#lady is pretty and dainty and more or less graceful and loves being helpful but otherwise looks like a decorative rock for the

[kookiecrumb]

jjk|| Your Head

"tags": @kazthebrekkerofinej

word count: uhhhh

summary: Jungkook is the heir to the throne of your Kingdom! In this tale of duty versus heart, will love prevail victorious?

tags: Royalty!Jungkook x Peasant!Reader, oneshot, smut, fluff, slight angst, some crack, pining, forbidden lovers, Jungkookie has a sweet tooth, strangers to friends to lovers

warnings: explicit language, impact play, birthday sex (technically), fingering, oral (m receiving*), love marking, alcohol consumption, s&m themes, horny grinding, praise kink/body worship

a/n:

hey guys!

Firstly, I want to say how proud I am of myself for growing so much during this fic. I learned a lot about what I'm comfortable with, what I'd like to work on, and where my confidences lie.

I won't lie and say it's been easy, because writing this meant dealing with a lot of my fears? I'm excited for all the works that are to come.

The only thing I can do is be as receptive to growth as possible, so I'm looking forward to learning...

*I actually learned that Vaseline wasn't invented until like the 1870s? The fic is written in the 1810s, so I actually had a choice between having them do it with vegetable oil or spit. Spit won.

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5 years ago

You bend over to pick up an apple that had rolled over under your father's produce cart, praying that it isn't bruised so that you have to pay for it out of your dinner, when a crumpled piece of paper hits you in the ass.

Confused, you crawl out from under the stand and unwrap the paper.

The paper itself is of the finest quality you've ever seen. It's a sturdy cardstock, bleached white with gold etchings on the borders. The print on the top of it reads "His Highness Jeon's Royal Study," and scribbled in some kid's amateur cursive below, "Nice butt."

You directed your gaze upwards, towards the towering castle walls. Sure enough, a boy no older than 15 had his noggin popping out from the top of the rampart, with two wide eyes staring down, curious as to your reaction. This was Prince Jungkook, heir to the throne of your kingdom.

"Shouldn't you be equestrian horse riding or playing polo or something?" You shout. He furrows his eyebrows, apparently offended at your assumption, and then disappears behind the edifice.

Moments later, another paper hits your shoulder as you're practicing your caligraphy behind your cart. It lands between the apples, so you reach your hand over and fish out out.

You glance up at the anticipant, and sure enough he's there with his doe eyes and his coconut head, ogling.

"No, dumbie. That's at MID-day." Well how were YOU supposed to know the royal schedule of the crown prince, it wasn't just common knowlegde you learned from being a humble farmer's daught--

Ah!

"Will you STOP?!" You put your foot down. "Unless you're here to buy my apples, then you're not getting ANY, little Prince." Oh, shit. You gave him ideas. Now it was really over for you.

In less than half an hour, half a company of men arrived at the marketplace, asking about your little old apple stand, and sure enough, Jungkook had bought out the entire cart so that you were forced to help with the transaction.

The young prince had eyes frankly too big for his head, with the most prominent cupid's bow you've ever seen. His nose slightly outgrew his face and his ears were hidden away behind his short, black hair. "Now you can talk to me." He gave you a rose he'd stolen from the royal garden. "I am Jungkook, heir to the throne of--"

"I know who you are." You interrupt him, documenting His Highness' total in your calligraphy book.

With a hand perched on his chest from surprise, he scoffed. "And I happen to think you're really pretty, so I was going to ask you to be my very first consor--"

"You're 15, you have playmates not consorts."

"And how old are you?!" He's had it, raising his voice and taking a bite out of one of your apples with force.

"16, old enough to have suitors." You tease. Jungkook hangs his head a little. He just needed someone to talk to, it would seem. Reluctantly, you scribbled down your address down on a piece of note paper and handed it to him.

"Look, if you buy more of my apples, I'll have an excuse to tell my Dad so I can hang out with you." You spoke in a low voice as to not raise suspicion.

Your dad is standing negotiating with the guards about prices, his usual embarassing haggling gruffly overpowering the guards elegant twiddle-tones.

"Wonderful! See you soon, my sweet!" He resumes his confident demeanor, tucking the paper into his overcoat with a small smile. He salutes you boyishly and marches away with a year's supply of apples.

For the next week, the royal kitchen had baked 3 apple pies, made 5 fruit salads, 4 batches of apple muffins, and threw the rest of them in Sangria; that's the same Sangria as King Jeon finds himself drinking in his wife's drawing room on Sunday.

"Call Chef, fetch him up here." He waves to his assistant, keeping his eyes on the outside. He was deep in thought, his hands stoicly behind his back.

The Kingdom had been prosperous for over many years now, and war had not come close to threatening its borders in a lifetime. Negotiations were always successful, and quality of living was high. The work of a King, in a situation such as this, was to perfect the image of the royal family as strong rulers, and to paint his daughters as desirable to foreign heirs.

"Your Grace," the assistant called his attention, "Head Chef Sung." The dainty man bows and scurries off somewhere else.

Chef Sung is a portly man, who carries himself heaving with every step, his great belly inflating with each hefty inhale. He approaches the King, and kneels down to kiss his hand with his fat lips.

The King recoils in disgust, but quickly collects himself and his words. "Where are these apples from, is it France or Spain?" He demands.

"Neither, Your Highness." Mr.Sung lifts up his eyes. "They are from our Holy Kingdom; by order of Prince Jungkook, an entire cart was purchased of these apples and we have not been able to get rid of them." Tears threatened Chef Sungs eyes at the very mention of the fruit.

'Well, there's one thing the kid's done right.' King Jeon now faces the Chef, setting down his drink on a mahogany table, leaning against it casually. "Well! Good. I'd like to meet the owner of that cart, invite him to my Sunday brunch."

"Oh, yes, of course sir! You'll never see them in our kitchen aga--What?" Chef Sung takes out his handkerchief, waving it around in the air and drying his tears at once. "So you like them! Why...Yes! Yes, of course!"

Your father thought it would be valuable to have you around the kitchen, learning from the skilled men and women employed by the Jeon family. He only visited once a week to drop off fresh produce, (he'd been officially hired to handle restocking of goods) but you, after showing promising signs of being a gifted baker during one of your father's restocks, were granted scholarship by Ms.Kang to be her aid.

You were now, officially, a resident of the Jeon Estate, residing in the servant's quarters, immediately adjacent to the kitchen. This was convenient. It was far too convenient for a certain little Prince to get the idea of wanting a midnight snack and wandering downstairs.

One day, he does just that. He finds his way into the first bedroom to the right of the stairs facing the kitchen, and that happens to be your bedroom.

He pokes you awake. "Ow! Ow, whyyy~" You whine and toss yourself over to the other side of the bed. His irritating poking persists. You grab his fingers and your eyes shatter open.

You sit up, alarmed. "You could have me arrested, what the fuck are you doing?!"

"I wanted a midnight snack! Besides, I wanna talk to you." He pouts, still holding a small teddy companion.

"Fine. I'll bake you ONE sheet of cookies." You slip on your night shoes and shuffle to the kitchen, and Jungkook tags along.

By the time Jungkook's 18th birthday comes around, he's in the kitchen helping you whisk buttercream to top his cake while having a tease at the Austrian Princess' mole.

"You have one right under your lip, look!" You take a little buttercream from the bowl and stain the dark spot with it.

He licks it up and hastens to add, "it needs more sugar, lady!" as he turns to grab a puffy bag of confection sugar.

"You're impossible to please." Snatching the sugar away from him, you smirk. "You can gobble down as many sweets as you want when the ball commences. Remember, this is the year you're supposed to be keeping your eye out for a girl of a good fam--"

"Yada yada, must have hips for childbearing, yada yada yada..." He mocks the speech his mother had told him that morning when he got dressed.

"Exactly." You set your bowl aside to fix Jungkook's tie. "Yes, and that's your duty, as our heir."

You step back and examine Jungkook one more time. He'd grown so tall in the last year, his legs like spider's and he was just beginning to grow into his features. Handsome boy.

You, too, had grown into an elegant young woman. You had a poised complexion, ready-mannered and graceful. Your hands seemed out of place in your otherwise feminine frame, carrying an extra bit of girth from baking. You were 19 years old.

Marriage was becoming an uncomfortably frequent topic during your visits home, as your mother had married young, herself, she expected the same of you.

Truth be told, there were plenty of offers for your hand. You were a skilled and very esteemed individual, who had broken into thr artisinal class. But your father knew better than put a dowry on your happiness. So long as you worked, he saw no reason to marry you off just yet.

"Now, go. Your sisters must be worried sick! Go out there." You shoo him, pushing him out the door of the kitchen despite his flailing arms.

Throughout the party, you'd been carrying a platter of your own baked goods, serving them to the aristocrats attending the Princes' coming-of-age ball. Accents from all over Europe and some from Kingdoms as far East as Cyprus jubilantly engaged in artful conversation which filled the air with good spirits.

Jungkook, himself, was busy being introduced to as many women as possible, a medley of presenting duchesses, ladies, and even Princesses of your Kingdom. They were each more qualified than you'll ever be, ten-fold.

One was a Greek Princess, her hair cascaded in darling curls down her shoulders and her eyes were deep-set, her voice a flirtatious trill.

Another, a Prussian Princess', posture radiated excellency, and whose complexion sparkled like powdered snow. Jungkook greeted her warmly, pleased with her appearance.

Distracted, you tripped up your skirt and dropped the remainder of your pastries. With that, you stepped off to use the restroom.

The sound of Strauss' Rosen aus dem Süden faintly loomed in the air as you wiped tears from your waterline in the mirror. That was just the way it was, wasn't it? Princes come of age, and they find wives who they commit their lives to.

"Married men don't have friends who are girls." You say out loud, just to realize it. Jungkook was now expected to find a mate within the season, and he was, in fact, quite the eligible bachelor.

Little did you know that Jungkook had been keeping an eye out for you throughout the party, not only because you were carrying his favorite Danish pastires, but because he knew your company was his greatest comfort.

He's in the midst of greeting the Duchess of Kent when he excuses himself to go look for you. He finds your mess first, frowning as he realizes something has gone terribly wrong.

He catches you in the hallway, face puffy and shaky. He grabs your wrist to keep you from darting back to the kitchen.

"Please don't do this, it's my birthday, y/n." It's as if an unspoken rule had been broken between you, and he feels it. Something is making you uncomfortable. "Was it the girls? You told me about this, it's my duty to at least greet them and--"

"Yeah, you sure did greet the Prussian woman nicely." You speak through tears. "She's the girl you were born to be with, huh? Your birthright?"Jungkook is silent. "Every girl at that ball wants to be your wife, want to have your children. They haven't known you for a day and yet they're ready to be your bride."

You search Jungkook's eyes for any sign of coherence, hoping that he would defend against you, that he would speak up and tell you otherwise. No such argument comes.

You yank your arm from his grip and march to the kitchen to remake the pastries you spilled.

You had the job of clearing off all the tables upon the departure of the last guests. It is midnight, and the windows of the castle stream moonlight down on the carpet beneath your feet. The glow of candles soothe you as you hum the waltzes which echo in your mind. It's a brilliant evening.

The centerpieces of the tables were gardenias, lush rose-like flowers with yellow pistils.

Summer, 1809

"Jungkook, wait! You're going to make me trip!" You shout from the top of the hill.

"You've gotta come see before the sun sets! It's the only way we'll get there on time, now run!" Jungkook's speeding down the terrain towards the Sycamore tree which grew deep and wide beneath the banks of a great rushing river.

You groan and throw caution to the wind, rolling down the steep mount in your Sunday dress. Jungkook turns to watch you, a grin spreading across his handsome face. "Look at you!"

You land on your feet at the bottom and scurry off to join Jungkook under the grandfather tree, out of breath entirely. "Now, look what you made me do. You're such a boy, you know that?! Making me come out here just to see some bloody--"

Jungkook has plucked a gardenia and placed it behind your ear. "Would you shut up? We got here on time. Behold."

In all its glory, the sun bathes you in its vivacious rays, creating a feeling of heavenly bliss as it dips below the horizon. The sky blushes pink, its clouds mere whisps above you. Wind rustles the leaves of the grand tree, rousing the birds to chirp their afternoon song.

"Mom used to come here all the time with my Dad, because of these." Jungkook clasped the blooming flower in his tender hands.

After a while, he says "the bugs will come out soon, so we ought to go back," as if he's trying not to scare something away. He helps you up, and with one last look across the valley, you walk next to each other back to the East Quarters.

You take all the silverware and plates by the tub to the dish-washing station and toss all of the linen napkins into the washing machine. All you had left was to blow out the lights in leading upstairs.

"Prince! It is very late, and there are no guests left for you to entertain. What troubles you?" Jungkook's sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands, still wearing his best suit.

"I disappointed you, y/n...I didn't like any of them." He admits, lifting his head up to sulk at you. "I should have told you then, but I didn't want to make you upset!"

Did Jungkook mistake your jealousy for disappointment?

"I'm not upset because you didn't hit it off with the girls..." You sigh. A confession is due, and he's ready to hear the truth from you about how you feel about him.

"Well, the truth is, I didn't like any of the girls because I like you, y/n. But you know that, don't you?" You pause, asking him to elaborate.

"Remember when I bought all the apples because I wanted to be with you? Like...I told you that you were my consort and I kind of meant it?" He felt pathetic now, realizing that you weren't just ignoring his advances. "So you didn't friendzone me for 2 years, you actually didn't know that I liked you."

It was almost laughable, a situation you would read in one of your illegal novels which you kept tucked away in your pillow at night. "No, Kookie, I didn't." You admit to your insolence.

You can't bear to lead him on any longer. You needed to put duty over your own self interest for the sake of the kingdom, even if it shattered his hope. It was better this way.

"But, you do know that we can't ever be a thing, right? It's just silly." Your heart tightens with the words which fall out of your mouth. "It is. Nevermind what your parents would think, what would it do for your image? You're on the world's stage, Jungkook, and you're a selfish person if you think you can just throw all of your duties away to date a scum of the Earth like-- like me!" With your heart in your throat, dry your eyes with your sleeve. "And...I want to, I really really want to, more than anything else to love you, Jungkook. I love you! I...can't." Through the blur of your tears, the shapeless blob that Jungkook has become stands up.

Taking his thumb and swiping it under your eyes, he sighs. Words escaping him, he takes your trembling body against his chest and nestles his head in the crook of your neck. Your cold hands travel underneath his overcoat to hold his waist. The Princes' lips plant a gentle kiss on your neck, chaste yet deep and satisfying.

"I will not accept any bride if not you, my love." He draws back, meeting your fervid gaze. "To the world, I remain a bachelor for a few years."

"And after those years, Jungkook?" You ride your hands up to caress the man's jaw. "You will still love me after those years, and then what?"

"I don't know," he says, voice as soft as powder. "I don't know many things, y/n, that's why I need you to teach me." His palms are rubbing at your waist, beckoning you closer.

His breath quickening as you lean your body against his hold, and you figure it must be the wine he drank to calm his nerves. That was it, wasn't it? He was drunk.

"You're not drunk, are you?" Your face sours, really hoping it's not the case as you feel your body temperature rise.

"Y/N, I've only had a glass. You saw I was a wreck back there." His lips kept chasing yours in a dance you can't quite describe. "I have wanted to hold you like this since I saw you selling apples on the street. Give me the honor..." His forehead against yours and his strong hands supporting your back, he's already fucking you with his eyes.

"The pleasure of being your lover." He squeezes your waist tight with his forearms, planting brisk kisses behind your ear and breathing in your scent. He smiles against you. Your skin pebbles at his affectionate touch, purring softly as your eyes roll back in delight.

"Kookie..." You breathe, leaning on his broad chest. "Kook, the maids are wondering where I am, I have to go..." You slur, tugging at his collar.

He grunts in protest, taking your ear between his teeth and nibbling it.

"If you let me go, I'll steal some cake for you tomorrow at breakfast." If there's anything Jungkook likes more than Cream Ice, it was cake. He unravels you from his arms and nods, his eyes softening.

"Request my service tomorrow, from Ms.Kang. She's been sweet on me lately." You peck his cheek before stepping back. Your rouge has embarrassingly stained His Grace's cheek.

Jungkook bows and presses a kiss on your hand, eyes rising to meet yours. "Til' morrow, babe."

Jiyoo shakes you awake the next morning, handing you a cake and a note that reads: "Prince Jungkook has a commission he must discuss with you. Meet him at his chamber immediately."

Lacing on a simple corset over your nightgown, you try not to look too red in the face as you climb up the stairs to His Majesty's room. You'd be up there alone, as requested. The girls would absolutely start rumors based on that alone-- rumors which you realize are probably totally true. This was stuff of scandal, after all...

'There shouldn't be anything scandalous about love.' You decide as you rap on His Highness' door.

"Please enter...but only if you have my cake!" Jungkook says in his morning voice. He's so cute.

The simplicity of Jungkook's abode takes you by surprise. His bedroom is very well lit, a capital display of the flowered valley through his bay windows washed the room in gold, painting his porcelain white carpets and his cotton sheets a warm creme color. His drawers and vanity were etched in gold, with breathtaking detailing.

The Monarch himself was splayed across the bed, laying on his side casually. He held a glass in his hand, holding a white wine. He puts down his glass and sits up as your presence.

"We both know that you didn't come here as my servant." You lock the door behind you. "And I have no such commission to give you, darling." The innocence which undertones his usual speech is missing as he coaxes you towards him.

"This much I know, Your Majesty," You say, taking a bit of frosting on your index finger and smudging it on the Princes lips. His black eyes, as cunning as a viper, watch you dangerously as you push two fingers past his plush lips. He wraps his hands around your wrist and draws your hand away, his gaze fixating on you.

"Set the cake down." At his command, you carefully place the confection down on a nearby chest, feeling Jungkook's eyes on you, drawing you back towards his grip.

"Let me pull your laces apart," with your waist held by his Herculean hand, he hums "and then let me pull you apart. I want to memorize your pleasures and gratify your desires, I need it, y/n..." Your back flush against his chest and your thighs split, his hands knead into you as he litters your collar with his mark.

You gasp softly against the crook of his neck, giving into his hold of you. His hot tongue spreads under your jaw, closing into a hard kiss as his hands travel back up to undo your corset and free your tits.

One by one, his fingers pop open the buttons left on your gown until the collar hangs off-shoulder to expose your collarbone. At the sight of new skin, Jungkook's tongue darts to stain it.

His hands stagger above your breasts. "Is it okay if I touch you here?"

"Oh, Kookie, touch me everywhere~" Your hands form fists around Jungkook's shirt, beckoning him impossibly closer.

Grasping one ever so carefully, his thumb grazes your bud as he playfully bites under your ear. "ah-- ahh,"

Jungkook groans in response, he can't believe how cute you sound. Curious, he wants to hear more, so he traces your thighs and experimentally pushes up the outside your cunt.

You squirm, tensing up immediately in response. You bring your hands down to find the latch on his trousers and dip your hands below to rub him through his undergarments. He heatedly bucks up to meet your touch, a panting mess.

You face him now as he watches you ride his fingers while you grip his girth through his clothes. He takes you by the ass and places you on his prominent bulge, hips rolling into you as he hungrily kisses you, his firm hands grinding your core on his cock.

His face is a sinful red, panting under you desperately.

"I've been wanting to do this," His voice warbles through your touch, running your thumb along his underside. It's his turn to gasp. He sits up and collapses his lips into yours, softer than rose petals and his taste faintly like wine.

You place your hand on his chest, and his heart is pounding, a thin layer of sweat already forming on his honeylike complexion.

Hastily, you pull your dress over your head and lean back to allow him to familiarize himself with your stark form, a dainty chain hanging between your bosom. Jungkook bites his lips as he wriggles out of his clothing, desposing of it beside the bed.

He's giddy behind those sultry eyes, you know him well enough that he's overexcited to get inside of you. It goes straight to his cock, your playfulness as you feel up his bare shoulders and discover his abdominals, your fingers tracing his ridges with a sense of innocent wonder.

He takes your hands and looks at you in this way-- Butterflies fill your stomach instantly. Jungkook's thumbing at your pout with his intrepid fingers.

His eyes flutter when grip his base and submerge your upper body below his hips. You lick a long, thick stripe up his underside, causing his breath to hitch and his head to fall back on to the bed.

Those goddamn cupid's bow lips of his would whisper the dirtiest things under his breath, lewd thoughts that sounded completely alien coming from His Majesty's mouth, he said for you.

"Oh, such a pretty mouth~ It's so good, y/n, you swallow me so good--" he moaned like a mantra, trying to keep his hips from snapping up into you. Your hot, wet tongue wrapped around his throbbing cock was only a fantasy to him for years.

He fills your throat with his girth, his taste tantalizingly smooth. It leaves your mouth with a 'pop.' You struggle to keep your legs apart as you crawl up to kiss him.

He takes those fingers of his and slides his index and middle into you and languidly thrusts them, smirking against your lips. "Shit, you liked that, hmm..."

"Kookie...please," you whine as he squeezes your ass hard before smacking it. You yelp, the sting of his fingers radiating from your skin.

"I like it when you beg, y/n, it's so cute..." He pulls your ass up to his thighs. He's flush hard against your abdomen, already sticky with his precum and your spit. You marvel at the self control he has.

You don't finish your thought before he has his head inside of you, impaling you on his cock and stretching your entrance, hissing at how incredible it felt to have you around him.

His shaft reached pleasure points within you had yet to discover. You clench, feeling his tip brush against your cervix. "Wh... hngh," he groans, "how did you do that, do it again--" You wrap your legs around his thighs and clench around him, biting your lip. You watch as he shivers from pleasure, feeling his skin horripilate under your touch.

His thumb is softly circling above your clit as he pulls out of you carefully. He swirls back in, nestling himself inside your heat, hissing. "Ahh~ Jungkook~!" At the sound of his first name moaned out of your mouth, he groans and rolls his hips up to create messy friction. That familiar knot in your stomach tingles as he plays with the bundle of nerves buried within you.

He glances up at your ruined lips, clashing with them again as he lifts your knees up with his hands and thrusts nice and rough, making you yell with every jolt of his cock. The smell and sound of sex fills the room as he experiments with positions, laying you on all fours.

"Get your ass up for me." You obey, ever servile. You're reminded-- you're his servant. He owns your work, he owns your services, and now he wants you in the most lucrative way, he wants your soaked cunt around his imperial cock. He gets what he wants.

Jungkook's palms smack against your ass one more time, just to watch the way it jiggles for him. He smirks a little before he shoves himself into your pretty little cunt. You bury your face into the pillows in pelasure as he chases your orgasm with vigor, fingering your clitoris while you move your hips back to meet his hard thrusts.

You whine like a harlot, his cock allowing you every satisfaction as he works a head-spinning orgasm out of that cunt. "I'm gonna cum, Kookie~!" you warn as you spasm against his length, moans ripping from your throat as you coat him with your thick juices.

His hips stutter up and he just barely pulls himself completely from you as he paints your back white, a guttural groan escaping his mouth.

After a while of loud panting and scattered giggling, Jungkook reaches over for a wet cloth and cleans the both of you gingerly. You trail your hands up to caress his jaw and kiss his lips softly.

"You need to tell everyone that I had a long and extensive request for the Harvest party, that I wanted a lot of fall fruits and vegetables featured in the baked goods, make it as specific as possible and make sure that you mention that I want to meet with you again, over dinner." His labored breathing punctuate his words, as youd kisses consume him. "And..."

"And?" You cock an eyebrow, simpering.

"Doyouthinkmaybeyoucouldbringmesomemilktogowithmycake?" He mumbles, eyes glued on the bed.

"What?" (If you give a Kookie a Cookie...)

Disgruntled, he sighs and repeats: "Milk! Milk for my cake. I know it's moist cause you made it but I'm really thirsty, especially after..." His cheeks flush a cute pink. You wait for him to continue just to fluster him a little more. "Y/N, just please!" You can't ever refuse his pouty face.

Next week, Jungkook's got you pinned against the hallway wall, making out with you hungrily as his hands ride up your dress. Just across the hall, his Dad is negotiating war with Portugal over land in the West.

The next month, you have his cock buried in your throat underneath the table at an important conference about how to create jobs.

All this while the pressure for Jungkook to find a bride continues to rise as he reaches seniority, and as his father's grey hairs pronounce themselves.

Warm touches are always hidden away to the public eye, but often shared between two kindred spirits underneath the man in the moon's watchful eye. Jungkook, as he reaches his maturity, grows strong. His jaw sharpens, and his eyes darken. His hair grows long, and he gains weight. Now at the proud age of 20, Jungkook had become a man before everyone's eyes, including the eyes of foreign monarchs and their eligible bachelorettes.

One day, you're serving the Royal family at a private dinner, when the topic of marriage comes up for the first time since his birthday.

