#Behind Bars Chapter 2

[ekingston]

SO HERE IS THE WHOLE STORY (SO FAR).

I am on my knees begging you to reblog this post and to stop reblogging the original ones I sent out yesterday. This is the complete account with all the most recent info; the other one is just sending people down senselessly panicked avenues that no longer lead anywhere.

IN SHORT

Cliff Weitzman, CEO of Speechify and (aspiring?) voice actor, used AI to scrape thousands of popular, finished works off AO3 to list them on his own for-profit website and in his attached app. He did this without getting any kind of permission from the authors of said work or informing AO3. Obviously.

When fandom at large was made aware of his theft and started pushing back, Weitzman issued a non-apology on the original social media posts—using 

his dyslexia; 

his intent to implement a tip-system for the plagiarized authors; and 

a sudden willingness to take down the work of every author who saw my original social media posts and emailed him individually with a ‘valid’ claim,

as reasons we should allow him to continue monetizing fanwork for his own financial gain.

When we less-than-kindly refused, he took down his ‘apologies’ as well as his website (allegedly—it’s possible that our complaints to his web host, the deluge of emails he received or the unanticipated traffic brought it down, since there wasn’t any sort of official statement made about it), and when it came back up several hours later, all of the work formerly listed in the fan fiction category was no longer there. 

THE TAKEAWAYS

1. Cliff Weitzman (aka Ofek Weitzman) is a scumbag with no qualms about taking fanwork without permission, feeding it to AI and monetizing it for his own financial gain; 

2. Fandom can really get things done when it wants to, and 

3. Our fanworks appear to be hidden, but they’re NOT DELETED from Weitzman’s servers, and independently published, original works are still listed without the authors' permission. We need to hold this man responsible for his theft, keep an eye on both his current and future endeavors, and take action immediately when he crosses the line again. 

THE TIMELINE, THE DETAILS, THE SCREENSHOTS (behind the cut)

Sunday night, December 22nd 2024, I noticed an influx in visitors to my fic You & Me & Holiday Wine. When I searched the title online, hoping to find out where they came from, a new listing popped up (third one down, no less):

This listing is still up today, by the way, though now when you follow the link to word-stream, it just brings you to the main site. (Also, to be clear, this was not the cause for the influx of traffic to my fic; word-stream did not link back to the original work anywhere.)

I followed the link to word-stream, where to my horror Y&M&HW was listed in its entirety—though, beyond the first half of the first chapter, behind a paywall—along with a link promising to take me—through an app downloadable on the Apple Store—to an AI-narrated audiobook version. When I searched word-stream itself for my ao3 handle I found both of my multi-chapter fics were listed this way:

Because the tags on my fics (which included genres* and characters, but never the original IPs**) weren’t working, I put ‘Kara Danvers’ into the search bar and discovered that many more supercorp fics (Supergirl TV fandom, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor pairing) were listed.

I went looking online for any mention of word-stream and AI plagiarism (the covers—as well as the ridiculously inflated number of reviews and ratings—made it immediately obvious that AI fuckery was involved), but found almost nothing: only one single Reddit post had been made, and it received (at that time) only a handful of upvotes and no advice. 

I decided to make a tumblr post to bring the supercorp fandom up to speed about the theft. I draw as well as write for fandom and I’ve only ever had to deal with art theft—which has a clear set of steps to take depending on where said art was reposted—and I was at a loss regarding where to start in this situation.

After my post went up I remembered Project Copy Knight, which is worth commending for the work they’ve done to get fic stolen from AO3 taken down from monetized AI 'audiobook’ YouTube accounts. I reached out to @echoekhi, asking if they’d heard of this site and whether they could advise me on how to get our works taken down.

While waiting for a reply I looked into Copy Knight’s methods and decided to contact OTW’s legal department:

And then I went to bed.

By morning, tumblr friends @makicarn and @fazedlight as well as a very helpful tumblr anon had seen my post and done some very productive sleuthing:

@echoekhi had also gotten back to me, advising me, as expected, to contact the OTW. So I decided to sit tight until I got a response from them.

That response came only an hour or so later: 

Which was 100% understandable, but still disappointing—I doubted a handful of individual takedown requests would accomplish much, and I wasn’t eager to share my given name and personal information with Cliff Weitzman himself, which is unavoidable if you want to file a DMCA.

I decided to take it to Reddit, hoping it would gain traction in the wider fanfic community, considering so many fandoms were affected. My Reddit posts (with the updates at the bottom as they were emerging) can be found here and here.

A helpful Reddit user posted a guide on how users could go about filing a DMCA against word-stream here (to wobbly-at-best results)

A different helpful Reddit user signed up to access insight into word-streams pricing. Comment is here.

Smells unbelievably scammy, right? In addition to those audacious prices—though in all fairness any amount of money would be audacious considering every work listed is accessible elsewhere for free—my dyscalculia is screaming silently at the sight of that completely unnecessary amount of intentionally obscured numbers.

Speaking of which! As soon as the post on r/AO3—and, as a result, my original tumblr post—began taking off properly, sometime around 1 pm, jumpscare! A notification that a tumblr account named @cliffweitzman had commented on my post, and I got a bit mad about the gist of his message :

Fortunately he caught plenty of flack in the comments from other users (truly you should check out the comment section, it is extremely gratifying and people are making tremendously good points), in response to which, of course, he first tried to both reiterate and renegotiate his point in a second, longer comment (which I didn’t screenshot in time so I’m sorry for the crappy notification email formatting):

which he then proceeded to also post to Reddit (this is another Reddit user’s screenshot, I didn’t see it at all, the notifications were moving too fast for me to follow by then)

... where he got a roughly equal amount of righteously furious replies. (Check downthread, they're still there, all the way at the bottom.)

After which Cliff went ahead & deleted his messages altogether. 

It’s not entirely clear whether his account was suspended by Reddit soon after or whether he deleted it himself, but considering his tumblr account is still intact, I assume it’s the former. He made a handful of sock puppet accounts to play around with for a while, both on Reddit and Tumblr, only one of which I have a screenshot of, but since they all say roughly the same thing, you’re not missing much:

And then word-stream started throwing a DNS error.

That lasted for a good number of hours, which was unfortunately right around the time that a lot of authors first heard about the situation and started asking me individually how to find out whether their work was stolen too. I do not have that information and I am unclear on the perimeters Weitzman set for his AI scraper, so this is all conjecture: it LOOKS like the fics that were lifted had three things in common:

They were completed works;

They had over several thousand kudos on AO3; and

They were written by authors who had actively posted or updated work over the past year.

If anyone knows more about these perimeters or has info that counters my observation, please let me know!

I finally thought to check/alert evil Twitter during this time, and found out that the news was doing the rounds there already. I made a quick thread summarizing everything that had happened just in case. You can find it here.

I went to Bluesky too, where fandom was doing all the heavy lifting for me already, so I just reskeeted, as you do, and carried on.

Sometime in the very early evening, word-stream went back up—but the fan fiction category was nowhere to be seen. Tentative joy and celebration!***

That’s when several users—the ones who had signed up for accounts to gain intel and had accessed their own fics that way—reported that their work could still be accessed through their history. Relevant Reddit post here.

Sooo—

We’re obviously not done. The fanwork that was stolen by Weitzman may be inaccessible through his website right now, but they aren’t actually gone. And the fact that Weitzman wasn’t willing to get rid of them altogether means he still has plans for them. 

This was my final edit on my Reddit post before turning off notifications, and it's pretty much where my head will be at for at least the foreseeable future:

Please feel free to add info in the comments, make your own posts, take whatever action you want to take to protect your work. I only beg you—seriously, I’m on my knees here—to not give up like I saw a handful of people express the urge to do. Keep sharing your creative work and remain vigilant and stay active to make sure we can continue to do so freely. Visit your favorite fics, and the ones you’ve kept in your ‘marked for later’ lists but never made time to read, and leave kudos, leave comments, support your fandom creatives, celebrate podficcers and support AO3. We created this place and it’s our responsibility to keep it alive and thriving for as long as we possibly can.

Also FUCK generative AI. It has NO place in fandom spaces.

THE 'SMALL' PRINT (some of it in all caps):

*Weitzman knew what he was doing and can NOT claim ignorance. One, it’s pretty basic kindergarten stuff that you don’t steal some other kid’s art project and present it as your own only to act surprised when they protest and then tell the victim that they should have told you sooner that they didn’t want their project stolen. And two, he was very careful never to list the IPs these fanworks were based on, so it’s clear he was at least familiar enough with the legalities to not get himself in hot water with corporate lawyers. Fucking over fans, though, he figured he could get away with that. 

**A note about the AI that Weitzman used to steal our work: it’s even greasier than it looks at first glance. It’s not just the method he used to lift works off AO3 and then regurgitate onto his own website and app. Looking beyond the untold horrors of his AI-generated cover ‘art’, in many cases these covers attempt to depict something from the fics in question that can’t be gleaned from their summaries alone. In addition, my fics (and I assume the others, as well) were listed with generated genres; tags that did not appear anywhere in or on my fic on AO3 and were sometimes scarily accurate and sometimes way off the mark. I remember You & Me & Holiday Wine had ‘found family’ (100% correct, but not tagged by me as such) and I believe The Shape of Soup was listed as, among others, ‘enemies to friends to lovers’ and ‘love triangle’ (both wildly inaccurate). Even worse, not all the fic listed (as authors on Reddit pointed out) came with their original summaries at all. Often the entire summary was AI-generated. All of these things make it very clear that it was an all-encompassing scrape—not only were our fics stolen, they were also fed word-for-word into the AI Weitzman used and then analyzed to suit Weitzman’s needs. This means our work was literally fed to this AI to basically do with whatever its other users want, including (one assumes) text generation. 

***Fan fiction appears to have been made (largely) inaccessible on word-stream at this time, but I’m hearing from several authors that their original, independently published work, which is listed at places like Kindle Unlimited, DOES still appear in word-stream’s search engine. This obviously hurts writers, especially independent ones, who depend on these works for income and, as a rule, don’t have a huge budget or a legal team with oceans of time to fight these battles for them. If you consider yourself an author in the broader sense, beyond merely existing online as a fandom author, beyond concerns that your own work is immediately at risk, DO NOT STOP MAKING NOISE ABOUT THIS.

PLEASE check my later versions of this post via my main page to make sure you have the latest version of this post before you reblog. All the information I’ve been able to gather is in my reblogs below, and it's frustrating to see the old version getting passed around, sending people on wild goose chases.

Thank you all so much!

[tashibum]

To Own, But Not To Share (I & II)

Part 3 Part 4

Chapter summary: Emperor Geta is buying a new sex slave. The auctioneer has a try before you buy scheme.

Emperor Geta x Female Reader

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, pure filth, dubcon, sex slaves, slavery, buying people, public sex, unprotected sex, creampie. One sided Caracalla/reader. 4.6k words. Read on AO3

(I only saw Gladiator 2 because of Pedro Pascal, but then became obsessed with Emperor Geta as soon as I saw him. Only had horny thought since then 😂)

The Auction

Watching the women before you be paraded out one by one terrified you. The auctioneer was as disgusting as the men in the crowd bidding. Through the bars of the cage you could see at least 100 men all there to see what sorts of slaves they could buy. Technically, your owners could use you for whatever they wanted, whether it be household chores or physical labour. But the auctioneer saw the crowd around him, and knew how to sell the women for the best profit. 

The first woman was brought out and stood still where she was placed. She was guided to turn around to show her body, then the auctioneer lifted up her threadbare toga to display her bare ass to the men. 

Her ass received a hard spank. “Not much jiggle, but you could fatten her up to your liking,” he explained. 

He then went down to kneel behind her. He pushed down on her back, encouraging her to arch it. With both his hands, he spread her cheeks apart. When he had savoured the view, he spat onto her hole. You saw the woman shiver at the sensation.

“Well would you look at that. A perfect puckered hole ready to be used,” the auctioneer teased. 

It was disgusting, but it was your life now. Your new owner would use you however he saw fit. 

The next girl was brought out. She was roughly pushed down onto her knees to kneel before the men. 

“Look at those lips,” he mused. The auctioneer pulled up his toga and presented his semi-hard cock. He handled his dick and bounced it against the poor woman’s lips, before forcing it inside.

You tried to look past the assault that was happening and into the crowd. Everyone moved forward to see the spectacle shown. The sunlight reflected on something and sent a beam of blinding light your way. Moving away from it, you squinted to try to find the source, and that was where you found the Emperor in his headdress. He was surrounded by men in armour, you supposed they were his guards. 

You knew you were going to be out next. And now you knew Emperor Geta would see you be defiled. The shame and embarrassment of someone of such aristocracy witnessing it, it made you want to curl up into a ball. But then the thought occurred that it might be a good thing. Out of all the men there to buy a slave, the Emperor would surely provide you with the best life. You would be fed and washed. You might even get a bed to sleep in. 

You pondered this as the highest bidder of the woman on the floor was now getting his dick sucked. 

“Would you like to continue with the purchase?” The auctioneer asked.

“Ah, yes,” the buyer replied, his hands grabbing his new slave’s greasy hair to force his cock further inside her mouth. 

You were next. Two men grabbed you by your arms to roughly guide you out of the cage towards the centre of the clearing. They were instructed to lift up your arms and remove your clothing.

The auctioneer stalked his way around your naked body slowly, checking you out. Your eyes searched for Emperor Geta’s, but not in the seductive way you imagined. Instead, you wanted someone to help you. The reality hit you hard that you were probably about to be raped, and would be for the rest of your life. 

“On all fours.” You were instructed, and slowly made your way down to rest your hands and knees on the cobbled brickwork. From this angle, the men could see your body from the side. Your breasts hanging, your bottom curved. 

The auctioneer went behind you and you heard him getting on his knees too, moving his tunic. Your eyes found Geta’s, and they stayed there as you were entered. You were not aroused, your sex had not produced anything to ease the intrusion. The pain from the friction made you drop your head. Your eyes now focused on your hands in front of you as you tried to ground yourself. 

“As you can see, she can handle a large cock,” the auctioneer boasted. 

Geta scoffed. He thought it was pathetic if the middle aged man truly thought he was well endowed. He knew he was bigger. 

“May I have a turn?” Geta asked, walking through the crowd towards you. The security team followed, but Geta made them stay with the crowd. 

The attack on you finally ended, and the man quickly withdrew himself from you. You winced at the sudden sharp friction. 

“Why, of-of course Emperor. It would be my pleasure,” the auctioneer stuttered and stood to the side.

“The pleasure will be mine,” he retorted and went to his knees. 

The most powerful man in Rome was directly behind your naked body, and you were extremely self-conscious about what he saw. The Emperors probably had maidens to keep their whores beautiful. They would be bathed, shaved and plucked to the leaders’ likings. 

You had not washed in weeks. 

The Emperor hiked up his long white tunic, now getting filth from the ground all over it, and stroked his cock to get fully erect. He then spat down onto it, stroked it to cover it all. You then heard him spit again. This time he spat into his hand and rubbed it over your entrance. He did not give you much, believing that you would be turned on by being with an Emperor. 

He collected your hair in his hand and yanked it. “Look at me,” he demanded. You knew better than to defy his orders. 

He guided his cock to you with his free hand, and stared deep into your eyes as he pushed the tip inside. He was bigger than the previous intrusion, and you were still dry inside. Your mouth opened and your head turned to face ahead again.

“Look at me!” He fumed. When he had you locked in eye contact again, he pushed the rest of his length inside you.

“Gods,” you quietly exclaimed. 

Geta smirked. This wasn’t just him having sex with a slave. He was showing off his power to everyone in the audience. Reinforcing the image of a powerful leader to his subjects. 

His hands moved to your hips to help him thrust inside you at a steady pace. You bit your lip and nodded at him, a silent acknowledgment that you were fine with this, not that he would have cared if you didn’t. Once your body had grown accustomed to his girth, you could feel pleasure start to grow. The intense eye contact you shared made you throb. 

“Tight, isn’t she?” The auctioneer encouraged, reminding you that despite only seeing Geta, you were not alone. The Emperor shot him a stare, displeased with the interruption. 

He soon returned his eyes back to you. He looked gorgeous this close up. You got to see the makeup surrounding his needy eyes. You wanted to feel his lips on yours. You wanted him to rub his nose against your shoulders as he caressed you. 

You let out a moan and quickly brought a hand to your mouth to stifle it. 

“Let them hear you. Show them what their Emperor is capable of,” he boasted. For your own dignity, or what dignity you had left, you would try to stay quiet until he was finished. 

Selfishly, you wanted to touch him. From this position of him taking you from behind, your hands had to remain on the ground to keep you steady. 

“Lay down,” you quietly requested. You didn’t want everyone to hear you, especially when things could go badly. No one tells Emperors Geta or Caracalla what to do. He could have you killed for speaking to him. You had heard rumours of them killing people for lesser crimes.

His thrusts slowed to a standstill. For a moment you expected to be hit, but he smiled mischievously. You were making him appear desired and lusted over. 

He laid down with his feet nearest the audience, this way you would block him from view as you rode him. You moved the front of his long tunic to his waist as you hovered on top of him. Your body had now coated you with juices, letting him slip inside so easily. Not knowing if he wanted a slave to touch him, you kept your hands on your thighs, helping you bounce on top of him. 

“Lay back and let her do all the work. A smart move, Emperor,” the auctioneer praised. You could make him a lot of money if you pleased the Emperor, he could pay much more than the rest of the men there to buy. 

Emperor Geta shook his head against the bricks. This wasn’t about letting you do the hard work, this was about pleasure. He could tell you were getting off, and believed beautiful creatures such as yourself deserved orgasms. 

He began to thrust his hips up into you shallowly, only slightly, to help you on your way. 

You wanted to moan and beg him to fuck you harder, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. You had to remind yourself that no matter the pleasure he gave you, you were just another slave to him. 

