiness that caught him in the first place.

No one’s ever made him feel like this. Not once.

This one, though. They’ve wound their way around the very core of him.

Astarion gulps and says, quiet and shy, “I haven’t done this before.”

Their eyes go a little wider. “Really?” they say, sincere. “You?”

He laughs. “I mean, I’ve done what we just did, but I haven’t… done what I think we’re about to do.”

They give his cock one more long lick that makes him sway a bit before they stand back up and kiss him. He melts into it. He likes them so very, very much. It hurts that they’re leaving, but this is right. He knows it is. These past few days and nights feeling them take root in him… they’ve all been leading to this.

“Well, then, I’m honored,” they say, and they sound like they mean it. “If we’re about to do what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, yes, please,” he says, kissing them again.

They each separate and disrobe, their clothing building a haphazard pile between them. Soon enough, they swipe the old files off the nearest table and his playmate faces it, bidding him closer with a smile over their shoulder, almost exactly the same as the first one they ever paid him in the canteen only a few nights ago.

Astarion takes his cock in his hand, still spit-slick, and puts his other hand on their hip. They lean over the tabletop, palms flat on the surface, and spread their legs for him. His breath stutters, his legs go weak beneath him. He can’t quite believe he’s here.

Beneath him, they shift their weight so they can put their hand over his. He’s shaking, just a little.

“We can stop if you want to,” they say, their words reedy with need but sincere beneath it.

“No,” Astarion says. Licks his lower lip. “I want to do this with you.”

They give a light laugh. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He nods, then realizes they can’t see him. “Okay. Okay.”

His fingers move from their hip to the middle of their back and he draws the pads of his fingers down over their spine. They shiver under the touch and Astarion swallows hard. His fingers trace all the way to where their arse begins to curve. He shudders in a breath and brings two fingers to his mouth to suck, then reaches between their legs to touch them there, apply pressure, rub small circles.

They arch and hum beneath his ministrations.

Astarion holds his breath and pushes his fingers inside them, losing his footing just a bit as he feels their heat, the pulse of them around his fingers. When he has his wits back, he moves his fingers in and out, pumping slow, listening to their breath beneath him for cues on what he might be doing right or wrong. He turns his fingers a bit, mapping their body, and they give a shuddering sigh.

Their insides grow warmer to the touch. Are they supposed to do that?

“More,” they huff. “You can do more now.”

“Right,” Astarion says, withdrawing his fingers and moving in closer, his arousal pulsing with anticipation. It feels like crossing into a new world, going somewhere that will well and truly mark him an adult. And he’s ready.

His cock rests at their entrance and with one more breath he guides himself inside with his hand. There’s a brief resistance, a pleasant pressure against the head of him, and then he’s half inside. His hips instinctively give a second thrust and then he’s fully sheathed.

He gasps and curls forward into their body just as they arch into his. Astarion’s arm wraps around their waist and he holds them tight.

“Okay?” they gasp again, their legs quivering.

“You feel…” he pants, pressing his forehead to the space between their shoulder blades. “Gods, you feel so good.”

They laugh and reach a hand behind them to tangle in the hair at the side of his head. “You too. You feel good, too.”

Astarion huffs out his breath and tries to place a sloppy kiss to their back, but it’s so hard when this feeling is coursing through him and his thoughts are going haywire because everything is different, now. He’s different, now.

He draws his hips back and rolls them forward again.

They sigh with it, signaling their approval.

So he does it again. And again. And again.

Together they build a rhythm. Every once in a while, they help Astarion angle himself this way or that, teaching him how to make a partner feel, make them shudder, make them moan. He finds a spot near the front of them that makes them squirm and he files that knowledge away. They take his hand and guide him round to their front and show him what to do, how they like to be touched.

He’s a fast learner. Always has been.

Astarion pants as he attempts to commit every second of this experience to memory: being buried deep inside, feeling the shudder and movement of his partner, the way they flush and bloom, the unbearably sexy sounds that float from their throat to his ears. Most of all, he wants to remember how this feels , how much he enjoys the person he’s sharing this with. His heart thuds in his chest, his ears flush with arousal and affection, and he is so happy to be exactly here, in this moment.

The pair of them grow slick with sweat against one another in the unventilated room, their cries stifled and sultry. The minds are willing, but the bodies are young and eager. The passion building between them swells, shivering, laser-focused on the place where they meet.

Their rhythm goes chaotic and Astarion only barely holds on long enough for his partner to fall over the edge before he goes tumbling after.

For a scant moment, the world goes paler than he’s ever seen it.

Then they’re both whimpering through the other side of their peak, movements gradually slowing to stillness.

After they’ve had an awkward disentanglement and a more awkward cleanup, they look into one another’s faces, and then they’re kissing again, touching again, losing themselves again. What youth lacks in experience, it makes up in vigor.

They do it once more, face to face this time. Slower, longer. Astarion learns what it’s like to soul kiss someone while making love to them. He likes it. Very much.

Some time later, Astarion leans against the table and stares down at his doublet while he does up the buttons. Beneath his lashes, he peeks up and sees them looking at him, their mouth titled up in a sweet smile. They’re already fully dressed.

“What?” Astarion says airily. His cheeks are warm and he’s positive he’s rosy pink with a blush.

“You are so pretty,” they say. “And funny, and clever. You’ve been lovely company.”

Astarion raises his eyebrows and looks askance, unable to stop grinning. “Yes, well. You’re delightful, as well, and you certainly gave me a night to remember. Thanks, for that.”

It goes unspoken between them, the knowledge that this is the last and only night. They’re young, they’re dedicated to their studies. There won’t be time for lovesick letters and pining, nice as it might be. No. Best that they keep this memory contained in crystal, sparkling.

His opponent, his friend, his lover walks closer and puts a finger under his chin and Astarion allows them to tilt his face so he’s looking at them. Then they lean in and give him a tender kiss.

When they break away, they stay close and look him in the eye. “What you gave me was a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

Astarion smiles. “Nor I.”

With one last kiss, they say their goodbyes. “Goodnight, Astarion,” they say. “I do hope we meet again, one of these days.”

“Me too,” he says, watching their retreat. “Goodnight, Tav.”

[mamamittens]

Well Worth the Price +18

Here's my piece for the Boys, Boys, Boys Zine! And once it's been downloaded 569 times, I'll post the 'Unzipped' version from before I trimmed it for the zine.

Sabo X Unknown Man

Warnings: BDSM, Sounding, edging, overstimulation, anal sex, master/pet play, gag, anal toys, and symbian.

Art done by the lovely, lovely, Sabo loving Tiffany over on Twitter

Word Count: 2,815

Tonight wasn’t unlike any other before it. The room Sabo worked in as… an E-boy? Sort of? Had been thoroughly cleaned after his last session. A note on the bed detailing the beginning requirements for the night so Sabo could set up a little before it officially started. Prep himself and his toys if needed.

A returning customer (platinum level, requested title of ‘master’) requests you wear your white shirt.

Sabo felt a stab of elation. It was definitely his favorite customer. And they seem to have purchased new options Sabo hadn’t gotten to use before. Namely, the headphones and use of the motorized anchors above the bed. One on each corner and one in the middle. A pair of thick cuffs dangling from anchors on the end of the bed, but seemingly nowhere else. Interesting.

Sabo considered the array of items neatly organized on the bed.

Some were standard. A sybian with an attached dildo that widened into a bulb at the base with complementary ‘sensory lube’. Sounding rods. But the headset with a blindfold and an O-ring gag… Along with the cuffs?

All of this implied a personal session and Sabo couldn’t be more thrilled.

Then he noticed the note at the very bottom.

Don’t begin final preparation without the customer’s arrival in the accompanying room, they wish to oversee the process before joining.

Sabo pouted a bit at that. He was beginning to wonder if his favorite customer intended to ever reveal themselves. Still, they did pay for a show… Maybe if he gives them a really good one, he’ll finally get to see them properly.

Sabo stowed away his clothes and slipped on the button up shirt, keeping only the middle-most button on. It tended to fall off of him easily when he did this, but that never deterred his customer in the least. His ‘master’ always loved it.

The soft white light dimmed and shifted to a teal blue color. Casting the monochrome room into a slightly disorientating mess for several moments as a darker blue light pulsed steadily, though definitely faster than usual.

Sabo turned towards the mirrored wall and smiled.

“So, are you joining me tonight?” Sabo asked clearly, aware that the microphones in the room would catch his voice even if he whispered.

There was a faint buzz as a carefully moderated voice pitched in. Deep but coy with a distinct cadence to it formed in the way they pronounced their words that couldn’t be disguised as easily.

“All in good time, pet.” They said slowly, almost purring, the lights throbbing slowly between the two colors. “Put on the headphones. I’ll instruct you from there.” Sabo swallowed hard and picked up the device, carefully ensuring it fit comfortably.

The ambient sounds in the room immediately fell away. His heart thundering in his chest and ears as he turned back to the mirror. His own reflection staring back, eyes catching in the lights. Though Sabo knew it wouldn’t remain so for long.

“It’s on.”

“Good.” Sabo jumped, the voice now intimately whispering into his ears and trickling down his spine. “Prep the sybian on the floor and yourself, but don’t sit just yet.”

Sabo nodded, grabbing the lube, and carefully spreading it on the fake, inhuman cock. Already looking forward to it inside him as the lube made his skin tingle. When it gleamed in the lights, Sabo pressed his chest onto the bed and tugged his shirt up high, exposing himself. Fingers gliding between his cheeks, lighting sparks in their path as he teased his ass a little. Putting on a bit of a show as pleased huffs echoed in his ears. Sinking into himself slowly as he tried to relax against the rising tension, gently stretching out his fingers.

He was whining a little, small moans in the back of his throat as his cock dripped precum down his thigh where it burned. The lights pulsed faster as he fought the urge to press deeper and spill onto the floor.

“Stop.” Sabo froze, three fingers spreading himself open as he panted, shuddering as a breeze blew across his back. Abruptly, silk pulled around his eyes, tying behind his head. Deaf and blind to the room, Sabo could only feel as a firm, gloved hand gently pulled his hand free. Pulling him up to sit on the bed with his legs spread. “Finally, I knew it would be worth it to have you like this. Tonight is under my control, so you just have to be good for me, pet.”

Warm gloves gently wrapped around Sabo’s throbbing cock and he whined as the tip of a sounding rod, dripping with lube, was pressed to the tip. It slipped in with a soft gasp as Sabo fought to not grab his mystery customer. But his body still jerked as the thick metal abruptly widened around several bumps until the hooked tip bit into the head of his cock. Now stopped up, he trembled, true release denied him until his customer was satisfied.

“AA-aan~ h-hngh!” Sabo whined, feeling the gentle brush of leather against his thighs, trailing up his partially exposed chest. Something was pressed to his lips and he opened his mouth. Metal sliding into place as he was left to pant, tongue and drool sliding down to his chin. Leather pressing into his mouth as their thumb slipped inside, Sabo wished he could suck it. Tempt them to put something more substantial in his mouth instead.

“There’s those pretty sounds, pet. You know, that’s what drew me to you in the first place? I adore this little act you put on, pretending to be small. But put a little pressure in…” Sabo gagged as the thumb slipped deeper, whining as his tongue was pressed down for their own breath to seep in. “It becomes all too real~”

Their tongue drove into his mouth and Sabo whined, squirming as his head was forced back. Cock grinding against jeans that jostled the rod inside his own cock. And then they were gone, yanking up his arms and turning him around to shove his chest into the bed. Wrists pulled up into the cuffs that ascended until he was sitting up on the floor.

They slipped onto the bed, just between Sabo and the mattress, forcing his head into their lap where a distinct bulge pressed into his wet chin.

“Oh~ How pretty you look~” They crooned, petting his hair. “Arch that cute ass up—just like that, now lean back a bit.” Sabo jerked as the tip of the dildo pressed into his balls. Understanding what they wanted, Sabo leaned back until it caught and began to slip inside him. Pushing him open wider as he rocked back into it, arms just loose enough to brace on the bed.

All the while Sabo panted, drooling into their cock as they unzipped. Hot skin brushing across his face as they adjusted their position to press the soft tip onto his tongue. They grunted and sat up, leaning over him, and forcing their cock deep into his throat as the frame of the mounted dildo was pulled closer, Sabo whining sharply as he was penetrated deeper on both ends. Nose grinding into their pubes and tongue undulating against their cock and balls resting on his chin.

“Easy now, you’ll get it soon enough pet. Just needed to pull this closer.” They ordered sharply, sitting back down and giving Sabo a reprieve as their cock slipped mostly out of his mouth. Only for Sabo to jolt forward as the machine came to life, fucking up into him with slow thrusts. “There we are. What a good boy~ Show me why you’re my favorite pet.”

Sabo drooled onto their cock, sucking it down his throat like that would hide the moans as the dildo fucked him deeper in an unrelenting wave. A hand on the back of his head petting his hair. Pinned in place, he could only take so much of the machine’s cock even though he wanted to lean back for more. But that would mean releasing his master’s cock while they were praising him so well.

“Perfect, pretty pet. Sucking down my cock, you’ve been aching for this, haven’t you?”

“Look at you, drooling and making a mess. Tsk, what a sloppy slut you are—I love it. Choke a bit for me, don’t want you getting bored.”

“Want to hear my favorite noises? What makes me so hard when I see you, pet?”

A symphony of sounds started playing in his ears. Weak, stuttering whines and moans. Choked cries and soft begging. His own voice. Endless clips of himself on the brink. Likely what sounds he’d be making right now if his mouth wasn’t full of their thick, throbbing cock.

“Let me hear more, this is exactly what I paid for.” They hissed, shoving his head back and sending Sabo into the merciless rhythm of the cock behind him as it hilted and pulled free faster. Jerking him around as his hole clenched down sporadically, desperately trying to hold onto the thick mass. All the while Sabo cried out, drool dripping down his chin with every stuttering whine. Their cock brushing across his parted lips and limp tongue every time he was forced forward. “W-Wh-aht a fucking sight you are, p-pet. L-Like a bitch in heat, you want more. Don’t you?”

“A-Aahn~ Ahhs~ A-Ah-hhngh-ggg~ Aahhs ea-aahs ah-sser!” Sabo slurred with great difficulty as he tried to sit back and force it to hilt but the bulge at the base bounced off his ass. Hands pressed into his shoulders, forcing him back against the machine that took him inch by inch. Jerking into him and yanking out ruthlessly, rubbing his prostate with every thrust.

And Sabo kept echoing the desperate whines in his ears. Trying to outdo the moans and cries as he was asked. Anything to have more.

Until the dildo popped into him totally and could only shove him forward as he clenched down. Jerked roughly by the thrusting machine as his balls ached for relief that he belatedly realized wouldn’t come. Couldn’t come with the sounding rod still firmly lodged in his cock.

Sabo wailed, tears beading his lashes as he tried and failed to beg.

Just a pretty pet edged and crying for his master’s cock.

“Good pets ta-ake what they get. Sh-Show me how good you are, slut.” They surged forward and rammed their cock into Sabo’s throat. Pinning him between their crotch, tongue slathering their balls, and the uncaring machine fucking up into him. Both felt so deep inside Sabo he hysterically wondered if they’d touch inside his chest. Tips kissing as they fucked him open like a cocksleeve.

And Sabo’s own whiny voice still echoed in his ears, the only reprieve his master’s voice degrading him and complimenting him in turns.

“Is my pretty boy starting to feel it ache? Is my pet getting overwhelmed with how big it is? Oh, but you can take it. I know you can.”

Sabo whined, gurgling on their cock uselessly as he shuddered, held on the edge and breathless. Echoing whines ringing in his ears, though he couldn’t tell if they were his own or the recordings.

“Tsk, q-quitting already, slut? I thought that pretty, empty head could handle something more challenging than those little toys, but you seem to struggle taking it all in~” They chuckled darkly. “Just a poor little slut t-trying to be good, huh?” The cock throbbed and bulged on his tongue, their body jolting from the pleasure harshly.

There was a hiss and Sabo choked at the influx of hot cum down his throat that spilled out from his lips. Spurting out over his face as he gagged, the machine went faster with no sign of relief.

Fingers clenched in his hair as he struggled to breathe between the violent waves of denied orgasms as salty-sweet cum drenched his lips.

Finally, his master’s cock slipped free and Sabo gargled for air. Swallowing messily as more cum and spit pooled down.

“What a sloppy mess you are, pet. All that pedigree wasted because you’re too much of a slut to swallow properly. What do you have to say for yourself?” The gag was released and Sabo didn’t even try to lick his lips to clean the mess.

“M-Master~! Master, p-please~! I-I’m g-gooood~ S-Such a g-good p-pet, please~!” Sabo nearly wept, stuttering, and slurring his speech as he was jerked violently by the machine and cock.

“Oh, I love it when you beg, pretty boy~” Sabo wailed as his cock was grabbed and stroked gently, the sounding rod pulled free with every slow pump. And he came with a shuddering cry the moment it was out. Wet leather scooping up the mess on his face and sliding it into his mouth which he gladly suckled the salty slick, the machine finally slowing to a stop. “I’m such a good master, aren’t I? Taking care of such a messy pet~ I’m going to ruin that cute ass with a real cock and you’ll love every minute, won’t you~?”

“Y-Yes! I-I’ll love every inch, o-oooh~! Pl-ease, master~!” Sabo sighed, ears ringing now with his cries as he climaxed many times before. “I-I sound so pathetic, i-is this really what I sound like?” Sabo whined in disbelief as a particularly reedy cry rang out.

Lips softly descended onto his, licking his puffy lips and tongue.

“Absolutely fucking pathetic, pet. And I’m going to make you even more pathetic.” They chuckled, gripping his cheeks until his tongue rolled out. A heavy drop of spit pooling and dripping down his chin. “Can my pathetic pet keep making those pretty sounds for his master?”

Sabo swallowed hard and nodded furiously, licking his lips and brushing his tongue across his master’s. Whining into their mouth as the headphones looped back to pathetic moans.

“Y-Yes! I-I can make so many pathetic sounds for you, master~!” Sabo swore. There was a mechanical whirring and he was pulled up from the floor, arms stretched wide as he reflexively clenched onto the chains. His toes lifted off the floor as he scrambled to press his knees into the mattress, only to be raised higher.

It only stopped when he was kneeling on top of the mattress, front pressed against a clothed chest as they adjusted their position.

[SPOT ART HERE]

“Look at you, strung up like a needy bitch. I’m only getting started, pet.” They crooned, leather gloves grasping his ass and spreading them apart. “I considered this for hours, you know. How you’d finally earn your collar. The only thing you’d need to wear for me from now on. Remember, good pets don’t need anything but their master’s cock.”

Their hands slid over his waist and to his cock. Stroking it delicately, teasing his balls in their palm as they kissed down his stomach.

Sabo knew what was coming before it happened, already whining in protest as they drooled onto his cock.

“M-Master please, n-not again!” Sabo protested, attempting to squirm fruitlessly.

The cold metal of another sounding rod pressed to the tip. Forcing open his urethra in a gradual slide until it tapered off to the blunt cap that pressed over the head. Leather wrapped under his balls and a hood strapped into place over his cock. Keeping the cap of the sounding rod in place by force.

Wet lips kissed Sabo’s lower stomach, the muscles flinching as a hot chuckle breathed over his damp skin.

“Oh? Aren’t you going to be a good boy for me? Good boys don’t complain, pet. They get punished.” They sneered into Sabo’s ears.

“I-I’m sorry ma-ah~!—ster~!” Sabo quickly apologized.

“Hmmmm… I don’t believe you.” Sabo’s eyes watered as he trembled, feeling the warmth of his master leave him. The gag returned as they pulled out his tongue with a firm grip. Licking into his open mouth as they pulled back his hair. Looming over him and spitting onto his tongue. “Oh, what to do, pet? A disobedient slut needs to be punished. I should put that mouth to use, but that means missing out on those pathetic noises you make. At this rate you’ll never earn my cock, let alone a collar.”

Sabo choked out a sputtering whine, swallowing down the thick mixture of spit. It had never occurred to him that his master would want to collar him. But the prospect of being rewarded sent him spiraling. It had only just been brought up but at this point, Sabo would do filthy things to be collared by his master. Whatever it took to be theirs and all that entailed. Acting—no—being a pathetic slut was a small price to pay for his favorite customer’s praise and attention.