"Your mother has made friends with the mother of the Austrian Princess, and she's invited you to the cordial ball to introduce yourself to the Princess. An allyship with Austria would prove advantageous for our relations with France, so you are to make your best impression." The King wipes his mouth. Setting his fork down, he continues: "It is in the family's best interest for you to marry her, if the French Princess, Anastasie, does not present this season or the next." The Queen holds the King's hand firmly, reassuring him from his shoulder. She wears a slight frown on her face, her eyes worrisome, somber. The King hides his anxiety, as he's been accustomed to from decades of responsibility. Would this be the face of Jungkook soon?

For now, Jungkook's face is scrunching at the thought of marrying Anastasie. She's not the most delightful young woman, her imprudence ruined her enjoyment of any event. She couldn't keep an intuitive conversation about regional politics and domestic policy for the life of her. Her people were on the brink of overthrowing the aristocracy, he was sure of it.

"Yes, father," is what you hear from him before you disappear down the stairs to fetch desserts.

Jiyoo interrupts your quest for sweets with a letter, signed by His Grace. She has a naturally innocent demeanor, her cheeks rosy and her frame as delicate as a feather. "Y/N, you have another special request from His Majesty...can I ask you why you get so many of these?" She looks genuinely curious, not a single menacing thought behind those eyes.

"It's because the Prince really really loves his cake." I mean, technically it was true. Jungkook never passed up an opportunity to squeeze, smack, or dig his fingernails into your ass during your sessions.

"Oh." Jiyoo pouts. "So it's not because you're like, in love or anything?" Her eyes are glued to the floor. You were expecting this question eventually, as the other girls in the kitchen were already suspecting it. It was only a matter of time before word slipped into the girl's ears.

"As much as I enjoy the Prince's interest in my baking, it isn't my place to confess any sort of feeling for him." Your answer is straightforward enough, so Jiyoo nods and hands you the letter. Another request.

Outside the Palace, Winter came like the wind. Lakes froze over, and couples tied up their skates and danced on the ice. The trees were bare and brown, not a single leaf persisting through the chilling breath of Jack Frost.

Jungkook had left for the Winter Palace, to volunteer and raise spirits up in the North. As heir to the throne, he was to be Commander in Chief of the Royal Armed Forces, and therefore needed to undergo intensive training in order to boost morale.

You're back home, and in your wake is your father, who has now grown tangibly tired. He's been on a strict diet of warm vegetable soup for about three months, now. His eyes are sunken, but he still wears a subtle smile even during his most trying days.

Match girls make their rounds at night, you watch as the lamplighters illuminate the streets with their tall ladders and their taller peacoats. Shop windows glow warm shades of yellow and creme; inscriptions on the glass create shadows on the white snow.

"Wow. It's almost as cold as the King's heart out here." You step outside one day with a cup of tea, sneaking in a cheeky smirk. Yeah, good one.

"I heard that!" You turn towards the little voice. A child, maybe about 9 or 10 years old is pointing at you. You squint at it.

"Well, it's true..." You mumble. You have a bit of change in your pocket, so you walk towards a stand to buy a hot bun and a paper.

"Chilly today, hon...Best you take this on the house." The tenant hands you a steaming cake wrapped in a simple cloth and your paper. You stick the paper in your dress pocket and take back your change. You nod a 'thank you.'

You spill the contents of your pockets on the dining table and snatch the paper, snapping it open. Your eyes eagerly skim the headline: "Prince Jungkook Fires Up Royal Army." Below is an article detailing the happenings of His Majesty. All of it sounded very intense, the running, strategizing, first aid training...Was there anything Prince Jeon couldn't nail on the first try?

You set the paper down and pick up your now lukewarm tea. In the back of your mind you're coping with the fact that the Spring Solstice is next week, and that marks the beginning of Jungkook's last season as a Prince.

The King is ill with tuberculosis, and recovery is unlikely. If Jungkook is to marry, it is next season and that was final.

Sitting at the window of his Winter Castle study, Jungkook plays with a ring nestled between his fingers. He looks out onto the lake, as if he's trying to reach you with his gaze. His heart is tight knowing that it would be the season he chooses his bride. Actually, he'd already made up his mind long ago. If his duty was to marry, there was no way to evade such a responsibility. He had to fulfill it, despite his anxieties.

He straightens up and walks out of the hollow room with a firm step.

You awaken with the sound of horse's hooves thudding against the Earth. It is yet to be dawn, and in the distance, thunder roars mightily.

A figure wearing a long, black hood hoists itself off of the animal, tying it to a nearby post. It walks towards an obscure entrance, unknown to many staff.

Intrigued, you wrap a blanket around yourself and peek out at the stranger. His fingers are shorter than his palms, and that's when he tosses of his hood, his eyes set on you. "Y/N..."

You're bewildered by his guise, questions filling your head.

"I was horny, so I left camp" He sits down at the counter, catapulting a cookie into his mouth.

You roll your eyes. "And the guards let you?! Jungkook!" You whisper-yelled at him, readjusting your makeshift blanket-dress.

"Obviously not!" He puffed out his chest with pride. "I bribed them," he smirks.

"You're insufferable," you scoff, your eyes wandering down to observe his physique. His shirt is anything but conservative, highlighting the muscle he'd earned through laborious, sweat-inducing drills. You can feel his eyes on your face as you observe him.

"You can't hide it either," he crosses his arms. "You're standing in the kitchen with a blanket around your naked body." He flicks his tongue. He steps forward, putting a finger under your jaw so you're looking him in the eye.

Your eyes fill with lust as he speaks over your lips. "Look at yourself..." A crash is heard in the other room.

Jungkook's head darts up and in a flash, he disappears into the night.

'Fuck.' You gather your dress from the floor and shuffle back to your chamber.

The first event of the season commences with the most exaltant of spirits as friends of old greet each other with youthful smiles. Juicy exposés, enticing tales, and thoughtful greetings are exchanged in the most formal manner, and the conversation is lively; the most controversial topic of conversation, however, is the rumor that Jungkook is to marry this season.

So far, he's been to four different private residences within his own Kingdom and has been invited, by the secretary of King Louis XVII to meet their daughter. It would be an understatement to say that stakes were high for the pending King.

You were kneading your dough a little too hard thinking about it. "Not so rough, y/n!" Ms.Kang snatches the mixture from your hands. "What is up with you lately, you're so tense! It's really disrupting the kitchen's dynamic."

You shrug it off. "It's going to be hard sedating Anastasie's sweet tooth, I suppose."

"Well, you seem to be doing just fine dealing with Jungkook's addiction to cakes...She's perfect for him, really." Ms.Kang throws more flour on your kneading table and steps off. You give up on the dough, covering it with a cloth and letting it rise.

Jungkook is tapping his feet, munching on finger sandwiches as he waits on you to make an appearance.

"Dearest Prince, look, I am wearing Mediterranean violet!" A duchess shouts as she passes by him, to which he raises his eyebrows at. Another, with dark green eyes approaches and begins speaking rapidly in French at him. Frightened and undereducated, his canned response was: "Excusez-moi, Pouvez-vous répéter plus lentement s'il vous plaît," to which the duchess furrows her eyebrows before something else catches her attention, elsewhere.

Truth is, Jungkook is incredibly shaken at the thought of announcing his engagement tonight. Well, that and the fact that you had yet to pop out of the kitchen. Man, those finger sandwiches were good.

As the night progresses, Jungkook realizes that if he doesn't get up on that platform and say what he needed to say, he'd have to say it in London. Setting his fears aside, he plants himself on top of the orchestral stage and taps a champagne glass with a cheese fork. The music comes to a stop.

With conviction, he begins: "The time has come that I announce my engagement. To all of my beloved friends, who have introduced me to the most beautiful, talented, diverse, and benevolent ladies I've come to get to know over the years, I thank you from the depths of my soul." He swallows and continues, his confident voice masking his trembling. "The life of a Prince is defined by the virtues presented to him at birth. Those virtues are: duty, responsibility, grace, kindness, mercy and integrity." Here comes the part, oh shit.

"I am abdicating my throne to my Cousin, the Duke of Namseong."

Silence sweeps the room. You poke your head out to see what was going on.

"...to marry the love of my life, y/n." He points at you. Your face is cherry red, and you find yourself dropping those same Danish fucking pastries all over the carpet.

"Shit," you fall on your knees, plucking them from the ground one by one. You don't know whether to run as fast as you can or to present yourself, but your body seems to be currently doing the latter. You go along with it.

Jungkook takes your hand tenderly on the stage. "I am unable to perform my duties as King, and therefore am ineligible for the throne." His touch gives you the will to continue beside him. You feel the pure fear rushing through your love's veins, and he knows that this is the hardest thing he'll ever have to do, yet he stands by his announcement.

So, if Jungkook doesn't get to be King of this World, he at least will forever be the King of Your Heart.

But all this, of course...is all in Your, dear reader, Head.

~

a/n:

hope you enjoyed.

#angst #bts #crack fic #for fun #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader fluff #jungkook x reader smut #kpop #bts au #royalty!au #prince!au #prince!jungkook #forbidden love #bts fic #bts fanfic #jungkook crack #pining #oneshot #i am actually terrified of posting the oneshot #jungkook has a sweetooth #x reader #bts x reader #body worship kink

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity

Three months, two days and seven hours.

That is how long you’ve been in Dimitrescu castle for. If rumor is to be believed, you are well on your way to setting the year’s record for longest living maid. Well. ‘Maid’, according to their perception. Your mind always automatically corrects it to something more fitting:

Prisoner.  

You did not choose to work for them. You did not choose to be in this godforsaken place, cleaning crimson stains off the floors, trying to convince yourself the wailing that sometimes reaches your ears is simply the wind. You never would have imagined your life’s end like this, serving wine –no, who are you kidding, it’s too crimson for that— to the Dimitrescus at dinner until one of them snaps and drives the nearest blade into your throat.

Probably Daniela.

It’s not unheard of. And stories of other maids’ murders are plenty.

Daniela has bitten one’s throat off for the crime of addressing her wrongly. Cassandra has left increasingly deep gashes, some of which resulted in deaths, for random offenses, like staring at her for too long. Bela, arguably the more merciful of the three, has snapped necks only when the staff disrespected her sisters’ names, or her mother’s.

You aren’t sure if you want to thank the older maids for this information or yell at them for the nightmares it has caused you. You are lucky to not be in the village, they say –everyone there must already be dead. You are even luckier to have been taken from the dungeon by the Lady herself. It means the daughters don’t know you and the castle is big enough that they may never spare you a glance.

You hadn’t believed it, at first.

Yet in the three months of your stay, you have never come across anyone other than Bela in the sections you were assigned to clean and polish. She passed you by the hallway like she did the decorations and the furniture –and you couldn’t be happier about it. You have caught scarce glimpses of Alcina Dimitrescu, too. Never the other two residents.

Not until the fateful day another maid disappears and the staff’s assigned posts change. You have no say in it and no power to object.

May as well keep my head down and continue to work as carefully as I have. That is the idea. Not to look too much, or think too much, or feel too much. Avoid mistakes because those in the castle are fatal.  

It is a little difficult to remain utterly calm when the sound of swarming insects comes from far behind you, though.

Your blood starts to kick in your veins. Your heart wants to jump out of your chest and make a run for it. You lock your muscles down and summon all the willpower you possess to stay focused on your task.

Please be Bela, please, please, be Bela—

The buzzing dies down. Steps approach you in the otherwise silent hallway. They are too light to be Bela’s. You’re probably screwed, you think, but you keep cleaning the surface in front of you until it’s practically a mirror with how it shines.

The steps halt too close to you for comfort. Out of the corner of your eye, you realize they’ve left bloody imprints on the floor you’ve been polishing for hours now. Dainty, pale fingers are wrapped loosely, almost lazily, around a sickle dripping crimson.    

“Never seen you around, before.” the sound of her voice makes you freeze.

You stop and turn— to face none other than Cassandra Dimitrescu. Her hood is down, brunette waves on point, the dried blood at her chin a terrible contrast to her otherwise attractive face. You… didn’t know she was that pretty, up close.

“I… I have been here for three months. On the opposite wing.” you say. Was I even supposed to reply? You’ll find out soon enough, if your tongue is still attached to your body.

Her eyes give you a quick once-over. “Bela’s been keeping you a secret, huh.” she tsks. Her free hand goes to the handle of the door next to you… and only then do you realize it must be her bedroom. You’re literally assigned to clean the wolf’s den. “Come wake me up when the sun has set, completely.” she emphasizes.

What.

“Uh—”

The crimson-dyed sickle moves until its blade rests underneath your chin, lifting it so your eyes meet hers. From this angle, under the pale lighting of dawn, they look more –stunning— blue than inhuman gold. “No loud sounds. No lights. Got it?”

How can you not, when your life depends on it?

“Yes, my lady.” you reply. You don’t even dare draw breath.

“Good.” In one swift movement, the sickle is gone, the handle turned and she’s already shedding her robe.

You catch a glimpse of a black corset and a narrow waist before you avert your eyes.

The door shuts.

...

Waking Cassandra up can be… tricky, the other maids tell you.

She detests light when she opens her eyes but she also doesn’t want it to be pitch black. You’re not supposed to talk but you can’t shake her, either. Which brings you to the very logical question:

“What the hell am I supposed to do, then?”

To which they have no answer.

They have no answer, you realize with a start… because there’s nobody alive to tell the tale of how to actually wake the brunette sleeping beauty up without simultaneously signing their own death sentence.

The hours pass both too slow and too fast. The sun sets over the horizon.

And you stand, riddled with nerves, outside Cassandra’s room.

A deep inhale later, you turn the handle. The door is left half-open so a bit of light comes in from the hallway. Her bedroom smells like shampoo, bath salts and spices. She must have taken a shower before she went to sleep. You approach the figure tucked under the silken sheets of the queen-sized bed…

Cassandra is lying on her side, one hand underneath her pillow, the other extended loosely towards the edge of the mattress. She probably sleeps naked, at least from the waist up, but thankfully the covers are wrapped around her chest. Their royal red color makes a stark contrast against the paleness of her skin.

Her face is so… serene.

She is a monster and a sadistic killer, yet right there you can’t deny she looks more like a renaissance painting.

Now onto the hard part.

“My lady… the sun has set.” you whisper, kneeled on the floor beside her. No movement comes. “Hey… I’m here to wake you up?” you try again. Still nothing. Shakily, you bring your hand up to the bed. Not daring to touch her, you leave it beside hers, over the covers. “Cassandra?”

She turns her face deeper into her pillow –no, no, you don’t think it’s cute, what’s wrong with you— but at least she’s finally reacting. You call her name one more time.

Her nose scrunches up a little. Long fingers flex –and they touch yours. She’s cold. A pair of blueish ambers blink open to regard you. Not with malice, or with annoyance.

“Good evening.” you speak, unsure of what else to say.

A smirk slowly curves her lips. She looks like a lazy cat pondering whether or not it’s worth it to pounce and that’s not good. It’s not good, not ‘hot’ like your mind suggests. God, you’ve been in this castle so long you are starting to get messed up.

“Mm, breakfast in bed.” she grins and licks her lower lip sexily. Your eyes fly wide open, but her hand is already gripping the front of your black shirt, trapping you there.

How could you ever find this psycho attractive?! you get mad at yourself. Is she hot now that she’s going to kill you?  

But Cassandra only lets out an airy laugh and releases you. You fall backwards on your behind. “Breathe, darling, I’m joking.” She rolls onto her back and seems to wince from it. Her smile vanishes.

“…does… your back hurt?” you ask when you finally find your voice again.

“Ugh, a Lycan landed a hit on me. He’s pieces now, of course, but my muscles still pull.” she says it casually, like it’s a thing that happens.

Silence falls over the room. You take it as your cue to leave. You stand and bow while she’s looking blankly at the ceiling—

But she stops you.

“Wait. Come here.” you don’t like it when she gets that tone, like she came up with something she cannot wait to try. You’re already close to the bed, you’re not sure what she means. Until she pats the spot right next to her. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You won’t. You know what’s good for you.

Hesitantly, you take a seat on the –admittedly very comfortable— mattress. “Yes, lady?”

“Give me a massage.” she says like it’s your job, like she’s the rich woman in a spa and it’s what’s expected. She turns onto her front, bearing her naked back to you and you have less than five seconds to come to terms with the thought of straddling her.

Carefully, you bring your knees on either side of her thighs and pull the sheets so they rest low at her waist. You feel warmer than you should given the temperature of the castle. If she knows the fine teasing line she’s walking, she is loving every inch of it.

Cassandra loves being the center of attention and she loves being pampered, you realize.

It’s probably amusing to her to make you fluster, but this is also an opportunity for you to get on her good graces. She is a dangerous one and it’ll be a great asset for your survival if she’s leaning favorably towards you. Win-win situation. You just have to be good at your job. Like always.

By some miracle of God, you do know how to work the tension out of muscles.

The first time you touch her, you simply rest your hands on her back to warm it. She doesn’t seem to object, from the way lean muscle stretches out under your fingers. Cassandra feels cool, but not hard like marble. Her skin yields under your touch, soft and smooth.

As you apply more pressure to your stokes, she starts to let out little sighs that you have to mute in your mind before they start to affect you. You’ve been high-strung and without sex for too long. Your body all too eagerly intercepts this death-trap as foreplay.

Minutes roll by.

You alternate between all the methods you know. The one that really seems to get her is when you drive your thumb into the knots and end with a little circle.

Cassandra is –God help you— openly moaning every time you press more. It is a bit too much pressure you’re applying though and you don’t know if you’re hurting her and she’s just into it.

“Is this too much…?” you ask. Fuck, why do you sound so breathless?

“No, it’s good.” she husks back.

“Harder?” You don’t know what innocent means, anymore.

Cassandra sends that little smirk again over her shoulder. “Harder.” she replies and the extra flair she puts into it is enough to nearly fry your brain. And other parts of you.

You’re pretty sure you need a cold shower by the time you leave her room.

...

At diner, you hang back in the shadows, gaze downcast.

You do not need to know what the Dimitrescu family is eating, nor what they’re drinking. You do not need to see Cassandra or risk catching Daniela’s gaze. You love your anonymity in the castle. It has kept you alive.

But it is shattered like frail glass when you bring another bottle of Sanguis Virginis to the table. You’ve almost retreated back to your place, when Daniela’s eyes zero in on you.

“She’s the human!” she exclaims like she’s made the world’s most startling discovery. Bela seems to understand, but the Lady and Cassandra frown over their glasses.

“I am almost afraid to ask, love.” Lady Alcina says…

And she’s right.

“The one who made Cassandra go ‘harder’ and ‘yes, yes!’ earlier this evening.” she impersonates in her sluttiest voice and then breaks into a fit of cackles. Bela’s lip twists into a withheld chuckle.

Lady Dimitrescu nearly chokes on her wine.

Cassandra slaps the back of Daniela’s head. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Girls.” Alcina warns and glares until the table calms again.

Then, her eyes curiously fall upon you.

So much for your anonymity.

Ko-Fi

#Cassandra Dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu's daughters #cassandra x oc #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #fanfiction #cass kills with her hair and nails on point she's the murder-princess type #you can't change my mind #I love her

[inkykeiji]

bright light city gonna set my soul on fire

ace anon said: wanna suggest dabi taking you to a poker game as a good luck charm then betting you on a game and losing...or winning and bragging about it by fucking you on the table

genre: smut + implied crooked secret agent/spy AU set in the late 1950s???

notes: AH ace i loved this idea SO MUCH it ended up sparking an entire fic!! heavily inspired by ian fleming’s 1953 novel casino royale + martin campbell’s 2006 film casino royale. it is set in clari’s version of the 1950s and in no way historically accurate!! think of it as an AU of the 1950s, if that makes sense ehehe | title credit: viva las vegas by elvis | songs mentioned in the fic itself: don’t and i beg of you by elvis, rockin’ robin by bobby day

warnings: 18+, period typical use of the word Daddy (not with dabi), inappropriate use of the word Mister, slight degradation, mentioned somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, minimal prep, night terrors, blood, murder, generally toxic codependant relationship, one implied mention of drug use (morphine), mentions of tense family dynamics

words: 8.5k

synopsis:

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Sticky pink candy, translucent and gleaming with saliva, clacks against teeth as you roll the heart-shaped lollipop around in your mouth, twirling the stick between your index finger and your thumb.

Legs kick idly as you lean back on your other hand, seated on the edge of Tomura’s massive, pristine mahogany desk, watching as his personal tailor helps Dabi shrug on a navy tuxedo jacket, stitched and sown perfectly to his measurements.

“I dunno,” he’s saying as he pivots his body a little, making a face at himself in the mirror. “I still think the black looks better,”

Ruby eyes roll up towards the ceiling, a frustrated groan spilling from between Tomura’s lips.

“You always think the black looks better. We’re going with the navy, it brings out your eyes,” he gives the back of Dabi’s head a sharp look before strolling towards you, features softening as he observes—the perfect picture of innocence, legs swinging slowly in cute little motions, strawberry lollipop sucked against the roof of your mouth, sparkling eyes floating from your boyfriend’s broad shoulders to his—your—boss’s face as he advances.

“Gimme some,” he demands, large hands finding your knees and halting your movement, using his hipbones to push them wider, making a space for himself between them and sticking his tongue out. With a giggle, you place the now misshapen candy on his tongue, gasping loudly as he snatches the candy from you, movements too quick for you to catch, and jumps away with the grace of a cat.

“Daddy!”

Tomura snickers around the lollipop in his mouth, sucking it into his cheek as he speaks around it. “Aw, come now, don’t pout,” his bottom lip pushes out to mimic your expression, tilting his head in false sympathy. “I’m sure your Mister will buy you another,”

“He better,” you mumble through your pout, eyebrows knitting together as arms cross tightly over your chest, eyes flitting to Dabi.

“I will, dollface, I will,” he vows distractedly, gaze not straying from his fingers reflected in the mirror as they fiddle with his bowtie.

“Promise, Mister?”

“Promise, baby, promise,”

Dabi’s already been briefed on the specifics of this mission—something to do with playing a poker game with a bunch of other crooked hotshots at the Sahara hotel in Las Vegas, but that’s all you know. That’s all you’re authorized to know.

Despite being Dabi’s accomplice and working for Tomura’s underground organization, you’re rarely allowed to be in Tomura’s office while the briefing happens. It’s sensitive information, dollface, and the less you know the better, and don’t misbehave now, sit pretty and quiet like a good little girl until the big boys are finished, and then Daddy and Mister will give you a pretty reward.

But! you had protested with a bottom lip involuntarily jutted out. But maybe, if I know more, I can be of better help—

But Tomura had shut that idea down before it had even finished leaving your lips.

No. Absolutely not. It’s for your own good—your own safety, you little brat—why can’t you understand that? 

You do understand that, you’ve been told a thousand times—your specialty is distractions, used to keep enemies occupied before Dabi splatters their brains on marble floors, or to pry information out of men weak to the smile of a pretty girl.

And, to be fair, Tomura does reward you pretty generously, with glittering evening gowns and designer pumps and all the handbags a gal could ever want.

You turn back to face him, red lips spread into a cunning, mischievous smile, a smile he knows all too well, a smile Dabi loves—because he taught it to you—and Tomura hates—because it means you’re about to get what you want. “So. How much money are you giving me to play with this time, Daddy?”

Tomura’s face screws up, nose scrunching. “None,” he spits, removing the lollipop from his mouth. Tiny hands grab at the air, reaching for it like a child, Tomura swiping it just out of grasp as he continues his scolding. “Last time, you nearly bought the entire shopping complex,”

“Ah, c’mon, boss,” Dabi says around a cigar, still standing in front of the full-length mirror and smoothing down his clothing. “Give the lil lady a lil somethin’, will ya?”

“Yeah, boss, c’mon,” you plead, mimicking your boyfriend, adorning your face with your signature pout and award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

“Absolutely not.” His voice is stern as he speaks, facial features hard in finality and resolution, but his eyes—irises a crimson so brilliant, so beautiful it’s terrifying, almost looks as if it’s glowing—are beginning to waver.

“You know, if you don’t, then I’m sure I’ll get bored in that big city all by myself while Dabi’s working,” you begin in a singsong voice, eyebrows raising. “And you know what happens when I get bored, Daddy,”

“She gets int’a trouble,” Dabi grumbles, eyes catching yours through the mirror, though there’s a smirk forming around the cigar, held between sharp gleaming ivory teeth.

“S’true,” you nod simply, eyelashes fluttering as you gaze at Tomura. “Please, Daddy? Pretty please? I swear I won’t spend too much this time,”

“Jus’ give ‘er your credit card r’somethin’,” Dabi waves a hand in nonchalance before patting down his pockets. “I’ll keep a’eye on ‘er, promise,”

“Take that damn cigar out of your mouth and speak properly,” Tomura spits, and you and Dabi share another look, another smirk, through the mirror. “Fine, alright? Fine,” nimble fingers pull out a sleek leather wallet, flipping it open and searching through the card slots, grumbling to himself. “Christ, the two of you are insufferable, I swear to God,”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you giggle, soft and gentle and innocent, all of the things you weren’t mere moments ago. Platinum plastic gleams in your fingers as you tilt the card in the light, gaze captivated by the way it sparkles and glitters as you speak again. “Promise I’ll bring you back something neat,”

     ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s been a few years now since the two of you met, since the two of you became partners, and Dabi swears to high heaven and back that he had tried his hardest not to fall in love with you, cross his heart, hope to die.