Your hand grabbed your breast, needing more stimulation. Like he could read your mind, his hands slowly touched your thighs, then moved upwards to caress your hips, stomach and ribs before moving your hand away and holding your breasts. He squeezed them before moving to your nipples to hold them between his thumbs and pointer fingers. You expected him to pinch them hard, but he softly tugged on them, causing you no pain whatsoever. 

You leaned forward, resting your hands on his clothed torso. If you were alone with him, you would shimmy your shoulders, resulting in your breasts swaying side to side for him, but you could still see the auctioneer in your peripheral vision. 

“How much for her?” Geta asked, his eyes not leaving you, enjoying the feel of your breasts and welcoming cunt. 

“4000 sesterces,” the auctioneer offered. It was higher than the usual price of a slave, but he knew the Emperor could afford it. 

“She is worth more than that,” Geta complained. 

He was talking about buying you, you shouldn’t have taken it as a compliment, but you did. The Emperor liked you. You kept repeating it in your head. 

He likes me. He likes me. He likes me. 

It made you ride him harder. You grinded back and forth on his cock, desperate for one of you to cum. You wanted him to buy you, to take you back to the palace and keep you. His cock was angled perfectly inside you, as though Venus herself sculpted you both to fit perfectly together.

His hands left your breasts to caress your hips and waist. The metal of his rings scratched your skin as he moved them, but you didn’t care as long as his fingers touched you. The gesture could almost be seen as romantic under different circumstances. 

In the past, you had made yourself peak when rubbing yourself, but you were about to climax with neither you or him touching your nub. When being penetrated before, you derived no pleasure from it. But something about his cock was different. It was like he found parts of you no one ever had before. It made you want to chase the feeling. 

You rode him even harder, desperate for that elusive end. You felt it nearing and did not stop until it hit you. 

And it hit you hard. 

You had not climaxed in a long while, so maybe that was why it was so intense. Or maybe it was the Emperor’s glorious length. Your movements slowed to small grinds as your body convulsed on top of him. Your physical reaction on the outside matching what was happening inside. Your walls clenched around him. Tight, hot and wet. That, matched with seeing your body shake caused the Emperor to reach his peak too. 

You saw his face tensed in pleasure. You felt his load shoot inside you. None of the other plebeians could claim that. 

You moved off him to sit between his legs. His cock still throbbed against his belly until you saw it turn flaccid. If he was alone with you, he would order you to clean him up with your tongue, but he would wait until he had you all to himself for that. 

You pulled your knees to your chest to try to cover yourself now that the act was over. Between your legs, Geta could see his spend leaking out of you and onto the brick below. 

He turned his head to the auctioneer, “25,000 sesterces,” he offered. The Emperor would pay more if his offer was rejected. He’d pay anything to have you with him.

The man approached him and shook his hand, “We have a deal, my lord.” He had just made his entire projected profit from the whole batch of women he had from you. 

Geta stood up and made himself look presentable again. “Have her taken back. Make the maidens wash and feed her,” he directed. 

You were taken and placed in a carriage. They did not pick up your tatty toga, so you journeyed to the palace naked, the Emperor’s seed drying on your inner thighs. 

The Palace

You did not see him again when you entered the palace. You were in the slaves quarters, a large room filled with beds and dressing tables. You were given a simple toga upon entry, but told more lavish clothing awaited you. It was the first time being a slave you were given decent clothes. You were given soup and bread and ate it with the maids as none of the other women approached you. You assumed they were fellow sex slaves too. But you were puzzled as to why they would not introduce themselves to you. Surely they knew what you went through?

“Why are they all staring?” You asked.

“You are fresh meat. One more person to fight over the Emperors’ affections with.”

These other slaves saw you as competition. It made you wonder how nicely the Emperors treated their whores if they all wanted to be most favoured by them.

The next day you had two maidens bathe you in warm, soapy water. One of them focused on cleaning your hair and body, the other shaved and plucked hair from all over your body. It hurt, and you were terrified of the blade cutting you in your most intimate area, but this was how the Emperors wanted you. You had been told that you would join them today for your first day of work.

No matter how fancy and luxurious things were, this was your work. Your body had to look perfect as it was the only thing keeping you in the royal palace.

You quietly entered a grand hall filled with people. Over the other side you saw a large couch with the Emperors sat on it, surrounded by the slaves who wouldn’t give you the time of day. You found a chair by the door and sat down, thinking it would be for the best if they were not to see you. You didn’t want to cause tension, you would gladly let the other men and women shower them with touches if it meant it made your life easier. They might put on a show of acceptance in front of the Emperors, but in your quarters you feared segregation.

You kept looking up to see if anyone had spotted you, and in doing so, caught Geta’s gaze. You cursed yourself for not being more careful when stealing gazes their way. Geta pushed off the woman draped over him and gestured for you to come over.

“Come,” his voice bellowed out in the room. The woman who he pushed away did not seem happy, it made you nervous to make your way over there.

You wore a colourful dress made out of expensive fabric. Your hair had been combed and small braids had been added, tiny flowers placed precariously within the hairs.

He moved over slightly and patted a space between himself and the armrest for you to sit in. It was not a large space, you found yourself trying to shrink yourself to fit, bringing in your shoulders and crossing your legs tightly.

“There is no need for that,” Geta turned and said to you.

You realised that he wanted you to have to lean on him, practically sit on him. So you took on the role he wanted, you positioned yourself so your back rested on him, placed your head on his chest. His left hand held his wine, his right hand smoothed down your arm to your hand where his fingers traced patterns in your palm.

“So this is what you bought,” his brother noted from beside him. “25,000 sesterces is extortionate. You should have the auctioneer executed.”

“We are not short on money,” Geta argued back.

“She must be worth it,” Caracalla bickered.

“Worth every coin,” affirmed Geta.

He began to trace your neck with his nose, then his lips. His hot breath against your skin gave you goosebumps. It wasn’t long before he was placing wet kisses up and down the side of your neck. It was so sweet it made you forget your relationship with him was slave and master. You expected roughness and abuse from your owner, not kindness.

His kisses aroused you. You started to rub your thighs together for pleasure, wishing his hand would move from yours to beneath your dress.

“Can I kiss you?” You whispered for his ears only.

He took a firm hold on your chin and brought you forward towards him, his lips claiming yours. If he did this with all the women, you could see why they fought over his affections. He made you feel wanted and adored.

He tasted like the fruit wine he had been drinking, amplified when his tongue went to yours. With your eyes shut, you couldn’t see the looks of contempt coming from the other concubines, like you were advancing on their territory.

You pulled your lips away from his and held his face in your hands, stroking his jawline with your thumbs. “Please, I want you.”

You naively thought he would take you somewhere alone, so were taken back when he put his wine on the floor by is feet and pulled you on top of him, making you sit with your back pressed against his chest. You would have sex with him in front of all these people, you tried to calm yourself with the thought that they do this all the time and no one cares. Or at least, no one had the bravery to share their concerns with the Emperors for fear of death. He pulled your dress up at the back for access, but left the front of your dress to cover yourselves. He pulled up his knee-length toga and slapped his cock against your wet sex. He did not need any time to prepare; kissing you had made him erect.

He did not give you any time to prepare either, good thing you didn’t need it. His cock slid through your folds, nudging your clit, before finding its home inside you.

You let out a quiet gasp, not wanting to make a scene.

“There is no need to refrain. Everyone here knows what we’re doing,” he comforted, speaking into your ear. “Show them you were worth the money.”

You moved your legs to kneel on the couch, making it easier to bounce on him. To anyone who looked over it was obvious you were riding his dick. Maybe that was what the Emperors liked. They got off on others’ humiliation.

Unlike when you rode him before, this time his hand went under your dress to where your bodies met. He felt your entrance stretch around him, then moved north to your clit. With your wetness, he began to rub. Lightly at first, but then with pressure in little circles. You wondered which whore taught him that.

“Emperor, I-“

“Yes,” he cut you off. “Explode on me. Feel rich with the pleasure I give you.”

When your orgasm hit, you shuddered and his cock slipped out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing. His hand didn’t stop rubbing. Even when you closed your legs to take his hand away from the over-sensitive nub, he forced his hand back there to keep going.

With his hand coated in your slick, he gripped his cock and started to stroke himself. He must have already been near as he only had to work on himself for 20 seconds or so before he shot his load over his hand and the neat patch of hair on your mound. He brought his hand to your mouth, and you gladly cleaned it for him. Taking each finger into your mouth one by one, sucking them clean. If you really thought about it, him feeding you cum out of his hand should disgust you, but you would take any piece of him he offered you.

You turned and saw Caracalla smiling at you, impressed with the display.

“I want my go,” he expressed.

Geta looked at him silently. He knew exactly what his brother wanted, but did not want to grant it.

“What’s with the face brother? We share everything: Rome, the palace, power. You bought her with our money. We both own her. I want my turn!” he demanded.

Geta knew he had no real claim on you. He had nothing to argue back with, so begrudgingly had to let you go to him.

You didn’t want to though. You turned around on his lap to face him, your eyes pleading him to help you. He could see your hesitation and silently enjoyed it. He shared everything, he just wanted you for himself.

“It’s okay. Go,” he tried to comfort, but it did not give you any confidence.

You walked over to him on shaky legs before he grabbed you and pulled you onto his lap. His hands went under your dress all the way to your breasts to squeeze them. Unlike his brother, he was harsh. He pinched your nipples then used them to shake your breasts. He leaned up to reach your neck with his mouth, but instead of his brother’s gentle kisses, Caracalla scraped his teeth on your skin, biting down now and then.

You turned towards Geta, but he didn’t see you. His gaze was set forwards, breathing heavily with his hand gripping his chalice so hard his fingertips turned white. He could not help you, so you surrendered yourself to Caracalla’s wants.

His hands went into your dress and two fingers quickly made their way inside you. After a minute of pumping fingers, he withdrew his hand to inspect it.

“All that cream for me,” he noted.

You wanted to slap him and tell him that your arousal was not for him. It was his brother that created that inside you. He was merely feeling his brother’s leftovers.

You looked over at Geta, but his eyes were still locked forwards, as though he was trying his hardest to avoid what was happening next to him.

You were pushed down, his cock spearing into you, and you knew you had no choice but to fuck him. You started to slowly move, and when Caracalla was unsatisfied with your performance, he grounded his feet and began to thrust up into you.

You held onto the back of the couch for support and looked at Geta again. This time, he looked back at you with sorry eyes.

You hoped Caracalla would reach his peak quickly to end your torture, but he seemed to have good stamina.

“He needs you to cum,” Geta stated, looking away from you again.

That would be an impossible feat. Why did Caracalla care about your pleasure? Why didn’t he just use your hole for his satisfaction like every other slave owner would?

Caracalla smiled at you; it made you feel sick.

“You came for him, but you struggle with me! Am I not worthy?” He roared.

“Of course you are worthy, my Emperor,” you placated.

You could try to fake your peak, but what if he knew? Would he kill you for it?

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he fucked you, giving Geta the chance to take ahold of your hand. He moved it to his mouth and gently kissed it. It was a kind gesture, but not helpful in your current predicament.

He placed your hand in one of his palms, and used his other hand to tap your palm. He did this, then looked at you, then looked at your crotch. At first you had no idea what he was insinuating. Then it clicked.

The motions he was doing on your hand. He wanted you to do it to your clit.

You unsteadily let go of the couch and led your other hand under your dress. Geta held your arm to keep you from slumping on his brother. He simply wanted you to tap for now. His tapping got faster, so yours did too. The tapping on your hand changed to slow circles. As two of your fingers circled your pearl, you were sure you were getting wetter because of it. Caracalla would think it was his doing, unaware of his brother’s silent communication with you.

Geta began to circle your palm so aggressively, you thought his fingernail would burrow into your skin. You rubbed your clit desperate to orgasm, and when it started, you let out a loud gasp to make sure Caracalla knew what was happening. Geta let go of your arm and your body fell forwards onto his brothers, further making him believe he had given you an intense climax.

Not giving yourself anytime to enjoy what Geta had given you, you got off him and went down onto your knees between his legs. You did not want him to shoot his seed inside you, he didn’t seem like the kind that would pull out and the thought of it made you wince.

You started to jerk his cock at a furious pace, desperate for this ordeal to be finally over. When he came, you directed his cock towards his belly, not to get any on you.

When he had finished, Geta took your arm and tugged you back to him, making you sit where you previously had been, between him and the armrest.

“Brother,” Caracalla started, “That was amazing. I thought she was going to stroke my cock clean off.”

Geta gave his brother a villainous smile as he normally would, but didn’t share his brother’s joy. He wrapped his arm over your shoulders, stroking your upper arm.

“Would you like some wine?” He asked, thinking it might relax you after what you had to do. You shook your head.

“Tea?” He offered. You were aware that if you kept declining him, it could be seen as rude, so you nodded and repeated tea to him. Tea would be easier to stomach than alcohol right now.

Geta raised his left hand and clicked twice to get the attention of a servant.

“Tea for the lady,” he requested, and a servant hurried off.

When they returned you sipped your tea and lamented on what your life had come to. Desiring one owner, and being repulsed by the other.

[redflagshipwriter]

Fast Car Masterpost and Prologue

dead on main fic, intro + four chapters.

Summary: The Red Hood starts off his righteous campaign with a lot of nerve but no legal identification that will let him behind the wheel of a car. Public transportation really doesn't have the panache he needs to start off as a fearsome crime lord, so he needs a driver. He finds Danny Fenton, a grungly college student trying not to be noticed by any government agencies or vigilantes.

to subscribe to this post, on mobile open the notes and click the bell on the upper right hand corner of the post. on desktop, open the notes at the bottom and press the bell on the right edge of the notes.

Links will be added to chapter list as the story posts. Chapter one will go up on July 14th. Updates are approximately every other day.

LINKS/ chapter count

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

prologue

“No, Habibi,” Talia said calmly into the phone. “I will not falsify you an American non-commercial driver's license for motor vehicles. If you cannot prove yourself to Gotham without American motor vehicle operating permissions, you will never prove yourself. Rise above this challenge.” Talia covered the phone for a second but he could hear her talking to someone else about tile options.

“It's an unnecessary challenge,” Jason argued, doing his level best not to let his tone go up. It was undignified to whine. He was a man now. “The important parts of the challenge are the tactical planning and the skills.”

Talia sounded like she was filing her nails. “Tactically plan to take the bus. Or walk. Walking is free and healthy.” 

Jason made an indignant sound but she mercilessly hung up. The worst! She made the top three of his worst mother figures, easily.

“She's just doing this so I can't go drinking.” He scowled into the air. “I don't even want to!” His voice broke mid whine, which was an insult to add to all the injuries visited upon him by the cruel whims of women who weren't even his legal guardian. He was an adult in most countries!

The worst part was that Talia didn't care about underage drinking. She just didn't want to hear shit about enabling him from Bruce when he eventually figured out that Jason was alive, 19, and in Gotham. His passport claimed he was 21 because it had to for him to travel alone, but she knew damn well no one used their passport as ID in bars. 

He couldn't just go get a license. Jason sulked viciously and threw himself into fixing his plans to accommodate for this. 

He was legally dead and living under a fake name. If he tried to sign up for the driving exam, it'd be too much scrutiny on his paperwork. But he was not taking the bus around as a crime lord. It lacked panache. More importantly, it didn't go where he wanted it to go.

Fine. He didn't need her help. He didn't need anyone's help. He just needed to download Uber. 

That was how Jason wound up wiping a mob lieutenant’s blood off of his hand onto his pants so that he could use the guy's touch screen phone. Victor Woodward's account put in a request for a ride to the Gotham police headquarters. He killed time kicking ass in all the Words with Friends games that Victor had ongoing, which was really gonna surprise anyone who normally played with that boob. Victor’s last ever play was ‘cat,’ for fuck’s sake.

A few minutes later, a skinny teenager pulled up in his clanker and opened the door. Jason put on a smile and hefted his duffle bag a little higher on his shoulder. 

“Hi! Victor?” The guy, Danny, waved his phone at Jason.

“That's me!” Jason lied breezily. “Can I put this in the trunk?” 

“Go for it.” Danny popped the trunk open from inside the car. He watched Jason with his big blue doe eyes.

For an instant, Jason thought that Danny might have seen something. Paranoia reared up. Was there blood visible? Was it easy to tell that the shapes in the bag were heads?”

The moment passed. Danny cleared his throat and whipped his face forwards again. “Normally I say to sit in the backseat, but I'm not sure that's enough room for your legs. Either is fine.” 

Jason got in the car and let satisfaction wash over his body as the weirdly timid kid pulled them out into traffic at a snail’s pace. Whatever. They wouldn’t get stopped for a traffic violation when the driver was cautious.

He’d done it. His debut as the terrifying Red Hood, hunter of the wicked and bane of the Batman, was launched. And he didn’t need a license to do it.

[atlabeth]

family line

pt 2

pairing: spencer reid x gideon!reader

a/n: pardon the end where i just go into endless conversation for no reason but i cannot control myself. anyways thank you sosososo much for all the love on the last part and gideon!reader as a whole it makes me so happy!! enjoy some dad-daughter-spence car convos(arguing) and some elle time

wc: 3.8k

warning(s): the usual! r and gideon argue, gideon is not a good dad(but theres some reconciliation), angst, hurt/comfort, but some fluff between r and gideon & spence. more of a set-up chapter

The drive over to the safe house is a long one, and unfortunately, not a quiet one. 

Spencer takes the back seat, leaving shotgun for you with your dad. He spends the entirety of the drive briefing you on what living in a safe house will entail, all the things you can and can’t do. 

You can’t use your phone because it could be tracked. You can’t leave the place without Spencer because you are, in fact, being stalked. You’re not to reveal anything about your location to anyone—you’re basically shut off from the world until the unsub is behind bars. 

And once he’s done briefing you, he basically starts interrogating you. 

“Have you been contacted like this before in any way?” 

You huff a laugh. “What, with creepy pictures of myself? No.” 

“Anything unsettling,” he clarifies. “A text message, a call, an email— anything that rubbed you the wrong way that you might’ve just passed off as a joke or spam.” 

