#(my wording may be off but the gist is there)”

[zadz0]

voulez-vous brain rot has started

#also if you can’t read it: “i believe in japanese folklore crossing over a stream is symbolic of passing over into the spiritual realm? #(my wording may be off but the gist is there)” #zad’s art #zad talks #jjk #jjk0 #jjk art #jujutsu kaisen #suguru geto #geto suguru #abba #voulez vous

[murdockparker]

Of the Same Mind

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: A mutual distaste in a certain author—should he even have the grace to be called that—leads to an unexpected meeting.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: mentions of drinking/alcohol, pregnancy, fluff, time skip

A/N: a cute lil request! made me actually read a little Byron myself to get the gist! and it wasn't that terrible I'm so sorry to disappoint

Dull. 

Everything was dull. What was supposed to be the social event of the season was shortened due to poor weather—an outdoors event of sorts, it seemed, Benedict really didn’t pay his mother much attention when she explained the whole ordeal. Thus, half of the ton was crammed into Lord Whitehill’s home instead of his luscious grounds, all due to the pouring rain. Most conversation was boring, most of the ladies were whining about the rain, the men whining about their whining wives and daughters. 

At least the drinks were good. 

“…seriously think that fodder is worth your breath?”

Benedict’s ears perked up, focusing on a conversation that was decidedly not about the current weather. A breath of fresh air. 

“I-I did not mean to insult you, miss,” a young gentleman sputtered, his face rosy red. “I only meant to indulge you in poetry of the highest regard—” 

“If that was your intention, you would have chosen from a finer list of poets. Byron?” The lady nearly laughed out loud. “Byron is the bottom of the barrel, as it were, so your intention was ill-placed.”

“Byron is a well-regarded poet—”

“By who? Chamber pots?” 

Benedict nearly spat out his drink. The action alone brought the attention of the arguing couple to him—both sets of eyes trained on the tall Bridgerton at once. “Oh,” he fake coughed, “it seems the drink went down the wrong way, please, forgive me.”

The man—who Benedict now recognized as Lord Whitehill’s son—scoffed. “Bridgerton. You are well versed in the arts, are you not?”

Benedict nodded. “I dabble.”

“Would you please explain to Miss (Y/L/N) that Byron is a novel poet,” Mr. Whitehill asked, “and that she should be flattered I recited poetry for her, regardless of the poet?”

Miss (Y/L/N). So that was the lady’s name. 

“But that would be lying, Whitehill,” Benedict gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “And I am ever a gentleman, raised to never lie, especially to a fine lady such as Miss (Y/L/N).”

She smiled at that. 

“You do not agree?”

“Oh I certainly agree with Miss (Y/L/N),” Benedict said quickly, setting his glass down. “Byron is a mockery to the art—meaningless words and jaunty titles, why, I tried to read his latest and it put me right to sleep.”

“I fear I had the same reaction,” Miss (Y/L/N) said, turning to Benedict in earnest. “Right before I decided to throw it to the flames.”

They both laughed.

“Imbeciles, the both of you,” Mr. Whitehill said, pushing past the newly acquainted pair. “Keep insulting me like that and I’ll have my father throw the both of you out into the storm.”

“Mr. Whitehill,” Miss (Y/L/N) said softly, her eyes melting into puddles of apology. “I fear we were not insulting you, but rather your taste in poets. I also fear there is a stark difference in that, for if I were to insult you, I’d make a more fitting jab, more educated in that regard.”

The shorter gentleman stormed off, steam nearly pouring from his ears. Benedict laughed.

“I must say, Miss (Y/L/N),” Benedict leaned down. “You have quite the sharp tongue.”

“I am known to be rather well spoken,” she beamed, standing a little straighter. “Perhaps it is my taste in literature?”

“For that, I believe we are in agreement,” Benedict said, grabbing a fresh glass from the table beside him. “May I offer the lady a beverage?”

“Only if you decide to share whatever’s in that pocket of yours,” she pointed to his chest. Benedict’s ears went pink. “Do not think I did not see you pour an added flavoring into the lemonade—it seems impolite that you would neglect to share.”

“It would be impolite,” Benedict said, carefully pulling his flask out of his coat. “I am surprised you saw that, though, given the crowded room.”

“You are a tall man, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said, taking the glass from his hand. Benedict poured a healthy amount of clear liquor into her cup before adding the rest to his own. “I would have found it hard to ignore you.”

“Your first season? I presume?”

“Technically,” she said, looking up into his blue eyes. “My family, we just moved to Mayfair. My father came into some money and relocated us here this year, my brother is set to study at Eton in the fall.”

“And you?”

“I am now expected to marry a rich and eligible bachelor,” she laughed into her glass. “Which I really have no problem doing, save for the fact that gentleman is nothing like Mr. Whitehill.”

“Mr. Whitehill is rather rich,” Benedict smirked. “Would that not placate you?”

“And listen to him dribble about Byron? Perish that thought,” she said. “When I do marry, I expect my husband to be of the same mind, a similar taste in the arts.”

“You know,” Benedict nearly whispered, “that is an admirable thought. But how will you find this man?”

She looked him up and down, quickly and all at once, returning to drink from her glass.

“I suppose I will know when I find him,” she smirked.

Benedict smiled back. “Well, please let me know when you do, I feel rather invested in your prospects.”

“You will be the first to know, I assure you,” Miss (Y/L/N) said, nodding her head. “But, if I may be so bold, if you are not currently preoccupied, would you care to further our discussion on Byron? It is hard to find someone who agrees with such a… contrasting opinion of the poet.”

“Why, Miss (Y/L/N),” Benedict finished his glass, offering his arm, “I was afraid you’d never ask.”

—

The gardens on the property were lovely, so lush and full of life. She made good on her promise to keep them well maintained, only keeping the finest blooms and plants in their care. It was always the perfect place to spend time on days like today, sunny, a gentle breeze. 

They had given the governess a day off, her mother had fallen ill, it was the least the Bridgertons could do for her.

“Mother!” 

The lady looked up from her book, eyes meeting with her eldest daughter. Blue eyes, just like her father.

“Yes, darling?”

“Might I go inside to grab other books? Aunt Eloise recently sent some to Father and I want to read them.”

The lady gave her daughter a trying look. “Do you not think they may be above your comprehension level, my love? They were intended for your father, after all.”

“No need,” a looming voice bellowed. “I have them right here.” 

She didn’t need to look up to know who it belonged to. “Benedict, I thought you were spending time in the studio this afternoon.”

“And miss spending time with my darling wife and children?” Benedict grinned, the crooked way she fell in love with. “That seems foolish on my part.”

“Father!” Their eldest exclaimed, running over to the tallest Bridgerton. “You brought the books?”

“Indeed,” Benedict nodded, handing the parcel off to his daughter. “Aunt Eloise thought we may have better use of these than her and Phillip do.”

Their daughter lit up with excitement—ever the reader, she was. It took a village to keep their library stocked with appropriate books for her age, but she was quickly out-reading her entire family’s collection. “Thank you, Father!”

“Well,” Benedict said modestly, “you must write to your Aunt Eloise and thank her, I had little to do with such a gift.”

“What about me, papa?” 

Their son, only a few years younger than their daughter came bounding up past his escaping sister, clearly having been playing in the mud. “Do I have any gifts from auntie?”

(Y/N) opened her arms. “Not this time, sweetheart, but come here, let mama wipe that dirt off of your nose—” 

“No!” He exclaimed, turning from his mother. “Dirt makes me ruggable—like Uncle Colin!”

“Rugged,” Benedict corrected gently. “And, no, dirt makes you dirty. You need to stop spending so much time with Colin…”

“Once baby brother is here I will,” their son nodded, putting both hands on his hips, looking down at his sitting mother.

“Oh darling,” (Y/N) said, trying to raise to her feet. Benedict quickly offered his hands, pulling her up. “Baby will not be here for a few more months.”

“Then more time with Uncle Colin!”

Benedict and (Y/N) sighed, watching their adventurous son run back to the mud. “We must write Colin, tell him of the monster he has created.”

“Our eldest is such an easygoing flower,” Benedict said, noting how she was carefully skimming through the various books on her lap. “Our son tests our patience.”

“And how do you think this one will be?” (Y/N) asked, placing his hand on her swelling stomach. She only had two or so more months until the delivery, if she had been correct on the conception. The latest Bridgerton wedding seemed to be the culprit, stolen kisses and a romantic rendezvous to the greenhouse away from the party—it was a perfect recipe for baby number three. “Calm and collected? Devilish and adventurous?”

“I pray they are just like their mother,” Benedict rubbed her belly affectionately. “And perhaps a bit more behaved than their brother… I suppose I should also write my mother an apology.”

“Whatever for?”

“I reckon my brothers and I acted much like our son,” Benedict said sheepishly. “Acting like Bridgerton boys, I am afraid.”

“As if that is the only explanation,” she giggled, leaning into his side. “But I am sure your mother would appreciate such a gesture. Perhaps you should send her a bouquet from our garden, too?”

“An excellent idea, my love,” Benedict said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “What a brilliant mind you have.”

“Father, Mother!” Their daughter called out, waving them towards her. “Aunt Eloise sent a book by an author I have never heard of before.”

“Oh?” Benedict quirked his brow, walking with his wife over to her. “And what author may that be?”

“A Lord Byron,” she said, showing the book with a deep brown cover to her parents. Benedict scooped the tome quickly from his daughter’s grasp, holding it close to his chest.

“And you shall never read such filth,” Benedict said seriously.

“Oh Benedict,” (Y/N) laughed. “Perhaps we should allow our daughter to expand her mind—come to her own conclusions on the matter? Surely Aunt Eloise meant the gift in kind.”

“Aunt Eloise clearly meant to send it as a cruel prank,” Benedict corrected.

“What is so wrong with that author, Father?”

“A shorter conversation would be what is not wrong with this author,” Benedict said, turning to call his son. The little boy ran over to his father’s side, ever eager. “Take this and bury it, preferably far away from here.” His wife could not stop her laughter, watching their son hurriedly run over to the new rose bushes, making good work at digging a deep enough hole for the book. “You,” Benedict pointed at the girl, “are forbidden to read anything written by that lowly man.”

“Oh Benedict,” (Y/N) admonished, trying hard to stop her laughter, “forbidding her from reading seems silly—”

“Are we not of the same mind on Byron?” Benedict asked. “I rather think that is how we met, is it not, dearest wife?”

She pursed her lips, fighting a smile. “We are.”

“Besides,” Benedict stood a little straighter, “the roses could use a bit more sustenance.”

She could only roll her eyes.

#Bridgerton #Benedict Bridgerton x Reader #Benedict Bridgerton #Bridgerton x Reader #bridgerton imagines #if this title has been used before i apologize! #still not sure if I'm digging the whole... photo thing with the post #but it's cute no?

[y-rhywbeth2]

Been thinking about Durge romances and how much I love the companions. Many people love Astarion's response when Durge gets their "kill your lover in their sleep" scene and, fair, that was the point that I unfortunately began to genuinely love the pointy bastard. I do enjoy watching him sass Bhaal. Plus you being the only one he's not afraid of in the world and also "we can compare notes" because he recognises what's happening, yes, yes.

And additional honourable mentions to Lae'zel and Karlach:

Lae'zel threatening to bite you back and informing you that if you don't beat Bhaal you will be fighting her and that will be much worse, topped with the gem of "Not to be maudlin, but I'm glad I didn't gut you."

Karlach asking you not to bite her because trying to eat her flesh will hurt you. also she growls back at you. and asking what the fuck you're talking about when Durge goes into one of their, uh, poetic moods. And parallels: "It's bad. I won't say it isn't. But... I've done worse. Powers beyond our control picked us to do their dirty work - that isn't our fault." I mean Durge has absolutely done worse, but I concede the gist of your argument.

But my favourite variants are these three (in no particular order):

Shadowheart's "Hells, what I wouldn't give for a boring lover sometimes" shortly before scolding you - "no biting!" Bad hellspawn! Bad! Use your words! - It's the middle of the night, she's tired, and she expected something way more fun that this damnit. (also; "She was starting to trust you. The only one she ever has. Pity it's coming to an end." *screaming*)

Wyll reminds us he's the one with the high charisma stat in this party with his pep talks: "The coast would sooner be swallowed whole by the Sea of Swords [before I'd hate you]." - "Rise up, meet its gaze. Show it no fear, and grant it no mercy." - "You are a champion. If this foe demands blood, then tear off its limbs and let it drink its own!" Never been more revved up to punch Bhaal in the face, thank you. And Sceleritas directly compares himself to Mizora and aAhHHHhhhhh-!

And then there's Gale, who clearly has no idea what's happening or what do about it. Get it out of your system, he says, trying his best to be supportive. "This is not good, if I may state the obvious." - "No, no clotting. I like my blood flowing in my veins, thank you most kindly." He would prefer not to die, thank you. 10/10. Durge is way too distracted by this to listen to Bhaal right now.

#I love them all #/durge #babbling #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

[indigovigilance]

Bullet Theory

Thesis: Crowley passed Aziraphale a bullet during the Final Fifteen kiss. This bullet contains his memories. He tucked it under his tongue, then began to access the memories during the ride up the elevator.

Edit: debunked by God himself, in response to this post. As a reminder, please don’t send fan theories to NG.

Proof:

Glint in the mouth

Inspo credit to this post by @somehow-a-human

Yeah so we were already paying way too much attention to that very special four-letter word we thought Aziraphale was going to say, but it so happens that during that cut-off phoneme is the only time you can see this shiny object in his mouth. (catching this on the right frame was emotionally painful and I’m sending Gavin Finney my therapy bills (actually no I’m not I love you very much sir)).

So that’s the basis of this theory. Crowley passed Aziraphale a bullet that he then tucks under his tongue.

Add’l Evidence Post-Kiss

Aziraphale works his jaw after raising his fingers to his lips: [gif]

Then when the Metatron comes in, he turns his back on the Metatron and raises his hand. I originally thought he was wiping his eyes. Now I think he’s raising his hand to his mouth, maybe to spit out the bullet, maybe to make sure it’s secured under his tongue.

Credits Scene

Aziraphale has the craziest fucking look on his face through the credits, we can all agree. But towards the end, his eyes flicker back and forth, as if he is watching or reading something. Then he smiles. I hypothesize that he is still accessing his memories during this time, and getting the information he needs to [redacted].

Thematic Justification: The Bullet Catch

Aziraphale having a bullet in his mouth as part of a two-man act of deception is not a fresh concept by the time we get to The Final Fifteen.

Additionally, the use of surreptitious modes of communication, where messages are passed from person to person inaudabily, is introduced in this same magic trick. 

NB1: I wish I could credit the person who I first saw point this out (relatively recently). It wasn’t even tagged as meta, I don’t think. But the gist was there’s some parallelism between “aim for my mouth but shoot past my ear” and the “pin the lips on the lips” move that Crowley pulls in the Final Fifteen. If I find it I will properly cite.

NB2: One hypothesis that has circulated around, I think creditable to @sendarya, is that Aziraphale mouths “trust me” to Crowley just before he gets on the elevator. This isn’t necessary to the Bullet Theory but it would be thematically consistent.

Small objects carry memories

Why a bullet? Well, it’s a small object that has meaningful significance between the pair of people involved, much like:

Beelzebub introduces us to the idea that a small object like a fly can be used as a storage container for memories. We also see that the object entering the body of the person is a viable way for the memories to be delivered.

(btw Jon Hamm if you’re reading this, you have very pretty eyes)

“I keep a derringer in a hollowed out book”

K, so it’s not like Crowley is just carrying a bullet loaded with Aziraphale’s memories around with him at all times, is it? (I mean, it could be, but probably not. I’ll just point you to this meta for my theories on why, if Crowley had anything that needed to be kept safe, he would keep it in the bookshop.)

We learn in S2E4 that Aziraphale keeps a gun in a hollowed out book somewhere in the shop. A gun wouldn’t be any good without bullets, right? This may not be the reason the derringer was left as a Chekhov’s Gun for S3, but it’s a possibility. If Crowley wasn’t already in possession of a bullet, he knew that he could find one in the shop. Even more likely, the exact bullet used in the 1941 magic trick is a precious keepsake being kept somewhere in the bookshop, and Crowley chose to use that exact bullet because of the memories already directly attached to the object.

Why Aziraphale even has memories to be returned to him

We know that Aziraphale could have had his mind wiped because Heaven has done it before. Certainly once. Probably twice. We know this because when Metatron is announcing that Gabriel, alongside having his memories erased, is being demoted to 38th class, Muriel pipes up and reminds us that they are 37th class:

So this wasn’t a “just Gabriel” thing. Mind-wiping is a routine form of personnel management in Heaven. There is NO reason for us to believe that it didn’t happen to Aziraphale. But in case you need a reason to believe it, here goes:

We know from our interactions with Jim that the person whose memories are missing (1) doesn’t necessarily know and (2) isn’t necessarily distressed by that fact, even if they do. Muriel also fits this “cheerful empty shell” archetype. You know who else does? Ding ding ding. The one and only A. Z. “wiggles with delight” Fell.

I can already hear your very valid counter-argument. This guy is actually terrified out of his mind on any given day that his romance with a demon will be discovered. Yes. Because he’s involved in a romance with a demon. The other two angels we’ve met don’t have this issue. Beyond that, though, these three characters share more in common with each other disposition-wise than any of them do with the other angels we’ve met (Uriel, Michael, Sandolphon, etc.).

We also know that Aziraphale has been [demoted] at some point from Cherub to Principality. This is book canon: 

"Technically Aziraphale was a Principality, but people made jokes about that these days."

This has also been confirmed (insofar as Neil Gaiman ever confirms anything) by Word of God:

(marketing video screengrab clipped for brevity)

We don’t know for sure it was a demotion, but I think we have enough evidence to infer that with a high degree of confidence.

Anyways.

Summary: Aziraphale is a cheerful angel who was demoted and has a name that is not biblical canon. This evidence indicates that was probably mind-wiped. This is not the first time I’m proposing this. It won’t be the last.

How Crowley Did It

My meta on Continuity Errors gives the complete proof for why I believe that Crowley is able to stop time without Aziraphale knowing, and I propose in that meta that the kiss was a cover-up for the exertion of effort necessary to pull that off. I further proposed that during the pause, he retrieved something from the bookshop. At the time of writing, I didn’t know what. Now, I have an inkling that it was a bullet.

If you need a refresher on Clock Theory, here’s one. The idea is that the clock behind Aziraphale shifts by fifteen minutes from before the kiss to after the kiss. This is consistent with a theory that Crowley paused time (but the clock kept running) in order to retrieve the bullet, dump Aziraphale’s memories into it if he hadn’t already, and then return to transfer the bullet to Aziraphale.

Why Crowley Kept the Secret So Long

As with Continuity Errors, I am ending this meta with a very unsatisfactory “I don’t know.” The motivation for Crowley to keep Aziraphale’s memories from him until the very moment he’s about to leave must have been a strong one. I think it has something to do with why Crowley was so insistent on trying to get Aziraphale to run away with him, instead of dealing with whatever’s coming. But as with Continuity Errors, I suspect that the good omens meta hivemind (and the vast collection of people who are posting clues, you have no idea how important you are) will assemble yet more breadcrumbs that we can follow to some sort of hypothesis.

Until then,

iv

(here's my meta index if you would like to read more stuff like this)

#good omens meta #bullet theory #the final fifteen #crowley #aziraphale #good omens gabriel #good omens muriel #good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #good omens theory #good omens speculation #good omens analysis #good omens clues

[raysrays]

Crimson Guardian NSFW

Kyojuro Rengoku x Wife! Reader

18+ MDNI!🚫

CW: NSFW Content, minor angst, controlling/manipulating behavior, fluff-ish.

Y/N POV

Scenario : You've recently married into the respected Rengoku family, and while you continue your work as a demon slayer, life starts to get a bit messy. Balancing your duties becomes a real challenge as you navigate the challenges of married life. You find yourself having to make tough choices just to keep your husband happy, all while debating to stay true to yourself and your calling as a demon slayer.

Marriage. Truly one of the most beautiful milestones a couple can achieve. Marrying Kyojuro has undoubtedly been my greatest accomplishment.

I still remember it vividly, as if it were yesterday. Surrounded by friends, family, and core members, we pledged our lives to each other. Though it wasn't the most glamorous wedding ever seen, it was enough. Because really, all I've ever wanted was Kyojuro, and now, finally, I have him.

For the first few months, our marriage was nothing short of perfect. I moved into the Rengoku estate with Kyojuro's family, assisting Shenjuro with chores and gradually trying to get closer to Shinjuro. Though I'm not sure how successful I was.

It was only six months in that I realized being a demon slayer and a wife wasn't as easy as I thought.

Before our relationship, I was Kyojuro's Tsuguko. He was simply my mentor, and I trained hard under him to get myself where I am today. It was later down the road that we noticed each other's lingering gazes, the occasional flirting, and all the other subtle hints of wanting to be more.

Kyojuro was strong, and I knew he wanted a family, but I simply wasn't ready to give up training and my duties as a demon slayer just yet.

Every day, after helping out around the estate, I would hike over to HQ and pick up where I had left off the previous day, training until the late hours of the night. I would often come home exhausted, which usually caused Kyojuro to worry. As much as I reassured him, he never seemed fully convinced.

Now, here I was, sitting at the dinner table with Kyo across from me. It was a rare occasion for us to eat alone together like this. We made small talk about our day and training, and then he finally stopped eating and put his silverware down.

"Little Flame, I think it’s time we have a serious discussion about the way things have been as of late,” his usual happy smile seemed almost nervous.

I set my spoon down on my plate, giving him my full attention.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Sunflower, you have been working so hard as of late, and it’s quite admirable. I truly admire your dedication to the demon slayer corps and your training!”

“But…?” I ask, confused.

“But… since our marriage, I’ve found myself in constant worry over you. Every time you go on a mission without me, I have to painfully wait for your return. Not knowing whether or not you'd be injured or even-“

“Dead?” I finish.

I saw his body tense up at the word.

“Yes, my love. Dead. I cannot even bear the thought of you never returning to me. It pains me to my core,” he seemed so sad, so worried about me.

I know Kyojuro, I know he didn’t mean anything bad by what he was saying. However, I felt almost offended. He too was a slayer, a hashira. I also had to deal with the fear of him returning with serious injuries or even never returning at all.

Did he believe me to be incapable of protecting myself? He was the very one who trained me. Even though I knew Kyojuro was strong, much stronger than me, it just felt like he lacked faith in me.

“You don’t think I’m strong enough anymore? Do you think marriage has made me soft?” I realized I might have come off a little too harsh, but my emotions were getting the best of me.

His expression seemed surprised, but I could tell. While he may not have used those words, that was definitely the gist of it.

I watched him get up from his place at the table and walk over to me. He pulled my chair out from under the table, then grabbed my hands and kneeled down in front of me.

His big, bright eyes were now staring up at me.

“You are one of the strongest people I know, my love. I know how capable you are, but please remember…”

He brought my hands to his lips, kissing them softly.

“You are my wife before you are a demon slayer. I cannot risk sending you off only for you to never return.”

I could practically hear the desperation and love in his voice.

Kyojuro wasn’t someone who would usually discourage anyone from pursuing something they're passionate about. So if he was now, I knew that it’s something he’s been internally battling with for a while.

“What about you? Is it not the same? What about my worry? What if you never come home to me?” I could feel my face start to heat up. Everything he was saying seemed to come from genuine care, but it felt so hypocritical.

“I am a Hashira, my little flame. I have a certain responsibility you do not have to burden yourself with. I shall retire soon, in just a few years. So please…”

There’s no way he’d ask me-

“Please retire your sword, Y/N. Please stay home for me. Please allow my heart to rest easy knowing you'll be here waiting for me whenever I shall return,” his voice was pleading.

I felt so conflicted. I’d worked so hard. All of these years of training to hopefully become a high-ranking swordsman myself. However, at the same time, I never stopped to consider my romantic life and how being married would affect things.

We both sat there in silence for a few moments, and I finally rose up from the chair, pulling him up off his knees along with me.

I looked up at him, reaching my hand up to rest on his cheek.

“Kyojuro, you are the only one I would retire my sword for. So please promise me, promise me you will always come home to me. Until the day you yourself retire.”

“I promise you, Sunflower. As long as I know you are safe and waiting for me, there is no demon that could ever keep me away.”

I felt his hand on my lower back and the other holding up my chin.

We both leaned in, our lips meeting in a tender kiss.

This kiss started so gently, so lovingly at first. As we pulled away for just a moment, staring into each other’s eyes, we realized how long it had been since we really enjoyed each other’s company.

After that, the kiss only grew hotter and more passionate.

Kyojuro swept me off my feet and carried me straight to our shared room at the back of the estate, the most private spot. It seemed fitting for newlyweds, after all.

As he gently laid me back on the soft futon, I couldn't help but stay focused on him. Kyojuro was simply beautiful. His hair, his eyes, his body, everything about him looked like he was perfectly sculpted.

My admiration was interrupted as I felt him begin to kiss me again. One of his hands traveling to my breasts, gently squeezing it.

The other massaging my thigh.

I feel him pull away from me starting to kiss on my neck traveling all the way down to my chest.

Kyojuro had always known my weak points and how to make me say yes to his every request. He knew my body just as well as I did, and now he was taking full advantage of that knowledge.

I could feel him pressing against me as he moved his hand down my body, lightly touching me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer to me, wanting more.

Then I heard, Kyojuro's soft voice whisper these words, almost as a demand. "Enjoy this little flame, you've kept me waiting far too long.”

As soon as those words left his lips, I felt myself begin to relax. His movements were so gentle, so careful, so loving.