At this point, Sabo would do anything to be their good boy—their collared pet.

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

She’s the Man (Fellowship x Disguised as Boy! Reader)

Requested by anon

Warnings: mentions of domestic/sexual assault, nudity, awkward public bathing. Might trigger a gender identity crisis in some of you folks, but don’t worry, join the club—we’re getting jackets made.

Synopsis: after having run away from your noble family and horrid husband, you cut your hair short and start dressing like a boy, presenting yourself as one throughout all of Middle-earth. This becomes hard, though, as you start travelling with the Fellowship, where they start to suspect something is up with their young “boy” comrade.

Restrictions, restrictions, restrictions—that’s all you’ve ever known. You first noticed the tight chains on your soul when you were five, when your mother forbade you from playing with the local stable-hands.

You next noticed it when you were ten, being forced to wear tight corsets to shape your body before it even began blooming.

The final nail in the coffin, however, was when you turned fifteen, and were married off to a local, and quite old tradesman.

Though he dealt in silken fabrics, he was anything but smooth or soft. The night of your wedding was painful in all regards, for at fifteen you weren’t even sure if you were allowed to remove the tight corset during the act.

Five years more of total misery accompanied you, as you were forced to attend noble banquets and celebrations.

You encountered a wide range of people, from the likes of Denethor and his two sons, to the sickly Rohan King. Of course, they did not encounter you, for you were not allowed to speak unless spoken to, which was rare.

The two sons of Denethor and King Théoden’s own son, Théodred, as well as his two cousins, Eowyn and Eomer, were the only ones to initiate conversation with you.

You quickly realized they were better-spirited than their parents, but didn’t have the chance to explore more. A tight grip on your wrist from your husband silenced you, as he tore you away from the circle of new acquaintances quickly.

That night, life in your guestroom with your husband was a living hell, as he reminded you whom exactly you belonged to.

That was the night you snapped.

Bruised and sore, you wept into your sheets. Your husband had long-gone to drink more wine at the party, leaving his young wife alone in a state of mess.

It was around the third hour of crying that you studied the tapestry on the wall above your bed. With hair wettened by your tears clinging to your puffy cheeks, you ran your reddened eyes along the art.

It depicted a strong soldier atop a horse, riding into battle. A sword was drawn, and his short hair flowing in the wind behind him.

Subconsciously, you reached up to your own hair, long in length—your husband’s desire—and pulled on it.

As mounted in every room, two swords crossed each other over a shield, making a pretty decoration above the mantle.

Looking between the bruises inside your thighs, the tapestry and the sword, your jaw quickly set. Your eyes hardened, as you threw the sheets off your frame and stalked towards the mantle.

Glancing over your shoulder, you ensured no one was entering your room. With an emotional mind made up, you removed both swords from the shield.

Hastily, you used one to bar the door shut, and walked to the centre of the room with the other. With no candlelight around, you knelt on the fur rug under a square beam of moonlight, which poured in through the bedroom windows.

You looked at your reflection in the sword, and studied the state of your misery. Despising your parents, your husband and your life, you quickly put the sword to your hair.

With only a second to build the courage, you sliced all long locks from your head, springing forward a boyish look—instantly freeing yourself from your lifelong chains.

Breathing heavily in shock, you looked at the clump of hair on the floor, and picked it up. One hand ran through your now very short locks, and the other fingered the cut clump.

However, shocked breaths soon turned into joyous laughter, as your chest swelled with pride and your eyes watered.

Standing up swiftly, you ran towards the bathroom and opened the drawers. Finding a pair of scissors, you got to work and began styling your hair further.

Soon, you were left looking like a boy, by Middle-earth’s human standards. Your hair barely scraped the nape of your neck at the back, and in front, you had a fringe swooping to one side.

Grinning brightly, and now on a roll, you ran back to the mantle. Opening your husband’s drawers, you quickly discarded your nightgown and slipped his tunic on.

Shrugging the loose fit over your form, you secured it with a thick brown belt, trousers and used your own boots.

Studying yourself in the mirror, you realized this must be how you would’ve looked if born a boy, and you were surprised within yourself over liking it.

Throwing your clump of cut hair into the fire, you soon began tying sheets together. That night, you escaped down the window and fled the city atop a stolen horse, riding towards your new life.

Five years passed by, and you had been on the run ever since. Life was never easy for you, but at least now you were calling the shots.

You had taken to your new life as a boy, like a duck to water, presenting yourself as the rather quiet and distant “Arlo”.

You kept your head down and worked hard wherever you went, whether as a blacksmith’s apprentice, baker’s boy or stablehand.

Your most favourite part of the road, however, was learning to use a sword. With a book stolen from a library and five years’ worth of nights to practice, you had become quite skilled. The spite drove you forward.

You vowed no one would ever best you in combat again, pushing you harder every day. Your best friend and only companion was your horse, Paxton, and together the two of you explored Middle-earth to its very ends.

Along your travels, you had taken to competing in swordfight competitions, where you earned most of your cash. Swindling them, you presented yourself as a weak and frail boy, but in the end ultimately beat them all.

You gained a reputation quickly, and were slightly infamous for your swordsman skills, despite being so small.

It was this reputation that led you to Elrond’s secret council in Rivendell.

Your eyes had gone wide in alarm upon entering the petal-strewn area—where the council was set to be held—for Boromir, one of Denethor’s sons, was there.

You almost turned and ran, but he caught your eye quickly. You didn’t know whether or not to avoid his gaze, but that would bring about suspicion.

He instead smiled warmly at you, and thought nothing of your appearance. You nodded back tightly, and took your seat far away from him.

You ended up sitting next to an elf, for you knew their gender worked differently from yours. He himself looked a little girlish, so you believed he’d think nothing of your appearance.

He studied you with a side-glance as you sat down, and nodded curtly. You clenched your jaw and nodded back, moving your eyes forwards again.

You discreetly let out a sigh of relief, as you found the coast to be clear. No one figured you to be a girl.

Soon, Elrond joined the council. You felt your breath hitch in your throat, as you realized his puzzled eyes lingered on you a little too long.

Worried he’d rat you out, you looked away. Knitting his brows, Elrond slowly tore his eyes away from you, and began the council.

Long story-short, you had been invited to participate on a dangerous quest, all food and expenses paid for. Unable to pass up such a good opportunity for you and your horse, you reluctantly agreed, offering your sword to the hobbit sworn to carrying Sauron’s ring.

The first few nights you kept to yourself, as an awkward air befell the Fellowship—none really knowing each other nor knowing how to interact.

Very quickly, cliques formed.

The hobbits kept to each other in a pack, Gandalf joining them. Aragorn and Legolas joined forces, and Boromir, Gimli and yourself found ranks in solitude.

However, this was not to last forever.

Boromir had attempted many times to strike up conversation with you, as besides Aragorn, you were the only other “man” there.

You kept it short and courteous, but made it apparent very quickly to everyone there that you were in no position to begin friendships. This was a job to you—nothing more, nothing less.

That still did not stop anyone from trying, though. After Boromir, Gimli was next. The topic of the night around the campfire was “women”, as they all discussed their perfect partner.

The conversation divided the group in half, over those choosing to go more physical in nature a direction, and the other half preferring emotions.

Gimli laughed heartily and elbowed you in the shoulder. “Forget this lot, eh? I bet you and I are exactly alike, laddie! Thick thighs and body hair all over! Am I right?”

Laughing nervously, you rubbed at the back of your neck. “Uh…not really…”

He blinked up at you in surprise for a moment, before shrugging his shoulders and pressing on in the conversation. Legolas studied you from across the fire, and made a mental note of your words.

Later on, when you were all setting up your rugs, Legolas approached you. He crouched down by your side and began helping to unroll your pack.

You recoiled from him slightly, and stared up in alarm. He looked back down at you briefly with a tight-lipped smile, and spoke.

“I agree with you from earlier,” he said. “I believe partnership should be about romance and emotions, not physical acts. How about you, mellon nin? Have a lady waiting back at home for you?”

You sputtered up at the prince, before averting your eyes and rolling your pack out faster. “No, I…uh, that’s not really my area…”

Legolas knitted his brows for a moment in confusion, before his lips parted in sudden understanding.

“Oh. Oh! Well, um…do you have a gentleman waiting back at home for you, then?”

Snapping your eyes up at him once more, you flushed.

“No! No! I, look—I’m really kinda tired.” You made a show of yawning loudly. “And I think I just wanna get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning, though…brother?”

Legolas blinked down at you a few times, before speaking and rising to his legs. “Oh! Uh, sure…that’s no hassle. Rest well…brother?”

“Will do,” you drew out, laying down.

He threw a glance over his shoulder at you, before walking away. He caught Aragorn’s eye as he walked past, with the ranger sat there puffing away on his pipe.

They both tightened their lips, looked away and raised their brows, figuring you were just a moody boy.

The most awkward situation of all, however, came a few weeks later. Having managed to sneak away from the Fellowship, you found a nice river, of which you could bathe in.

Paxton followed suit, keeping your towel wrapped over his saddle. He snorted in worry as you began to undress, revealing your body to the running river.

“It’s fine,” you laughed, girlishly. Your voice had returned to its normal pitch, for the first time in a long time. “Just because I’m pretending to be a boy as I travel with them, doesn’t mean I have to smell like one!”

Paxton snorted, and you knew he was telling you to hurry.

“All right, all right,” you laughed again, stepping into the water. You hugged your chest as you dipped below, submerging yourself fully.

Rising again, you exhaled a sigh of relief, and began washing the grime from your hair and face.

You were only in there for so long, however, for soon boyish laughter came from up the forested incline.

“Out of the way!” Pippin called, stripping off his clothes.

“No! You move!” Merry shouted back, also stripping down.

Behind them both, was the rest of the entire Fellowship, save for Gandalf.

Your eyes grew wide in alarm, as you watched them all meet the river’s bank. They then began undressing—Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli, Legolas and the hobbits included.

Soon, they each all jumped into the water, splashing one another and laughing loudly. You found a large boulder within the river nearby, and swam behind it.

Peeking out from the side, you watched them all swim closer in a group to where you were. They began cleaning themselves, and soon just started to wade around—relishing in the cool feeling.

However, as you tried to swim away discreetly, Legolas’ elven ears caught you. He narrowed his eyes, and began swimming over to your rock.

Knowing you would be caught if you tried to flee, you pressed your back firm against the rock, lapping up against it.

Legolas was now upon you, and looked around the corner to find what was behind it. Once he saw it was only you, he beamed brightly.

Rising up out of the water, he folded his arms over the rock and leaned over, looking down at you.

You tried to not let your eyes drift or slip, as you stared back up at him. However, mistakes were made (but clearly not on his parents’ behalf).

“Hello, Arlo!” he announced merrily. “We didn’t know you were also in here.”

Upon hearing your name, the rest of the Fellowship waved you over, asking you to join them.

You chuckled nervously and began swimming backwards and away, speaking as you did so. “Oh, no…that’s quite all right! I, uh…just remembered I actually have something to do—”

“Oh, no! Don’t be like that!” Boromir chastised. He grabbed your wrist gently and reeled you back in towards him and Legolas.

Your shoulders went rigid, as you nearly brushed up against their bare bodies.

Soon, the hobbits, Gimli and Aragorn swam over to you, and you were more thankful now for the darkness of night than you had ever been.

Though, with one slither of moonlight in the right spot, you’d soon be exposed.

“Please don’t leave on our behalf, Arlo,” Aragorn encouraged, placing a hand on your wet shoulder. “It is good for team morale to bond like this. Besides, we’re all men here.”

“Some more than others!” Gimli announced. You looked up in the direction of his voice, and immediately covered your eyes.  

Gimli was stood with his hands on his hips, proudly naked atop your boulder.

“I am the king of this rock!” he announced. “Any competitors who’d like to have a go at pushing me off?”

“Please,” Legolas rolled his eyes, before he, too, swam over to the boulder and climbed atop it. “This will be the easiest fight of my life.”

Catching more than you wanted to see, you made a squeal of rejection, before forcibly pushing your way through the group and heading towards the bank.

Paxton met you quickly, and you swiftly wrapped the towel over your shoulders like a cloak, as to not make it obvious what you were covering, but doing so nonetheless.

“I’m sorry,” you said to them, “but I truly do have something else to do…literally anything else. I’ll see you all back at camp.”

They watched as you left in a hurry, and shared glances with one another. Thinking nothing of it, besides your usual mood, they shrugged and returned to what they were doing.

This continued on for quite some time, throughout the entire Fellowship journey. Though, you never again attempted to bathe with them all around.

Fortunately, your travels soon took you out of the woods, and into the cities. Many fights had passed your small group, smaller now than before, by.

The most recent of battles saw many great feats—the “Battle of the Pelennor Fields” it was called.

In this battle, you had fought formidably. However, the true victory for women that day went to Eowyn. She had removed her helmet in the middle of the fight, pronounced she was “not a man”, like you had wanted to do so many times, and slayed the Witch-king of Angmar.

You were inspired greatly, but also so furious at yourself. You were also slightly jealous over the attention she got.

“What a brave woman,” Gimli would say.

“I’ve never met a woman so bold,” Merry added on.

“Truly remarkable,” Legolas agreed.

The six of you were sat in a stone courtyard together, camping out in the aftermath of the fight. Your jaw was rigid with fury, as you listened to them praise Eowyn over something you had been doing for the past few months.

Rolling your eyes, and making a show of turning over in your sleeping bag harshly, you quickly gained the Fellowship’s attention.

“Oh, and what is your problem, laddie?” Gimli snarked.

“Upset you were outshined by a girl?” Legolas taunted as well.

“You’re not that misogynistic, are you?” Merry chortled.

Aragorn glanced between your turned back and the laughing boys, before taking his own turn at scolding you.

“Arlo, Eowyn was a great asset today, and we are guests in her company. I will not see you sulking towards her remarkable feats.”

You glared at him over your shoulder, before huffing and returning to sleeping on your side. Your arms were folded over your chest, and your body burning in jealous rage.

“Gosh, what is the matter with you?” Legolas asked next, truly fed up with your attitude. “Why are you always in a bad mood?”

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a misogynist either,” Gimli remarked, smacking his gums as he ate a chicken leg.

You stayed on your side with your back turned to them for a few moments, glaring at the wall. However, the rage in your chest soon gave way to a lump in your throat, as you soon felt your secret burst within you.

“I’m not a misogynist…” you spoke up.

“Poppycock,” Gimli called you out.

Sighing, you sat up and looked at them to your side. “I’m not a misogynist, because…I’m not even a boy.”

Silence echoed around the courtyard, as your travel companions blinked back at you.

“What?” Pippin asked, squinting his eyes. “What do you mean you’re ‘not a boy’?”

Groaning through another sigh, and rolling your head, you pressed on. “I mean I’m NOT a boy! I’m a girl, for Eru’s sake…I’ve just been…presenting myself as one, for…reasons.”

“What reason could you possibly have to lie about something like that?” Legolas asked, not entirely believing you.

Feeling the urge to cry rising within you, you inhaled a deep breath and answered. “Nothing you men would understand.”

“I’m sorry,” Merry laughed, “but I don’t believe you at all. There’s no way you’re a girl.”

Glaring at him, you knew his words to be true. Knowing how to prove you were indeed a girl, you reached into your loose tunic, and began unwrapping the bind around your chest.

Pulling it out, you threw it down in front of the now gaping group. Without a shred of chivalry, still disbelieving you to be a girl at all, they glanced between the fabric and your chest, which indeed proved your gender.

“I don’t believe it…” Pippin whispered, staring with wide eyes.

In fact, they all did. With six pairs of male eyes on your chest, you felt very vulnerable and covered yourself.

This seemed to jolt them back to their senses, as they coughed uncomfortably and looked away.

The only one still looking into your eyes, was Aragorn. “Why did you feel the need to lie, my lady?”

Being called a “lady” for the first time in five years opened up a floodgate of emotions, as you wept into your hand.

“Yep, definitely a girl,” Merry rolled his eyes. A swift punched to his arm from Legolas silenced him.

Now knowing exactly how to deal with you, Aragorn stood up and crouched before you. He placed a tentative hand on your shoulder, and encouraged the other boys to come forwards, until they were sat all around you in a comforting circle.

“What is your real name, young maiden?” Aragorn asked softly.

Still sniffling into your hand, and bearing a downcast head, you spoke up in a barely audible voice.

“Y/n…” you revealed.

“What a beautiful name, Y/n,” he smiled warmly.

Like a turn of the tides, the boys all around took you under their wing, as if you were their own little sister. Everything about you now made sense, and they felt at ease with you instantly.

And, surprisingly, you found the same about them, regarding yourself. You didn’t at all feel threatened by their presence, but instead protected.

“I’m sorry,” you wept, shaking your head. “I had no choice, they made me marry him, and I-I couldn’t stay there, and then I had to make money so I ran with the lie and—”

They shushed your incoherent crying quickly, and rubbed at both your knees, back and shoulders comfortingly.  

They gained more information about your previous life in those few seconds than they had before in the last few months. They didn’t need to know anymore, nor wanted to, from the sounds of it all.

“Please don’t kick me out of the Fellowship…” you sniffled.

“Why would we do that?” Gimli laughed. “We now have TWO remarkable women in our ranks! Eowyn AND Y/n!

“A great win for us, indeed!” Legolas agreed brightly.

A smile broke through your tears, as they shook you softly and commended your swordswoman skills excitedly.

This carried on for a few moments, before you spoke up again, now smiling around at them through almost dried tears.

“So…you don’t mind about me lying? Or being a…woman?”

They shook their heads and returned your smile. “Not at all, lassie.”

Before the conversation could progress, however, Legolas suddenly recalled something.

“WAIT!” he gasped loudly, thinking back to the river. “THAT MEANS YOU SAW ALL OUR—”

“Let’s agree to never speak of it again, okay?”

“Aye, never again…sister.”

[demigodreading]

Saving Mini Benson Pt:1

Request: From @youngjusticeimaginesus​:  Hi, I was wondering If maybe you'd be willing to do a oneshot where Olivia's daughter gets kidnapped by Lewis instead of Olivia?

Summary: That’s right my favorite peoples... This is going to be a two part mini series because there was no way everything that I needed to say could be done in a one-shot! I won’t go into much because I don’t want to give it away but please note THIS PART IS A DOOZY! The next one may be worse but still this arc made me cry in the show and I cried writing this

Characters: Olivia Benson, Fin Tutuola, Amanda Rollins, Nick Amaro, William Lewis, Donald Cragen, Reader

Relationships: Olivia Benson x Daughter! Reader

Warnings: MAJOR Violence, Guns, Cigarette Burns, Episode Spoilers, Alcohol, Smoking Weed, Mentions of Shootings, Death, William Lewis, Mentions of torture... (I Think that covers it but if it doesn’t please let me know)

Word Count: 2320 (Like I said.. there was no way this was gonna be just a oneshot.)

And with that all being said: Let’s jump into it.

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

Olivia and her daughter rarely fought but when they did neither one wanted to admit the other one was right. Olivia loved and hated her daughter for being so similar to her. Even now as she watched the miniature version of herself stalk the interview room the exact same way she would send her heart racing. Usually the similarities would result in a smile but not today. Today Olivia’s vision was a deep red as she confronted her daughter.

“Y/N you were caught smoking weed underneath the bleachers during class! So not only did you break one rule you broke two!” Olivia shouted, folding her arms.

“Wow glad that you know how to count,” Y/N mumbled looking out the window.

“What did you just say to me?”

“Look mom I just don’t get what the big deal is? It was one joint. One class!” Y/N retorted, throwing her hands up, “I am a straight A student who has a full ride scholarship to Harvard.”

“Yes, because Barba stuck his neck out on the line for you and put in a glowing recommendation,” Olivia spat, “What you did was careless. You could have ruined everything that was given to you.”

“You know for once in your life could you ever be fucking proud of me! I do everything that I can do to make you proud and yet at the end of the day I am never fucking good enough for you.”

“That’s not…” Olivia went to argue but was interrupted by Cragen opening the door.

“Olivia we got a problem. I need you right now,” He said, then shut the door without waiting for an answer.

“Just go save another poor unfortunate soul mom. Don’t worry about your daughter.  I’ll pick up my own pieces like I always do,” Y/N said, wiping tears from her face as she grabbed her coat.