“No,” you repeat. 

“You’re sure?” 

“How many times do I have to say no?” You pull your phone out of your pocket and stare at your dad. “Go through it if you want. You won’t find anything.” 

He pauses, then he nods. “Reid.” 

You shake your head with a slight laugh, then turn it over as Spencer extends a hand. He flips it open and starts to go through it, and you just cross your arms and stare out the windshield. 

“We should really hand this over to Garcia,” he says. “She’ll be able to do a lot more than I can. I don’t really—”

“Like technology, I know,” your dad finished. “We will. Just trying to get all the leads we can upfront.” 

You sigh, but you keep quiet. You guess you can’t really consider it an invasion of privacy when there’s a stalker after you. 

“We typically talk to stalking victims for a while to figure out their lifestyle and possible suspects, as well as the type of stalker we’re dealing with,” Spencer says. “We don’t exactly have the time for that here.” 

“This unsub has already been watching you for a month, maybe more,” your dad says. “He’s made his first move by reaching out to me—that means he wants us to know about him, wants you to know about him.” He glances over at you. “He wants to scare you. You’re not going to give him that satisfaction.” 

“You’re jetting me off to a safehouse before you’ve even gotten the chance to look into any leads,” you say. “It looks like we’re pretty scared, Dad.” 

“It’s preparation,” he says. “The unsub has made his first move—I’m not going to wait around for him to make another and compromise your safety.” 

“This could also be a lot more dangerous than we think,” Spencer says. You still hear him clicking through your messages, and you’re beginning to regret your decision to turn it over to him. “Our unsub could be someone after Gideon using you as collateral.” 

Your heart stops for a split second and your attention snaps to your father. “What?”

“…It is a likely option,” he says. “Very few people know you as my daughter. Someone who wants to hurt me could try to use you to do it.”

“So I was right,” you say. “This is only happening because I’m your daughter.”

“Do you want me to say yes?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Yes— I want you to admit that I’ve missed out on all the positives of you being my dad and gotten stuck with all the negatives!”

“This is not the time,” he says. 

“How is it not the time?” you ask with a laugh. “You’ve said it yourself several times— my life is in danger. There’s someone out there that might kill me to get back at you. What is a better time than this to talk about how shitty of a dad you’ve been?”

“A better time would be when we aren’t this high strung,” he says evenly. “Neither of us are thinking as properly as we should be. We don’t want to say anything we’ll regret.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll regret any of this,” you say. “After all, I could be dead soon, right? I should get all those regrets out of the way.”

“Please stop arguing,” Spencer interrupts hastily. “This— this is very uncomfortable.”

You scoff. The flames burn just as bright, but for some reason, you decide to hold them back a bit. 

“I’m sure it’s real hard for you, boy genius.”

The silence lingers. You can tell he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. Your dad, to his credit, doesn’t stoke the fire.

It looks like you’re all capable of restraint today. 

“I— I went through all her messages,” Spencer continues. It irks you that he talks like you’re not here. “There’s nothing suspicious there, at least.”

“Good,” your dad says. “I’ll hand it over to Garcia after I drop you both off.”

“We’re not gonna have a car?” you ask.

“You’ll have this one,” he says. “That’s why Agent Greenaway is following us.”

“Elle’s coming?” Spencer asks, and you see him perk up. You belatedly wonder what that deal is. 

“Just so she can drive me back to the office,” your dad says. “She offered.”

“What’s everyone else doing?” 

“Garcia is digging through some of your personal records for the team,” he says, glancing at you. “JJ is in contact with the local police stations so they’re ready once we have a profile. Morgan and Hotch should be looking through every case I’ve closed to get a running list of suspects.”

“Great,” you say as you lean back in your seat. “Nothing like getting my whole life aired out and put under a microscope.”

“It already is,” Spencer says. “You’ve got a stalker.”

“Thanks, Spencer,” you mutter. “I forgot.” 

-

The rest of the drive goes by with ease—at least, relative to how difficult you’ve made everything else. 

You’re already sick of Spencer Reid by the time you get out of the car. You don’t know how you’re going to survive such close quarters under these kinds of circumstances. 

Another car parks next to you as the three of you get out, and your eyes are drawn to the woman that steps out. 

“Easy drive?” your dad asks. 

“I was right behind you,” Agent Greenaway says. “You drive like an old man.” 

Your dad just barely smiles. “Stay with her, Elle. Reid and I are going to check the perimeter.” 

“You can’t be serious,” you cut in. 

“I already told you I’m not taking chances with this,” he says, and he takes his gun out. “This won’t take long.” 

Spencer takes his out as well—he carries it with both hands, like it’s actually weighing him down, and it’s a bit ridiculous—and they split to cover both sides of the house and the surrounding area. You sigh and shake your head as you cross your arms. 

“He’s certainly spirited,” Agent Greenaway says. 

You huff a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.” 

“I’m Elle, by the way,” she says. “I know we haven’t been formally introduced.” 

You nod your acknowledgment and say your name. “Nice to meet you.” 

She turns to fully face you. “Do you mind if I say a few things?” 

“If it’s about my dad—”

“It’s not,” she interrupts with a wry smile, “I promise.” 

You shrug. “Then sure.” 

“First, I just want to ask if you’re doing alright,” she says. “You’ve gotten a lot dropped on you all at once.”

“I’m as good as I can be,” you say. 

Elle nods, and her eyes soften. “I’m not gonna tell you to take it easy on Gideon. He’s an incredible agent, but that makes it hard to be a good dad.”

You don’t say anything, and she continues. 

“My dad was on the force too. I resented him for a lot of my childhood because he was gone so often, but… then he was killed in the line of duty.”

You frown. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Elle nods in thanks. “I’m not trying to get sympathy. I’m just saying I know what it’s like.”

You shift your balance and sigh, glancing away momentarily. “Everyone here sees him as a hero, and— and he is. He started this whole thing and you all save lives every day, but it feels like he’s missed my entire life because of it.” You huff a bitter laugh. “I think you all know him better than I do.”

“I think you’re probably right,” she admits. “You deserve to be angry. And honestly, I think you deserve to hate him some for it.” 

You huff a slight laugh. “You’re the one person who hasn’t tried to make me feel bad for it.”

She shrugs. “You’re in an awful situation and it might be because of him. You don’t have to have endless grace.”

“Any chance I can get you to stay in here with me instead of Spencer?” you ask.

She smiles. “I don’t think Gideon wants to stick the two of us in a house together. But I am gonna make sure we catch this guy.”

“These kinds of assholes go after vulnerable women because it gives them the attention they crave,” she continues. “They worm themselves into their lives and disrupt it all and it makes them feel powerful—you have to play to their whims.”

“Sounds like you have a lot of experience with this,” you murmur.

“I have a lot of experience putting away sick men,” Elle says. 

“Do you have any advice, then?” you ask weakly. 

“I’ve only been around you for a few hours, but I already know you’re better and stronger than whatever bastard is after you,” she says. “He wants to control your life. Don’t let him.” 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “I’m… really glad you’re on my side.”

She smiles again. “Just doing my job.”

Your eyes latch onto your dad as he and Spencer come back around the front, and they both tuck their guns back into their holsters. 

“It’s all clear,” your dad says. 

“And I’m not dead,” you say. “Looks like we’re all doing good.”

He chooses to ignore you, instead looking at Elle. “Did you go over anything with her?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Just gave some advice.”

“Great,” Spencer says. “Just what I need.”

“Oh, get over yourself, Reid,” Elle says. “You’ll be fine.” 

You don’t miss the look he gives her, and your dad clears his throat. “Can you take her inside and check everything? Reid and I need to talk.” 

He frowns. “We do?” 

“Sure,” she nods. 

You stare at your dad this time, and he doesn’t entertain your annoyance with some of his own. “We’ll be in soon.” 

“Sure,” you repeat. 

You follow Elle in—you don’t feel like getting a lecture on safety just yet—and when you pass a glance over your shoulder, you meet Spencer’s eyes. He was watching you. 

His eyes dart away just as quickly, and you huff the slightest laugh. You don’t know if he’s scared of you or just tired of you already, but whichever one, you don’t really care. If you have to be stuck in this house with him, he has to be stuck in there with you too.

Elle shows you around the place, and it’s nothing special—a one story house with two bedrooms and a noticeable lack of windows, furnished plainly with a couch and a few chairs, a small kitchen table, a television. You’re honestly surprised at how nice it all is. 

But as she takes you on the impromptu tour, you can’t stop thinking about her words. You can’t stop thinking about all of it, honestly. 

A month ago, you were driving home in silence after your dad forgot about the plans you made. A week ago, you were out for drinks with friends. 

Today, you’re hunkering down in a safe house because there’s a stalker after you, and you have to do it with your dad’s stand-in kid. 

That’s what gets you, you think. That you know more about Spencer Reid than anyone at his job knows about you—that your dad ignores you in favor of his work, and instead of trying to fit you into his life, he finds an FBI replacement.

Your jaw clenches. It takes a few seconds for you to realize you’ve completely tuned out Elle, only really coming out of it when she says your name.

“Sorry,” you say. “I was distracted.” 

“I don’t blame you,” she says wryly. 

You’re about to respond when Spencer walks in with your dad. His face is slightly flushed and, as opposed to all the other times, he won’t make eye contact with you. You can only imagine what your dad decided to talk to him about. 

“You showed her around?” your dad asks. 

Elle nods. “The basics. She and Reid can figure out the rest.” 

“Thank you,” he says. He looks at Spencer, who has his hands stuffed in his pockets and is very intently focused on the wall behind you. “Help Elle get the rest of the things out of her car.”

He frowns. “Elle doesn’t need my help.”

“Come on, Reid,” she says as she starts to walk. 

He blinks and nods. “Oh. Uh— yeah.” 

You feel his eyes on you as he goes, but you don’t meet them. You just stare at your father.

“Is it my turn for a lecture?”

His eyes soften as he says your name. “This isn’t how I want things to be between us.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, “it takes a decade or two of neglect to get here.”

“You’re right,” he says. “You wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for me. But I’m going to get you out of it.”

“I hope so,” you say. “Because I don’t really know how Doctor Reid is going to help.”

“Don’t take it out on Reid,” your dad says. “Hate me all you want, but leave him out of it.”

“You’re the one that pulled him into it,” you retort. “He’s more your kid than I am.”

“And I regret it,” he says. Your eyes widen a bit, and it actually gets you to shut up. “I regret that it took something like this for me to be a part of your life again. But I don’t want our last interaction before you’re sequestered for the indefinite future to be a fight.”

“That’s all I’m good at when it comes to you,” you mumble. The wind has been taken out of your sails considerably. 

“And I want to change that,” he says. “But first, we have to get through this. And we’re going to get through it together, sweetheart.” 

The term of affection feels strange coming from him. Ever since your teenage years, he’s felt less like your dad and more like some estranged cousin. You hate it. You hate how unfamiliar everything feels with him. Jason Gideon has been a profiler longer than he’s been a dad and it shows in your every interaction with him. 

But still, your heart aches. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“You promise?” you ask. You feel like a kid again. 

“I promise,” he says. 

Then your dad pulls you into a hug, and for a moment, you freeze. You can’t remember the last time he hugged you. 

Despite the anger inside of you, the bitterness built in your bones, you can’t help it—you hug him back. You practically melt into his arms as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stop the sudden threat of tears. 

Because deep down beneath it all, you’re scared. You’re fucking terrified, actually, and right now you’re just a girl who wants comfort from her dad. 

“I love you,” he says. 

“…I love you too,” you mumble.

Neither of you pull away for a good thirty seconds. When you do, you turn around to wipe your eyes, not wanting him to see. You hear the door open and start, but it’s just Spencer and Elle with some bags and boxes. 

“Elle’s got some groceries,” your dad says, clearing his throat. “We’ll deliver more if necessary, but you’ve got the basics for a couple weeks, at least.” 

“And a whole lot of books and movies,” Spencer says, hefting the box in his hands. “Did you know that there have been approximately 122 million unique titles published since the invention of Gutenberg’s printing press in 1440?” 

“That’s less specific than usual,” Elle says. “You sure you’re feeling okay?” 

He frowns. “I couldn’t find statistics on the exact number.” 

“Why were you even looking at those statistics?” 

“I get bored sometimes.” 

Elle just laughs as they continue into the living room. You feel your dad’s eyes on you, and you sigh. 

“I’ll take it easy on him,” you say. “Mostly. Maybe.” 

And he actually smiles. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you say offhandedly, but you find the slightest smile creeping on your lips as well. You kind of hate it. 

Everything else goes by relatively quickly now that you’re not arguing every single thing—you have to fight your instincts not to, but you manage—and eventually, after another lingering hug and some promises to be safe (and one from Spencer to your dad to keep you safe)—you’re alone in the house with him. 

“So,” you say as you settle on the couch, “this is what the indefinite future is going to be like.” 

“If it makes you feel better, last time we dealt with a stalker we caught them in a few days,” Spencer says. “She watched her for a good while, though.” 

“It doesn’t make me feel better,” you say. “Thanks.” 

“...Sorry.” 

You shrug your indifference and Spencer walks past you, focusing in on some of the paintings hanging on the wall. You’re sure he knows the artist, title, and meaning behind every single one, so you speak up before he can start.  

“What did you and Elle talk about?” 

“How this place doesn’t have a pool,” he says.  

You frown. “What?” 

“Nothing,” he says quickly. “What’d you and Gideon talk about?”

“We fought then made up,” you say. “It was… weird.” 

Spencer looks at you. “How?” 

You shrug again as you cross your arms. “You’ve seen how we are. We don’t exactly get along.” 

“Has he really been that bad of a dad?”

“It’s none of your business,” you say. “But… yes. He’s barely been a dad at all.” 

Spencer shakes his head. “I don’t get that. He’s so different in the field.” 

“That’s why he’s barely been a dad—because he’s so busy here.” You tilt your head. “Don’t you have some facts or whatever on the percentage of fathers that are workaholics?” 

“Well, 89% of dads work full time,” Spencer says. “And fathers typically work around 47 hours a week. But I don’t have anything on workaholics specifically.” 

“Great.” You stand up and walk over to the box of DVDs Spencer set down on the table, and you start rifling through them. “So, what’d my dad tell you about me?” 

Spencer blinks. “What do you mean?” 

“When I came in here with Elle and he kept you out there,” you say. “Did he give you the run-down? Warn you on how difficult I am to be around? Tell you that I hate you?” 

His Adam’s apple bobs. “Uh— no. He just… talked to me. Gave the rundown on everything.”

You hum. “You can tell the truth.” 

“I— I am,” he says. He’s clearly not. “He didn’t say anything bad about you. Promise.” 

“Whatever you say.” You land on a DVD and glance over at him. “How do you feel about Groundhog Day?” 

He shakes his head. “I don’t like Bill Murray.” 

You frown. “That’s ridiculous. How can you not like Ghostbusters?” 

“I love Ghostbusters.” 

“How can you like Ghostbusters but not Bill Murray?” 

“Because I like the concept more than I like him,” he says. “I love Halloween.” 

You shake your head and move on. “Who put these together?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Gideon? Or maybe some random BAU office worker.” 

“It’s an interesting compilation.” You look up at him again. “How about Dirty Dancing?” 

“No.” 

“No reasoning?”

“I don’t feel like dealing with a musical right now,” he says. 

“So you choose to deprive me of Patrick Swayze,” you tut. You grab one movie out of the back and hold it up. “If I put on Goodfellas, will you interrupt every five seconds with facts?”

“...I can push it back to every thirty seconds,” he says. 

“Five minutes,” you say. 

“One minute.” 

“Two.” 

“One forty-five?” 

“Two—take it or leave it.” 

“Technically I have all the power here,” Spencer says. “I can talk nonstop about anything. Putting down a movie narrows that down.” 

“...One fifty.” 

He nods, and you huff a disbelieving laugh as you put the DVD in the player. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re ridiculous?” 

“A lot,” he says as he sits down on the couch. “I usually get insufferable or weird or annoying, though. So ridiculous isn’t too bad.” 

“Well, you’re certainly something.” 

“That’s also not too bad,” he says. “I could even take it as a compliment.”

You sigh and pick up the remote before you sit back down. You look up at the clock on the wall and bite back a curse. 

“It’s only been ten minutes,” you mutter. 

“Ten minutes and thirty-four seconds, actually,” Spencer says. “Did you know that Scorsese actually cast real mobsters as extras? The cast members were told ahead of time so they could show the necessary respect to them while they were on set. There’s a whole mafia hierarchy, and only full-blooded Italians—”

“I haven’t even gotten to the start screen,” you interrupt in disbelief. 

Spencer shrugs. “You said every minute and fifty seconds. Not how long I could go on for.” 

You let out another sigh as he continues on. You bet Spencer could probably recite the whole movie from memory if you asked, but you honestly don’t know if you could take that. 

There’s one plus, at least. When you’ve got a human encyclopedia next to you that can spout off whatever information he wants any time he wants, you think you’re gonna have a hard time thinking too much about your stalker. 

You look over at Spencer when you finally make it to the opening scene, still talking but now about the different crime families in the United States. His eyebrows are surprisingly animated when he talks, going up and down depending on his inflection, and you find yourself thinking that it’s charming. 

It’s annoying how pretty he is, and it’s annoying how annoying he is. 

You look away. 

This is going to be a very long lockdown.

[noharaaa]

𝐌𝐚𝐝 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧 & 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐠 (𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐬 𝐱 !𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

Author’s Note: Disclaimer! This plot is not to encourage drug usage! Don’t do drugs people!

• Reader has no specific gender.

• Parody fic! This is all for jokes.

Enjoy Reading!