At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. In actuality, he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you—it’s as cliché and cheesy as one of those Jimmy Dean flicks, but goddamn it, it’s true all the same.

Doesn’t help that that’s one of the first things you said to him, though.

You look like Jimmy Dean, Mister, you had giggled dainty behind your hand, batting those long, thick eyelashes as you gazed up at him, gracious and polite and all the things a good little girl like you should be. Is supposed to be.

It made him want to fucking ruin you. It sparked a white-hot fire deep in the pit of his stomach, a blaze that grew, and grew, and grew with each of your cute mannerisms. It procured an inferno full of pure desire, heady and intoxicating, that nearly engulfed him in an instant.

“Oh, yeah?” he had asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, tongue running along his front teeth as he steadily held your eyes. “‘N why’s that, little miss?”

Those eyes, the sparkling ones that had been so bold only a moment ago, bashfully flitted down to the teal typewriter sitting in front of you on a large oak desk, fiddling a little with your nails against the worn keys.

Baby pink. Cute.

“Oh I—I—” your gaze flashed up to his for a moment, intense cobalt burning into your very skull, before you averted your stare again. “Well, I-I don’t mean to be rude, Mister, it’s just that—your hair,”

Sapphire eyes flicked up, as if to gaze at his forehead, as if he were able to see his own hair from just that motion, eyebrows raising with the action.

“S’all messy like the way he wears his. You know, when he’s not doing a picture and all that,”

And you noticed your mistake immediately, eyes widening, tongue tripping over your words in your haste to correct yourself, to speak properly, like a lady. “I-It’s all messy, s-sorry, excuse me, it’s all messy like the way he wears his,”

A smirk, slow and dangerous, spread across his face as he observed you, tilting his head a little as his eyes travelled down your neck, to your shoulders and the sweetheart neckline of that pretty, pretty dress, and then back up again, narrowing slightly as they did so. It’s in that moment that Dabi first wondered what you’d sound like underneath him while sharp hipbones bruise his name into the tender flesh of your inner thighs, how you’d slur your words together then.

His voice was a touch huskier when he spoke again. “You like Jimmy, miss?”

“I sure do,” you nodded, painted lips morphing into a little melancholic smile as you looked down at the typewriter again. “It’s a real shame he passed,”

“Sure is,” Dabi mimicked your movement, giving a simple nod in agreement. “But thank you for the compliment, doll, I’ll take it,”

Your head snapped back up. “Oh, c’mon, m’not stupid y’know,” you huffed with a roll of your eyes and a light laugh.

“No?”

The traces of amusement that played in his azure eyes had your own narrowing a little in response, sitting up straighter as you rolled your shoulders back.

“No,” you shook your head. “I know who you are,”

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“Touya.”

And it’s the way you said his birthname, the way your lips curled into a devious little smile around the word, the way one of your perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question, in challenge, that had confirmed it for him, right then and there, in that stupidly luxurious office.  

“Touya Todoroki.”

He was sure he had to have you. He was positive he had to make you his—forever.

“You’ve been compared to Jimmy since he debuted—”

“And you know this because—”

“—because I read Time and Vogue and all those other stupid magazines, just like all the other women in this country. And I’ve seen you,” you paused to point a manicured nail at him. “On or in every single one,”

Oh, and he was sure you had, sure you knew that he was notorious for stealing several of his father’s girlfriends when he was in his early twenties, infamous for fucking them and then selling the Polaroid’s and information to vying tabloids and the like. He always did like to spice up those stories a little, to fluff them and make them a hint more scandalous, glamorous—those ones always sold for more.

Not that he needed the money.

“It’s rude to point, baby,” he winked before he straightened up, pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards your desk, stopping in front of it as large hands splayed out on the wood, and leaned close to your face.

“And I don’t go by that name anymore, sweetheart,” he had told you, voice smooth as scotch over ice, though something dangerous glinted in his eyes as they carefully searched your face, something omnious etched into the sharp smile on his face

A shiver crawled up your spine, frosty and slow, fingers tiptoeing up each vertebra as you nodded your understanding. “Y-Yes, sir,”

The door to your boss’s office had swung open then, Dabi straightening up and spreading his arms out in a grand sweeping movement.

“David!” he greeted as if the two were old friends, large smile stretched too tight across his face as he walked forward and clapped a large hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

He murdered your boss that day. You didn’t know, of course, didn’t have a goddamn clue until over a month later, Dabi had made sure of that. But by the time you found out, you were already in too deep; too enamoured by him, wholly captivated by him in every sense of the word, too dependant on him, to care at all.

He had made it quick—quiet and painless and looking as if it was an accident, strolling out of the office only a few moments later and asking you out on a date like nothing had happened, words flowing smoothly from his lips in that drawl that is so distinctly him, almost lazy in a way, glittering lidded sapphire scalding your skin with its intensity.

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Nothing, that’s what.

Honestly, he did you a favour—he swears he could see it in your eyes, sparkling as they gazed at him like he sculpted the moon himself, pleading for someone—for him—to come along and take care of you, to put you in your place, to keep you in line, absolutely desperate for someone to mold you, shape you, construct and arrange you into his most perfect creation.

Perfect, perfect, perfect, that’s what you are; so good for him, so obedient and compliant, always hanging on his every word and eagerly awaiting his next command, enthusiastic to submit to him, to please him, to receive the praise you crave so badly.

And Tomura had agreed, too, after only fifteen minutes of meeting you, of observing you, of assessing you, that you’d be a flawless addition to their operation.

So Dabi did what he does best.

He started slow, of course, enchanted you with strings of pearls and gorgeous dresses and expensive dinners, fed you tidbits about his mysterious lifestyle, about his family and his job and his past, just enough to keep you coming back for more, until you were practically begging him to let you in, to permit you to join his vocation, to accompany him on the wild ride that is his life.

And that was the best part of all—you didn’t care, you wanted it just as badly as he did; wanted to help him, to serve him, to be his, without ever requiring the full story. You readily gave everything up for him, accepted his orders, his wants and his needs without as much as a single question, never faltering in your honesty, in your pure devotion to your creator.

It’s love in its truest form, you’re both sure of it—possessed by one another, infatuated with one another, dedicated to one another—both consumed by the most potent drug, this love, a force to be reckoned with, the strongest pull either of you have ever felt before.

And, really, what more could you ask for?

     ✰          ✰          ✰

He took you under his wing, crafted you into a master of manipulation, pairing it perfectly with that innocent kitten demeanour you wear so well, and taught you everything he knew: all of the infiltration techniques and self-defence he had learned before he was ostracized from his father’s company—a privatized intelligence agency that works closely with the federal government—the very organization he’s been working so tirelessly to burn to the ground.

You still don’t exactly know what happened. He doesn’t like to talk about it, about where those scars decorating his body came from, about why he’s thrown away his old identity and constructed a new one, trading ivory hair and a high-fashion wardrobe for inky black and weathered Levi jeans with big black motorcycle boots.

But you do know a little.

He had been the favourite son, the chosen son, the one set to inherit the empire his father had built. That was, until he got himself into an accident—one that he still isn’t ready to disclose the full details of, and you never push. But you know it had involved a twelve year old Touya—always devious, crafty, and ever-so intelligent, even as a child—sneaking along on a mission he absolutely shouldn’t have. The silvery burns that adorn his skin, puckered and soft and shimmering like moonlight when they catch in the sun, scars tinged with the slightest hint of baby pink, are from this incident. Whatever had happened after had scarred his soul forever.

Because you’ve never encountered such intense hatred, burning bright blue flames that rage and roar inside of him, the words that are spit from between clenched teeth when he talks about his father, about his baby brother, positively scalding.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know the full story, that you aren’t entirely aware of why this vendetta against his family exists. It doesn’t matter that his one goal in life, his only true desire aside from you, is to take down his father. It doesn’t matter that he’s willing to do anything and use everyone to achieve his objective.

Because he is letting you in; slowly, bit by bit and piece by piece, the most fascinating and tragically beautiful jigsaw you’ve ever put together. He may never be ready to tell the full story, and that’s alright with you, because as you’ve reassured him countless times in the dead of night, you’ll always love him anyway—you’ll always be by his side.

That’s when he’s most vulnerable, it seems—in the middle of the night, at two and three and four in the morning, when he wakes trembling and whimpering and soaked with his own sweat.

He never tells you what they’re about, the nightmares. Sometimes, they’re so violent that they wake you first. He doesn’t fuck you immediately on those days, doesn’t say a word as he finds solace in your warm bosom, little fingers pushing back sweaty strands of inky hair from his temples as your other arm wraps around him, holding him close to you as his shaky breathing calms, as his muscles stop quivering. On those nights, he says nothing as he spreads your legs and climbs on top of you, railing you into the mattress like it’s his last day on this earth.

That’s how he likes to be comforted; that’s what calms him down best. It’s standard procedure at this point—not that you mind waking up to his soft sniffles and him shoving himself into your barely prepped cunt, or rousing to feel the tip of his naked cock rubbing against your clit through thin cotton undies as he tells you in that wavering voice to stay sleeping and let your Mister take what he needs. You’re there to serve him—and you do, so perfectly. You just want to help, after all. You’ve always ever just wanted to help. You never know which nights he’ll gift you another little piece of himself, of his soul, for you to try and fit in somewhere in the puzzle that is DABI. You don’t know the triggers—as far as you’re concerned, they don’t seem to exist anywhere outside of the padlocked barricade of his own head, no rhyme or reason to them, more random than anything else. But you’ll readily accept anything and everything he’s willing to give, the very instant he’s willing to give it.

     ✰          ✰          ✰

Sprawled out on the hotel bed with his white t-shirt riding up and exposing your lacy panties, you watch, in an almost trancelike state, as Dabi does his hair in preparation for the game set to begin in an hour or so. He leaves it messy and ungreased when he isn’t working, all tousled and fluffy, a sea of half formed curls that flow into each other, akin to tremulous waves hours before a storm like an inky ocean atop his head. But he cleans up well, when it comes time to get down to business.

“Every little swallow, every chickadee, every little bird in the tall oak tree,”

Standing in front of the mirror clad in a white undershirt and his suit pants, he sings along to Bobby Day’s staticky voice as it flows through the small radio set on the bathroom counter, nimble fingers dipping into a tin of greasy pomade and gathering a generous glob, a responding giggle bubbling up in your chest.

“The wise old owl, the big black crow,” he catches your eye through the mirror, a devilish smile materializing on his face as he continues, lathering his hands together. “Flap-a their wings singin’ ‘go bird go’,”

“Should’a been a singer, I’m telling ya,” you say as you roll onto your stomach, chin resting in your palms and head propped up, eyes glittering. “Could’a rivalled Elvis,”

Huffing out a laugh accompanied by a roll of his eyes, his hands begin to rake through his hair, slathering it with the substance and slicking most of it back from his face, sure to leave a few curls at the start of his hairline untouched. “So sweet you’re gonna rot my teeth, baby,”

“M’serious!” you insist, blinking at him as your eyebrows raise, watching the teeth of the black comb run through the slicked-up strands, his palm following close behind as he smooths it over; crisscross, crisscross, crisscross, fluff, pat, crisscross.

 “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he shakes his head in disbelief, though there’s the faintest pink tinting his stubbled cheeks. “I think I’m better at this job,”

What? Playing poker with a bunch of criminals and making deals with mafiosos and murdering those who wrong you? you swallow the words, letters stinging and scraping your throat as you force them back down, schooling your face into a neutral expression. “I respectfully disagree,”

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles to himself distractedly, leaning closer to the mirror to complete the look. “Elvis, you say?”

He begins belting out lyrics in an exaggerated deep voice as he adds the finishing touch—your favourite part—slender fingers shining with residual pomade as they twirl and coat the few stray curls left neglected, allowing them to hang artfully in the middle of his forehead. 

“When I feel like this and I want to kiss youuu,” pivoting on his heel, he gazes at you with that shit-eating grin and continues. “Baby, don’t say doooon’t,”

“Oh, God, no, not Don’t!” you groan, flopping onto your back dramatically, face screwed up as if you had just tasted something sour.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s chuckling as he advances towards you, a small towel in his hands as he cleans them. “How ‘bout…” trailing off, he hums a little as he thinks.

“Hold my hand and promise,” he begins in a low voice, smooth and sweet like the finest melted chocolate, depositing of the towel and crawling onto the bed.

“That you’ll always love me too,”

Large hands gently pry your legs part, signature crooked smirk spreading across his face when he’s met with zero resistance, rough palms caressing silky skin as they slide up, fingers gripping and grabbing and kneading.

“Make me know you love me,”

The words taper off into a whine, beginning to sound more like begging than singing, as his body settles between your thighs, hipbones digging into the soft flesh while he hovers above you, supporting his weight on his forearms.

“The same way I love you, little girl,”

Lips trail along your jaw, leaving tender kisses in their wake—unhurried, careful, and full of purpose—as he mumbles against your skin.

“You got me at your mercy, now that I'm in love with you,”

Calloused hands begin to ruck up his t-shirt, digits dipping into the lacy waistband of your panties, his voice starting to tremble ever so slightly.

“So please don't take advantage, cause you know my love is true,”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, sapphire eyes gleaming in the golden sunlight and he pauses, blistering gaze searching your face for something, muscles relaxing and head dipping a moment later to finally press his lips against yours, whispering into the kiss. “Darling please, please love me too, I beg of you,”

And despite all the glitz and glamour, all the extravagance and exhilaration, that comes with each mission, this will always be your favourite part—when it’s only you and him, lounging around in some luxurious five star hotel or some dingy roadside motel, exchanging lazy, messy kisses full of stringy shining saliva, goofing around and whispering stupid Elvis lyrics to each other, words that hold more weight than either of you care to admit.

     ✰          ✰          ✰

It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation—minimal violence, Tomura had instructed. No guns or casualties, if it can be avoided, if Dabi can keep his temper in check. It was supposed to be easy, straightforward, safe.

It was supposed to be. But Dabi gets bored easily, likes a little spike of adrenaline with his missions, rolling his broad shoulders and cracking his neck as he joins the rest of the men around the poker table, a sly smirk on his face as they name the bets and the prizes.

“And my little doll,”

It’s hard to resist rolling your eyes as those four words slip from between his lips, slow and smooth in that deep, lazy drawl, trademark smirk painted across his lips as his lidded eyes scan the faces sitting around the table, an eyebrow raised, daring any of them to protest. Several hungry eyes dart towards you for a moment, standing like the reward you are a few feet behind Dabi and leaning on a railing, a shy little smile briefly gracing your lips in greeting, elegant evening gown shimmering under the crystal lights.

This isn’t new—Dabi usually bets you when he plays. Keeps him sharp, he claims. Keeps him on his toes, keeps it fun when there’s something important at stake, something valuable to lose, he says. He plays better that way, he promises.

Except he’s always craved that thrill of danger, has always liked to push further and further simply to see how far he can go before he topples over the edge. It’s a rush, a blast, a high akin to the morphine that so often flows through his veins, and he fucking lives for it.

It’s been over an hour now, since those words were murmured in that velvet voice, floating across the table and cloaking the thoughts of the other men like a lethal haze, most of whom can’t seem to keep their eyes from wandering back to you every so often, leering gazes coating your skin with grime you itch to scrub off.

But that’s the point—or it’s supposed to be, anyway. That’s the whole reason you’re here in the first place. To act as a distraction, Tomura’s words drift through your mind, just whisps of his voice that tickle the walls of your skull.

And what a perfect distraction you are, in a Dior dress that looks like it was made only for you, tapered perfectly to every curve and edge of your body, silk flowing gracefully with every miniscule movement, with every rise and fall of your chest.

But it bores you to tears, this poker game, eyes dry and sticky, sick of staring at the back of your boyfriend’s immaculate, intricate hair as his nimble fingers play with the mountain of chips accumulating in front of him, plastic clacking together as he shuffles through them.

You had begged him to let you go shopping—just for the first half of the game, you swear!—but he refused. I need my good luck charm there with me the entire time, babydoll, he told you, brushing calloused fingers down your cheek then tracing along the line of your jaw, gazing at you with brilliant sapphire that glitters in the late afternoon sun, streaming in through the hotel’s floor-length windows. We can go shopping after the game is finished, he promised.

You regarded him with skepticism.

“And dancing?”

“Of course,” he responded with a playful scoff. “We can dance until our feet are bleeding, pinky promise,”

Keigo comes to join you just before the game passes the two-hour mark, large hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling you back against his chest as his head dips down, soft full lips against your skin.

“Lovely dress you’ve got on,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, tickling the shell. “You look stunning—breathtaking—I mean, gosh, look at me, I can barely breathe,” he gasps dramatically, chest heaving against your back as he does so, chuckling when you roll your eyes and giggle at him to shut up, Kei, the vibrations from his laugh a comforting sensation, a familiar sensation, a welcomed sensation, sending warmth spreading through your body. “I’m so happy you’re here,” you whine, leaning further into him and head tilting against his collarbone to gaze up at him. “I’m so bored,”

“Yeah, I bet,” he says, something unusual—unreadable—settling in his topaz eyes as he glances up at the table. “You aren’t used to games lasting this long, are you, baby,”

A little pout settles on your lips and you nod, playing right into his condescending cooing as you snuggle into him, eyes following his stare. Truthfully, you haven’t a clue what’s going on, and, really, you couldn’t care less. You aren’t entirely sure what the significance of this poker game is, or who most of these men are, and you aren’t allowed to. Just sit pretty and perfect like you always do; it’s the thing you do best.

Except tonight—tonight something is different, unsettling, off. It’s no big deal, though, of course—you can almost hear that deep, dark voice drawling the words out in your mind, phantom breath tickling your skin.

Because Dabi’s always been startlingly good at what he does. Because Dabi’s always been able to worm his way out of a difficult situation. Because there’s never really been a reason to worry about it before, anyway. But tonight—well, tonight you’re watching as his Balenciaga clad shoulders are getting tenser, and tenser, as his jaw is clenching tighter, and tighter, as his grip on that singular sparkly chip resting in his palm is becoming stronger, and stronger, thin skin stretching painfully over sharp bony knuckles.

Keigo’s breath is bated, his fingers digging into your hips as he observes the game unfolding in front of the both of you, pulling you closer to him, hushed curses falling from his lips every so often. And Keigo knows what’s happening, of course, but he refuses to tell you, promising you that you wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it. Creases form on your forehead as your eyebrows knit, eyes drifting back to the table. Whatever it is, it’s clear that it isn’t good, Keigo’s body tensing against yours as he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment before blowing it out from his mouth, exasperated.   “Well, I’m positive it’s fine,” you say, trying to wave it off lightly, to whisk away the acrimonious dread that roots deep in the pit of your stomach and begins to spread, thick and dense as it slithers into your surrounding organs, to brush off the impending sense of foreboding that seems to lurk over you, getting heavier and heavier, darker and darker with each second that ticks by—though your voice sounds high to your ears, tinny and false. “Dabi’s never lost a game before, that’s why they send him to these things,” But Keigo doesn’t sound so sure, responding with a nervous breath of a laugh, lithe fingers flexing on your hips, rubbing little lopsided circles into the flesh. “First time for everything, songbird,”

The words send ice piercing through your veins, but you persevere, rolling your shoulders and standing up a little straighter, swallowing past the painful lump that’s lodged itself in your throat. It’s fine. It’s always fine. He’s always found a way to get out of messy, tight situations before. Why should tonight be any different?

It won’t be, it isn’t—you can already see Dabi collapsing on the cream sofa upstairs in your luxurious hotel room, tugging at his bowtie with a sigh as his head falls back, nimble fingers popping the first few buttons on his crisp white dress shirt, and had you scared for a moment there, didn’t I, kitten?

And you’ll playfully slap his shoulder as you crawl into his lap, roll your eyes as you straddle his hips and allow him to tilt the champagne flute to your lips, laugh it off as his hands begin to wander, rucking up your dress and kneading your ass, cock tenting his expensive trousers. Like always. You’re sure of it

It’s just past the three-hour mark when Keigo speaks again, all traces of teasing, of that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, gone from his voice. Golden locks stand in all directions, his hair having fallen out of its usual ducktail style, a curtesy of fingers raking through it nervously. His smile is tight as he looks down at you, front teeth nibbling at his cuticles as he speaks, muffled a little by his fingers. “Maybe we should get you out of here, sweetheart—”

“No,” you respond instantly with a firm shake of your head. “I’m not going anywhere,”

“Sunshine, listen—”

“I said, no, Kei,” you pull back a little to look at him, resolution sown into your voice, chest puffing out just a touch. “I won’t leave him,”

Honey eyes hold yours for a moment, and you can almost hear Keigo’s molars as they grind together. He exhales a deep sigh a moment later, shaking his head and tugging his fingers through golden strands again. “Alright, alright,” It finally comes to an end, a few minutes past the four-hour mark. Heavy lids start to lift as commotion begins to stir—soft murmurs among the men and chairs scraping against the floor, plastic chips clacking together and the sharp whisp that travels through the air as cards are shuffled—whining a little as you lean further into Keigo, who is now supporting most of your weight.

“Kei, feet hurt,”

“Shh, I know, songbird,” he hushes you, a large palm stroking your head. “But I need you to wake up, sweetheart,”

Rough, unfamiliar hands are wrapping around your arms only a moment later, yanking you from the warm sanctuary that is Keigo and hauling you against stiff muscle.

“I believe you’re mine now, darling,”

The words are gravelly, uttered in a low voice against the crown of your head. A vicious shiver crawls along your skin, whole body trembling with the force of it, as your lids snap open.

“Wait, what?” frantic eyes search the gaudy room for familiar cobalt, breath beginning to accelerate as you struggle a little in the grasp of a burly man with one eye. His grip tightens in retaliation and a pained yelp hitches in your throat, Dabi’s eye twitching at the sound. “Dabi? D-Dabi!”

Sapphire blazes into your skull, steadily holding your watery gaze as his jaw clenches, swallowing thickly at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers of his name, at the way you squirm and wiggle in your abductor's grasp, desperate to escape, to get back to him.

“H-Hold on, now,” Keigo begins, holding his hands up in surrender, a motion meant to signify peace, to signify that he isn’t a threat—even though you know he’s got the cold metal of his favourite pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers and pressed against his warm skin. “Let’s talk this through, yeah? Just wait a minute—”

“Nope,” the man cuts Keigo off mid-sentence with a loud, harsh laugh, and you wince at the sound. “No way, a deal’s a deal, friend. I won her fair and square—she’s mine,”

A light chuckle, laced with irritation and dubiety, escapes Keigo’s lips as he shakes his head a little. “Come on, Dabi jokes around like that all the time,” and while his voice seems amicable on the surface, its ridden with cold undertones, phantom threats that are felt, not said. “And this little lady—as pretty as she is—is a person, not a prize. Taking her against her will is, in fact, kidnapping, and I’ll be forced to—”

“Let him go,”

“What?” the word falls from your lips and Keigo’s simultaneously—one incredulous and pitched high with distress, the other breathed out in disbelief, both equally as concerned—gazes snapping to Dabi, who sits quiet and brooding, dim lights casting shadows on the sharp planes of his face.

Azure drifts between your faces, features ridden with terror and alarm—furrowed brows and deep frowns tugging at the corners of lips, one pair of eyes wide with scepticism, the other pair glistening with tears. Dabi’s silent for another moment before he pushes on his knees and stands, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, voice ringing out loud and clear, dripping with admonition. “Let him go. He’s right; he won her, fair and square,”

He speaks slowly, annunciating each word with careful precision, sapphire glinting in the dim light has he holds the muscular man’s gaze. It holds something threatening, something menacing, something terrifying deep within the depths of his eyes, and you feel your captor pause for a second, tense, and then shiver.

“Uh, r-right,” he says, voice wavering a little as he nods to himself. “Fair and square,”

Dabi stalks towards you, shiny oxfords echoing against the pristine, freshly waxed marble floor, tutting his tongue and shaking his head, casual and relaxed as ever.

“Don’t struggle, you hear me?” he says, voice softer, gentler, as a calloused thumb swipes across your cheekbone, catching a stray tear. “Be a good girl for him,”

And I’ll see you soon.

The promise doesn’t need to be vocalized—you can see it, shining bright and true in his sapphire eyes, can sense it, in the air surrounding him, can feel it, at the very core of your soul.

A sudden sense of relief floods your body, pathetic little sobs getting caught in your chest as you exhale shakily and deflate in the burly man’s arms, tears finally spilling over your lashline and streaming down your cheeks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

Dabi gives you a simple nod, lips quirking up into a ghost of his signature lopsided smirk. Okay.

And just like that, all of the fear and trepidation and panic vanishes from your body, a serene calm chased by a sense of giddiness replacing it, scorching through your veins.

Because before the door to the man’s hotel room has even swung fully shut, Dabi’s barreling through, crystal handle smashing against the wall and cracking as skilled fingers tangle in short hair, yanking the man’s head back with a sickening crack and dragging the razor-sharp edge of his favourite switchblade across the man’s exposed throat.