Y/N stormed from the room before Olivia could stop her. She made her way through the precinct eyes trained to the floor as her mother’s voice rang out, “You better head straight home Y/N!  We are not done having this conversation and you are grounded!��

Choosing not to say anything, Y/N merely raised her hand in the air flipping her mother off before the doors shut with a loud slam behind her. Tears made dark spots on the concrete as Y/N made her way back to their apartment. Even the noises of the constant car honks and people screaming couldn’t drown out the voices in her head today. Failure. Waste of space. Stupid. No one. Unwanted. Unloved. 

It was the repeated song that kept her feet moving forward until she finally placed her key in the lock. She threw her bag by the kitchen island and threw her keys on the counter. She was about to turn on the living room light when a noise caught her attention. 

“Hello? Hello?”

As she turned the corner her vision was filled with the sight of a gun pointed right at her temple. A smirk crossed William Lewis’ face as he looked at Y/N, “Ah welcome home Little Benson. I was hoping that it would be your mother who was walking through the door but I guess you will have to do.”

Y/N went to scream but instead Lewis jammed the gun against her throat, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. One small slip of my finger and your mom will be left with a new kind of art all over her walls.”

Y/N let a single tear roll down her face before Lewis’ gun made contact with her skull and the whole world went black.

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

Olivia had already tried to call Y/N twice but it kept going straight to voicemail. The last known location had been their apartment so at least she had the sense to head straight home. The guilt in Olivia’s stomach was insurmountable. Watching her daughter explain that she never felt like she lived up to her standards. Olivia had promised herself when she had Y/N she would never end up like her mother. Yet there she was shaming her child for one mistake. Y/N was more than just a good kid, she was excellent. She was smart, beautiful, humorous, kind, and so much more. She was everything Olivia could have ever hoped for. Knowing that her daughter thought she wasn’t proud was the worst pain she could have.

After the third call Olivia finally decided to leave a voicemail, “Y/N I know you are mad but I need you to know something. I am proud of you and will always be proud of you. You are the best daughter and the most amazing human. I was rough on you early. Please let’s talk through this. I’ll be home soon with your favorite Chinese. Just don’t do anything stupid? I love you.”

When she hung up the phone she placed her head in her hands and let out a large sigh. Fin placed a reassuring hand on her back, “Liv, it is going to be okay. She is just being a teenager.”

“No Fin, you should have seen her. It was like I was physically taking her heart out and ripping it in front of her. I should have never said those things. I didn’t mean any of them… I was just upset.”

“She knows, they always know.”

Olivia merely shook her head and began to gather her things to head home. She walked out of the precinct without a goodbye and headed down the street to Y/N’s favorite Chinese place. They knew what she was going to order as soon as she walked in the door asking where Y/N was. Liv pushed off their question and scrolled through her phone as she waited for the food. Y/N’s phone was still off giving Olivia an eerie feeling as she finished the walk to the apartment. 

Once inside she noticed Y/N’s bag on the floor and her keys on the counter. There was a sudden rush of cold air that made her notice the window that was open to the fire escape. She shut it quickly and then moved to Y/N’s room. The door was still open with everything the way she had left it that morning. Once her calls were unanswered Olivia opened the window again crawling onto the fire escape. Sometimes Y/N would go to the roof to watch the sun slowly crawl behind the buildings.When she reached the top however she was met with an unsettling emptiness. 

Olivia reached for her phone to call the only person who was able to calm her anxiety lately, “Amaro, Y/N isn’t here. I can’t find her. What if something happened to her?”

“She probably just went to a friend’s house to get away,” Amaro replied stirring the contents of his drink, “She will be back in the morning just to relax. Sleep off the anger and come back with a clear head tomorrow.”

Liv pondered this suggestion over and over deciding what she should do. When the silence became too long Amaro interjected again, “Liv, I’m serious. You two had the biggest blow out that I have seen in awhile. Give her time to be mad at you and think. If you smother her she might only push further away from you.” She thanked her partner for the advice and then shoved her phone back in her pocket taking a sweep of the roof once again. Finally she slowly made her way back to the apartment shutting the window with a slam before locking it. Olivia wandered over to the kitchen moving the cereal that covered the top of the fridge to get to her secret cupboard. From the opening she pulled a large bottle of her favorite red wine. She popped the cork and decided to forgo a cup taking a long swig directly from the green glass. A large sigh escaped her lips as she plopped down on the couch going over the events of the day in her head.

As the contents of the bottle slowly drained till there was nothing else Olivia realized her fears were all coming true. She was becoming her mother. A woman she never once wanted to be. Three empty bottles later she finally curled under Y/N’s sheets crying into her pillow until she finally was able to fall asleep.

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

The next morning when Y/N did not return and her phone was still shut down all bets were off. Olivia was furious but more importantly she was terrified. Something was horribly wrong. Her morning was spent talking to Y/N’s two best friends and searching their houses for her. When that search was unsuccessful Olivia went to the school hoping Y/N had gone there. However, she had been absent all day and there hadn’t even been a call to excuse her from the day. 

When the morning bled into the afternoon Olivia was running around the city to all of Y/N’s usual hangout spots. The search of the library told her that Y/N hadn’t been there in over a week. The local bakery hadn’t seen her in three days. The coffee shop where Y/N always bought Olivia’s coffee when she came to see her at work had seen her two mornings ago but nothing since then. Even the old lady that had Y/N over twice a week to help her with errands and chores around the house hadn’t seen her. 

It was dark by the time that Olivia fell into her desk chair at the precinct. With her head in her hands she let the tears fall. A whole day was gone and there was still no sign of her daughter. If she had been kidnapped they were running out of time and losing it quickly. The longer she was out there the longer the person had to get away with whatever they wanted.

The squad huddled around in Cragen’s office looking at Olivia curled over her desk. Rollins was the first one to speak, “I bet you Lewis has something to do with this.”

“And what makes you think that?” Amaro asked, “There are plenty of people who could have a vendetta against Liv.”

“It’s just a feeling.”

“Yeah well have you ever considered the idea that maybe Y/N just ran away,” Amaro retorted.

Fin, Cragen, and Amanda all turned towards Amaro, shocked. Cragen was the first one to speak, “I know you haven’t been here long Amaro but this isn’t Y/N. Something is horribly wrong and we are going to figure out what is going on. Fin and Amanda go check out Lewis’ usual hiding spots. I’ll take Liv through her apartment once again to see if we missed anything.”

“And me cap?”

“Amaro… you stay here and set up a tip line,” Cragen responded curtly and then they all disappeared to find where Y/N had disappeared to.

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

Y/N woke with a jolt as she felt cold water splash her face. She was met with Lewis staring only a couple inches away from her face. He grinned and grabbed Y/N’s chin as she tried to look away, “Well well there. Looks like someone is finally awake. Feeling thirsty?”

Y/N nodded her head yes waiting to scream as he curled his fingers around the edge of the duct tape. As he was about to pull it away he jammed a gun against Y/N’s throat, “Make any noise and I will shove this gun straight down your throat.”

Finally when he pulled the tape away Y/N spit right in his face, “Just shoot me already if you are going to threaten me with it.”

“And miss out on all of our fun Mini Benson. I think not. There is plenty that I want to do to you before then.”

Y/N began to panic as Lewis lit another cigarette. She remembered the way the others had burned against her chest and sides. She had lost count after twenty perfect circle burns and after the second pistol whip to the face she had passed out a second time, She couldn’t go through all of that again.

“My mom knows I am missing and she will be out looking for me. Just let me go and she will never have to know that you did it. Please,” YN begged.

“What is she going to think about that bruise on your face? Or the marks on your skin? I can’t let you go… plus I know that you both fought before you came home. I bet you that she thinks you just ran away and are leaving her,” Lewis chuckled.

“How.. how did you know that we fought?

“This lovely voicemail your mother left you,” Lewis said, placing your phone against your ear.

Tears began to run down Y/N’s face as she heard the apology her mother had sent her. Damnit! Why did I have to fight with her? We could have avoided all of this. Is the mantra that ran through her head as Lewis slammed the phone against her head and threw it at the wall.

“She isn’t coming for you,” Lewis snickered.

“Please… just let me go. I will do anything.”

Lewis pulled his gun and placed it against Y/N’s scalp, “You are still bargaining with me? Really. We are way past that baby.”

“I am the daughter of an NYPD detective. A decorated well known detective. My mother, her partner, her squad, the entire department will hunt you down. You think that you’ve put people through hell. It will rain back down on you.”

“You know what… let it rain,” Lewis said and then hit Y/N once again making her world go black for a third time. 

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing viii.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 1, 964

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

“I can’t believe this!” Jeonghan puffs while he drops his belongings loudly onto the table in the study lounge, causing a few other students to turn and glare.

“Would it kill you to be quiet?” Jungkook grumbles, picking at the edge of the paper of his textbook, eyes never straying away from the content of the page.

“No. I will not be quiet because I thought football bros were bros for life!” Jeonghan whines.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “You know that’s kind of concerning when you put it that way.”

Jeonghan simply waves the other boy off before he leans forward as if he has something important he has to say. Jungkook knew him well enough to know that it would either waste Jungkook’s precious study time or be something so out of the ordinary that he can’t help but be intrigued.

Jungkook shrugged and takes the chance, anyway.

“Namjoon bailed.” He deadpans. “Again!”

Jungkook stiffens ever so slightly but feigns disinterest with a noncommittal hum.

“Really.”

Jeonghan nods his head, or shook his head—it was hard to tell because he was all over the place and he seemed more displeased than anything.

“I never thought we’d lose our own captain to a girl.” He sniffs.

Jungkook sighs, already done with the conversation because somehow no one can ever mention Namjoon without mentioning you now, apparently because the two of you were hanging out much more frequently. He’s bitter. And he’s confused—because he’s attempted patching things up with you but you only would ever reply to him with curt responses than the enthusiastic ones you used to flatter him with.

JK: hey. there’s a new cafe outside of campus. U wanna go?

Smarty Pants 🐰: Im busy. Next time? :)

JK: are u free tonight?

JK: im heading to the library later. wanna meet up for some ramen first? On me!!!

Smarty Pants 🐰: sorry jungkook, meeting w administrators for pastoral care matters

Smarty Pants 🐰: Do you need help with the content?

JK: oh… it’s fine, just wanted to hang out with you. We haven’t done that in a while

JK: jimin said u finally have some free time next week? Let’s catch up! i’ll treat u to some banana bread :D

Smarty Pants 🐰: i have plans with joon. which day were you thinking?

JK: Anytime. When are you meeting hyung?

Smarty Pants 🐰: we kind of have plans every day, here and there. could I get back to you?

And that was it. The blow that Jungkook knew he deserved but couldn’t deal with. You had tried your best to avoid any personal interaction with Jungkook and he didn’t know what the fuck to do.

“They’re kind of perfect for each other, don’t you think?” Jeonghan interrupts Jungkook’s sour mood when he recalls all his failed attempts at trying to meet with you personally.

Jungkook blinks then furrowed his eyebrows.

“Who?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Joon and your friend _____.” He knocks on the table. “Bunch of nerds together.” He adds with a snicker.

Jungkook stiffens, hands clutching his textbook tighter.

“You say that like there’s something wrong with being a nerd.” He says slowly.

“There isn’t. Really.” Jeonghan defends. “It’s just so … fitting. Captain of the football team who’s lowkey a softie and an art nerd with the overachiever on campus. Their IQ’s combined are probably in the 300 range.”

Jungkook scowls.

“Haven’t you heard of the phrase ‘opposites attract’?” Jungkook asks sourly.

Jeonghan scoffs. “Yeah. Like you actually believe in that cliche phrase. Come on—we all know you’re likely to end up with someone who’s more like you than different.”

The insinuation doesn’t sit well with Jungkook, but he can’t chew Jeonghan out for it anyway. He didn’t know the nature of your friendship with him, nor was he aware of the history the two of you shared.

“Never say never.” Jungkook shrugs.

Jeonghan rolls his eyes before taking out his laptop and settling into a comfortable position.

“I think he’s going to ask her to be his girlfriend soon.” He says off-handedly as if he assumed Jungkook gave a shit.

He did, and his heart drops to his stomach.

“Hey,” Jungkook calls out when he spots you slip past him at the foyer outside the humanities building.

You twirl around at the sound of your name being called, and your eyes widen when you spot Jungkook walking towards you with furrowed brows.

“J-Jungkook?”

Why you sounded so scared to see him, he wasn’t sure. But he knows that he’s frustrated because it’s the first time he’s seen you after the game where you and Namjoon left to hang out at the exhibition, despite his desperate attempts at calling you out to hang out with him.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Jungkook frowns, cutting straight to the chase.

You splutter for a response, and you realise that you’re basically gaping at him when you clutch your folders tighter to your chest.

“I’ve been busy, Jungkook. I told you this.” You softly remind him.

Jungkook scoffs, and he feels his mean bone grow; feeling the need to correct you because you were smart—and both of you knew that your excuse was lame.

“Really?” He says dryly. “Too busy to hang out with me but not with Namjoon?” He can’t help how bitter he sounds, especially when he’s heard from the rest of the football members; including Jimin and Taehyung that you were spending a suspicious amount of time with the captain.

You furrow your brows at him when Jungkook stares you down, waiting for a response.

“That doesn’t change the fact I was busy.” You huff.

Jungkook frowns at you, clutching his backpack tighter with his hand as he notices the way you avoid his eyes by dropping them to the ground.

“Why are you being like this?” Jungkook accuses, tone already on the offensive.

You gape up at the boy, brows scrunched in displeasure.

“Me? I’m not being anything. I told you that I was busy and we would rain check, didn’t I?”

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek, frustration pooling in his stomach. “Somehow you’re only busy whenever I want to hang out, right?” He scoffs sarcastically. “I thought we were good.”

You stiffen, knuckles turning white when you grip your belongings harder.

“We are.” You say curtly.

“No, we’re not.” Jungkook retorts. “If we were then you wouldn’t need to find shitty excuses to get out of hanging out with me.”

You open your mouth, then close it. You feel yourself grow more exasperated with Jungkook the more he can’t realise the fact that you were still finding a way to navigate the throes of your relationship with him.

“They were not shitty excuses.” You snap. “Listen, we can meet tomorrow for coffee if you really—”

“That’s not what this is about!” Jungkook exasperates, breathing out in a huff.

You purse your lips. “Then what is it, Jungkook? You came up to me and started accusing me of lying to you because I couldn’t meet up at the times you proposed.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw when he notices the way your voice gets increasingly sterner when you talk to him. It only reminds him of the way you used to chastise him when he was younger when he’d do something that was ‘immature’ but standard for a teenaged boy.

“I apologised!” He cries. “I’m sorry I was a dick before this but I’m really trying to fix things between us but you’re—”

“I’m what, Jungkook?” You interject with a frown. “I’m doing my best at healing?” You add softly. “An apology won’t erase what happened.”

Jungkook feels himself deflate, especially at the way your eyes dart away when he attempts to look into them.

“I know it won’t but I just want things to go back to normal.” He sighs.

You screw your eyes shut, finding the words to say before you look at him with such sad eyes that he nearly pulls you close just to comfort you so that he wouldn’t have to acknowledge the fact that it was his fault.

“It’s not that easy.” You whisper, gripping at the hem of your sleeves. “It may be for you but it’s not the same for me.”

Jungkook releases a sigh so loud that your eyes widen, as he attempts to think of something better to say—to offer.

“I really am sorry.” He lamely apologises, his voice sounding a lot like a scolded child.

“I know.” You nod. “But you don’t know how it feels to have …” You swallow. “Whatever. We’re good. I just need time, Jungkook.”

Jungkook furrows his brows when you turn away to stalk off, but he grabs at your elbow to turn your body to face him. Your eyes briefly make contact with the way he’s gently holding onto you before they tilt up to meet his confused gaze.

“How it feels to have what?” He pries.

You sigh, shaking off his grip. “Look. It doesn’t matter. I’m being sensitive.” You deprecate immediately.

Jungkook doesn’t miss the spite in your tone, especially when you say it so firmly and seriously when you dismiss him.

“I want to fix this—us.” He pleads desperately. “Why can’t you just be honest with me?”

As if his words set you off, your eyes snap up and blaze with the pent up fury and anger you’ve been suppressing the entire time.

“Me? Be honest with you?” You scoff. “Real fucking funny. Because when I was honest with you, you turned it on me and took advantage of my vulnerability.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “What—?”

“You want honest?” You fume. “Fine. I’ll give you honest but you better listen closely this time because I won’t be repeating myself again.” You poke into his chest, even if it’s fierce and stern, he feels the heartache pouring through. “You were my best friend, Jungkook. You were and are someone important to me and you fucked me over because you knew I couldn’t say no to you. You knew how I felt and you took advantage of that fact just so you could get what you wanted and go.”

Jungkook furrows his eyebrows, confused at the information you were throwing at him.

“How you felt—?”

You cut him off again with a huff. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know. Why else did you think I did all the shit you wanted?”

“I-I don’t understand.” Jungkook stutters, head caught in a loop when you glare at him harder.

“You knew every bit of insecurity that I had and you weaponised that against me just so you could keep me close.” You say softly. “You knew, either way, I would’ve stayed because I’ve always been there, Jungkook.”

“You’re confusing me.” He deadpans, grabbing onto your shoulders so you were forced to stare at him.

He notices the glistening of your eyes as he feels his heart constrict when he realises you’re trying your best to keep your tears at bay.

“Well, you did it first so it’s only fair.” You sniffle. “You can act like shits fine because you weren’t the one who was attached. I was. So just let me have this time to myself to figure things out because I can’t even be around you without being sad, Jungkook.” You whimper.

He calls for your name but you're already furiously rubbing at your eyes as you curse under your breath as you spin on your heels to hurry away.

Jungkook gapes at you as he attempts to process what you just said, but before he can get another word in—you're leaving him to feel the weight of your words in the footsteps that draw further and further away.

[rumblelibrary]

*whispers* oh, hi!

can I request a little thing with Niki Lauda and his beautiful curls? Maybe Niki and the reader going on a roadtrip together and stoping somewhere for the night? 🥺👀

Bouncy Road Trip [Niki Lauda x Reader]

Words Count: 1.6k

Author’s note: It is my first time venturing into Niki’s mind, I hope I did him and your request right ❤️

“Well, it seems a bit late to think again” he remarked, as always his character would strike, even with you.

You chuckled, too used to his antics to really get mad about it.The two of you decided to go to the next race by car, something easy, a road trip to get there directly, enjoy the city, the food, have time to study the car and the track while others are still enjoying the whole set of parties and interviews that followed the race that just ended.

“You were happy to miss Hunt’s drunk hugs” you told him and he responded with a little shake of his shoulders, a parody of a shiver.You came to the idea that he enjoyed to play this rivalry thing way more than he admitted. 

It was something that gave him an edge, something to joke about easily in order to keep his focus on the cars and the changes he wanted to do.You got into the car, you’d drive first because he was just out of the race and wasn’t up to do it again.You were hyped to do the road trip, to be together in such a small space, to be allowed to be so close for such a long time.

You put on your favourite radio station, settled comfortably your seat and wore your sunglasses.

Road trip mood: on.

The sad part was how Niki road trip mood was: nap.

He was rightfully tired after the race, after the nervous days that came before it, but you couldn’t help to feel a bit upset about it.It was typical Niki, reasonable priorities over feelings, he probably didn’t even suspect all those expectations you set up for such a small event.So you drove quality, enjoyed the music and the soft breeze, you looked at him from time to time as he snored lightly, his soft curls unruly moving over his face.

Focus, the road is ahead.

After a couple of hours you felt a warm hand cover yours changing the gear.

“If you want to kill this car you could just run into a tree and make it quicker” Niki grumbled sleepily straightening his posture cracking his neck from side to side.

“Where are we?” He asked as he picked the map rubbing his eyes with his hand as you pointed at it on the map and you smirked

“Good morning anyway sleepyhead” you said shaking your head lightly.Usual Niki.He studied the map silently picking a bottle of water you stacked on side to have a sip, his unruly curls bouncing lightly catching your eyes once more.