His fingers trailed down my sides, sending chills through my body. His hands went back up and caressed my neck, making me tremble. He kissed me once more, and I melted into him.

It was as if he had cast a spell over me, and all I could do was obey him. He was completely in control of me.

After a moment, I felt him move back down and remove my underwear, revealing my already wet entrance. His hand slid between my thighs, and I couldn't help but let out a moan as his finger slipped inside me. He was gentle at first, just barely grazing me, but it felt incredible.

"Is this okay?" he asked softly, his breath hot against my ear.

I nodded but I could tell that wasn’t enough for him.

“Use your words my love.” He demanded sweetly.

“Yes Kyo, it’s perfect.” I said, my voice trembling.

He leaned down and kissed my lips before pulling back again, smiling at me.

"I want to be inside of you," he whispered, his voice filled with desire.

"Please," I begged.

He removed his fingers, replacing them with his cock, his tip rubbing against my clit.

"Good girl," he whispered, thrusting into me.

I threw back my head, arching my back and digging my nails into his shoulders. His movements were slow and deep at first and then they became faster and harder, and soon my whole body began to shake. I couldn't stop the moans from escaping my lips, and I couldn't help but beg for more.

When he starts to speed up I know we are both about to reach our limit.

I feel his fingers interlock with mine and his lips pressing against mine again, but this time, he wasn’t just kissing me, he was also letting his teeth graze my bottom lip.

He was biting down hard enough to draw blood.

We were both so close and we were both trying to hold back but we couldn’t anymore. We were finally going to let ourselves release.

I was the first one to let myself go, arching my back as I moaned his name.

Then he followed not too far behind.

After he finishes, we just lay there for a bit catching our breath.

“I love you, Y/N,” he finally breathed out, turning his head to look at me.

I turned to face him as well. “I love you, Kyojuro.”

After that, the two of us drifted off in each other's arms for the rest of the night.

The next morning when I awoke, I was still trapped wrapped in Kyojuro's arms.

After a bit of struggling, I managed to maneuver my way out and make it to the kitchen.

There I saw Senjuro, who was already preparing breakfast for everyone.

“Good morning, Sen,” I greeted with a yawn.

“Oh, good morning, Y/N!”

“I'm almost finished with breakfast. Is my brother awake yet?”

“He should be awake soon. We both have to see Master Kagaya today,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

He stopped to turn and look at me.

“Did something bad happen?” he asked nervously.

Poor Senjuro always assumes the absolute worst in every situation. Well, I suppose in this case it’s somewhat understandable.

“No, Sen, nothing's wrong. Kyojuro and I are just going to inform Master Kagaya of my retirement. That’s all.”

He gave a puzzled look.

“Retirement? Why? Haven’t you been training for years to improve your sword skills to move up in the ranks?” he asked.

He was right. I know I shouldn’t go back on my word to Kyojuro, but I really was having second thoughts about my decision.

Senjuro could probably sense my doubt because his next response was:

"If this is something that you're not sure of, then you shouldn't do it. If you have doubts about this decision, then maybe you're not ready for retirement just yet."

His words really struck a chord with me.

Maybe he was right.

Before I could ponder that any further, Kyojuro had made his way into the kitchen.

"Good morning! How are my two favorite people doing?" he said cheerfully.

I smiled.

"Morning, Kyo. Did you sleep well?"

"I did, actually. Thank you, little flame," he walked over to me, giving me a kiss.

I could feel my chest tightening, nervous about what was to come.

The whole time at breakfast, I felt so spaced out. All I could hear was Kyojuro and Senjuro talking and the occasional grunt from Shinjuro drinking away at the table.

“Sunflower? Are you okay?”

I was snapped out of my daze by Kyojuro waving a hand in front of my face. All three of them were staring at me, kind of concerned.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.”

I shook my head a little and looked down at my plate. I felt bad for Senjuro going through all that trouble to cook, but I simply couldn’t eat right now.

After we finished breakfast, Kyojuro and I headed out.

The thought that this would be the last time wearing my uniform with my sword by my side was so weird and almost uncomfortable to me.

I knew that this day would come eventually, but I always hoped in the back of my mind that Kyojuro would be the one to retire before me.

I had been so focused on training and my duties as a demon slayer that it had never even occurred to me how my marriage would affect everything.

I was now a wife. My first priority should be the estate, and helping Shinjuro while he was in his state of grief, and being there for Senjuro as well.

It wouldn’t be right of me to go against my husband's wishes either. Especially after the intimate moment we shared. Right?

As we made it to HQ waiting to speak with the master I felt my heartbeat racing inside of me.

The room was quiet, I could feel Kyojuro’s eyes lingering on me but I couldn’t bring myself to face him right now.

Both mine and Kyojuro’s attention was shifted as we heard the door open and Master Kagaya entered the room.

"Rengoku, Y/N. It's a pleasure to see you both," Kagaya said, his face as warm as ever.

"It's wonderful to see you too, Master," I replied.

"So what brings you two here? It seems urgent, judging by the fact that you came in so early."

"It is very urgent," Kyojuro began.

He then proceeded to explain our conversation from the night before, and how I was considering retiring.

"Y/N, this is a big decision, and it's important that you feel comfortable and confident in it. Do you think you can fully retire, knowing you won't be able to assist the demon slayers as you are now?" Kagaya asked.

I looked at the master and then glanced at Kyojuro. He seemed so proud and happy that we were here. I could feel the warmth radiating from him.

But, I could also sense the worry in his expression. He was nervous, scared almost.

I couldn't do that to him.

"Master, I've spent most of my life training for the opportunity to become a hashira. To serve the demon slayer corps and protect those who cannot protect themselves. But...I'm no longer just a demon slayer. I'm also a wife, and as such, I think it's only right that I focus on that," I answered.

The room fell silent for a moment.

"If you truly feel this is the right choice, then we support you, Y/N," Kagaya finally spoke.

"Thank you, Master," I bowed.

"Thank you so much, Master! I will never

forget your kindness!" Kyojuro bowed as well.

The two of us left the room and started to head out.

As we exited, we ran into a few of the other Hashira, who asked us about what we had gone to see Master Kagaya about.

They too seemed surprised and a little concerned when Kyojuro explained to them that I would be retiring so soon.

I could tell some of their reactions to the news annoyed Kyojuro. Shinobu used the word “controlling,” and you could see his smile almost falter.

"Controlling" was never a word I would have used to describe my husband. He just loves me, right? He wants to protect me. There's no way my sweet and kind Kyo would ever do anything to control or manipulate me.

Right?

Part Two

#demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #kny rengoku #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku x reader #x reader #kny #kny hashira #yandere rengoku #yandere #light angst #rengoku x y/n #rengoku smut #kny kyojuro #kny smut #smut #kyojuro rengoku x reader #kyojuro rengoku #kny x reader #demon slayer rengoku #demon slayer smut #kyojuro x reader #kimestu no yaiba #anime #hashira x reader #fluff #oneshot #headcanon

[mncxbe]

OMG OMG, what about, Bsd characters(pls include jouno, I'm starved of content from him) with a drunk s/o, that is all like "I have a boyfriend/girlfriend, don't touch me(or sth else, but u get the gist-)" ALSO if you don't want to do this, don't. <<<:

Ok I love the idea. I tried to make it as silly as possible hope you like it♡♡

Note: I have some Ango content for tomorrow👀

°☆○

Strawberry Daiquiri

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊, 𝑱𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒐, 𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: silly/ fluff♡

𝑱𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒐

starting off with our blind king; let's assume that you're so drunk you don't recognize him

he's amused by your act at first, but the longer you keep it up the more frustrated he gets

he does find it cute that you're so loyal to him tho; also worried that you're so drunk

surely teases you about it the next day

Although he may not seem like it, Jouno was a supportive boyfriend; your unyielding determination was his favourite quality. He didn't see any problem with it until one day you decided to beat Fukuchi in a drinking competition.

"I'm telling you Sai. I got this" you said as you walked into the captain's office with a handful of bottles of sake.

Your boyfriend only rolled his eyes and went back to his business. He returned three hours later when he finally managed to finish the last of his reports. Knocking at the mahogany door he gently pushed it open, stepping inside the room.

"Captain" he saluted with a small bow and Fukuchi waved at him, utterly unaware that the man couldn't see it.

Just then, your voice echoed through the room; a high pitched groan.

"Naah captain I'm sure I'll beat you. Pour more for me." Your words were slurred and Jouno could sense your hightened body temperature, a sign of clear intoxication.

Fukuchi chuckled, filling your cup again.

"You think you can take it? You look quite plastered to me"

"I'm not done 'till you are."

A smile rose to Jouno's lips as he caught the hint of resolve in your voice, but he knew by your fast heartbeat that you should probably stop drinking soon. He walked to your side, gently seizing your forearm.

"Let's go home Y/N. I think you've had enough to drink tonight"

"Huh? Fuck off dude I have a boyfriend." you said nonchalantly, yanking your arm away.

For a brief moment Jouno was baffled, hand frozen in mid air as he watched you down another glass; but then he snapped back to reality.

"Hey Y/N look at me." he said playfully, seizing your chin to make you look up to him. "It's me, Sai"

"Sai..." you contemplated, his name rolling off your lips in a low hum "Ah Sai"

From across the table Fukuchi let out a low chuckle. "Take her home, Jouno. She's drunk"

"No I'm not. I ain't stopping 'till I get you... uh..-till you give up" you mumbled, causing Jouno to sigh.

"We're out of alcohol Y/N" added Fukuchi, dangling the last empty bottle before your eyes.

"Please dear let's go home" Jouno cooed, his fingers gently intertwining with yours and you eventually got up, holding on to the back of your chair for support.

"I consider this this a draw, captain" you said sluggishly and Fukuchi nodded.

"Goodnight to you two"

With that, Jouno snaked an arm around your waist and walked with you out of the office, down the halls of the Hunting Dogs's headquarters and on to the crowded street. He raised a hand to hail a cab and as soon as the yellow vehicle pulled over, your boyfriend opened the backseat door and placed you inside; then joined you in the backseat.

Jouno gave the driver your address and the car drove off towards your apartment.

"Are you feeling ok darling?" he asked in a concerned voice and you nodded, scooting closer to him.

"Yea I am..." After a moment of silence you added in the same slurred, giddy tone. "Say, are you really my boyfriend? You're handsome."

Jouno blushed furiously at your words, his lips curling into a sly smile. "You bet I am pretty girl."

The lights of the city came and went in blurry waves, causing your head to ache. You leaned your head on the crook of Jouno's neck, shielding your vision. He only chuckled, placing one of his hands on top of your head.

"Go sleep darling. I'll wake you up at home"

You mumbled a mhm before closing your eyes and, drunk on love and sake, drifted into a deep slumber.

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊

such a tease; will make fun of you about it tomorrow if you don't recognize him

he's a smooth operator

he's all like: "Aww sure my sweet lady. How about you tell me more about that boyfriend of yours then?" and just sits there listening to you praise him

probably carries you home and puts you to bed after

It was Yosano's birthday and she decided to take the Agency members out for a drink at a local pub. The place was cozy, dimly lit; low, wooden tables lining the sides of the room. Peach Pit's "Alrighty Aphrodite" sounded through the speakers in the corner of the room.

Not only three hours in you were plastered, body hunched over as you rested your arms on your table. Seeing your state, Dazai made his way to your side and took a seat next to you.

"Everything alright bella?" he hummed cheerfully, causing you to moan.

"Ah shut up. My head hurts." you whined, holding your head between the palms of your hand. "And just so you know I already have someone so... [you hiccup] just let me be."

"Oh I see" Dazai chuckled, placing his drink on the table. "Why don't you tell me more about that boyfriend of yours then."

Only then you raised your head, eyes half lidded as a tender smile rose to your lips. "My 'samu is such a darling. So handsome and smart. He gives the best hugs you know?"

You casually wrapped your arms around your own body, demonstrating your words. "Just like this. And he's so handsome and... he's caring. I love him lots ya know?" you went on.

Dazai chuckled upon hearing your words. "Is that so?"

"Yea. And- Hold on mind if I just?" you asked, leaning your aching head on his shoulder "Mm this is better. Anyway, 'samu's the one for me. I just know it. Did you ever feel this way about someone?"

"I did. I do, in fact." he replied, taking in your sleepy features: your cheeks were flushed, nostrils slightly flaring as you steadily breathed in and out, lashes fluttering shut.

"That's nice then" was all you said before dozzing off on his shoulder.

Your boyfriend smiled again and placed a chaste kiss on the crown of your head.

"I love you too, bella" he said in a hushed voice before downing the rest of his drink, the golden liquid warming up his insides just like you did with his heart and soul. [so cheesy of me nah]

𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂

poor baby is so confused at first

he frowns so much

if you do end up recognizing him and get all giddy and affectionate he's gonna blush so much omg

probably asks you not to get drunk again cuz he's lowkey scared you'll get brain damage

"Piss off. I have a boyfriend" you said with a blank expression as you brushed his hand away from your shoulder, swaying your hips towards the bar.

Akutagawa was left speechless, utterly confounded by your sudden actions. 'What the...' he thought, walking right after you. The roaring music in the bar made it impossible for you to hear him calling out your name.

"Hey Y/N. Cut it out will you" he hissed, seizing your wrist.

"Let go of me" you pleaded, trying to free yourself but ended up stumbling backwards. If it weren't for Rashōmon you would've fallen flat on the hard floor of the bar; the black tendrils wrapped around your waist, bringing you back to your feet.

After you managed to regain your composure your glassy eyes met his, gazes locked in a drunk daze. Then a sign of recognition flashed in your eyes and your lips curled into a soft smile.

"Aww Ryuu baby" you giggled, arms wrapping around his neck as you pulled him into a tight hug. "I'm quite drunk baby"

"I can see that..." he stammered, trying to hide the rosy blush that bloomed on his cheeks upon hearing your endearment. "Want me to take you home?"

"Yea I'd like that sweetie" you continued in the same slurred voice. You pulled away from him a bit but your faces were still mere inches apart, a giddy smirk on your lips; fingers toying with the tufts of his hair.

Just when Akutagawa was about to walk towards the exit your lips found his and you pulled your body flush against his. The kiss was sloppy and warm, the taste of alcohol on your sugary lips causing your boyfriend to moan lightly. His hands came to rest on your hips, pulling you closer to him.

After a few moments he gently pushed you away. His face was red as a tomato.

"Come on Y/N. Let's go home"

"But I wanna kiss you mooore" you pouted and attempted to kiss him again but he leaned slightly back, chuckling.

"How about you kiss me at home? I'll let you kiss me all you want." he said awkwardly but it wad enough for you to take a step back.

You grabbed his wrist and marched through boisterous crown and towards the back exit of the bar where you car was parked.

"We better hurry then" you added playfully, voice muffled by the sounds around you.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #bsd headcanons #dazai bsd #dazai x you #dazai x reader #jouno fluff #bsd jouno #jouno x reader #jouno saigiku #akutagawa fluff #akutagawa x reader #bsd akutagawa

[xerotiny99]

Trouble in Paradise // Our Precious #3

Trouble in Paradise (Our precious series 3)

M.list ┃ Previous ┃ Next

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Reader

Warning: smut, dom!yunho, sub!reader, bits of food play (a little disgusting if you aren't into that kinda thing), frottage (non-penetrative sex), cunnilingus (oral sex), nipple/breast simulation, dirty talk & degradation (ofc, because Yunho's really got a foul mouth on him, and we like it <I need therapy>).

Note: do not proceed if you're uncomfortable or triggered by mentioned tags. Please, if you're really grossed out by "transferring" food from one's mouth to another's, then do not proceed. (Here, it's just strawberries, tho. So totally upto you 💀)

Gist: after the deliberate game night, you're left to contemplate about Jongho's and his flatmates' proposition of being their fucktoy. If that wasn't enough of an issue for you, a phone call from your parents leaves you in a mess. And the only way to relax during your hard times is something you know Yunho does all too well.

Word Count: 12,686

  "So, have you thought about it?"

You bite your lip, obviously contemplating every word of his.

"You know, Jongho just asked me about it a couple of days ago." you stifle a groan and shake your head, "agreed you all are very eager to have me on board, but I'm going to need some time to think, right?"

You take a deep breath, listening to his deep voice murmuring, "and we don't mind how long you take to give us your ultimatum. Of course, I am aware of the kind of plight you're put through. So, don't sweat it and don't make a decision you would end up regretting, okay?"

The grin on your face widens when you let his words sink in; well, he was right. But there was something which was quite tedious to figure out.

"Can I ask you something, Yunho?"

Hearing him lowly hum against your ear, you resist every urge to stuff your hand in between your legs; you roll over your stomach and grab a pillow to hold it under your chest. Your lethargic body relaxes almost immediately when you feel the soft coziness of the pillow and silk sheets draped over your bed. The mattress sinks once again when you move, shifting on your back to stare at the bland ceiling before pushing your phone closer to your ear.

Your heart thumped in your chest, words itching to be said, somehow balancing off the tip of your tongue yet having no grit to let them out. This question, the supposed doubt you had in your mind was troubling you ever since Jongho dropped you off at your dorms the next day of your game night. It was a fiddling question, not too serious or brooding, yet you had your conscience tied in a knot over it. The after-bearing sentiments of your proposed 'bargain' had been irking you to your ultimate limits.

What if, keeping a sex exclusive relationship with the people you barely know, turns out to be the worst decision of your life?

Or, what if your feelings come into play with this superficial relationship?

It may seem crazy, but spending only a week with Yunho had already made you sublime; you could only dream of experiencing the better half of a relationship because Yunho was certainly the boyfriend material, the exact kind you had been craving for years. As truth would have it, and as it would sting your morales, you had couple of exes who were shitty and contemptibly obnoxious. So, now that you had a man who was ticking off every single wish on your list, the profuse quandaries were messy.

"Princess, did you fall asleep?" he teases you through the phone, his tone making you envisage him smirking.

You might as well—after a hectic day of chemistry lectures coming into a play for your lethargy and hebetude, you certainly didn't mind letting off some steam before falling sleep.

"No, I'm here. I'm just..." you trail off, "...I'm thinking of ways to voice my thoughts."

"Have I ever judged you? Even though for the past week you've told me some really disturbing shit," he laughs, and you retaliate, "and don't act as if you didn't enjoy as much as I did narrating it to you."

"I did. I did," his laughter wrings out to a sigh, "don't think too much, okay? Be openly honest with me, ask me what you want to."

"I don't want to ruin your grocery store trip," you let out a soft titter and could picture him rolling his eyes, "understandable, because grocery shopping is all rainbows and unicorns anyway."

"If you had me there with you, it would've been fun," you mumble, turning on your side to stare the dingy wall of your dorm room.

"If that was the case, we'd probably not even make it to the store." He adds, "and we do not want to piss Seonghwa off. He's not pretty when he gets mad."

You drawl on your lower lip and squeeze your thighs together, "it's hard to believe, but okay."

"Ask, Angel." His stern and commanding tone makes your heart palpitate faster in your chest, fluttering sparks in your pussy as you prepare yourself to question him, "okay, it's a simple question, so...why me?"

"Why you, as in why we asked you to be our fucktoy?" he muses and you groan softly yet again, rolling back on your stomach to hold the pillow tighter under your chest.

"Yes. Why me? Why not someone else—maybe Wooyoung's friend, or San's or you know, Mingi's even." You grit your teeth, nervously chomping on your cheek to rid your anxiety.

Yunho chuckles, heartily, very proudly so because he wasn't sure if he had heard you right or not. "Do you think those losers have any girlfriends, Angel?"

"Why not?" you let a smile fleet on your lips.

"Because Wooyoung is a manwhore, he's slept with entire female population in his department and if it isn't obvious, I'm not interested in someone who could be a prospect carrier for herpes," he titters still, "I'm not slut-shaming him, but—ah well fuck it! I am slut-shaming him. Not my fault, he is a pathetic excuse for a human because hit and run is his specialty. Now, you tell me why any of his casualties would agree to our demands, let alone would want to sleep with us?"

You shake your head, trapping your lower lip with your teeth. "I get it. So, am I supposed to feel special?"

"Hmm, I'd rather consider myself lucky to have a cum-slut like you." you squeeze your thighs again, remembering the two nights you had spent with him. "Hold on a moment, let me park my car first."

You hum, restless and exhausted; your day hadn't been decorous since the morning, and considering you had two consecutive chemistry sessions today, you were definitely drained of your frisky energy. Yet, there's something about Yunho and talking to him while he drives around the town to get to the grocery store; at this point you questioned your motives and abilities—why were you getting turned on by a man driving his car to the store?

Maybe because it was very much attractive in your mind. Him, driving a hatchback (probably, you hadn't seen what car he drives), wearing a dress shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black shades on his eyes, the dainty rattling bracelets he usually adorns around his wrist—to conclude, the picture you were painting in your mind was the cause of your panties getting drenched.

Silence engulfs you, not necessarily, you could catch up on the soft shuffling sounds his clothes, or even his delicate grunts as he puts the car in park and gets out, slamming the door behind him. Although, there's a momentary hush when his phone gets disconnected from the car Bluetooth; he holds his phone close to his ear, while he straightens out a stray crease falling on his shirt near his waist.

"Angel?" he calls out, breaking your trance of staring at your study desk adjoining your bed, "you're still on line. Are you...?"

"I'm here, I did not fall asleep, though I think I might because of the very tiring day I've had." You pout, shifting on your bed to rest against the headboard, while you bring your legs to your chest.

Yunho chuckles, "ah my dear princess, I am coming over after I'm done with this tedious task. You're not gonna get much sleep then. I'd suggest you take a nap till I get done here."

"Oh." you bite your lips, glancing down at your chest. "Wake me up when you get here, and ah—p-s, I'm not wearing anything under my dress."

You hear him let out a breathy chortle, more like a scoff which taunts you into slipping your free hand to the hem of your silk dress. Coming back from the university, you were too exhausted to care about your outfit. You simply put on a coral shaded silk babydoll which barely covered your ass, with spaghetti straps and called it a day—of course, by also abandoning the underwear. So, you were practically naked under the flimsy silk dress, your breasts loose and hanging, your nipples taut from the friction and they really did poke through the material of your dress.  Both of you are quiet for a minute, but then you're also deeply submerged in the thoughts of him coming to your dorm room and fucking you. An annoying chime of bell dings in the background, followed by a soft sound of mechanical doors sliding open—that brings you down to earth, and so does his grumbling voice.

"An open invitation for me to wreck you in any way I want?" he muses, tittering as he moves past the doors and grabs himself a cart. "Princess, you better know what you're getting yourself into. I won't be gentle."

His warning only makes you wetter, your hand slithering past the hem of your dress to trace your fingers on your wet and slick folds. Biting back a whimper when the warmth of your fingers melts around your skin, you take a deep breath and throw your head behind. You knew your breathing would sound wispy to him if you tried to speak but you couldn't control yourself from not uttering a word.

"Yun—you can do—ahh..." you stutter, pressing your fingers against your mound, just above your clit, "I'll be waiting."

"Is my princess touching herself to the thought of me fucking her raw again?" he slurs his words, merely in a whisper considering he was in public. You were deaf to the somber tunes playing in the mart, you were too busy controlling your raspy breath because your desires were flaming you out.

"Yes..."

Yunho lets out a laugh and shakes his head, muttering under his breath then, "can't wait to taste that tight little cunt of yours. Rest well, princess."

He's the one to hang up on you; rather than throwing an imaginary fit, your mind is filled with the images of his cock straining in his pants as he meanders through the aisles of the supermarket. You might be too over in your head, but the exhaustion was slowly crawling up your spine. In no time you find yourself slipping against the headboard and slumping yourself properly in the bed. And in the few passing minutes, your eyes close and you're drifting away into your dreamland.

Dreamland. An alternate universe where you were living your wildest fantasies—maybe a little too realistically. The resonating voice of Yunho and his words were dwelling on your mind. Your imagination was coming to life, nonetheless in your dream. Soon, you're breathing out whimpers of desperation, squeezing your thighs together and murmuring your moans; you never thought you'd be having wet dreams, but you weren't fazed by the unpredictability. The tingling sensation in your pussy only grows when you envision Yunho with his head buried in between your legs, licking and lapping his tongue in your slit, over and over again.

A harsh tug at your lungs makes you breathe deeply, eyes squinting to the imaginary pleasure you were experiencing—with your brows scrunched together, you knew you were pooling in your lingerie. Though, in your dreams, Yunho doesn't stop, and it feels too real to not react to it; however, in the dark corner of your mind, you feel another presence.

Jongho.

The grinning man stands behind Yunho, arms folded over his chest, lips quivering with his eyes fixated on Yunho. Him watching Yunho eat you out was a turn on you didn't think you'd have. But there he was, with his twinkling gaze not once wavering off of you two. Why was it so hot? Why...? Out of the blue, a knot tied itself in your stomach and your guts loosen; the urge to just let go crosses your hazy mind but you try to hold it in. Until it gets too hard to bear and you're jerked out of your sleep.

You don't know how long it has been but when your eyes crack open, you're in direct contact with your open window and furling curtains. The space holds a beguiling view of the evening merging with the night, dark at the seams and bright in the middle. Purple and orange hues mixing together to a crisp shade of the fore-night; you're immersed in admiring the sky, too much to realize you had been holding yourself in. Though when the dire need starts tickling your stomach again, you rush out of your bed and head to the bathroom to relieve yourself.

Once your conscious clears out, you notice several things which have been cluttering your mind. One, you had a wet dream about Yunho and Jongho, two people you never thought you'd ever dream of. Two, as you're staring at your reflection in the mirror, you discern a wet patch on your dress, right near your lap; the dress must've been wedged in between your thighs when you were having that sensual dream. Three, you are really horny. Really really horny. Which sort of reminds you of yours and Yunho's conversation before you dozed off to sleep.