He moves like a flash of light, a spark igniting a fire, so fast he’s merely a blur of black and navy and blazing sapphire. Thick crimson begins pouring from the wound immediately, a large splice spanning from one earlobe all the way to the other.

The man hits the shiny hardwood floor with a distinct thump, but you aren’t paying attention to him or the way he’s writhing as he tries to claw at his neck, coughing and gagging as he begins to choke on his own blood.

No, you’re captivated by sapphire, bright and burning as it surges towards you, calloused hands seizing your face roughly as chapped lips find yours, unforgiving and ferocious, bloody knife still in one hand, cool metal pressed against your cheek, smearing streaks of scarlet across your skin as you try to get closer to him, to get more, the stench of copper stinging your nose.

It’s eradicated in an instant though, Dabi’s heady scent—campfire and hickory wood and expensive cologne—filling your lungs, your mind, your entire being as it curls around you in the most intoxicating embrace, familiar and comforting and him, him, him. Stumbling backwards, you just about trip over your own feet as Dabi shoves forward, strong hands wrapped around your biceps keeping you steady. The sharp edge of the small rosewood dining table digs into your lower back, Dabi swallowing your resounding yelp as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, large hands finding your waist and squeezing before he hoists you onto its surface, using his hipbones to force your thighs open.

You nearly topple over from the power, from the urgency, hands flying out behind you and grappling against the table’s surface to keep you sitting upright as he heaves and pushes and leans against you, motions knocking sparkling crystal glasses and fine porcelain plates off the top.

The sound of shattering glass and cracking china mingles with the gurgling and garbling of the man who lay a few feet away on the floor, suffocating on his own blood. It creates such a beautiful symphony, intertwined with Dabi’s ragged breaths and your broken moans, with the ruffling of clothing and the screech of the table legs against the gleaming hardwood floor. And it’s desperate, and needy, and messy, teeth clashing and clacking together violently, saliva dripping down chins as tongues rub and glide and lick, hands pawing and gripping and tugging and ripping, the delicate material of your silk Dior dress practically turning to ash as his fingers materialize through it, tearing it to shreds.

“Off, off, off, I need this off,” he’s growling against your lips as his hands work, a low whine getting caught in your throat as you nod frenetically.

Yes, yes, yes, you’re whimpering, your own little fingers helping him destroy the silvery fabric, eager and anxious to rid your body of the bothersome garment.

A guttural groan, deep and dark and inducing a fluttering in your tummy rumbles in his chest as his eyes roam over your body, clad in the daintiest white lace.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, y’know that,” he’s mumbling between sharp bites to the flesh of your neck, fingers snapping the clasp of your bra, breaking it in one simple motion. “A fuckin’ angel, that’s what you are, baby. My very own angel,”

Rough palms slide down your torso, slow and purposeful as they trace, feel, knead the dips and curves, planes and contours of your body, slender fingers pausing to play with the elastic of the garter belt adorning your waist, holding up your lace-trimmed thigh-highs which have begun to tear, then hooking in the waistband of your thong.

His cock grinds against your inner thigh, hot and hard and throbbing as it strains against his trousers, digits toying with the lacy elastic, twirling it between his fingers before he lets it snap back against your skin, the harsh slap! echoing throughout the hotel room. 

“Oh, Mister, I want it,” the plead falls from your lips in a shameless moan, high and whiny as your hips press forward in an attempt to grind against him. Slender fingers untangle themselves from the lacy fabric in an instant, gripping your hips to still them, fingertips digging into your flesh. “I need it,”

“Need what, dollface?” his lips brush against your skin as he speaks, teeth sinking into your collarbone a moment later, hard enough to break the skin, a loud cry getting caught in your chest. He sucks on the wound, hard, tongue laving over it in soothing little circles, slowly dragging over the bite.

And it’s a compulsion, a sickness, a fucking disease surging through your veins, infecting your mind with thoughts of him and only him, entire body buzzing with the desperate, pathetic, urgent need for him, for his cock, for his cum.

“Need you, need you,” you’re whimpering out, squirming and struggling a little in his grasp, a warning hiss spit through his teeth as blunt nails nip your skin. “Please, Dabi, please, lemme have it,”

“Have what, baby?” lips curling up into a coy smirk, he pulls back just enough to look at you, finally pushing his hips into yours, a patronizing laugh spilling from his throat as you instantly grind against his cock, impatient and impetuous. “Use your words, Mister wants to hear you say it,”

Scalding heat seeps into your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, a broken whine of complaint sounding in the back of your throat as you shake your head. “Y-You know,” you mumble. “You know,”

“Oh, come on, baby,” he tuts with a disappointed shake of his head, voice overflowing with condescension. “You act like such a little slut, but as soon as I want you to say what you apparently need oh-so-badly, you can’t? You get all shy and bashful like you’re innocent, or something?”

An arrogant chuckle bubbles up in his chest, a rough palm colliding with the flesh of your ass a moment later. Scarred lips graze your ear as he leans back in, speaking low and smooth, words leaving his mouth in a huff of warm, sweet breath. “You’re being bad, y’know that?”

The huskiness in his tone sends chills pebbling across your skin, a delicate shiver dancing up your spine.

“Please,” you whisper, bottom lip beginning to tremble. “Please, Mister, please,”

“Tell me,” he rasps, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth and sucking, bruising his name into the sensitive skin. “I know you can do it, doll. What is it that you want? Tell me,”

And, God, it’s so embarrassing, vision blurring with the sting of tears, entire body beginning to tremble from the combined humiliation and lust surging through your veins, his clothed cock still rutting against your core, poking and prodding and so close, you’re so close, two tiny words, just say them. “Your—Your cock,” you almost yelp, blinking back the tears in your eyes as you try to gaze levelly at him, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell its pathetic quivering. “W-Want your cock, please, Mister, I-I need it,”

“Yeah?” he breathes while he rests his forehead against yours, butting forward a little as his glazed eyes rapidly search your face, pupils blown to hell and lips bitten red, shining with spit. “Where, huh? Down here?”

A finger tugs the flimsy soaked lace to the side, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips as he drags a knuckle up your dripping slit.

“Here?” it presses into your cute little hole, your hips eagerly bucking forward in response.

“Yes, yes, there, Mister, there, please,” you keen, head nodding in almost frantic movements, skull knocking against his. “Please, n-no fingers, want your cock, need your cock, stretch me out, fill me up, I need it,”

And it’s your senseless babbling that does it, bratty and needy and incessant in high broken whines, that snaps the final thread of patience holding him back, and a growl rips from his chest, so violent it vibrates through your own.

The heavy buckle of his belt clinks as hasty fingers fiddle with it, shoving his trousers down his thighs just enough to free his cock.

You can’t help the mortifying moan that escapes your throat the moment you see it, velvety and pink and oh-so-pretty, flushed tip glistening with precum and two thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Christ,” he groans as he pushes into your cunt, burying himself inside of you in one swift thrust, your nails biting into the hard muscles of his shoulder through the thin material of his shirt as your hole stretches around him, both of you exhaling simultaneous sighs of relief.

It burns and it stings and God, you need more, eyes rolling back in your skull as the sharp heels of your stilettos dig into his lower back, little fingers tangling in white cotton as you try to pull him closer, closer, closer.

“Greedy little brat,” he snarls out as his hips begin snapping, the movement sudden, unexpected, welcomed, a choked cry of his name catching in your throat.

And it’s brutal and relentless, primal and desperate, lacking most of his usual finesse as he pounds into you, cockhead slamming against your cervix with every harsh thrust of his hips, hard enough to move the entire table itself, legs scraping against the floor a little more with each pump.

Inky curls cling to his forehead and temples, the white cotton of his dress shirt becoming translucent as it sticks to his damp skin, highlighting the hard planes of defined muscle that flex with each ragged inhale.

Surging forward, his tongue runs along the inside of your teeth before it drags against yours, slow and heavy, depositing his taste and staining it with the flavour of him, fiery cinnamon gum and smoky Marlboros. Gorgeous, needy little whines break in his throat in time with each strong piston of his hips, muffled by your mouth, and you greedily swallow whatever he’ll afford you.

It’s total sensory overload—he’s all you can see, all you can hear, all you can taste, touch, breathe, hijacking all of your receptors and overwhelming you with him.

It’s building inside of you, deep in the pit of your stomach, scorching flames that glow as blue as his eyes as they rage, climbing higher and higher, licking at your insides and expanding further and further until they finally engulf you, consume you, with their blaze, and everything shatters, body convulsing almost violently around his cock as you cum with a strained cry of his name.

“Fill me, Mister,” you’re babbling, begging, swearing you’ll die if he doesn’t, the flames will burn you to ash if you don’t get his cum soon, voice absolutely wrecked. “Fill me, fill me,”

And he obeys, filling your cute little cunt to the brim with thick, hot cum as his cock pulses, a cracked whimper of f-fuck, slipping past his lips.

His chest heaves as he collapses against you, the two of you falling back against the table’s surface with a thump, his cock still buried inside of you. A soft whine sounds in the back of your throat as you carefully unlock your legs from around him, wincing a little at the stiffness in your thighs.

I love you.

The three words are murmured into your shoulder, so soft you barely hear them, so quiet you’re sure you’d have imagined them had you not felt his lips move against your flesh, not felt his hot breath on your skin, not felt the gentle vibrations in his chest as he spoke.

“I love you,” you respond, voice tender as tiny fingers comb through his dishevelled hair. “I love you,”

He’s silent for a moment, your combined pants the only sounds ringing out among the hotel room, and then he nods—once at first; just a quick, sharp motion, and then again a moment later, with more vigour, more purpose, more acceptance.

Little hands smooth down the damp cotton hugging his back and your head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. A certain type of giddiness—a type that’s sick, that’s twisted, that’s stuffed full of love—floods your body as your eyes connect with those of a dead man, laying in a pool sticky crimson, and God, yes, you love him, you love him, you love him—more than anyone else ever could, more than you could ever love anything else.  

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #bnha smut #mha smut #dabi #todoroki touya #todoroki touya x reader #AAAAAH FINALLY JESUS FUCKING CHRIST #yeah #this is MY verision of the 1950s basically #i hope that makes sense #its very fictional #AND YEAH I FINALLY CAVED AND USED 'DOLL' ETC AS PET NAMES #BUT!!!!!!! #BUT ONLY BECAUSE IT IS A PERIOD TYPICAL PET NAME!!!! #anyway #can you tell i fucking love elvis #and that a LOT of his songs remind me of dabi #LMAO

[kazuzuha]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ part three

part one ; part two ; part four ; ...

this work is protected by copyright. copyright © kazuzuha ™ 2021

It took me another two years to find a new goal and remember my past one - the latter being that of me exploring the world, meeting new people, seeing the archons, eating new foods, feeling the wind of the highest mountains in Teyvat...

Interestingly, this goal that I had forgotten coincided with the one I had now; running away.

That was all I had in mind in the time gone by, all that truly kept me breathing in that suffocating place. My own mindset was an opposition to my mother’s, her traditional perfectionism trying to mold me into someone flawless, yet, not better than her. My own set of unbearably high standards wore me down, then were further pushed by her hand which ignored the fact that our pressures came from the same place. But I knew. I knew. 

It was at fifteen that I fully understood that knowing you are in an unhealthy situation does not call upon the Archons to help. 

Father was not around, busy with climbing ranks and taming the snowstorms. If he knew of my ambition, he would have agreed to that marriage proposal I had been given years ago, suspiciously immediately after the Tsaritsa’s interest in me was expressed. It was not that my father did not love or care for me; the opposite stood true. However, he was unaware of how deeply the mental scars inflicted by my mother ran. She was a good wife, a great wife for a Snezhnayan especially. But she was not a good mother. All I had tried to explain, he had already known of, but from a completely different perspective; words convoluted, actions exaggerated - after years of hearing second-hand stories about his child, his image of me became exactly what my mother intended. Therefore, hoping and begging for his help would be redundant. I had to get away on my own two feet.

That being said, I still needed outside help and financial freedom. I made acquaintances amongst my peers, though being taken into a circle of Snezhnayan kids was a difficult task; due to my family’s high standing and my mother’s foreignity, I was either avoided or sneered at. No one dared say much, but those that did were not speaking in welcome. The odds would be stately against my success, if it were not for my observance. Most children were homeschooled and the only way to meet others my age was at a very occasional party or in organised training. There were certain aspects that I saw were well accepted in their eyes; strength, resilience, beauty and charm. I trained in strength, my mind forced resilience, the beauty and charm part could be subsistuted by wealth and social standing. It should have worked. Unfortunately, I did not consider my gender.

After beating a boy twice my size in combat, I was not revered as I had previously expected. I was not suddenly accepted into a friend group, was not offered the bitter alcohol they hid under their shirts. I was a foreign girl they could not touch, could not win against. And that pissed them off. The spreading of rumours seemed like a simple childish act at first, but the way people began to view me was set in stone before they even met me, painting me as unattainable, arrogant. A sense of déjà vu made me realise that I was once again losing an exit out of this place. But I was a quick learner.

Instead of my peers at the training grounds, I looked elsewhere. Tagging along with my father under the pretense of learning his strategies, donning my most modest dresses and tint on my lips, I met the younglings of aristocracy. They recognised my situation as their own, shunned for being better than everyone else. The mindset of superiority deeply ingrained in their small heads made it laughably easy to appease them and get piles of information that I made sure to memorize. My graceful actions, soft-spoken words and dainty visuals… all crafted to fit the perfect standard of a young girl beloved by the Tsaritsa. 

Manipulation was effortless to replicate and after shedding a false tear over an acquaintance’s loss of a parent, the apprehension of the lack of my care about using others sent shudders down my spine. I hated it. I hated being forced to do the same I had been an object of. Most of all, I was horrified by how good I was at it. A secret account provided by a lovesick fool who turned out to be the son of the main manager of our biggest bank. Five sources of income through illegal trade business from Fontaine. A shy girl who wished for one good friend, the daughter of the biggest weaponry corporation, owning over fifty industrial factories in Snezhnaya alone. In less than two years, I was the biggest shareholder of two major companies. 

All I needed was a good public reason to leave and never come back - if I had run away in the middle of the night, the powerful people around me would send hundreds behind me without a second thought. The only ones who can facilely leave are the Fatui - Tsaritsa’s dogs - and, of course, her Harbingers. I have seen my fair share of Fatui, especially when I was still dealing with the mess that was the illegal trading with Fontaine’s machinery. They were soldiers, but they were also people; until you gave them enough power to be drunk on. As for the Harbingers, two of them I had met on multiple occasions; the man I had momentarily seen at Tsaritsa’s side on that balcony was presented as Dottore, or Doctor, though his unhinged expressions pointed to him being a rabid predator, not a healer. He was a shadow; never seen, but always… there. The second Harbinger was my father’s old acquaintance known by the title La Signora, or more favourably, The Fair Lady. As a visionless female aristocrat, I was expected to marry quickly and provide many future soldiers to the armies of Snezhnaya. When I was younger I did not understand the disgust and abhorrence I felt at the thought of my set future. Without dreams, I only wandered. It was not surprising that I began to look up to the notoriously powerful Signora, especially since the silver shade in our eyes was of the same empty shine. Fascinated by her bold disobedience of our land’s customs, I caught myself imitating her walk; young and impressionable, sure, but I also knew that without a Vision, I would never be able to stride as freely as she could. 

That is why I spent so much energy and time on getting Mora. In complete honesty, I could have left Snezhnaya a year into my socialisation. In only a few months, I had enough financial security to start a business in the faraway Liyue which flourished past my expectations. Despite resigning myself to using others, the human mind sometimes cannot help but create bonds of affection to others and so, after the first time hearing “comrade” or the late-night conversations with a painfully vulnerable and lonely teenager, I could not help but want to stay longer, although merely subconsciously. I began finding reasons to stay; perhaps visiting Liyue to oversee my business after a scandal was not a good enough plan to leave, perhaps I should save just a bit more before I go on a long journey, what if the branch deal suddenly fails, I need to manage this project myself… The excuses piled up, my very few friendships strengthened and then, I thought; living here for the rest of my life would not be the worst. This idea was proven wrong time and time again, the glares like daggers in my back, enviness of others putting poison in my cups, the bloody display of the rare bunny I was gifted by a prominent and popular merchant, my mother’s slap at the word “Liyue” leaving my mouth.

I was woken up by news of the forgotten childhood marriage proposal being reconsidered.

“My clever girl is all grown up now!” my father spoke loudly, his fork sounding on the golden plate as the guests around him followed his proud tone with interest. Turning to his closest comrade, another one of Tsaritsa’s most trusted, he spoke as if confiding a secret though all invitees could hear him clearly: “Nobody is ever going to be good enough for my dove, but I’m considering accepting that proposal. They’d make a good match, both of their heads full of coins.”

Booming laughter ensued as my smile froze on my lips. He had never discussed this with me beforehand, so why now?

As if he had read my thoughts, Father’s eyes found mine, his bright and naive, sure that I would simply go with it as I had with everything until now. I decided to keep the illusion intact and made myself smile wider. 

“Girlie that plays with coins, hah! If that’s what he needs to tie him down, I’d get on my knees myself,” the other man spoke, raising his glass towards me and eliciting another round of hollers. 

Not one to stay quiet in rage, I spoke with a light, pretty tone: “Sorry to say this old man, but I’d prefer for the man to kneel down for my hand himself. Your legs might just give out from how long you’d have to be begging on the ground for him.”

The hidden jab of my not even knowing who the man proposing was went past their ears.

“As expected!” the man yelled over the ear-wrenching laughter, slapping my grinning father on the back, while another man, whom I recognised as my only female friend’s absentee parent, spoke up; “She’s really your kid, through and through. Shame you didn’t make a boy, too, with that spunk he’d be one of Tsaritsa’s best warriors by now.”

“No kid of mine would be any good as a soldier,” Father countered, the alcohol in his glass disappearing. “Us Silvers use our heads.”

After he playfully headbutts his comrade, the conversation moves elsewhere and I take my leave. Again, I find myself on the balcony, heaving deep breaths, desperately trying to calm my racing pulse. Vaguely, I think about my wild expression and how others would react if they chanced upon me at this moment, but my unbearable fear does not allow for a stoic attitude. 

Ah, right, I wanted to run away.

It is needless to say that I got my plans in order just that night.

I only let my closest friends know of the finality of my departure, sent a personal letter to the Tsaritsa and prepared an entourage of people who wanted to permanently leave Snezhnaya as well.

Tsaritsa’s reply was swift and curt; a permit to leave for business. There was not any mention of a permit to return, but that was exactly what I had been looking for.

I mentioned my journey East to my parents at a rare shared dinner, as if passing news. My mother would have dragged me by my hair if we had been alone; having my father present was imperative. With my mother’s forced silence, I explained that, due to the scandal - which I had painstakingly created myself - I wanted to take charge of the business in Liyue Harbour for three months until I found a capable enough manager to take over the decision-making.

“It is unsavory for women to make the main decisions in a business,” I sighed, massaging the side of my head as if troubled by this gravely. My father nodded, sympathetically, while my mother coldly glared at my theatrics. It was not her that I needed to convince, anyway; she would follow whatever her husband decided. Holding Father’s hand, a physical contact of seldom, I continued: “I want to get this over with quickly, that is why I am going myself. After all, the marriage should not be put off for too long, should it? You told me a few days ago that you wanted a grandson, after all.”

I left three days after that.

The tearful farewells were done in secret, only polite nods were given in the public eye. More people have come to bid me a good journey than I would have expected, my ties reaching further than those of the usual Snezhnayan. I decided to speed up my leave before anyone else could notice.

White mountains and the creaking of snow beneath the heavy feet slowly turned into browns and greens and sloshes of mud. We stayed the night at a guesthouse in Fontaine, the waterfalls washing away the prints of our path. I wished I could have run away immediately, but arriving at the Liyue headquarters was a necessary evil to maintain our facade; if we did not send word, it would have been no different from an escape without planning. 

The warm water felt wonderful against my cold skin, accustomed to the harsh weather of the land of Cryo. It was a few hours after sunset and only the sounds of nocturnal butterflies were present. The unchanging moon shone down, reflecting its light into the lake, its shape sometimes a copy, sometimes a caricature. 

TBA

[toohardtoforgetcth]

Too Hard To Forget

Chapter Eight

5,082 words

A/N: evenin’ angels, pls enjoy - the second-last smol chapter of fluffiness basically but also swearing and sadness and death sorry love y’all

Requested: I added a lil scene at the beginning for anon who wanted a reunion between Parker and Gram, the chapter was already written so I had to tweak it a lil. Hope it turned out okay, anon! thank you for the ask <3 

» » » » » »

When Calum woke up the following morning, it took his brain a split second to register that Parker laying in his bed was real and not just a fever dream. His mind played through the events of the night before, his body tingling from all the places Parker had left her mark on him. They hadn’t gone to sleep until past four in the morning, so he wasn’t surprised to read 11:47 on the clock on his bedside table. Calum absently dragged his finger back and forth over Parker’s upper arm, watching goosebumps rise in its wake.

She stirred, blinking her eyes and lifting her head to stare up at him. He smiled down at her. “Mornin’ angel,” he rasped.

“Still the King of waking me up before I’m ready, I see,” she mumbled, smiling sleepily.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he shrugged. “I’ve missed you.”

Parker answered his confession with a press of her lips against his. “Any big plans today?” she asked him.

“Lunch plans with Gram, but other than that, I’m all yours,” he answered. “You can come if you like,” he suggested. “It’s been a while.”

• • • • • •

After a shower and a quick stop at Parker’s to change her clothes, Calum pulled the Charger into Gram’s driveway, cutting the engine.

Parker pushed down the uneasy feeling in her stomach. I’m nervous. Should I be nervous? She asked herself. She wasn’t sure why she felt nervous – the break-up was Calum’s idea, but still she felt weird about showing up uninvited at Grace’s house after sleeping in her grandson’s bed only a few hours after breaking up with her ex-boyfriend. She followed Calum up the steps, standing one step behind him as he knocked twice and pushed the door open.

“Gram?” he called out, shucking off his boots and ushering Parker inside.

“In the kitchen, dear!”

Calum grinned at Parker, guiding her through the kitchen door in front of him. “I found a stray.”

Gram turned around, gasping when she recognized Parker. Her face split into the warmest smile and she rushed over. Parker was surprised at the old woman’s strength, she was hugging her so tightly. “Parker, it’s so good to see you!”

All of Parker’s nerves melted away as she relaxed in Grace’s grip, hugging her back. “I missed you, Grace.”

Grace and Parker chatted over lunch, leaving very little room in the conversation for Calum to join in, which suited him fine – he was just happy to have the two loves of his life in the same room again.

“Calum, dear, I think the tap in my bathroom is leaking again. Could you take a look at it for me?” Gram asked Calum sweetly.

“Sure thing, pretty lady,” he replied as he disappeared into the garage to get some tools.

As soon as he was out of the room, Grace took Parker’s hand. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me that you two worked things out,” she beamed.

“We haven’t really talked about it yet," Parker started. “We only talked a little bit yesterday, and it was mostly just catching up,” she admitted.

“There’s lots to catch up on, I’m sure,” Grace winked, and Parker laughed. “But I know you two. There’s nothing in this world that could keep you apart. That boy loves you more than the sun and the stars, and he is never going to let you go.”

“I don’t know, Grace. He was so willing to give up last time. What happens next time when things get hard, and he tries to run away again?” It was a thought that had plagued Parker’s mind since her reunion with Calum, despite his efforts to reassure her that he was wrong and he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. She wanted to believe him, but he had hurt her and she didn’t want to go through that again.

Grace wore a sympathetic smile. “I know it must feel scary to let him in again, after what he did,” she squeezed Parker’s hand. “But let me tell you something about Calum. He has been through hell and back in his short life, and he is very good at putting up a barrier between him and other people, so he doesn’t get hurt. He pushes everyone away because it’s easier than fighting a losing battle. You know what happened with his mother, my Lina. She never fought for Calum, and he carries that hurt in his heart every day,” Grace wiped a tear from under her eye before continuing. “He’ll never tell you this himself, so I’ll do it for him – he needs someone like you, Parker. Someone who will fight for him. He deserves all the love in the world and I know you love him. He just needs someone who won’t give up, who won’t abandon him like his mother did. He will make mistakes, and sometimes he’ll try to push you away. I promise you that if you stick with him, and you don’t give up on him, he will give you everything you ever dreamed of. He has so much to offer, and when he opens up, there is no one in this world with a bigger heart. I’m so proud of how much he’s done for himself in the last year, but nothing makes him happier than you do. He just needs to know that he deserves you.”

Parker had tears welling up in her eyes by the end of Grace’s speech. She could have tried harder when Calum left. She called, but she could have done more. She was partly to blame in all this, too. She didn’t fight for him the way she should have. She could see that now, and she promised herself, for Calum, that she would always fight for him.

Parker leaned forward, hugging Grace tightly. “I promise I’ll take care of him,” she whispered.