“You have seen the race, didn’t you?”You were surprised by the question “of course”

“Do you think he deserved it? Honest to God, I just need an honest opinion of somebody that is utterly deficient of keeping a car for good”

You let out a breathy chuckle staring ahead, it was a compliment and you knew it, it was just his way of complimenting you, to tell you that he knows you have no bias.

“I think he didn’t, but around the beginning he did got the best of your attention” you say after a moment “I mean, he provokes you always and your starts are always a bit off, you’re not in the right mind, I can see how you change along the race and then you show your true colours”

He listens and doesn’t add anything.Maybe you have offended him, maybe not, he rarely lets you know.“At the next gas station let’s stretch our legs a bit, I am hungry” he says and you nod quietly.

When at the station you went to the bathroom first as Niki brought a couple of sandwiches and some snack, along with more water.

“Liquorice, for real?” You ask him looking inside of the bag

 “So you can avoid smoking and pestering the car and your lungs” he groans back as he ate quietly looking at you.You look at him as there’s no aggression from him, it is just Niki worrying for your health, in Niki’s way.He is still upset about coming second, again. It was starting to rub him in the wrong way.

“You know, I have seen there’s this exhibition in the local museum, we should see that, on a free afternoon while the mechanics apply the changes you like, I read that the museums here are open until 10 pm in summer”

He looks at you and nods slowly  “Only if you play the guide”

“Sounds like a deal then” you smirk and he makes half of a smile, he is content.You move close to him as your hand moves toward those unruly curls that scream to be touched, but he stands up throwing the trash in the closest bin.

The second half of the drive before your stop at the motel is on Niki, but you can’t sleep. Sure you put on your sunglasses and got nuzzled on the passenger seat but you couldn’t look away from him, everything was perfect: from the relaxation of driving at a comfort speed to the engine singing for him, the smoothness of the drive made it feel unreal, like you weren’t even moving but you were only still. You moved up taking your book, you opened it up, it was a poetry book but one of your favourite female authors, you leaned your back comfortably as you started reading. Niki looked at you moving his beautiful long fingers over the radio lowering the volume.

“Read out loud”

You were surprised by such a request, but you did.He listened, he was passive but focused on those words letting those unroll over him.You could see his mind was feeling guilty, anger for losing soon turning into that quiet silence he pulled himself into, the guilty one.He had high standard for himself and for others, but on himself he was the hardest and, most of the times, the cruelest. 

The sun was going down and you put the book away staring at him once more, you leaned in, his eyes showing that sad frustration and your hand moved on its own mean over an action you have been craving throughout the day slowly reaching for his head and digging your fingers into his hair. A soft breath of relaxation left his lips, your fingers trailing through the bottom of his head just above his neck and up again.

He rolls lightly his shoulders not commenting your action, but he is clearly enjoying it. So you keep going, you brush your fingers slow and nice, you pull the curls a bit only to make more room to your fingers, you move your hand up on his temple and slowly scratch on the side of his temple going back into the curls.He licks his lips lightly relaxing over your attentions. The radio is still low, nobody is letting out a sound.

“Fuck”

He curses as he yanks the wheel suddenly and you almost get thrown on the back of the car by the sudden motion.He almost missed the exit to go to your motel.You settle yourself back in place quietly, bend down to recollect your book that flew on the car floor.

Once he parked Niki was the first to leave the car to collect your bags, you leaned your back on the seat staring in front of you nibbling on the bottom of your lip. Maybe it wasn’t the right moment, you never knew with Niki. Maybe you fucked it up.

Once you settled into your room you got some room service, the tv was on some old 50’s film in black and white, Niki digging on some chicken salad finally in his comfortable night clothes and a night vest.You were used to the silences, you were used to share those with him, but sometimes it was gutting, you kept wondering if you messed up. If you did something wrong or what was the thing you did wrong. Your own insecurities eating you alive. Once he finished his dinner you showered putting on some night clothing and resting on the big bed beside him as you watched the movie.Then he slowly moved down resting his head on your lap.He looked up at you from that position, the blue light of the screen the only source of illumination.You stare back at his eyes moving your head on side with a little smirk, it looks like somebody enjoyed it back in the car.

But you don’t tease him, you learned not to, and you just go back to that process. He closes his eyes enjoying it. Your hands also enjoying to be back to unruly those wild curls he always tamed, the freedom to be able to do something so simple and so intimate.

“You know I need you right?” He says softly, not even opening one eye, you keep touching his curls, but this time you let him be the one without confirms.He opened his eyes as he slowly looked up at you raising onto his arms.

“You’re my soft side, you’re the art and the beauty and the poetry. I cannot be that, I am not that, but you are, and you, you do me good, you do me better, make me better”

You smile, because he never speaks up, but when he does, he just blows you away.You lean in for a well earned kiss, your hand slowly slipping behind his neck as he pushes you down on the bed.

Tags: @cazzyimagines @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing

Let me know if anybody wants to be added and I will 💕

[lazywonderlvnd]

Hi, if you are still taking prompts; A magically powerful Harry not noticing that his magic does things to make Draco happy. This can be pre-relationship or established relationship. Like it starts of with his tea being exactly as he likes and always the right temperature. Then evolves to rooms changing colour or weather changing or people being unable to invade Draco’s personal space due to an invisible barrier or something ridiculous. Btw Draco doesn’t notice as well.

anon.....you really killed me w this one. i’ve been so emo over this wyugeahrwiw might end up writing smth longer tbh bc this concept is literally the only thing that matters to me!!!!!!! i hope u enjoy i had so much fun with it ❤️❤️❤️

“Harry, you do it. Please.”

“No.”

“Please!”

“We’re fucking watching something, Draco!”

“So just pause it!”

Harry grabs the pillow on his lap and slams it onto the sofa next to him. Hermione can see dust rise in its wake. He pauses the telly. 

“Are you doing it?” Draco asks hopefully. Harry scowls at him. 

“Well you won’t shut up until I do, will you?”

“Definitely not.”

Harry disappears into the kitchen and Draco sits there looking smug.

“It’s kind of sick how you get off on bossing him around,” says Ron, his tone one of simple observation. His fingers are idly playing with Hermione’s hair, but she doesn’t think he notices he’s doing it. 

“If I’m not mean to him a few times a week I break out in a rash, Weasley,” Draco says blithely. “Besides, he makes it perfectly. I don’t know how he does it, it’s always exactly the right temperature and sweetness and all that. I s’pose his years as a house-elf for those Muggles gave him plenty of time to perfect the art.”

“You’re a twat,” says Ron. “And my mum makes tea better than him.”

“Well you’re just a pitiful little mummy’s boy, aren’t you, Weasley? We can hardly trust your opinion.”

“Hark who the hell’s talking,” Ron scoffs. “Least I’m not twenty-three and still calling my mum ‘mummy’ like the world’s biggest bloody ponce.”

Draco splutters but before he can retort Harry’s coming back into the room hovering four cups of tea that float placidly to each of them. Draco looks exactly like a satisfied cat as he takes his and Harry drops back down onto the sofa next to him. Not too close, but certainly not too far, either.

“Literally exquisite,” Draco declares after he’s taken a sip. Ron rolls his eyes.

“It’s just tea, Draco,” says Harry, and he grabs for the remote to turn the film back on. “You’re such a demanding little brat. Merlin’s fucking tits.”

But Draco looks happy and Harry looks suspiciously content as well. Ron turns to her and makes a silent gagging face. Hermione snorts and puts a finger to her lips. They’ve decided not to say anything yet.

*

“Wasn’t this place a lot … uglier last time?”

“What?” Harry says absently. He’s not listening — he’s got all his attention zeroed in on a stack of parchment he’s holding. They’d only barely dragged him along to lunch; earlier the captain of the English National Team had apparently owled him a great number of brand-new Quidditch plays and required Harry’s extensive thoughts and notes before their next practise, which was tomorrow morning. 

“Uglier,” Draco says emphatically, and Ron mutters something she doesn’t catch. “Remember? The walls were that tragic egg-yolk colour.” He shivers. Hermione thinks it might have been an honest-to-god shiver of revulsion. She also thinks she knows what’s happened, even though the extent of it surprises her.

“Maybe someone heard you whingeing and changed it,” Ron apparently can’t stop himself from saying with a snigger. Hermione elbows him hard and he shoots her a glare, mouthing, he doesn’t know!

Harry would usually be the one to take the lead and get them a table when all four of them go out to eat together but today he’s too wrapped up in his Quidditch plays, so Ron steps forward and does it, which makes Hermione’s chest flutter pleasantly. He’d blush down to his bones if she ever said it aloud but he’s quite capable of being a leader in Harry’s absences. 

“Whatever happened,” says Draco pointedly as they’re led to their table, “it’s a great bloody blessing, I was genuinely unsure I’d have the mental fortitude to survive another assault like that on my delicate senses. And, I mean, this —” he gestures to the walls, which are now an admittedly pleasing dark teal above a white trim “— is stunning. It’s my favourite colour.”

“Is it? So weird they picked your favourite colour completely by coincidence,” Ron says, and Hermione elbows him again. Draco notices nothing and neither does Harry, although he does finally set the plays aside once they’re seated at the table.

“Are you complaining about the wall colour again?” he asks drily. They would both be extremely displeased to know they sound like an old married couple. Draco snatches haughtily at the paper napkin on the table and unfolds it to place over his lap. The first time he’d ever done this at a regular, decidedly not upscale restaurant Ron had taken it upon himself to spend the entire meal adopting a posh accent to match Draco’s and saying things to the waiter like “Don’t you have crystal?” while holding up a glass cup full of Pepsi and then commenting “These aren’t real silver, you know” after making a show of inspecting the titanium utensils. 

“I can complain about hideous design choices if I want to,” Draco tells Harry with his nose in the air. “Thankfully they’ve rectified it this time.”

On the other side of the restaurant, Hermione sees two employees talking, one of them gesturing at the wall with utter bewilderment. She doesn’t point it out.

*

“Twelve o’clock,” says Ron, nodding past Draco’s shoulder. “Some bloke staring you down hard, Malfoy.”

Draco looks excitedly behind him, but what Hermione takes more notice of is the way Harry’s face falls a little. She can’t help but wonder if he even realises it’s happened. She’s almost certain he’s aware of his feelings for Draco even though he still hasn’t said anything to her (and she’s been waiting months now, the effort of holding her tongue growing only more difficult by the day, and she knows Ron’s always seconds away from shouting at him) but she doesn’t think he knows how obvious he is. Draco doesn’t seem to know either, but she thinks that’s because Draco feels exactly the same way. She’d have called them morons, but she remembers too well how long it had taken her and Ron.

“What the fuck, Weasley,” Draco hisses, turning back around with a scowl that makes Ron laugh and Harry perk up again a little bit. “He looks like he hasn’t washed his hair in weeks.”

“Now, now,” says Ron, “mustn’t judge books by their greasy covers.”

“Then you go shag him if you think he’s so fit.”

“Maybe I will,” Ron says airily, as if he really is considering it, and Hermione can’t help chuckling and kissing his cheek. Then his expression changes to one of wicked amusement, which makes all of them look round to see the bloke coming their way. Hermione glances at Harry to find that — oh yes, he looks flustered and vaguely upset.

“Hullo,” says the greasy bloke to Draco as he comes up beside him at their table. He’s really not terrible-looking, but if she’s learned anything about Draco in the last couple years it’s that his standards amount to models and Harry Potter, so this man has almost no chance.

“Hello,” Draco drawls, reminding her fiercely of his younger self at Hogwarts. “I’m not interested.”

“Right little narcissistic bugger, aren’t you?” the man says. And now, finally, he’s begun to look as revolting to Hermione as he’d done initially to Draco — a repellent personality can do that. “Maybe I just wanted to come and have a chat.”

“Then why aren’t you looking at any of the rest of us?” Ron asks, sounding halfway between amused still and a little put off.

“Can you leave, please?” Draco interjects, cringing away from the man encroaching slowly on his personal space. And suddenly, as he looks on the verge of antagonising Draco further, he shifts his feet and slips, landing right on his bum with a yell of surprise. All four of them get to their feet to see, but there doesn’t seem to be any liquid or even slimy food for him to have tripped on.

“The fuck ...?” the man says, getting back to his feet. But when he moved towards Draco, he only slips again, on absolutely nothing at all. Something clicks and Hermione looks at Harry: he seems as confused as anyone else (if obviously pleased).

She looks at Ron then, who catches her eye and lifts his brows like he’s thinking the same thing.

Draco’s suitor gets up once more and steadies himself, looking a bit dazed. Some deep animal instinct seems to tell him to stop trying, and with a wary glance at Draco he finally leaves.

“Well that was a bit of a fucking scene,” says Harry. Draco, coming out of his own startled daze, laughs.

“Yeah,” Ron says sarcastically, “wonder what could’ve possibly happened.”

*

“I really thought it was going to rain,” Draco mopes where he’s standing at the window. It’s grey outside but it definitely doesn’t look like rain and Draco appears so upset about it that Hermione actually feels badly, even though she’s quite glad for the clear weather. 

“Just shut the curtains,” Ron suggests from his place on the floor. He’s sorting through Harry’s collection of VHS tapes, trying to decide on a good Halloween movie. Not that he’s ever seen any of them, and Hermione suspects he’ll end up choosing whichever cover he likes best.

“It’s not the same!” Draco wails. “The thunder and lightning is all part of it, you uncultured pillock! The atmosphere is all wrong.”

“It’ll be just as good when we shut off all the lights and draw the curtains,” she assures him, but it doesn’t remove the look of disappointment from his face. It’s a pouty sort of thing that echoes the brattiness of his youth; she imagines a five-or-six-year-old Draco giving his parents similar looks when he wasn’t getting what he wanted.

 At that moment the front door opens and Harry walks in carrying two grocery bags, one of which contains alcohol, which Hermione can tell by the way the plastic is bulging around the cans.

“The fuck are you all doing here?” he says by way of greeting.

“You said eight o’clock, fuckhead,” Ron tells him without looking up. “But it’s fine, I’ve had time to pick a film and Malfoy’s had time to moan about the weather.”

“What’s wrong with the weather?”

“I wanted a storm!”

At that exact moment, a flash of lightning lights up the sky behind Harry where he hasn’t even closed the door yet. Seconds later a downpour begins, and then there’s a rolling crash of thunder.

Hermione’s eyes widen and once more she finds Ron’s gaze, who looks about as shocked as she feels. Draco, meanwhile, has his hands over his mouth and looks like a child on Christmas morning.

For the first time since his magic had begun picking up on Draco’s wishes and granting them of seemingly its own accord, Hermione sees Harry look suspicious. He peers behind him at the storm suddenly raging outside his house before slowly closing the door. When he turns back he looks directly at Hermione, who looks away quickly.

They set up the food Harry had gotten — all kinds of Halloween-themed sweets — and once everyone has their drinks (“Make mine,” Draco tells Harry, “you do it best”) and is comfortable on the two sofas in the room (Harry and Draco are, as usual, as close to each other as they can get without actually touching) they start the movie: The Thing, which Harry swears is one of the greatest horror films of all time.

Funny thing is, an hour and a half into it she looks over and, with a jolt, realises the two of them are kissing half-covered beneath a blanket. She elbows Ron, who positively beams when he notices.

“Fucking finally, dear sweet Merlin,” he whispers, the sound muffled by the continued rain and thunder. “I nearly hit him upside the head when he made it rain, are you fucking kidding me?”

“Shh!” Hermione hisses, though she’s smiling. “They’ll hear you. We’ll rag him about it tomorrow.”

A soft sound of laughter comes from the other sofa that Hermione identifies as Draco’s, and when she risks another peek after a moment she sees that Harry has a hand on Draco’s jaw, and that he’s smiling.

[dancingwiththeplanets]

An Angel Amongst Demons - chapter two

Boba Fett x fem!reader

     chapter 1 / masterlist

Summary:  A few days after the incident in the throne room, Boba hovers around you like a shadow worried you’ll leave him. You try to reassure him through small, intimate moments with him that there’s no place you’d rather be.

A/N:  Really trying to expand on the idea that a gorgeous palace lays hidden underground/ behind the throne room! Also, I think we can all start calling this Boba’s Palace now, jabba is gone. Sorry for the low quality edit it’s my first one haha

Warnings: dancing!boba, protective!boba, suggestive content, plain old day at the palace, soft!boba, not a lot of content tbh but cute moments and we get to know our OC Mandos Raul and Enzo, I didn’t plan this out, im sorry

Word Count: 4.5k+

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

The ballroom, though practically useless in its existence and never actually having served its purpose, has recently become one of your favorite rooms in the palace. Initially, you didn’t know what to do with the space. It’s not like Boba seized at the idea of throwing a ball and inviting a group of strangers into the palace, providing anyone the opportunity to discover the secrets hidden behind the throne room. Let alone risk letting an adversary sneak their way in and stirring up trouble.

Nonetheless, you’ve taken it upon yourself to spruce the place up. It is, after all, one of the grander rooms in the castle, with paintings coating the ceiling and the walls bordered with columns.

It’s actually extremely beautiful, you’ve decided, wiping your forehead against your light-blue sleeve, frowning when it comes back brown from the dust that’s stuck to your face. It seemed like a sensible thing to wear this morning. A loose fitting blue blouse with flowy pants to match, secured in the middle by a slightly darker sash. Your pant legs were tucked into your boots so as not to get in the way. It was one of the more cozy and plain things you owned, though not poor in quality by any standards. The fabric was refined, flowy and soft against your skin. Quite honestly, even in your working clothes, you looked nicer than you felt you deserved to. But far be it for Boba to allow his princess to wander around in anything but the best.

The week you’d moved in was a busy one, filled with surprises and adjustments that were quite honestly overwhelming. You arrived at Boba’s palace with a literal sack over your shoulder, enough to stash your small wardrobe of two garments and a few trinkets of personal value. Tatooine was a simple place, you only owned what you absolutely needed. And you, being a young and simple waitress at the local cantina, could barely make enough to cover your cost of living. You were never awarded the luxury of having needless objects.

The first few days of your arrival, Boba had stuck to your side like glue, making sure you got around okay and had everything you needed. Initially, he’d even had a seperate room made up for you to stay in. It was absolutely beautiful, by far the lightest room in the entire palace, though lacking in a window. It was one of the biggest, not as impressive as his own chambers, but still spacious. He decorated the room with paintings and furniture and accented the space with hues of blue and gold. Unfortunately, the pretty room barely got any good use out of it.

Boba escorted you to your quarters on your first night, cradling your chin and kissing your forehead at the door, bidding you goodnight. He reminded you where you could find something to sleep in, having delighted himself in surprising you with an entirely new wardrobe.

You pulled on a satin, lavender slip, admiring the foreign material for a long while as it weighed so delicately on your form. You took your time readying yourself for bed before crawling in and feeling engulfed by pillows. Once you settled, left alone to your anxious thoughts and feelings, you suddenly felt overwhelmed by the exquisite room embracing you. A flutter of giddiness and exhilaration filled you, your mind and body enraptured by the day's events. You felt absolutely spoiled.

Feeling bold on an entirely unnatural level, you slipped away from the warm, velvety comforter and tiptoed to the door. With a rush of courage, your hand met the handle and you stepped out, bare feet cold against the tile floor. You peeked around before quickly darting down the hall, forever grateful that not a soul was around to see your practically naked form running by, before ascending the stairs that led to Boba’s door.

You lifted your hand, your knuckle knocking gently three times against the rough surface.

You heard Boba shifting on the other side of the door, tugging down on your nightgown that just barely cleared your thighs. The hinges of the door creaked as they turned, opening slowly to reveal a very smug looking Boba in just his underclothes.

He hummed, eyes tracing over your form with a shake of his head. “Wandering the halls looking like that.” He chided, gently grabbing you by the waist and pulling you through the door, “That’ll get you into trouble, little one.”

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

You smile as you recall the memory. Suffice to say, you didn’t end up sleeping in your own quarters that night, or any night after that, for that matter. Though Boba’s honorable gesture in providing you with your own space was not lost on you.

Continuing on with your endeavors, you move to stand from your crouch on the ground, simultaneously trying to tighten the blue sash wrapped around your middle. You gasp as you run into a hard surface, exhaling in relief as Boba braces you in front of him.

Mumbling an apology, you watch as his helmeted face looks you up and down, steady hands holding you out from him.