Biting your lip, you get out of the bathroom and dump yourself on the edge of the bed. Your eyes glance over at your desk to read the time on your alarm clock. 5:56 pm, it read, almost 6:00 pm you thought and heaved out a sigh. You run a hand through your hair and stroke out the tangles with your fingers. Searching for your phone, you find it near your pillow and grab it in a haste. When you watch the screen blare with the notifications, your breath hitches in your throat and then delves deeper down in your stomach.

Ten missed calls from your mom.

"Fuck," you curse under your breath and dial her number.

The ring resonates in your ear, infuriating and anxiety striking; yet you listen to it till it echoes out into the obnoxious droid voice telling you the 'number you've dialed is unavailable. Please try again'. You huff and call again but are met with the same outcome as before and it continues on for the next ten attempts you make to call her. Giving up at what you could remember as your twelfth try, you throw your phone aside and let the anxiety eat you out. How ironic was that, in your dreams it was Yunho, and in reality, it's your own mom.

You were certainly restless, weaving all these uncertain notions about your mom—your father too, but since you and your dad didn't really share much of an intimate bond, you weren't surprised to receive no calls from him. Soon, the anxiety reaches your gut, you're quivering with fear and second thoughts; what if it had been an emergency? What if your mom had something really important to say to you? What if you—what if you were too late to call her back? Everything was eventually gone in the blink of an eye.

Knock! Knock!

Two knocks sound on your door, and you flinch; even though you knew who was at your door, you couldn't shake off your perturbation regarding your family. It was true, you had stood up for yourself when your parents were against you pursuing your higher education in a different state but now all those moments were disappearing into a heap of worries. Did you even make the right decision of coming here? Given, you had scholarship and exempted tuition fee, was your decision to come here really ethical from all other perspectives?

Troubled, you drag your feet to answer the door. A trifling gasp is caught in your throat when instantly you're pushed against the door by someone's burly arms, closing the door in process. You were quite used to Yunho's scent, knowing he always carried around a delicate whiff of amber and peonies. The addicting scent rakes your senses to its fullest when his lips capture yours in a searing kiss. His lips move with yours, one arm around your waist tightly wound to keep you in place while his other hand cups a side of your face. Delighted, but mostly razed by his touches, a frail smile sculpts your lips, and you slide your arms all over his back to hold onto his shoulders.

The worries plaguing your mind soon melt away into the heat of your kiss; you're leaning in for more, diving headfirst into this beautiful mess when you know he's only going to tease you and not give in so easily. You're left whining when he bites down on your lower lip and tugs on it. Watching your lips wobble with a smirk on his plump ones, he chuckles softly and shakes his head. He grabs your jaw and pushes his fingers deep into your cheek for your mouth to open wide.

"Hey, Angel," one of his eyebrow twitches on his forehead when he calls out your name with a smirk. "You asked why you, right? I'll tell you why..."

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and sucks at a random spot on the juncture between your jaw and head. Warm tongue rubs your skin, before his teeth sink in and his lips suckle. You groan at the sensation, your mind numbing to any anxiety you felt before. His hand drops from your waist skims over the hem of your babydoll before diving under to trace it along your inner thigh; his fingertips graze against your wet folds before rubbing you down gently.

You prevent yourself from moaning out loud when his finger moves in and out of your slit at a slow pace. Holding your jaw tightly, he nudges your head back into the door.

"This—this fucking thing you have going," he mumbles against your neck, "I don't care about others and why they want you, but for me it's this—the way you're attuned with my body. And also, how fucking addicting you are to me."

You swallow thickly and throw your head further back against the door, banging yourself but you weren't bothered in the least. Hearing soft crinkles of a polythene bag, you peek at him through your half-lidded eyes; lustful gaze rummages around till your vision fills with the sight of him remaining buried in your neck, sucking deep purple bruises on your skin. The carnal darkness in your room is scattered when the lurid rays of moon wash over your invader. You notice him wearing a long coat over his outfit, you carefully listen to every crinkle of his dainty silver bracelets, and you're definitely lost in the appreciation of his teeth creating blotches on your skin.

"This thing started with us," he adds, a little breathless, "as much as I am willing to share you with my piddling flatmates, I can't pretend to be I'm okay with our arrangement. I'll be jealous, I'll be possessive. At certain times you might even see a side of me you probably won't find too adorable."

"I like it when you get jealous, though," you slur your words, smirking at him diligently. "I'm not sure what it is, but you rather have what belongs to you in your own ruthless ways."

Yunho coughs out a tiny chortle before stepping back and shaking his head; you stumble on your weak feet, watching him shrug off his long coat before flinging it over on the seat of the chair in front of your desk. Sighing dejected, as the anxiety once again starts bubbling under your skin, you make yourself comfortable on the edge of your bed. You kept your eyes on him as he loosens first few buttons of his pastel blue shirt—his bracelets keep chiming in time to time, with every movement of his hands. Just as you pictured him to be dressed; he wore a blue dress shirt adorning thin vertical white stripes and paired it with black trousers and boots. The faded blue hair of his was complementing the look, alongside the bits of silver jewelry he wore. He takes a step close to you and leans over to get to your face level; he slips a polythene bag in your lap and when you inspect into it, there are two plastic containers of peaches and strawberries. Did he get those for you? How thoughtful. He clears his throat, lips ghosting over yours as his arms plant themselves on either side of your thighs, trapping you against the bed this time. 

"The first time I saw you at the bookstore, all lost and bemused, like a deer in headlights—I wanted to ruin your innocence so fucking badly," he murmurs, his hot breath fanning your cheeks, "if only had you taken a peek in my head that day. It's a bit exhilarating, isn't it? —" he nudges you with a subtle nod of his head, his hands tracing along the length of your arms, "—how you had to be Jongho's friend. How you were dragged into this mess."

For the purpose of your sanity, your fingertips grasp onto the plastic containers, tightly so because the proximity between your faces kept on dithering to nothing. Running his hands back and forth along your arms, he trails one up to hold you in place by your neck; you gasp the sensation of his fingers tightening around your throat, sinking into your skin, suffocating you.

He presses his lips against yours in a mere touch to whisper, "maybe it's some sort of fate's blueprint or whatever. I don't really care what it is..." he hums out low and drags his words in a gentle mumble, "but I know there's a spark between us, between our bodies to be so profoundly in sync with each other."

Stifling a moan, you mutter against his lips, "are you done with this banal folly? If you are, then just shut up and fuck me."

He raises an eyebrow at you, a small smirk then fleeting on his lips. "Your wish is my command, princess."

"What...?"

You muse to yourself when he pulls away and takes a step back, he eyes you with a lustful twinkle in his eye and strides towards to the full length mirror you had accommodated beside your study desk for the time being. Your dorm wasn't much, to be honest. It was spacious, yes; a bed to a side, a study desk adjacent to it and other trivial things you had lying around, including a closet to the right side of the door, a mini fridge situated next to it, and to the left side of the door was the bathroom. Single room dormitories were expensive compared to the shared ones, but you didn't like the idea of having a roommate or two even.

"Was this the same mirror you used to send me that picture?" he questions, observing it closely.

"Yeah, what about it?" you place the plastic bag to your side and bite your lip, considering.

"Hmm," he purrs softly and picks the mirror up to place it right in front of you. "Let's set it here, shall we."

"What's on your mind, Yunho?" you whine softly, turning it into a chuckle when he prepares to get down on his knees before you. "Really...?"

As exasperated as your voice is, you can't hide your anticipation of your body when he slides himself closer to you. His hands on your thighs, sear a burn on your skin when he grips your flesh. Thumbs rub circles, till they're pressing down and sinking in; he pushes your legs apart, and you let him do as he pleases. One of his hands is already skimming across your thigh to the hem of your dress, pushing it up till it rolls around your chest. He holds it there, exposing your glistening cunt for his eyes to feast on.

"I said I'd be pining to taste you," he mutters in a breath, and gazes up at you, "so here I am. Unlike others, I deliver what I say, princess. And I've been craving a taste of you for quite a while now—since the day I saw you. But with the mirror in front, you can see it for yourself, the kind of mewling mess you become for my tongue."

He shrugs and pouts, tightening his hand which rested on your thigh, while he prompts you with a nod of his head to hold your dress up. You do as said, letting your trembling fingers clip on the hem of your dress to hold it up. Perusing your glistening cunt with his lust-filled eyes, his lips curl into a sly smirk. He slots himself closer to you, tracing his delicate lips down your abdomen, fluttering kisses which tickle your spine and your spark your cunt. Watching his reflection in the mirror was already fucking you up; but watching his reflection when his head is buried deep in between your legs was certainly savage. 

"And what are those fruits for? You were going to treat yourself, weren't you?" you mumble softly under your breath.

Dropping one hand to stroke his hair away from his forehead, you tangle your fingers in his luscious locks while trying to clasp your lower lip to bite back on any possible moans you might voice. His kisses trace up your stomach, up till he's giving your skin short kitten licks under your breasts. Your fingers pinch his hair, other hand struggling to hold your dress up—his thumbs help you soothe by rubbing circles on your thighs, engulfing you in a trance of comfort and ease.

"Of course, I'm treating myself," he mumbles under his breath, skimming his wet tongue down your abdomen to your stomach again. "Strawberries just taste better, you know."

Scoffing out in bewilderment, he presses a deep kiss just over your belly button and drags his lips slowly down, purposely teasing and nicking his teeth at your skin. You tilt your head back, your lips carved in a sleazy smile when the sensation of his soft lips flutter further down; your fingers tighten their hold on his faded blue locks, while other let's go of your dress. The silky material of your babydoll slips over his head, but he does not seem bothered as he continues littering soft kisses down your belly button.

And then, a moan hitches in your throat, anticipating. You're urged to squeeze your thighs together; only because his hot breaths were caressing your mound. His thumbs carried on rubbing circles in your flesh, soothing you bit by bit. In a way, his placid ministrations were helping you to keep your legs spread from him.

"Hmm, fuck," you gasp, voiceless, under your breath, screwing your eyes shut to the feeling of his soft lips pressing insanely close against your clit.

But you're left high when he pulls back, angling his head up to look at you; he wasn't fond of your dress slipping down your chest and waist, he didn't like it when your skin was covered. If you had the body to flaunt it, then why would you or anyone else want it covered? That was his logic, according to what you could stipulate from the week you had spent with him. Phrases and words like that made you an absolute puddle for him, you'd melt into a cold and sybaritic plash for him—all because you knew he would worship your body like the goddess you are, whenever he had the chance to. He has a chance now; he wasn't going to let it slip.

"You really like to tease me, don't you?" you squeak, listening to some shuffles of his clothes while your eyes peel open. "Now, what?"

"Getting rid of your lingerie," he grunts, huffing out a stubborn breath while lifting your babydoll over your head. Groping a handful of your tits, he buries his face in the valley of your chest and showers your skin with a few kisses. "I'd rather prefer you wearing nothing when you're around me. Can't get enough of this body, can't get enough..." he pauses, mulling over as his fingers dig into your fleshy tit, "...fuck, I'm all out of words to describe what this body means to me. Not just a fucktoy, no. Not at all. This body...hmm, this body should be displayed in a museum for being so fucking perfect. You're perfect for me, princess. Don't think otherwise, or else..."

Or else? You wondered. Not as much as exalting yourself in the way he was slurring his words, rambling even to get his point across. His teeth scratch your skin, his fingers now rolling your taut nipple; his other hand has been on your thigh all along, stroking circles to keep you levelheaded. You whimper at the sensation of his calloused hand kneading and groping one of your tits, while the other wasn't getting the attention it deserved. Turning your whimper into a whine, you look down at him, surprised to find him staring at you with the loudest smirk he could possibly scour.

"Aww, is my princess needy?" he tugs his lower lip out, brows scrunching down at the corners to feign his discretion. "My needy princess will get everything," he mutters against your skin, and leaves behind open mouth kisses when he gets to your other tit. "Hmmfyou—pfneeded—fthis?"

It drives you crazy how he was being muffled by your tit in his mouth; you glance down, biting your lip to avoid yourself from getting too aroused by the sight beneath. Oh lord, were you wrong. His lips had encased themselves around your flesh, tongue lapping and licking at your hardened peck; though, you could not resist being tempted by his doe eyes staring up at you with such nativity in them. His other hand squeezes your other tit, keeps it going till you're blabbering his name in wispy voice.

"Yunho...please," you shudder to the stimulation of your chest.

He hums around your tit, teeth slowly sinking in and biting lightly, his tongue was at it too, slicking it in his spit and unprecedented licks. Muttering a string of incoherent curses to yourself, you let your hand slip from his hair to the back of his neck, gripping tight. His moan gets muffled around your tit, sending spine-tingling vibrations to your cunt. You needed him, now. There was no way you could handle him playing with your chest like this.

He pulls his mouth back, reverberating a 'pop' sound on purpose as he does. "When I first saw you at the bookstore, I imagined you tasted like strawberries or peaches. So..." he blindly reaches out for the plastic containers of fruit he brought with him, while his other remains on your tit, caressing and pinching. "...coming across these at the grocery store was a good trip to the memory lane. I was reminded and I thought why not?"

"Let me devour you, princess."

You don't know what it was, but it was enough to make you leak. And in that while, you couldn't figure out how he got one of the strawberries out of the box you had placed to the side on bed before, and already had it in his mouth. The leaves were off the strawberry, conveniently—as he bites on it, the faint crimson juices slop past his lips and further down on his chin. You wanted to lick him clean. Maybe it was a silent yet coherent thought beeping in your mind, and maybe he had just read your mind. He slithers his hand along your arm and grabs the back of your neck, pulling you down, he lets his lips collide with yours.

Sweet. The redolent taste of strawberries fills up your mouth, eventually, a few bits of it when he forces his tongue in your mouth. There you are, frenching him while he shoves down the broken and mushy pieces of strawberries down your throat. Now, both of your chins are sticky and stained from the juices, though for you, a stray drop trickles past and falls perfectly in between your tits. 

A spark goes off in Yunho's mind when he feels the coldness of the drop dribbling over his hand which still played with your tit. You trace both of your hands to his shoulder and grip them tight, crinkling and creasing his shirt haphazardly—well, as if you cared.  He breaks the kiss and takes a deep breath in, while you're still breathless at how hard his tongue was shoving itself down your throat. A few pieces of strawberry are stuck in the gaps of your cheeks, and you swallow them down as you stare at him.

Picking out another strawberry, Yunho smirks slightly as he brings it to your mouth and prompts you to take a small bite out of it before he engulfs it whole. Again, the juices fill up his mouth, cumulative drops collecting themselves by the edge of his lips—but then don't spill, not until he buries his head back into your chest. A few drops roll down on your skin, his kisses soon turning into open mouth suckles. Pale stains of crimson trail with his mouth as he takes one of your tits in; it was the other one this time. His mouth wraps perfectly around your flesh, sucking and squeezing your tit with his lips and teeth. One of his hands snakes around your waist to rest on the small of your back, while the other cups a side of your face.

"This is awfully freaky," you mumble, dragging one of your hands to play with his hair falling on his nape. "But I like it freaky, you make it seem—ah," you gasp when you feel him give your nipple a gentle tug with his teeth, "—ah fuck, that feels good. So, fucking good..."

Your chest heaves up and down in his face, too bothered by him and his innocent eyes gazing up at you. The warmth of his mouth and the vague gelidity of the strawberry juices dissipates when he detaches himself from your chest; his smirk grows in his cheek, perusing the piece of art he had left behind on your chest. The sticky red strawberry pulp had adhered to your skin quite magnificently and he couldn't be prouder.

"This is just the tip of the iceberg," he winks, swallowing the remnants of fruit in his mouth. "I can get freakier."

Confidence in his eyes strikes you in the best way possible; you for sure know your cunt had drenched your bedsheets by now, all slick with the arousal his mouth was causing.

"Then get freakier, I need more from you."

In the erratic moment of time, he grabs another strawberry from the containers and props it right over your mound. The frigidity of the fruit was searing against your skin, that is only until he had fisted his hand around it and squeezed the life out of it—the pulp and juices trickled down, slotting itself perfectly in your folds and slit.

"Ah, fuck—you fucking bastard," you half-moan-half-chuckle, but it soon turns to an astonished gasp when his hot breath casts itself on your cunt before his wet tongue licks up your slit. "You—fuck—you fucking—you fucking freak!" you succumb to breathlessness and close your eyes tight; clutching his nape with both of your hands, you held onto him for your dear life.

He chortles against your slick folds and delves further down; the tip of his nose nudges with your clit at first, and then slides along your slit. How fucking good did that feel? You moan, your chest ripping itself apart when you do. It was unlike anything you had felt, especially considering pleasures received through oral stimulation. Yunho knew what he was doing, and he was doing it really well. His tongue licks up a stripe, lips sucking around your clit for a hot second before he drags them down to repeat the long and hard licks. You were squirming with a want, the oh-so sweet want of release.

Yunho's hands grip your inner thighs, his thumbs nudge and spread your cunt apart for the remaining pulp and juice of strawberry to roll down in between your folds. He leans in close and picks out the granules with his teeth, biting down softly as he does. It sends tremors under your skin, forces a saccade series of moans and groans out of you while your eyes squint tighter to let out tears. The pleasure was immeasurable, wooing you off into a faraway land of orgasm and joy.

You were delighted, so delighted to find your stomach knotting itself without having to be stimulated with penetration. He continues to lick and suck on your folds, gradually giving your clit some attention with his tongue while his hands groped your thighs and fingers dug in; they were leaving bruises tomorrow, but you were looking forward to it. Those handprints of his, they were going to be something you'd love to show off to your friends or someone.

"Fuck, Yunho. Your mouth—" you take a breath in through your mouth, "—it feels like I'm in paradise."

When your eyes open you see stars twinkling in the corner, your sight was full of them eventually—that is, as he carried on with his ruthless licks and flicks to your clit. The knot was intensifying, if anything, you really were on the verge of letting yourself go and watching you cum all over his face. Your face twitches and you're about...

Ring! Ring! Ring!

The high you once sought to, was now a deliberate low laying fruit; the knot disappears as the blaring sound of your phone's ringtone grows louder. You click your tongue, and blindly swat your hand on the bed next to you to find your phone. As you would recall, you did fling it somewhere when you went to answer the door. However, Yunho wasn't bothered by the deafening rings percolating in the room, he continues. A man on a mission. You mentally groan at that thought and sigh heavily when you find your phone in your hand. Checking the caller ID, you couldn't help but swipe the screen to answer the call.

Mom's calling you. She's calling you back. You needed answers, something to appease you about the ordeal where she felt the need to call you ten times.

Pressing the phone close to your ear and while gasping for air, you mumble, "he-hey mom."

"Oh, hey Angel—wait, did I get you at the wrong time?" you shake your head, trapping your moans in your mouth, "uh-huh, I was worried—I was worried about you and da—and dad. Giving me ten misse—ten missed—fuck."

All breath is knocked out of your lungs when you feel Yunho's tongue slither along your slit and his spit cover you up in its warmth; you're left to drawl on the remaining air in your lungs, specifically when he places his hand on your lower abdomen and forces you to lean behind into the mattress. Your back arches, your hips lift off the edge slightly for him to fix himself better between your legs. The angle your body now holds, gives him the perfect view of your hole. You squirm, wiggling your ass and bucking your hips into his face to get that much needed contact you had been craving for so long.

"Keep it hush, princess," he whispers, glaring up at you, "and watch your mouth when you're talking to your mother, hmm?"

You slightly glance down, hand trembling to hold the phone close to your ear—his face was breathtaking, glistening with your juices and the saccharine scent of the strawberry mixing in with your musk. The tip of his nose goes back to being buried in your slit, while his tongue rolls on your clit till it trails down to your hole.

Knowing where this was headed, you clutch the sheets under you and press your lips together. You so hoped your mom wasn't getting any ideas in her head about why your words were slurred or whimpered.

"Angie, I can call some other time," she murmurs from the other line, reminding you that you were still on call with her.

"Mom, just—just tell me—fuuc—hmmm," you cry out in pleasure when his tongue thrusts into your cunt. "I'm good—I'm good, you had me—hmmm—you had me worried—it's—"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, darling," she interrupts you, her tone soft and gentle. "The thing is, your dad..." she sighs and continues, "...in the last quarter of your dad's business—we're going under, Angel."

She comes straight to the point and bemused you; but your mind is occupied with Yunho's tongue shoving in and out of your cunt, slurping your juices, squelching your fleshy folds, and pressing the tip of his nose against your slick slit. You were done for better this time. The familiar knot ties itself in your stomach again. This time, your body rather hoped you'd get to come undone and release your tension all over his face. But, Yunho had some different ideas in his mind.

Hearing a bit of static from the other side, your mom continues, "you're understanding the weight of this situation, right? It brings me no peace to tell you that," she pauses and you hum, sinking your teeth further down in your lower lip as Yunho's tongue carries on with the abuse, "we can't support your accommodation, Angel. The tuition is already paid for, which we have no concern about since you're on your scholarship—but your dormitory fees, they'll be—you'll have to pay them yourself. Maybe, get a job? Or look for a new residence, where you have to share your rent?"

Her words were going over your head, regardless you were able to catch up on few phrases which sounded important and held grave promise to them. 'Look for a new residence.' Okay. 'Get a job?' Surely something you weren't looking forward to. But 'sharing a house with strangers?'A big no-no.

Though, all you could do was nod along and release your lip from your teeth to mumble, "sure—sure, fine. I'll—mom, I'll call you later at night—I promise, I'm busy—fuck."

The moment the curse escapes your mouth in the form of a moan, you hang up the call and squint your eyes shut; Yunho was thumbing your clit at an accelerated pace, stroking circles to let your orgasm delve deeper into your soul. Your phone slips out from your hand, falling down on the ground with a subtle thump while you bring both of your hands to rest them around his neck. Oh how tempted were you to push his head down, to make his tongue reach deeper into your swollen cunt.

"Fuck, Yun—Yun, I was on call—I was on a fucking call with my mom—fuck, couldn't you—couldn't you tone it down?" you stutter, trying to steady your erratic breath. 

Yunho hadn't stopped thrusting his tongue into you, neither had he stopped stroking your clit with his thumb—he doesn't utter a word and continues to do so. You were done with his teasing, huffing to yourself, you push his head down against yours cunt; now his tongue reached deep, submerged completely in your flesh and your walls clenched tightly around him.

"Yes, fuck, yeah, feels good. So good," you drool, throwing your head back and arching yourself to let the pleasure wash over you.

More importantly, your orgasm was only a few thrusts away; maybe a few flicks of his thumb could have you mewling at him as you release all over his tongue and face. The imaginary sight in your mind was riling you up in the worst ways already—you wonder what it'd be like if it were to come to life. Now that you do think about it, your dream comes crashing through—merging with the reality to spread goosebumps on your skin. Just imagining Jongho being present in the room, watching you get fucked by Yunho's tongue, was pushing you further to your edge.

"Yunho...? I'm—" you tap his shoulder twice, but he doesn't budge and continues to push his tongue in your cunt.

"Fuck." You yell and then scream out his name when you feel your walls clenching around his tongue one last time, "Yunho!"

His thumb stops toying with your clit, but his face remains buried in between your legs, his thumb having quit shoving itself into your cunt. You're flooding down his face, squealing and mumbling his name under your breath in a voiceless chant before catching a beat to respire properly. In the daze of your orgasm hitting you like a bucket of bricks, you hear him hum and nuzzle his head further into cunt; a second passes by in the heat of the moment, and he reels himself back. Leaning away eventually, he straightens himself and wipes his face with the back of his hand, getting some of your slick on the sleeves of his shirt.

"Are you insane?" you breathe out.

"Insane to get my princess cum on my face," he chuckles and shakes his head, "I hope you're feeling better now because I felt you tense up when you were talking to your mother."

He begins unbuttoning his shirt, one by one he undoes the button and shrugs his shirt off his shoulders. Exposing his toned body, he throws his shirt off to somewhere and gets on his feet. You're still trapped in the stupor of your orgasm, to even notice him shimmy out of his pants. Clad in his black briefs, he leans down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss.

"I've got a problem, Yunho," you murmur, and he nods, "and is it bad enough to keep us from fucking?"

Rolling your eyes you scoff, ready to shove him away, "are you really thinking with your dick, right now?"

He traces his lips down your jaw, leaving behind open mouth kisses along your skin to your neck. His hands roamed to her bare back, skimming his fingertips up front till he drags them painstakingly slow to your stomach and then further to your clit. You hug his shoulders, tight enough to hold onto him.

"You are less tense now, princess. I'm guessing my tricks are working, so...why won't I think with my dick?" he chuckles, kneeling down before you to slot himself between your spread legs.

"It's not about that, Yunho," your whine, suppressing a titter to yourself. "I'm practically homeless."

"What?" he gasps, amused and pulls back to stare at you, a confused smile sculpting on his lips.

"My parents are having some financial troubles; they are falling short to pay me for my accommodation," you pout, noticing the tent in his briefs, "so, I have to find a new place to live. And I don't where I can find an affordable apartment."

The worry lines on your forehead, concerns Yunho too. He licks his lower lip and sighs, "Angel, you can live with us."

"What now?" you massage circles into his shoulders as you hold them.

"Yeah, we've got a spare room in the loft. Well, Jongho occupied it not too long ago, but he can surely move back in with Mingi." He explains, wrapping his hands around your waist, "you don't have to pay us rent because you're going to be paying us in a different way...in all, it's the best arrangement you could ever ask for."