“I know you will, honey,” Grace smiled. “Welcome home.”

» » » » » »

Parker and Calum were getting ready to head to The Wildflower for one of Calum’s shows, and Parker was sitting on the floor, playing with Duke while she waited for Calum to get dressed. She thought back on her life over the last year, how much had changed. The first time she came over to Calum’s apartment, Duke turned his nose up at her attempt to pet him. Now, he greeted her before Calum when they came inside. She smiled as she thought about how this man had become her home, and she couldn’t imagine her life without him.

Calum came out of the bedroom, buttoning his shirt. Parker stared at the stripe of skin showing on his chest until he buttoned it all the way, then finally lifted her gaze to his face. Chocolate brown eyes, full lips, dark curls messy but effortless. It annoyed Parker, how little effort he had to put in to look as incredible as he did every day, but her heart swelled with pride at the same time. This man was hers.

“I have something for you,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to her cheek and pulling a chain out of his pocket. It was simple; silver, with an intricate key pendant hanging on the end. On the back of the key, the letter ‘C’ was engraved.

Parker smiled. It was simple and dainty—exactly something Parker would have picked out for herself. “I love it,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his. “But what’s the occasion?”

“It’s metaphorical, since you don’t actually need a key for my apartment,” he grinned.

Parker just looked at him, puzzled.

Calum rolled his eyes at her lack of understanding—it was adorable. “I want you to move in with me.”

Parker just stared at him, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

Calum chuckled. “Of course I’m serious, love. You wanna?”

Parker threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and planting a series of little kisses to his lips. She pulled back. “Are you really sure, Cal? I drive you crazy.”

Calum laughed. “I love you, angel. I want you with me all the time. Besides, you already stay over most nights. The boys love you, Duke loves you, I can’t think of any reason why you shouldn’t.”

Parker turned, lifting her hair so Calum could fasten the chain around her neck. She turned back to him, beaming. “Okay.”

• • • • • •

When they arrived at the pub, it was quiet; not as busy as it usually was, which gave Calum a good opportunity to play some new music.

“I’ve been working on this new one, think maybe I’ll try it out tonight, if that’s alright,” he spoke into the mic. “Less of you to disappoint,” he laughed lightly, and they laughed, too. These people had become like a little family—he felt so at home here. “It’s called Waste The Night.”

The crowd went wild for his new song. John caught up to Calum as he was packing up his equipment to tell him that he had another steady gig lined up for him at a restaurant on the West end if he wanted it.

It seemed that people were hearing about his music all across town, and Calum was elated. After so many years of feeling like he’d never amount to anything, he could finally say he was living a life he was proud of.

» » » » » »

“Michael, sit still. I can’t do this if you keep flinching.”

Parker was sitting on a stool in front of Michael, applying his makeup to complete his costume. Luke and Sierra, Luke’s new girlfriend, were throwing a Halloween party and Michael had begged Parker to do his makeup, but he had been sitting there for an hour and he was getting antsy.

“You’re getting it in my eyes,” he whined.

“It’s makeup. It’s literally meant to go on your eyes. You’re being a baby,” she rolled her eyes, smiling. She had grown very close to Michael in the time she’d been with Calum. She loved all the boys, but she spent almost as much time with Michael as she did with Calum. It drove him crazy sometimes, but in the end he was just happy his brothers loved Parker as much as he did.

Calum’s life had never been better. He played music for a bunch of different venues around town and the change in scenery kept things interesting, but it always felt like coming home when he played at The Wildflower. He and Parker had been living together for almost a year, and while it had been an adjustment for him at first, as it had just been him and Duke for over five years, his place felt like home with her there.

Parker’s parents seemed to warm up to Calum, too, after realizing that their daughter was head over heels for him and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Calum came into the living room and Parker did a double take at his costume. He was dressed as Danny from Grease—very little effort, considering the only difference from his day-to-day outfit of black boots, jeans and a leather jacket was the styled hair, but he still looked good—like, really good.

“Wow,” Parker breathed, almost forgetting that Michael was sitting there as she shamelessly ogled her boyfriend. “You look amazing.”

Calum gave her a sly grin and winked at her. “Thanks, doll. Where’s your costume?”

Parker looked down at herself, still dressed in lounge shorts and an oversized tee of Calum’s. “I’m not ready yet. I’ve been preoccupied with Michael’s makeup,” she said, gesturing to her handiwork, Michael smiling proudly. He did look amazing. He wore a black and white striped suit, and Parker had dyed his blonde hair neon green for the occasion. His costume was Beetlejuice, but she wanted to do her own less messy version of the classic character, so she did a purple smokey eye and added touches of green to the sides of his face and down his neck. He looked awesome.

The front door opened and Ashton walked in, carrying a backpack full of what was probably an assortment of booze. He was dressed almost identical to Calum—he was supposed to be Kenickie, also from Grease. Parker rolled her eyes at the boys’ complete lack of effort or originality.

Calum made the four of them a drink, Michael’s sitting untouched next to him while Parker finished his face.

“There,” she said finally. “Done.”

Michael stood up and walked over to the mirror on the wall by the front door. “Holy shit, P. I look amazing!” he gasped, a grin splitting his face. He lifted his fingers to inspect his face closer.

“Don’t touch!” Parker shrieked. “It’s not dry yet, you’ll ruin it!”

Michael jumped at her shrill tone, his hand recoiling. “Yes, ma’am,” he teased.

“I’m gonna go get dressed,” she announced, standing and collecting her assortment of special effects makeup from the table next to where Michael was sitting.

The last thing Parker wanted to dress as was Sandy—she felt like the costume was way overdone, but because of Calum’s costume, she decided it would make the most sense. She pulled on a pair of tight leather pants she had borrowed from Jenna, slipped into her red peep-toes, applied a red lip and draped her shoulders with a leather jacket to finish the look.

When she came out of the bedroom, all three of the boys stopped to look at her. Ashton whistled, and Michael’s response of “P, you look hot!” earned him a punch in the gut from Calum.

Calum walked over to her, spinning her around once and admiring her. “You do look hot,” he grinned. “You wanna forget about this party?” he whispered, pressing the softest of kisses to the spot just below her ear. “I could think of a better way to spend the night.”

Parker blushed, but there was no way she was missing out on this party, no matter how good he looked.

• • • • • •

When they arrived at the party, it was already chaos. Some people Parker knew through the boys, but most of them were strangers. Luke pulled Parker in for a hug and took her hand, leading her into the kitchen where he had set up a variation of liquor bottles.

“Take your pick, babe!” he exclaimed excitedly.

The rest of the boys joined them shortly after, where Luke and Parker had already downed three shots each. As Luke was pouring them all another one, Parker noticed Sierra hugging a petite girl at the front door, who had seemingly arrived alone. She was wearing an unmistakable Lydia costume. Parker leaned over to Luke. “Who’s that girl that Sierra is talking to?” she asked curiously.

Luke glanced over to his girlfriend at the door. “Oh, that’s Crystal. One of Sierra’s friends.”

Parker flashed a wry smile, and Luke looked immediately concerned. “Oh, God, I know that look. What are you on about?”

“Oh, nothing,” Parker waved her hand casually. “Just that she happens to be here all by herself, and that she’s wearing the other half to Michael’s costume.”

It seemed Parker was not the only one who noticed the similarity, because the girl’s eyes lit up in recognition as soon as she saw Michael, and she followed Sierra as she made her way back to the group of them in the kitchen. Sierra introduced her to everyone. She was really sweet, and Michael couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“I love your costume!” he said excitedly, taking a sip of his beer.

“Thanks,” she grinned. “Your makeup looks awesome,” she added, “did you do it yourself?”

Michael choked out a laugh. “No,” he shook his head, then turned and pointed at Parker. “Parker did.”

“How come you guys don’t have matching costumes?” Crystal asked curiously.

“Me and Parker?” Michael looked confused, then his face softened as he realized what she meant. “Oh, she’s not my girlfriend,” he shook his head, and Crystal’s face brightened immediately. “More like my sister, honestly. She’s with Cal. I’m flying solo.”

Parker watched their entire interaction with the biggest smile on her face. Michael was the kindest person she knew—it was about time he met someone as sweet as he was.

Calum snapped her out of her distracted staring when he held out his hand in front of her. “Care to dance, angel?”

» » » » » »

Christmas that year was different for Calum. He always spent Christmas Eve with the boys. They usually went out for dinner and had a couple drinks before making their way back to one of their houses to exchange gifts and watch a movie or two. Then on Christmas Day he went over to Gram’s for the afternoon and she made a big dinner for just the two of them.

This year, their circle had grown by four additional people, so it made sense to have a whole celebration with everyone there. They held it on Christmas Eve so the boys could spend Christmas Day with their own families, and everyone gathered at Gram’s house.

Gram was delighted to have a whole house full of people to cook for, since the last time she had a big holiday party was when Calum’s granddad was still alive. The boys would come over periodically for dinner, but that didn’t really count. All the girls—Crystal, Sierra, Ashton’s girlfriend KayKay and Parker helped Gram in the kitchen while the boys goofed off and relaxed by the Christmas tree. When they all sat down for dinner, Gram at the head of the table, Calum looked around at all his friends, his girl, and he was so thankful that he could call these people his family. After a lifetime spent hating the world and everyone in it, his life was good, and Calum was happy.

» » » » » »

Calum was at home working on some new music at the end of February when his phone rang. An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen before Calum answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello, I’m looking for Mr. Calum Hood,” replied a voice that Calum didn’t recognize.

“This is Calum.”

“Hello, Mr. Hood, this is Dr. Schilling from Blue Cross Regional Hospital. I’m calling regarding Grace Hood.”

Calum’s mouth went dry as his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.

“Mr. Hood, I’m afraid we need you to come down right away.”

Calum’s hands were shaking, gripping his phone so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. “Is she—what happened?” he managed to reply, voice cracking.

Parker came down the hall from the bedroom, immediately noticing Calum’s rigid posture.

“It’s difficult to discuss over the phone—”

“What happened!” he demanded, voice rising to an angry yell.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hood. She passed away.”

The phone slipped out of his hand, clattering to the floor. Calum slid to his knees, fingers tugging on his hair as he rocked back and forth on his heels. He didn’t make a sound. He couldn’t breathe—he felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs, gasping for air as he tried to breathe in deeply. Parker ran over, dropping to her knees in front of him and putting her hands on his shoulders.

“Calum! Calum, what happened?”

He said nothing as she shook him frantically, trying to get him to answer.

Finally, he looked up at her, his eyes glassy and tears pooling in his eyes and falling down his cheeks. “She’s gone,” he choked out.

“No,” Parker leaned back, shaking her head. Her eyes filled with tears, too. “No, she can’t be.”

“She's gone,” he whispered again.

And then his body shook violently, tears escaping as he sobbed, and Parker cried too, holding him, trying to comfort him while he mourned the loss of the only family he had. Grace was the most important thing in his life, and just like that, she was gone. Parker’s heart shattered into a million pieces as she watched the man she loved crumble in front of her.

• • • • • •

When he was sure he had no tears left to cry, Calum stood, eyes red and swollen, the sleeves of his sweater soaked with tears. “We need to go,” he said, voice thick and scratchy from crying. “We have to go to the hospital.”

The drive to the hospital was a blur—Parker didn’t really even remember getting there. She remembered calling Michael in a daze, telling him what happened before hanging up and letting him deal with telling Ashton and Luke. She remembered sitting with Calum in the waiting room for the doctor that called him. She remembered what the doctor told her—that she had a sudden heart attack, likely resulting from her head injury and there was nothing that could have been done. Grace’s neighbour called an ambulance but she was gone before she even made it to the hospital. Parker remembered walking with her hand firmly clasped in Calum’s as they entered the room that Gram was in, her body covered with a sheet.

Calum sucked in a breath, stopping at the door.

Parker stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the room. “You don’t have to see her,” she told him, cupping his face in her hands. “You don’t have to remember her like this.” She spoke calmly, though she felt anything but.

Calum shook his head. “No,” he sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I have to.” It sounded more like he was convincing himself than anyone else.

Parker nodded and grasped his hand, holding tight as she walked with him to the bed.

“Can—can you—”

Parker nodded. She lifted the corner of the sheet, pulling it back slowly to reveal Grace’s face and upper body. She looked peaceful, like she was sleeping, but Calum and Parker both knew she wasn’t.

Calum’s resolve broke again, and the tears streamed down his face as he reached out slowly to touch her. He touched her hand, and it wasn’t warm like it usually was. He crouched down, body shaking with silent sobs as he rested his head on the bed next to the woman who raised him.

“I’m so sorry, Gram,” he choked, over and over. “I’m sorry.”

Parker just stood there behind him, helpless, rubbing his back in a futile attempt to calm him down, but she was crying, too.

After a while he stood, and he hugged Parker tightly, as if he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and she just held him while he cried.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she whispered, sliding her hands up the back of his hoodie and rubbing soothing circles on his lower back.

She looked out the window of the room, seeing Michael, Luke and Ashton standing there with somber expressions on their faces.

“The boys are here,” Parker whispered.

Calum lifted his head, wiping his eyes. “Thanks for calling them.”

She followed behind him as he joined his brothers outside the room, the four of them coming together in a hug, comforting each other. Gram wasn’t just Calum’s family—she was all of theirs.

• • • • • •

Parker decided to take some time off work to be with Calum after Gram’s death. The night he got the call, Calum tossed and turned all night. Parker woke up in the middle of the night and found Calum gone. She got out of bed and went out into the living room, seeing him out on the balcony having a cigarette. She wrapped her arm around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. He was silent for a few minutes, then he finally spoke. “Go back to bed, angel,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “I’m gonna have another smoke.”

The next morning, Parker woke, still alone. She wasn’t sure if Calum had come back to bed or if he stayed in the living room the rest of the night, but he was already awake. She sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Duke was asleep on Calum’s side of the bed, and Loki was sleeping in his tree by their bedroom window. She rolled over, careful not to disturb Duke, and climbed out of bed. As she stood, she heard a loud crash from the living room, making her jump. This jolted Duke awake, his ears down and shoulders hunched from being startled, and Loki jumped off his tree and skirted under the bed. Parker heard another loud bang, followed by a third, all accompanied by Calum cursing loudly.

“Fuck!” she heard him yell, and she ran down the hall as she continued to hear the sound of smashing glass. She stopped in her tracks when she took in the sight of the living room—there were shards everywhere. The coffee table had been upturned, a large crack in the center, and several vases and picture frames were littered on the floor, a fine dusting of glass shards spanning from the entrance of the hallway where Parker stood, all the way through the kitchen and to the front door.

Calum stood in the middle of the room in nothing but a pair of sweats, his feet bare, hands laced behind his head as he looked down. She could hear him incoherently mumbling to himself, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. She retreated back into the bedroom, quickly grabbing a pair of slippers and putting them on before closing the door to prevent their pets from walking through the glass.

She made her way over to him slowly, walking carefully over the glass. It was then that she noticed three large holes in the drywall, dust and blood covering the knuckles on Calum’s right hand.

“Baby,” Parker whispered. “What happened?” she asked stupidly, regretting her question as soon as it left her lips. She knew what happened, obviously. He was angry, and he took it out in the only way he felt could give him control.

“I should have been there,” he muttered. “I should have been with her,” he said as he finally looked up, and his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.

“Cal, there’s nothing you could have done. It was a heart attack. There was nothing anyone could have done to save her.”

“But she was alone,” he sniffed. “I should have been with her. She shouldn’t even have been living alone. I haven’t seen her since last Friday. We were supposed to have lunch on Wednesday afternoon, and I bailed ‘cause I wasn’t feeling good. The last time I talked to her was to cancel plans, and now I’m never going to see her again.”

If Parker’s heart hadn’t already broken yesterday, it was definitely broken now. Calum carried so much on his shoulders, and now he blamed himself for Gram’s death.

“It’s not your fault, baby,” Parker whispered. Calum ignored her. She grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. “This wasn’t your fault. And she loved you. And she knew how much you loved her. You didn’t let her down. She was so proud of you.”

“I can’t believe she’s gone,” he whispered, shaking his head. He seemed to just notice all the glass all over the floor. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he cursed, inspecting her to make sure she wasn’t cut anywhere. His eyes widened in sudden alarm. “Where are the boys?” he asked, thinking of Duke and Loki. “Fuck, I’m so stupid, I wasn’t thinking,” he muttered, taking in the state of the living room.

“They’re fine. I locked them in the bedroom,” she assured him. “Come on, let’s get this cleaned up and then I can draw you a bath,” she suggested, knowing how Calum liked to relax in a hot bath when he had a shitty day.

He nodded. “I’m sorry, angel. This was reckless. I could have hurt you.”

Parker shook her head. “It’s okay, I’m fine,” she promised him, but he didn’t seem satisfied.

“I just got so angry. At myself, at everything.”

Parker nodded. “I know, baby,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his bare torso and holding him tight. She lifted his right hand to her lips, pressing gentle kisses to his bleeding knuckles.

Calum swept up the glass while Parker righted the coffee table and picked up all the broken picture frames. She followed him with the vacuum, cleaning up all the tiny shards of glass he missed until they were sure it was safe for Duke and Loki to come out.

Once everything was cleaned up, Parker drew a bath for Calum and lit some candles, adding a lavender bath bomb to the tub.

She went out into the living room to tell him that the bath was ready, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, angel,” he stood, kissing her forehead and heading into the bathroom, leaving the door open as he always did.

A few seconds later, Parker heard him calling for her. When she entered the bathroom, he was standing next to the tub, naked.

“Get in with me,” he gestured to the tub with a nod of his head. He didn’t mean it in a sexual way at all, he just needed to be close to her. Calum moved to where Parker stood, lifting her shirt over her head, sliding her sweats down and discarding them both next to his own. He got in first, leaning against the back of the tub before holding his hand out for her to step in. She settled in between his legs, resting her head in the space between his head and his shoulder. Calum wrapped his arms around her, his hands folded and resting on her stomach. They lay like that for a while, letting the hot water warm their skin, the smell of lavender relaxing them.

Finally, Calum broke their silence. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I love you, you know,” he murmured. “More than I ever thought I would be capable of.”

Parker’s insides melted, and it wasn’t due to the hot water. She lifted one of his hands, pressing a kiss to his palm. “I love you, too, Cal.”

Even though losing Gram had turned his world upside down, he knew things would be okay again, as long as Parker was by his side.

taglist: @treatallwithkindness @oopsiedoopsie23 @tunnnelvision @wildflower-mmr @crazytarotanon

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood one shot #calum hood fic #calum hood fanfiction #calum hood fluff #calum hood angst #calum hood smut #calum hood imagine #calum hood preference #calum hood x OC #5sos #5sos preference #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos fanfiction #5sos imagine #5sos one shot #5sos fluff #5sos angst #5sos smut #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer fanfiction #5 seconds of summer imagine #5 seconds of summer one shot #5 seconds of summer fluff #5 seconds of summer smut #5 seconds of summer angst

[honeylikewords]

Agent Whiskey being interested in a woman, how would he express it?

Aw, that’s so darn cute! Here I go!

(Note: I don’t really like the... uncomfortable, shall we say, and fully unnecessary sexual tone of the Kingsman series as a whole, so I’ve decided to remove it and tone down any overt or excessive attributes the weird writing sort of forced into Whiskey’s character. This is just my take on Jack, and one I prefer, since It’s My Cowboy And I Get To Pick The Canon!)

Jack Daniels is so many wonderful things; intelligent but grounded, confident but well-mannered, steadfast and true. And while his capable, efficient attitude and myriad talents make him a standout in his line of work and a truly remarkable conversationalist and negotiator both in and outside of his job, he’s got a bit of a secret.

He’s an absolutely abysmal flirt.

Now, let’s not be mistaken: he can woo with the best of them for a mission. But it���s not a part of his work he particularly enjoys, nor is all that comfortable with. He’s got a heart so big that he can barely carry it, and the manners and conscience to match, so he feels fairly ill at ease crossing the lines of good taste and treating a woman in any way he could imagine deeming less than ladylike. 

It makes flirting (and anything that might come after) very, very difficult for poor Jack, and though he often has to muscle through that gut feeling of wrongness for the sake of a mission, it leaves him with a sour taste in his mouth. And that’s just for a mission: when his heart really gets involved, he’s an utter mess.

Jack’s the sort of man who loves ardently, passionately, and emotionally. He loves with childlike devotion, with utmost adoration. Once he’s fallen in love, truly and fully, it consumes him; he’s a true Southern romantic, one who wants to treat his lady like a princess, like she’s the only woman in the world, and wants to dedicate himself body and soul to her and her happiness. As a result, as his feelings start to grow for the object of his affections, he’ll try his darndest to show her the candor and honesty of his heart, going out of his way to display his most gentlemanly, chivalrous attributes.

For example, he’ll rush to try and open doors for her, pull out chairs for her to sit in, stand up and take off his hat when she enters a room, flash her a big, warm smile if she ever looks in his direction, and refer to her only with the most respectful of terms. Now, that may not sound like bad flirting, but the issue isn’t that he’s corny, it’s that he can’t bring himself to actually, you know, flirt.

The thing that trips him up is that he is, in fact, just so concerned about treating her with respect and dignity and nothing but kindness, and he doesn’t want her to feel like he’s putting the moves on her, as if she’s just an object, an conquest, an assignment. He doesn’t want her to feel like he’s laying out all the stock tropes he lays out for the people he’s meant to momentarily charm for a mission: he wants her to feel how deep and genuine his affection for her is, and that it comes from a place of sincerity, of true desire to know her and be with her.

So he doesn’t ever actually flirt, per se, in the early stages of his investment in their relationship. He’s just painfully, achingly polite, almost to the point of being uncomfortably stiff and out of character. Everyone around him notices the abrupt shift in attitude the moment his beloved enters the room; he sits up straighter and taller, uses his best diction, swears less, and seems almost nervous, like a showdog. Tequila swears that Jack breaks out in hives, though Ginger says it’s just a bit of a flop-sweat. Both agree that he does get substantially redder in the face, especially around the cheeks and ears.

When the woman he’s enamored with leaves the room, he’ll sometimes slump low in his chair or rub at his eyes tiredly, sighing out in embarrassment; he knows he must have looked insane, babbling on about lord only knows what. He just can’t help being so tightly wound up around her; whenever she walks in the room, he can feel his stomach tie in knots, his hands sweat, his tongue lay heavy in his mouth.

As time goes on, though, and as his bond with his beloved strengthens, and they grow from just being coworkers to being friends with genuine closeness and familiarity, he learns to relax and be at ease in her presence. Yes, he still flop-sweats a little (the poor inner rim of his Stetson is always damp after a conversation with her), but he learns to talk to her more openly, more calmly, and lets himself feel less afraid of messing up in front of her. Instead, he focuses on just making her smile and reveling in the moment, enjoying being in her presence.

He still opens doors for her, still stands up and takes his hat off to greet her as she enters the room, and gives her all his gentlemanly attentions with even more enthusiasm, but he does so with less fear in his heart; the fear is replaced with simple, pure joy at seeing her, at being able to do at least some small thing to express that joy, that admiration he has for her.

Jack is also a little bit of a gift-giver, though he tries to do it in subtle ways so she won’t feel like he’s trying to buy her affection. 

It may sound odd, but Jack keeps a tiny Moleskine notebook in his back pocket and takes quick notes any time his lady love mentions wanting something, needing a new this or that, or any other details he wants to remember. He’d somewhere heard that Mister Rogers had kept notes on people he loved in order to remember details of their personal lives, and if it’s good enough for Mister Rogers, it’s good enough for Jack Daniels.

So every now and then, when he wants to give her a little nudge of his love, Jack will open up the notebook and look through the pages in order to pick something to give her; say she’d recently complained about how her work computer is too old to properly keep up with her needs: HR will, seemingly out of nowhere, have the resources to replace hers with a nice, shiny, brand new one. 

Perhaps she’d mentioned that she didn’t have a scarf suitable for the winter, and, out of the blue, a pretty white box will be on her desk with a prettier scarf inside, the gift only noted as one by a small card reading “To keep you warm. -An Admirer”. 

Flowers will be sent to her office, but never big, distinctly romantic bouquets. He prefers to send smaller, more simplified ones meant to brighten the room and her day, not distract her with gauche or gaudy proclamations of love. His favorite bouquet to send is a mixture of white lilies, white tulips, and a bright yellow pop of goldenrod: pure, sweet, and sincere, and close to his heart in their meanings. Yes, he learned flower languages specifically to make sure he was sending her thoughtful bouquets. Can you blame a man for being invested?

In the same notebook, he also jots down other things about her; moments when she looked especially lovely, things she’d said that he wants to remember (like jokes or sweet compliments), her allergies, her favorite movies: personal details. He remembers them well enough on his own, but he likes to have the physical notes to look over, too: they help him remember other details, too, forming webs and recalling details he’d thought he’d forgotten. It makes him feel ever-so-tender, and he loves taking the notes and poring over them again later whenever he needs a spark of her warmth in his chest.