╰᭡⿴༘͜─𖧷̷۪۪᪇ ༘᪇𖧷̷۪۪⃟ꦽ⃟:: ᰰ۪۪꧇⿴༘⃕▦᰷᰷ᰰ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

Back in your more questionable days, Choi Su Bong was a frequent (and unforgettable) customer. He’d show up at the oddest hours, paying in cryptic compliments and half-finished rhymes while buying from your stash. You were just trying to make a living, but he treated every transaction like a chapter in some epic cosmic romance. He was the aspiring rapper who thought the universe revolved around him, and you were the unlucky drug dealer stuck listening to his "intergalactic" bars. You thought those days were behind you….until now, when fate (or bad karma) brought him crashing back into your life in the most ridiculous way possible.

part 2

You didn’t expect to see him again. Not here, in this neon nightmare of death games and sociopathic guards. But there he was: Thanos, in all his purple glory, wearing the green jumpsuit that somehow made him look even more ridiculous than he already did.

“Y/N,” he said, “Fancy seeing you here.”

You groaned. Loudly. “Of course, it’s you. The universe wouldn’t be cruel enough to spare me from this.”

“Cruel? Or destined?”

Yep. That’s right. Back when you were still deep in the game— no. *not* this death game, the other one, with gangs and dealers and all the shady backroom deals you used to sell to him years ago. He wasn’t a ‘Mad Titan’ back then. No, he was just Choi Su Bong, a wannabe rapper with an ego the size of a galaxy.

And yeah, sure, he paid well (sometimes in stacks he claimed were from a “distant realm,” but whatever), but the price was listening to him spit the most cringe bars you ever heard. You thought you were free from that life. But now?

Now, he’s here. In your face. In this game. Still somehow managing to flirt in the most awkward, over-the-top way possible. “What are you even doing here?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. “Did your rap career not pan out?”

Thanos chuckled, the sound rumbling in a way that made a few of the other players glance nervously in your direction. “The rap game couldn’t handle me,” he said, dramatically gesturing with his hands. “But I knew fate would bring us together again.”

“Fate? Or the fact that you can’t stay out of trouble?”

He ignored that. “Do you remember our late-night deals? The way we’d exchange whispers in the dark, secrets passed like precious jewels?”

Seriously?

You stared at him. “Thanos, I sold you weed.”

“Cosmic weed,” he corrected with a wink that made you want to throw up in your mouth a little. “And you sold me inspiration.”

“Uh, no? I sold you product… so you could get high and come up with more of those terrible raps yours.”

“Terribly brilliant raps” he corrected again. “And now, here we are. Both fighters in this brutal game, united once more.”

“I’m trying to survive. not write a duet with you,”

“Ah,” he said, smirking. “But survival is an art. And together, we’ll paint a masterpiece.”

Before you could respond with the slew of insults bubbling in your throat, Nam-gyu (Player 124) appeared out of nowhere, clinging to Thanos’ arm like a lost puppy. “Hey, Boss! Who’s your friend?”

“Y/N, meet Nam-su.”

“Nam-gyu.” Player 124 corrected.

“Nam-gyu,” Thanos repeated, correcting himself, “My… sidekick.”

Nam-gyu grinned. “Boss says I’ve got potential. What about you? You two… old friends?”

You sighed. “Something like that.”

“More than friends,” Thanos added, his voice practically dripping with innuendo. “Kindred spirits. Partners in destiny.”

Nam-gyu’s eyes widened. “Whoa. That’s deep.”

“It’s delusional” you muttered.

Thanos ignored you, turning to Nam-gyu. “Did I ever tell you about the nights Y/N and I would sit under the stars, her eyes reflecting the cosmos, as I dropped bars hotter than a supernova?”

“You mean the nights you’d show up high as a kite, babbling about taking over the universe?” you shot back.

Nam-gyu looked between the two of you, his expression somewhere between awe and confusion. “So… is this like, a thing? You guys got history?”

Thanos smiled, the kind of smile that made you want to punch it off his face. “A cosmic connection, forged in the fires of ambition and—”

You held up a hand. “If you say ‘fate’ one more time, I swear I’ll throw you into the next game.”

Nam-gyu nodded seriously, leaning closer to Thanos. “Boss, y/n seems kinda mad.”

“They’ve always had a fiery temper,” Thanos said, not even trying to hide his amusement. “One of the many things I admire about them.”

“Admire all you want,” you said, crossing your arms. “But if you think I’m going to partner up with you again, you’ve got another thing coming.”

He shrugged, utterly unfazed. “We’ll see, Y/N. We’ll see.”

You huffed, turning on your heel and walking away, hoping to find literally anyone else to align with in this twisted game.

And you knew, deep down, that fate (or your seriously bad luck) wasn’t done with you yet.

part 2

╰᭡⿴༘͜─𖧷̷۪۪᪇ ༘᪇𖧷̷۪۪⃟ꦽ⃟:: ᰰ۪۪꧇⿴༘⃕▦᰷᰷ᰰ

Author’s Note: (Leave a like! Or reblog! I respond to anyone ❤️)

[thebigbiwolf]

Spittle - Part 1/2

Summary: The chocolate seems innocent enough - if you look past the Infernal writing on the wrapper, and with so few pleasures in the wilderness, you all but jump at the chance to sneak yourself a small treat.

Unbeknownst to you, the bar is infused with succubus spittle. Just one square is rumored to contain enough potency to send a mortal into the throes of ecstasy.

This is what happens when you eat half the bar.

Fic Tags: Sex Pollen (kinda), aphrodisiacs, succubus magic, a bit of dom!Astarion, unprotected piv, overstimulation, he talks you through it (iykyk), more tags will be added later.

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Dubcon (if you squint), Language, No use of Y/N, magical influence

Read on AO3: Here

A/N: Remember the dead spider? I remember the dead spider. Anyways, the reception I've been getting on Starvin', Darlin' has me wanting to thank everyone with a one-shot. This got away from me so I went ahead and split it into two parts.

I've never written anything like this and it was significantly more difficult than a multi-chapter fic. I hope everything comes across the way its supposed to! And a huge thank you to my beta @imaginarydromedary for...you know... encouraging me to post this, despite everything.

From what you could tell, there wasn’t much to the apothecary. 

As you push open the dilapidated doors, your first thought is to search for supplies - anything that could help if things went south on your way to the goblin camp. 

Dried herbs hang from the rafters beneath a thin veil of cobwebs, filling your lungs with a pungent clash of scents. Empty bottles lined the shelves along the wall, caked in several months worth of dust. Large chunks of the building were missing where stone met splintered wood, some areas almost entirely overtaken by greenery.

You step over broken shards of pottery, scanning over the floor and countertops for something - anything that may be of use, but to your disappointment, it seems like the shop was entirely ransacked long before your arrival.

You sigh deeply, knowing you’ll likely never hear the end of this from your companions. It was your idea to search the village. You were the one who suggested taking out the goblin scouts, exerting everyones’ energy, and now you’re afraid you’ll have very little to show for it.

You catch a glint of gold, an object reflecting the sun's rays beneath a pile of rubble. You kneel down to brush away the surrounding debris, thankful for even the smallest promise of coin before your hands catch on… some sort of serrated edge?

You pull at it, and it easily comes loose. It's a thin, rectangular block, just barely larger than the length of your hand. You wipe away some of the dirt with your sleeve, revealing an intricately designed foil wrapping underneath.

As you speculate what this might be, you hear footsteps approaching from behind, light and familiar. You turn to face the elf with a smirk.

“You’re supposed to be the stealthy one.” You chide at him, playfully, “Or has my blood put a little skip in your step?”

Astarion scoffs. “I’ve been here the entire time, watching you fumble around in the dirt.” 

Crimson eyes study you, then the object you’re holding. He places his hands on his hips, head cocked to the side with a raised brow. “Is that what you’ve dragged us all the way here for?”

“First of all,” you waggle a finger at him, “You’re especially grumpy when you’re tired. I’ll have to make a note to prioritize your beauty rest. Second, I haven’t finished looking around, but check this out.”

You hand the bar to him as you stand. The cool skin of his fingers brush against your own, and you’re irritated with the way your heart skips at the brief contact. Why did the one man you found attractive in your camp have to be such a primadonna? And such a huge pain in the ass? 

Astarion’s eyes scan over the textured paper with suspicion, angling it towards the light to get a better look. The golden wrapping is stamped with an image of red lips On the back, letters twist and curve in a language you don't recognize, following a single circular pattern where they meet in the center. You’ve never seen anything like this, neither in your travels, nor within the city walls of Baldur’s Gate.

“Where did you find this?” 

You shrug, then point to the pile next to you. “It was buried right there.” 

He silently stares at the foil, mouth pursed, until your patience begins to wear thin.

“Well, can you read it or not?”

His nose scrunches. “Of course I can’t read it. It’s written in Infernal.”

That’s… odd. Why would an ordinary apothecary sell goods made by devils? Or, worse, for devils. Unless, of course, it was some sort of marketing trick, perhaps a play on the phrase ‘sinfully sweet’, or some other cringeworthy branding.

You take it back, turning it over in your hands before tearing at the corner of the wrapping. It's sectioned into dark, rich squares, and smells indisputably like chocolate.

“It looks like candy.”

“An excellent observation.” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now, can we go? We’ve spent more than enough time here already.”

You roll your eyes and stuff it into your bag, setting off for camp, vampire in tow.

–

During dinner, you decide not to tell the others about what you found, knowing Astarion’s likely already forgotten the event. You set down your empty plate, thanking Gale for tonight’s meal. He smiles at you and bids you goodnight as you excuse yourself to your tent. 

You pick up your rucksack, thinking fondly of the dessert that awaits you inside. Having lived at the beck and call of your companions for weeks on end, you can’t help but smile at the idea of selfishly indulging in a small treat like this.

You tear open the rest of the wrapping and snap off one of the squares, immediately popping one into your mouth. It melts - buttery in texture, with a smokey, slightly bitter flavor. You can’t remember the last time you’ve eaten something so rich. Maybe weeks of the same rations have made you easier to impress, but this felt especially notable.

As you break off a second piece, a strange tingling sensation begins to spread across your lips - a pleasant buzzing that starts at your neck and spreads down through your chest. 

Strange, but not entirely unwelcome. You’ve heard of such inebriating chocolates, ones laced with alcohol or species of flowers that numb one’s senses for a short while. All harmless, of course, and you don’t have watch tonight. You may as well enjoy yourself. If worst comes to worst, Shadowheart is just outside with an assortment of spells and potions. Always better to ask for forgiveness.

It only takes you minutes to finish half the bar. You set the rest next to your bedroll for later and turn to blow out your candles, enjoying the lingering physical effects of the chocolate. Your skin feels flushed and delightfully warm as you settle down for the night.

When sleep finally takes you, it's dreamless, at first. Your consciousness sways, floating in an empty abyss, until colors begin to bleed onto the blank canvas of your mind.

A trickle of red morphs into the shape of familiar eyes, piercing you with their intensity..

Droplets of white spatter over a dark background, diffusing, blending into whisps. They curl and twist before settling into soft, coiffed fibers. 

Hair , you recognize immediately, his hair . His eyes.

Astarion. 

His image fully takes form, as if it had been waiting for you to make the connection before entirely revealing itself. 

He reaches out and seizes you, grabbing painfully at your hips as you crash into his body, hands exploring you - tight, possessive, squeezing at every inch of exposed skin before settling on the curve of your ass. He digs into your flesh with the blunt edge of his nails.

His lips press hot, wet kisses to your throat, mouthing just below the ear, before dragging his tongue along your nape and sucking, hard . You whine at the pressure, eliciting a grin from the elf, so characteristically pleased with the pathetic little noise he’s managed to pull from you.

“You thought sleeping would allow you to escape this - to escape me , unscathed?” He growls against your skin, his voice almost unrecognizable - as if it’s layered beneath a lighter, somehow more arrogant, feminine one.

“No, no, no. Wake up, darling. You’re in for a very long night.”

–

You startle awake, gasping - loud, labored breaths struggling to make use of the unbearably thin air. The edges of your tent bleed in and out of focus, spinning at a nauseating pace as you attempt to recollect yourself.

You wipe at the sweat collecting on your brow, the muscles of your arm heavy and aching, and find that your skin is absolutely drenched. 

Hot. Why is everything so hot? 

It's as if you're being cooked alive beneath your blankets, strangled beneath the furs. You throw them off; normally soft to the touch, the fibers now only worsen the prickling beneath your skin.

Could this be some sort of illness? A fever? 

No, this doesn’t make sense. Everything feels off. 

Fleeting thoughts of Astarion cross your mind - quick flashes of a sinful smile that was not his own.

It didn’t quite match the one you’d silently come to admire, and now that you think of it, the hunger in his gaze was much too intense for the reserved elf. 

His hands, his mouth, the way he touched you -

Your abdomen cramps, bringing your thoughts to a screeching halt.

A stabbing, visceral pain; a knife plunging into your organs. It overwhelms you, forces your body to curl into itself. You hold your pelvis, grunting, and grasp at your sheets. Tears sting the corner of your eyes.

This is - well, you have no idea what this is. 

You can’t think past the pounding in your head, the throbbing in your midsection. You're compulsively twisting, writhing, begging the gods for some sort of reprieve, but it's then when you make the most mortifying discovery of the night.

You’re soaked .

N ot just your smallclothes, which may have been understandable given your strange dreams, but through your damned pants. Not even the sheets were spared. 

“What  in the hells…?” 

You run your fingers over yourself, only intending to confirm the horrifying reality of your situation - that this is not, in fact, some sick, perverted nightmare, but the lightest touch sets off every nerve. 

You wail at the sensation: one massive wave of bliss giving way to several small jolts of pain. 

Pleasure to the point of agony.

The shock of the sudden orgasm courses from your sex through every limb, clenching and releasing pitiful, warm slick. It leaks freely out of you into your already thoroughly ruined underwear. 

Your heart pounds. You stay like that for what feels like a lifetime, toes curled, limbs twitching, waiting for your body to settle. 

After a minute or so, your breathing evens, and the thick haze surrounding your thoughts begins to lift just slightly, along with the suffocating heat. 

But something within you knows this isn’t the end - knows this isn’t enough . A desperation lurks beneath the surface that you can’t quite name. It screams at you. You need more.

‘Aw…’ A familiar, feminine voice prods at your mind. You quickly recognize her, the woman from your dreams who wore Astarion’s image.  

‘All alone, are we? Empty and needing to be filled? Doesn’t that hurt?’

It does. It aches unlike anything you’ve ever known. The lingering buzz of your orgasm just barely quells the worsening cramps, and they’re beginning to rear their ugly head again not minutes later.

You choke out a sob. “Wh- why are you doing this? What do you want?”

Sharp, wicked laughter fills your head, echoing off the walls of your skull. ‘I’m not doing anything, dear. Just enjoying the show.’ She hisses, ‘I told you, it’s going to be a very long night.’

You must be hallucinating. This fever - whatever this is, is simply cauterizing your senses, or possibly interacting with the tadpole? But the tadpole doesn’t speak, not like this. Never so clearly. Not with words.

Think, please. There has to be a reason this -

“Is everything alright?” Shadowheart raps on the canvas of your tent. “I heard a yelp. Are you hurt?”

Shit.

‘Ooh, this one might do!’  You feel an unwelcome… eagerness flood you.

No. No. Absolutely not.

You try not to panic. 

Under no circumstances should she or anyone else come in here.

The best strategy may be to ignore her - pretend you’re still sleeping. It seems like a good plan, but before you have a chance to follow through with it, another sharp contraction hits. This one is somehow even worse than the ones before. 

You pull your sheets up to your mouth to stifle your whine, but the half elf’s ears are sharper than most. “I’m coming in.”

She opens the flap to your tent and gasps when she sees you there - skin flushed pink, doubled over and covered in sweat. 

“Gods, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” Her hand reaches out towards you. 

Without thinking, you swat it away with your own. Your skin tingles at the contact, and the essence of a smile crosses over the threshold into your mind. The intruder giggles with satisfaction.

“Don’t,” you plead, “Don’t touch me.”

She scans over you, taking in your humiliating state. Her face twists with concern. “I need to know if you’re feverish. Please. You look awful.” 

‘Well, I think you look delectable.’

You groan.

At this point, you know it’s no use fighting this thing on your own. You go back and forth on whether you want to tell her the whole truth, about the voice in your head and its influence on your body, but the idea mortifies you into silence. 

Regardless, a cleric is likely your best chance of fixing this literal mess, so you nod, close your eyes, and brace yourself.

Shadowheart’s palm meets your forehead. It’s somehow worse than you anticipated. Even the simple, chaste touch sends you reeling, as if her soft hands are caressing your entire body. Flashes of heat wash over you, burning your skin, threatening to pull you back under another wave of ecstasy. 

It’s too much. You try your hardest to suppress a moan, but the muffled sound manages to escape from between your tightened lips, pitiful and broken.

The disembodied voice squeals with delight.

She quickly retracts her hand, clearing her throat. “Apologies. I can confirm your temperature is… elevated, but the rest…” She shakes her head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

You want to scream, cry - anything to release your frustration, but you keep your mouth shut, not wanting to risk making any more unsavory noises.

“I believe I can give you some relief by treating the fever, but I’ll have to consult the others on the rest. This doesn’t look like any ordinary sickness.”

Consult the others? No. Gods, no. Nobody can know about this. Is she mad?

You intend to protest, beg her not to share this with anyone, tell her whatever death awaits you on the other side of this would be preferable, but she’s speaking an incantation before you have the chance.

A bright, green aura envelopes you, cooling your skin and ever so slightly easing the cramps. With the pain dulled, it's as though you can finally think again. 

You want to laugh. This situation is so utterly ridiculous that you’d find it hilarious, were it anyone else, but with the modicum of relief comes exhaustion - eyelids heavy, vision blurring with weariness.

“Get some rest. We’ll figure this out.” 

Her reassuring words are the last thing you hear before you’re overcome by darkness.