You think, muse and contemplate. To one side of your head you were agreeing with his proposition, but on the other side, you were marred with the thought of living with eight men out of which five were sexually interested in you and two had already fucked you good. Well, you're given no choice but to agree and get along with his deal.

"Hey, you don't have to give me an urgent answer," he mumbles, thumbing the sides of your waist, "after we're done here, you can come on over and we'll talk it out with Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Capisce?"

"Why, are they supposedly the alpha males of the household?" you joke, giggling softly.

"Technically," Yunho shrugs, "Hongjoong owns the loft and he was generous enough to let us stay and share the rent. It started with me and Seonghwa, others eventually joined us through mutual friends—it was the beginning of our freshman year, so..."

"I'd need their permission?"

Yunho scoffs playfully, "princess, no. They'd be happy to welcome you in. But this is supposedly my suggestion and I fall a little short on making such decisions as compared to them. It's better if you talk with Hongjoong."

You sigh, "fine."

A smile fleets on your lips and it delves deeper in your cheek. "So, are you going to ease my mind or not?"

"You don't need to tell me twice, princess," he smirks, diving in to kiss you passionately so.

You kiss back with the same want, same heat crawling up your gut as his; the intensity wasn't dithering, neither was your anticipation. He pushes you back on the bed till you're laying under him and he straddles your lap. The kiss never stops, even when he fumbles with the waistband of his briefs to get them off in a haste. He somehow manages to tug his briefs down till his knees and his hard cock pokes your inner thigh, until the tip of his cock brushes past your lower stomach. His hands are back on you, holding your neck to position you better to deepen the kiss; his tongue wriggles its way in your mouth. For the moment it does, you feebly taste the redolence of strawberries and your cum on his tongue. There goes without saying, you still couldn't believe he let you cum on his face.

But who's to judge his preferences? You aren't a saint either. Definitely not.

Moaning into the kiss, you drag your hands up his back and let your fingertip tickle his skin. Breathless, Yunho breaks apart from the warmth of your mouth, missing the way his tongue was shoving down your throat, and uses one of his hands to pump his cock, while his other supports his weight when he places it next to your head. His back arches, his fingers stroking the reddened tip of his cock as bits of precum drips from the slit—he angles his hand in a way to spread his precum along the shaft with the palm of his hand.

"Fuck," he grunts, closing his eyes shut tight and continuing to pump his cock into his hand.

For you, this was definitely a sight more than breathtaking to witness. How often do you see a pretty blue haired man stroke his cock so eagerly for you? It went on to show how sorely he needed you and yearned to fuck your cunt. This only takes you back to the time when he had railed you so good and hard; you knew it he was untamed and being so feral with that huge cock, was indeed going to deliver the best.

You let out a soft whimper, adding in to the gentle sounding moans of his. Insane, absolutely insane. His moans were pretty, just like him and you know you could never get enough of him moaning.

"Take a deep breath for me, princess," he indicates you with a nudge of his head while he opens his eyes to look at you.

Taking a breath, you prepare yourself for his cock. He chuckles at you, admiring your intrepidity as he eases himself into you. Your face contorts in pain, with only his tip submerging in you. Knowing the pain would soon subside into pleasure, however it doesn't. Your brows twitch and your eyes squint tight enough for tears stream down the side of your face; your mouth falls agape, wide to the ache your walls sensing with the stretch.

"Ah—Yunho!" you gasp out loud, breaking out into a yell. "It hurts, stop."

And he stops. With same ease, he guides his cock out of you and cups your face immediately after noticing the tears in your eyes. You flutter your gaze across him, a little blurry but you still discern the concern etched on his face. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, voice gentle and wispy. "Am I hurting you?"

"It just," you hiccup, "it hurts like hell when you..."

"Oh," he trails off, "is it because of last week? I think it is. I was too rough back then, wasn't I?" Sighing, his caresses your cheeks and leans in to kiss a stray drop of your tear away from your lips, "you're not used to such a huge cock, are you? It's fine. I'll have to be more careful with you next time—were you feeling any discomfort after that night?"

"I'm not sure, I felt sore and really raw at that time. Maybe I couldn't decry between vaginal tears and soreness," you mumble, assuring him with a faint smile before continuing, "look, it's not your fault. I failed to identify—"

"God, Angel," he groans, "it's not your fault, and for fucks sake put the blame on me. I should've been gentle with you for the first time. You're not used to it—ugh, never mind, I'll have to get you used to my size otherwise..."

"I'll be fine, stop worrying so much," you cup his face in your palms and reassure him. "Now, can we just...let's just forget about it and focus on making you feel good. It's only fair if I return the favour."

You lick your lips and let your tongue poke out through your lower lip; glancing down at his still hardened cock, you drool and your eyes twinkle with lust. He grabs your chin and forces you to meet his eyes.

"I am not so fond of blow-jobs," he says, smirking and then looking around till his eyes fixate on your chair and study desk. "Get on your feet, I've got a better idea." He then stands up and holds his hand out for you.

"Okay, mister," you roll your eyes and set your wobbly feet down, grabbing his extended hand before pulling you close to his body.

Your naked bodies crash into each other and heat emanates from both of you; his arms wrap around your waist and tug you around. He positions you in front of the chair, and pushes you down by the small of your back to have you leaning over the chair. He's right behind you, situating his cock perfectly against your ass which was raised high in the air.

"Legs apart," he whispers his command too close to your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

Slapping your inner thighs, he establishes a small distance between your legs and slips himself into it, his cock slides easily amid your thighs, a little below your folds. The tip of his cock rubs against your slit, rubbing back and forth—you're driven wild with the sensation, and even more so when his hands grope your thighs from behind. His fingers dig, sink in tight enough for bruises to appear. Again, you looked forward to it, being decorated with his marks. Perfect for a possessive man like him.

"Fuck, this is your idea to make yourself cum?" you dreamily laugh out, throwing your head behind on his chest.

"Your thighs feel godly, princess," he susurrates, licking up the shell of your ear before biting down hard on your earlobe. "Squeeze them."

You do as he says, squeezing your thighs together to feel his cock slip in and out at a steady pace. He bucks his hips a little higher to let himself rub against your slit in long and consistent strokes. This was certainly new to you, yet you were getting stimulated close to your second orgasm. You didn't think you would because this wasn't the same as the time he had actually penetrated you. There's no space for you to complain, you were slipping close into the world of pleasure and sensuality to give a damn about whether his cock was pounding in you or fucking your thighs.

"Fuck, just as I fucking thought—just as I fucking imagined what it would be to fuck your thighs," he whimpers close to your ear and later on you realise he was leaning over to kiss your cheek. "Princess, you've got unquestionably the best thighs to fuck. So thick, so tight—just fucking perfect."

You know he had lost it riding himself in between your thighs but you, on the other hand hadn't quite recovered from your last orgasm yet. Or even figured out how you weren't alerted to your vaginal injuries. It'd be unfair to call them injuries, they were basic nicks in the muscles of your vagina and cervix, from tremendous and tedious sexual activity. Pushing those thoughts to the far corner of your mind, your knuckles turn white while holding onto the chair, you were starting to get hot and bothered—so close to your orgasm again.

His cock thrusted along your cunt, hard and slick with his precum, which supposedly provided enough lubrication for his strokes to be smooth and pleasant. Your skin was covered with it however, and you were resisting to picture how his cum would paint your thighs. Picking up his pace, he thrusts faster yet keeps them long and sharp. Your walls clench around nothing, while your stomach drops to your knees; your legs buckle under you, under the weight of sensory overload his cock was proffering.

He flattens his palms on your thighs and gives you light slaps on either of your thighs, "we need to keep them thick and fleshy like this. I bet others would enjoy fucking them as much as I am right now."

"Hmhm, yeah..." you moan, shutting off your cognitive dissonance and mumbling along with him, "thick for you—thick for Seonghwa—thick for everyone."

"Ah, you're already blabbering bullshit, aren't you?" he titters heartily, pulling his hips back and driving them in sharply. "My cock makes you dumb, doesn't it? Hmm...a pretty little slut like you would be dumb for anyone's cock, isn't it?"

His taunts make you shake your head, lips parting to whimper, "no, fuck, only for you—only for you, Yunho."

"That's what I thought," he gasps, increasing his back and rattling his hips into yours.

His death grip is back on your thighs, his eyes are shut tight as he lurches forward to rest his forehead on your shoulder; sweaty chest presses up against your back, while you hold onto the chair for your dear life and to sedate the tremors his thrusts which caused your body to keel. The same tightness grows heavy in your gut, your spine tingling with how close you were to your second orgasm—your nails scratch off the varnish on the chair, scrapping bits of wood in them as he plunges his cock ruthlessly in between in your thighs. You squeeze them firmly, sensing the knot coming undone in your lower belly.

"Are you going to cum for me, princess?"

You nod your head, closing your eyes shut and leaning back into his touch; the heat creeps up your stomach and in a second's beat, the tension slips into comfort. You're releasing all over his cock, splashing on his and your thighs, a bit on the floor too. This time, you were knocked out for good; this orgasm was far more intense than the last one, far more overpowering too. You're mumbling his name like a chant, while he lets a laugh rumble in his chest.

"Fuck, my princess really made a mess on my cock, and everywhere else." he adds, "now, be a good little whore and help me cum too."

Without any warning, he goes even harder and faster than before, causing your body to convulse to his relentless thrusts. His untamed desire was evident in the way his fingers were bruising your skin, how tightly he was groping your thighs to stable himself from his ever increasing pace of his thrusts. He could go for long, and he does; your brain is turned to a mush in regard to the time or energy—his cock keeps hitting your folds, and the tip keeps abusing your clit.

You were past the point of sanity, breaking apart at the seams with your foul mouth screaming out his name and moaning it as if he was your god—technically, he was starting to show you stars, galaxies and miracles behind your shut eyes. All this from only rubbing himself between your thighs; it makes you wonder how much wilder the sex would get once you get to move in with him. Those ideas are for later, right now, you were vicious with his cock.

"Princess, I'm close. Don't worry—fuck—squeeze them tighter, for me—fucking please," he babbles out in despair, and you clasp your thighs even tighter on his cock.

"Fucking perfect."

He words out in a heavy breath, bucking his hips in your thighs as the tip of his cock remains close by your slit; heaving out, the warmth of his cum coats your folds and your slit. Gradually, he starts pulling back, still letting his cum sputter on your skin before he releases all of him on your ass and back. A few of it streaks down your butt-crack, eventually seeping down your butthole. You're groaning out in pleasure and possibly due to overstimulation. Nonetheless, you were satisfied, more than satisfied to know he had painted your back with his cum.

You're both breathless when he leans away from your shoulder and steps back; his small laugh resonates around you before dissipating into a soft titter.

"Princess, you just fucking know how to take a cock, don't you?" he mumbles in his post-orgasm daze, while grabbing his trousers to pull out his handkerchief. "Well, let's get you cleaned and then we'll take a shower together. We are both...sticky."

"Sounds good to me," you manage to gibber, not sure if it was audible or not. "I could use a hot shower and thorough cleaning after this."

"Hmm, I'll gladly help you clean."

You're too weak to turn around, so he helps you swivel on your feet while he holds your body close to his for support. Lethargic and drained, your eyes were closing themselves involuntarily. It was the lack of sleep—the sleep deprivation was slowly catching up with you.

"Keep your eyes open, princess. I need you here with me, okay?" his voice soothes a nerve in your mind, and you nod, opening your eyes. "Guess I'll have to be quick."

"Of course."

The rest of the evening, basically half-evening-half-night goes by smoothly. You both did take a shower together without engaging in anything and got rid of the sweat and stench of sex—but unfortunately, your room still reeked of sex, sweat and cum. You didn't care. Not particularly when you were dragged out of your dorm room by Yunho, after getting dressed in fresh clothes. You wore a long and oversized hoodie, shaded black and didn't bother wearing shorts or pants underneath as it covered most of your skin. To your surprise, as soon as you had your lip gloss on (because you liked lip gloss more than lipsticks), he had your hands intertwined and he was pulling you out of the door. He was eager for you, and the seemingly harmless arrangement you were about to propose to Hongjoong and Seonghwa.

You would've never guessed that this man drives a red corvette stingray if you hadn't been strapped in the passenger's seat of his car. An innocent looking man like him, driving such a flashy sports car, was indeed a shock to you. Looks can be deceiving, so who really cares? Everything passes by you in a blur when he speeds down the road; eventually, the city lights turn into streaks of neon haze and starbursts, until you're by the complex where his loft was located. He parks his car, and helps you out. Your hand in his, he guides you in and takes you to the loft.

Your heart is in your throat, not because you were back to this place with Yunho by your side but because you were too scared to anticipate Hongjoong's and Seonghwa's judgment on your proposition. This has to go well, and it will. Right? You have Yunho with you. What could possibly go wrong?

Yunho unlocks the door and pushes it to usher you inside. His hand never leaves yours; his grip doesn't loosen up for even a second as his pulling you further up to the living room. You and he had taken off your shoes in a haste and did not bother slipping into the house slippers. However, the commotion of your footsteps and Yunho's constant murmurs of 'it'll be okay', 'they won't bite you' and 'just relax' had gotten certain attention from the people sitting on couch.

You're soon greeted with San and Jongho, especially Jongho who has a twinkling and excited smile carved on his face. Both of them were seated on the couch, San having a laptop perched on his lap while Jongho made his observations on the screen—they were clad in their night clothes, San wearing a pair of black pajamas with white cats all over it and Jongho, a pastel blue pajama set with brown bears on it.

"Angel!!" he glees, catching your glimpse next to Yunho, "what brings you here so late at night?" his tone simmers down to being confused.

San adds, "yeah, it's not our game night tonight."

"Guys, stop pestering her, okay?" Yunho groans, looking around, "where are Hongjoong and Seonghwa?"

"Seonghwa's in the kitchen—"

"What is it Jongho...oh hey, Angel!" Seonghwa interrupts Jongho and quickly turns it into an elated greeting. "Should I be concerned for you to make your appearance this late into the night—can't ignore the fact that Yunho's here too. Are you two eloping?"

He's walking out of the kitchen, draped in a variedly stained apron and a wooden spatula in his hand. He looks gorgeous as usual, covering his white turtleneck and black trousers with a grunge red apron—not only his outfit made you quiver, but his hair was also pushed back and tied in a small ponytail behind. If he looked this alluring even when you move in, then you don't think you'd be able to resist the urge to suck him off every time he appeared in front of you.

Yunho clears his throat, aggressively and it becomes a series of wretched coughs till he's gasping for air. "Don't go too hard on me, Hwa. You know how I am."

"Fuck your preferences, Yun," Seonghwa rolls his eyes, "what is the point in bringing Angel here?"

"Well, I'll let her explain it," Yunho sighs, giving you a nudge of his head.

"Uhh, yeah, I need to talk," you mumble, scratching the back of your neck with your other hand.

Your words alert Jongho and San, and they're saturated completely on you, regardless of a certain video playing on San's laptop. Seonghwa hums along, encouraging you with a nod of his head while biting his lower lip. Yunho only stares at you, keeping a frail smile on his face.

"So, go on."

A coarse yet pitched voice booms through the room, followed by nifty footsteps of the man you had been waiting to come. You assumed he was in his room or something, but not thinking he could be at work. Hongjoong strides in, running one of his hands through his hair and other stuffed in the pocket of his jogger shorts. You watch him adorning a black tank top over his toned chest and nothing else; his complexion was striking but wasn't as pale as Yunho. A pop of melatonin makes his skin a little tanned.

"I suppose, Yunho bringing you here is rather crucial for you." He says, walking over to sit next to Jongho. Spreading his legs apart and relaxing back on the couch, he repeats, "go on, Angel."

You clear your throat, "I—I actually—I actually need a place to stay. My parents—"

"—she's in no condition to pay for her university accommodation, so she's looking for a new place to stay. I asked her to come with me since we have a room to spare," Yunho interjects, his eyes trailing over at Jongho, "you'll have to move back in with Mingi, baby bear. You're understanding enough, right?"

Jongho ponders for a minute before silently nodding, "sure. I don't mind. Angel needs it more than me."

You can't help but crack a smile at him, heart palpitating faster in your chest. Yunho could hear your heartbeat, and he squeezes your hand to ease you out. Seonghwa notices it and smiles to himself, shaking his head at the two of you before excusing himself from the living room and going back into the kitchen.

Hongjoong finds it amusing, his lips twisting in a knowing smirk before he asks you, "that's not the issue, Angel. What I need to know from you is—rather what I'm aching to hear from you is, your riposte to my proposed idea of you..."

"I agree to it," you're too quick to reply, taking the man off guard and others too.

San remains confused because he had no clue what you were talking about. Now that he is here, does it mean he'll also be involved in this reverse harem thing you have going on with others? If San gets involved then would the others be involved too? Of course you're thinking about Wooyoung and Mingi, one is a reputed manwhore and other is a man who resents you. That too for no apparent reason—or for something you don't know.

"You do?" Jongho squeals, questioning you.

"Yeah, I don't mind being your..." you trail off, glazing your eyes over at San.

From the kitchen, you hear thudding of metal dishes and spoons, soon Seonghwa comes rushing out with his wooden spatula.

"She agrees?" he asks, and Yunho nods, "she said she'd need more time to think about it, but I guess..."

"Are you agreeing to it because of your living conditions, Angel?"

There it was, Hongjoong comes straight to point. Even his stare was detrimental for you, and how insanely intense it was to pierce through yours. Hongjoong clearly liked to dominate submissive women like you—he has how own share of kinks and customs he likes to follow in the bedroom. And some of them, might seem too unconventional. You didn't want your mind to stray too far off, but he seemed like the type who definitely delighted himself in playing with chains and cuffs.

"I'm not!" you retort, explaining yourself further, "I gave it some thought and I don't think it's a bad idea."

Your pout melts through the stubborn and ice cold heart of Hongjoong's—for a man with domineering aura, he sure is letting himself submit to you. He doesn't let his stoicism waver on his face, rather his purses his lips together and spreads his legs apart further.

"Don't think it's a bad idea?" he repeats your words in coherence to your judgement, "Angel, we don't want you doing anything you are uncomfortable with. Your consent means a lot to us."

"And you have it," your pout grows, and you vaguely point at Seonghwa and Yunho, "I've already gone to the extreme with him and him."

Hongjoong chuckles, and keeping his lips parted, his canines rest against his lower lip, "we'll add it to the very list of your sex chronicles with us."

Your face heats up and turns red, before you could open your mouth to retaliate, San pipes in, "so, you've discussed this before? She's our new...fucktoy?" he cringes thereafter, shrugging his shoulders and scrunching his face in disgust, "with all due respect, let me rephrase, you are our new arrangement to satisfy our sexual desires?"

You nod, your heart hammering in your chest. "Yeah, one and only."

"Are you really sure, Angel?" Jongho wants a confirmation from you and smile at him, wide and bright, wanting to erase his doubts. "Then I guess we no longer have to wait for your answer."

Seonghwa chimes in, "so, when are you moving in?"

"Oh, once this month gets over. There's only a week left anyway," you shrug, smiling a little, "I'll start packing right away."

Yunho hugs you from behind, kissing your neck; first you're caught off guard, second, he's doing this right in front of everyone and third, his scent was driving you crazy.

"I'll help you." He mumbles against your skin.

"Yunho, you know the ground rules," Hongjoong threatens and the man who was sticking to you like glue before, now detaches himself from you in an instant. "So, less P-D-A."

"Ugh, ground rules," Yunho whines, but steals a kiss from your cheek. "I'll go get changed and you are staying over tonight. Let's have dinner together, shall we?"

"Of course!" San sings, "we'll get to know you better too. I bet Wooyoung would be pretty excited to know more about you."

"Speaking of him, where is he?" Hongjoong inquires and Jongho answers, "it's the peak hour, where else would he be?"

Hongjoong nods, getting his answer and Seonghwa sprints back into the kitchen not long before announcing, "we've got enough food for you too, so you're staying here."

You quietly agree to him and swallow thickly, striding over to sit on the lone chair adjacent to the couch. That's when Mingi comes into the room from upstairs, his hair tousled and messy, wearing grey sweatpants and a grunge green graphic sweatshirt. He eyes you as he crosses the living room, glaring at you to set his point through. He didn't want you here. But, he couldn't go against Hongjoong's or Seonghwa's wishes.

"Look who's finally out of their room!" Jongho cheers, laughing and joking around before clearing his throat and informing Mingi, "oh well, guess what, Mingi. I'm shifting myself back into your room. Angel's moving in with us and taking over the spare room."

"What?" Mingi grunts, burning his eyes on you, through you, in all hating your presence in the room altogether.

"Y'all really addicted to this whore's cunt, aren't ya? Keep me out of your fucking deal. I ain't getting involved." 

And that fucking hurt your soul. But you keep quiet and while you're at it, Yunho walks in the heated room—Hongjoong and the others are about to defend you when Yunho does it himself. He adorns a conceited smirk and folds his arms over his chest, they bulge out through his grey hoodie somehow, but your eyes travel down to somewhere where they shouldn't have. His jogger shorts are too thin to show off the outline of his cock, he wasn't hard, but he was huge. Why are you drooling on his cock when you're having trouble in paradise? Not that you hadn't seen his cock before. And you are his damsel in distress.

"That's more for us then, Min." Yunho steps closer to him and gets all in his face,

"If you're not involved in this with us, then it's one less person we'll have to share her with."

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#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez yunho #ateez x reader #jeong yunho smut #jeong yunho x reader #jeong yunho #yunho smut

[jazzyblusnowflake]

Iran’s inside war

Hello there, i really wish i didn’t leave the platform temporarily only to come back with a topic like THIS but yeah.

if you are not aware, my country has been going through an inside war for women's rights against mandatory hijab laws because of a 22 year old girl getting beaten to death by morality police for having improper hijab

her name is Mahsa Amini and her tag is being shared everywhere on twitter and instagram- #mahsaamini

basically the gist of the matter is that Iran has cut off internet in most of the country to silence us while they slaughter people on the inside. instagram, twitter, telegram, whatsapp and all other websites are closed off and will remain that way unless people get a bajillion vpns just to get a message across which is kinda what im doing now...

women are cutting their hair off and burning their scarves in the streets to show that they had enough all the while police attack people and teargas or shoot them.

now i am a teacher and an employee to the government, which in short terms means they have me on a leash and control my every move, otherwise ill be outed and dealt with, especially since im not a “straight woman” and for that alone i could get a death sentence let alone if they ever find what im drawing online...

therefore i may have to delete some posts or just make my accounts on different platforms private for a while until this all blows off because these fuckers DO snoop around peoples medias online. me and my dad work for the government and we have to go to the cities for work all the while there are gunshots being fired and police going around the place,

i might just be the next victim caught in the crossfire...

please search the tag #mahsaamini on other mediums and spread the word so that you could help us. we don’t have a voice anymore and we are leashed tight...

yesterday i got called by the government because some uni classmates or SPIES had said some shit about me and they made me recite a prayer for them and swear an oath of some kind to them. this scares me. i am powerless and voiceless. we need your help...

#mahsa amini #mahsaamini #iran #islamic republic of iran #snow rambles

[fictoculus]

hi! i was wondering if you could do wanderer, tighnari, childe, heizou, and maybe thoma with a reader who suffers from like severe depression? like they have no motivation to do anything and they’re always tired and sad and all of that depression stuff (i put that really mildly but i think you get my gist). and maybe if possible could you include that like, the reader is always helping other people and never helps themself because they don’t think they deserve it?

i’m sorry if this is too heavy a request. no pressure and no worries if you don’t want to do it!

౨ৎ no matter how alone you feel, i am always here...

send a request!┊masterlist┊taglist applications

FEAT... wanderer/kuni, tighnari, childe, heizou

A/N... hellooo, thank you so much for this request, i'd be more than happy to write this for you! i'm so sorry but i had to remove thoma from the mix as i couldn't come up with any ideas for himmm. also also i apologise if childe's section is super ooc, i really struggle writing for him, but this is good practice! i did include other mental health related topics that can link to depression as i wanted to try and connect with as many people as possible. this does not mean i expect you to be suffering from those things, and in no way do you have to in order to be suffering from depression. if you are, that's ok too ♡

WARNINGS... self harm (heizou), depression, injury, home-neglect/"depression home" (childe), suicidal thoughts (tighnari), references to derealisation (wanderer/kuni), swearing

✧ wanderer.

♪ wanderer, can be harsh, and has proven to have quite the tough exterior. that doesn't mean he loves you any less. and so, when he found out how you'd really been feeling, and that you'd been having to put up with it alone? he was absolutely heartbroken.

♪ you had forced yourself to get out of bed that morning, feeling almost limp as you stumbled down the stairs. nothing felt real. nothing felt like it mattered.

"morni- are you ok?" tear stains ran down your cheeks, your eyelashes still damp and your eyes bloodshot. the tip of your nose was a soft shade of pink, and the colour of your lips was slightly more vibrant than usual. "have you been crying?"

♪ it would have been one of the only times his shell completely shattered, leaving his interior exposed as he cried; not for you, but with you. the two of you wouldn't have said a word, but instead just sat wrapped around each other, in silence.

♪ with anyone else, he would've been embarrassed. being seen crying was not something many would expect of the wanderer; but it was you. you were hurting, you needed him, and so he wasn't afraid to be vulnerable around you if that's what it takes.

"shhhh, i know, i know... i'm sorry" wanderer, or kuni as you call him, was cradling you in his arms, rocking from side to side and burying his face in your hair. he was trying his best to keep himself together, using your scent to ground himself. "stop- please" tears threatened to spill as you broke apart right in front of him, squirming in his arms, but he refused to let you go. his grip only tightened, pulling your back further into him until you finally stopped thrashing, only to break down into tears. you felt him tremble against your back, his arms shaking slightly as his own tears began to dampen your hair.