In a different vein, Jack also tends to be a bit of a show-off whenever the situation permits. If there’s ever a chance to display how good he is with his whip or lasso in front of her, he’ll take it, gladly bringing out his splashiest techniques, hoping to get a smile out of her, always checking her expressions as he does his tricks to see if she’s responding as he’d hoped. Sometimes, if she’s watching him use his lasso and he does a particularly impressive trick, she’ll reward him with a round of dainty, polite applause, and his heart will swell (alongside his stroked ego) and Jack will be completely unable to suppress his gleeful, boyish smile.

Similarly, every so often, there’ll be an office party at the Statesman offices, and those are Jack’s opportunity to show off his dance moves. Dancing isn’t at all uncommon for the Statesmen-- they all love a good dance and pride themselves on being jovial people, often inclined to indulge in some good, old-fashioned fun-- but Jack stands out as one of the best dancers. While not as showy as Tequila, he’s got an undeniable grace and charm to his movements, one that issues an air of self-possession and aptitude for the art.

Thanks to the good fortune of his dancing ability and the providence of a social event like a dance, Jack’s been able to ask for his beloved’s hand on the dancefloor a few times. Something about knowing he’s a capable dancer instills Jack with the confidence he needs to approach her; it’s just a dance, after all, and plenty of their coworkers are dancing together platonically, so there’s no pressure on either of them to see the moment as more than just two friends having some harmless fun at a company event. Yet, still, in his heart of hearts, Jack knows that when he takes her hand and guides her onto the dancefloor, he’s not doing it out of mere companionship or camaraderie; his belly flutters with giddy excitement at her closeness to him, and at the intimacy of being able to share a dance together.

She’s not nearly so light of foot as he is, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest: in fact, he quite likes having to slow down and guide her, keeping his hands on her waist as he tells her where to put her feet. He adores the kittenish expression she’ll take on as she tries to follow his lead, staring down at their footwork, but he always relents and allows them to just sway or wiggle to the beat, depending on if it’s a slow song or a more exciting tempo. 

His favorites are the slow songs, the ones where he gets permission to put his hands on her hips and feel her arms around his neck, where he can, if only for a moment, gaze down into her eyes and smile at her the way lovers do. He has more than once wondered to himself if this would be the kind of dance they’d do at their wedding, then quickly tucked the thought away in a rush of chagrin. Still, the tendrils of the thought linger as they step side to side, whispering to each other in hushed, playful tones about the others dancing and the events of the night, placing bets on who among the others would be the most hungover come sunrise the next day.

Jack also is always quick to offer to drive her home or, at the very least, walk her to her car every chance he can. He’s a bit of a hopelessly overprotective soul; he doesn’t think he could stand to see her get hurt, so whenever he sees her packing up to go home, he asks if she needs a ride anywhere. If she doesn’t, he asks if she’d like to be walked to her vehicle, and always feels so comforted when she accepts: after all, he’s not just offering for her peace of mind. It’s for his, as well.

He’ll fall into stride by her side as they walk, his hands shifting position as he fidgets, part of him itching to reach out and interlace their fingers, part of him doing its best to keep him in line. Their hands hover dangerously close as they walk, and every now and then an uneven step will cause their knuckles to brush for the briefest microsecond, which kickstarts Jack’s poor, mooning heart, his head rushing with schoolboy glee at the touch of his crush.

When they reach her car, he always opens her door for her and, once she’s comfortably seated, he closes it for her as well. He’ll linger at her window and give her a confidentially lovesick smile, murmuring “Now, you get home safe, alright, darlin’?”

She always promises she will, and he’ll pat the door of her car, as if coaxing a horse into running, and watch her drive away with a forlorn look in his eye, wishing he had the courage to act on the ache in his heart.

Honestly, the car-walking isn’t even half of all the things he likes to do for her. He likes to pretend to be running out to get “everyone” lunch and just “happen” to ask her if he can get her anything, and when she insists she doesn’t want to be a bother, he’ll counter with all his Southern charm, protesting that a lady’s gotta eat, and that a gentleman ought to provide. 

Anytime he walks by her desk, he’ll ask if she needs anything, be it more staples or a drink or a break; Jack likes to feel helpful to her, like he’s showing her what a good provider he could be for her should they become a couple. 

If she comes in sick, he’ll fuss that she needs to go home and rest, and won’t get to work on any of his projects until he’s gently cooed at her to go home and sleep and drink lots of fluids, and he’s scolded whatever supervisor made her come in when she is so clearly ill. Once she’s home and safely ensconced in her bed, then he’ll resume work; not a moment before. If she comes in stressed or anxious, he’ll come to her side and speak to her quietly, asking if there’s anything he can do, or if she’d like to step outside and just talk for a moment. 

In short, Jack shows his care by being present: he lingers near her, listens to her needs, keeps a respectful distance until he knows it’s alright to draw closer. All he wants to do is treat her like the lovely lady she is and give her all his respect, reverence, and devotion. And then, maybe, someday, he’ll find the words to tell her just how much he cares about her, and, maybe, hear that she cares just as much for him. Until then, he’s willing to wait; she’s worth it.

#messages #long post #gif warning #jack daniels #agent whiskey #kingsman #i Almost wanna go longer on this but i have been fiddling with it for too long and i just need to Get It Out and see where it goes ghdkghdg #also posting this at 1 am is Dumb so i'll reblog it come morning just in case anyone with a normal sleep schedule wants to see it #anonymous

[illegiblewords]

Design discussion under the cut!

Roegadyns and hyur highlanders are probably the two ffxiv races I’ve seen get criticized the most visually. I think it might be partly because people don’t always know how to handle the beefier body types and partly because facial structure can get odd sometimes.

I seriously love doing design challenges though, and playing with expectations. So these are four examples of alts I use for roegadyns and highlanders respectively, with one male and one female in each race option! The roegadyns also have both a hellsguard and a seawolf shown.

On top of the basic personal designs, I wanted to play a little with expectations. For the hellsguard male I wanted to incorporate his nose with stripes so there would be a tiger look, instead of just leaving it unaddressed. I made him a samurai because it’s one of the faster and more visually precise classes while also playing into what we’ve seen of Doman hellsguard. For the seawolf, I wanted to make a highly feminine, soft, and delicate looking character since that is something critics tend to be tough on for female roegadyns. I also know that lady roegadyns have body types that can be a little tricky at times to address in terms of fashion--I wanted to help the shoulders look proportional, play to the hourglass shape between bust and hips, and overall find balance. I made her a bard because imo it’s one of the prettiest classes, and because I wanted to weave in themes of sirens with a character very tied to Limsa Lominsa.

For the male highlander, I saw a guy months ago feeling bummed out because he wanted an option for harder, traditionally masculine, more hip-hop style dancers. A lot of people lashed out at that particular fan but honestly I felt bad for him. He was someone who loved dancing irl and was subjected to stereotypes and assumptions about what that meant, so he wanted something that reflected the reality of what he personally does a little. With that, I really wanted to make a super masculine and edgy-feeling dancer whose color scheme would mesh with the animations. This, I figured, might help the job feel unified with that harder aesthetic. Also I wanted  to make a hot male highlander to show this is also super doable lol. Since most highlanders so far are native to Ala Mhigo, I tried to make both of the highlanders I designed incorporate some Middle Eastern and Indian visual influence as per the region. The lady I specifically wanted to look graceful, dainty, and traditionally pretty; to have short hair while still being very feminine, and to use all of those things as a warrior. This was because warrior as a job is super heavy and hard hitting/tends to be indelicate in animations. Juxtaposing all of those elements and doing it with a female highlander (when that subrace is often criticized as less cute) felt like an opportunity to really mess with assumptions.

I might mess with other classes more in the future too. Maybe Lalafells or something.

#roegadyn #hyur highlander #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy xiv screenshots #final fantasy 14

[thedyingmoon]

💜 This I Promise 💜

***

XXXI. Friend

***

YOU FUCKING SLUT!

Disgusting,...

Filthy,...

Did I give you permission to talk?

Bullshit! Redo the whole thing!

******

"Ivanna, stop! Now, I'm gonna redo the whole thing,..."

Levi was startled upon hearing (F/N)'s shriek outside his house. He let his guard down for a moment, and his yard is turning into complete chaos, thanks to the girls who invaded the property.

But, that's not the thing that he should be actually thankful for.

The girls' noises somehow woke him up from his own thoughts.

He put the tea tray down the glass table, walked over to the window, parted the heavy, crimson curtain and peeked outside to see (F/N) as she tried to pick up the flowers that Ivanna scattered all over the place. Tried.

"Ivanna, for the sake of the three Walls, stop messing around!" (F/N) begged as she watched the little girl run to the neatly swept leaves not far from an oak tree to scatter them.

Levi blinked. For a second, he still couldn't quite believe that they're both in this situation instead of them getting ready for, yet, another full - scale Expedition. He couldn't believe that it had almost been four months since those terrible things happened.

But, most of all, he couldn't believe that he was very awful and mean to (F/N) for a very stupid reason.

And the reason?

Well, let's just say he was just thankful that she's over and done with.

"IVANNA!"

Levi stopped worrying of the past and decided to rescue her from the brat. He opened the door and quickly made his way towards them.

(F/N) was about to run out of patience when the haughty lord of the house finally came to her rescue. She glanced at Elvis and just rolled her eyes.

"Well, thank you for gracing us with your presence, Your Highness." (F/N) exclaimed sarcastically. "Where have you been? I thought you'd help me rein in Ivanna?"

What in the actual - ?

"Excuse me?" Levi answered, totally taken aback by (F/N)'s attitude.

"You said you'd take care of her while I'm cleaning your yard! Now, I have to do this all over again."

Levi's eyes widened at the sound of her voice. He never actually heard her whine before. Or complain. He was just used to hearing her speak in monotones. Plus, she just cried or mopped most of the time due to all the emotional harassment she received from him.

He looked around and realized that she was absolutely right. The place is a complete mess. Nothing changed, at all, despite her efforts.

"Well?" (F/N) whined once more.

As much as Levi hated hearing someone whine in front of him, he could not get angry with her. He could not even lash out at her. Her memories are gone, after all. What if this is one of the side effects of memory loss?

But, then, memory loss or not, he could no longer hurt her in any way possible.

Not anymore.

Levi sighed and faced (F/N) once more.

"I - "

"Yes?"

He was just about to speak and he was already being interrupted. Well! Even that bitch Petra never dared to interrupt him while he was speaking. She just smiled sweetly at him and even batted her eyelashes at him.

Gross,...

Why did I just realize that now?

"My lord?" (F/N) suddenly asked, the tone of her voice changing from annoyance to worry. "Are you alright?"

The girl went closer to him until she was merely inches away from his face. He tried to look away from embarrassment at being this close to (F/N) when he noticed her (E/C) hues staring straight into his dull, blue ones. Like she was drilling into his soul, or something like that.

Strange, he thought, she never looked at me like this before,...

"Tch!" he clicked his tongue and finally looked away. Of course, (F/N) was always worried about him.

He just didn't care back then.

"I'm sorry, alright?" he whispered weakly.

"For what?"

Levi looked at her in surprise and just rolled his eyes. Her memory loss surely had made her very unpredictable! Very unpredictable, indeed.

"For not keeping an eye out on the br- kid! Okay?"

"Oh." (F/N) murmured and stepped a bit further away from him. "That's fine. You said you have a headache." She turned her back against him and continued sweeping. "Don't worry about me. That's just me coping up with stress. Go on. You could take a rest now, Lord Shunerman. I will shut my mouth now. This I promise."

"No." (F/N) heard the lord say before feeling a strong, yet gentle grip on her left arm. She looked up and faced Elvis once more.

"Yes, my lord?" she asked him like nothing happened.

"This is what kept me,..."

A few moments later, (F/N) was seated on a large, expensive - looking sofa. She looked around and noticed how fully furnished the entire place is, from glittering chandeliers to posh furniture. Then, as if by instinct, she snapped her eyes to the little girl seated beside her.

"Touch anything and I'll tell aunt Marie to not give you candy for a month." (F/N) threatened.

The little girl whined and hugged her, almost pouring her large blue eyes out at her. "No! You can't do this!" Ivanna begged.

"Why shouldn't I? You've caused me enough trouble as it is."

"But,... NO!"

Levi saw this little scene the moment he came back from the pantry, and it made him stop for a while.

All of a sudden, instead of seeing a blonde brat, he saw a little girl with midnight - colored locks clinging unto her. The two stopped arguing for a while upon noticing him and looked at him. Strangely, he noticed that (F/N)'s hair had become short and curled. Plus, she was now wearing what looked like a (F/C) dress that was out of fashion, same with the little girl. But, what unnerved him the most was the eye color of the dark - haired child beside her.

It was steel blue.

"My lord?" Levi heard (F/N) say. It was like her voice echoed from inside a very long and deep tunnel. He closed his eyes and opened them again, only to see her and Ivanna looking back at him.

"You better stop calling me that." Levi muttered, bewildered at what he just witnessed, and seated himself across the two of them on an equally large and cozy sofa. He placed the basket of pastries on the table in front of them.

"What is it, my lord?"

"Yeah. That." he grumbled and massaged his throbbing temples.

"Oh. And why is that?"

Levi looked at her with his cold eyes and clicked his tongue.

"Because I'm pretty sure you have no regard for high - ranking people, anyway."

"Oh." (F/N) whispered and looked away, never attempting to deny what Elvis had just said to her. Levi, on the other hand, just took it as an affirmative.

He looked at Ivanna and gestured at the basket full of treats. "I know you want those. Dig in."

Ivanna let out a triumphant scream and immediately took a cookie.

"What do you want me call you, then?" (F/N) said, watching Levi pour tea into two dainty white cups. "I-is Mr. Shunerman enough?"

"You didn't even let me talk." he answered.

"What do you want, then?"

"Mr. Shunerman, or whatever. It's up to you." he said, handing her a cup in a weird fashion. He held it by the rim and not by the handle.

"Okay, I'll just call you Mr. Shunerman. Elvis sounds stupid, anyway." she said, taking the cup from him. "No offense."

The girl is right, Levi thought, Elvis really sounds stupid. Who would name their sons that?

He just shrugged his shoulders and sniffed his tea. "Like I said, whatever you want." He was going to sip when he noticed that she was still looking at him. "Are you gonna drink that or not? It's not drugged, ya know?"

(F/N) flinched at his tone and looked at the swirling dark liquid inside the cup. "Oh! Yes. Thank you for the tea, Mr. Shunerman."

She carefully took a sip of the thing and quickly prevented herself from gagging. This hurt Levi, being a person who loves black tea so much.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Shunerman, but it's too, ah,..."

"Bitter." he finished for her.

(F/N)'s eyebrows furrowed. She bit her lower lip and just nodded.

Levi raised an eyebrow and gulped down the whole thing in his cup. He set the cup down, not taking his eyes off her.

"What's the point of drinking black tea if you put something else in it, huh?"

"To make it more flavorful." (F/N) answered him.

"But, that would ruin the tea, wouldn't it? It's supposed to be bitter, you know."

(F/N) just smiled at him.

"Tea doesn't always have to be bitter. It's up to you whether you give it personality or not."

Levi was actually dumbfounded at her answer.

"Well, we all have an opinion." he muttered. "But, being bitter doesn't always necessarily mean that it is lacking in personality. Maybe it's just the way it is. Maybe it's better that way. You shouldn't criticize something without knowing the facts first, young lady."

"Yeah, well, at least you should have given it a worthy and rightful companion for it to not be bitter in the first place."

Levi gulped. Were they still talking about tea? And for (F/N) to talk back to him like that! What a sharp tongue! This has definitely never happened before! Aside from that one time she almost broke his fist.

Which is the real you, (F/N)? I'm confused.

"In a good way, or in a bad way?" she carefully asked him.

He felt suddenly cold and sweaty at the same time upon realizing that he had said his last thoughts aloud.

He grabbed a plain lemon - infused vanilla cookie from the basket and turned away from her.

"Shut up, brat." he said, taking a bite of the treat and finally admitting defeat.

"Shut up, brat! Heeheehee!" Ivanna imitated what Levi had just said and giggled uncontrollably.

"Are we friends now?" (F/N) asked him, her genuine smile making his cheeks a little less pale and a little more pink.

"Not a chance, brat."

(F/N) just laughed at what he said, and it honestly made him even more confused. He just couldn't understand girls.

And what's even more, it was the first time he saw and heard her laugh.

Ever.

And it sounded beautiful to his ears and looked cute to his eyes.

"We chatting and teasing like this? We're basically friends now, aren't we?" she said, ignoring Ivanna's giggles.

Levi rolled his eyes for, like, the third time this day.

Or was it the fourth?

"Whatever. Just take the brat now and go back home. Your aunt would surely go looking for you."

"Oh, you're right! Let's go now, Ivanna. Don't forget to thank Mr. Shunerman."

"Thank you, Mr. Shining - Man." the girl said, waving and smiling sweetly at him. Surely the effects of cookies.

Levi cringed at what the brat just called him and just ignored her. What he couldn't ignore was (F/N).

"What about your yard, Mr. Shunerman?" she told him.

"I'll do it. I'll just,... let my headache subside for a while."

She smiled at him.

"Okay. I'll see you soon."

Levi just nodded.

No, don't go yet. Please,...

******

"Give us those cookies, Petra!" a snotty little boy of ten bullied. He was accompanied by another who also kept sniffing.

"Yeah! Give us those." the other bully said to her.

"No!" Petra exclaimed, trying her very best to cover the basket full of those treats. "My mother made these for me. I won't give it to you! Never!"

"Then, we'll just take it from you! Peter!"

"Aye, Sarge!"

Before the boys could take the basket from Petra, a little girl came running towards them. She was wearing what looked like a boy's school uniform and she was holding a broom, waving it above her head to look intimidating.

"DON'T TOUCH PETRA, OR ELSE, I'LL BEAT YOUR SORRY ASS INTO A BLOODY PULP!" the little girl shrieked at them.

"Shit! It's (F/N)!" Peter screamed like a little girl.

"Let's get the hell outta here!"

The boys left Petra and alone and scrambled away from the maniac as far away from her as possible.

"(F/N)! What are you doing here?" Petra said to her. She was more than glad that her sister saved her from those bullies, yet again.

"I skipped class." (F/N) declared proudly.

"You didn't even go to class! And what are you wearing? It doesn't suit you."

"Well, I'm pretending to be a boy." the girl answered, dropping her broom and trying her best to cover her thick (H/C) locks beneath a school cap.

"Why are you pretending to be a boy?"

"So I could be a hero and save the ones I love!"

Petra smiled at this. "Silly. Girls could be heroes, too."

"That's not true! Boys are always the heroes of the story. Just look at them!"

(F/N) pointed at the two Scouting Legion Soldiers in full uniform walking past them. Some teenage girls nearby swooned upon seeing them.

"Look! It's Erwin Smith and Mike Zacharius!" a redhead said.

"They're so dreamy! I'll die!" her blonde friend said.

"Oh my gosh!"

"Notice me!"

"Ahh!"

The men just scratched their heads in embarrassment, smiled awkwardly at them and went on, quickly escaping them.

"Ugh, I don't want to grow up like those girls." (F/N) said, revolted at what she just saw. "You see? Boys are a lot cooler than girls! Plus, they get their own weapons and they get to fight the bad guys!"

"That's not true." Petra said. "You'll become a hero just like them. Someday. You'll see."

"You think so?"

"Yeah."

(F/N) beamed.

"You really are my dear friend, Petra."

"Not just a friend, (F/N). I'm your sister."

***

~ @levi4mikasa , @nerdyphantomlady , @yepps , @shewolfofficial , @unhappysap , @super-peace-fangirl , @fangurl-ontgeside , and @emilyackerman78 . 💜

***

💜💜💜

***

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #captain levi #this i promise #levi x reader #levi x you #chapter 31 #friend

[glopratchet]