“What?” You ask, a smile making its way to your cheeks.

“Your outfit, it...looks like something I wore as I boy.” He says adoringly, now fondling the blue sash at your hips.

You glance down again at your form, a matching blue blouse and trousers tucked into simple black boots. “I...look like you as a young boy?” You counter, earning a deep chuckle from your lover.

“Well I looked rather plain in it,” He says, “I don’t think I looked half as radiant as you do.”

“So you do like it?” You ask.

“Of course I like it,” He grins, “I bought it.”

You shake your head as you carry on with your tasks, allowing Boba to shadow your movements for a while before leaving you again to carry on with his own agenda.

You spend the next few hours actively scrubbing away at the room, feeling especially motivated to complete it, not like all the other half-finished rooms scattered about the palace, which is partly your fault. But the ballroom felt different, once you dusted away all the grime and filth and replaced the lighting in the ceilings to give the room more life, it really started to come together. Unfortunately, your previously clean clothes and skin were paying the price for the hard work being done, you definitely looked a little worse for wear. Wisps of hair beginning to tickle your cheeks from where they’d fallen loose from your braid.

Currently, you were taking extra care to polish a beautiful mosaic decorating the inside of an archway. Thousands of small, colorful shards lined neatly together to form the image of a bold Tatooine sunset. One of the few grand beauties your home planet was known for. A surprisingly lovely work of art left behind, albeit not properly cared for, by the previous inhabitants of the palace.

You admire the artwork for a while after polishing it to near perfection, letting your bum fall to the floor and legs splay out comfortably in front of you. Your wrists support your upper body, arms holding you up as you lean back onto them, head tilting lazily to one side.

You find yourself distracted from your glossed over gaze by Boba, who seems to have wandered his way in here for the third time today. Enzo tails him a few paces behind, but stops to stand guard idly by the door. You can’t imagine he or Raul feel as though they serve any real purpose wandering these empty halls, probably much preferring when they get to patrol the throne room or secure the perimeter.  

Boba approaches you, pausing over your fatigued form and huffing out a laugh when you don’t move to stand, instead opting to gaze up at him with tired, doe eyes. He holds a hand out to you and you groan, placing your palm in his as he hoists you up.

“The room looks lovely.” He says, voice raspy through the modulator as he looks around.

The praise makes you smile. “Come see what I found,” You say, leading him by the hand. You open a large dresser to the right, stuffed full of old vinyls and a polished record player sitting proudly atop. You carefully choose a record, placing it beneath the needle and starting the track, allowing it to play soothingly in the background as you guide him around the rest of the room.

He follows you around, listening to you babble about the lovely art on the ceiling and how nice the light looks coming through the one, boxy window at the top. He watches the childlike sparkle and admiration in your eyes as you point out different things you’ve noticed, the excitement trickling out in your tone.

His mind contemplates how different this life is from the one you used to have. You went from a one room, compact home, just barely big enough for your small bed, to a palace filled with grand staircases, hallways and countless bedrooms, a blissful dream in your eyes. Nevermind the fact that you were still stuck on Tatooine. In fact, you seemed happy to stay, oddly attached to the sandy planet, something Boba found amusing.

A couple trips around the room later, and a few songs having gone by, the two of you now stand in the center of the empty room. Him, groaning in protest, and you, placing his hand on your waist yet again. You’ve spent the last few minutes trying to teach him a basic waltz, something your father had taught you when you were little. A rare memory you shared with him before he...well-  

“Boba,” You scold with a giggle, “Try again.” Your request earns you another frustrated grumble from your partner. At some point you were able to coerce him into dancing with you, having pleaded desperately when your favorite classic came on. “C’mon, you nearly had it that time!”

He sighs loudly, tilting his helmet in an exasperated fashion. “Last time,” He says with finality, his finger raised in your direction.

You nod your head, an amused grin spread wide on your face.

He holds tight to your waist and reaches for your other hand, a final effort to humor you.

“And...1, 2, 3...1, 2, 3..” You begin moving again to the music, trying to swallow the snicker working its way up at the image of your armored partner staring at your feet for guidance. Visor following your every move, looking unsure and sloppy and quite honestly graceless.

You jump at the voice of a forgotten presence in the room.

“No! No, no, no, boss.” Enzo finally pipes up, his silent and judgemental self unable to be contained any longer. He moves forward with a swagger in his step as he struts towards you from his previous position against the wall, “You’ve gotta lead her by the waist,” He says pointedly, reaching for you “Observe-”

Boba’s arm shoots out, blocking Enzo by the pauldron, “You touch her, you're a dead man.” He growls, deflecting his attempt to take you by the waist.

You jerk slightly at the interaction, rolling your eyes and waiting for the show of dominance to subside.

Enzo’s hands raise in surrender, bowing away respectfully before returning to his earlier stance, no doubt a grin slapped on beneath his visor.

Boba’s hand returns to your waist with a shake of his head, noting your half-suppressed chuckle, evidently amused by the encounter.  

“Alright,” He grunts, “once more.”

You start counting aloud, moving at a pace Boba can keep up with. You step out on the final eight count and slowly twirl back into his arms, your back now braced against his front. He tugs at your hips, holding you closer, “Mm,” He hums in your ear as you sway in your position, “Well I do like this.”

The sound of his accented voice filtering through the modulator sends a shiver down your spine, and you breathe out a light exhale as he releases you a moment later, turning you to face him.

“See,” You sigh, “You can dance.”

He hums in response, turning around to retrieve his weapon.

You move to face your hired gun, again leaning casually against the entryway.

“Do you actually know how to dance, Enzo?” You ask, reflecting on his earlier attempt at an intervention.

“-Wouldn’t matter if he did.” Boba interjects loudly over his shoulder, dismissing any ideas before they transpired.

You hear a light chuckle emitting through Enzo’s modulator, turning back to see his stance remaining motionless aside from the slight jerk in his shoulders.

Boba returns to your side, tapping his forehead against yours in an obvious farewell.

Your head falls heavily to one side as you tenderly hold one of his gloved hands, fingers tracing the rough fabric of his own. “Is that all the time you’ve allotted for me today, my king?” You say, a teasing smile pulling at your lips.

“Duty calls, I’m afraid.” He replies, “But perhaps I’ll come find you in a bit, see what further progress you’ve made.”

You nod, a slight frown tugging on your lips. You hesitate raising the concern suddenly weighing in your mind.

Ever since the incident with Crane occurred, Boba’s been...watchful. It’s not that he wasn’t protective of you before, it’s just that in the past few days he’s been protective of you in an entirely different way. He’s been hovering and checking in on you almost compulsively. Whereas before he seemed to want to keep you away during the busy hours of his day, now he seemed to want you near enough to reach in a moment's notice. Almost as if he’s worried you’ll abandon him when he’s not looking.

You wonder how he can still feel so worried after sharing such a fun and intimate moment with you.

So, you’ve given him some extra leeway, allowing him to hover to his heart's content until he seems secure in knowing that you’re not going anywhere.

That being said, you really didn’t mind Boba’s loitering close by to wherever you happened to be, you only wish you knew he wasn’t doing it because of the events that conspired earlier in the week.

“Boba,” You say lightly, catching his arm as he turns. “You don’t need to keep checking up on me, I’m not...you know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

He pauses at your words, hands stilling in their endeavor to tighten up loosened pieces of clothing and armor. You hope you haven't upset him in calling out his unusual conduct.

He averts his gaze to the side, pausing a moment before turning back to you. “I know.” He says nodding, a slight hint of defeat in his tone.

You hope perhaps some flattery will comfort him, stepping closer and lifting your gaze to meet his own. “My king,” you say in admiration, “You are a very busy man. You have a planet to rule. And an underworld to dominate. There are many things that I know put strain and worry in your mind, but whether or not your partner will still be here when you go looking for her should not be one of them.”

He doesn’t make any movements, and the face of his visor does little to allow you access to his thoughts.

“What I mean to say is,” You continue, “Go rule your empire. Your princess is safely stashed away in the palace you’ve encompassed her in.”

He breathes out a chuckle, and you smile, “I am happier here with you than I ever thought I’d be. I don’t want to be anywhere you won't be too, Boba Fett.” You reiterate your words from your conversation a few days ago. One that both started and ended with the two of you in tears. A rare moment between the two of you indeed. An exceedingly painful incident for him, having showcased the true depth of his love for you in such an unexpected and vulnerable way. And for you, to have seen the strongest and most fearless man you have ever known brought down to his knees, in tears, was absolutely gut-wrenching, especially in knowing that his own insecurities about your love had driven him to feel such fear.

You squeeze his arm and kiss the cheek of his helmet in valediction. His unmoving visor lingering on your face for an extended moment.  

Boba’s hand makes its way to the back of your head, pulling you forward slightly before gently meeting you in the middle with his own helmet. Your foreheads pressed together in an intimate and tender kiss.

He pulls away silently, giving you a nod, a gesture you return with a small smile before watching him exit the room, Enzo in tow.

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

You make your way to the kitchens, stomach growling unhappily at having been neglected all afternoon. 

You pause under the doorway.

“I’ve seen you far too much today,” You sigh, feigning exasperation at the sight of Enzo shifting through the pantry for a meal to take to his room.

He stops his digging, turning to face you standing under the doorway before spinning back around.

“Vod’ika,” He greets, “Soup?” He holds a can up over his shoulder while reaching for a pot below the stove.

“No, thanks.” You say, approaching his station.

You pick up the canister of tomato soup, looking it over. “I doubt this tiny thing is even enough for just you.”

He glances down at the can in your hand. “I’ll do two then.”

You roll your eyes, what is it with these massive Mandalorians and not understanding proper nourishment?

“No, no.” You chide, “At least attempt to incorporate a healthy balance into your diet. Something with protein, maybe? Make a grilled porg-and-cheese melt to go with the soup. You can dip it in the broth, it’s delicious.”

His teal visor meets your face, shifting in uncertainty. “Can you do it?”

You sigh, “Fine.”

You get out the sandwich makings, opting to make one for yourself as well. You smear the bantha butter along four pieces of bread and grill them on a pan, layering sliced porg and cheese slices afterward.

You hear footsteps approaching the kitchen just as you’re pulling the finished sandwiches off the stove.

“Raul!” You greet with a smile, Enzo’s head whips in your direction. “We’re making sandwiches, want one?”

“You never sound that excited to see me.” Enzo declares.

You giggle at the accusation, sliding his sandwich onto a plate and handing it to him.

“Can I make you one, Raul?” You repeat.

He sighs, “No kid, thank you.” He steps forward and pulls Enzo’s plate from his hands, placing it away from him on the counter.

“Aye!” Enzo protests, wanting to transport his hot meal to his room so he could eat.

“We work for her,” Raul says, articulating the ‘we’ with an exaggerated hand gesture between the two of them. “You should be making her sandwich, not the other way around.”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” You groan, looking between the pair of Mandalorians.

“Yeah, Raul,” Enzo mocks, a slightly more threatening air to his tone. He retrieves the stolen soup and sandwich, “Don’t be a di’kut.”

Raul’s helmet tilts slightly at Enzo’s words. Not knowing exactly what the word means, but starting to get an unsettling feeling in your stomach, you attempt to intervene, “Guys-”

Just a moment too late.

Raul clamps a hand on Enzo’s arm, jolting him back from trying to pass him. His hand smacks the plate out of Enzo’s hand, the glass shattering before it even reaches the floor, and the soup and sandwich splattering everywhere.

“I made that-” You frown.

Now with two free hands, Enzo grips Raul’s shoulders and shoves him back against the brick ovens, a rough grunt escaping Raul when his helmet meets the open face of a hanging pan.

“Please stop-” You yelp, wincing as Enzo’s fist uppercuts into the weak spot under Raul’s helmet.

For being half a head shorter and not as obviously built as his opponent, the Mandalorian in black and teal armor could sure hold his own.

Raul spits something out in mando’a, his words seething as he grabs onto the cuff of the smaller Mandalorians neck covering and throws him with little exertion to the floor. You hear the crunching of glass beneath Raul’s boots as he growls with a foot on pressing to Enzo’s chest in an effort to force him into submission.

“-I wish you guys wouldn’t always do this.” You sigh, not bothering to shout anymore over the sound of beskar scraping against beskar.

You slide from your seat, taking your sandwich with you as you circle around the room to avoid becoming collateral damage in the red Mandalorian’s show of dominance.

“I have never witnessed two people fight over something so stupid in my life!” You call out behind you, tearing a piece of your sandwich off and popping it into your mouth. Leaving the sound of metal crashing against stone behind you.

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

You sigh when you finally reach your room, ascending the steps inside your chambers to reach the bedroom. You’re about to sit down on the bed when you catch sight of your reflection, covered in dust patches and knee stains from when you scrubbed against the floor.  You opt to take a quick shower instead, washing out all the grime gathered in your hair and skin.

It takes a couple minutes of harsh scrubbing for the water to stop running off your body brown. You take extra care to wash behind your ears and around your hairline, where dirt likes to plant itself firmly.

You turn the water off when the last few soap suds slide off your hair, wrapping yourself in a warm towel.

Taking a glance out the window, you note that the suns are already setting low on the horizon, and resign yourself to just staying in for the rest of the night.

You pull on a slip dress and wrap yourself in Boba’s robe, inhaling his comforting, musky scent. You reach for your book on the nightstand before lighting a couple of candles around the space, creating a warm and cozy environment.  

Satisfied with the aesthetic you set around you, you plop down on your bed and hope to get a few chapters into your novel before Boba gets home. Admittedly getting distracted a couple times by the stunning, shaded view out your window, exposing you to the last few moments of the captivating sunset.  

Boba comes home a little over an hour later, the glow in your chambers now reduced to only a few lamps and the candlelight spread about your room, but enough to alert Boba of your presence.

You hear his heavy armored footsteps trudging up towards the bedroom. You turn your head expectantly when he reaches the top. Helmet in hand, he pauses for a moment upon seeing you, admiring the image of your figure wrapped up in his robe and curled up with a book, before stepping forward and greeting you with a kiss.

He pulls back, gaze immediately flickering to the window, probably having noticed it immediately upon entering the room but choosing to greet you before acknowledging it.

You groan internally, knowing what's coming.

“Mesh’la,” He hums, frowning at the open curtains exposing you to the darkness of the Tatooine night. A few dim lights from Mos Eisley shining in the distance. He steps forward to slide the curtains closed, you don’t complain, only having wanted them open for sunset. “What have I told you, little one? It's not safe to have these open.”

“I only just opened them, Boba.” You fib a little, hoping to reassure him.

He nods, unconvinced, before beginning to strip himself of his armor. You observe him unlatch the beskar piece-by-piece, placing the armor neatly in its designated chest.

He groans loudly when he sinks down beside you, arms raising behind his head.

You giggle at his tired show of soreness, eyes still glued to the pages of your book. “Old man,” You mutter.

“Watch it.” He growls lowly. You glance a peek at him, eyes closed heavily against his cheeks.

You ponder your bravery for a moment, sticking your nose back in your book before impulsively whispering, “Relic.” You shriek, bursting into a fit of laughter as he suddenly reaches over and wrestles the book out of your hands, using it to plant a harsh smack on your behind.

“Boba Fett!” You squeal, hands moving to shield your bum as the vibrations from his deep laugh shake the bed.

Still holding the book up in a threatening manner, a childlike gleam in his eyes, he challenges you, “Apologize.”

You consider tossing another remark out, eyes darting to the book in his hand, before deciding against it tonight.

Instead, you hoist yourself up onto your knees, allowing his robe to slowly slide down your form and meet the duvet, revealing the thin slip below. His closed-lip smile increases a little, eyes tracing down your form, book lowering slightly in the space above where he lay.

You crawl forward until your chest hovers above him, noses nearly touching, “My apologies, my king.” You whisper, pressing a kiss to his lips.

He deepens the kiss with a groan, your hand reaching back to grip your novel, which he allows you to slip from his fingers.

You let him attack you lips for another moment before you pull away. Having gotten what you wanted, you shift back to your side of the bed, turning to the page you left off at.

A deep chuckle rumbles out from Boba’s chest. “Alright, little one.” He says, “I'll let you play your game.”

He turns the light out on his side of the bed, pulling the blankets out and over the two of you before moving to embrace your form, leaning close to whisper in your ear, “-this time.”

A shiver runs down your spine and you try to resist the smile tugging at your lips, though you feel his own brushing against your ear in satisfaction.

“Tomorrow,” He says, shifting a little above you, “I’m heading into Mos Eisley with Fennec.

“What for?” You ask, finally marking your page and setting it aside.

“Nothing,” He grumbles, “I need to put on a little show of...authority, for a few people.”

You hum, “No big deal?” You question.

“Just a local inconvenience.” He gripes.

You nod slightly, not requiring any elaboration. You suppose you’ll have to entertain yourself tomorrow. “Well then, maybe I’ll have Raul teach me how to wield a dagger,” You quip, a grin back on your face.

Boba huffs out an amused puff of air, “I’d much prefer you with a blaster.” He says, apparently taking the idea seriously, “You don’t need to be up close to use it.”

“We’ll see then,” You say, standing to turn out the rest of the lights.

A single lit candle from your bedside table casts a warm glow over Boba’s face, eyes closed and head still leaning back against your bed-frame pillow.

“Get back on your side,” You chuckle, nudging him as you crawl back into your space.

“M’fine here.” He mumbles, leaning further over onto your pillow.

You smile, his body encasing yours and his nose presses into your neck.

“I’ll be fine here too you know.” You mutter, referencing the day you’ll be spending without his guard. 

“You finally gonna stop worrying about me?” You tease, having received no response.

He shakes his head, snuggling deeper into your neck, “Never.”

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

A/N pt.2:  So I wrote this and I thought it was great then I read it back a few times and realized literally nothing happened haha im so sorry 😅😅😅

Literally spent too many hours on this not to upload though so I suppose here’s a filler chapter my bad lots of love 🥰

[thero0ks]

Would You Want to Start Tonight? <Erwin Smith NSFW!>

Forgive us Commander for we have sinned.

NSFW! DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18!

Erwin wants to start a family. Erwin and the reader decide to get started.

Erwin is the king of dirty talk, and you can't convince me otherwise. Tried to make it a little spicey...let me know what you think.

Horror came across his face as she dumped ingredients in. A half used cookbook was thrown open, “half a teaspoon of chili powder.” He heard her scoff as she threw the spoon on the counter sprinkling the spice right from the jar. It wasn’t even a measuring spoon she’d been using. Just the smaller set of spoons they kept in the drawer. 

The only woman who could ever rattle that stoic face of his had somehow agreed to be his wife three years ago. His complete opposite, he found himself drawn to her spontaneous chaos.

He leaned against the wall watching her dance around the kitchen to music that was at a volume one would expect from a teenager, rather than a full grown woman. After receiving a content look from their dog she’d swooped in her arms to dance with, he couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at his lips. When she finally noticed his presence she placed the dog back on the floor who already looked eager for more of her attention. 

The warmth that came from her smile was drawing him to her. “Erwin, you’re home early.” On tiptoes to give him a kiss he felt her hands on his tie pulling him closer to her lips. The kiss was short and sweet, and he found himself following close behind her as she turned her attention back to the stove. Her hips fit in his palms as he rested his chin on her head. Liquid eyes observing the ingredients. His mind trailed back to the set of measuring spoons his mother had gifted her, it seemed he wasn’t the only one who didn’t fully understand the wild being in his hands. Somehow her dishes always turned out better than the recipes, and he quickly learned to not question her. 

“How was work?” She inquired, and this was his typical que to unload. He sighed, getting all his work troubles off his mind. She never understood his passion for work, but she supported him regardless. Different things made people tick, and Erwin’s was always work. “Mike thinks we can win the case, but it’ll be a gamble.” He concluded with a sigh. 

Pouring him a brandy she handed him the glass before gesturing to the table before bringing the plates over. “How was work for you?” He inquired as she poured a glass of wine.

“Ugh, don’t make me think of that place.” She groaned. 

“That good?” He couldn’t stop the smile at her dramatics.

She took a seat offering him a smile in return. “It was fine, I’d just rather not be there.” She said simply, taking a sip of her wine. 

“You know you don’t have to work, I make more than enough money.” He stated, eyeing her as she bit her lip.