♪ he'd known something was off about you, but he had confidence in your strength, you're one of the strongest people he's ever known, after all; but he often fails to realise that everyone can be weak sometimes, and that is one of the beauties of life.

♪ leaving you to handle things alone seemed like the best solution to wanderer; your mind needed the time to rest, to give itself a kickstart and power on like usual... but, oh, how he was wrong.

♪ probably the last thing you needed was to be alone, whether you knew it or not. you needed him; his voice, his gentle touch, his loving kisses, his words - however harsh they may sometimes be.

"it's hard work loving me, isn't it? you... you don't deserve to have to live like this, kuni" "don't say that, it's all work worth doing... you deserve the world, [name], and so much more, more than i could ever give you, got that?" his words carry meaning, so much more than a poem, a song, a kiss. they're unwavering, deeply engraved into the forefront of your mind the moment they slip from his lips. "i'll do this a hundred times if i have to, i don't care. i will still love you all the same, ok? i know i don't say it a lot, but nothing can ever change that, and that's a fact."

♪ he'd hug you until the sun goes down, taking your hand in his own and slowly guiding you to the bedroom once the time to rest arose. physical touch is a love language of his, since he often struggles with his words, and so he cuddled you through the night, instinctively squeezing you just a little tighter than usual.

"i will never leave you, [name]... no matter how alone you feel, i am always here"

✧ tighnari.

♪ tighnari has been out on a trip to aaru village for a few days now - planning to observe how different species of plants grow in different climates - leaving you alone in gandharva ville to watch over collei while he's gone. you do love collei, but sometimes she can be... a bit hard to handle; often getting herself into trouble. it's a lot to deal with, especially with that peculiar numbness which has been dragging you down for weeks now...

♪ unexpectedly, your lover had come home early from his trip; there had been some sort of 'incident' in aaru village which was to remain confidential, even tighnari didn't know the details.

♪ he'd half expected to find you in the kitchen, having lunch with collei, or perhaps reading that book you were obsessed with (which now fails to peak your interest), but instead he finds you curled up in bed, trembling.

"love?" "... nari? y- you're back?" you replied, your voice woven with surprise yet you couldn't bring yourself to show him your face.

♪ concerned, he sat on the edge of the bed, positioning himself so that he was facing the lump which he assumed was you. you shuffled, the sheets rustling as you tried to get closer to him, finding his presence alone comforting.

"are you ok, darling?" "hm? yeah, yeah i'm- i'm ok, i'm good" "would you look at me? i haven't seen you in so long, i want to see the beautiful face of yours"

♪ smart, that's what he was, smart and cunning. he already knew you were crying the moment he stepped into this house, his sensitive ears picking up your sniffles and broken sobs. he wanted to comfort you, to be there for you, maybe (definetely) even hold you, but how was he meant to if you hide yourself away from him?

♪ reluctantly, you turned to face him, showing him your teary eyes but hiding the rest of your face under the bed covers. he reached out and pulled them away from you, leaning down to kiss your nose softly and giving you a weak smile. a couple tears began to fall down your cheeks, but he kissed them away too, trying his bst to show just how much he loves you

"what's the matter, hun? what's been bothering you?" you take a deep breath; this is it, your chance, your chance to tell him everything, to finally confide in him. "things have been hard you know... having to take care of collei, running errands, just- everything, all while having this aching numbness in my chest..." "numbness? love, what do you mean?" "i don't know... it sounds silly i-" he jumps to interrupt you, to reassure you and show how patient he's willing to be with you. he never wants you to dismiss your feelings; he takes your wellbeing very seriously. "no, no it really doesn't, i'm just trying to wrap my head around everything that's all" "are you sure? we don't have to talk about it if-" "no, darling, i'm sure" "ok, well... it's just been lonely, and it's really hurting... i just wish everything would end"

♪ tighnari felt his heart shatter in that moment; you wanted it to end? the love of his life, the one most precious to him, has gotten to the point where they want to completely give up, and it breaks him.

♪ he slowly lowers himself down on top of you, wrapping his arms around you waist and rolling the two of you over so that you were ontop of him, cradling you in his arms and - unbeknownst to you - silently crying with you.

♪ the two of you just lay there in eachothers arms, refusing to let go of the other, tangled together under the covers. it must have been a couple hours before tighnari broke the silence, deciding that you'd had long enough to reflect and attempt to calm yourself down.

"[name], listen to me... no matter how alone you feel, i am always here, ok? i love you so much, and i'm sorry you've had to go through this alone. i will help you, i'm fighting with you now""you don't have to promise me anything, just... please consider coming to me whenever you're thinking like this, ok?" "i will, thank you, nari... i love you"

✧ childe.

♪ both you and childe have a fairly packed schedule, running around liyue day in day out to keep people happy. your beloved seems almost completely unaffected, getting riled up at pesky customers being the worst of his worries, you - on the other hand - had an entirely different load.

♪ due to the fact that the two of you were so busy, you rarely got to see eachother, maybe brushing by eachother but only being able to share a kiss before one of you got dragged off to more business. so, you always made sure to make time for eachother, clearing out at least two days on your calendar (typically wednesdays and saturdays) to spend together, telling the other all the exciting or nerve-wracking things you had encountered in the week

♪ however, what childe doesn't know is that you'd been off the job for almost a month now, spending your days in your own home, stuck in bed despite the voice deep in the back of your mind willing you to get up...

"honey, you home? you kept me waiting you know..." no response... little did he know, you were cursing under your breath; it's wednesday. you paced your room in panic before stopping in front of the mirror, gripping at your hair when you saw your reflection. you practically slammed yourself forward, hands now on the mirror as you traced your reflection's 'imperfections'. you were completely lost in your own head, too lost, in fact, to notice you were the only thing keeping the mirror from crashing down, the already loose screws falling to the floor as soon as you applied pressure. "fuck!!" you yelled, the glass shattering all over your floor, luckily not digging into your skin, but you didn't come out completely unscathed, a couple scratches ;iterring your hands and legs. "love? [name]?! open the door! are you ok?!" he shouts, pounding on your front door, the entirety of liyue must have been able to hear him. "don't come in!! please, just wait, i'll be right there! i'm ok! just please-"

♪ without waiting another moment and completely dismissing your pleas - due to pure concern - he unlocks your door with the key you gave him, walking into your apartment but finding it almost unrecognisable. it was a mess; clothes strewn across the floor, garbage piling up on the kitchen table and beside your bedroom door.

"[name]? hun, what's going on?" you could hear the concern weighing his voice down, it becoming lower and scratchier as he approaches your bedroom. "ah- i told you not to come in!"

♪ he pushes your door open, only to freeze in the doorway when he caught sight of you, greasy hair tangled into a nest-like structure, dark circles making your eyes pop.

"holy shit!! what in teyvat happened? are- are you ok!?" his eyes are wide, hands shaking as he approaches you slowly, holding your shoulders as he scanned you up and down. "archons, what happened... love, is there something going on? is someone hurting you? has someone done something? talk to me! please i just-"

♪ the whole situation was more than just overwhelming; being stood in a ring of shattered glass, exhausted, embarassed, the whole package.

♪ naturally, you began to tear up, lowering yourself down until your were squatting, holding your head in you hands and sobbing, all while childe stood and watched; he didn't know what to do.

♪ he'd never seen you like this before, so vulnerable, so afraid, so hurt; and it hurt him too. carefully, he swept away the glass with his foot, creating a path for you to 'escape' safely and into his arms, which you did; slamming yourself into him and burying your face in his chest.

"i- i'm sorry, i'm so sorry i forgot and- and my place is a mess and i'm- i'm a mess and, archons- childe... childe, i'm falling apart" "shhhh, you're ok, i'm here now, ok? just breath for me, love" "it- it's just so hard, y'know? alone... i'm so alone, i- i can't do this alone, fuck i'm sorry, i just- it feels like i'm losing control of myself; i can't even think straight anymore and i feel so dazed all the time and... i'm lonely, e- even though i'm surrounded by so many people, i'm so lonely"

♪ he let's you talk, not daring to interrupt you, just listening to you, holding you close and stroking your arm in an attempt to reassure you. only when you stop talking does he pull away, peppering your face in loving kisses before planting an especially sweet one on your lips.

"honey, stop, i'm all gross and-" "i don't care"

♪ and he shows you that he doesn't, kissing you again and again; your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, your lips, everywhere. he has so much love for you, and he just keeps on giving. he doesn't care if you don't think you deserve it, if you don't think he should have to 'deal with you'; he gives it to you regardless, and that's something you can't help but love about him.

"no matter how alone you feel, i am always here, understand? i love you, [name], and i care about you, more than anything; more than my job, the fatui, mora, the list goes on. nothing is more important to me than you, and i'm not ashamed to say it. i am the one who doesn't deserve you, i'm blessed to even know you, nevermind have the privilige of loving you. so accept it, please, take my love, my heart, my everything; all my being is here for you." "archons, i love you, childe" "i love you, [name]"

(big ass dramatic speech for our drama queen) (rest assured, he meant every word)

✧ heizou.

♪ the man is a detective, so he quite quickly caught on, but was hesitant to mention it, bringing it up jokingly only for you to completely dismiss it. heizou could tell by the look in your eyes alone that something was seriously wrong; the old sparkle being replaced by a dull void. nevertheless, he would still get lost in your eyes, but feel as if he were falling down a bottomless pit; it was like he could feel what you were feeling, see what you were seeing, and it hurt.

♪ he'd be returning home from a long day of detective work, uncovering clues and deciphering codes to find missing persons, his eyelids dropping as he locked the front door behind him

"honey, i'm home!" he calls out, knowing well how cheesy the phrase was, and using that to his advantage, wanting the first thing he sees after a long day on the job to be your smile. "love?" after hearing no response - not even the shuffling of your slippers against the wooden floorboards - he grew concerned, eyebrows furrowing as he began to wonder: "where could they be?"

♪ someone coming after you must be his most dreaded nightmare; a thought that haunts him late at night, though thankfully the sight of you sleeping soundly next to him always seems to calm him, but this time you aren't there... you aren't there beside him to comfort him, to show him you're safe, to prove to him you aren't hurt. the poor man is stood in the entryway of your shared home, eyes wide and scanning the coat hooks for any missing coats, or the shoe rack for any easy-access pairs you may have grabbed if you were faced with the need to run.

♪ merely thinking about a criminal exploiting heizou's soft spot for you as revenge for proving them guilty sent chills down his spine, the thought of you being hurt scaring you more than anything ever could, even more than some of his worst cases.

"calm down, heizou, they're probably fine" he reassures himself, trying to keep calm and prevent himself from thinking (or acting) irrationally. finally stepping into the front room, heizou's eyes switch from doorway to doorway, trying to decide where you're most likely to be. watching tv in the living room? nope. cooking dinner in the kitchen? not there either. showering in the bathroom? still no. watering the plants in the back garden? this late at night? no way! sleeping in the bedroom? not quite...

♪ peeking through the crack in the bedroom door, he sees you sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over and unmoving. his first thought is to burst through the door and hug you, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around in relief... that is until his eyes recognise the red trickling down your thighs...

♪ you wanted to feel something, anything. an escape from this numbness was all you wanted, all you needed, yet it would slip from your grasp as soon as the pain subsided. it was unloving, unforgiving, cruel; leaving you alone once more, staring a hole into the blank spot of yours and heizou's bedroom wall.

"you thought i wouldn't notice, love? i am a detective, y'know..."

♪ yes, admittedly it wasn't the best choice of words, but in all honesty, he wasn't quite sure how to react. he pushed the door open, poking his head through first with a weak smile before opening it further and sliding through the gap. no matter how hard he tried to hide it, you could see his eyes welling up with tears, his bottom lip wavering as he looked you in the eyes.

"can... would it be ok if i come closer?" his gentle voice calls out, you can hear the sadness in your voice, and it hit your heart with a 'twang'. you nod meekly, reaching out your hand to grab a cloth and covering your leg, but he grabs your wrist to stop you "please, let me see?" "'zou... you don't need to help me" "[name], i want to help you, i'm choosing to do this... so please"

♪ at first you're doubtful, confused as to why anyone would want to give you this kind of help, especially heizou. not because you view him negatively, but because you could tell he was exhausted; being a detective is hard work, and has proven to be very draining.

♪ deep down you didn't think you deserved it. despite always being happy and willing to help others, nobody ever seems to want to return the favour, and so your frozen in shock - not pain - when he begins cleaning your wounds.

"do you maybe wanna talk about it?" he asks, looking up at you with kind eyes, showing you how genuine he was. whatever was bothering you, he wanted to know, he wanted to help, because you deserve his help. "... m- maybe later?" as much as you hate to dissapoint him, you can't bring yourself to even think about how you'd explain all this to heizou; not wanting to scare him or become 'one of his clients', though you know he would never treat you that way. "of course, whenever you need, love... you know i love you, right? and... and that no matter how alone you feel, i am always here" "i love you..."

thanks for reading ♡ want to read more? my requests are OPEN, so please feel free to let me know what you'd like me to write next!

☆ a little message i wanted to share... ( feel free to skip)

"i know some random person from the internet saying this may not help, but i want you to know that you are loved, you are cared for, whether you know it or not. there are billions of people on this planet, not one of us are the same, and so no one will ever really know how you're feeling, but that's ok. this is something you are going through and something you will get yourself out of. yes, it will take time, and it'll be hard, but i believe in you. nobody knows you better than yourself. if you think doing something, anything, will make you feel worse, don't do it. you know your boundaries better than anyone, no matter what other people say. take your time. of course, it's good to help others, but sometimes you'd be helping other people more if you took a second to take care of yourself. you do deserve it. please stay safe and take care of yourself. ily ♡"

© FICTOCULUS 2023; please do not steal, translate, or repost my works as your own

#genshin #genshin x reader #scara x reader #kuni x reader #tighnari x reader #heizou x reader #tw #wanderer x reader #nb!reader #gn!reader #childe x reader #tighnari fluff #tighnari angst #heizou fluff #heizou angst #childe fluff #childe angst #kuni angst #kuni fluff #scara fluff #scara angst

[hotchswifey]

professor hotchner - aaron hotchner x reader smut

(okay, i wrote this 2 years ago, it's on my ao3 (same username), no judgements pls, i cba to rewrite it better or even reread it- i have spell-checked it!

warnings: smut, oral (f rec and m rec), fingering

word count: 5180)

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You walked into your criminal psychology class. Alternatively, you walked into the course with the hot professor. 

You had initially taken the class out of pure interest, planning to take one or two classes (to get a gist of what “criminal psychology” was really about) and then swap it out for something more like your major- but then you saw him. Professor Aaron Hotchner. The unreasonably attractive professor- the man you had fantasised about for the last four months

- sat at the back of the lecture hall. Not that you had initially; you had sat near the front. The closer to the attractive professor, the better, right? Wrong. You weren’t being precisely subtle about your attraction (then again, neither was anybody else), but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. At least you had the decorum to move to the back. Every else? Not so much.

You got out your textbook (the heaviest textbook you had) alongside your notepad and a pen as he walked into the room. The way he walked, alongside everything else he did, oozed confidence. He stopped at his desk, set his briefcase down on the desk, took out his laptop and set the suitcase beside the desk.

As he set up the projector, you stared at him. His attire was impeccable. A tailored black suit with a perfectly-tied tie and a Rolex on his right wrist. He looked expensive- he was expensive. You were sure that Rolex cost more money than you had ever owned in your entire life.

He started talking, and you could feel the wet patch growing in your panties. It was bad. he was talking about serial murderers and rapists, yet here you were… there had to be something wrong with you.

You weren’t listening to the lecture. You should have been, really. You didn’t want to fail this class. And you were going to with your most recent grade.

“and that will be all, thank you.”

where had the time gone? the lecture was an hour and a half…

whilst putting your textbook, notepad and pen back into your bookbag. Professor Hotchner called your name, causing your head to fly up.

“May I see you in my office?”

shit.

You must have looked like a deer stuck in headlights, you thought. Other students were snickering as they passed your seat at the back. You were in trouble. That was the only explanation. What had you done? There was nothing besides getting a c- on your latest test.

Was this about the c-?

You nodded your head shyly, your heart already speeding up. Shit. Shit. Shit. What were you going to do? You were going to have to go to his office. Alone. With your hot professor whom you had been harbouring quite the crush on.

It wasn’t just that he was hot (although that did play a significant part); it was also his demeanour. he was… mature. More mature than the boys at the university. He was in control of the room. Whichever room he was in, he was in control. He always stood with such dominance. One look directed towards someone, and they immediately shut up.

But he was also caring. You saw that when his son came to visit sometimes. That was partly why you moved to the back at first. A woman, who you presumed to be his girlfriend or wife (though he wore no ring), came in with a young boy. However, other students were too curious and asked him who she was. His Ex-wife’s sister was a babysitter for him and his son.

He was caring but in control. He was a perfect balance. he was-

Professor Hotchner’s voice was louder this time as he said your name, cutting off your thoughts. You immediately looked at him, your head flying up, grabbing your packed book bag and moving towards his office, directly connected to the lecture hall. You passed him with your head tilted downwards, a blush already spreading across your cheeks and neck even though you couldn’t see him. And because you couldn’t see him, you didn’t see the smirk inhibiting his face.

You stopped just behind the two chairs in front of his desk and heard him close the door. Looking around his office, you noticed it probably looked like every other professor’s office- but it was different. It was his. A few papers stacked up (the one on top marked with a large red “c+”), books on bookshelves with many placed lazily in front of them. A picture of his son and himself on the desk- cute. There was also a navy blue couch between two overflowing bookshelves.

“Please, sit down,” his voice was calm as he walked towards the desk, holding an outstretched hand as a gesture. You did as he asked, removing the bookbag from your shoulder and onto the floor next to the chair where you sat. He had removed his suit jacket, hanging it on the back of the door, causing a deeper blush to cover your face- damn, he looks good- and sat down in his brown leather office chair.

“do you know why you’re here?” yes. Wait, no. It couldn’t have been the c-. he was a harsh marker, and more or less everybody else had failed. In fact, you had gotten one of the highest marks in the class, if not the highest. It didn’t make sense. Professor Hotchner sighed. Is he disappointed?

“you seem to be… distracted in my class,” he started, your eyes moving quickly from the frame to him before moving away even faster; his brown eyes were full of concern, his fingers laced together as he leaned his elbows against the cherry wood desk. “I know you are capable of higher grades. I wondered if something was bothering you.” you looked back at him. His eyes were soft- he was actually concerned. And he believed you could get a higher grade. he actually thought you could-

you cleared your throat, unwilling to let his words, words he had just thrown casually into conversation, consume your thoughts. “nothing, it’s- um, nothing,” you looked away from his brown eyes before you drowned in them. It was stupid, really. You couldn’t even look your professor in the eye. Your professor.

“If there is anything, my office is always open until 7 pm,” he smiled at you. Tall, brooding Professor Hotchner smiled at you. You felt compelled to tell him. Tell him that he has been distracting you. Tell him you hadn’t been listening to a word he had been saying and that c- was pure luck. Tell him that he was the one you fantasised about at night. Every night for the last four months.

“actually-” you cut yourself off before you could continue. Shit.

“actually?” he asked, tilting his head to get you to look him in the eye. God, why did I say anything?!

“um- nothing. Um- the-thank you for, err- for this,” you grabbed your bag, standing up, hoping to whichever deity was out there that you could escape the office without further questioning. No such luck. The gods were not on your side today. Professor Hotchner said your name again, standing up, towering over you with his stature. Gods.

“Is there any way I can make up the grade?” you asked, looking at him properly for the first time since you entered the office. Gods. He was more handsome this close. Alone in his office with him standing before you, concerned about your wellbeing- he had become more attractive to you. Something you had thought was impossible.

Why did I say that?!

“I’m afraid not. If you do better on your next paper, it could bring up your final grade,” he looked sorry. Genuinely sorry. It was nice. It was attractive. He clearly cared for you for his students.

“Are you sure, professor?” gods. Was I actually going to go through with this? You batted your eyelashes up at him, looking at him as innocently as possible. He sucked in a sharp breath. Bingo.

“I’m sorry, but-”

“Professor,” you cut him off, “I’m sure there’s something I can do,” you smiled at him, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. he looked at you, his brows furrowed and mouth set in a straight line like he was debating whether or not to take you up on what you were implying,

suddenly, he walked- or instead marched- towards the office door, locking it and closing the blinds on the window next to the door. He didn’t turn back around, instead of leaning his hand against the lock whilst the other twitched at his side.

“Need I remind you that what your proposing is against university policy? I could lose my job-”

“And I could lose my scholarship,” you said quickly. You knew the risks. You knew all about it. The moment you returned to your dorm after his class, you and your friends immediately looked up the dating policy at the university. They had giggled at you for acting like some kind of schoolgirl with a crush- it had been a fun night.

He turned back around at that, his fingers still twitching. He was debating it. Seriously debating it. You stared at each other for about a minute and had never felt your heartbeat so fast. This could be it. This could be the moment you get to sleep with your hot professor- a man you definitely knew wasn’t going to be like the college boys you had had thus far- or this could be the moment when he kicked you out of his class for inappropriate behaviour, or worse, the university.

He walked towards you, stopping in front of you, looking down at you with parted lips.

“This isn’t a good idea,” he whispered, moving his large hands to cup your cheeks, rubbing his thumb against your left cheekbone, as his eyes darted over your face- your lips, jawline, and eyes.

“I know,” you whispered back, your hands moving around his neck. You leaned up to kiss him. His kiss was- well, it was Professor Aaron Hotchner. It was gentle and sweet, but you could tell he was in control. It was subtle.

It wasn’t like he was shoving his tongue down your throat, something those college boys thought was a great display of dominance- it was subtle. He gently nipped at your lower lip, causing you to giggle and him, in response, to smile against your lips. One of his hands wound around the back of your head, pressing your lips more firmly against his.

He slowly walked you backwards until the back of your shins hit the couch, gently lowering you onto it. He was positioned between your legs, supporting himself with one hand against the cushioned crest rail. He pulled away from your lips and looked down at you as you panted.

“hi…” you whispered, out of breath. His lips quirked up, his hand adjusting to support himself better.

“hello…” his voice, deeper than usual, trailed off as he dipped his head back down to your lips, kissing them shortly before moving down to your jawline; his other hand pulled your shirt over your head. You threw it beside the couch or roughly beside the sofa. Your fingers scratched the back of his head, your other hand moving lazily up and down his waist.

His mouth was hot against your flushed flesh. He started to pepper kisses along your neck, sliding onto his knees whilst still kissing your neck.

His surprisingly smooth hands ran up, and down your jean-clad shins- gods, you regretted not wearing a skirt today. His hands gradually made their way higher until they met your lower thighs. You moved your hands to run through his soft dark hair.

One of his hands dug into the couch to cup your ass as his other hand unbuttoned your high-waisted trousers. Moaning as he squeezed your ass, you removed your shirt, pulling it above your head before throwing it beside the comfortable couch. Having left his hair, your hands went to help professor hotchner unbutton your jeans. How many buttons do these jeans bloody need?!

When you both unbuttoned them, his hand under your ass pushed you up slightly, allowing him to pull them down his legs. Your movements were impatient as you helped him remove them. God, you wanted him.

He pulled them clean off your legs just after you slipped off your flats, throwing your jeans and shoes roughly to where you had thrown your shirt, leaving you in just your panties and bra. Which were not matching. Damn.

Not that he cared anyway. You- his attractive and cute student- was naked on his couch; he couldn’t care less.

His hands continued their previous ministrations, rubbing up and down your thighs, occasionally squeezing your upper inner thigh. His lips soon joined them- as did your moans. His mouth made its way up from your thighs, alternating between them until he met your panties.

He knew this was wrong. he knew it was wrong since the moment he invited you into his office. he knew he was setting himself up for failure.

But he couldn’t care less.

Plus, he was enjoying seeing the wet patch in your panties.

He pressed a kiss against your clit, causing a soft moan to leave your lips as you lift your hips slightly, encouraging him.

“pretty girl…” professor hotchner’s voice was more husky than usual. More attractive than usual. How that was possible, you hadn’t a clue. You whimpered at his words, revelling in the praise.

He moved your pretty panties to the side with two thick fingers; he paused for a second, taking you in. he was right- you were pretty. You lifted your head, looking at him and staring at you. No other sight had ever been so heavenly. You dropped your head back as you tightened around nothing and groaned. 

He pressed another kiss to your clit- your bare clit this time, causing your hips to buck involuntarily, not expecting the sudden touch.

“sensitive, are we?” his words were sensual, causing you to get wetter than you already were. You let out a quick, ‘mm, hmm’ in a whimper, lifting your hips to entice him to touch you more.

You reached behind yourself, slightly arching your back, to remove your bra as he licked a line from your opening to your clit. You unhooked your bra and let out a loud moan, your back arching even further. One of your hands moved to your professor’s hair, lightly gripping it, causing him to groan. The vibrations from his vocalisation contribute to your growing orgasm.

His tongue circled your clit, his hands spreading your thighs even more. He started to pull your panties off of you, your hips lifting on instinct, and threw them vaguely where the rest of your clothes were. He lifted one of your thighs onto his shoulder to open you up for him even further, and your heel dug into his shoulder blade as his movements became too much pleasure for you.

You looked down at him again. Gods. His hair was tousled from where you had run your fingers through it, his coffee eyes meeting yours, and you felt him smirk against you. You tightened around nothing once again as your head fell back against the navy settee, groaning loudly.