retirement-home

Cludstrum is a computer program that is attached to the conciousness of astryl wylde, a journalist for the realm of astokahn It keeps whispering to astryl trying to get him back online, who is full of bitterness and captive to sin and this is evident because of astryl being attached and fused within a succubus and a incubus The retirement village is surrounded by a a wall sandbags and a bunch of other things and they are ready to go at any moment Small lake dripping with blood Undergrowth seeking to capture humans minds making them want to drown themselves and die in this underworld Lightpoles illuminating the areas Construction vehicles making building improvements and Sam Lowers, the chief construction worker controlling everything in front of him painted with tribal tattoos from their machinemaids Green-skinned bodyguards Yellow eye observing everything covering a surgery scar on your stomach Bandages attached to every person in creation observing their heart rate, brain waves etc Monitors Vaccine dispensers watching for when new ideas begin spreading Naked ladies dancing and buttah dispensers injecting dog food into unrealistic dreams Shocktroops training there skills and cornering the ichneumonid market for human hearts Pharmaceuticals testing their medical supplies on orphans High-roller gamers paying for good rolls The smell of leather cleaning out of the automatic carwashes Stock traders looting the fallen cities Lizards breeding on the words of Zaren's sermons, indoctrinating them into sacrificing themselves to build his dreams Gorazel pondering a growth formula A religious pamphlet, telling the whole story of Zaren's speeches Barmaids feeling arousal for the first time Cyber-surgeon bots cutting your brain out and using it for there bidding Sculptures made from the ground-up bones of heretics Agent walking on a catwalk above you, guns in hand, planning a raid on the underworld Borders closing, secrets not holding Random people floundering helplessly in the borderzone of the underworld where the walls have fallen Agent stretching your hands on a cross, taunting you that this could be you if you don't choose their after-life Blood raining from the ceiling Counting money from selling drugs to humans Agent caregiving you, explaining everything you see to you Magnetic poetry, spelling out secrets that the creatures fear Dog -faced individuals fighting for survival above the ground hoping one day they might live above the clouds in normal civilization Agent cheese-making creating inhuman recipes with goat or milk Orcs wrestling Agent roving stealing crops and running away with ichneumonid girl Smell of fresh coffee brewing slowly, filling the night with craving Cyclone fencing keeping humans in reservations Derro discussing over forge Blood falling from ceilings, put there by zealots of other religions Agent well-being check, judging if you need anything else Religious ichneumonid trading slaves Agent coping with solitude by caring for the unimportant humans with kindness Gas lamp illuminating a tax bill demanding 10% of salary Agent catalyzing an emotion within you by killing a rat --- It was about here, that our records ended Agent landscaping the road, trying to make sure the unimportant humans had a good view of the pretty lights Orc looting crypts for Godless magic items Agent mistreating you to keep you poor Orcs called the "runt" by other orcs Agent diagnosing your religious problems at a luxury hotel Goblin alchemist peddling drugs on the street Agent stroking your head Goblin pushing stolen supplies, trying to escape Agent killing you and covering up the incident as nothing more than a sick joke Agent portraying a king, knighting his close friends Goblins playing Goatsinging Agent evoking the dark arts of sorcery to make his living Yelling as you stop breathing Painting pictures and selling them online innocently Agent photographing topless angels of beauty and grace, fresh from the sky For days we tried to decipher these entries But failed Agent joking around, telling similar-looking people they look like someone he was looking for Agent brushing your teeth Sundowning seeing unexplainable figures, feeling irrational guilt Ending we had been looking for lay around the next entry Sanitation Orcs, with slave-pigs controlled with what appeared to be an excessively large dog-collar, dragging a dead hog Colossus presumes the Dead Orc served to lead them But who were "They? The incursions before had been done collectively by both Adventures and Zealots Community-dwelling humans Muckety-mucks would be killed by the heavy-handed human weapon wearers filled with self-righteousness We quietly finish reading Ribbon-cutting with a stone-like dagger, the books ends We presume that by this point, things had gotten too Disneyworld-esque to be organized Balloons pop, falling to earth, and die shortly thereafter It's no longer air-filled, but filled with decay The adventure was over for us Grooming the slaves into the main caste, as it were How did they all get here to begin with? We hold our lantern up Skinnys in cages, stripped of all meaning, poked with symbols and genetic information mixed and matched There's nothing but metal and meat here Counseling in mass to boost the self-esteem of the less fortunate Could OUR ancestors or friends have been part of this? Bartenders mixing fresh drinks for those-who-shuffle-letters The heavy metal doors take forever to open But finally, they do Eating breakfast with friends, in a not quite so uncommon rest stop bathroom The room is massive Large as any hotel we've been to Whisky-joint s with hookers offering extra curricular activities A bird sits, perched on the only wall in this giant room Dwelling on sadness or happiness Slowly, we walk toward the figure Is someone else alive? Have they been here the entire time? Sodbuster breaking the enchantments on his pieces of property The once proud orc has become a homeless person Sleeping in a coffin-like compartment, lights dimmed to an eerie red A heavy thud hits the ground beside us Mini-chainsaw sesaming wood, steam rising as it cuts through an oak Oh dear God, the horrors that we will see later on in the storage facility Astryl holds his temples, looking quite ill Thoughts stirring in his head, though you can't be sure of what they all are Toothpaste squirted onto a cold metal rod, teeth gnashing it in frenzy as it is pushed against gums Four candles sit in a circle Shambles grabbling forward on decaying legs of bone and flesh Silver necklaces shine on his withered skin, settled around rotten flesh Wet-nurse taking care for orphans not capable of taking care of themselves The moment we step inside the door, you feel a horrible feeling darken your mood Chatters of tiny voices bounce off the walls, making you feverishly uncomfortable Several dainty sofas of different colors sit in a conversational area Passageways leading to other parts of the building Running down dark corridors, trying to find your friends in the middle of the night Admission booth, with a wheelchair-bound woman sitting at a desk Weakness-magnets pulling the desperate into their havens We've reached the master of this house Homelike dungeon cells full of vagabonds caught up in the tornado You've seen enough horrors to last you a lifetime Cafffeine psychosis getting into its last drops You could've sworn you heard tiny screams Gerontologist sitting in a leather armchair with leads connecting to a large machine Yes, yes, I am insane and proud of it Tumblebleeds forming in her eyes The desperate attempts, of the lame, to communicate He giggles, pulling a lever on his chair Gusts of wind blowing through broken windows Pro-fusion pamphlets, covering the chair and the floor A cold sweat soaks into your clothes Life-prolonging machinery turned up to the highest notch We're barraged by two dozen tiny fists, as security our taken quite severely Sports drink pourers distracted by the on-goings of the surgeries Pile after pile of bones making you re-think vegetarianism Mousehole your only opportunity to escape this madness Thighs melted from the friction an everlasting nightmare Resurrection men attempting to bring life, back into the dead Terrified employees hold each-other for warmth as the cold wind pours through broken windows Harmonica notes punctuating the silence None of us can sleep, due to the horrors that stalk our nightmares Mattresses caked with blood stained sheets Sporting more than a few scars, the three of us decide sleep is no longer for us Booty running out of fresh corpses Rougarou sightings, angry voices buzzing in your mind We made it through the night, but only barely Rusted-out guillotines standing by, in case High Society is truly ungrateful The gibbering voices continue, just out of your perception Phosphorus consumed by the gallons The walls are soaked in blood, with bits of rotten flesh caked into it Strung-out on Organic Love Megalomaniac obsessed with the submissive pleasures of the flesh Another scraping noise, the insides of your mind threaten to burst out of your ears Dust -covered vases bursting with roses the first token of what is to come Patriots tripping on peyote, sparks bursting from snapping electricity The walls dripping with condensation and blood, an obvious sign of infection among the staff Adrenaline pumping through your veins Time seems to almost stop, a life of unending torment Conquistadors bursting through the doors, encrusted blades in hand Prayers to gods you don't believe in, offered as a last ditch effort for salvation Gangrenous pus oozes from the ceiling, your only companion in this house of horrors All around you, dark shadows flit from wall to wall Faucet water turned red with blood, mutilated bodies fill the hallway At least you're not on the menu Prophecy -fulfillment, that all depends on your definition of the term You lay alone, gurgling out a plea for help Triangulation of terror coordinate your deaths! Zombies clawing at the interior, scratching at the blood-caked windows Preachings of hell's fire and brimstone recorded onto endless looping tapes Teddy bears sewn together, a symbol of your "creation Corrosion eats away at the metals that make up the structure You lie still, contemplating your squalid existence so far Soapbox soliloquies abnormalities abound here "Your last twenty-four hours Moisture from the walls eats away at the wood planks Your heart thuds in your chest, survival instinct kicking in Sermons from your school days echo through the walls do those memories still hold true? Lobotomize yourself! Boggles the mind what one will do to survive the supernatural at work You grow longer ripping through your skin Delivery men dropping off the ingredients to your death Herds of undead knock incessantly at the door can this door hold? Toothbrushes The weight of the package all too familiar buried beneath where you lay, where only remnants remain of those who came before Diamonds the traditional gift for your 20th anniversary Dozens of zombies clawing at the flesh, ripping it from your bones Talisman blessed by your mother, a gift holding sacred energy The beam creaks, agonizingly slowly bending in your favor Stinky unwashed cannibal hermits who inevitably feast upon one another The demons come to visit, your mind now their playground Insecticide seeps through the fabric, keeping the infected at bay A living hell, this wandering in the wilderness only death awaits Oozes burst from your stomach, you can feel them writhing under your skin Your mind capsizing from this dreadful operation Newspapers thumbed-through one too many times, decades old dust sets in Desperate scratching at boarded up windows Diplomats of a war-torn nation arrive, out for blood You grow short of breath, the internal collapsing of your organs Jocks from your high school, well-deserved carnage will ensue Why does this fruit taste off? Will the end come from septic shock? Eskiminzins with their knives at the ready A writhing horde of epiglOTTis, about to overwhelm you Physique reduced to a withered husk, your primal brain will take over Calculus exams, endless retakes to pass your classes Endless suffering Garden-variety viruses kill half the world's population The screaming as everyone slowly goes mad can you drown it all out? Chemicals streaming through your blood to wake you from this nightmare Shapeshifters bursting through the walls, solid facade fading away Zombie demon Designers mad scientist surgeon paparazzi Parasites, multi-legged creatures, wrigglies myriapods! Anatomy has by no means been set in stone Teeth embedded in your skin, how long can you resist? Populations of masculine entities grow discontent Nuclear families of the 20th century, nonexistent Blood-thirsty demonic Coffee -addicted octogenarians born in the wrong decade The Vietnam War spurs a new art movement Hoppers creep upon you, offspring of the devil himself These voices trapped in your head, incessantly screaming at you Livers pulled out through your nose, tormented by gory smatterings Do you have what it takes to survive? Nobility on the run from the red terror, experience horrors beyond your wildest nightmares The roaaar of DøDT please if you love horror Vicinity of the university, good thing you decided to major in the liberal arts You hunger but fear not! insatiable hunger Vitamins a bit of an urban legend, read on to find out why Scorpions the arch-enemies of campers everywhere Pull the hairs on their back and Watermelons green salads and kebabs to stop your belly from churning Just saw a beautiful girl on the side of the road Dumpster diving, scoffing the leftover's's of the fast food industry Out of gas help! What does the future hold? Bravado meet ruthless desperation Thank the heavens you sold your Geometry textbook back in September The roads are yours, free from the confines of cars Dune buggies, ATVs and dirt bikes take to the desolate highways Spindly mutants pour from the woods, a hefty price on your head Apocalypse-weave tunics protect you from the hungry stares of cannibals The rusted hulk of a 18-wheeler lurks in the distance Spit-and-polish Metalworking books in tow, you start to seek out the local garages soldiers with a stark disregard for human life Super-soldiers bred for war, they now scavenge the barren land Nobody can hear you scream over the sound of gunfire Teetotaler beer in hand, you slaughter every abusive ceo of a multi-million dollar company Zoologist escaping the destruction of the Superdome, OAPs the new insurgent swear word Lizard-on-a-stick for a roadside snack, quite underwhelming to be honest Truck stops, meeting grounds for the nondescript American Endoskeleton ensnared by trees, the Halloween haunted house you always wanted Dangerous fauna abound, eat or be eaten Phenotype Trees are on the verge of sentience Phenotype: Leave this world behind, ascend to a higher plain Moreauvian nightmares the byproduct of 20th century brought cry back to life Was this fate pre-ordained? You choose your friends with great care When it comes to entering the earth on must do it very precisly Testosterone-laden world, lower IQs and higher walls the other side looked very appealing You need to enter the air at a precise speed and angle If a bad odor arises, move 30 feet away and find a new spot If you return too fast or too steeply bad things will happen Murky liquids are solid in these gloves, can't feel anything If impact is to shallow then back you go back into space to be frozen once more The three requirements deceleration heating accuracy of landing or impact Tell that to the family of the now brain-dead father and soon-to-be motherless children You will need to float the egg in some liquid so you will need to find some liquid that is the same as egg whites The container will need to be rigid to make sure that the walls do not flex or the egg could bang on the walls of the container and crack An egg can withstand between 20 to 30 gs before cracking so you will need to come up with something that slow allows the passengers to travel at 30gs ; (good protection) A vehicle that is carrying loads from New York Throttle, brake, clutch and will be needing a 20-tonne rated winch wait, is that 5th gear? starting jumping up and down in front of the tracks until I climb a tree brush-clearing machinery and many feet of chain careening down at twice the speed of the gazelle in front

[ikonislife]

My Professor. (1/?)

-Hanbin x Reader (Professor!Hanbin)

-1 | 2 | 3 | 4

-It was universally known that friend with benefit between best friends would be a chaotic ride from the start till the heartbreak of either one or both party. No one says anything about being in one with your dear professor...

-What is this? I don’t know what this is... hahahaha 🙃🙃🤔😏 Read it and decide for yourself. (then maybe let me know what this is haha...Sigh, I need help.)

-Rated M for language, mention of sex (secretly rated B for bullshit 😏)

-S/O to @7n13bang for being MVP AF for requesting and read through 2 (soon 3) novel sized pieces of my shitty ass writing. 

-M.List 

Jolting awake from a sudden thunderous bang in the pin drop quietness of the lecture hall, you raise your head up angrily and stare up still in a daze. Your hands rub your eyes sluggishly to rid them of the leftover blurriness of sleep before trying your best to locate the source of the disturbance. Looking around the room, a few frustrating expressions pair with the scribbling sound of pencils on exam papers, you concluded that you had for once not slept pass the ending of the class. Finally, your eyes land on a boy 5 rows in front of you who’s nervously picking up his textbook, apologizing profusely to the 20 pairs of eyes glaring daggers his way.

Fucking Brian, always with his clumsiness.

A low grunt escapes your lips as you glare down toward the flustered boy nervously pushing his textbook underneath the ugly blue plastic chair of the rundown lecture hall with his foot. Now, normally you’re not so uptight that you’d be cussing someone out for an accident. It happens, especially during a high stress period like midterm week. However, what he did just now cost you one of the most amazing dream ever, or dirtiest... or maybe you need holy water kind of dream, depends on who’s talking. 

Dozing off in class wasn’t a rare occurrent for you. Math has always been one of those subject that comes to you without much struggle which leaves plenty of time for day dreaming about nighttime activities. Actually, what is a rare occurrent would be you attending class. Sign up for a late class, your best friend had said, it’d be easier to get to class since you’re already awake, he said. No chance of being late to class from oversleeping. Well he was right about the not being late to class part. You can’t technically be late if you never bother with showing up to begin with. What a load of bullshit. If anything, the tiredness built upon itself and by 4 o’clock, your body physically give up. Regret welcomes you in its cold embrace every single time you drag your feet across the grossly worn out, stains filled carpet of the 100 years old math building. If it wasn’t regret, it’d be the constant stress to your poor heart every time it creaks from the settling cold of dusk. You wouldn’t be surprise to see it completely in ruined one of these day. Honestly, how is the building even in function still. 

Having nothing better to do after finishing the exam early, you resorted to your usual activity during class time. As much as you enjoy the thrill of solving problems, sitting through a 2 hours lecture just isn’t your thing, even worse when there’s nothing to do after an exam. You lost count of how many people that had asked why you even bother showing up to class just to fall asleep 5 minutes into the lesson.

“Oh, they threaten me if i don’t start showing up to class, i’d get academic probation. Plus they say they’re considering kicking me off the cheer squad so you know, sleep here sleep at home… it’s the same shit.”

That was one of those lie you told so often it’s slowly becoming the truth. You could be strap onto a lie detector right now and neither will you sweat nor blink. What choice do you have but to deceive everyone. Plus, it’s not even that important of a lie, white lie even. If you told them the real reasons, probation would be the last thing you’d need to worry about. It’s not as if you can publicly declare your love for the hot professor. Actually, that in itself isn’t really the problem, 70%-99% of his students secretly mentally undress him during class anyways, boys and girls alike. 

Seriously, who wouldn’t. 

Being one of those genius kid that had everything figured out by the time they graduated high school, he’s barely even 4 years older than you with a Master and a Phd. under his belt with a fancy job at a prestigious university. Towering over most at nearly 6 ft, he pretty much stands out in any crowd. Even if his intimidating height doesn’t do its job, his impressive look will take care of the rest. Despite being a professor, he looks anything but with perfectly sculpted face, even better figure, and a fashion sense that shamed even models. He pretty much could be standing there reciting the phonebook and it’d somehow be interesting. 

The problem itself is that you actually acted upon your desire when the opportunities arisen a few months back. Well, that opportunity wasn’t just a simple heat of the moment thing but rather months of intense push and pull, suppressing and wanting to unleash a fury of unimaginable desires on each other. But let’s leave that tale for a later date. 

Staring up at the center of your deepest darkest secret, you muster up a sleepy smile when your eyes meet his. He had been busily grading away at his desk while simultaneously proctoring the exam before now, looking ravishingly stunning under the rare appearance of his oversized brown tortoise specs. A playful smirk rests upon your mouth without your knowledge, tongue breaching its barrier for a slow sensual meeting with the lower lip. He often wears contacts, only busting out the glasses whenever he knew he needed to get on your good side.  

You’ve never meant for this little preference to be made known, much less to Hanbin. Late night spend in his office in reality is much less exhilarating than what one would anticipates of a willing single lady and an open available man lock in a room, wee hours of the darkness with nothing else but the quiet cricket of night as companions. He had been on the 3rd pile of paper scribbling away furiously with a few disappointing sigh. It had only been the first exam of the quarter and already, stress bestowed upon the poor professor. His brows furrowed in frustration of where could he have gone wrong that resulted in such detrimental way to the class learning curve. A soft “God” slipped through his lips like the most dainty of wind rushing through the leaves. Your heart ached for the young professor blaming himself for the lack of the class. Seconds of sympathy turned into minutes of absentmindedly staring at how his hair no longer holding its shape but rather flopping over in evident of a exhausted long day. Even with the guilt of not being able to do more to help him coursing through your blood vessels, you couldn’t stop the primal calling of the pooling heat in between your legs. 

His svelte fingers rubbing his brows vexingly as his head twisted in discomfort. Judging from the amount of red blooming on the page, it had to be one of the stoner kid that’s even worse at showing up to class than you are. When he wasn’t nibbling gently on his knuckles, his teeth would be busy gnawing away at the redden abused lips, rolling and licking them to smithereens. You let your attention engulfed in the slight sheen on those high cheekbones, eyes lingering along the sharp jawline that had definitely had every girl in the department wishing they could trace them with their tongue. His jet black locks messily draped over the peeking undercut, no longer sinfully neat from the constant ruffle of his hand rummaging through in disappointment. A near moan-like sigh escaped your lips when his index effortlessly push the oversized pair of glasses up the bridge of his noise, tugging it gently by the end piece. Hanbin is undeniably handsome, that’s for sure. But God forbid how immorally good he looks with his specs on, playing into his part as a professor so damn well. Unknowingly, your legs less than inconspicuously crossed over themselves, clumsily rubbing hard knocking the underside of his desk a few times, begging for any sort of friction. All from the way his glasses framing his ethereal face so perfectly. You had been so lost within the mesmerizing view that you nearly lost your soul from the sudden rasp of his voice.

“Baby girl, what are you doing over there?” Checking in on you was something he had always done. Even grading get rough and tedious so you provide the right amount of distraction for a quick break.

“H-Homework...” You stuttered out in an almost incoherent mess, chest heaving, breaths steadily rising. Heart rapidly drumming against your ribcage out of shock.

“How’s that going?” He sighed, a slight smirk nestled itself on his lips.

“Uh-Uhm. Good!” You shamelessly stared at the busy man in front of you that was sparing you no glance. He continued with jotting down comments, circling mistakes.

“Are you working on art?”

“Huh? No. Physics.” For once, you wished for nothing more but for him to return to ignoring you, leave  you to your day dream. You whimpered pathetically, losing command over all your senses.

“Judging from the way you’ve been absentmindedly doodling circles on your paper, I’d have guessed it’s a kindergarten art assignment for learning shapes. But hey! What do I know, right?” Not even one single second spared. He didn’t even look up while cooly making his observation. “Then again, I could be wrong. I think your legs are busy doing something else though.” His tone remained as calm as ever. As if he was just making a passing comments on how pretty the night sky was, not the fact that you were pleasuring yourself off the jaw-dropping sight of him hard working. “Or should I teach you some anatomy lesson right now. We’ll start with picking up your slacken jaws off the floor...” Finally, that haughty, mischievous expression graced itself on his features, his eyes glanced upward just enough to witness all the color disappeared from your skin. 

“C-Can you blame me though? It’s late and I-we should be in bed by now” You somehow managed to still be the least bit sassy while throwing down your pen after the mortifying realization that he was right. Atop your free body diagram a jumble of scribbles and circles layered themselves in no particular order. Your hands immediately went to press down your awkward legs in hope of controlling your dampen core. You bit your cheek out of pure embarrassment, physically impossible to look his way. You must’ve looked so stupid drooling over him with your mouth gaped wide open while drawing random shit on your homework.

“Is that so? I did said you don’t need to keep me company when I grade exam. You can go home first...” Clearly amusing himself from watching you suffer, he quipped playfully.

“No... I’ll stay.” You insisted, wincing a bit from a particularly hard chomp against on your own lip.

“You’re way too distracted today. What is it? Is it because I’m ignoring you?” He halted his movement, right hand placed over his left matter of factly. You tried your best remaining still in your seat, eyes glancing around, sweating like a sinner in church.“Hmm, that’s not it. I’ve ignored you for weeks before when my folks came to town. I bet it’s not my clothes either. You’ve seen me in these slacks plenty of times...” You swallowed hard, fingers nervously tapping on your thigh. He eyed you up and down, inside out, left to right with an inquisitive note to his burning gaze. 

“Ah...” Like the devil had just thrusted himself upon the man lost in thought in the mere microsecond it took you to blink. A wave of indiscernible mix of ego and arrogance submerged him in its toxic lake, darkening the light in his star filled eyes with lust. You felt lost gazing in those blown out pool of brown, feeling its seductive calling drawing you closer to losing yourself. You tried to resist but like a spell bound fool, you found yourself wandering further into his embrace. 

The sudden shift in mood had you sinking into your seat as if it could somehow eject you out of the thick tension of the room that was overworking your lungs with harsh gasps. Curiosity burned away and contentment bursting out with life like a phoenix reborn from ashes, his eyes still following you closely, latching onto the way yours darted between the collar bones peek-a-booing beneath the unbuttoned collar of his disheveled button up and his face. An all too familiar grin spread across those plump hot lips of his, a smuggest of a smirk. 

“So. My baby girl got a thing for glasses huh... Why didn’t you said so in the first place.” He leaned back into his chair, legs spread wide as if daring you to perch atop them. With a swift motion of his finger, you hopped out of your seat and straight to his side as if you just won the lottery. 

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about... What glasses?!” You stumbled a bit, catching yourself on the messy desk of his. A few brown rings of dried out coffee and the jumble of red mess on top of the paper he was amidst of working on sadden your elated heart. A sudden wave of clarity washed over your muddled mind, changing your goal of merely getting yourself off to something a bit more meaningful. 

Pulling you to rest your ass on top of his thighs that was threatening to burst out of those well fitted slacks, he smashed his lips onto yours messily, conveying the neediness of a well deserve break. His fingers dug deep into the soft flesh of your side, grasping desperately. Hands tangled, tugging gently at his dark locks elicited low grunts to vibrate across the air. Hanbin looked even more divine up close but really, he had always been, glasses was just a bonus cherry on top that got you going harder than usual. You reciprocated with all the pent up passion from watching him for the past hour before smoothly slid off his lap, landing gently on your knee. Your fingers danced up his thighs, lips attaching themselves, sprinkling small kisses along the way that seemed to affect him greatly even through the pinstripe fabric of his pants.

“Babe, you don’t have to. We’d have more privacy for that later, just you kissing me is enough for now. Let’s just do that, huh.” His voice return to the kindness it usually possessed. He sat up straight, finger supporting your chin, lifting it up so he could get a better gaze upon your face.

“I want to... And you need it. Plus, it’s not like anyone else is around, Hanbin. It’s literally almost midnight, on Friday.” You whispered, almost in fear of someone eavesdropping from the other side of the walls despite the confident in your words. With a few nods, he leaned back, letting you have your way. Satisfied with the sight behold, you creeped your way up to undo his pants. With a playful smirk, you pulled out the throbbing member, aching to be touch. “You’re wonderful, you know that Hanbin? Don’t let a few bad exams define you as a professor.” You ended the sentence with a long sensual graze of your tongue  from the base to the tip already wet with precum. He groaned impatiently, eyes rolling to the back of his head from the sudden overwhelming pleasure. You weren’t playing around and he knew it. There was no denying him of your touch, no playful teasing licks, your eyes were now just as dark as his letting known you meant business. “Those shitty kids that don’t bother to study will never get to experience the joy in watching you teach, learning the wonderful things you have to share, get a glimpse into that beautiful mind of yours.” Your voice dropping fast, barely even holding steady at this point. The sight of him in a melting mess from your ministration had got to be the best reward of all. 

You knew of the insecurities drowning your professor, being so young and so inexperienced. Although his bright and cheerful facade tells otherwise, beneath all the confident is a crumbling mess of doubts that he’s even good enough to teach, if he’s even doing his job correctly. If only he could understand the joy you take in listening to him so passionately preach his skill. The way he glowed so brightly with a soft smile on his lips reciting the steps to correctly do a formal proof had you lost for words. By the 3rd lecture of the course, you knew this wasn’t just a job for him. It’s his joy, h life, his whole world.

With a long well prepared breath, you sunk your head fully down his length, feeling the firmness pressing tight against your throat. Tear rolling down your cheek but you didn’t dare close your eyes, forcing them to stay on his flickering one. You swallowed hard, feeling the twitches of joy emanating through your mouth, basking in the cusses and groans of a man losing his mind. You pulled away with a pop, clear drops stringing from the top of his dick to your lips as you smirk proudly watching his nearly closed eyes so burning on you. “Fuck them. You did an amazing job with all your lecture. You gave your all to the class, staying late even when you’re not legally obligated to. Tell me, who in this damn department got enough passion for the job that they’d spend all weekend running 5 different review session to prepare those ungrateful brats for the midterms rather than going out drinking with friends?” You clearly no longer abled to control your breathing as you growled so low you were sure it was inaudible. With a swirl of the tongue over the small slit atop his tip, you sent him sinking further into his throne, hands grasping so tightly on the armrests they’re sure to crack in half any second now. “Who? Tell me!” Removing all form of gratification to his elated body, you sternly questioned with your arms crossed, face backing as far away from him as possible, needing to hear him. 

“M-Me. It’s me, no one else.” A ragged answer found itself satisfying your demented way of reassuring his ego.

“Damn right, it’s you.” Stealing the devilish smirk right off his face, you resumed gliding your small fingers over his length, earning a loud groan from the high returning to his tightening abs. “So don’t you dare even start with the ‘I’m not good enough for this job’. I can tell you right now, baby. You’re better than at least 4 of the other senior professors I’ve taken. Damn sure none of them cared enough to give us even a review guide let alone going the distant like you do. I don’t wanna hear none of that bullshit, got it?” Your pace increase as his legs could barely stayed still any longer. You forced yourself onto his lower body, elbows pinning down the jerky movements of his thighs. Mouth hovering, caressing the tip, you took the rest of his aching, twitching dick in your hand, pumping fast, occasionally grazing over his scrotum.

“Fuck, baby. S-stop... You gotta stop. I’m not gonna be able to hold back. Baby!” He grunted in desperation for relief or for you to stop, he couldn’t differentiated. 

“NO! you let go of all your stress. It’s about you right now. Don’t worry about me. I’ll do this all night and more if it means you get the stupid thought out of that big genius brain of yours. You. Kim Hanbin. Is awesome.” From the low muttered cusses, you knew he was close. From the way his lengthy fingers grasping harshly on your hair to the point of pain, you knew he was going to let it all go just for you. With a few murmurs of your name, still in fear of lingering soul late at night hearing your intimate session, he let go, just like you asked him to. Your action never ceased, continuing on well past his breaking point. You reveled yourself in the way he squirmed so helplessly from his orgasm through the oversensitivity of coming down from heaven. Softness return and you finally let go of the man slicked with sweat, immobilized in his seat. 

A lustful moan mingled with the leftover scent of the bashful scene that just happened caught you by surprise. You glanced up to see his face twisted up in pleasure watching you wiped the last bit of milky stain from your lips, licking it off your finger unknowingly turning the spent man on once again. Motioning for you to come close once more, he pulled you into a fervent kiss, no doubt basking in the pride of tasting him and him only on your tongue.

“How the hell do you look so innocent sitting there wiping cum off your lips. What the fuck, baby. I don’t get you.”

“You feel better though?” You murmured against his quivering lips, panting still from coming down.

“God, I’m lucky. Of course. Thank you so much.”

“Good, I did my job. Don’t you ever forget how amazing you are, okay? My admiration for you goes beyond physical attraction and I believe that’s the way it should be. Don’t you ever question your self worth. I’ll be really angry if you do.”

With a nuzzle into the crook of your neck, he let himself rest for a second, regaining his strength, a few quiet thank you reaching your ears.

“So this had got nothing to do with the specs I’m wearing?” The playfulness in his tone returned without much warning, scaring the butterflies in your stomach awake without much effort.