“What else would I do? Besides, if I quit my mother would feel inclined to start asking about grandchildren.” 

Erwin’s eyes flickered up, watching her push her food around. “Would that be such a bad thing?” 

Surprised eyes observed him, “are you hinting at something?” 

Erwin shrugged, “we have been married for three years, I’ve settled into my career, we’ve bought a house...isn’t it the next logical step?” 

Erwin was always the planner. Everything had an order, and his life seemed to be stepping stones, every step marking a new achievement in his life. He’d always managed to stay on the straight and narrow. Perfect grades, perfect school, perfect job, and the perfect house. 

Y/N felt like he was always achieving the impossible. Whenever she created plans they tended to blow up in her face. Looking back at all of the choices she made there never was a mistake, life just decided to blow her completely off course, and she always found herself playing catch-up. Erwin being drawn to her like a magnet seemed like dumb luck. How did a mess like her fit into his perfectly tailored life?

“I know you’re worried you’ll be like your father, but I know you.” Erwin said softly, “you would be the perfect mother.” Those baby blue eyes of his didn’t hold a hint of doubt. He knew how to charm people with a simple gaze, he also knew how to use them to solidify a point. 

Y/N rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, “you didn’t know me before…” The statement died on her lips as she gripped her fork. 

Erwin’s eyes softened, “you’re right, because you aren’t that person anymore.” His voice was soft, and Y/N knew her resolve was crumbling. He knew the art of negotiating, that’s why he was so good at his job. He reached for her hand, stroking it gently with his thumb, “you take care of everyone, and you don’t see how perfect you are.” 

Glistening eyes snapped up at him, “you put everyone first, and can overthink yourself into oblivion.” He mused, his eyes were honest and full of adoration. “You always seem to know what’s truly important, whereas I tend to have a one track mind.” He said, running his fingers through his hair. He never was good at admitting his own shortcomings, he had a tendency to hold himself to an impossible standard. 

“Okay.” 

Erwin’s head snapped up, “okay? As in you want this?” 

Y/N nodded, “yes Erwin. I want this.” She said softly, and she soon found herself engulfed in his arms. 

Erwin was the catalyst that always drove her forward. Perhaps the reason her plans never worked out, was because that wasn’t what fate had in mind. Erwin seemed to always find the right timing on these things. He’d been the one to mention buying a house, and she’d initially agreed, because she thought it would make him happy, but as he pressed his lips against her’s she realized that she wouldn’t have had the courage to take the next step if he hadn’t already paved the way.  

Erwin cradled her face, and the excitement that flashed in his eyes brought a smile to her face. “Would you want to start tonight?” 

Y/N nodded, and found herself being lifted into his arms and carried up the stairs. Kisses being peppered down her neck. 

Her back made contact with the covers as Erwin hovered over her, capturing her lips with his. Running his tongue across her bottom lip she allowed him to deepen the kiss. She could taste Pinot Grigio on his tongue. Warm hands slid up her neck to entangle in her hair. Pulling away his eyes were clouded with lust, as he took in her disheveled appearance.

“Strip.” He ordered.

Loosening his tie with his free hand he watched her undress. Grabbing her wrists he slipped the silky material around her wrists before pulling tight. She let out a small squeak at the pressure, and saw the feral look in his eye. Running his hands up her body making sure to take his time whenever her body shuddered at his touch. 

Lifting her onto the bed his lips traveled down her naked flesh. Pushing her arms above her head so her breasts were on display. “You’re perfect.” He breathed, soft eyes flickering over the plains of her body. She was soft in all the right places, and he drank her body in like a man starved. 

His fingers ran over her breasts, causing her to arch into his touch. Desperate for more. A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips as he leaned forward to capture a nipple in his mouth. A needy moan escaped her lips at the sensation, rolling her other nipple with his thumb it sent fire straight to her core. He continued his ministrations until she was squirming under him desperate for any friction between her legs. 

“Tell me what you want.” Erwin said, nipping her breast. 

“I want you between my thighs.” She begged, her wrists pulling at the restraints. 

Erwin pulled away, and she let out a small whine from the loss of contact. Her eyes were immediately drawn to his hands unbuttoning his shirt. Leaning forward to get a better view of his exposed skin, she licked her lips eager to see more of him. 

The man was sculpted like a Greek god. His muscles moved under his skin as he finished stripping his shirt.

Settling between her knees he ran his hands under her thighs. Gripping her thighs he tugged her to the edge of the bed. Glistening eyes gazed up from between her legs as he slowly kissed up her inner thighs.

Settling on her mound he placed a small kitten lick, causing her legs to flex with a sharp inhale of breath. A knowing smirk crossed his lips as he drew a finger down her slit. “Mmm already this wet?” Slipping a finger inside he started to work her until he slipped a second in. Heady eyes watched her squirm as he rubbed tight circles on her g-spot. Holding her in place he dipped his head to suck on her bundle of nerves. 

Thighs clamped around his head as she begged for him to continue. Promising she was so close to the edge. Feeling her pulsing around his fingers he drug out her orgasm until her juices ran down his face. She was panting when her thighs finally released him.

Shoving his fingers in her mouth she eagerly sucked, “am I going to feel those pretty lips on my cock?” Retracting his fingers for her to answer his thumb played with her bottom lip as his wet fingers gripped her chin. 

“Yes.” She whimpered, and he paused giving her a stern look. “Yes what?” 

“Yes sir,” she said leaning into his touch, eager to please.

“Good girl.” He mused, reaching for the tie, releasing the silk binding. He settled against the headboard as she climbed over him eagerly. Trailing her lips down his body, leaving soft nips eager to watch his body shutter. Settling between his thighs her eyes flickered up to see one arm propped behind his head, and piercing eyes watching her every move. His muscles shifted as he grew impatient of her staring, but predatory eyes dared her to keep looking, eager to punish her for teasing. Tentatively she sucked a hickey above his dick, and felt a large hand bury itself in her hair. 

Drawing her tongue up his cock she popped the tip in her mouth swirling her tongue. An exasperated moan escaped his lip, and Y/N loved how eager he was. Erwin ever the gentleman just gripped her hair allowing her to tease his length as she slowly bobbed her head. When she finally took him deep, she peered up at him to see his head thrown back, holding back from shoving himself deeper down her throat. It wasn’t until she started sucking with the bottom of her throat that Erwin’s grip on her hair tightened, and he couldn’t stop the “fuck.” that escaped his lips. Releasing him with a pop he stroked her face, dazed at how quickly she had brought him to the edge. 

Crawling up the mattress to settle between his thighs, he ran his fingers down her body. “You’re just asking to be fucked.” 

“Hands and knees.” He ordered pressing her face into the mattress. Running his dick  through her folds he felt her hips wiggle against him eager to feel him inside her. “Look at you cock starved.” 

“Please Erwin.” Y/N begged, gripping the sheets.

“Please what?” 

“Fuck me, please.” 

In one stroke he filled her. Her sharp intake of breath made his brain want to short circuit. “Fuck you’re tight.” He growled, feeling her grip him. Bringing his hand down on her ass she pushed into him, trying to pull him deeper. “That’s for teasing me earlier.” He said, gripping her delicate skin rubbing any sting it left into pleasure. He hadn’t planned on starting slow tonight, and by the way she was meeting his thrust she hadn’t either. The brutal pace he set had her mewling into the mattress as her hands gripped the sheets desperate for anything to ground her. 

Reaching between her legs he started rubbing quick circles on her clit. “I know you’re close baby, cum for me.” He murmured in her ear. Her breathing had progressively gotten shallower the closer she was to the edge. As soon as she heard those words a damn broke and her second orgasm washed through her. “Fuck you’re taking me so good.” He praised, and she felt his blond hair tickle her back as he leaned over her, the pleasure being too much as her orgasm pulsed around his cock. With a few more strokes he found his own release, cumming inside her. 

Pulling out he pulled her in close. “You did so good.” He hummed, kissing her temple. 

Soft eyes gazed up at him, “I love you.” She said softly, bringing a smile to his face.

He would never tire from hearing those words from her mouth. “I love you too.” He said, pulling her in for a kiss. 

“Let me run a bath.” He said softly, but she grabbed his arm before he could slip away. 

“Stay.” It came out as a content whisper. “For just a little longer.”

Erwin nodded, pulling her onto his chest. Stroking her hair as she traced shapes on his chest, listening to the beating of his heart. The prospect of a family warming his heart. 

[graceslavenderhaze]

fight night  (jatp crew x reader)

readers home life hasn’t been the best and they’ve been lying to their friends about it. one night it all builds up and the reader shows up to julies, distraught. ( for this the boys are alive bc it just worked out best but other than that no changes.)

this has been sitting in my drafts so i thought i’d post it

trigger warning: family fights, anxiety, depression, past talk of eating disorders.

For a long time you use to just keep everything buried down. That was your fatal flaw. It wasn’t a trust issue, you just always had this feeling that if no one knew then everything would be fine. But your family had lately been falling apart, your parents always seemed disappointed in you, you were fighting with your siblings more and it felt it a ballon that kept on expanding. you didn’t know when everything was going to explode it just kept getting worse.

Today was the exploding point. It seemed like no matter what you did, it just wasn’t good enough. You were the black sheep in your family, they made you out to be it. They complained about how you dressed, what your room looked like, the music you played, the people you hung out with, and for what? You didn’t do anything that was textbook problem child material. 

You tried your hardest in school, you never asked for much, you cleaned almost everyone’s mess at home, and after a while that became your routine. Never be seen, never be heard and never get any credit for everything you do. Meanwhile your siblings, little miss perfect and the star academic got everything you wanted. Your parents attention, their approval, and their constant reassurance. 

By the time you were in high school, you were emotionally independent. A stranger to your own family pretty much. You went to an art school along with your siblings. Even as the oldest, you quickly fell into their shadows. Your sister a musical protégé on the violin, your parents paid for the best lessons, and without a doubt she’ll probably attend some ivy league. Your brother was in the advanced academics program, with yale and harvard already offering him scholarships in his sophomore year. Then there was you. You were in the art program, and while your teacher swears that all the top art schools have you on their radar. You still felt insignificant.

You worked a weekend job at the local coffee shop, latte love , it wasn’t everything but it helped pay for art supplies for you to build your portfolio. Their you met Julie Molina and Flynn Davis. Two girls who were your age, they attended the music program at your art school. You recognized them, Julie had been like the sun at the school. In the hallways always smiling and then her mom died, the sun went away hidden behind clouds. While Flynn was unapologetically herself and didn’t backdown from telling people how things were, she was fearless. They were also probably the first two people who knew your siblings and were able to separate you from them. 

Then later on in the year the three of you met Luke, Alex and Reggie. Latte Love was hosting its monthly open mic night. It was almost a year after Julie’s mom died, so in an attempt to coax her back into music, Flynn brought her around. You offered free hot chocolate on the house as a bribe if she wanted to come. After an hour of mainly middle schoolers trying to face stage fright, soccer parents who desperately tried to hold onto their high school garage band phase and any other mediocre act who gave it their all in effort. Sunset Curve preformed. 

That night honestly sent all six of your lives’ into a full spiral but in the best way. A month after you had met sunset curve, they formed a band with Julie and became, Julie and the Phantoms. Flynn becoming the band manager and you being the artist for ticket designs, posters and anything else. It helped distract you from everything going on in your life and with your friends you didn’t feel left out or the black sheep. You were you and they loved you for all of it. 

But you could only be happy for so long. Your family always managed to make you feel horrible about yourself, this week had felt like the worst its ever been. Your sister being recruited for a summer symphony in Australia, your brother would be off at a stem camp and your summer plans were just to work, make art and hang with your friends. Your family wasted no time in telling you that you were wasting your time, or that it was just some silly childish thing. They didn’t understand how big Julie and the Phantoms were becoming. The latest gig being opening for panic at the disco at the Orpheum. 

You couldn’t take it anymore, which is how you ended up walking to Julie’s house right in the beginning of a thunderstorm. When you finally made it to Julie’s front stoop you were drenched head to toe. Julie being the one to pull you in the front door. In her oversized smiley face sweatshirt and baggy sweats. The movie night dress code.

“Did you walk here?” She exclaims looking at the outdoor storm and turning back to her best friend. Your eyes red from crying and cheeks raw from wiping your tears rapidly. She’d been expecting you for weekly movie night, especially since her dad and brother had been away for a baseball game for the weekend. Just not in this state.

“More like swam.” You replied with a dry laugh. Trying to desperately hold yourself together. Knowing your friends were all in the living room, you didn’t want to burden them with your breakdown. 

“Hey was that the chinese food! Y/n? Whats wrong bean?” Flynn stated her mood changing halfway through the sentence noticing the state of their best friend. Who looked like she’d just had the world’s worst day. You smiled fondly at the nice name she’d given you, which was a coffee pun. 

“Family shit. Like always.” You said looking down at the floor and the puddle that you were slowly dripping onto the Molina residence’s welcome mat. Both girls smiled sympathetically, they had their fair share of stories of how bad things could get at the L/n household. 

“Come on! It’s movie night, you’re getting into cozy clothes and having junk food with your friends.” Julie said taking your hand and leading you upstairs to her room. Julie handed you spare clothes due to you being completely soaked. Then a towel to dry yourself off.

“Here, once you’re ready to come downstairs, we can put your stuff into the dryer.” Julie said smiling at her friend before leaving to give her privacy. Taking the towel she gave you and trying to dry your hair. Then changing into the cozy clothes she gave you. Your phone blowing up from texts from your family. Your parents wanting to know where you were. Not caring how hurt you were. Your siblings saying half assed apologies they didn’t mean. They’d done this before and they’d do it again. 

Ignoring the messages, you walked back downstairs. The comforting smell of chinese food wafting at you. Julie, Alex and Flynn stood at the table. Meanwhile Luke and Reggie were were at the local 7/11 getting slushies. 

“Did anyone order a hot mess?” You said jokingly getting their attention. Alex standing up and instantly hugging you as if he’d never see you again. Hugging him back. Alex’s hugs always felt as if it was a cloud. 

The Molina residence house phone then rang, the caller id labeling your house. “We can just let it go to message.” Julie said turning back from the phone to you. You shook your head, “I’m so over this bullshit.” Walking over to the phone you picked it up. 

“Hello ever so loving parental unit.” You said with sarcasm dripping off every word. “Pop off!” Flynn said as she bit into a dumpling. You bit back a smile. “Where are you? You can’t run out because you’re upset.” You heard your mom say. You rolled your eye. 

“Where i am every friday night. I told you in advance i had plans so when you take your attention span off miss perfect and genius boy remember you have a third fucking child. Goodnight!” You said promptly and then hung up placing the phone back on back on its home base. “Beyoncé would approve.” Flynn said clapping for dramatic effect.

“How much trouble are you going to be in for that?” Alex said passing your usual that Julie knew to order for you, you shrugged. “Bold of you to assume they’ll remember to ground me.” 

“Wow what a rag tag group of mommy and daddy issues we are.” Reggie announced as he placed the tray of slushies down on the counter. “Excuse you!” Julie exclaimed as she took a slip of her blueberry slushie. “She’s dead, that’s an issue.” Flynn said as she grabbed her green apple one. You choked on your food for a second, “Out of pocket!” 

“She’s right babe.” Luke said hugging her from behind. “You have mommy issues too.” Julie said turning around slightly. “Only the hottest people have both mommy and daddy issues!” Alex exclaimed holding a hand of for you and Reggie to high five. 

“My back hurts from having a healthy parental relationship and carrying that standard.” Flynn said cracking open her fortune cookie. You laughed looking around at your dysfunctional friend group. 

“We are all going to hell for these jokes alone.” You said taking a sip of your slushie. Reggie scoffed, “We’re just warming up.” 

[heart-forge]

Hi, do you ever get sad or lose confidence in your writing? Sorry if this is a bit depressing. I really enjoy your writing and I'm having a crisis over my own. Hope you're having a great day.

Oh absolutely. Oh for sure. And it’s a little trite to say “everyone feels that way” but it’s the nature of humans that I am constantly telling my beloved friends that their work is fantastic and even on bad days if there’s anything wrong with it, it’s clearly because they’re working through a brain fog so thick with agony from the struggle associated with being alive (to say nothing of the year of pandemic, uncertain and constantly moving goal posts associated with literally any professional work, and historic job insecurity) that it’s just something that happened to slip through the cracks and is by no means a reflection of them as a creator...

...but you know, when we ourselves do it it’s actually bad and realtime proof that all our illusions of progress and hard earned skill are finally disappating into the smoke that they are, revealing us nakedly in the light as frauds.

One thing I associate with myself a lot is the fear that my work is like. Good enough, you know, as in it’s not anyone’s favourite but it’ll do in a pinch, or that it’s secretly super cringe content that people consume in private but isn’t fit to really hang my hat on as art I have made. Or, that I’m slowly disappointing people: that the quality of every chapter is slowly falling, and that people will eventually lose interest altogether as chapters slowly become meandering, boring, and totally nonsensical.

One important thing to remember is that like, obviously that isn’t true, but also that the most bullheaded and stubborn way we have to deal with this lie is to keep making things anyway. I put chapters out when they’re done even if I’m self-conscious about them, because I’m self-conscious about them due to my impossible standards for myself and nobody else and that’s no reason to torment myself.

I think another thing we have to just kind of settle into is the idea that making things just feels kinda bad sometimes? It feels good enough that you keep going but also like...sometimes we just feel bad, as people, through no fault of our own with no real solution other than to work through it. That’s kind of the point of self-care, no? Sometimes we just feel bad and it’s more useful for us to understand that a shower and some ice cream will make us feel better than it is to try and reckon with the philosophical concepts of art and perfection and how they intersect with capitalism to destroy our self worth.

Also a very good not-so-secret-secret that @leylses articulated to me [time] ago, is that if it feels really bad and you’re constantly in a foggy miserable muck..........................stop doing it. You don’t have to stop forever and it’s not a failure on your part, but why keep forcing yourself to walk on a broken leg? Lemme find the TikTok....

This one from ghosthoney on TikTok !! This is actually a Twitter link but that’s the only place I could find the video RIP but anyway there’s captions on the video but the gist and most important takeaway is when he says “if you’re an artist you’re always going to be an artist and no amount of time you spend away from creating is ever going to change that”. 

You can just....not do a thing if it’s making you miserable, and I’ve met a lot of professionals (and have friends who have met professionals) where it’s definitely been a case of babe, the solution to your problem is to take a break. Not like an hour or a weekend or that thing where you take a week but you’re just counting down to when you have to get back to it......if you’re like PEAK miserable all the time, stop walking in your broken leg. Artists need to consume content too so rather than worry about quality and quantity, do what you gotta do. Whether that thing is powering through, treating yourself kindly, or being like “actually fuck this” and playing video games instead.

[mooswords]

Know him when you see him

Pairing: miya atsumu x reader

Word count: 1.5k

Tags: spy au, atsumu is attractive and he knows it

Ramblings: this was meant to be a short piece to practice writing metaphores and then somehow it ended up a full fic? and i lowkey love it? oops

---

They don’t realize how much of an art it is - concealing the everything of what you are and becoming something, someone completely new. 

You can paint over an image a hundred times, but the original will always poke through. Somehow, somewhere, if you don’t handle yourself with care, chips of vermillion and kohl will fall away to reveal the canvas underneath. 

And the only way to stop your carefully crafted picture from fading is to add more layers, so you thicken the colour of your accent, add an extra layer of velvet under your words, spread a bright shade of allure onto your lips. Because to walk into the White Eagle anything less than a perfectly crafted masterpiece is asking for trouble.

Not to say you weren’t looking for a specific kind of trouble tonight.

(“Oh, you’ll know him when you see him,” Osamu said, lazy eyes glinting with amusement. You had turned to eye Kita, questioning if you really had to take vague orders from the cook of all people.

He has the decency to look apologetic. “Standard protocol for contacting deep cover agents. You know we can’t give you a specific description.”)

The bar is hazy; lavish and warm, the very picture of elegance. Sharply dressed people duck into curtained alcoves, ice clinks in nursed drinks. The woman in the corner of the room curls around a microphone, her low crooning innocently covering the casual threats slipped between wisps of smoke. Someday you'll come back for the blood money being exchanged under the table, but tonight you start your search where every good mission starts. 