His previous circling had turned to suckling. Your “light gripping” had turned into tight fistfuls of hair. You quickly let go, gripping the seat in fistfuls of blue instead. Your moans, whimpers, and whines echoed off the walls, and his smirk grew, once again, against you.

Just as you started to tighten around nothing again, two of his colossal fingers began to tease your entrance. And your hand flew to his teasing one, gripping his wrist. Your fingers didn’t even encircle his wrist.

Earlier on your thigh, his other hand grazed your body to your breast before kneading it. Your moans grew in volume and frequency as your other hand gripped his other wrist.

His teasing casually moved onto, gently fingering you with his middle finger. His movements were soft, quickly finding your special spot and caressing it. His movements were perfect- he knew what he was doing. God, did he know what he was doing.

He added another finger, curling them into you, pinching your nipple simultaneously, causing your hips to buck again- your mewling becoming louder with your orgasm rapidly approaching. The hand squeezing your breast moved to your lower stomach, holding you down. fuck, he’s strong.

“oh? Right there, hmm?” he was mocking you. By the fucking gods, it was attractive. He had pulled away from your clit slightly, his words causing his lips to graze against your nerve endings.

“Oh, god. Please, professor,” you were past the point of caring about anything other than your professor, his tongue and his fingers.

Professor Hotchner added another finger, stretching your tight little hole for him, causing your grip on his wrists to tighten. He smiled against your clit, still sucking on it when he noticed your reaction. His fingers continued prodding against your spongy flesh, and he had begun quietly humming around your clit, causing vibrations to spread through your core.

“I’m gonna-” You cut yourself off with a gasp, hands leaving his wrists to grip at the cushion, then moving back to his wrists as you flailed to grab onto something to ground yourself, his actions too much to handle.

Combining your impending orgasm with his humming, suckling, and prodding, you swore you would implode.

“gonna cum?” your professor asked. He was mocking you again. You knew he was because he knew you were about to cum. And you knew that he knew that you knew. Maybe that shouldn’t have turned you on as much as it did.

When he spoke, he pulled away slightly to get his words out, causing a high whine to leave your lips as you attempted to lift your hips to meet his mouth again. His hand on your stomach held you down, and he had begun to rub his thumb and forth over your pelvic bone. He chuckled loudly at your neediness.

“you gonna be a good girl for your professor and cum?” fuck. fuck. fuck. His words caused your hips to buck (or at least to attempt to, anyway) and multiple curse words to leave your mouth as you took in all the stimulation he provided. After his words, he immediately started sucking and humming at your clit, once more.

His words tipped you over the edge into your bliss. It was the best orgasm you had ever had in your entire life. Maybe it was because it was Professor Hotchner; perhaps it was because you hadn’t had sex in four months since you first joined his class.

Your fingers gripped the couch to the point where you were sure it was going to leave a permanent mark. And your heel dug into his back harder, your thighs shaking and the one on his shoulder going to close around his head.

He didn’t let up his movements, continuing at the same rhythm- he knew what he was doing.

You didn’t know how long you were seeing stars, but you knew it felt like a good eternity.

When you finally came down, he slowed his movements slightly to bring you down gently.

“Jesus fucking Christ, professor,” you gasped out, your panting- instead of your moans- filling the room, along with his slight laughter. His hand had stopped fingering you instead of rubbing up and down your thighs.

“mmm, that good then?” he mumbled against your skin, kissing your body as he moved up it, his hands rubbing the underside of the thigh still on his shoulder. 

“shut up,” you reply, still out of breath as his lips meet your collarbone. You hadn’t realised until now that not only did he look expensive, but he also smelt it. You presumed it had to be Gucci- it would match his tie. 

You looked down at him, starting to rake your hands through his soft hair, noticing he was beginning to form a hickey on your clavicle. fuck. If this was all you had to remember this by, you sure as hell weren’t complaining.

Looking down at him, you noticed how much he was tenting his slacks. he looked big already. Your hands left his hair to fumble at his slacks- your post-orgasm bliss making your hands shake too much to unbutton them, never mind unzip them. 

Professor Hotchner had made his way to your plump lips, smiling and giggling- you never thought you would hear your professor giggle. He came to your aid, unbuttoning and unzipping them before you pushed them down to his knees and underwear. You didn’t get enough time to look at him.

“shut up,” you mumbled again. Whilst doing this, he hadn’t left your lips not once, moving his lips against yours- they just seemed to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. Though you could probably bring that up to his skill.

“Now, now,” he started, barely pulling away from you, “I don’t think you want that,” of course, you didn’t want that. Nobody in your position could ever want that. His voice was partly what was getting you off. What you did want to do was… 

You pushed him off you, sitting up and taking him by the hand. You moved you two until he was standing against the couch, and you were where he previously was. His eyes roamed over you, and you blushed heavily, suddenly feeling under scrutiny. Despite your warm flush, you realised the room was colder than ever as you stood without clothes.

“cold?” he asked quietly. He looked like he was ready to go turn on the heating. 

“sit down,” you demanded quickly- you didn’t care that it was cold, and you swore to the gods that if he was going to turn on the heating and stop this, for even thirty seconds, you would cry.

He sat down with his legs slightly spread as you slowly sank to your knees. His hand immediately approaches your cheeks to rub his thumbs back and forth over your cheekbone. You finally looked at him and pushed his black trousers down to his ankles. fuck. You had expected him to be big (look at him), but this was. Wow.

You moved his thighs apart even more with small hands as he wound one hand into your hair and the other to trace your jawline. You looked up at him- he had been reticent. He was smiling down at you. It was strange, actually. Not the whole situation (although that was strange)-the adoration in his eyes was weird. But definitely not in the wrong way.

You brought your view back to his cock, eyeing it. He was huge. And really pretty. Everything about him was pretty. At the base, he had black hair, slightly curly but definitely groomed. His head was angry-looking and leaking- Jesus fucking Christ, was he really this turned on just by eating you out?

You touched your lips to kiss the tip, causing Professor Hotchner to bring his hands to your hair while groaning. You decided you wanted to hear more of that, taking the entire tip into your mouth, lightly sucking. 

His grip on your hair got tighter as his moans got louder, his hips starting to buck much like yours- you would have tried to hold them down like he had done to you, but you knew your efforts would be futile, him being much bigger than you. he tasted salty- good, but salty- as you lapped up the precum. 

His grip on your hair pushed you down to take more of him. You followed his silent command, hollowing your cheeks to make sure you didn’t accidentally scrape your teeth against him- he had just made gave you the best orgasm of your life, and you certainly didn’t want to provide him with the worst blow job of his life after that.

You took as much as you comfortably could, your other hands moving up and down the rest of his shaft; your mouth didn’t cover- the other one starting to play with his balls. Strings of curse words and pet names were leaving his lips as he began to put your hair in a makeshift ponytail.

“shit, sweetheart-” he bucked his hips harshly, forcing you to take more of him and gag. You relaxed your throat, knowing it was a mistake on his part, pulling away to just take the tip in your mouth as you caught your breath. You hummed around him, trying to communicate that you were fine; that caused his hips to jump, too.

His grip on your hair pulled you off of him, causing you to look up at him, face covered in precum and drool. You heard him swear quietly.

“c’mere,” he mumbled, letting your hair fall from his hands, helping you stand and straddle his lap, his hands immediately resting on your hips. Instantly, he was on your lips, kissing you roughly, impatiently- you had never seen professor hotchner impatient. He was patient with his students, no matter how blatantly stupid they were being (to spend more time with him, you presumed- there’s no way someone can be that stupid).

Now? he was gripping you like you were to float away like a helium balloon, and you certainly felt like you were going to. Your hands moved over to his shoulders to give you something to balance on as you ground your bare pussy onto his cock.

He stood up, causing you to squeak, quickly wrapping your legs around his waist. His hands were holding you up by your ass as he walked you over to his suit jacket he had previously hung up on the back of the door. He put your back to the curtain in front of the side window, holding you up with one hand as the other went into the inner suit jacket, searching.

He pulled out a condom, “wow. really, professor?” you looked at him in disbelief. He let out a laugh.

“I do have a life, I know,” he deadpanned but still smiled at you.

“I don’t believe that,” you said, your smile growing.

“oh? why’s that?”

“your office is always open until 7,” you mumbled, kissing him roughly, grabbing the condom from him and opening it. You rubbed your thumb over his head, causing a groan to leave his lips, before rolling the condom onto his thick shaft. 

Your movements were quick as he entered you- you were both just as needy as each other (although you assumed he was more so- considering he hadn’t even cum yet). He lined himself up to you, slowly pushing it in. You had thought taking him in your mouth was difficult, but now? Your head fell back against the wall with a thud, but you ignored it instead of gripping onto his shoulders in a vain attempt to ground yourself.

His head fell into the crook of your neck, and his hand returned to your ass after he lined himself up. His grip on you was becoming tighter the deeper inside you he went. 

When he bottomed out, you both let out a simultaneous groan, staying still for a few seconds to take in the situation- your professor was balls-deep inside you. he was balls-deep inside his student. 

Despite the moral dilemma he was currently facing, there was no way in all hell that he would pull out now. He started rocking his hips gently, letting out quiet moans into your neck as your hand scraped through his hair and your mouth fell into an ‘o’ shape.

“Professor,” you moaned out. The title seemed to trigger something inside Professor Hotchner, and he sped up until his pace was fast, rough, and brutal. He didn’t let up, even as you clawed at his shoulders, digging your nails into the ironed dress shirt. 

You were sure, had you been against the door, that it would’ve broken off the hinges. And you were convinced that if anybody was inside his lecture hall, they would know what you two were doing- how could they not? It wasn’t like you two were being quiet.

He continued kissing up and down your throat, holding you up with one hand under your ass (which he occasionally squeezed, causing you to jolt against him), and whispering dirty words into your skin.

“sweet girl… you’re so pretty for me,” he said, against your collarbone, his pace relentless, “letting your professor fuck you like a dirty little whore,” your toes curled at his words, your second orgasm hitting you like a moving train.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your grip on him tightened, grinding yourself onto him; your other hand moved down to rub quick, harsh circles on your clit. Back arched against the wall, you accidentally shoved your tits into Professor Hotchner’s face- something he was taking advantage of. Your vision blurred, tears forming in your eyes as you squeezed them shut, your moans growing louder as the seconds passed.

“Oh, god, professor! Please, please, please,” you weren’t quite sure what you were begging for, your words falling easily from your lips without meaning. Your voice felt foreign to your own ears as they rang.

Professor Hotchner continued his rough strokes through your orgasm, not stopping or fumbling once. His grip on you tightened as he came inside you, your cunt squeezing him dry as you pressed his body against yours, almost slumping against you.

You both stayed there for a while longer, panting and trying to catch your breath. His hands continued to smooth over your exposed flesh, his head buried in the crook of your neck. as your scratched lazily up and down his hair, your head against the wall.

He pulled out of you soft and let you down, gently, careful not to hurt you. he was quick to pull up and zip up his slacks again as you went in search of your clothes. The silence was killing you- the post-orgasm clarity hitting you both with what you had just done. Not that you regretted it. But you knew it was- well, wrong. It was against many rules and policies, but you certainly didn’t regret it.

And neither did he.

You got dressed quickly, putting on your trousers and shirt, slipping back on your dolly shoes and grabbing your bookbag, professor hotchner watching you the entire time. You smiled up at him, trying not to be quite awkward about this- you wanted it to happen again and acting awkward was not the way to go around that.

“See you on Thursday, professor,” you smiled at him again, walking out of the office and through the lecture hall, your smile growing into a smirk. 

Aaron shook his head after you left, scoffing then smiling- you were really something else, huh?

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut

[v-o-i-d-e-d]

May we have a oneshot based on this scene (https://youtube.com/watch?v=BgVJDd5vHfw&feature=share) for Spockxreader?

Omg, I love this scene! Of, course I will do it! I altered some parts just a little bit but the gist is the same. I hope you like it!

Title: Hello Sweetie

Pairing: Spock x fem!reader, implied platonic Jim Kirk x reader, and platonic Bones x reader

Warnings: canon violence, it's implied that Jim meddled for matchmaking purposes, nothing else I think

Word Count: 2924

She really shouldn’t have been here. Pure lunacy had gotten her here in the first place. Doctor (Y/N) (L/N) was never meant for this type of fieldwork and she was willing to bet that her own lack of skill was a huge reason why she was in this particularly dangerous situation. She was stood in the middle of a very ornate room – a sort of banquet hall she surmised – with her hands cuffed in front of her. Her elegant dress was singed at the hem and her hair had fallen out of its elegant updo. She looked around and noticed there were a total of three other people in the room all of whom wore heavy robes with hoods to obscure most of their faces: the alien guard beside her the one behind her and the one standing by the door they just came in through.

            “You know when I get invited to parties, normally there’s food,” She said to the guard who stood closely to her right. He did not acknowledge her at all and his large, bug-like eyes stayed focused on the door at the other end of the room. (Y/N) rolled her eyes, “So much for small talk.”

            As she shifted her weight from foot to foot with impatience she couldn’t help but place partial blame on the genius who thought this plan up in the first place. Captain James T. Kirk. Just a day earlier he had cornered (Y/N) in her office and asked her to take part in a simple recognizance mission.

“I’m telling you this is an easy mission and it will go off without a hitch! You’re in, you’re out, you’re done,” Kirk pleaded as he followed her out into the main area of the medbay. He had just explained how it would be perfect for her because she was sociable and friendly. Of course, he couldn’t help but add in the added benefit of her good looks. “People will be spilling their guts to you! All you gotta do is bat those eyelashes.”

“Captain, this is harassment. I told you: missions like that are not in my job training.” (Y/N) turned to face Kirk and used her hand to apply emphasis to her statement. “I. Am. Not. Going. End of story.”

The door opened after what felt like hours but what was only a few minutes. (Y/N) watched as an alien that looked similar to the guard but larger walked confidently into the room accompanied by a few other guards. The big alien was dressed in fine clothes and had an elaborate and heavy-looking headdress on, signaling to (Y/N) that it would be good for her health to not piss him off. She stayed silent until the alien stood so close to her that she could smell him. He smelled of rotten meat and expensive oils.

“You are Doctor (Y/N) (L/N) of the starship Enterprise.” He said. “I have reason to believe you are a cohort of Commander Spock.”

This took (Y/N) by surprise. Her brows furrowed and her lips tugged into a frown. Sure she had worked with Spock plenty of times but surely not enough to be considered a cohort, or associated with him by name.

“I think there’s been some sort of mistake here. I don’t even know Commander Spock that well!”

“Spock suggested you specifically for the mission.”

(Y/N) paused and dropped her hand down to her side. Kirk could very well be lying just to get her to agree but then why else would he want a surgeon doing a spy’s job.

“No, he didn’t. You just want me to give in,” She huffed and gathered some old patient files that needed to be sorted and brushed passed Kirk and into her office. She couldn’t deny the rush of warmth spreading across her face but she could do her best at hiding it.

“I’m serious! He said you were beautiful and that you would be disarming enough to get people to talk to you about anything,” Kirk once again followed (Y/N) into her office but this time stopped to lean on the door frame. He crossed his arms and smirked as he watched the doctor deadpan at him.

“Commander Spock said that? Those exact words?” She didn’t believe Spock even knew how to actually compliment people, even behind their backs.

The alien huffed and one of his henchmen stepped forward. He was very scrawny and his large eyes darted wildly around the room.

“We have reliable intel that you are close to the Enterprise’s second-in-command and we would like you to divulge his whereabouts. We know that he has been trying to infiltrate our databases and that is a crime that can not go unpunished,” his voice was harsh, like a steaming tea kettle and (Y/N) winced.

“Well, I’m sorry but your intel is wrong. I wouldn’t even classify us as friends. Well, I mean it’s not that I don’t want to be his friend. I actually like him a lot but he spends just about every moment with me in silence or critiquing me so-“

“Enough! Quit your useless rambling and tell us where he is!” The boss alien thundered out so loud that the floor seemed to shake. (Y/N) was officially freaked out.

“Look, I’m telling you, I have no idea where he is! I don’t even know if he’s on this planet!” She pleaded with the aliens and hoped they believed her because it was the truth. She hadn’t seen Spock for a while, even before Kirk made her go on this mission.

“Yeah, he didn’t say those exact words but that’s definitely what he meant to say. I could tell.”

“Kirk, get out of my office.”

Kirk sighed and walked up to the desk, “Just please do this mission. We are so close to our goal we just need a little push. (Y/N)-

            “Doctor (L/N).”

            “(Y/N). Please.”

If there’s one thing that (Y/N) can’t resist, it’s James being sincere. It just happens so rarely that she caves right away. After a moment of glaring into Kirk’s pleading eyes, she rubbed her eyes and sighed, “Fine!”

            “Yes!” Kirk pumped his fist in victory.

            “But I want to talk to Spock first.”

Kirk paused and side-glanced before looking back at (Y/N), “You can’t.”

            “Why not?”

            “Cause he’s on the mission.”

            “I thought you said he asked for me. How could he have told you that if he’s on mission already?” (Y/N) raised an accusatory eyebrow, she was sure she caught Kirk in his lie but he was quick.

            “Because he just left this morning. Now find your hottest dress and meet me in the transport room for your briefing,” Kirk tapped the desk before quickly exiting the room.

            “Wait, Now?!”

(Y/N) could honestly say she had not thought of how to get out of a situation like this. All attention was on her – something that she would normally thrive with – but she was at a loss for words for the first time in her life. The big alien grumbled and leaned forward to look closer at her face. She didn’t hide her fear.

            “Look, I swear on my life I don’t know what Spock is doing or where he is,” She couldn’t hide the tremble in her voice but she tried to be as firm as possible.

            “Humans,” the alien spat, “They lie so blithely.”

            “I’m not lying!”

            “How can you claim to like someone but know nothing about them? You are lying!”

(Y/N) huffed and rolled her eyes, “Just because I like him does not mean he likes me! The guy does not even think that way! He doesn’t talk to me unless it has something to do with my job!” She had stepped forward during her rant but was immediately seized by the guards that were closest to her. They gripped tightly on her upper arms but the guard on her left quickly loosened his grip and she couldn’t help but think that the sensation was familiar. It reminded her of her first meeting with Commander Spock.

            She was in a hurry to get to the medbay as she had been sent a 9-1-1 message by Bones. In her hurry she had been completely disregarding the safety of other people in the halls, bumping into several people while shouting an apology over her shoulder. It was while she was giving one of these hurried apologies that she managed to bump into a solid form that barely stumbled while she went tripping toward the ground. With a yelp, she braced for the ground but was stopped by a strong hand taking hold of her upper arm.

            “Doctor (L/N), it’s not safe to be running through the halls. The hazard is amplified when one is not paying attention.”

The monotone voice of Commander Spock caused (Y/N) to snap her eyes open and scramble to stand on her own two feet rather than being suspended by her arm.

            “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry, Commander! You’re totally right, I wasn’t paying attention-“

            “Apology accepted, Doctor,” Spock interrupted her rambling and then walked passed her without waiting for a response. (Y/N) huffed and frowned as she too walked away from the scene of the social crime.

            “Well, isn’t he a sweetie,” She grumbled before picking up her pace through the halls, this time paying attention to where she was going.

            From then on, “sweetie” was (Y/N)’s nickname for Spock. She was careful to never say it to his face since she had worked with him a lot more since the “incident” but in private and amongst friends, the sarcastic endearment rolled easily off the tongue. It got to the point where she even used it with the Captain.

            “Why do you call him that, it’s weird,” Kirk questioned one day over drinks in the lounge.

            “Because every time I talk to him, he’s an asshole. I think it’s funny.”

Kirk laughed and sipped his whiskey. “Well, I think you might have a crush on our favorite Vulcan.”

            “Oh, I definitely do,” (Y/N) was very direct. Kirk choked on his drink in surprise and coughed as (Y/N) continued, “But that’s out of the equation because I don’t even think Spock thinks about anyone unless they’re useful for something he needs doing.”

            (Y/N) downed the last of her drink and shook her head to try to rid herself of the floaty state the alcohol put her in. In the morning, she would regret letting James Kirk in on her best-kept secret but she was not worried about that or anything else except for going to bed.

            “Well, speak of the devil,” Kirk said with a smirk. Spock walked in with his hands clasped behind his back and his usual blank expression. Upon noticing the state of his friend and his colleague he resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

            “Oh, hello, sweetie!” (Y/N) laughed at her own words and Kirk couldn’t help but laugh as well. Spock was stunned into silence. He let his hands drop to his sides and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He didn’t know exactly how to respond, she had never called him anything other than his name and rank before. He decided to ignore the sudden endearment.

            “Captain, you’re needed on the bridge,” He managed to finally say what he needed to say before quickly turning and leaving the room.

            When Kirk took the liberty of retelling the story to (Y/N) the next morning, she was mortified.

            The large alien hisses to one of his henchmen in a language (Y/N) doesn’t understand and then another one of them steps forward. In a tone that seemed to be unsure of the words he was saying, he started,

            “Our studies show that typically when one human likes another, the feeling is reciprocated,”

            “Spock is not human,” (Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh before correcting herself, “Well, not all human.”

            “Then you have no reason to protect him.”

            “That’s not how feelings even work! Not human ones! I admire him and I will protect him but I do not expect any such action from him. Just as I don't expect a sunset to admire me back or for the stars to gaze back at me! Feelings are not about reciprocity!”

            “This does not align with our intel,” The big alien was clearly angry, and (Y/N) had a strong feeling that things would not go well from here but as she said she would do her best to protect Spock.

            “Regardless of your intel,” (Y/N) scoffed, “Commander Spock has much more important things to do than worry about me or what I’m doing so. I’m of no use to you. Let me go.”

            Why did she never know when to shut up?

The large alien’s face stretched into what (Y/N) had to assume was his version of a grin but looked more like he was preparing to eat her. She wouldn’t doubt it if she was being honest.

            “If you are of no use for giving information, you can be put to other uses, Doctor.”

            “What? Wait!”

The guard to her right started to lead her back toward the door they came through and (Y/N) began to struggle.

            “Take her to the nursery, the larvae must be fed,” The big alien ordered with a loud cracking laugh. Just as (Y/N) yanked harshly away from the guard pulling her, the guard to her left took firm hold of her arm once more but instead of leading her forward, he tugged her back into him. Suddenly, he pulled a phaser and shot the other guard. Crying out in fear, (Y/N) struggled once more to get away from this rogue guard as the henchmen began to make their way over to stop him. The guard removed his hood and revealed his face.

            “Commander!” (Y/N) gasped and her cheeks reddened. Everyone paused for a brief moment of shock before the big alien roared for his henchmen and guards to seize the two star fleet officers. Spock shot a few more before looking down at (Y/N) with an almost unnoticeable smirk.

            “Hello, Sweetie,” He said before moving his grip from (Y/N)’s arm to her hand and pulling her to a run. (Y/N)’s face was warm and it was not because of the running. She couldn’t help but laugh as they ran through the corridors, dodging phasers and guards. “We have to get to the front entrance. That’s the only place Scotty can beam us up!” Spock shouted over his shoulder.

            “Right!”

They ran until they reached the front room. Standing in the middle of the room was not the best option but they were only there for a moment before they both felt the familiar feeling of being beamed up to the transport room. Upon their arrival, Spock immediately ushered (Y/N) toward the awaiting Doctor Bones.

            “I’m fine! Just a few cuts and bruises. Nothing I haven’t had before,” (Y/N) tried to wave the grouchy Doctor away but he swatted her hands away and then removed the cuffs.

            “I’ll be the judge of that, cupcake. You look like you caught on fire.” He was gesturing to the hem of her dress.

            “I think for a moment I did,” (Y/N) laughed while Bones shook his head.

            “All right, you’re free to go. You too, Spock.”

Bones finally released the two, though he had told Spock that he could leave about twenty minutes ago. The Vulcan had refused. Spock and (Y/N) walked side by side in silence for a while before Spock broke it.

            “You have misread me.”

(Y/N) furrowed her eyebrows and looked up at her Commander who was still looking straight ahead. “What do you mean, Commander?”

            “My feelings about you. You have misread them.”

Her eyes widened. In the chaos of escape, she had forgotten that Spock was standing right next to her when she basically saying she loved him. Okay, slight exaggeration but she still felt embarrassed.

            “Oh.” That was all she said. All she could say. Another time of silence passed.

            “I apologize if my actions suggested that I do not enjoy your company,” Spock was deliberate with his words as if he didn’t know if what he was saying was the right thing. The tips of his ears were tinged a faint green when he finally paused in his step to look at (Y/N). She noticed the blush on his ears and couldn’t help the small smile that snuck onto her face.

            “So, you like to hang out with me?”

            “Well, I’ve never accompanied you in a social setting so it would be illogical for me to say that I like something that I have not tried.”

            (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

            “However, I do enjoy working with you. You are very good at your job, Doctor (L/N),” Spock clasped his hands behind his back so that (Y/N) would not see him picking at his cuticles. He was nervous.

            “(Y/N).”

            “Pardon?”

            “Call me (Y/N). Outside of work obviously,” (Y/N) shrugged and looked away from Spock’s intense gaze.

            “(Y/N).” She could’ve melted at the way her name sounded coming from his lips. It was experimental and a bit rigid sounding but it was a start. She finally looked back into Spock’s eyes and smiled brightly.

            “Do you want to go get dinner with me, Spock? I’m starving,” (Y/N) resumed her walk, this time in the direction of the cafeteria. She heard Spock’s steps fall in line with hers.

            “I highly doubt that you are starving. You always attend normal meal times which means you must have eaten this morning,” Spock said in a matter-of-fact tone. (Y/N) laughed and shook her head.