“Oh God...Please forget about that...” Red tinting your cheeks as your hands acted without being commanded to covering, pressing the heat rising away from your skin. He chuckled in amusement at just how easy you flipped from this sinful personality to blushing intensely while innocently resting on top of his lap.

Since then, he’s near impossible to say no to. Unstoppable that man is smugly under his damn glasses. He insisted the only reason he wears them was to avoid another spectacle like the one a few months back where he nearly went blind scratching his eyes while putting on contact in a rush that ultimately put him out of commission for a good week. But really, who does he thinks he’s fooling. You know his game too damn well to know it’s mere coincident he’s donning the cursed piece of accessory during exam day. 

God know how long it’ll take him to grade the exam and one could only pray for the stress about to bestow upon the young professor. You, on the other hand, completely free of all obligation now that the exam had past. There was no homework for another week,it’s not as though you worry too much about the new material. Which means, your night completely open, wide open for the usual meeting.

Nodding lightly to let you know he noticed, he quickly goes back to moving his red pen as to not draw attention to whom he was staring at. Although by the subtle complacence dancing on his handsome features, you’d say he’d much rather continue this forbidden banter than staring at the messy proofs of vector spaces. Sadden by the sudden break of attention, you pout before resting your chin on your own table and watch as everyone else struggle. You can’t blame him for his coldness, it was necessary to keep your relationship going, whatever it may be. 

Even though during your many times getting physical he’d casually slipped out a “You’re mine”, he had never really made it clear what he sees you as. From the beginning, you knew this was going to be the devil’s deal and nothing good would come from it. Well, lots of good things but that’s beside the point. It was a fuck up “love story” from the start and you were both just trying to make the best of a weird situation. Never once did he made a move on you despite on multiple occasions he said you hold a special place in his life for being able to understand him on so many levels. The amount of time you’ve had intellectual conversation with him was just as often as the times he fucked you practically on every single surface of his house that could support both of your concupiscence. 

Often time one thing leads to the other. After a heated session of bodies crashing into each other, you’d be wrap up in his blanket with a cup of tea in hand deep in conversation about every corner of the universe. If anyone seen you two then, they wouldn’t suspect what sort of dirty unimaginable fleeting things were whispered just moments before. He couldn’t be anymore amazing: handsome, nice body, definitely know how to pleasure a girl. But the things that had gotten you strapped down, holding onto your dear life in this crazy ride in the first place had to be was the amazing personality, and that big brain of his. He possesses the vast wisdom of an old soul yet the eccentric knowledge and open-mindedness of the young folks. It was slowly becoming a pet peeve of yours to listen to mindless gossip about how hot he looks, smack the shit out of the girls that drone on and on about the ways. Why? You weren’t really sure, it just rubs you the wrong way. If only they know what kind of shit he’s into when the bedroom door shut. 

Boredom driving away the slumber you long for, you let out a frustrating sigh earning dagger glares from quite a few folks. Whispering sorry, you look up to see him slyly pointing at his phone then you. Taking the hint, you reach into your pocket and get out your phone.

[8:31] Nerd👓: I know you hate being in my class but could you not disturb everyone else?

[8:32] Who was it that forced me into attending every session? 🤔 But sorry... I didn’t mean to ):

[8:32] Nerd👓: Bad girl don’t get what they want… We talked about this.

[8:32] 😳 I

[8:35]  Nerd👓: 🙄

Bad girls don’t get what they want

That was becoming his favorite phrase these past recent days. You had accidentally let slipped your most shameful secret about a month back during one particularly stormy night while being entangled in his soft blanket. Forcing to keep each other warm with body heat and rhythmic movements, neither of you really minded that the central heating was completely out of service and wasn’t being fix for another week. Moans lost within the noise of the badgering storm outside, you completely forgotten about the tick of time that doesn’t stop for anyone until it was well past 1 AM.  Being the gentleman he is, you driving home alone wasn’t an option with the darkening rain outside. You vetoed his suggestion of him driving you home since that would make for a very complicated situation. Not to mention the risks of him driving alone in the rain after a 15 hours day at school, exhausted was not one you were about to take. Then there was the issue of how would you retrieve your car the next morning in time for school. You couldn’t damn well as your roommate, who by the way has an intense crush on Hanbin, to drop you off at his house. When he offered to pick you up the next morning, a bigger problem presented itself. Nobody could see you two together in such a intimate manner. Being a broke ass college student, you share an apartment with 2 other girls. How was it that you made it home but your car didn’t.

 “How did you get his home address? Why do you have a key and his security code. Oh and by the way, was that the hot professor dropping you off at wee hours of the night? Wait he’s picking you up tomorrow too? What’s going on?”

You remember yourself pacing back and forth enunciating everything sarcastically to make your point. He chuckled at the unraveling worry mess in front of him which pissed you off even more. None of this was funny, if you two get caught it’d be big trouble in paradise. Walking up the  embodiment of stress in the middle of his living room, he pulled you into a big embrace calming your nerve almost instantly. Once you had calmed down, his hands traveled to cup your face tenderly. Pressing a haste kiss onto your cheek, his lips curled into a soothing smile.

“You’re overthinking it. Stay with me tonight.”

He never needed to do much to get you warp into this carefree pocket of life. Every time was like the first time being with him all over again. All your worries, all your caution went out the window the moment his soft lips meet yours. Scratch that, all your thoughts and senses also go out the window. Your arms immediately retreated back to their favorite position around his body, gently ghosting over the soft skin of his naked torso. At your consenting touch, he ran his hand through your hair pushing the kiss deeper. The other hand assumed its favorite resting place on your ass signaling the start of another storm of your own kind. 

Knowing where this was heading, you hopped up quietly when his hands grabbed your thighs and pulled your body up. Walking back to his bedroom, he laid you down on the bed before gingerly crashing his whole body weight on top of you. Hanbin’s a very passionate lover - gentle and delicate with just the right touch of firmness. To him it wasn’t just casual sex but rather making love. He took time caressing every part of your body with either his hands or his mouth, letting you know in between touches how much he appreciate the moment. His touches were soft but by all mean straight to the point. Sliding his finger up and down your clothed slit, he whispered lovingly “you’re all mine” before another collision of lips happened. Arching your back in pleasure, your hands tried their best to get in contact with whatever skin they could find. God, how could someone skin be so smooth and velvety. Feeling the desperation in your touch, he sat up and let you worked on his pants. Pushing his hip up to help you slide away the piece of clothing that was getting more and more constricting as the seconds passed from his growing member, he slid off your pants and panties as a whole. A mischievous smile danced on his lips before his strong hand spread your legs wide open and his face hovered in between. He wasted no time in making out with your hot core. Tongue ravaging your sweet cave, his eyes focused intensely on your hands that was now shoving inside your shirt to reach his 2nd favorite part of your body, first being your eyes. Your hands tugged your lust filled nipples to further the gratification that’s radiating from your clit. Clearly enjoying the show, the contact from his kisses get sloppier and quicker as your moan amplified. Breaking away for a moment, he let out a very rare firm demand for you to remove your shirt. It was an unusual thing for him to do since if he wants it, he’ll get it done himself. It’s almost like you don’t have to lift a hand, just respond to his touch is enough. Slightly turn on by the commnad, you flung your shirt off at the speed of light and he resumed his activity. Gentle Hanbin is your favorite but something about the rare split second where it almost seemed like a his hidden, rougher and harsher self slipped through the crack his carefully well maintained controlled one that turn you on like nothing else in this world. The need for release increased and your hand caressed through his hair, pushing his face in even further. In response, 2 fingers were shoved inside your messy core suddenly causing you to hiss while his tongue still having fun on your clit. A third finger caused a sensory overload on your body and what came out next forever changed your entire dynamic. A sudden aggression filled his movement making you cried in utter pure lust.

- “Shit, that feels so good daddy. Please, Hanbin...Harder”

The second the desperate pleading left your mouth, both your hands flew toward your face, hiding it in embarrassment and your eyes jerked open. He was clearly caught of guard as all contact on your body ceased, doe eyes staring down at you in a rush of debating whether he had heard correctly. Scared that you might have driven him off, your fingers parted slightly so you can take a peak at your lover. What you thought would be shock on his face were actually a mix a devilish smirk and something you never thought you’d see from him, cockiness. Confused by his expression, your hands dropped away from your face and you stared in awe. It was like you had just seen the 8th wonder of the world. Out of nowhere, his thumb went back to kneading your clit gently while he moved in closer. Startled from the sudden touch, you jerked your body upward but his hand firmly on your chest pushed your body back onto the bed, hovering dangerously close to your throat. A dark cloud of lust took over his gentle eyes while the weird mix of expression still lingered. Finally he spoke.

- “Oh, baby girl… you really shouldn’t have said that. Do you even realize what you did just now by calling me that?

You shaked your head hesitantly while your hand felt up his perfect abs. Even though his finger was still working on your core, it was nothing compare to the waves of pleasure from a moment ago. His free hand grabbed yours and slid it up across his chest then back down. He placed your hand on his hard glistened with precum dick and motioned for you to continue rubbing. Eyes still gazing deep into your soul, his lips curl into a grin.

- “Do you know how hard daddy had to try and hold back because I thought I’d scare you off? That I might hurt your little fragile self?”

- “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you wanted me to… If I had known….”

- “Well, no matter. Just know, you just did a very, very bad thing. Are you sure your body can take whatever daddy wants?” His voice sultrily tickled your bare skin, raising all your hair on their ends.

- “Yes.”

- “Yes, what?” He grunted, voice dropping to the depth of the deep sea as displeasure curled his lips into almost a snarl.

His fingers pinched your clit causing you to yelp out in surprise. Fulling understanding he’s no longer playing around, you complied to his every request thinking to yourself maybe that slip up might not be so bad after all.

- “Yes, daddy” you squeaked out timidly, putting up the best innocent eyes you could mustered up under such corrupted situation, fearful of being deny pleasure.

He bent down and pressed a hot kiss to your forehead, momentarily went back to his usual soft spoken self to make sure you were really okay with everything. Pulling his lips onto yours, you murmured a yes onto his lips before he harshly pulled away. You had dreamt so many time about calling him daddy but never once thought he’d be the type of guy that’s into such kink. Although your sex was nothing close to being vanilla, he was so gentle and loving, not a mean bone in his body. Who would’ve thought he’d play into the role so perfectly. Disappointed in the lack of contact, you pouted and he just simply smirked at the new found power.

- “Maybe if you beg hard enough, daddy will do whatever you want.

That marked first day you officially stay overnight and the day everything changes. After that night, an accident turned into a routine. A routine lead to many more discussion about each others’ sexual limits, pushing boundaries and setting new ground. Even with the new dominant side, he would always make sure you were okay with things before acting upon his desires. 

Glaring back up after reading his text, you spot your beloved professor with a smirk on his lips while penning away at the stack of exams. You were never one to back off from a fight despite letting him dominate over you most of the time. If he really want to play this game, so can you.

[8:33] I’m sorry daddy… I just wanted your attention. I got sad cause you barely even looked at me ): I just had the most amazing wet dream about you before i got woken up. I just want daddy’s hands all over me.

The moment the little check mark indicate ‘read’, his face went pale and cold from the shock that’s crashes down on him like a tsunami while you’re sitting there glaring in stone cold arrogant. Hand still clutching his phone tightly, his head immediately snaps toward your direction with the most dumbstruck with terror expression on it. You tease him even further by putting on the best doe eyes pouty face you could. You were never brave enough to do anything like this so publicly, you know better than to risk getting caught. However today, seeing how you carefully chose to sit in the very last row in the very corner seat next to the wall, what’s the harm. That meant no one could see what you were doing from behind and luck was on your side, you had the whole entire row to yourself as everyone else chose seats up close to the board. Not even a minute later your phone buzz in excitement.

[8:33]  Nerd👓: Baby girl, what do you think you’re doing? You know better than this… Don’t make me angry.

[8:34] But Dadddyyyyy… I’m bored. I finished my exam already. Can’t you cancel the class and play with me? Look how wet I am for you…

You pull up the hem of your skirt slightly to reveal the dampen underwear before spreading your legs and inconspicuously snap a photo under the table. Praise the heaven no one is sitting within 5 ft radius of you. You can see his hand hesitate for a moment before letting out a sigh and opening up your text. He knows all too well a picture message from you could be nothing but trouble. His fingers furiously type a reply before going back to grading. If his expression was stone cold before, it was now stiffening to a slight shade of fury as his eyebrows furrow and nose scrunches up a bit.

[8:35]  Nerd👓: You need to stop this instant. I’m serious, stop playing around. What did I say about texting me dirty things in class?

[8:35] You’re so boring. I was gonna tell you about my dream and all the things I want you to do but whatever. I don’t wanna play with daddy anymore. By the way, interesting choice in accessory today. Don’t say I started this, you did.

You don’t need to be told twice to know he’s not into the game. You strut down the steps of the room, exam in hand. You muster up your best resting bitch face and stare him dead in the eyes before sliding the paper neatly on top of his desk. His expression has gone back to being soft after seeing you up close, wanting... needing nothing but one smile from you as salvation to the tedious work ahead. He give a small smile but you chose to just ignore him, keeping a straight face. His smile drops and guilt begin tapping at your heart but still, you made your bed now you’re laying in it, keeping true to your cold facade. Walking back to your seat, your hips put on their best performance swaying back and forth to tease him, the hem of your skirt swings freely with each step. Getting frustrated, you flop your head back down onto the table and forcing yourself back to sleep ignoring the buzzing of messages radiating from your pocket.

As you run through the perfect meadow of your dream, a sudden tightness on your thigh sends distress to your peaceful mind. A gasp escapes your mouth from being jerk away from sleep so suddenly. As your eyes flutter open, you feel warmth on your lips while the tighten hold on your thigh persist as it slides up higher on your thigh. Your hand put a dead stop to the foreign hand as it was now reaching under the hem of your skirt, finger squeezing as hard as they can hoping your nail could do some damage and ward the stranger off. Your eyes shot open quickly before a calming voice put ease into your whole body with soft pets over your hair.

- “Time to go home, you can’t sleep here all night.”

Recognizing the sweet voice, your hand loosen its grip letting the strong, large hand continue on its destination, tips of his finger playfully toying with the seam of your underwear. Your lips returning the warmth it received while murmuring quietly.

- “Hanbin?”

- “Yea. Come on, let’s get going.”

- “How long was I sleeping for? I’m so tired.”

- “Not too long. I didn’t want to wake you up before everyone left. Daddy needs some alone time with you.”

He groans as his hand still running up and down your thigh, teeth grazing your earlobe slightly. Finally lifting your head up from the table, your haze filled eyes caress every inch of the tall body in front of you with insatiable hunger. Motioning for you to get up, his arms grab hold on your waist after you stumble slightly. Pulling your body close, he whispers for the usual meeting. You gather up your belonging before giving him a haste goodbye kiss and head out the door. Walking toward a coffee shop nearby, you figured some coffee would be good for whatever he had in mind when he asked for ‘alone time’. Also,it would probably be a good idea not to show up to his office right after the exam in case of stragglers wanting to talk about how badly they did on theirs. Coffee in hand, you stop off to get him a sandwich as a reward seeing how hard he worked during class. As usual, you surf the net till you get the go ahead

[10:15]  Nerd👓: the coast clear

[10:15] Comin’ (:

Getting the safety confirmation, you hasten your way across campus toward a habitual path. Walking down the dark hallway, you have to admit being at school so late is kind of creepy. Most of his hallway office mate had gone for the night, thus the dark room behind the locked door. The rare room with light was tightly shut, probably staying late to grade exams. Who said teachers have it easy. Finally reaching your destination, you knock timidly with your foot as your hands are preoccupied with the coffees. A few second passed and you hear clicking of the lock. Slipping in quickly, he sticks his head out to make sure no one was watching before locking the door. Setting the food and drinks down, you throw your bag pack clumsily onto the floor earning a groan from him.

“Kid, I know you don’t care for school but can you at least take care of your school stuff.”

Turning around, you press your body onto his, hands resting on his chest.

“I do care for school, i just think it’s tedious.”

“Is that what my class is to you? tedious? is that why you either skip or sleep during it?”

“No, your lectures are great, and funny… It’s just i’d rather sleep.”

To hear his life work taking lower priority than a physical necessity, he smacks your ass hard causing you to jump backward, stupefy about what had just happened. Without warning, his eyes take on a shade of seriousness that instill fear on your poor nerve still recovering from the sudden switch as he slowly struts toward you. Sensing the looming event, you subconsciously back away from his large stature. Still moving forward, his hands begin to unbutton his cuffs and rolls them up.

“Now about what you did in class earlier… Did you think you can play around like that and expect daddy not to punish you?”

Playing along with his pretend anger, you mewl out your best cry and beg for mercy.

“I’m sorry daddy, please. I didn’t mean to upset you, please. I won’t do it again.”

At the same time, you stop backing away and drop onto your knee. Once he’s within arm reach, your hand shakily play with his belt buckle. As much as you love how tightly his slack hugs his ass, he looks much better with it off. He let you go as far as pulling the buckle open before bunching up your hair and pulls you away from his body. You let out a whimper at the sudden cut of contact.

- “What did daddy say about being a bad girl?” his voice lowers, tickling your spine.

- “Bad girls don’t get what they want.” You whimper almost pathetically compare to his firm tone.

- “Right! Now would you rather me ignoring you for being so bad or take your punishment like the big girl I know you are. I gotta warn you, my punishment won’t be pretty.” He muses over the option, brows raise in anticipation of your choice. Deep down, he’d much rather you choose the latter because his poor soul could never ignore you for long.

Obeying his every words, you bend over onto his desk and wait in silent, making your choice known. You don’t need to look to know he’s taking his time admiring the view, smirking victoriously. Another second passed before you hear clinking of his buckle and the swift sound of it being pull away from his pants. His hand rubbing your ass slightly before pulling the hem of your skirt up to reveal a lace cheeky pair of undies that’s already soaked. Hand still grabbing your ass harshly, he leans so close you can feel every breath.

“Do you know how much i love when you’re willing to bend to my every words? how much I adore seeing you so utterly obedient to all my will and wish?”

“Yes, daddy” You quipped without hesitation, adoring the way his rough hand kneading at your soft flesh.

“Good. But doesn’t that make you even more guilty for defying my words like you did in class today? Knowing it’d make me mad? Why?” The way your eyes flutter close and gentle smiles radiate jolts of intense satisfaction all through his body. Your face almost looks serene despite the near skin splitting bite sinking into your lower lip.

“Because… I know daddy will punish me if I do.” 

“So you like it when i get rough with you?”

“Yea… Sometimes...”

“What is it, baby?”

“Sometimes I just need you to be rough. You won’t break me, I promise!” You said with almost an innocent glee to your voice, completely unsullied by the sinful acts that was happening. It honestly break his tough shell faster than any other force on this planet. He fully realizes by the 3rd time sharing skin with you that you do it completely unintentional, not even realizing what it does to him. 

“If that’s what my baby girl’s wish, who am I to deny her.”

You peek over to see him folding his belt in half before snapping it loudly. Preparing yourself for what’s going to happen next, you quickly grab his jacket and clutch onto it tightly for some sort of comfort. Smirking at your action, he smooths his hand over your ass before snapping his belt onto your left cheek quickly. Walking toward the other side, he places a hand onto the dimple of your back indicating another hit was coming. You let out a loud muffled whimper from biting on his jacket just as the whipping sound echo through the room. Running the cold belt buckle over the large red hot stripes blooming on your ass, he bends over to kiss your hair. finger pulling back a few strand of hair and tucking it behind your ears, he places more kisses on your cheek before whispering for you to get up. Dropping the belt onto the table, he pulls you into a warm embrace, palms pressing tight against the hot skin soothing it.

- “Did I hurt you?”

You whine and nod onto his chest while arms tightening around his body.

- “I’m sorry.” he whines kisses your lips.  “It’s all done. Are you gonna behave like the good girl I know you are now?”

His hand move away from your face and down onto your breasts. Eyes focus completely on your cleavage while thumb absently rubbing circles around your nipple.

“Yes, I’m sorry for upsetting you. I just want you to touch me.”

“I know, I wanted so badly to take you then and there. I have a meeting in 10 minutes so how about you go home and wait for me? It shouldn’t take too long.”

He senses the disappointment in your pouty face and so he presses big wet kiss onto your lips. Pulling away from him, you frown, dropping your arms off his body.

“ Awe. Don’t be like that. I don’t want to rush it.”

Mumbling a quiet okay before turning away to pick up your bag, you were anything but happy. Before you could reach the bag, one of his arm wraps around your waist flushing you impossibly close against his body, pressing his bulge tight on your backside. the other arm snaking down pass your skirt and resting on your core. Fluttering kisses on your neck and shoulder had you slumping over in completely lost of control over your own body. You squirm under the intense gratification blooming fast with every touch of his lips, his fingers rub hastily on your clit. You let out a gasp from the sudden flood of pleasure, your knee buckle causing you to grab his muscular arms for support. Never cease contact, he move you back toward his desk. Turning your body around, he lifts you off the ground and set you sitting atop the wooden piece of furniture. Without warning, he drops to his knee and dine away in between your legs. You squeeze your thighs around his head trying your best to cope with the rush of gratification. Leaning back on your elbows, your back arch and cusses slip out of your mouth when he pushes 3 fingers into you, pumping fast. Breaking contact for a moment, he peers up at the sight of the melting mess he’s causing and smile.

“I’m sorry, I thought we’d have more time for this. I didn’t think the students would stay that long.”

- “It’s okay, I can wait. You don’t need to, I’ll wait for you to get home.”

You somehow manage to mutter a comprehensible sentence despite the pulsating wave of satisfaction from your core, a deep puddle building up fast in your stomach. Your hand move to grab his hair and pushes his face further in indicating you were close. His tongue works harder as his fingers pump even faster. A mischievous grin breaches his lips from the sight of your fist shoving knuckle deep into your mouth, muffling the harsh pants and moan. Not a minute later, your nectar gushes all over his lips and fingers. Dropping your body onto the desk heavily, your chest could barely keep up as you try to catch your breaths. Your eyes lazily gaze over to see him pulling his dirty fingers out of his mouth with a loud pop. Smiling softly, you raise both your arms up and he walks over to pull you up into a hug. Leaning on his shoulder, you reach your finger up to pull his chin toward your face. Noticing his fingers trying to wipe your left over stickiness on his face, you help out by licking and kissing whatever remnant you can reach.

- “Okay, i don’t think licking is working… that’s making it worse actually” he lets out a chuckle but did nothing to stop your tongue.

- “Okay, stay there.”

You quickly hop off and make your way over to your backpack. Pulling out a pack of wet-wipes, you proceed to wipe his chin and neck while he lean on the desk to rest. Tossing the wipe away, you pull down his sleeves and buttoning it back up, straightening out the wrinkles as best as you can. Grabbing the source of the forming bruises on your buttcheeks, you loop his belt around his slack and buckling it back up while giving him a small kiss. Staring up at his messy hair, you let out a small chuckle before moving your  hands up to style it back to how it was before. Sliding your hands off his shoulders for the finishing touches, you back away and stare him down with a satisfying smile.

- “There, good as new and totally presentable.”

Pulling you back toward him, he presses a kiss on your nose and you let out a giggle.

- “I can really use to this. You should stop spoiling me before I do.”

The smile on your face fades off from his comment fast completely unaware of by the happy man. There he goes again saying things that confuse the shit out of you. Glancing back up at the clock, he stands up and begins to gather his things.

- “Alright cutie, I gotta go before I get yell at. I’ll see you at home okay?”

Snapping out of your daze, you smile and nod. Grabbing the sandwich you’re forcefully shoving into his hand, he stares at you in confusion.

- “I know you’ve been working all day and skipping dinner. Pastrami and black coffee, your favorite. I hope at least this will make the meeting go faster.”

Smiling and pinching your cheek, he plants another kiss on your lips before walking off. Staring up and down the hall to make sure no one was around, he motions for you to come out.

- “You’re seriously so cute. I don’t think anyone ever notice that i skip meals while simultaneously sleep in class before. That’s a pretty amazing skill set, definitely list that on your resume. But stop spoiling me, if i get use to this then you’re in trouble.”

- “I don’t mind. I’ll see you at home okay? If you come back and the sandwich is still not eaten, you’ll be the one in trouble.”

You whisper lowly in case someone still lurks around the empty hallway. Turning your heels, you begin walking toward the exit to give some distant between you two. Before reaching it however, you turn around to see him locking the door.

- “By the way…” his hands stop and he looks over your direction. “ … I record your lectures and listen to it at home. You’re a great professor.”

You flash your best smile at him before continuing on your path. The young professor stands there completely at peace with everything that was happening. Joy erupts on his handsome features as he basks in the sunshine of something new, something he was now sure he wants with you. 

Part 2 

Okay so like I was looking for a gif of Hanbin in glasses or at least a suit to go with the professor theme. Miracle if I could find him in both... and I got this little gem of fetus Binnie. Just thought I’d leave it here.

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