The ashy haired bartender leans across the bar towards you, resting casually on his elbows. “What’s your poison, sweetheart?”

“Hmmm...” You tuck a carefully manicured hand under your chin. “Something sweet tonight, I think.”

It’s strange, watching this lethal man pour your drink with such delicate care. Idly, you wonder if his work with a sniper rifle is just as captivating. There is a hint of flair in his fluid movements that is entrancing, a performance you can well appreciate. Your own art is similar, a careful dance between too many bold strokes and too little detail - adding enough colour to leave an impression, to draw the eye, but never letting yourself come too sharply into focus. 

When he sets the glass on the bar, you create a tantalizing moment of brushing fingers, dusting rose pink over your cheeks. He grins across at you, and you swivel on the stool before he gets too close.

Quietly, you survey the gallery of men laid before you. There’s a solemn man in the corner, his dark quietness offset by the bright splash next to him who lounges with feet propped on a lacquered table; a quiet, dispassionate-looking boy with a fresh scar tearing through his face and hair hanging over his eyes. All eye-catching for sure, but they don’t quite fit the description. And the-

Your eyes meet across the smoky room and oh, this is what they meant by you’ll know him when you see him. You had expected trouble. You hadn’t prepared for bleach-blond hair and a lazy, all too familiar glint in all too familiar eyes.

He meanders over, brazenly eyeing you up and down. You entered tonight with a full coat of armour, but you can feel his raking gaze stripping the paint back, layer by layer.

A hand is presented to you. Arching an eyebrow, all you offer him in return is an amused look.

“C’mon.” His grin is roguish. “What’s the point of lookin’ that good if you can’t be shown off?”

(The true masters know how to blur the line between realism and fantasy; you wonder how many layers deep he had to thicken that smile to make it bleed such confidence. You wonder if he even remembers what his canvas looks like, untouched by false colour.)

“And what makes you think you’re the right person to do so?” You ask coyly, even as you slip your hand into his.

He winks. “Takes one to know one, sweetheart.”

The dance floor is empty as you sculpt yourself against him, following the line of his shoulder a shade tighter than you may have otherwise. Draping an arm around his shoulders, you sweep a soft exhale across the juncture of his neck; just to see what he’ll do. 

The arm on your waist tightens, and you smother your smile into his chest.

“Careful, doll. I might think you’re only here for my good looks.” 

“Perhaps I am.” Carefully, you lay the first stroke of ink that only he should recognise. “Though, I have to admit - I’m not sure about the blonde.”

“What you got against my hair, huh?”

“Not really your colour,” you tell him, streaking a dusky look up at him through your lashes. “Dye your hair grey and maybe we can talk.” 

He returns the look, a hint of reproach and his own shade of intelligence mixed in. “Ahh, and here I was thinking you were a woman of taste.”

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong,” you ask in mock-reproach, tapping a finger against his shoulder, “but it's the other one that knows about taste, right?” 

You both take a moment to inspect the recognition, checking the authenticity of the piece before you. There’s mutual acknowledgement in the press of your cheek against his dark suit, in the squeeze of his hand around yours as he dips his head next to yours.

Enamoured as you are by the graze of lips against your ear, you almost miss the first number he murmurs. But you are a professional, so you brush black over the sensation and print the digits into your memory. If you were to hazard a guess, they’re probably coordinates and a time, but Kita never specified and you never asked. 

Really, you’re more intrigued by the man in front of you. He’s a mess of clashing colours seamlessly blended into a living sculpture of sly charm and sharp eyes. A different breed to the Shiratorizawa strength to be sure, but he weaves his contrast in among them like his organic nature has always matched with their regimented style. 

And then, cold against your back, the barrel of a gun. 

“Turn around. Slowly,” the measured voice behind you instructs.

His eyes are wiped spotless in a heartbeat, a perfectly depicted image of shock. A little too perfect if you were going to be critical, but you have a feeling that’s his style - perfection that demands to be admired.

His eyes duck down, barely a flicker, and you almost laugh. It’s cute that he thinks you needed a hint to where his gun is, like you didn’t know the moment you laid hands on him.

All it takes is one clean movement to rip away your carefully crafted layers of guile. You sweep the gun from inside his jacket and whirl around with it pressed to his head. He stiffens against you, and you wonder if he really is surprised this time or just playing the part.

“No-one move,” you tell the room cooly.

“What makes you think he can get you out of here alive?” Mr dark-and-quiet asks.

“Well, you haven’t shot me yet,” you drawl, beginning to back away towards the door with him still pressed into your arms. “So I’m just gonna assume he isn’t disposable.”

You leave a trail of narrowed eyes and pressed lips in your wake. The red head looks especially antsy, you note with a touch of satisfaction, though at this point it doesn't seem like you're going to live to tell the tale. 

You are all too aware that your control of the room is fraying at the edges, unravelling with every move you make in their sights. There is a certain thrill that comes in these moments, in finding a way to twist the loose ends back into an advantage, but-

A bullet zips past your cheek. 

-rope burn is always an occupational hazard.

The room shatters, and you dive out the door with a snap of silk skirts. He is right there by you, pulling you up by the elbow as the night explodes with revving cars and blinding sparks that skitter across black tar.

You can't find it in yourself to be too disappointed. You may be a master of your performance, a flawlessly choreographed ballet, but you can't deny that improvising is so much more fun. The addition of him - cut from the same cloth as you were, the same medium just in a different colour - only expands your canvas of possibilities. 

"What’s the plan?” he calls, nothing more than a blur in your periphery as you streak along the street. His gold frame may be gone, unnecessary now the audience refuses to be blinded by his glitter, but you admire how he still moves in the same perfect lines.

“Don’t know yet," you yell back. He scoffs, and you flick him a grin drenched in adrenaline. 

"Don't worry, sweetheart" you tell him, watching your glee splatter against his unconvinced look. "I’ll know it when I see it."

[flatsuke]

Webtoon Recommendations

I’ve spent a lot of time reading webtoons lately, so I wanted to recommend some of my faves! 

The following are my personal thoughts and insights on some of the webtoons I’ve read:

1. The Evil Lady’s Hero

Status: Ongoing

Genre: Comedy, Drama, Fantasy, Josei, Romance, Isekai

Pros: I’m really enjoying the direction of this webtoon! The heroine is genre-savvy and full of guile, while the male lead is sweet....but with many hidden layers inside. I can tell this is a character-driven webtoon and not a plot-drive one (not that I mind), so most of the focus is on the chemistry between the two, and boy do they have chemistry and sexual tension. In particular, I really like the fact that it doesn’t feel too wish fulfillment-y, like most webtoons do.

Cons: It took a while for the art style to grow on me.

2. Who Made Me A Princess

Status: Ongoing

Genre: Comedy, Fantasy, Romance, Shoujo, Slice of Life, Isekai

Pros: First of all, the art is just amazing. I feel like Spoon puts so much thought and effort into every little detail (Athy’s outfits!!) in the webtoon, and I really appreciate that. Also, the plot is pretty compelling imo! The base plot is similar to a standard isekai, but the way the author executes the concept to make it into something compelling really blows me away. There are times when this webtoon gets really emotional and cathartic, and I think those moments of poignant storytelling are what sets this webtoon apart from the rest.

Cons: The pacing gets a little slow come Season 2, but it picks up again after a while!

3. Death is the Only Ending for the Villainess

Status: Ongoing

Genre: Drama, Fantasy, Historical, Psychological, Romance, Shoujo, Isekai

Pros: This webtoon is VERY cathartic (probably the most cathartic one I’ve ever read so far). I really sympathized with the heroine’s pain from the beginning, and every moment she interacts with the people around her (especially her prospective love interests) has me on the edge of my seat. Yes, the plot was probably designed to make the audience sympathize with her and woobify her (as most revenge reincarnation webtoons do), but I feel like this one does so without overdoing it and slipping into soap opera territory. 

Cons: I normally don’t mind character-driven stories (as I think they’re more fun to read), but I do want to see some type of external conflict drive the plot aside from the heroine’s own issues.

4. The Villain’s Savior

Status: Ongoing

Genre: Drama, Fantasy, Josei, Romance, Tragedy, Isekai

Pros: The male lead for sure. He’s manipulative, conniving, vindictive, and obsessive — all under a princely facade. Though this might not be everyone’s cup of tea, I really liked how his inner darkness colored his interactions with everyone, especially the heroine. I’m a sucker for darker male leads, and this guy really takes the cake lmao. The stakes in this webtoon are also pretty high; there’s a real sense of urgency with the rising action of the plot. Oh, and the art’s amazing, too.

Cons: Now, I don’t normally nitpick on heroines because I usually give them the benefit of the doubt (especially since most heroines are young women who’ve traveled through spacetime), but man....there are moments that I wish the she’d be just a tad more genre-savvy.

5. Doctor Elise

Status: Ongoing

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Shoujo, Isekai

Pros: I really enjoyed how the heroine and the male lead got together. Their chemistry felt genuine to me, and the slow buildup of their eventual relationship was such a treat to read because 1) the meet cute scenario was done well, 2) it didn’t feel forced.

Cons: Well....now that they’re officially in a relationship, I feel like the pacing slowed down significantly without any substantial conflict. Also, there are some instances with the heroine that seem a little too contrived and convenient to be chalked up to her efforts alone. 

6. Survive as the Hero’s Wife

Status: Ongoing

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Shoujo, Isekai

Pros: The slow burn between them is just so satisfying to read? Seeing the male lead’s absolute, unwavering devotion to the heroine is just hnnngh so good, especially considering this story is told in chronological order (from childhood to present).  The side characters are also a treat, especially Gracie omg. She could get a webtoon of her own and I’d read the hell out of it. 

Cons: At one point, this webtoon strayed dangerously close to misusing the dreaded misunderstanding trope, and it almost made me lose interest in it completely. Thankfully, they managed to resolve it without prolonging the drama even further.

7. Sincerely: I Became a Duke’s Maid

Status: Ongoing

Genre: Comedy, Drama, Fantasy, Romance, Shoujo, Isekai

Pros: Really nice buildup of the relationship. The pacing isn’t too rushed or slow in my opinion, and seeing how the male lead fell for the heroine felt really natural to me. I can also sense the impending conflict looming with the introduction of the new characters. I just know Big Suffering is coming and I’m excited!

Cons: None so far, actually! 

8. The Blood of Madame Giselle

Status: Ongoing

Genre: Adult, Drama, Fantasy, Historical, Josei, Mature, Romance, Smut

Pros: THE BEST FOR LAST!! Wow, where do I even begin? First of all, the art is just so good, and wow they really nailed the designs for the heroine and the male lead? Character-wise, I’d say the heroine (Giselle) is my favorite webtoon heroine? She’s a cynical and tragic person trying to find some semblance of happiness in her miserable life. The male lead is an enjoyable mix of endearing and sensual (yes, you heard me!), and that makes for great chemistry between the two. The conflict is slowly brewing, and I can’t wait to see certain characters getting what they deserve lol. Also, the sex scenes are hot lmao.

Cons: NONE. I’d have to say this is my favorite webtoon so far.

[sylvanfreckles]

Eye of the Beholder

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: Sam encourages Cas to try to express himself by taking up drawing. It seems to be a lost cause...until Castiel tries to draw Sam’s soul.

(Something warm and soft and hopeful after FebuWhump)

* * *

Sam leaned  against the low wall surrounding the picnic area park and let his head tip back to catch the warmth from the sun. They'd hit this town to check on rumors of a demonic possession at the local college, only to find Claire and Kaia had beat them here and pretty much had the whole thing taken care of. Now, he was enjoying just keeping an ear on the banter as Dean checked over the girls' gear and Jack chattered enthusiastically about the old fantasy novels he'd found on one of the rooms at the bunker (apparently Kaia had heard of the author and they were bonding, much to Claire's amusement).

A hint of movement at his side had him cracking one eye open to see Cas settle into a similar posture. Watching Dean and the kids with a fond look on his face, Cas caught Sam's eye with a smile. “He's good at that.”

“Dean's always been good with kids,” Sam agreed. “Probably because he still acts like he's twelve.”

Cas gave a very un-angelic snort, and Sam shifted around enough to watch the angel now. He couldn't remember when life had been this peaceful before. There were hunts still, sure, but it finally seemed like there wasn't some big bad pulling the strings behind it all. He couldn't remember a time in his life that had been like this—just the routine of the hunt and home, with their own network of friends and family.

It took him a moment to realize Cas's attention wasn't on the others anymore. The angel was looking out across the park at a mural painted on higher wall that ran around the park's perimeter. He was pretty it was a memorial to the town's history as part of the underground railroad, based on what he'd learned before they got here.

“I think the high school kids work on that every year,” Sam commented, nudging Cas with his shoulder. “When I was researching the town I found an article that said it was one of their graduating projects, and every year a group of students repairs and restores the mural.”

Cas shook his head and looked back at Sam. “Humanity's capacity for creation will always amaze me.”

Sam blinked. He hadn't...thought about it like that. Dean had always said Cas was just a weird little nerd, but was that why he always seemed to stop when he saw a statue, or a carving, or a painting? That it wasn't a type of art he preferred, but he was appreciating the human act of creating art?

“Have you ever tried?” Sam asked, trying to be casual about it. “Making something, I mean.”

The look Cas shot him was quick, but Sam thought his friend looked grieved. “Angels weren't made to create. We can only replicate.”

Sam started to protest, but hesitated. Zachariah's Beautiful Room...he'd offered Dean things from Dean's past, not some idealized thing he'd want. Gabriel had pulled from human television to make his TV world. Even Lucifer, in creating Jack, had used a human body to impregnate a human, not some celestial act of creation.

“Have you ever tried?” he repeated.

Cas pushed away from the wall. “There's enough in this world to admire,” he replied, though he wouldn't meet Sam's eyes and his shoulders remained tense. “You don't need my...'pitiful scratchings'.”

* * *

Cas's words twisted through Sam's head as he followed the others through the small downtown area back toward the hotel. Had Cas ever tried to make something around them? Had one of them said something like that? Or was this some distant event from heaven, some other angel stomping out any fraction of individuality?

He pulled up as they passed a small, disorganized craft store. “Hey, go ahead without me,” Sam called when Dean turned around. “We need a couple things.”

Sam waited until the others turned away, giving Jack a reassuring nod and smile, before pushing the door open and slipping inside the store. It was cramped inside, with shelves and bins overflowing, and the smell of cinnamon and beeswax filling the air. It wasn't completely a lie...they always needed things like natural pigments and scraps of leather for hex bags, and some places sold essential oils or crystals he liked to keep on hand for emergencies.

It just wasn't why he was here now. He squeezed past a rack of wooden beads and nearly knocked a dressmaker's mannequin over, but finally found the drawing section. The sketchbooks were easy enough to sort through—he grabbed a large one with a dark cover that had an elastic band to keep it closed when not in use. The pages were about the size of a standard sheet of printer paper, so it was big enough for Cas to have lots of room to experiment on each page but small enough to travel with him. The drawing supplies, though, were a little harder.

Sam stared at the selection of pencils, paints, and markers. If Cas had truly never tried something like this before, where could he even begin? Would he want something like colored pencils, that would have a smooth texture on the page but need to be kept sharpened? Or paints, which might be easier to blend and shade but wouldn't be portable? Or start with the very basics and get a box of crayons and hope Cas didn't think it was too childish?

A long, flat box at the end of the shelf caught his eye. Pastels. He had a flash of memory of one of Jess's friends in college who worked with pastels, the way their hands swept over the canvas to leave bright ribbons of color and then darted back to smooth and shade. Sam could suddenly imagine Cas, pastel stick in hand, a smear of pigment on his chin, brow furrowed in concentration as he filled a canvas with bright color.

He bought the sketchbook and pastels plus some silver charms to make a stronger protection hex bag for Claire's car, to make it seem like the drawing supplies had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. By the time he got back to the hotel Dean had already ordered pizza, while Kaia and Jack had Claire sandwiched between them on the couch as they tried to convince her to watch an old fantasy movie with them (Sam was on their side, Willow was awesome). Cas looked up from picking at the label on his beer bottle when Sam walked up to the table, eyes widening further in surprise when Sam set the bag from the craft store down in front of him and presented the drawing supplies with a flourish.

“I thought you might like to try,” Sam explained as he pulled out a chair and sat down next to Cas at the room's little table. “I mean, I'd kind of be interested in seeing an angel's...uh...'pitiful scratchings', you know?”

Cas hesitantly ran the tips of his fingers over the dark cover of the sketchbook. “Sam...”

“Just try?” he suggested. He scooted closer so that his shoulder brushed Cas's, knowing the physical contact helped when the angel was dealing with something new or difficult. “No one's gonna laugh if you can't do it. Well, maybe Dean, but he's an ass.”

“I heard that!” Dean shouted. As far as Sam could tell, his brother was completely focused on something on his phone. That was obviously just an automatic response.

The angel was quiet. Then, slowly, he tugged the pastels out of the bag and lifted the lid of the box. The colors almost seemed to glow under the room's overhead light, and Cas gently brushed the bright gold stick with the tip of one finger. “I'll try.”

“Good,” Sam bumped Cas's shoulder with his own, then leaned a little more closely against him, grounding him. “I can't wait.”

* * *

Sam bit his lip as he flipped through the first few pages of Cas's sketchbook. The angel leaned against the table almost despondently, arms folded across his chest and head tipped forward so that Sam couldn't see his eyes.

“These are good,” Sam said, trying to sound encouraging. “I mean, they look just like the, uh, things you were sketching. That's...that's good.”

Technically speaking, the sketches were good. There was a vase of wild flowers Kaia had put on the kitchen table the second day of her and Claire's visit. The bust of one of the old Men of Letters. Jack's profile as he read from a large leather-bound book. They were perfect and lifelike and exact, yet somehow...empty.

Cas took the sketchbook out of his hands and gently folded it closed. “Angels weren't given the breath of life,” he said, his voice quiet in the stillness of the library. “We can't...we can't create, Sam. All I can do is copy. These are copies of life.”

Sam winced. “Maybe you just need some practice. I mean, this is your first time, right? Nobody's perfect their first time.”

His friend's smile was sad when Cas finally looked up at him. “I feel no inspiration, Sam. I look at the world and nothing calls to me. The flowers and Jack...I chose those because I knew that was what a human might choose. I could have just as easily chosen the scalpels in the infirmary, or the backseat of the Impala, or every doorknob in the bunker. There's no...it's not creation, Sam. They're just copies of life.”

With a sigh, Sam ran one hand through his hair. “Cas, a lot of artists struggle with that. Maybe you just haven't found the right thing yet. With some more time I bet you could find the, the soul of a vase of flowers, or whatever.”

Cas grunted. “Flowers don't have a soul.”

“You know what I mean. Artists, they...they capture a part of themselves in the world around them. Their art reflects their own soul, you know?”

“I don't have a soul either, Sam.”

“You know what I mean.” Exasperated, Sam took a few steps away, then paced back again. “When you look at something that kind of pulls at your heart, you can make something that has a bit of your soul in it, you know? It's what humans have done for thousands of years, even longer.”

Cas let out a mournful sigh and rubbed one hand over his eyes. “If you could see your own soul you might understand,” he said wearily. “Compared to that even an angel's true form is inadequate.”

Sam huffed out a breath. He'd just wanted Cas to have a new experience, maybe find a hobby that could bring him joy. He hadn't meant to start some kind of identity crisis. Then his friend's words caught up to him. “Wait...Cas, are you saying you can see my soul?”

His friend gave him a flat look. “I am still an angel.”

“No, no, I mean...you can see my soul?”

“Of course, Sam.”

Heart pounding, Sam spread his arms out. “Then draw that!”

Cas stared at him for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “Why would you want to see something like that?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I want to see it!” Sam turned in a full circle before grabbing one of the library chairs and dragging it in front of Cas. “Is this good? Or, wait, do you need better light?” His soul through the eyes of an angel...who wouldn't want to see that?

There was still hesitation in Cas's movements as he slowly picked up his sketchbook and lifted the cover off the box of pastels. “You're sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Cas flipped to a clean page and stared over the top of the sketchbook at Sam. Sam waited, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Do you need me to do something?” he asked, when Cas made no move to start drawing.

Cas frowned, then reached in the box for a pastel. “Just talk. About one of your passions.”