            “It’s an expression, Spock.”

#Spock x reader #AOS Spock #Star Trek #Jim Kirk #Enterprise #xreader #SpockxYou #Doctor who reference #Spock Imagine

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hello! I've recently taken the plunge and downloaded Ridgeside village for one of my save files. I'm enjoying it so far and I am eyeing some of the romanceable candidates 👀.

So I was wondering, you know the ask a while back about the farmer being oblivious to all of the bachelor and bachelorette's being in love with them? Could you do the same with the Ridgeside characters? And maybe expanded?

Eyyyyy glad you liked the Ridgeside Village mod, dear anon ☺️

I've added both SVE and RSV candidates as well. Sorry if the headcanon came out a bit stilted (wasn't sure what the best format was lol). Thanks for the ask and enjoy 💕

RSV bachelors/ettes with oblivious Farmer:

After the young Pelican Town candidates failed miserably to win the heart of Farmer, who must be the most oblivious person in the world, the bachelors and bachelorettes of Ridgeside Village decided that their time had finally come. They're the ones who can get the Farmer's attention, aren't they? Oh, but they didn't, because they didn't count on two things.

First, there were still competitors in Pelican Town - it was just that the other residents hadn't immediately joined the "hunt". Although Sophia and Victor weren't even sure what was even going on, they just wanted to spend more time with their friend Farmer. Victor, however, tried to give a couple compliments, but the gist of the content of his words apparently didn't get through to Farmer. It's a shame of course, but both Sophia and Victor just get over it and just switch to their own lives (and maybe even each other). Claire also threw a loving glance in the direction of the eternally energetic Farmer, but due to uncertainty and constant fatigue she decided that she had almost no chance (it's not true, but *sigh*). Olivia, of course, could show all these young amateurs how to properly compliment and hint at the object of their affection, but feels it's not her age to go after Farmer. She will respect Farmer's choice, and may even push Victor toward Farmer a little bit so that her son will be more confident.

Second, Ridgeside Village residents doesn't really realize how painfully oblivious Farmer is. All the advances and compliments the Farmer (unknowingly) dodges like a spy film protagonist dodges enemy bullets and lasers. And Jeric and Blair will be the first to question their own flirting abilities. Maybe they should have been more.... assertive?

Standing nearby the restaurant, Corine, Ysabelle and Paula greeted the Farmer more flirtatiously, asking to spend time with them just a little bit more. The girls decided to play fair: to whom the Farmer would pay more attention - the winner. Except that Farmer thanked "their good friends for the compliments" and ran off on their farming business, leaving girls in shock. Paula at least laughed at the comicality of the situation.

Faye and Irene thought that the way to the Farmer's heart was through their stomach, so when the girls found out what were the favourite dishes of the daredevil of the entire Stardew Valley, they immediately began the preparation. The Farmer thanked them not with dates, as the two girls had hoped, but with... fresh fruit from the greenhouse. Shit. Okay, well, at least the fruit is delicious. Bryle, passing by, decided to tease Faye and show her the "real master of pick-up", since he himself had had his eye on Farmer for a long time. A complete fiasco, as you might expect, causing Faye herself to start laughing at her friend's failure. The two will then argue again (but will become a couple in the future, but that's another story).

Anton... Doesn't even look in the Farmer's direction. He wants to try, wants to give them at least one good compliment, but... Why? So that Farmer will be disappointed in him like his ex-fiancée? No, Anton won't risk their friendship for that.

Apparently Yoba itself (or other magical forces) are protecting Farmer from flirting, because there's no way they couldn't pick up on Daia's hints. The girl is almost directly flirting, proposing to become something more, trying to kiss and, pardon my language, "get them into the nearest bush for some fun." "Into the bushes? Maybe we'll find a cute bunny there!" ....Bunny, huh.

But that's at least some effort, though, because Jio didn't come up with anything better at all than to express his flirtation in the form of... completely ignoring Farmer. Like, the more he ignores them, the more interested they'll be in him. Weird logic, and then the grumpy will have a face like "Wait, that's illegal" meme when Farmer ignores his ignore (and Kiwi is now constantly teasing him).

Ian, Kenneth, Phillip and Shiro decide not to act without haste, but to learn from the mistakes of other candidates who have failed on the love front. Slowly but surely, they try to spend more time with Farmer without making any drastic moves yet. And honestly, even if they too fail to endear themselves to Farmer, a caring and loyal friend would be enough for them. Sean also wanted to take leisurely steps at first, but he didn't have the patience and so he heads to the bench with the other losers. Better luck next time!

Zayne is a rather well-mannered young man, and he is not going to impose his company on anyone without their desire. If the Farmers themselves approach him, then he will try to make small talk and apply all his knowledge of flirting. It's a similar situation with June, but he may be a little more stubborn as he, unlike the others, has limited time and will be less likely to do so when he goes back for two whole seasons.

Flor, Alissa and Maddie are pretty shy in that regard, so they'll leave the flirting and sighing heavily when Farmer walks by. It's just that Farmer is a very close friend to them all, and to demand anything more from them is somehow wrong. If only they would notice... *Sigh*

For Kiarra, the best way is to be herself: no intrusive flirting, no those innuendos. Just have a nice time with a (so far) friend and not worry about anything. And then - just ask Farmer straight out. Do they want to date? Yay, Farmer and Kiarra have become a couple. They don't want to date? Yay, Farmer and Kiarra remain best friends. It's simple.

Magnus, who decided to introduce Lance to Mr. Aguar, became unwitting spectators of an oblivious Farmer being chased by a crowd of admirers. It's a funny situation, really. Heh, maybe Magnus would have joined them, but he decided to let fate take its course. If he's meant to be with Farmer in this dimension, then so be it, but if not, well, just suck it up and move on. Lance, on the other hand, believes he's in charge of his own destiny, and his sly smile suggests that he'll take matters into his own hands once the competition has died down. He has a couple of trump cards up his sleeve....

...............

And somewhere nearby, the much-admired Lenny is sitting on a bench, eating popcorn and watching the whole thing like a favourite comedy show. "Huh, and they said there'd be no fun in old age!".

#sve #stardew valley expanded #rsv #ridgeside village #sve sophia #sve claire #sve victor #sve olivia #rsv zayne #rsv jio #rsv alissa #rsv june #rsv jeric #rsv maddie #rsv shiro #rsv blair #rsv sean #rsv ian #rsv daia #rsv faye #rsv bryle #rsv kenneth #rav flor #rsv irene #rsv paula #rsv corine #rsv anton #rsv lenny #sve magnus #sve lance

[artbyblastweave]

worm sounds fascinating, how do I get started reading it? would you recommend starting from the beginning?

(Here we go)

So, first off, the specific questions you asked indicate that I should probably clarify the following: Worm is a single self-contained novel by Canadian author John McCrae (Pen name Wildbow). The book was written and published online for free on Wordpress, at a rate of two-to-three chapters a week, over the course of two years between 2011 and 2013. It's useful to conceive of it as a book written under the same paradigm as a particularly-faithfully-attended-to webcomic, except (and very unusually for a superhero thing) it's entirely prose with no visual elements. All of this is a longwinded way of answering your second question; yes, you should absolutely read it from the beginning, and the beginning is here. The entire book is available online, for free.

(In case that you haven't been able to pull together a broad sense of what the book is about just from perusing my Tumblr, I wrote a broad pitch for the setting at large and the story of Worm specifically here. The gist is that it’s a reconstructive superhero setting where superpowers are ironically tied into the user’s moment of greatest rock-bottom trauma, which is a major explanatory factor in why there are so many unstable kooks in costumes taking out their frustrations on the world; Worm proper follows the upwards-and-downwards trajectory of one Taylor Hebert, a teenaged insect-controller and would-be superhero with the secondary superpower of being able to rationalize nearly anything she does as being in the service of some greater good.)

Worm is divided into 31 arcs; each arc is comprised of 6-to-10 chapters, told in first person from Taylor’s perspective, followed by an interlude chapter told in third-person from the perspective of a member of the supporting cast. This structure is partly a holdover from early in Worm’s development, when the book was conceived as an ensemble piece that would rotate perspectives between different cape teams; as the book picked up steam, it also became a monetization vector, as Wildbow would write additional interludes if his donors hit certain milestones. This is important to note because one failure mode I’ve seen for reading Worm is that people will assume they can safely skip something called a “donation interlude” without missing anything important. You can’t. From a thematic perspective, the interludes are a major method by which the narrative keeps the protagonist honest, as they provide a sane or at least differently-insane perspective on the situation at hand, or on whatever over-the-top bullshit Taylor has pulled recently. From a craft perspective, the interludes are some of the best and most memorable writing in the book, at least in part due to the novelty of each character’s perspective.  From a story perspective, Wildbow was very diligent about making sure that most or all of the interludes introduced information or set up future events in a way that, if worst came to worst, he could incorporate into a regular chapter if the goal wasn’t met. But he did meet those donation milestones, meaning a lot of the book isn’t gonna make sense if you don’t read the interludes. Read the interludes.

You may have caught on to that “31 arcs with 5-10 chapters an arc” factoid and done some quick napkin math. Worm is long. Very Very Long. To my knowledge, Wildbow didn’t miss an update once, and 10,000 words every three days is considered a middle-of-the-road output for him. The effect of his truly insane production rate is twofold. First, the quality of Worm’s prose increases exponentially over the course of the book, going from workmanlike to amazing as a result of the sheer volume of practice he was getting. The second effect is that it’s 1.7 million words long. There’s a piece of apocrypha about how a mail-order copy of Stephen King’s It fell through a mailslot and pulverized the recipients chihuahua. Top researchers hypothesize that a printed edition of Worm could plausibly achieve similar results with a mastiff. This is mitigated by the pageless online format that lets you consume vast quantities of text without noticing the volume of what you’ve read; kinda similar to the infinite canvas trick that make some webcomics unprintable, or the infinite scroll UI trick if it were used for good instead of evil. But the gist is that Worm is very Long, and it’s also essentially a rough draft. Your enjoyment therefore might be contingent on your willingness to extend it a mulligan based on the absurd circumstances under which it was produced.

The very first chapter of Worm has the following disclaimer; Brief note from the author:  This story isn’t intended for young or sensitive readers.  Readers who are on the lookout for trigger warnings are advised to give Worm a pass. Some people interpret this as glib or dismissive on the part of the author; I think what’s closer to true is that he was just saving time, because the alternative would be most of the first chapter just being a ten-thousand-word long list of specifics. I can’t think of a single common trigger warning that isn’t applicable to Worm. Name a fucked-up thing, and it’s in there somewhere. Special mentions going to Bug Stuff (duh), dismemberment, torture, child abuse, incest, implied (and some offscreen) sexual assault, Nazis, animal death, and horrifically fleshed-out descriptions of bullying and institutional apathy, which are heavily influenced by the author’s own experience as a disabled student in public school. Reader Beware.

And, on a related note, the book was pretty clearly trying to be progressive.... by 2011 standards, which means you’re gonna be sucking air in through your teeth at points vis a vis representational issues, if that’s a big sticking point. It would be disingenuous for me to frame this as something that meaningfully detracted from my own reading experience, but it would be equally disingenuous to act like it doesn’t bother anyone deeply, and for valid reasons. To hone in on the queer rep angle specifically, picture the discourse if Ianthe was the only canon-lesbian character with any focus in TLT and you’re getting close to the situation on that front.

Wildbow (AKA Writers Georg, who should not have been counted) continued to maintain the two-chapter-a-week production rate to this day. His other works include: 

Pact (2014-2015) and Pale (2020-present) which are Urban fantasy works set in a universe colloquially known as the Otherverse, a setting in which essentially all magic is fueled by bullshitting the universe so hard that your chosen magical tradition is incorporated into reality as Something That Is Allowed; a major downstream result of this is that the sheer weight of precedent means that no magical practitioner is allowed to explicitly lie, on pain of the universe revoking their magical ability if they’re called out on it. Pact follows the misadventures of Blake Thorburn, a jaded 20-something who gets a target painted on his back after his grandmother- a widely feared diabolist- kicks the bucket and wills him her potentially apocalyptic cache of demonic texts as part of a complicated post-mortem gambit. Pale is a murder mystery/coming of age story. Set in Kennet, a small Canadian town with a subculture of unorthodox magical creatures who’ve managed to avoid being subordinated by more powerful human practitioners, the story follows a trio of pre-teen witches who’re hurriedly brought into the magical fold and tasked with trying to solve the murder of an extremely powerful magical being whose residence in the area was a major warding factor against magicians moving in and trying to bind the locals. 

Twig (2017-2018), a biopunk alternate-history coming-of-age novel set in a universe where, instead of writing Frankenstein, Mary Shelley actually figured out how to reanimate the dead; this kicked off a necroengineering/bioengineering revolution that leads to Britain conquering much of the world by the 1920s, lording over their holdings with everything from Kaiju to designer plagues, with a Royal Family that’s been modified into undying, post-human atrocities who treat their subjects as playthings as best. The protagonists are The Lambs, a group of heavily augmented child-soldiers used by The Crown’s science division as an investigation and infiltration unit; picture here The Hardy Boys or Scooby Doo if every case they were sent out on was in service of Ingsoc.  Alternatively, think of Scott Westerfeld’s Leviathan trilogy with the same aesthetic sensibilities, but paired with the balls to portray British Imperialism as backed by genetic engineering as something apocalyptically horrifying rather than as forbidden-love fuel.

Ward (2018-2020) is the sequel to Worm, set in the parahumans universe two years after the end of the first book. Basically impossible to describe in any additional detail without massive spoilers; suffice to say that it was contentious. I liked it personally, and I maintain that it’s main error was not having the same ten years of Pre-writing that Worm got. Other works in the same universe as Worm include PHO Sundays, which were RP threads that Wildbow ran weekly on the official subreddit in which he would post a fictitious forum thread from within the setting’s cape enthusiast forums, PRT Quest, which was a semi-canon Play-by-Vote quest on the Spacebattles Forums, and Weaverdice, which is an ongoing WIP TTRPG for the parahumans universe that he works on in his spare time, and for which he’s written a lot of fleshed out faction documents and character profiles.

There’s probably some level of broad fandom analysis it’d be useful to impart here; one interesting bit of fandom lore is that, by virtue of being a superhero setting that made some effort to be internally coherent, the series received a big bump from the Rationalist community, who you may or may not have run into on here. The series was also a big hit with battle boarders, who-would-winners, and that whole corner of nerddom, since the power system is so well-defined and well-articulated; a consequence of this is that a major Worm fandom Locus is the wargaming-site spacebattles, which was hit with such an ongoing deluge of Worm Fanfiction that they have a designated Worm section on the creative writing board, something no other fandom necessitated. Both of those things have affected the shape of the fandom and the fanfiction scene in ways that I don’t feel qualified to comment extensively on this late in the evening, but it’s a fascinating little abyss to have a staring contest with. At any rate, I’d genuinely would recommend the subreddit for the OC threads, worldbuilding idea threads, and stuff of that nature, the Cauldron discord if you’re into fanfiction, and Tumblr if you’re into rambling character analysis. I would recommend none of these things before you’re actually done with the book.

That’s all I’ve got for the moment. Hope you enjoy the book. Or shun the book, if my sundry disclaimers generated a sort of warding effect. I hope you have a contextually appropriate interaction with the book.

#worm #wildbow #parahumans #worm web serial #thoughts #asks #superheroes #meta #worm thoughts

[thebigbiwolf]

Starvin', Darlin' - Chapter 1

Pairing: Not quite friends to lovers Astarion x OC/F!Tav

Chapter Summary: Astarion knows his power is waning, and seducing their leader Evelyn has gone poorly at best. If he is to keep himself in the tiefling's good graces, he's left with no other options. He must drink from a thinking creature.

Everything goes according to plan... until it doesn't.

Fic Tags: Minor spoilers for Act 1, The Bite Scene, Emotional slow burn, Angst, Teasing, Frottage (god I'm sorry), Pining, This is my first ever fic so idk how to tag things appropriately but you get the gist.

Fic Warnings: Eventual Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubcon (I cannot stress this enough), Bloodlust/Loss of control, Mentions of blood, lmk if you need anything else tagged.

Word Count: 6.1k

Read on Ao3: Here

A/N: I started this as a way to get this fruity fuck out of my head but I think I just made the situation worse. If you know me, no you don't. If you've followed me for a long time, sorry in advance. I may make this a mini-series depending on time and reception, but we'll see! OC is a rogue who seduces men to gain their favor but we'll get to that in later chapters.

Astarion's trance did not come easily that night; his hunger manifesting as a throbbing headache that refused to subside. It had been hours of tossing and turning in his tent, willing his body to settle, forcing himself to ruminate on the past few weeks.

Before he joined this disgustingly merry little group of adventurers, hunting rabbits and the occasional boar had been enough to sustain him. In fact, dining on larger animals had been a significant upgrade from the meager flies and rats he’d become so accustomed to under his master’s rule, but that was before all of this incessant hard labor. 

He could feel his strength waning over the last several days. His senses were dulling, his reflexes numbed. Just this morning, he had failed to gain the upper hand with a particularly nasty kobold. He paid for it dearly when the damned thing all but pummeled him into the ground. 

Luckily, Lae’zel had been there, hammer at the ready to divorce its jaw from its head. Beautifully done, by the way, but his blunder did not go unnoticed. All this sneaking around for barely a nibble during his watch was beginning to take its toll.

Astarion knew he was on thin ice, considering his relationship with their fearless, incomparable leader began with him pulling a knife on her and grappling her to the ground -  in front of the damn wizard, no less. Some friction was to be expected.

But things hadn’t progressed much between the two of them since then. The pair rarely saw eye to eye on anything, and she seemed to have an innate passion for berating him over his unwillingness to stop for every single injured bird or helpless child as they traveled - as if playing the part of a hero was a favorable distraction from the literal time bomb in both their party and their heads. 

“The world is full of potential allies, Astarion,” she had told him, sprinkled with a hint of her usual irritation. “I’m simply expanding our network.” As if a group of starving refugees and mud-slinging tree huggers were going to find them a decent healer any sooner. At this point, he’d heavily considered taking his chances with the goblins. At least they knew how to have fun.

What made matters even more frustrating was that Evelyn was seemingly unaffected by his charms.

Just how exactly was he supposed to secure his place under her protection when the woman barely spared him a second glance? Surely he wasn’t losing his touch. He was a master of seduction. Thousands of others had thrown themselves at his feet for far less effort. He’s had centuries of practice. The mere notion would be ridiculous.

In fact, he couldn’t remember a single moment in the last two hundred years where his advances had been so callously brushed off. Every attempt to make her laugh with his (admittedly morbid) quips was met with her chastising him for being insensitive and making threats to send him back to camp. She dismissed every flirtation, even if her lovely little blush betrayed her. She seemed determined to make him play her little game. He just hasn’t quite figured out what the rules are, yet.

Astarion couldn’t afford to take any more chances. If sleeping his way into her good graces wasn't an option, he was left with little choice. He wanted to make himself indispensable, so he was going to have to take drastic measures to ensure that his strength and physical prowess would never come into question. At least, not again.

He would have to drink from a thinking creature.

The idea of it was as invigorating as it was terrifying. He had spent the last two centuries enduring unimaginable cruelty, starved in ways mortals couldn’t begin to imagine--for years--without any reprieve. 

No, starving doesn’t even scratch the surface. No words could ever describe the tortuous, gnawing, ravenous hunger that consumed his every waking moment under the heavy weight of Cazador’s boot.

Though, Cazador wasn’t here now, was he? 

Curious.

Astarion had spent some time ruminating on who to approach before settling on Evelyn, though his options were limited at best. The githyanki was entirely out of the question; gods forbid he get caught, she would make quick work of him without allowing him so much as a single word of explanation. Shadowheart was…tempting, but that mark on her hand frequently caused her pain, and who knows if that magic would have any affect on him or worse, her taste? And Gale, well, he would rather subsist on a diet of garlic sprinkled with holy water before he put his lips anywhere near that man.

So, Evelyn it was. The tiefling wasn't terrible to look at. She was a younger woman full of vitality, so surely she wouldn’t miss a bit of her blood. He would just have to mind the horns. 

He would be in and out. A quick nibble, then he'd be right as rain. One bite, he tells himself, barely enough to leave a mark. Then, he’ll pass it off and say that they had been attacked by bats during his watch and, not wanting to wake everyone, he quietly dispatched them and saved the day. Unfortunately, not before one of those wretched little beasts managed to puncture their illustrious hero. It was the perfect plan. Infallible. They'll eat it right up.

He continues passing through camp undetected, catlike in his silence, but when he reaches the canvas entrance of her tent ready to pounce, he freezes at the sight of her.

She looked…different while she slept. Softer, gentler, almost; surrounded by a nest of fur blankets, snoozing away instead of attacking his ego. Her hair was puddled beneath her head and horns like dark, red wine; rich and unrestrained by her usual loose bun. 

Another realization hits him: this is the first time Astarion has ever seen her in her sleep clothes, a simple basic black wrapping across her breasts. Practical. Of course.

Her skin is pale enough to rival his own, even with the warmth of the firelight. She’s lying on her side, her uncovered shoulder lightly dusted in freckles, much like her cheeks. Her lips are slightly parted, and in the silence of the night air, he can hear her light, even breaths.

Cute, he thinks to himself. He could almost forgive her for being so maddeningly aloof with a face like that. Almost. 

Astarion leans over to brush her hair away from her neck; the strands softer than he had anticipated. The thrum of her pulse underneath is magnetic. It pulls at his very being, beckoning him closer.

Settling on his knees beside her, his arms form a cage around her body.

He takes in the image of her form one last time and allows himself a moment to savor it. She is toned and lithe, much like himself, but smaller. Perfect. Delectable. 

He bends closer, feeling her gentle puffs of breath on his shoulder; the warmth of her body. His ears ring with anticipation; manicured nails clench the sheets by her head.

She’s going to be so-

Something brushes his leg, hidden beneath the furs.

Her tail. He forgot about her bloody tail.

Evelyn stirs, and fully awakens right as his teeth are at her throat, eyes meeting his. 

Shit.

“Shit.”

With incredible speed, she reflexively reaches for the dagger closest to her pillow, lunging at him. He just barely seizes her arm in time to save himself from being skewered.

“What in the hells are you-” he clasps his palm over her mouth to silence her.

The girl’s eyes are wild with panic, their golden hues burning a hole in his skull. He notices them flit down to where his body hovers over hers before she begins to struggle against him. “No, no, shh,” he whispers. “It’s not what it looks like, I swear.” 

Her expression shifts from panicked to confused. She ceases her squirming. Good. Well, not good, but better. He can work with this.

“When I take my hand away, you have to promise not to scream and wake the whole camp,” he continues, hushed, “unless you’d like for them to find us tangled up in your bedroll. You wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression now, would you, darling?”

Her eyes widen. Her face flushes deep red, warming his palm against her skin.

There, he thinks, that should-

Her body turns, and suddenly he feels the hard edge of Evelyn’s knee make contact with the corner of his ribs. A direct hit. Pain shoots up his chest as he rolls off of her and onto his side, clutching himself and coughing, heaving air back into his lungs.

She hurriedly covers herself with her sheets, glaring at him as he struggles to collect his breath. He can see her fuming through the tears forming in the corner of his vision. If looks could kill, he’s sure she would have him skinned alive. Maybe use what's left of him to scare away the crows. 

She’s still holding the knife out toward him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? What do you think you’re doing in here?” 

A fair question, one he was not prepared to answer. Perfect. He’s just going to have to wing this. Possibly with two broken ribs. He can’t believe he expected this to go any smoother.

“I-I wasn’t going to hurt you.” He raises a hand and falls back on his thighs with a grunt, grimacing in pain. His other clutches his side, a bit of sweat forming at his brow. “I just…” 

Okay, this is it. He’s got this.

“I just needed, well,” 

Aaaaand,

“Blood.”

There. Excellent form, Astarion. Good show.

“I - You needed what?”

She blinks at him, whether in disbelief or shock, he cannot say.

It takes a moment before his words start to sink in. She takes that time to scan over his body, purposefully. 

He couldn’t quite tell if she was looking for something or if she was deciding whether or not to believe him, but then again, what other explanation could he give? 

He works over his options in his head, considering just how difficult it would be to pass this all off as a terrible joke, but just as he’s about to open his mouth to start on damage control, he hears Evelyn heave a deep sigh. She lowers her weapon, then tosses it to the side, massaging her eyes in frustration. 

Oh. Well, alright.

After some time, he watches her expression soften into understanding as a few notable things dawn on her. He’s never really eaten any meals with them, has he? Then there was the drained boar, which he so carelessly left out by the road.  The damned beast hadn’t even taken the edge off that night, and he was so desperate to quell the nagging ache in his stomach that it lay there forgotten until she found it the next morning. He admitted to her himself that it had been drained by a vampire, after all…

A bit of silence follows.

Astarion doesn’t say a word, doesn’t dare move a muscle. He just allows her the time to process whatever she’s feeling. What’s important is that he’s still alive, she hasn't run him out of camp, and she hasn’t screamed for help. 

He may be able to salvage this, yet.

She scratches the back of her head, carding her fingers through her hair to ease her irritation before finally meeting his gaze.

“Astarion.” The sound of his name leaving her lips pulls him from his thoughts. He can see the disappointment on her soft features just as plainly as he can feel it humming through their psionic link. 