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | nine.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 9.7k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, mature language/sexually implied content, phone sex / mutual masturbation, lots of kissing and making out per usual lol, these two are off to another conference but together-together, alcohol consumption and intoxication, bar scene, dancing, fingering on the balcony, finger sucking, oral (f. receiving), a sprinkle of spitting, a sprinkle of nipple play, a lazy handjob lol, unprotected sex from behind oop, some dirty talk, some hair pulling, multiple orgasms, reverse cowgorrrrl, implied shower sex, lots of talk and speculation, hohoho the end 🤭

Your friends weren't really surprised when you said you'd be leaving for another conference. They did wonder why it was last minute, but you don't think they dwelled on it much. Not like Jiung, at least. Outside of Jiung, maybe Yunho, too. But luckily, Yunho didn't make it a big deal since you weren't scheduled to TA his class this week [hands-on lab week with his postdoc]. He reassured you by saying it was a good conference to attend, though. That he wasn't giving a talk this year, but he was still thinking about popping in for a second.

You hope not.

You'd be with San and you'd finally get to be away with him, alone. You hoped no one else would be around and try to disrupt that [selfishly]. San had just traveled overseas for another lecture post-NAS conference, leaving you behind to sulk away while you missed his company.

—FLASHBACK

San settles into his empty hotel suite after a long day of being in attendance for a board meeting and conference. He loosens his tie and unclips his cuffs, letting out a hefty sigh when he turns on the shower. He musters the last of his strength to shed off his clothes and step under the piping hot water. He's still feeling a little groggy and gross from being in a timezone that's 5 hours behind from home. Over the years, he's slowly gotten used to traveling this way; flying to the other side of the world for 1-2 days before heading back. It used to wear on his body a ton until he's gotten better about taking care of it and his health. Still, even after these years, it doesn't get any easier.

Especially now that San has you— he just always feels like he's missing something. All he wants is to be with you, occupy his time with you.

When San steps out of the shower and finishes getting ready for bed, he slips under the sheets in nothing but his boxer briefs. He rests against the headboard, flipping through channels while he waits for you to text him back. He flips through some of your photos, some of the nudes you sent that he tucked away in his hidden folder. He feels himself getting worked up, missing you even more; missing your touch, your kisses, the way you feel. You promise you'd stay up and wait for him even though San begged you to sleep, so he wouldn't be surprised if you had fallen asleep. 

You couldn't though, not without talking to him.

you: sorry sannie, was cleaning up a bit. can i call you now? 🥺

san: yeah of course baby, as long as you aren't tired.

It's not less than 20 seconds that you end up calling him after that text, settling into your sheets to try and get comfortable.

"Hey sweetheart."

"Hi." You smile to yourself hearing San's voice, though he sounds tired and worn out. "You okay? You sound really tired." He chuckles.

"Ah, do I? I kinda am though. Mentally exhausted from the meeting and conference today."

"I'm sorry, Sannie. You should rest."

"I am, love." He sinks a bit further into the sheets. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too."

"What have you been up to today?"

"I caught up on some assignments and worked on a few things with Belle. How was the board meeting and conference?"

"Cool, but exhausting."

"I bet. Have you gone around the city?"

"A bit, but I don't really plan to do most of it until the second to last day here." You hum on the other line. "Wish you were here with me, baby." His voice is low, husky. Enough for you to bite your lip and sink into your own covers to try and distract yourself from the butterflies in your tummy.

"I wish I was, too. I'm sure it's beautiful there."

"Mmyeah." He feels himself getting incredibly worked up at this point, missing you terribly and wishing he had you all to himself here. Imaging the things he could do with you, to you, is enough to turn him on.

Replaying past events and hearing those pretty little noises you make for him.

God, he wishes he could have you.

"You lying down?" He breaks the silence and asks.

"Mhm."

"Wish I could have you right now, sweetheart." You can hear it in his voice, the small pauses and breaths he takes in between. "All I want."

"I wish you could too, Sannie."

"Baby." He breathes out. "I'm so hard for you." He lets out a small groan just as you dip your fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts and panties.

"Can you come home already?" You whine.

"Soon, love." He whips his cock out and slowly strokes himself, releasing a shaky breath in the process just as he tilts his head back against the headboard— thumb spreading his pre-cum across his tip. "Fuck—Can you touch yourself for me?"

"Yes." You let out, rubbing at your clit in slow circular motions, digit dipping between your folds before gently slipping inside. A small whimper leaves your lips that shoots straight to San's cock, causing him to grip his member a little harder— stroke it a little quicker. 

"Feels good, angel? How wet are you?"

"Mhm." You moan. "So wet, babe."

"Good girl. Keep doing that for me, yeah?" You fail to respond, too focused on finger-fucking yourself as you slip in two digits and work at a hungry pace. You too, think about San and how well he takes care of you; how well he fucks you and makes you cum over, and over again. "Wish I could fuck you so good right now." He moans a little louder this time and it has you reeling— hips subtly working with your hand as you come back up to your clit and spread your slickness around. "Hear you make those pretty noises for me and me only."

"Sannie." You breathily whine, rubbing at a faster pace.

"Mhm?" His voice is deep. "You want that, baby?" He lets another moan slip from his lips as he chases after his high, hand working quick on his length. "You like it when I handle you? Do you need that right now?"

"Yes, Sannie. Need it so badly."

"Mm." His hum is close to growl. "Shit." He hisses, breathing becoming irregular just as yours is. The more you listen to San on the other line while rubbing at your core, the more you feel yourself ready to snap. "I'm close. Can you let go for me, hm? When I get back—" He pauses briefly. "I'll make sure to take care of you. Fuck you so good— show you how much I missed you." 

"Fuck— San." You cry. "Mm'coming—" You continue to moan and say his name as your orgasm washes over you, trembling at every touch as you milk it out and ride out your high. Hearing the way you unravel has San spiraling, causing him to release shortly afterwards— strings of white painting his stomach and abdomen as he moans deeply; the euphoria crashing down on him instantly. You lie there, eyes shut as the exhaustion kicks in, a small smile on your face when San huffs out a quick 'fuck.' "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just made a mess." You giggle. 

"Too bad I'm not there."

"Don't say things like that or I'll get hard again." You snort, also getting up to clean up and snuggle back into the covers. "Can't wait to get home to you."

"I can't either, babe. Just take it easy, okay? You'll be home soon."

"Soon isn't enough."

—END

He was there for a week before he came back jet-lagged and super tired. He still managed to cater to you despite the things he needed to catch up on, but you honestly felt bad intruding in his space when you're sure he just needed time for himself. With that being said, you didn't see him as much over the following week— allowing him to get back on track before yet another trip and another conference.

You needed him to yourself, and that's all you were asking for.

And you got that; hopefully, with no issues, repercussions or interruptions to come.

"Baby." You turn from the window to face San, his hand giving your thigh a squeeze.

"Hm?" You hum, pulling yourself out of your daze while watching the ocean pass you by.

"You okay?" He smiles a bit, driving with one hand down to the grocery store.

"Mmyeah, sorry. Was just watching the water." He nods, licking his lips as he leans onto the middle console after stopping at a light.

"No worries. Can I just steal a quick kiss?" You giggle, leaning forward to kiss him on the lips. You pull away for a second, only to kiss him again. And again.

And again.

Beep!

"Fucking relax." San says, looking through the rear view mirror. He hits the gas, smirking when he hears you laughing in your seat.

"Woops."

"Gonna get me in trouble." 

"Pay attention, Professor Choi." You tease, lacing your hand with his. His hand is soft, his hand is warm. You give it a soft squeeze, thumb caressing the surface. 

"Can't help it when my lady's in the front seat." He smiles. "Anyway, got a good list of groceries in mind already?"

"Just a couple of things." He nods.

"What do you wanna do tonight? Take a walk near the beach? Party? Explore?"

"Party?" You snort. "You party?"

"I'm really not that old, for your information." You laugh.

"You know, exploring sounds kinda fun." 

"Yeah?" He kisses your knuckles just as he pulls into the parking lot of the plaza, finding a spot near the entrance of the grocery store. "Well, we can explore."

"Stumble into some bars, walk down the lively nightlife streets." He chuckles and slides his hand into yours when the both of you hop out the car and head into the store.

"That does sound fun." He squeezes your hand before grabbing a basket. "So, what did you have in mind?"

"Lots of good snacks." You giggle, leading him towards the snack aisle. "But, I was thinking we could make something for dinner together tomorrow night."

"Yeah, we should. What's on the menu?" You shrug, throwing your favorite chips into his basket, along with your favorite waffle cone snacks.

"Curry, maybe?"

"That sounds really good, baby. Let's do it." You smile up at San before tippy-toeing to give him a kiss on the lips. You continue to roam around the store, throwing in some ingredients into the basket with San, along with some soju. After the two of you have made an entire round around the store and are satisfied, San heads to the cashier to pay. You beg for him to let you cover half and he shakes his head, kissing you on the side of the head for the attempt. You catch his arm flex when he raises the basket onto the belt, causing you to shift your attention to the floor to try and distract yourself. San catches on though, and he chuckles while tapping his card to the reader. You shy behind him, hand loosely in his while he grabs the bags with his other. 

In the car, you pull up a few potential spots to visit tonight. You find that most of the fancy restaurants and fun bars are along the same street, which is pretty close to the hotel and beach. You suggest walking down and around, and San agrees— as long as you're comfortable. You look at him and nod, watching as he drives down to the hotel 15 minutes away; chewing at his gum with his hat strapped on backwards. San is in a casual white tee and black pants, while you've got on an oversized graphic tee and cargos. San booked a hotel that's on the opposite end from the venue, more than willing to do a 45 min drive around to get there just to avoid running into familiar faces and colleagues. It wasn't a huge conference, though. Not a lot of people he knew would be showing up. Still— didn't mean others weren't aware of who he was and he couldn't risk that. He just needed to be with you, in private; away from anything that could ruin it or make you uncomfortable.

When you get to the hotel, San checks in with a breeze before taking your hand and leading the way to the room. He's carrying both of your bags— a duffle slung on each of his shoulders. He taps the keycard on his phone against the reader, pulling the handle down to reveal the suite. You've seen pictures but pictures don't do justice to capture just how beautiful it is in person. It's a small suite, perfect for you two. There's a small living room, a kitchen next to it. There's beautiful barn doors separating the room. The room has a Queen's bed, beautiful white curtains that hide the balcony with the ocean view. The bathroom has a his and hers sink, a stand-in shower just like the one San has at home and a tub next to it. San sets your bags down to the side of the room while you set the ingredients and soju in the fridge, snacks laid out on the counter. San lets out a small sigh as he comes to you, tossing his hat onto the counter before wrapping his arms around you from behind and placing a kiss against your head.

"So, baby." He says lowly from behind, giving you the opportunity to relax in his hold. "Wanna get ready and head back out?"

"You sure you aren't tired?" He smiles when you turn to face him and wrap your arms around his neck.

"No. We can do whatever you want." His hands squeeze at your sides. You tippy-toe to peck him on the lips, hands gently tugging on the ends of his hair sitting on the nape of his neck. He kisses you back for awhile, deepening the kiss just enough to have you to two indulging in each other against the kitchen counter. He lets out a soft, content sigh in between, hand coming up your shirt. 

"Maybe we should—" Kiss. "Get ready." Kiss.

"We should. But, it's not fair now that you've got me all worked up." He whines a bit, causing you to giggle.

"I'm sorry, Sannie." You kiss him one last time. "We can take care of it later, hm?" You smile, pulling out of his grip to head into the bedroom. He watches you walk off, hips swaying as you make your way to your bag before strutting into the bathroom. He does a little head tilt, still in disbelief at how he's got you right here— with him.

He feels lucky. Genuinely happy.

At some point, you and San are both getting ready in the bathroom— you've dressed yourself in a mini cami dress while San has his all white attire on. You're brushing the mascara wand through your lashes, dabbing some blush to your cheeks, swiping the lip gloss across your lips. San is ruffling his hair next to you, trying to style it to his wants until he's satisfied. You look over and peep the silver dog tag necklace hanging from his neck, tan chest exposed through the deep-cut shirt he's wearing.

"What?" He smiles, slightly confused at the way you're staring at him.

"Just looking at your necklace."

"You sure that's it?"

"I mean I could say other things, but I won't start right now." He laughs.

"Chris gave it to me for my birthday."

"It's nice. Looks good on you."

"You think so?" You nod, setting your makeup bag aside. "Doesn't look nearly as good as this dress does on you." He comes behind you, hand gripping your ass.

"Choi San."

"What?" He chuckles. "I mean it." He presses a kiss to your temple. "Ready to go, pretty?" You nod, turning to face him.

"I am."

"Can I have a kiss before we go?"

"My lip gloss." He shrugs.

"I don't care." He gently grips your jaw and tugs you closer. "C'mere." You kiss him, smiling as you pull away and tug on his shirt.

"Let's go." You gently wipe off the excess gloss from the edge of his lips, being the first to pull away and grab your things.

"Yesma'am." San bites onto his lip, following after you. 

And it ultimately leads to one of the best nights you've ever experienced.

San pulls up to a Peruvian restaurant, taking your hand and carefully navigating through the groups of people waiting for a table. He puts his name on the waitlist, telling you it'll be about a 25 minute wait. You respond with a 'no biggie,' leading him up the street to look at the gift shops while waiting. You and San poke around at the shirts, sweaters, magnets and other souvenirs, playfully trying on fun, festive hats and headbands before purchasing a few items for your mom and friends. You move onto the next store, in hopes of killing the last 10 minutes of the wait in there. It's a cute and quaint jewelry shop, one owned by a sweet middle-aged lady who sits on a high stool behind the counter. She greets you and San, her eyes twinkling when she sees you both stroll in happily into her store. You slowly browse along the glass containers, your eyes instantly fall onto a dainty, silver layered butterfly necklace sitting in the far corner. 

"I was hoping you'd look at that one." She says. "I think it'd be perfect on you."

"Wouldn't it be?" San comes from behind. "Is it okay if we take a closer look at it?" She nods, pulling it out of the glass case and onto the surface.

"It's so pretty."

"There's only one other shop that sells this necklace. It's simple, but I think it brings out some joy in people. Butterflies are meaningful." She adds.

"They are. My grandma loved butterflies. We'd always take her to the butterfly garden near her home for her birthday."

"It really would be perfect on you." San whispers as he dips closer to the side of your face. He sees the way your eyes light up, causing his heart to soar. He immediately turns to the lady and flashes his dimpled smile, his arm around your waist. "Do you think I can take it off of your hands?" 

"Certainly—"

"San." You pout. "You don't have to—"

"I do." Is all he says, sliding his card over to the sweet lady just as she gently takes it off of its display and lays it down. It's not expensive, but not inexpensive; yet, San doesn't care much for it because all that mattered to him was the way your eyes glowed and the way your smile filled the room.

"I'm assuming you'd like to wear it out?" San nods.

"Yeah, she will." She hands him his receipt to sign off on before handing him his card.

"Enjoy." You smile at her as San slips his card back into his wallet and carefully pries the necklace out of the container. When you get to the front of the store, San stops you to help you get the necklace on.

"Baby, let me put this on."

"Thank you, Sannie." Your eyes sparkle at the necklace in his hand, his smile growing by the minute as he comes behind you to slip it on.

"It's perfect." He gently caresses your chin before he's distracted by his phone buzzing. "Also, perfect timing?" He flashes his phone towards you. "Our table's ready." You simply smile up at him, letting him lead you back down to the restaurant. Once he's checked back in, the host brings you to a table in the dim, far corner of the restaurant— away from the entrance, away from the high traffic. It's a small booth, cozy and intimate enough for you and San.

You begin skimming through the menu, chiming in about certain plates you wanna try. You and San decide on a few main courses to share, along with dessert. He's quick to call the waitress over to place the order, also putting in an order of cocktails for you two to indulge in while waiting. San talks to you about future plans and how things have been going on his end [grants, his progress with Jongho on that new building]. He's trying his best to not talk about school and work but there are things he just feels the need to tell you, knowing you'd support him and cheer him on when he needs it the most. But, at some point, the conversation gets interrupted when a call from Jiung comes flashing through your screen.

"Do you wanna get that, sweetheart?" You shake your head and let the call go to voicemail.

"It's okay. I'll tell him I'll call him back later or something."

"You sure?"

"Positive, San." You give him a reassuring smile. "I can always catch up with him." He nods. "You were saying? About Jongho and Namjoon?"

"Right, yeah." He chuckles a bit. "Namjoon's been talking to the dean and he seems to be onboard with giving us some real estate in the new building to start a program. I think they're still discussing, but it sounds like as long as we do yearly symposiums and update him on the progress of how things are going, it should be good."

"That sounds amazing! I mean, I always knew you and Jongho would be able to push it forward." He does a slight head tilt.

"Well, baby. I don't know if it's us or Namjoon." You laugh.

"Namjoon wouldn't be able to make a valid case if you two weren't doing great work."

"True. I think it'll be able to help bridge a lot of future collaborations, especially in different departments. Like Zara's, Applied Physics." You quietly sip on your cocktail and nod, taking a big gulp to [hopefully] swallow down the question you want to ask, the question you're so curious about. San catches on quick, though. He sips on his cocktail and furrows his brows slightly, trying his best to read you from his seat. "What're you thinking about?"

"Huh? Nothing."

"Angel." He laughs a bit. "I told you you could ask me anything, remember?" You sigh and give him a look before caving.

"So, have your friends been trying to hook you up with her?"

"Zara?" You nod. "Yeah. I'm not gonna lie."

"Hm." You hum.

"But, we're just colleagues, love. Nothing else."

"They think you two make a good pair."

"I don't. We're good as colleagues, and quite frankly, I never really saw her in any other way since the beginning." Silence. "What's on your mind, hm?"

"I just tend to overthink, that's all. She's a professor, too. She's the same age as you, on the same kind of path. Has life figured out and is pretty set. Pretty. What if you realize we aren't a good pair and you two actually are?" He shakes his head.

"Babe— baby. I'm gonna have to stop you right there, okay? That's not gonna happen or else I wouldn't have pursued this if I knew I wasn't set on this. If I had any doubts about us or what was going on between us, I wouldn't have continued. I'm not like that. I would never do that to you." He looks at you and you can't help but give him a tiny, toothless smile; feeling reassured from the way he looks at you alone.