A passion...okay, Sam could do that. Like Dean had always said, he was a huge nerd. “Oh, I found that book about cuneiform we were talking about,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. “You were right, the author was completely ignorant of the language schism toward the end of the Bronze Age....”

He talked on and on while Cas drew. The angel glanced up at him from time to time, a little smile brightening his face. It was almost exactly the image Sam had conjured in the craft store...Cas with a smear of pigment on his chin, bright colors filling the page in front of him. As he drew the angel seemed to relax, the perpetual slump of his shoulders easing back, the worry lines in his forehead smoothing out.

Sam could have pumped his fist in victory. He knew this had been a good idea.

Then Cas set the pastels down and hesitantly pulled the lid over the box. He seemed unsure of himself again, tipping the picture up to makes sure Sam couldn't see it.

“Is it done?” Sam asked. “Can I see?”

For a moment he was afraid Cas would refuse, then the angel slowly turned the sketchbook around.

Sam had seen human souls before...or at least he thought he had. They'd been wispy balls of bluish light, nothing too amazing. This was...this was something else.

The page was a riot of colors. Sweeping and dazzling, greens and blues with threads of red twisting through them, all turning back in on themselves over and over. There were jagged cracks in the swirling shapes, but they'd been filled in with a golden color so vivid he almost brushed his finger over the page to see if it felt warm.

“In some cultures,” Cas's voice was quiet as he explained, “when an item is broken they mend it with gold, so it is more beautiful and valuable because of the cracks.”

Sam drew in a breath. “This is how you see my soul?” The cracks...memories of Lucifer and the Cage, everything they'd lost, the darkness he'd hidden for so long...Cas saw them mended in gold?

“Oh, Sam,” Cas's hand was warm on his shoulder and he looked up, surprised to see tears in his friend's eyes. “This is you.”

He swallowed and looked back down. There was so much...so much hope. Despite it being almost incomprehensible swirls of color on paper, he could feel the hope and faith and trust nearly radiating off the page. Was this...was this really what Cas saw in him?

“Whoa, am I interrupting something?”

Sam pulled back, scrubbing a sleeve over his face. He hadn't even heard Dean coming. “We were just,” he tried to explain, gesturing at the page.

Dean was staring, tilting his head to one side. “Okay, man, call me crazy, but why does this look like Sammy?”

He let out a shaky laugh and ran his hands through his hair. “That's my soul, man.”

“You drew this, Cas?” Dean was leaning in even closer. “Ha, yeah, there's the little part that died when I told you Santa wasn't real. It really is your soul.”

Sam couldn't help but smile at his brother's antics and looked up to meet Cas's eyes. “Can I have this?”

“No way,” Dean interrupted, putting his hand on Cas's wrist.

“Dean, it's my soul.”

“Yeah. We're framing it,” Dean took a step back and held his hands up, like he was envisioning the drawing in a frame. “This is going next to the family pictures, Sammy.”

“We don't have family pictures, Dean.”

“We do now,” Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder. “You should do Jack next. I'll get 'im.”

“Wait,” Sam lunged after his brother. “What about you?”

“Not happening,” Dean replied, easily twisting away from Sam's hand. “Let me go get the kid.”

* * *

Jack, predictably, was thrilled. He sat in front of his adopted father, eyes bright, as he talked about his first memories of Castiel. Sam stood behind Cas's shoulder and watched the picture take shape—all interlocking golden halos bursting out of a dark shadow, radiating a light that was somehow yellow and blue at the same time that banished that darkness away. It was peace. It was strength. It was family.

It was Jack.

Claire and Kaia were next, crowding together into one of the big armchairs with their fingers intertwined. Sam had been expecting some kind of double drawing, maybe two pages side-by-side, but the drawing Cas produced was somehow Claire, somehow Kaia, and somehow a blend of the two of them that went beyond anything the human eye could see.

“That's what it looks like to be soulmates,” Cas explained when Sam asked.

When they went back to Jody's house with the girls, Jody sat for a drawing. Her soul was all graceful arcs swooping around a central, solid core. Sam could almost feel it extending beyond the page, pulling them all together around the woman who had chosen to care for the motherless.

There were others, as hunters checked in at the bunker or they met them in the field. Eileen's soul was a fury of purple and silver, sharp with the kind of love that dove into battle with sword held high. Bobby's was a blend of muted shades that spoke to the loss the older hunter had experienced, and his determination to carry on.

Sam was dropping a new sketchbook in Cas's room one day, a few weeks later, when he spotted a few loose papers that had fallen out of the old one. Meaning just to pick them up and shuffle them back in, he was startled to find he had a picture of Dean's soul in his hands.

It couldn't be anything else. While Sam's had had cracks mended with brilliant gold, Dean's looked like it had been broken and pushed in on itself over and over, more like overlapping plates of ice from a lake that had been melted and refrozen. There were layers and sharp edges, and a few twisting shadows of darkness that lingered in odd corners.

But it was warm. Despite the cracks and the broken parts...despite the trauma and ache and pain it was good. It was the soul of a man who loved so completely he would—and had—lay down his life for his family.

He heard a shuffle from the doorway, and turned to see Cas was standing there, staring at the paper in his hands with something like guilt on his face. “Sam, I...”

“When did you draw this?” Sam asked in a whisper. “He kept saying he didn't want you to do it.”

Cas hesitated, then approached close enough to gently take the drawing from Sam's hands. “It was from memory. Dean and I have always had a connection, since I pulled him from Hell.”

Sam almost laughed. “A more profound bond?” he teased. Cas's lips twitched in a smile and he nodded. “We should hang it up with the others.”

Shaking his head, Cas frowned down at the drawing. “He keeps saying no one would want to see it.”

“Well, he's wrong,” Sam looped an arm around Cas's shoulders. “Come on, I know where he stashed the extra frames.”

[everythinggeeky]

Learning Distraction | Kylo Ren (College AU)

Professor! Kylo Ren x Student! reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ ONLY), language, teacher/student relationship, age gap, academic dishonesty, semi-public sex, porn with plot lmao, kinda dubcon, oral (m & f receiving), rough sex, like no aftercare, kylo has no sympathy

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Professor Ren’s English 305 class was notorious for weeding out the strong students from the weak. Will your infatuation for the enthralling professor distract you from your success?

A/N: requests are open!

masterlist

Walking into the lecture hall on the first day of the semester was always a nerve-wracking experience. And on the first day of your sophomore year? Just as stressful as the first. Professor Ren’s English 305 class was described as rigorous and intense. It was a weeding course for the department, after all. It was intended to separate those who were serious about the major from those who were not. If anyone in his class showed the slightest sign of incapability or weakness, they would be dropped from the roster.

That was the agreement.

Taking your place in the second row felt comfortable. The second row shows you still care about the material but aren’t desperate for attention like all the girls in the first row; bent over in their seats, desperately scribbling down notes on Professor Ren’s lecture. Clearly distracted from his soft black waves and cleanly pressed dark button-down shirts rolled up to the elbows. 

He was intimidating. Yet charming. And you were captivated.

When Ren had opened the class with the syllabus guidelines, you were immediately overwhelmed. Would this semester even be possible with a full course load? This class alone would demand all of your attention and would occupy all of your time between lectures, study groups, and independent work and reading.

His writing standards were ridiculous and unlike any other professor you’ve ever had a class with. Single-spaced 11 point font, serif-font only. Any spelling or usage error was an automatic failure. In his opinion, an upperclassman English major wasn’t allowed to make a spelling mistake. It was lazy and proved that you were incapable. In addition to his insane writing standards, Ren had assigned multiple difficult texts for the semester that was way beyond the 300-course level. There was no way you would be able to understand anything you were reading, let alone write about it.

But damn, did he look good.

His impeccably shined shoes waltzed across the lecture hall and instantly took command of the space. All of the students in the lecture hall were equally as intimidated by the course as you were, but some did a better job of hiding it. And some, like the girls in the front in their short skirts and fluffy pens, did not hide their infatuation for the professor at all. There was no doubt they were here for one thing; a chance with the black sheep of the English department.

Over the course of the syllabus week, the front row had decreased by half. The fluffy pen girls were scared away, and you were getting pretty damn close yourself. The opening assignment was due two days ago, it required a full and detailed reading of the text. The close textual analysis was the core of the assignment. 

His prompts included trick questions and meaningless tidbits of information. He expected his students to take a strong approach to the text and defend it. SparkNotes could not save you in English 305. The remainder of the class assignments were structured exactly like this one. If you failed this first assignment, you would be removed from the roster. 

It had taken you over 12 hours to complete the first five-page assignment. In the process, you lost your mind and all confidence in reading and understanding the English language. When you submitted at the beginning of the lecture on Friday (on paper, Ren was the only professor in the department to demand it), you were just happy you didn’t have to look at the assignment anymore.

“I’ll have these graded and I’ll have individualized comments on your papers. Areas of improvement and areas of success. You are dismissed.” Professor Ren announced, not looking into the rows of students who have already mentally checked out for the day.

Neatly packing your things into your bag, you had missed his silent approach to the table. 

“y/n, correct?”

You whipped your head up to meet him, nodding “correct.”

“Glad to see you’re paying attention today. Are you enjoying the material?”

You stood from your seat, gaining a few inches but easily a foot shorter than him.

“I can’t lie and say it isn’t difficult, Professor. But after the first few readings for clarity, I did start to enjoy it.”

“Good. It’s challenging for a reason, it’ll make you a better reader and a better writer.” He walked away from your table, placing his own things into his leather messenger bag.

“Enjoy your weekend, y/n. But not too much.”

You left the hall with a curt nod, Professor Ren only a few paces behind you. Controlling your breath, you turned down the hall to exit the academic hall, returning to your dorm room to relax for the weekend.

When Monday came around, to say that you’ve been incredibly nervous about your grade for Professor Ren’s class would be an understatement. You had dressed nicely for today’s class, you had a presentation in your next class and maybe it would provide an extra boost of confidence to outweigh all of your anxiety.

Taking your seat in the second row, you found no one in front of you. They weren’t joking about removing students from the roster. Now, no one separated you from Professor Ren’s intimidating glare. Preparing yourself for the lecture, you tried to stay focused as best as you could, but today, Professor Ren was wearing a deep navy blue button-down with a skinny black tie, without a wrinkle in sight. He looked impeccable. The deep navy complimented his hair so nicely.

“y/n!” Ren declared from the front of the room, “Can you remind us what Blake told the world?” He brought you out of your daze.

“Uhh…’no bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings’….?”

“No. Blake sought to remind his readers of the beauty of nature and destruction through his works of poetry, art, and printmaking. And I suggest you pay attention to the lectures. This will be in the midterm.”

Without a response but with a heavy blush, you continued to scribble down notes on your notebook, including what Ren just said. 

The rest of the lecture went relatively smoothly, and only a small amount of embarrassment. Professor Ren handed out the introductory assignments right before dismissal. He handed your assignment to you upside down, you turned it over to see it scribbled in red pen. Heavy underlining and circles seemed to outnumber your own writing on the page. You scoffed in indignation and quickly filed the paper away in your bag in sheer embarrassment. Haven’t you had enough today?

“y/n, please see me in my office after class.” Professor Ren called out to you from the hallway before you could have the chance to slip out the door.

Apparently not. Shit.

When you made it to his office, he was already sitting comfortably in the large desk chair behind the heavy wooden desk. His office was decorated floor to ceiling with bookshelves which were full of books spanning a variety of eras, most of them 18th century, his specialty. You took a curious look around, his office seemed to match exactly what you thought it would.

“When you’re done gawking, take a seat.” he was the first to speak.

Without another word or another look, you took your seat in the chair across the desk from his. Setting your backpack down next to you, you avoided looking up at your professor.

“I’m worried about your grades. You’re in danger of being dropped from my roster.”

“Is this because of the intro paper?”

“Yes, and you’ve been...distracted by other things in my class, y/n. You have incredible potential. You just need to apply yourself.”

“Apply myself? Professor...I don’t understand… I read the text, and I read your notes. I worked for hours on that paper. I don’t understand what could be the problem here.”

“First of all, your intro paper was atrocious. It was disorganized and lacked a clear thesis.”

You opened your mouth in indignation, to which Ren quickly raised his hand to silence you.

“Look at last Wednesday’s notes again. You’ll find that Walpole would’ve said otherwise.”

“Professor Ren-”

He cut you off once again, “y/n.”

You sighed, surrendering, “perhaps I had been a little distracted.”

“Distracted.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What could have possibly held your attention that is more important than Walpole?”

You hesitated to defend yourself, “you, sir.”

“Me? Perhaps something should be done about that.��

“What? I don’t understand...I can join another study group if that would help, perhaps there are other students that understand the material better than I do…”

“No. You’ve already been assigned a study group. You’ll remain there until I say so. As for your distraction, come here.” His demeanor flipped on its head.

You rose hesitantly from your seat, standing in place. He called you over with a seamless motion of his hand. With that, you stepped closer to him, keeping a reasonable distance between your bodies. From this angle, he appeared incredibly tall, taller than when he was in the front of the lecture hall.

“Professor Ren, if there’s anything I can do to keep my grade up, I’ll do it. I need this class to graduate…”

“Oh, you’ll do anything…?”

“Yes, sir.”

Without another word, he pushed you gently to your knees in front of him.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me in class, practically drooling. You’re just as bad as those sluts with their pink fuzzy pens...spreading their thighs and just hoping to get some dick to pass…is that what you want?”

You nod and then bow your head in shame as Kylo palms himself softly. He unzips the fly of his slacks and pulls himself free.

“Take it,” he growls softly.

Reaching to grasp his cock, you start jerking it slowly.

“Don’t tease me.” he snarls through gritted teeth.

Licking slowly from base to tip, you take him in your mouth. Eventually, you gain confidence and begin bobbing your head down his shaft. Ren gripped the back of your skull, pushing you deeper onto his cock. Choking, you try to steady yourself and push off using his thighs. He doesn’t let you, instead, pushing down further on him.

With a heavy groan, Ren finally releases you, pushing you back to the ground. 

“Stop. Before you make me cum in your mouth like a common whore. Up. On the desk.” He orders.

You rise from your knees to sit on his desk.

“Where all naughty girls like you end up…spread your thighs for me like I know you want to.”

Propping your knees up on the sides of the desk as instructed, you revealed the thin lacy panties that were hiding underneath your short skirt. Ren took his position on his knees, eye level with your core. Looking up at you, he searched for any sign of resistance and found none, so he continued. 

“You know I can take whatever I want…” he trailed off before lowering your panties off your hips and tossed them beneath his desk to retrieve later. 

Spreading your folds with his fingers, he rubbed over your clit with his thumb once, twice, waiting for your signal.

“Professor!”

“That feels good, you little slut…? Soaking wet for your professor…” 

“Yes sir, please! Do something...it feels so good!”

“Quiet.”

Going silent, you held back a moan when he went down on your clit. Sucking and flicking over it, you threatened to release a moan with every change of pace. His mouth was talented; it was good for more than delivering lectures and issuing critiques. At this moment, your body warmed with pleasure. It starts low in your belly and radiates outwards. Gripping onto his hair for support, you pulled him in closer to your core. He grinned at this movement, taking it as a signal to push on. He teased and saturated every centimeter of your folds, only pulling away when your gasps were so intense.

With a smirk, he took you in once more. It was the same gaze that he had been giving you in class since last Wednesday. Was it true he was lusting for you as you were for him? Like a mouse caught in his brilliant trap, you whimpered and pleaded for your release. He grinned, pulling away from your center. 

“Do you want me inside you…?

“anything….I just need to cum. Please, professor.” you begged.

“Kylo...when we’re alone.”

You nodded, trying his name out for size on your lips, “Kylo...please.”

With an animalistic attack, he planted several heavy kisses along your neck and collarbone. Sucking a mark into the skin where your clavicle met the base of your neck. Marking you as much more than his student, you were unsure of what this meant for your future. Surely there was no way you could stay in class, this is definitely a disruption of the academic dishonesty policy. More than that, you vowed never to do anything of this sort in your own moral code. 

There was no resisting Kylo. He was beautiful in a sort of broken, dark and alluring type of way. He had captured your mind with his, grasping you by the heart, and pulled you in.

As he kissed his way from your neck, over your chest, and over the softness of your belly, you met his gaze with yours. There was no way you were coming back from this. He fisted himself, admiring your beauty. He found you equally as ravishing as you found him. This expression of lust was primal and irresistible. Teacher and student. Slut.

Pulling you back into the moment, Kylo whispered to you, “tell me you’re ready and you want this,” with a feral look in his eyes.

“Please…”

Without another word, he thrust inside you. With a heavy gasp, your body arches into him, head throwing itself back to stare at the ceiling. Processing the immense pleasure you were feeling immediately, every nerve ending was ignited, hair standing up on every inch of your body.

Reaching a hand out to him, grasping onto his shoulder for purchase. Kylo continued thrusting without relent. Knocking over wooden cups of pens, paperclips, and miscellaneous files to the floor. Maybe your essay with a big, fat fifty-five was in that pile. That’s what got you into this situation, anyway. That, and your uncontrollable lust for your own professor.

Breaking you away from your mental tangent, he upped the intensity of his thrusts, a groan to punctuate each one. He continued at this pace until his next warning came.

“Fuck….! You better fucking be close…”He gritted through clenched teeth, hushed breath falling on the shell of your ear.

“I am...but please, Kylo...touch me…”

“Touch you…? Like you deserve it…?”

“Yes…!”

“Maybe if you didn’t fail your assignments, you wouldn’t be begging for my cock!”

“You brought me here!”

“Because you failed.”

In that moment, it all came crashing back down again.You really were just like the other girls, hoping to get even an ounce of sympathy to make yourself feel better and fill the gap in your chest. Gripping your chin roughly, Kylo forced you to look up at him.

“Your thoughts are loud.”

“What?” you looked at him.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve. You beg for approval. You need it.”

Snarling, Kylo released you from his grip.

“You are so capable. On your own.You just need to find it.”

With a long, grinding thrust, brushing his pubic bone against your clit, you feel overwhelmed with pleasure and approval. The very same approval he vowed he wasn’t giving to anyone. And he had just chosen you.

Desperate hands grabbed at any expanse of skin you had access to. 

“Cmon, sweet girl, you better cum for me…”

“I will…! I’m so close…”

Grunting, his thrusts fell out of tempo and were now hurried and rushed. Pulling your hips to meet his thrusts, you moaned his name into his ear, falling over the precipice. Kylo finished himself off with a punishing pace, hushing your name at the top of his climax.You smirked back at him, grinning at the effect you had on your professor. With this, you confirmed the feeling was mutual. 

After regaining his breath, he pulled his softening cock from you. Stepping back and pulling his now slightly wrinkled slacks back to his waist, buttoning and redoing the belt. You looked back up at him, and slid off his desk. You reached underneath to retrieve your panties from his desk.

“Leave them. They’re mine now.”

“I have to walk all the way across campus. I’m not leaving without them.”

“Yes you are. Guess you’ll have to figure it out.”

“Kylo-”

“It’s Professor Ren,” tucking his dress shirt back into his slacks, “this can’t continue.”

“I assumed that. But why did you say…”

“Hush. Get your things and go. You can’t be seen here for much longer.”

“Professor.”

“Make the corrections on your introductory assignment. I’ll take a look at it and give you partial credit. I think you have potential in this department. Fix it. And find your motivation.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go.”

Throwing your messenger bag over your shoulder, filing the paper away inside, slipping your flats back on your feet, and pulling your skirt over your ass one more time, you left his office without another glance back at him. Walking across campus, you couldn’t help but wonder what this meant for the future of your so-called relationship with Professor Ren. Would the department catch on to him swinging your grade, letting you slip through the cracks of the rigorous curriculum? Would they force you to leave?

You pushed the thoughts from your head, picking up a snack and a cup of tea from the cafe on your way back to your dorm. Tossing your bag on your bed, collecting your thoughts from the last 45 minutes of your life. You decided to spend the night in, order a pizza, and fix your failed assignment. If you focused hard enough on your studies, you could maybe impress Professor Ren. Maybe there is a future for you in the department.

Independent of him? You weren’t so sure.

tagged: @hxldmxdxwn​ @smokahuntis​ @obiwkenobi​​ @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy​ @empower-bi-women​ @jbarnesss​