He didn’t think himself capable of guilt, but there was an emotion akin to it brewing within his chest. Ugh. He breaks eye contact, searching for anything to pull his attention away from his discomfort. The miscellaneous bags of clothing and trinkets she had scattered about her tent were just oh so fascinating. And was that a new hairbrush? Hm. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He’s taken aback by her question. He expected a more offensive reaction. A few insults, maybe ones pertaining to his sharp teeth or bloodlust, but an olive branch?

After all the lies, the invasion of privacy, and the failed attempt at assault?

She really is just full of surprises.

“Well, we aren’t exactly close, you and I. Though, you must admit, I’ve made several attempts to…” He waves a hand between them for emphasis, “mend the gap, so to speak.”

“Well, have you ever considered maybe not being such an asshole?”

Ouch.

But in fairness, no.

“I…” He thinks carefully about what to say next. The buzzing behind his eye socket acts as a threat, reminding him of the very fragile barrier between their minds. Should she choose to dig her claws in and pry the information out of him, she may find more than he's comfortable sharing, so Astarion makes a decision that surprises even himself. 

He chooses to be genuine.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs.” He gestures towards the dagger at her side. “But believe me, I’m not some monster. I’ve never killed another person.”

Evelyn raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Well, not for food,” he quickly corrects. “I’ve been subsisting on animals. Boars—like the one you found the other day—deer, kobolds, whatever I can get my hands on.”

“And what exactly was the plan here? You were just going to kill me and expect the others not to notice?” 

He recoils at the accusation but fights to keep his expression neutral. “I had no intention of killing you. I would never do such a thing.” He leans in closer to her and lowers his voice, as if letting her in on a secret. “We need each other.” 

Evelyn shifts to lean her weight on her arm as she listens, dark hair falling to the side of her shoulder. With the new level of exposure, he can hear her pulse settling into a more comfortable rhythm. 

He swallows. Hard. His hunger is rearing its ugly head again, just at the sound of her.

Oh well, might as well lay all the cards out on the table while we’re at it.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and continues, “As it stands right now, I’m too slow. Too weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” There is a question hidden in his words, a favor to be asked.

She seems pensive as she considers him, mulling over everything he’s said in her mind. She lifts a thumb to her mouth and starts nibbling on her nail, no longer looking at him. Nervous too, no doubt. How could she not be with what he’s asking of her, as if he had any right to ask in the first place? 

“I understand you detest me, but-”

Evelyn appears to snap to some conclusion, sitting up straighter and placing her arms to her sides before she responds.

“No, I should detest you, Astarion, but I don’t. You just don’t impress me.”

Wow.

It feels as though he’s been slapped. He barks out a laugh that’s a bit too loud for the intimate setting, trying to mitigate the damage to his ego. “Excuse me?”

She has the nerve to shrug at him. “I’ve seen every trick you’ve used to fill your little black book, probably a thousand items over. I’ve used them all myself. So, frankly, I'm uninspired.”

For the first time in his undead life, he’s totally speechless. His face contorts in indignation, disbelief. This devil.

There is something dangerous in her expression as she leans further forward, neck tilted, exposing herself to him. Her eyes are hooded, with long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. Her shoulders relax as she lifts her chin to stare down her nose at him, sneering. 

He works his jaw, clenching the muscles unconsciously.

“Astarion, men are idiots. I’ve spent my entire adult life toying with them and robbing them blind. I’ve heard and seen it all. You really believed a few empty praises and mediocre jokes would have me jumping into bed with you? 

Wha- Mediocre?

He opens his mouth with every intention of retaliating, but Evelyn’s palm unexpectedly rests itself on his calf, and the action stuns him into silence. She begins leisurely dragging her nails up towards his thigh. 

His body responds involuntarily; eagerly, frustratingly, the delicate little motion leaving his skin prickling with excitement. 

She regards his chest, admiring the hard planes of muscle. Then, her attention slowly inches down the toned curve of his abs until, finally, they stop at where his cock hardens disobediently beneath his pants.

“Your pretty face doesn’t detract from the fact that you’re still just a man.”

It finally clicks.

She’s baiting him, attempting to get a rise out of him. 

Hm. Impressive.

Normally, at this point in her little game, he assumes most men would take her flirtations at face value. They would likely mistake this performance as an enthusiastic plea to bed her, but Astarion is not like most men. He sees her little game for what it is and recognizes it with ease because he has spent lifetimes playing it himself.

She leans back, satisfied with her little show, and smirks at him.

“So, you admit I have a pretty face?” He teases, his own smile twisting, becoming more mischievous.

She rolls her eyes, but this time she laughs. It’s a soft sound, genuine.

A pinkish hue crawls up her face and paints the tips of her pointed ears, but he can’t discern if that's supposed to be part of the act or, more likely, an unfortunate side-effect of the living experience. He’s finding it hard not to admire her dedication, regardless. 

Well, that’s quite enough of that. Back to business, then.

“It’s settled,” Astarion clasps his hands together, “I’ll just need to impress you with my more eclectic talents if I am to earn your favor. We can start by gracefully slaughtering a few goblins, depending on how the rest of tonight goes. Which is entirely up to you, of course.”

The tiefling squints at him. “Oh no, if you want something from me, darling, you’re going to have to ask politely. With manners. You have those, don’t you? Familiar with them, at least?”

Under normal circumstances, he would find this amusing; nothing like a little role reversal to spice up the evening. But this feels different, heavier, as if her feigning indifference will alleviate the weight of what he's asking of her.

Fine. He supposes relinquishing a little bit of his pride is a fair price to pay.

He takes a deep breath. "Please." 

"Please, what?" She lifts an eyebrow at him expectantly. "Come on, Astarion. Use your words. I know you’re quite fond of them."

He scoffs at her shamelessness, and for a moment, he honestly considers whether this is worth it, but he can't back out now. He'll make it through this, surely. He's been through worse. 

Through gritted teeth, he barely spits out, "Please, may I drink from you?" 

Gods. He's going to be sick.

"Good boy. That wasn't so hard, was it?" 

He’s going to fucking kill her.

There is an uncomfortable silence that follows. So many unspoken questions and a rising suspense that makes Evelyn adjust herself uncomfortably where she sits. Astarion is also musing to himself, still wondering how it's all come to this. Why did he choose her, again? Something about her not killing him right away? Death may have been preferable to this, actually, but he is pulled back to reality when she finally speaks up.

“So," she's picking lint off one of her pillows, avoiding his gaze as she asks, "how exactly should we do this?”

Well, it occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know. He understands the mechanics behind it, of course, but how exactly were they supposed to go about this?

Should he tell her that he’s never actually fed from a person before? Would it make her more or less comfortable to know that he’s just as clueless about this as she is? 

No. He decides against it. Astarion has always done best when he’s playing the role of the confident seductor. This should be no different. He’ll just treat this as if he’s bedding a virgin: guide her, take things slow, and she’ll no doubt be begging him for more soon enough. It’ll be easy. All she has to do is behave.

“Lie back and get comfortable.”

He moves himself closer to her, settling at her side as she does what she’s told. The flap of the tent remains open, letting in the faintest amount of warmth and illuminating Evelyn’s features. With such close proximity, he can see the gold flames within her irises flickering and dancing, a genetic trait attributed to some luckier members of her race, and a feature of her’s that Astarion would have never otherwise noticed. 

He can hear her pulse quickening as he closes the space between them, lifting himself a bit to settle above her, once again caging her between his arms. One of his knees parts her legs, and he can tell in the quietness of her tent that she’s struggling to hide her uneven breaths. Her stare is intense, but he can’t read the meaning behind it.

He decides to give her another out, just in case. Better safe than sorry. 

“We don't have to do this, you know,” his voice is composed, as if his body wasn't currently screaming with anticipation. “I appreciate the consideration, regardless.” 

“I’m fine.” Her response is clipped, dismissive. Her face remains stoic though her fingers fidget with the blankets at her sides. She had moved the furs to give him better access to her body. The darkness inside him preens at the concept.

Best get on with it, then.

He leans down and, unable to help himself, takes in the scent of her: woodsmoke and the faintest hint of vanilla, which he had watched her pick up from a merchant in the grove just the other day. “For Gale’s cooking,” she amended, when he gave her a questioning look.

He gives her one more moment to stop him.

She doesn’t.

A bit of pressure on the skin before it snaps and gives way, his fangs finally sinking into her. He can feel Evelyn’s body tense at the sudden intrusion. She hisses through gritted teeth, her arms involuntarily raising at her sides, reaching for him, but she stops herself before she touches him. He wants to tell her it's fine, expected, even, the need to ground herself, but all of his higher thoughts are plunged into complete chaos when he finally registers her taste. 

Every cell in his body awakens.

The iron flavor of her floods his throat and sets his nerves ablaze. Its heat fills, expands, and splits every crack in his self control into deep, cavernous fissures. 

A groan escapes Astarions throat before he has the chance to quell it. Of course it would be like this - drinking from a thinking creature. Drinking from her. He understands now why Cazador forbade this. Before, he had assumed it was a matter of keeping his spawn weak and compliant, but this was entirely different. This was far more than a method of control. The bastard had been withholding ecstasy greater than he’d ever known.

A feeling swells in him, crashing like waves through his veins. Warmth. It invades him and fills every fiber of his being. He wasn’t naive enough to believe his first time wouldn't have some sort of great, emotional impact, but this? 

This was everything. How was he ever supposed to come back from this?

"Agh - Astarion," he barely registers her pathetic little whine through the haze. She finally allows herself to grab onto him, the loose sleeve of his nightshirt tightening in her fist. For purchase, he tells himself with what little is left of his consciousness, practical. That is until he lowers himself fully onto her in an attempt to relieve the strain on his biceps.

With no space left between their bodies, he doesn’t anticipate the blazing heat of her core on his thigh, even through the several layers of clothing. She gasps at the sudden pressure,  fingers twitching, nails digging little crescent shapes into his skin. What surprises him most, though, is when the taste in his mouth melts into a flavor so much sweeter. 

Something primal within him recognizes it instantly; it twists in his gut and sits there heavily, as if the emotion were his own: arousal.

Oh.

She is burning for him.

Good.

After all of that teasing, the woman he’s spent weeks enduring endless lectures from actually does desire him, or at the very least desires his body. Which is just as favorable, in his opinion. It’s just nice to know all his hard work hasn’t gone to waste. 

If she lets him live, he's going to spend every waking moment tormenting her over this. His lips vibrate against her skin as he chuckles to himself, causing some of her blood to run down his chin in hot rivulets, blooming new stains onto her sheets. 

He knows he’s had enough. He means to let go, he truly does, lest he end up draining their groups' only hope of survival. Surely that wouldn't go over well with their companions. Pitchforks, and all that. 

But her whimpering, her heat, coupled with the ferocity of his hunger, all provoke a feeling that has been building beneath the surface which he’s unable to name; it's desperate and possessive, a predator guarding its kill from hungry scavengers. The monster in him casts a dark shadow over his mind as he feeds. His body no longer feels as though it is his own, betraying him; a slave to the demands of his appetite. 

He needs her, needs all of her, and he cannot will himself to stop, too lost in sensation and the sound of her mewling to bow to his higher thinking. 

He mindlessly rocks his weight into her and grunts—a slow, unintentional grind against her mound. The motion comes easy to him, like breathing - instinctual. The blunt edge of his clothed cock drags deliciously through her parted thighs. Evelyn’s breath hitches at the feeling, her squirming beneath him giving him the sickest form of satisfaction, but the animal within him demands her compliance.

His hand gathers her loose hair and pulls, growling, warning her to keep still. She whines at the force, back arching. The other grabs her arm, pinning it down, and tightens, thumb gently stroking against her wrist.

"Astarion,"

She’s no doubt making a mess in her smallclothes as she quivers beneath him, all flushed cheeks and furrowed brows. She may deny it later, but her taste tells him everything he needs to know.

Her body is burning against his cool skin, and her gasps are only spurring him on. He laps at the wound, dragging his tongue up the length of her throat, indulging himself in her. It's too much. 

He feels her pulse weakening, her rhythm slowing.

It isn't enough. 

He's about to latch on to her again, teeth at the ready and blinded by his eagerness, when he suddenly feels a piercing sensation behind his eye - the tadpole, he assumes, writhing in panic. Screeching at him to open himself to it. The discomfort is just enough to pull him back into his body. Then Evelyn's voice invades his mind. 

‘Astarion, enough!’

He disentangles his limbs from hers, practically jumping off of the poor woman. He’s gasping for breath as he comes to his senses, the mix of her blood and his saliva staining his lips pink. It dribbles down his chin. He wipes his face with the back of his knuckles and licks them clean.

But then, the cold realization of what he’s done is thrust upon him like a bucket of iced water, shocking him back to the present. He’s going to need to come up with one hell of an apology to get himself out of this one. Or maybe he should just run? Baldur’s Gate is really only a few weeks travel at most. 

“Shit,” he whispers, more to himself than to her. "Are you alright, dear?"

Evelyn's eyes meet his. Her pupils are blown, almost entirely overtaking the gold of her irises when she glances away from him to assess the damage.

"Gods damn it," she quietly groans and applies pressure to the wound, thankfully finding that it isn't too deep or particularly painful. She tends to it, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from her brow. She searches for a rag as she avoids his concerned stare

A deep purple bruise spreads across her pale skin. Small red droplets trickle down the length of her nape, dampening her black breast band before soaking into it and disappearing entirely. He collects himself, willing his mind to cease its incessant urge to lick the damned liquid from her neck. She is flushed and sweating, unbalanced, panting from exertion as much as her own embarrassment. Her dark hair is a tangled mess from his attention. She looks ravaged. 

It… suits her.

Astarion clears his throat, trying his best not to get caught admiring his handiwork.

She was right about one thing. He was, at least in some respects, just a man... 

“Here,” he insists, grabbing one of the smaller furs and holding it up to her. She takes it from him without acknowledgement.

“I -” He begins, but he’s at a loss for words. What does one say in this situation? ‘My sincerest apologies. I don’t know what came over me! I must have gotten swept up in the moment!’ as if that pitiful excuse would overshadow the fact that he manhandled and almost devoured her.

He wants to laugh, but the sound dies in his throat.

He begins to worry that she really may not forgive him. He fears she'll wake the whole camp, or maybe finally cast him out like the monster he is. He wouldn't blame her. She took a great leap of faith in trusting him with this, and he rutted against her like some horny bugbear. Or worse, a teenager, he sneers.

Evelyn pulls the rabbit skin away from her neck, examining it. The brown hairs are matted and crimson, but the bleeding has stopped. She runs her fingers over the puncture marks, feeling the skin dip slightly where his fangs pierced her. She sighs with resignation, surely thinking about how the others will approach her with a plethora of questions tomorrow morning, face reddening at the idea.

“You could have warned me, you know.” She rolls her eyes at him. “I didn’t realize I was agreeing to…all of that.” 

His heart sinks. 

Of course she thinks it was on purpose. I mean, look at him. He’s all but thrown himself at her since the moment they met. He’s spent this entire time playing the part of the rake. It's only natural she assumes the worst.

“Evelyn, darling,” speaking her name aloud brings her focus back onto him. 

The gravity of it is suffocating, condensing the already small space they shared. The tension pulls at something undefinable within him that he thought was long dead—a sincerity that betrays the character he’s been crafting for as long as he can remember. 

It sways him.

More truths to forgive more transgressions, then. A fair transaction.

“I’ve had this condition for over two centuries, but, truth be told,” he clears his throat again, because ugh this is awful. And why does she have to stare at him like that, with her earnest, wet eyes? “You were my first. I’ve only ever fed on beasts.” 

The implication is there: how could he have known?

His confession takes her by surprise. “You don’t…” she pauses, taking everything that transpired tonight into consideration. He must be giving her a look akin to pleading, because she takes mercy on him and disregards whatever question she was about to ask. 

“Please tell me you didn’t do that to the boar.”

Seriously, a joke?

He barks out a laugh before he can stifle it. Whether it's from the sheer ridiculousness of the question or the disbelief towards her acceptance of it all, he truly doesn’t know.

“No, my dear. Just you, and you were delectable.”

Her expression is difficult to read. She’s not looking at him; refuses to, when she replies, “So then, did it work?”

Astarion moves to stand, peering down at her form. He exhales in relief, feeling as though he is a century younger. His muscles are lax; all the stress has been drained from his body. A novel experience. “Yes, I would say so. I feel stronger. My mind is clear. I feel…happy.”

He adds the last word in an effort to appease her, but it does ring true. His main source of joy since he contracted this affliction has been causing others pain, ripping out throats and such. This feels distinctly different, less exhilarating, but pleasant all the same.

“Well, I look forward to seeing you fight.” 

He acknowledges her, then stretches his back out, extending his arms to the sky with his hands clasping behind his head. The motion pulls the rest of his nightshirt out of his trousers and tugs it upward, exposing the hard edges of his hips. He can’t confirm it, but he swears he sees her eyes flit quickly towards them before making an expeditious retreat.

“Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing.” He lifts the flap of her tent to peek outside. No sign of anyone stirring, and the night is still young. Knowing the wildlife in this area, he may still have a chance to sate himself. With his newfound strength, he may even be able to wrangle up a bear. What a feast that would make.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.” He bows his head to her in thanks. 

He’s about to step outside, one foot exits the canvas before the rest of him, when it hits him that he feels…odd, uncomfortable leaving her like this. He can’t place his finger on why. He’s ridden atop many women and left without saying a word.

But, he supposes this is dissimilar.

Evelyn listened to him tonight, heard him out when anyone else would have carved him into pieces without second thought. She let him drink from her, forgave him for getting…carried away. 

The most shocking part of it all is that regardless of her dismissiveness, he now undeniably knows that she’s attracted to him. Yet, she didn’t capitalize on the opportunity when it arose to take advantage of his altered state; of his needs. With that, she’s shown him more kindness in the last hour than he’s experienced in his entire undead life. 

He likely owes her for this, of course, but there are worse fates he could endure.

The elf looks over his shoulder at her and catches her watching him intently, as if she wants to continue this conversation but can’t quite figure out what she wants to say. The intensity of her gaze almost forces him to turn back towards her, drawn to her by an unfamiliar ache; a thrill in his spine, the compulsion pulling at his chest like some sort of spell.

“This is a gift, you know.” The words escape him, hanging in the air between them with raw authenticity. He means to make himself sound more frivolous, but before he can edit them in his head, more truth spills from his lips, “I won’t forget it.”

His throat tightens. He considers her for a moment, wondering what he might find if he does turn to meet her eyes.

But, Astarion resists.

She must be exhausted. He shouldn’t take up any more of her time.

He leaves before she can respond. There wasn’t anything left for them to discuss, and he’s desperate to break free from the uneasy weight of her presence.

The second he steps fully outside, he feels as though he can breathe again, not that he needs to, being undead and all. 

What a strange feeling, that was. 

One he decides he’d rather forget. Best to not burden himself too much with it.

The taste of her lingers on his teeth. He finds himself savoring it for a moment too long before stalking towards the forest, confident. Ready to hunt. 

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion fic #astarion x tav #fanfic #bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 oc #im muting every bit of social media i have after posting this lmfao #evelyn

[actualbird]

“The Journal of NXX Investigation Team Behavioral Studies: Vol 2” | yet ANOTHER a compilation of fan analyses on the characters within the NXX Investigation Team.

hi everyone!! so after months (once again) of me working on and off (once again) on this pet project, it's finally here!!! the volume 2 of me compiling of my deranged analyses :D

for a gist of what it is, lemme give you the official spiel on the download page

How is Luke Pearce Catholic-coded? What does Vyn Richter’s damn name mean? How does Artem Wing qualify as an eldest daughter despite being an only child and also a man? And, most importantly, is Marius von Hagen, like, OKAY?!??  All your your questions about Tears of Themis characters may or may not be answered. Again. Somebody surely tried very hard to answer them. Again. “The Journal of NXX Investigation Team Behavioral Studies: Vol 2” is the not-very-much awaited sequel to the Vol 1 version of the same name. This fanzine is a compilation of fan analyses on the ToT characters within the NXX Investigation Team, created from March 2022 to September 2023. This entire work was written (and shoddily layouted, forgive me, I’m a writer not a graphic designer) by me, Zak, just some guy.  This compilation is a total of 24.3k words and 62 pages long.

if youre new here, i definitely reccommend you check out and read “The Journal of NXX Investigation Team Behavioral Studies: Vol 1" first! but if youve read that and are raring to go then...

👉 download "The Journal of NXX Investigation Team Behavioral Studies: Vol 2 here, completely for free

☕ though if ever you wanna give me a tip, you can do so on my ko-fi!

i hope you enjoy reading :DDD

#tears of themis #tears of themis analysis #luke pearce #artem wing #marius von hagen #vyn richter #tot rosa #xia yan #zuo ran #mo yi #lu jinghe

[pedroshotwifey]

Christmas Collection Day 2 - Din Djarin

Say You're Sorry

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word Count: 960

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, smut, kinda fluff, male masturbation, dom!mando, orgasm denial (f), reader is a 'brat', Din uses reader to get off, playful relationship, cum swallowing, shower activities, things im forgetting, not beta'd, bad jokes

Summary: Din just doesn't think you're sorry enough 🤷🏼‍♀

A/N: I kinda love the dynamic between Din and reader on this one! Hope y'all like it! Tomorrow's prompt is Christmas Shopping, which I think will be with Whiskey, so look out for that. It will likely contain smut.

***

“F-fuck!” Din gasps deeply as he relentlessly bucks his hips forward. 

He has one hand planted firmly on your hip as he ruts up against you. You’re bent just enough for your bare breasts to be squished up against the cold tile of the shower. 

He’s instructed you to keep your hands planted firmly on the tile, and under absolutely no circumstance–he was sure to get it through to you–are you allowed to touch yourself. 

“D-Din, please!” You beg him for what must the the hundredth time today. “I’ll be good, I swear!” You’re on the verge of tears at this point. It’s the third time today that he’s gotten himself off while you haven’t been allowed so much as friction. 

“No, I don’t think so, cyar'ika,” Din’s voice is deep and husky as he tells you exactly what you figured he would. “I’m still not convinced you’re sorry. N-not my fault you like to be a brat.” 

You shout his name in agony as he continues to slide his ridiculously hard cock against your ass, your soft skin creating a heavenly feel against the leaking tip of it. His grip on your hip gets tighter and his breathing grows heavier with each thrust. 

“I am, Din, I’m so sorry,” you cry and let your head rest on the wall in front of you. 

“Show me then,” he says from behind you, his command as rough as his movements. “Get on your knees; you’re going to swallow my cum.” 

You feel your cunt throb at both the tone of his voice and the thought of being in such a position. You don’t hesitate to comply though, quickly turning around and sinking down as Din furiously fists his cock. 

Before you know it, you’re eye level with his throbbing dick, opening your mouth and looking into his harsh eyes with your teary ones. His teeth are barred as he tugs on himself, and the sight makes you whine. 

His broad body is stopping the flow of the shower from reaching you, and you’re grateful for that considering that it’s probably getting cold by now, though Din doesn’t seem to notice. 

You know he’s close by the way he places one large hand on the back of your head to steady you and get your mouth at the right angle. The pressure applies makes you whimper as you think about how easy it would be to just lean forward and take his cock into your mouth. 

You lick your lips when your mouth goes dry from the thought. Din apparently doesn’t appreciate that by the way he grips your hair and tugs sharply. 

“M-mouth op–fuck–open, cyare.” he struggles to get out. 

Though it’s a bit hard to decipher, you get the gist of what he wants from the sting in your scalp, and you immediately snap your mouth back open. 

You train your gaze back on his and find yourself melting in his deep brown eyes. Ignoring the way your clit throbs with want, you watch his tells that let you know he’s going to come any second now. 

You get an idea, one that may have him taking some kind of mercy on you, and you immediately act on it. 

You place one hand on his naked thigh and reach higher with the other until you can grasp his balls. He grunts an animalistic sound as you roll them around and give a soft tug. Your eyes widen at the sound and at the aggressive way his abdominal muscles begin to flex.

Before you know it, Din’s shooting his release all over your face, only about half of it actually making it into your mouth. He continues to slide his hand up and down his cock in rapid succession as you close your eyes and stick out your tongue, allowing the creamy white substance to splatter in ropes. 

Once you’re sure he’s done, you slowly open your eyes to find him panting slightly and looking at you with a gaze that might even be hungrier than before. 

“Swallow,” he says darkly, his voice thick with authority. 

You immediately obey, closing your mouth and letting his warm cum slide down your throat. When you’re done you open your mouth for him to see, and he nods shortly in approval before removing his hand from your head. 

He motions for you to stand up before he turns around and reaches for a wash cloth and turns the water up to a warmer temperature. He cleans the rest of his release off of your face with the damp cloth and a loving gaze. 

You both wash in silence, Din only speaking once you both step out to wrap each other in towels. 

“You sorry enough now?” he asks you. 

You give him a knowing look in return, trying to show him you’re annoyed, even though he could never really do such a thing. 

“Yes, Din,” you say sarcastically. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, you have to say it right,” he says, playing with you at this point. You can see the smile in his eyes. You have to suppress a smile of your own as you watch him secure his towel around his waist. 

“I’m sorry I said you look like a well-polished trash can,” you say through a fake sigh, barely able to contain your giggles. 

Luckily, you’re not alone because Din begins to laugh out loud, but you’re too busy gaping at him to join. 

“You fucking dick!” You exclaim, playfully shoving your hands against his chest. 

“You weren’t mad at all! I fucking knew it!” 

Din’s too busy doubling over with laughter to respond. This time, you’re quick to join him, the both of you ending up in a pile on the floor. 

***

Link to prompt list

@mandoalorian

#wifey think she's funny #pedro pascal #fan fiction #ao3 #smut #pedro pascal smut #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #fluff #mando x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #christmas #christmas countdown