Like you've hung up the stars in the sky.

"I trust you." Is all you manage to say.

"Good." He grabs your hand and places a kiss on your knuckles. "I don't want you to worry. Let's enjoy ourselves tonight." You nod. 

As dinner progresses, you and San talk endlessly about life, family and stories from the past. You talk about what your friends have been up to, what your mom has been texting you about, new shows and books you've been trying to get into and San always listens so intently. Dinner lasts for about 2.5 hours before you're two cocktails deep and heading out of the restaurant to the bar just further down the street. This time, you lead for the rest of the night. You take San's hand and follow the loud music, the crowd. You fall into the bar, already bouncing to the beat with San close behind you. You order a few shots from the bartender, San giving you a look as he whispers in your ear about how good you look glowing under the dim light, how good you look happy. San takes the shots with you, ending up on the dance floor with you. Everyone else around you seems too intoxicated to care about their surroundings; too intoxicated, too happy enjoying the moment. And surprisingly, San is, too. He holds you close as the song blasts through the bar, gripping your hips as you work your ass against him. He keeps up with your rhythm well as he dances along, playfully turning you to face him so he could praise you in your ear while he squeezes at your ass.

You're not sure this man lacks in anything, and it's crazy to call him yours.

But, he is. 

He is, he is.

You and San spend a good hour at the bar before you walk over to the beach and stumble your way back into the hotel from the back entrance. The both of you are still in good spirits despite the exhaustion slowly creeping up, laughing and joking with each other until you've finally made it back inside the room. 

"That was fun." He smiles, pulling you flush against him before cupping your cheeks and kissing you on the lips. "Thank you, baby." He thanks you because he's not sure he's felt this alive in a long, long time. Even though he had his good moments with Iseul, he can say their relationship was never that spontaneous. They kept within routine a lot, did the usual things with their friends a lot. Iseul wouldn't dare take him down the street into a random bar to take shots and dance the night away while out of town.

Everything about you was so good, so different, so good to be true. But, you were all his and he was all yours.

He wishes he could stay here with you, in this moment. With no worries about school, work, the outside world. People.

"No, thank you." You smile sweetly at him, but he can't admire it for long when his phone buzzes in his pocket despite it being on do not disturb.

jongho: can i call you real quick? sorry, kinda urgent but i won't take up much of your time.

san: yeah, sure.

"I'm sorry baby, I have to take this." He flashes the screen, showing Jongho's name come up. "Real quick."

"No worries." You chuckle. "I'll clean up around here." He nods, walking off.

"Yo." San picks up the call while he decides to stand outside on the balcony.

"Aye. Where have you been? I sent you some emails but it's been crickets." Jongho asks.

"My bad. I told you I was going to the Baskin Conference."

"Oh, you actually went? I thought you were still thinking about it."

"No. What's up?"

"Are you alone?"

"Why?"

"Okay." Jongho chuckles. "Anyway, I was just wondering where you were at since I haven't seen you and heard from you. I received a 'just in time' email for the new proposal we worked on. Might be good to start getting our approvals together for it so we can get the grant awarded ASAP." San nods, relaxing when he feels you wrap your arms around him from behind. He turns to face you, one arm coming around you while you look up at him; other hand still occupied with holding the phone to his ear. San watches you carefully as you lay random, soft kisses against his jaw and silently giggle— teasing him in the same manner that drives him crazy.

"That's great news, actually! Kinda been bombing out some of the grants I have right now and have yet to renew some of them." Jongho laughs loudly.

"Yeah, same."

"I'll prioritize it and get it done when I get back."

"Sounds good. I've already looped in the others in that email to get it started."

"Thanks."

"Enjoy yourself down there." Pause. "And San?"

"Yeah?"

"Please be careful with her." 

"I'll talk to you when I get back." San hangs up the call and slips his phone into his pocket, smirking when he finally gets to hold you close. "And what do you think you're doing, hm?"

"Just wanted your attention." You pout. 

"You always have my attention, angel. There's no doubt about that." You bite your lip and tippy-toe to kiss him, pressing yourself flush against his body while you deepen the kiss. You feel him hardening against you, causing you to moan into his mouth. He briefly pulls back, smiling down at you as his hand travels down and beneath your dress— fingers teasing at the edge of your panties. "Think you can keep quiet for me?" Your breathing hitches when his fingers dip beneath the material and start slowly rubbing at your clit. He keeps his eyes on you the entire time, watching the way you let out silent moans even as he finally slips two fingers inside of you.

"Babe—"

"Shh." He shushes you with a smile. "Don't worry about anyone." He says, expertly hiding your figure in front of his, keeping you at an angle behind the decorative pots and plants sitting on the balcony for aesthetics. "Just let me take care of you." He grazes his lips against yours, indulging in the way you quietly whine against him, indulging in the way your slickness covers his digits.

You're dripping.

He picks up the pace as he tries to quietly [and subtly] finger fuck you on the balcony, enjoying the way your head tilts back in pleasure, giving him access to the surface of your neck for small little kisses, love bites that aren't so obvious to the naked eye.

"So close— so good." You moan softly against his lips, trying to keep yourself as quiet as possible on this balcony, threatening to tip over the edge any second now. "I'm gonna—"

"Mm, I don't think so, love." He teases when he feels you clench around his fingers.

"Wanna cum, San. Please." You beg and San smirks. He removes his digits from inside of you, letting out an evil [and fucked up] chuckle. "Sannie." You whine, feeling needy and so incredibly weak at how he stripped you of your orgasm. You needed him, badly. You craved him, badly. "I need to—"

"And you will. Just not now." He teases. "Open for me." He says, slipping his two digits into your mouth to watch you suck on your own juices— tongue swirling around his pretty fingers. "Taste good, baby?" You nod so innocently. "That's my good girl. I'll make the wait worthwhile, hm?" He grips your jaw as he talks lowly near your ear. He begins to trail kisses from your jawline down to your neck, tongue swiping across the surface before nibbling and sucking ever so gently. As much as he'd love to paint your skin with all those marks, he knows he shouldn't.

"San, please." You beg again, hands tangled in the ends of his hair as he continues to kiss your neck in all the right spots. San is pressed up against you, and you can feel his hard, aching cock against your thigh. Your hand comes down to give it a feel, a quick squeeze, before he's letting out a low, breathy moan against your skin.

"Bed. Now." He demands, letting you lead the way to the bedroom;

A trail of clothes following suit.

Shirt gone. Pants gone. Dress gone.

Boxers off to the side. Panties somewhere in the room.

Balcony door still wide the fuck open.

He gets you situated on the edge of the bed, keeping your legs cocked open for him as he dives right in to get a taste of you. He swipes his tongue up, teasing your clit before sucking gently. He continues to lap away at your heat— expertly tonguing your folds in between and teasing your entrance. At some point, he slips in a digit; finger fucking you while he watches you writhe from his angle. You let out his name a few times, your moaning and begging sounding like pure music to his ears.

"Wanna cum for me?" You nod, eager to unravel and snap in his hold. "You've been good, baby. Go ahead and cum for me."

"Fuck— please." He spits on your pussy and continues to suck away at your clit; allowing you to grip his head with slight force as you keep him in his position and grind against his mouth, his tongue. "Oh shit—" You mewl, yelling his name shortly after as you come undone— body twitching as your orgasm hits you like a wave. San continues to latch on until your body settles, releasing himself from in between your thighs to hover over you and plant a trail of gentle kisses up your stomach;

Chest.

Neck.

Until he meets your lips in a deep, heated kiss. His hand comes up to cup your breast, thumb toying with your nipple while you respond to his touch. You lazily stroke him while he continues to kiss you, letting out low groans in between.

"Turn around for me, sweetheart." He whispers against your lips, gently biting down on your bottom lip and pulling back. You do as you're told, flipping onto your tummy as San presses you down against the mattress— ass up and backed up against him. He runs his hand down your back, pressing feathery kisses against the surface before slowly stroking himself and lining up at your entrance. He eases himself in, the both of you letting out loud moans that fill the room; probably echoing out into the balcony. He buries himself to the hilt before working at a slower pace, hands gripping your hips while he adjusts to the feeling of you wrapped tightly around him. He watches his cock slip in and out of you, your slickness coating his length. He hisses at the sight, head tilting back in pure pleasure as he finally begins to pound into you.

"That's my fucking good girl." He presses you down into the mattress, keeping your ass up against him. You continue to moan loudly, San giving your ass a loud smack as he continues to thrust into you roughly. "Tell me— whose pussy is this?"

"Yours."

"Louder, baby. Tell me whose is it."

"Yours!" You cry, San groaning behind you as he gives your ass another smack.

"Fuck, that's right." He groans. "So perfect, angel. You're all mine." He tugs on your hair and pulls you back towards him slightly, giving him leverage to moan praises in your ear as he continues to fuck into you. "Want you to ride me, can you do that for me, sweetheart?" You nod in between your whines, desperate to do anything for your man—

Desperate to feel him in any way, desperate to tip over the edge and come undone.

Suddenly, San pulls himself out and you feel empty. He lays back on the bed, resting against the headboard as he has you climb ontop and face the balcony doors. 

"Yeah, baby. Like that." He moans lowly while you instantly start to work him at a steady pace, eager to fill this ache in your core. "Always know how to ride me— made for me." He praises from behind as you swirl your hips around and bounce on his cock like no tomorrow. The new angle works in your favor deliciously; his perfectly thick cock rubbing against your walls and knocking his tip right at that delicate spot that always has you spiraling. You call his name out like a mantra as your hips work faster, sloppier.

You don't think you can hold on any longer.

"Mm— feels too good—San." Your moans are broken, breathing irregular. San knows you're close. "Can I cum?" You whimper, no longer able to hold back. "Wanna cum for you again." You plead cutely.

"Yes you can, love. Look at you, so pretty riding me." He praises you. "I'm getting there, just—fuck— keep doing that." He watches the way your ass bounces on him, relishing in the way your walls tighten around him. "Doing so well."

He'll snap.

"Sannie—" Everything feels like a blur, like white noise, when your orgasm comes crashing down on you in one swift motion. Your moan bounces off the walls as you still in his grip and ride out your orgasm; San fucking up into you to chase his own high shortly afterwards.

"Oh shit—" San's face contorts in pleasure, brows knitting tightly as he shoots his cum into you. "Shit." He repeats in between low groans, his fingers digging into your flesh as he releases every last drop inside of you. Cum damn near dripping out of your pussy.

"Oh my god." You pant, finally able to come to your senses post-orgasm. You give yourself a minute before carefully climbing off, giggling at San's fucked out look. You kiss him sweetly on the lips, continuing a string of tiny repeated kisses before you gain energy to head to the shower. "Gonna wash up if you wanna join me?" San smirks as he watches you head into the shower and turn the water on. He sighs before hopping off the bed and following suit, slipping into the shower right behind you. At first, it starts off sweet; San carefully taking his time with massaging the shampoo and conditioner in your hair and vice versa in between sharing deep, heated kisses.

His hands roam up your body, sweet touches and gentle moves— just to take you again in the shower; your back pressed against the cold wall, his arm hooked under your leg to prop it up while he fucks up into you harshly, roughly.

His name being called over, and over, and over again; just the way he likes it. Making you cum over, and over, and over again; just the way he likes it.

Because you are his, and he is yours.

The next morning comes, and you're awaken by San's soft hand slowly rubbing up your back along with his soft kisses to your bare shoulder. The sun is beaming through the balcony doors, providing extra warmth as San cuddles close to you.

"Wake up." He whispers in your ear, still continuing his motions on your back.

"I'm so tired." You mumble into the pillow, causing San to chuckle.

"Let's get breakfast before the conference."

"Is it really time already?"

"Mhm." He hums in a sing-song tone, now gently massaging your back.

"Can't we just stay like this?"

"You know I'd want that more than anything." He gives you a kiss to the head before dragging his body out of the sheets and into the bathroom. You stretch and fully wake yourself up, grabbing San's button-up from the nearby chair and slipping it on. You continue with your normal morning routine— the only difference this time is having San around, which makes things feel a little more complete. Once you've both gotten yourselves together, San is in a plain black tee and black jeans, glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose; you're in a simple get-up of a tight, white tee, dark jeans, an oversized blazer and boots. The two of you add finishing touches to hair or makeup before cleaning up around the room and heading downstairs to the next door restaurant for brunch. It's still pretty early, so you and San were sat immediately at a table on the back patio, facing the beach.

"This is pretty." You look out at the view. "It's perfect weather today."

"Yeah, it is." He flips through the menu. "You already know what you want, baby?"

"Mhm." You giggle. "I checked out the menu earlier." He laughs.

"Course."

"You ready to lead one of the panel discussions later?" He smiles.

"Uh, I'd say I'm way more relaxed knowing I don't have to prepare anything in advance." You nod. "What're you gonna do?"

"Listen in. Visit some posters after."

"Good thing my panel discussion is early. I actually don't plan on staying long unless you do." 

"No. I only came for you, remember?" You tease. "I'm surprised they still managed to slip you into the conference somehow even though you confirmed last minute. You're so wanted, Professor Choi." He shakes his head. Suddenly, your phone starts blaring off to the side, your eyes darting straight down to the caller ID flashing on the screen.

Jiung.

That's right. 

You said you'd call him back.

"You should get that, love." You silently nod, swiping to answer the call. 

"Hey."

"Okay, well. At least you're alive."

"Jiung." You whine a bit. "I'm sorry, I forgot."

"Bro." Jiung chuckles a bit, though kinda disappointed he hasn't been able to spend time with his bestfriend or even talk to you like before. You feel busy, but too distant, and Jiung isn't sure how to feel about it. "Where have you been? You're always so busy now. I was lowkey expecting you to call back last night but you didn't even do that when you usually do." You fiddle with the hem of your shirt before letting out a small sigh.

"I'm sorry. I know. It's just been crazy hectic, but I promise I'll do better, okay?" San looks at you from where he's sitting, slight concern crossing his expression.

"It's not that. Sorry— I just miss being able to hang out with you like before. You feel so distant even though you're right there."

—FLASHBACK

"Ayooooo!" Sunwoo says, running into Jiung near the Harvey Center. He gives him a dap and pulls him in for a hug, pausing in his steps to catch up with him for a quick minute. "What's up? Crazy I've barely ran into you all this time."

"Aye." Jiung laughs. "How's everything been?"

"Dude, pretty busy. But, I think Y/N and I have gotten some really good data to work off of for her rotation update and for the upcoming review cycles for the paper."

"That's awesome, I'm glad."

"How're things in Jongho's lab?"

"Constantly moving, you know how it is." He nods in agreement. "But making progress for my own rotation update, too."

"Sick. Proud of you." Sunwoo nods. "When is Y/N coming back from the conference?"

"I'm not sure actually. Probably Monday or Tuesday."

"I feel like I've barely seen her even though we're in the same lab." Jiung cocks his head to the side.

"Don't you guys work on behavior together?"

"Uh, for awhile, she's been working on her own schedule and catches me up later on. We only meet if we need to, like to go over data or if something goes wrong elsewhere."

"But, I thought you guys have been working late nights? She always says she's running off to the lab for the mice or behavior work." Sunwoo shrugs.

"Sorry dude, beats me. She hasn't been in the lab late at night for awhile. Our mice have been fine and we're wrapping up this cohort."

"Huh." Jiung says audibly, even though he meant it for himself.

"Yeah. She left for the Baskin Conference hella quick. I didn't even see her at NAS."

"Wait, really? I thought—" It's Sunwoo's turn to look confused. "Nevermind. I thought she saw you."

"Nah, she said she was busy with you guys all week!"

"So, she didn't sleep at yours or Belle's room?" Sunwoo tilts his head.

"Bruh, what? No." He laughs. "She definitely wasn't with us, so I'm not sure who she was with."

"I see." Jiung nods slowly. "Yeah, I guess it's just been hectic for her."

"I bet. I remember rotation days." He chuckles. "Anyway, gotta run. It was nice catching up for a quick minute." Jiung nods before parting ways. He lets out a breath, running his hand through his hair as he pulls out his phone.

He pauses.

What the fuck was he even gonna ask? How was he even gonna ask? While you're away, too?

What is even going through his mind right now?

"Ugh." Jiung groans, pulling up Felix's number to see if he's around, hoping it'll get his mind off of things until he can cohesively gather his thoughts. Meanwhile, Zara and Jongho are sitting at a table outside, waiting for the rest of the group to trickle in for lunch. Zara is having a fun, light conversation with Jongho about future lab plans just as Jiung crosses over. With Jiung passing the café, Zara suddenly gets triggered to ask the most pressing question she's had since the NAS conference. And Jongho senses it too, because by the time she shifts her attention back to him, he's already cocking a brow up.

"Jongho."

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?" 

"Sure? I might have an answer."

"San." Jongho smirks a bit as he sips on his iced americano.

"Ew." He laughs in his usual Jongho fashion, causing Zara to giggle shyly at her attempts of hiding her crush on his bestfriend. "Kidding. What about him?"

"Actually, now I'm kinda shy."

"No, you already put it out there so you have to ask now." Jongho chuckles.

"Has he been seeing anyone recently?" He takes a sip and sits back, letting out a sigh.

"You know, to be honest. I can't say for sure, but I think he is." He looks at her and can physically see the hope leaving her body. She's sad, and she has a right to be. Mingi tried his best to set them up and for a split second, it seemed like it could work.

Obviously, it didn't.

"I'm sorry, Zara. I know that's not what you wanna hear, but I have to be honest so that you don't get hurt. I think whatever your gut has been telling you is right."

"Is it too much to ask who? Like are they from here?" He shrugs.

"That asshole hasn't told me much lately." She laughs, and Jongho feels relieved he can at least cheer her up amidst the news. 

He knows. 

He knows exactly who it is and how long it's been. San didn't have to tell him, but he could have at least let her know he wasn't interested. Fucking Choi San. 

"It's fine. It shouldn't matter anyway, he seems to be happy."

"Yeah." Jongho adds. "Yeah, he does."

"And I just hope he's doing the right thing." Jongho looks at her without saying much besides a simple nod. 

Maybe, she knows too.

—END

"I know." Silence. "I'll make up for it when I get back."

"All good. I just hadda get it off of my chest."

"We'll plan things like the old days, k?"

"When are you getting back, anyway?"

"Tomorrow evening. Late."

"Hm, okay. Are you enjoying your stay at least?"

"I am, it's really nice here."

"That's good. Enjoy yourself there, but be safe, please."

"I will."

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Are you sure you are?" What he really means to say is 'i know you haven't been telling the truth and i just wanna know why.'

"I am, Jiung. I promise."

"Did you see anyone there, by the way? Any familiar faces? Professors?" You furrow your brows at the random question.

"Hm, no. Not yet, at least. I've been staying at a hotel that's a little farther out."

"Oh. Why? Was it cheaper?"

"Mhm." You respond just to brush off the topic.

"I heard Professor Choi was gonna be there, though!"

"Mm. I think it might've been mentioned by him in passing." Jiung fiddles with the hem of his shirt while he listens to the awkward silence on the other line, trying to figure out what exactly he's trying to hear from you. He remembers Jurin mentioning that she saw you with Professor Choi at the bar and she jokingly teased about it. And Jiung laughed it off. But, now he doesn't think it's a joke anymore. Cause everything within him is pointing to something he thinks is entirely off, entirely wrong. Unreal.

Unacceptable.

But, the pieces to the puzzle are slowly being put together and he swears he can't ignore the feeling in his gut. What exactly is it trying to tell him?

That it's true?

He doesn't want it to be, and for once, he hopes he's fucking wrong.

"Alright, well. I'll let you be." He yawns. "I'm about to go out for a run."

"Be safe."

"Text me when you get home, please?"

"I will."

"Is.. everything okay?" You sigh and set your phone aside.

"Yeah, it's just Jiung. We've always been close and we've always spent a lot of time together so he was just wondering where I've been."

"I'm sorry, baby."

"No, you don't have to say sorry. I just have to be better about my time and spending more time with my friends. Kinda hard when you have a hot bf." He snorts.

"But, you should spend more time with them. I'm not going anywhere so don't worry about me."

"It's on me."

"You think they know who you've been spending time with?" He smirks just as the waitress comes to set down the food. San gives her a quick nod of appreciation before returning his attention to you.

"I don't think so."

"Even Jiung?"

"Doubt it." You start digging into your food.

"Can I ask you one more thing, angel?" You look up at him and nod, chewing your food. "Have you ever thought Jiung liked you as more than a friend?"

"No way." He cocks a brow up as he eats.

"You sure?"

"I'm so sure, Sannie."

"I'm genuinely just curious. He seems to really care about you."

"And I do, too. But, we do as friends."

"Fair enough." Is all San says. He's not entirely bothered by it, but at the same time, he is. Because he knows they'll find out one day. He knows the relationship won't always be a secret to your friends. He's just not sure what that means when it comes to Jiung and how much of a voice he'll be in your ear. Would he try to convince you that San doesn't care about you? Would he try to convince you that all of this was incredibly wrong? Force you to face the facts and wake the hell up?

He brushes the thoughts away when you start talking about your mom and how you plan to see her next weekend. The conversation goes down the rabbit hole— the two of you exchanging more childhood stories and memories.

When breakfast is done, you and San drive over to the venue for the conference. The session for the panel discussion he's participating in starts right after the first talk of the conference. When he pulls up to the venue, he luckily finds a spot at the back end, far corner. It's a bit of a walk to the main entrance, and San is having to walk in first since he needs to check in and head straight to the mic room for audio testing and a quick run down of what to expect. You trail in a few minutes after, checking in as a regular guest and grabbing the agenda on your way into the main conference room where all the talks and poster sessions would be taking place.

You don't see any familiar faces or professors you personally know, which allows you to release a breath of relief. You settle into a seat as the first speaker gets introduced and settled onto the stage, the crew bringing up her presentation on the projector. San is sitting off to the side with two other people— names you are slightly familiar with, but haven't done much research on their work or what they've been up to. Everyone around you is dressed in business casual attire as well, taking notes as she continues to go through her 20 minute presentation. Once the 20 mins breezes on by, the host kicks off the 10 min discussion session that starts off with San highlighting some of her data. It does spark a lively conversation between the panelists and the crowd, a few people raising their hands for quick questions. 

After her session finishes, the host introduces the next talk that follows the same format, then the last of the session. It's about a good hour and a half, shy over a few minutes, that they conclude session one and adjourn for a break before session two. You head to the opposite end of the room to see the posters up at this time, pausing at a few and jotting down some notes for Belle and Sunwoo. You know they'd be interested in hearing your findings, and you've already stumbled across some intriguing projects in the 15 minutes you've walked down the aisle. As session two kicks off, you continue to observe the rest of the posters, spotting San in the crowd speaking to a small group of people around him. You watch him for a little, adoring the way he flawlessly pulls people in and charms them with his signature, dimpled smile. He has a hand in his pocket, cup of coffee in the other hand.

It's definitely black coffee and you can't help but wince a little to yourself knowing he's happily sipping that.

And, somehow, he always manages to catch you. Just as you're about to turn and finish up with the posters, he meets your gaze and gives you a tiny smile. His eyes linger on you for a little longer before he returns his attention to the group, causing the heat to rise to your cheeks as you pass through the remaining presenters.

san: wanna head out after session 3?

you: damn already? 🤣

san: baby? lol.

san: i meant it when i said i wasn't trying to stay long. 🥹

san: i just wanna get out of here and spend more time with you before we have to fly back.

you: mkay, lover boy. hahaha

san: come meet me by the ballroom entrance, we can find a seat together once session 2 wraps up.

you: okay, professor!

You do as you're told, meeting San by the entrance. You stick by his side as you wait for session two to wrap up, proceeding to the free seats near the left side of the room. The both of you keep it strictly professional as others settle around you, only really discussing things like your findings from the poster session or his panel discussion.

No one bats an eye.

Meanwhile, Yunho walks into lobby and struts into the conference late. He rushed over from a prior commitment, only deciding to join the conference since he was already in the area. Session 3 is about to end, but Yunho is at the back, greeting those around him quietly before taking a moment to stroll down the posters. He asks a few questions, engages with a few presenters before running into other familiar faces and conversing with them. He follows them over to the finger foods that have been set out for lunch, grabbing some quick bites to nibble on. At some point, he hurries off to the bathroom to release himself and quickly freshen up— already pretty exhausted from his day, and it's barely past lunch time. 

When Yunho exits the bathroom, he has to pause in his steps when he does a double-take after hearing the side back door shut and catches you with San. The two of you are leaving the venue— his hand on the small of your back while he hurriedly guides you to the passenger's seat of his car near the back end of the lot. Yunho continues to watch as San slips into the front seat, swallowing the lump in this throat as he pulls out and drives off.

Now, Yunho feels the conflict bubbling within him cause he didn't want to be right.

Yet, he is.

And it can't be good for anybody.

"Hey." Yunho answers the call [coincidentally] coming in from his wife. He sets down the hall, eyes still peering out into the lot as if he can see more of you and San. He clearly doesn't, but it doesn't make the feeling in his stomach settle.

"Hey! How's the conference going?"

"It's going well! Nothing too crazy." Is all he manages to say, which catches Iseul off guard. He's typically one to say more, so him holding back feels weird to her.

"You sure it's going well? You sound pretty quiet."

"Yeah, uh. It's nothing."

"Love." He sighs, silently greeting familiar faces before excusing himself to the corner of the lobby where it's a little quieter.

"I just don't know how to explain what I saw."

"Try?"

"San's here with Y/N, my TA."

"Okay? She's rotating in his lab, right? People meet up with their students all the time, I don't get it?"

"No, baby. Listen. I think he's here.. with her." There's a small pause before Iseul speaks up again. 

"Are you sure? Cause that's a pretty bold assumption. You know something like that is serious and can cause a lot of issues."

"I don't know. I can't say, but I'm just feeling weird about it. I did see them together at NAS, too. Saw them getting kinda close with each other, away from the crowd." Yunho just briefly remembers running into you and San on his way out of the bathroom. The two of you had been standing off to the side in a far corner, sipping on some water while talking. San was standing in close proximity to you, smiling down at you almost like—

There was fondness in his eyes, some kind of awe and admiration for you. 

Yunho and San haven't talked in years, but he still knows what that look is. He's seen it before.

Starting with the symposium. 

"Yunho, why don't you talk to Namjoon?"

"No, no." He shakes his head as he continues to pace around the same corner. "Not gonna do that right now cause what if I'm entirely wrong? I don't have any other concrete facts besides what I saw. What if he's just offering her a ride?"

"I mean, that could mean something or nothing at all. Were they just walking alongside of each other or..?"

"Uh, no." He scratches at his temple. "He had his hand on her back and guided her to the car."

"Okay, so it's something. You should talk to Namjoon." He shakes his head— torn between doing what's right versus what's wrong; aka letting San be happy despite how fucked up all of that is on the surface level.

"I, yeah— Anyway, that's all. Enough about that, I'll figure it out." Iseul sighs. "Conference is good though, seeing more familiar faces than I did at NAS."

"Hm." Iseul hums, now thinking about the idea of San potentially dating a student. She doesn't try to meddle though because both her and Yunho don't have much to work with. And although her and San don't get along, she doesn't wanna cause any more trouble for him. "That's good, honey."

Yet, at the same time, there's no way she can let this be now. Yunho opened that door and they're here.

If she needs to help him figure it out, then that's exactly what she'll do.

—read 9.5 here

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling

[duck-a-doodle]

COD IMAGINES

TACTICAL CUDDLE BUG 3/4 Chapters 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

TF141!reader x 141

Masterlist

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

The most serious member of the 141 is secretly a very affectionate person.

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

You had half the mind to dig yourself a grave and jump in with all the other skeletons in your closet. Over the last two weeks, you have been christened 'cuddle bug', 'koala', and now 'cub'.

After the first two times you had let yourself be that vulnerable before your team, Johnny would consistently open up his arms and wiggle his brows at you, offering himself up as a body pillow for you to cuddle. You turned him down to his mild disappointment, but the teasing does not stop.

Whenever the Captain was silent with fury, Gaz would come up behind you and go, "how 'bout you give him a hug? I bet he'd be in less of a mood after that."

And when you sparred with Ghost, he'd tell you, "don't go falling asleep on me now, cub."

The jibing died down after a while until all of you went to a pub to watch a game after a mission, and all of you sat on the bar stools.

You were following the game just fine from the telly, and being able to enjoy yourself for the first time in a while, you decided that a having little more to drink would be safe.

Deeper into the game, Ghost, Gaz and Price had sat themselves in a rounded booth seat while you remained with Johnny at the stools by the bartender, ordering more cocktails and beer.

Now, the 141 were glad that you trusted them enough to drink with them, but they had not anticipated for you to reveal that night that you were an affectionate drunk.

They were initially under the impression that you were a sleepy drunk, until you slid off the bar seat and shuffled yourself onto Gaz's side of the couch, proceeding to wrap your arms around his stomach with your legs splaying out under the table. And there you rest, with your forehead resting on the edge of his shoulder

"Ah shite, sorry Cap, I thought the bugger looked o'lrighte."

"I thought our sergeant was sleeping at the bar?"

"Well, yes, ah mean no. Ah was messin' with the bugger when ah said ter give Gaz some love, how's ah supposed ter know it'd work?"

"I'm fine Captain", you mumbled into Gaz's shoulder.

"Think the cub's tellin' the truth," Ghost teased from behind his glass of beer. "I think Gaz could use a tighter hug, eh?" He added, and Gaz shot him an exasperated look.

"Ghost, please- Bug? Oh no, wait, hey-"

Too late. You have clumsily but somehow very quickly rearranged your limbs, and in a tangle of arms and feet, you end up with your legs on either side of his lap and your hands reaching around his wide shoulders as best as you could.

"Ghost." He grumbles, resigned, letting you sleep comfortably into his red, cotton Henley. Johnny pulled out his phone and began collecting evidence. "Johnny." Gaz berated with a pointed look, but that was not about to stop him. In fact, the Captain joined in on the blackmail.

"Price," he sighed, now victim to the onslaught of three blackmailers and one very comfortable cuddle bug.

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

A/N: Gaz has to carry your body out of the bar because you looked way too comfortable and he is simply too soft of a man to wake you up.

[reiderwriter]

Satisfaction Feels Like a Distant Memory

Chapter Three of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Your mounting attraction to Spencer Reid pushes you to the edge, turning begrudging friendship to deep hatred when he finally shows up on your doorstep. He's the only thing that can out you out of your misery even as you sink further into it.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, hate sex, rough sex, argument as foreplay, oral (f recieving) and face fucking, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, forced orgasms, "forced" submission, creampie, p in v penetrative sex, etc.

A/N: I've had about as much sleep as the reader in this fic has for the last week, but HERE IT IS! Chapter Three 🥰 You may need a bottle of water on standby, or at least a hand fan, because this one gets a bit heated....

Masterlist || Add yourself to the taglist!

You hesitated in front of your office door, which you supposed was going to become a bad habit of yours now. You tried lying to yourself, that nothing was different now, that you weren't attracted to him in a completely stupid way, but you still stood frozen in front of your own office door. 

Frozen and horny. 

Shit. 

You mentally went through a list of the worst things that could happen if you went in. 

1. He was there. 

2. He wasn't there. 

3. He was there, and he touched you again, and you moaned. 

4. He was there, and he didn't touch you again, but you still moaned. 

5. He was there, and you threw yourself at him immediately because why wouldn't you when you'd seen what you could be working with the night before? Fuck moaning once, moaning multiple times as he pushed you against the bookshelf would- 

“Are you gonna go in, or are you just going to fondle the door handle?” He asked from behind you. From too close behind you. 

You turned, keeping the doorknob in your grin, and immediately flattened yourself against the door as he took a step closer. 

So close. He was so fucking close and it was suddenly all you could think of. 

“W-What?”

“You know, the CDC warns that door handles should be washed every 20 to 40 hours To prevent bacteria like Escherchia coli and Staphylococcus aureus from-” You ignored his words, drowning everything else out as you tried to dampen the fire burning under your skin.

“Cock?” You said, all attempts obviously not working. 

“Staphylococcus, yes. It can cause Adenovirus, Rhinovirus, not to mention-” 

“Okay! Okay, Spencer. Taking my hand off the handle now.” 

Finally, you twisted it and walked backwards into your room, walking backwards a few steps before your foot caught on a stray pile of books. 

“What the-” you cried, waiting for the impact of your landing as you swung out your arms frantically for purchase, screwing your eyes shut as you found none. 

Instead, you found an arm snaked around your waist, another wrapping your hip tight as Spencer Reid cradled your body to his own. 

“Thanks,” you breathed out, not even hearing the words yourself for how much air was in them. How was it possible to expel air and hold your breath at the same time? Because that was how it felt being in his arms: at once a sigh and a stopping of all bodily functions barring want. 

“I thought this was your office, Y/N. Surely you should know the layout by now.”

Moment over. You pushed at his chest to stand upright, and he stepped backwards, removing his hands from your person. 

“Very funny. We both know these are your books. Setting traps for me now, Spencer?” 

You moved around the piles of books again as he flicked the light switch, moving the opposite way around your desks, before meeting you again next to yours. 

“You're usually more observant than this. Is there something wrong today?” 

“What, like Adenovirus or Rhinovirus?” 

“No, like something…” he searched for the right words, pace slowing as he tried not to scare you away by talking with you like this.

“Like something on your mind.” 

You snorted, leaning down to switch on your computer, and also to avoid his eye contact. Unfortunately, academic curiosity had gotten to you in the last few weeks, and you'd read some of his psychological papers. You knew exactly what it was the BAU was apparently so good at, and you didn't want him to know that you'd imagined him balls deep in you hours before. 

“Not friends, Spencer. If there's something I need to talk about, I'll talk to a friend,” you said, standing straight again and turning to him again. You still avoided eye contact, but it didn't matter. His eyes weren't on your face but angled further down, like he'd been checking out your ass as you bent over or something. 

No. No, you weren't going down that train of thought. 

“Or even better, my therapist.” You were planning on the words being a bit more playful, but your voice came out deeper than you expected it, more gravely somehow. 

Your bedroom voice, you were using your stupid fucking bedroom voice on Spencer Reid. 

You cut yourself off again before you said anything else. Before he touched you or didn't touch you, and you got to test your earlier theory about which would be the more demeaning reaction. 

“I have class in ten. Clean up before I get back,” you ordered, and you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up when he replied. 

“I don't take direction well, Y/N.” 

No, you didn't think he would. Neither did you though.

For a week, you tiptoed around the man, your words sharp, but your body weak to him. 

By day, you were hurling insults back and forth, messing up his papers and screwing with him via bookshelf again. 

“YOUR…FLY…IS….OPEN.” 

“VERY….MATURE.”

“MADE…YOU…LOOK…THOUGH.”

“BUSY….LOOKING…AT…OTHER….THINGS.”

“LIKE…THE…UNDERGRADS…THROWING…THEMSELVES…AT…YOU…?”

“LIKE…THE…PROFESSOR…I'M APPARENTLY…DATING” 

“Very fucking funny, Spencer,” you sighed at the last message, throwing the books off the shelf and pilling them up on the floor. 

“Don't even for a second entertain the idea of making that gossip a reality.” 

He grinned at you from behind his desk. 

“Okay.”

“Don't even - don't even think about it,” you said, stepping over his desk and poking at his chest as his smile deepened.

“Heard.” 

“I'm serious, Spencer, don't-” 

“You've thought about it.” You froze in shock at his words, as if your blood wasn't sure whether to run cold or burn hot and fast. 

“What?” You spat the words at him, unable to stop them coming out any other way. 

“You've thought about entertaining the gossip. You've thought about it a lot.” 

You needed to deny him, but he was right. By day, you tried to torment him, but by night, he did torment you. A week of wet dreams, of imagining him taking you over every inch of your office, of sleepless rest and failed orgams, and you could not escape. 

“No,” you said with a whisper, shaking your head and trying again even as your voice cracked from the lie and your body's cry for pleasure, for this man. 

“No, I haven’t- I don't-” You took a deep breath, but you knew it was no good, as his hand grabbed yours and flattened it against his chest. 

“Your pupils are dilated, your pulse is heightened, and your legs are practically clamped shut. Your mouth is dry, and I'm not sure if you've noticed yet, Y/N, but you're shaking.” 

“All signs of anger, Spencer, as you're well aware.” 

He let go of your wrist and sat back in his seat, just out of reach of you again. 

“Shame,” he whispered under his breath, nearly low enough that you didn't catch it, as he flipped open his book and continued whatever the fuck it was he even did in this office. 

You ignored it, anger really flooding you now, warring the heat of arousal that was firmly settled in your body for dominance. 

The anger won out. 

You grabbed books from your desk, files, and papers from the side table by the couch and your laptop from your desk and left the room quickly. 

You slammed the door, and you didn't look back, knowing that if you did, you'd see his winning smirk staring right back at you.

You marched yourself right to the staff administration office and put in for a week of leave. Spencer had one more week of work at the university, and then he would go back to being a regular FBI agent. 

Your paths wouldn't cross because you wouldn't let them cross, not when it meant for certain that you would give in.

You spent the week working to distract yourself from work. You finished books for your next semester courses, highlighting the better articles and essays to use, going through each bibliography to find better sources if they weren't good enough. You wrote more of a research paper you didn't have time to think about with so much going on. You corresponded with students, with TAs, with the other professors who wanted to know where you were. 

Okay, that was a lie. You aired the professors, but you did look out for any inboxes from him. Surprisingly, there were none. 

You spent a week throwing yourself head first into your work, and still, each night, you felt his phantom touch on you. No matter how exhausted, your brain still co jured images of his hands grasping your wrists, pushing them above your head and forcing his cock into you, his lips biting against your skin, the fire of his kisses leaving scars where they trailed down. 

You were running on three hours of sleep per night, sure, but at least you were as far as you could possibly get from the man ruining your life. 

You poured yourself a glass of wine the next Sunday, knowing that when you went back to work the next day, he'd be gone.

You wrapped yourself in blankets and put everything else off for the day, ordering food and eating it and not moving as you worked your way through boxes of pizza. 

It was when you finished your first glass and went to pour yourself another that there was a furious pounding at your door. 

“Y/N, I know you're in there, open the door.” His hand sounded again, and you nearly dropped the glass at the sound of Apencer Reid's voice. 

Your body acted alone, immediately following his directions as you damn near tripped over your own feet to open the door for him. 

Throughout all of your arguments, all of the quips you'd thrown at him, every stupid little thing you'd done to get under his skin, you had not once seen Spencer Reid looking this angry. 

His brow was furrowed uncomfortably, as if it were frozen in place. Gone was his perpetual smirk. 

“Spencer, what the fuck a-” 

“Thoughtless. Careless. Do you even know what you've done?” He snapped at you, stepping into your apartment and closing the door behind himself as he immediately walked into your space and began touching things.

“Stop! Fucking stop it, Spencer!” You said grabbing his arm and pulling him around to face you. He brushed you off quickly and worked his way through papers you'd left on your coffee table. 

“No. You stormed out over a week ago, you blocked my number, you did not answer any of my emails-” 

“I didn't get any emails,” you spit back, pushing yourself between him and your things now, bodies so close they were touching. 

“Then you blocked my email, too. You don't even know what I'm looking for or the damage you could have done, do you?” His hands were on you then, not threateningly, as you'd expect, his anger still burning through him if his shaking voice had anything to say for it. 

His hands stroked up your sides and back down again, smoothing away your need to think. 

“My files. My team sent me a file. It was on the coffee table, and you took it with you when you left. The case is ongoing, and I'm flying out tomorrow, and without some of the classified information in that file, we will be at a disadvantage. Our odds of catching our unsub fall from 83% to 47% without all of the pertinent information.” 

Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer. 

“So yes, I'm going to go through your things, and if you're a good girl, you'll root through with me and help me find it.” 

He stepped away then, and you held your tongue. As much as you hated him, he was right. You knew what he did, you knew who he was and to trust him not to lie to you about his chances without this information. 

“The files on the coffee table are research notes, everything I took from the office is in that case over there,” you said pointing at a bag still where you'd dropped it by the door a week earlier. 

He walked to it and rooted through it quickly before finding the file he obviously needed and letting some of the tension out of his shoulders. 

“You're probably glad to see the back of me, right?” He said, laughing bitterly as he turned back around to you. 

“Obviously not as happy as you are,” you spat back, stepping back over to him. 

“If you ever speak to me that way again,” you started, spitting at him in the most threatening voice you could muster. “It won't be a fucking unsub that ruins your life.” 

“And how are you going to manage that, Y/N?” He said, stepping closer to you until he had you backed up against the wall, trapped in by his bigger frame, using it to his advantage to intimidate. 

“How will you manage to ruin my life,” he said, his voice softer as he finished his sentence, but not by much. “When you shake with just every time I get close?” 

“This is not lust,” you growled the words out, but try as you damn might, you were shaking, vibrating even. 

“Then what is it?” 

“Hatred, dislike, loathing, detestation, abhorrence, fuck Spencer, you can pick up a thesaurus yourself and find out.”

“Yeah. Okay. I'll believe your lies for a second.” He walked away, he was walking away but the fire was ringing in your ears and you needed him to stay fucking put so he could take it all. 

“You're a jackass.”

“Original.” 

“You slammed into my life, expecting me to bend to your will and be at the mercy of your needs, your wants. Your office space, your fucking case files, your job-” 

“None of that was my choice.” 

“And it wasn't mine either, but at least I fucking left you alone. I spent the week in this apartment and left you the fuck alone, and you couldn't even allow me the same.”

His focus was back on you again, but you refused to be backed against a wall this time. 

“What did you say?” 

“You will not let me know peace. I have lost my security, my patience, my fucking sanity with each word you have said, my peace of mind, my sleep, my fucking sanity, Spencer.” Your chest was heaving, touching his with each exhale as he too held his place in front of you. He was so close, you'd practically spat the words directly into his mouth. 

“How is that my fault?” He whispered, voice still dripping with disdain even as his hands again wrapped themselves in your hair, and he tugged your head back, baring your neck to him as he leaned down into you. 

“How do you know that you're not doing the same to me?” 

You refused to answer, though, meeting his eyes for one last second before you grabbed his hair in your hands and yanked him down to your mouth. 

It wasn't so much a kiss as a battle for dominance, each trying to torture a surrender from the other with clashing tongues and teeth. 

You made the first move, but he was obviously expecting it, and he didn't even pause before launching his own attack, finally pushing past your strong defence to walk you back to the sofa you'd abandoned earlier. 

His tongue still lashed against yours as you retreated, refusing to give up your upper hand even as you moaned into his touch. The couch hit the back of your knees, buckling, and you silently cursed your lack of sleep for leaving you so unstable right now. 

No, that wasn't true. It was him. He had left you so unstable, moving between happy and playful to angry and wrathful in the space of a week without you, and you'd been denying yourself the ability to even entertain any of this happening. Now that it was, your body was unprepared, totally at his mercy, as he pushed you to your back and pushed up your skirt. 

“You're already so fucking wet,” he groaned slipping two fingers inside you as you moaned around him, no longer capable of thought. This was the moment, this was when he was going to make you submit to him finally. 

Instead, he dropped to his knees and you gasped as his to guess found your sweet cunt and he began sucking to your clit. 

You were on fire, skin scorched from the inside out, spreading in waves from your pussy to the furthest regions of your body. 

With one hand, he spread your thighs further apart and pushed his entire face further into your cunt, tongue pushing inside right by his fingers, nose pushed right up against your clit as he didn't relent. Every movement was another curse falling from your mouth. 

“Shit, Spencer, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered, hips rocking back and forth as you tried to fuck his face, begging for more. 

To your surprise, he didn't keep your hips still but let you keep riding his face, riding his fingers as you chased your first orgasm.  

It came quickly, overwhelming you with the impact, jolting through your body like a lightning bolt as he let your hips shake and crash across his tongue. 

When he finally pulled his face away, it was glistening, and he wasted no time shoving his tongue back in your mouth. His message was clear - he may have let you take whatever pleasure you'd wanted with him, but he was still the one in control. 

You trailed kisses along his cheeks, neck, shoulders as he divested himself of clothing, shirt, belt, pants, ripping at yours to free your body as well, until the two of you were only left with underwear and you'd picked up every last drop of your cum left on his skin.

“On your back, now,” he said, and you complied. You spread your legs, and rubbed at your still wet cunt, jolting as he finally lined himself up with your cunt. 

But he didn't push in yet. Instead he wrapped two arms under your knees and pulled you closer, so his cock rested over the top of your stomach, and leaned down, his face hovering inches over your own, holding himself up with a forearm rested just above your head. 

“You see that?” He said, glancing down. “That is how much I am going to fill you. That is how deep I am going to ease into you. That is how far I am going to go to claim you. You can take it like a good girl, right?” 

“Just shut up and put your cock inside me, Spencer.” 

“You're so fucking pushy for a submissive little slut,” he said, smiling finally. 

“I am not a-” you started to protest, but he slid inside of your hot cunt and you lost the ability to focus. 

“Not a what, Y/N? Speak up,” thrusting shallowly as your cunt grabbed him and held tight. 

“I'm not a- SPENCER!” You screamed his name as he pulled out quickly, thrusting into you again with a speed and strength that had you wrapping your arms and legs around him tightly, fighting for him to stay right there deep inside. 

“Not a sub? Y/N, you're whimpering and drooling right now. You're three seconds away from begging for my cock, why the fuck can you not be honest with yourself?” 

“Fuck…you,” you said between moans as he rutted into you like a beast. He wasn't man anymore, bit monster, and he was claiming you inch by disgustingly perfect inch. 

“Let go. Let me take care of you, let me control you. Come on, baby, you know how good it would feel,” he said, before ducking his head and wrapping his tongue around a nipple. 

You screamed his name again, but you still tried to resist. 

“Come on, Y/N. Show me. Cum on my cock.” 

For a brief moment, you'd thought you'd resisted the demand. But then your brain faded, and your nails cut into his back like daggers as your body followed his commands and you came on his cock for a second time that night. 

“Perfect. One more, you can do one more,” he said, kissing your lips and lifting himself back up so he was sitting on his knees as he again picked up the pace. 

You mumbled his name over and over again as he fucked out all of the frustration in your body. Every thing either of you had said or done melted away in the glow of pleasure, your body buzzing from the feeling of him taking ownership of you. 

“One more, Y/N. One more, you need to cum one more time.”

“I can't, I can't I can't I can't, Spencer I can't I really can't,” you said, voice growing pathetically whiny as the tears sprang to your eyes and you choked back a sob. 

“Yes you can, one more. Together, we can do it together,” he said, groaning as you clenched around him.” 

He claimed your mouth again, his hand wrapping around your throat as he cut off your air supply for a second, then two, then three, as your ears buzzed and you finally slipped over the edge again. 

But this time, as promised, you weren't the only one caught in the pain of pleasure. Spencer collapsed on top of you as his dick spurted inside you, holding you close as he unloaded everything he had into you. 

He sat there, warming his cock as he lazily kissed open mouth kisses into every inch of your shoulders, collar bone and chest. Everywhere he could reach without pulling out of you and leaving you there. 

After weeks of no sleep because of him, it was his soft lips that finally enticed you into the hands of the sandman, his weight a comfort as you closed your eyes. 

When you woke in your bed, clean and clothed, he was gone, and so was every sign that he'd ever been there in the first place. 

🔖 @stillhere197 @understandingsunrise @mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @nox-sprite @alondralolll @allspicestones @chiyozai @i_heart_mgg @2hiigh2cry @tiyuel @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig @pisceslovrr @waywardgoddess66 @tampon_racecar @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @a1dyn @pleasantwitchgarden @kolasbombaf @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @melagem02 @calypso-read @ari-aurelia

(Note: There are multiple broken tags above. Please check your account settings and make sure you can be tagged when signing up for the tag list. I'll remove all dead tags after two chapters of broken tags!)

[fushiguruuzzzz]

+ CHAPTER EIGHT // ALPHA DISCOUNT 

series mlist 

Tags — mentions of alcohol again, mention of prostitution (humorous), Toge acting like he’s not a nepo baby, 1/2 chapters taking place at this particular show Words — 0.8k 

Since becoming popular enough to have regular shows, the pressure had led you to develop your own pre-concert ritual. Not that you’d really established it as that, but you always seemed to find yourself sat cross legged on the edge of the stage, swirling your overly fruity drink around your cup as the people filtered in. You relished in your secluded silence for the time being because for now, you were nothing but another figure in the midst of the bars smokey haze. You weren’t a performer, the only eyes on you were those that cared or those that would never get the chance. If there was a show, the band knew that until the lights dimmed and the microphone was plugged in, you’d be in the by your lonesome. 

Your usual bright, picture perfect demeanour felt as though it was dulled as the nights hours progressed. As the moons cool light bled through the windows, the pink ribbons hanging loosely from your hair appeared almost like a gentle red. Fitting, wasn’t it? It matched your cheeks when you saw him, and the lipliner you ever so meticulously applied in the mirror only minutes before. It matched the person that seemed to possess you when that microphone was in your hand and your friends behind your back, all doing what you loved. And when your eyes met his across the room, everything heightened. 

As if your mind had called out to him, the silhouette of a smirking blond cut into the corner of your vision. “Whatcha thinking about?” 

An invisible force tugged at your lips, willing you to smile as you craned your neck towards him. “Toge,” you breathed, before processing that he’d asked a question. “Mm, nothing much.” 

He quirked a brow, and the way his eyes caught on the subtle crease in your brows wasn’t missed by you. His face twitched as if preparing to speak, but you were quicker than that. So instead of admitting you’d been thinking about a lot of things, and that he was all of them, you changed the topic with a quick glance around the room. 

“Did your friends come with you?” 

He paused for an instant, purple eyes blinking stupidly before he collected himself. He nodded, gaze flicking to an area nearer to the door. With the attention came the not-so-obvious averting of their gazes—even the mean looking green haired woman had been eyeing you. 

“…yeah,” he winced, a breath of embarrassed laughter exiting him. “I think they’re just surprised you’re actually talking to me.” 

You hummed questioningly, chin moving to rest in your palm. You watched him intently, appreciating the pause between his responses and feeling oddly enamoured by every contort of his face. 

You don’t know if it was the alcohol, but you swear that his breath stuttered when his eyes locked with yours. It was covered up with a playful response before you could dwell on it, though. “Believe it or not, most girls aren’t exactly drawn in by second hand embarrassment.” 

You had to bite your cheek to resist from laughing, the fear that the alcohol on your breath would hit him overriding the amusement bubbling in your throat. “I guess I’m special, then.” 

He looked up at you, looking just a little more earnest than the moment called for. “Yeah,” he said, voice so soft it was almost a whisper. 

Things were silent for a moment, similar to how they’d been only a handful of nights before, when you spent hours crouched laughing over the side of the bar. Toge felt his palms growing clammy and his heart beating a little too fast for how sober he was, and he was suddenly aware of his need for a drink. He looked at the clock and noticed he didn’t have much time left with you anyway, that he was probably holding you back from necessary preparation. 

He cleared his throat and wiped his hands on his shirt. “I’ll let you get to your uh…” he motioned to the clumps of instruments and chords nearby. You nodded, though feeling a little hollow with the ending of the moment. 

“I’ll be watching you. Don’t mess up,” he grinned, hands jamming into his pockets. 

“I’ll do my best,” you chuckled. 

He spared you another toothy smile before turning on his heel, leaving you sitting on the edge as you had been before. Except now you felt warmer, and suddenly the love songs you sang weren’t all in vain. 

Get a load of these LOSERS (I’m lonely)

Next chapter will be the same night/show but I’m breaking it up into 2 so you’re less mad at me

while gang staring like “how’d he do that”

Toge has like. Never had a girlfriend so she is in fact special

Happy new years / New Year’s Eve chat new year same series unfortunately I acc fw them tho I didn’t wake up until noon today for some reason so um yeah! guys what if the world ends and we all go kaboom when the clock hits midnight hmmm

Taglist — closed 50/50

@anotherwriternamedclara @ruruisru @adoresia @auroratumbles @sh0ot1ngst4r @soobin1437 @mystic-megumi @cinnamxnangel @lizbix @s3ns4ti0n4l @anonnieghost @s4toruz @gumims @bubybubsters @k4ss11333 @rreveurdoll @kaged-kitty @rwura @aldebrana @hqnge @good-mourning0 @daisies-and-domming @vi0let-writes @dazaisfavgf @hearts4aloise @coolgirl458 @keyaea @jealovsie @sirenla @academiq @mammoanlmao @moonchhu @ichcocat @blubearxy @hayl09 @q2uq2u @potteraep @fiannee @lailakys @jxisnwaol @treeguzzler @yatiimariiee @zayuriluvs @kr1nqu @cloudxox @azinniyaa @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @rottingvxmpire @gradmacoco @spkyssn

[rottenherbs]

Matchmaker // pt.2 // F.W x reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: After your small escapade with Fred, you make your way to the Gryffindor common room to sort the papers and learn a little more about each other.  

Authors note: silly goofy chapter. Honestly I wasn’t going to write at all today, but I found some solace in it. I have to put my family cat down tomorrow and I’m like conflicted in my grief. SO I shall give the people what they want. Part three coming sometime soon —

[masterlist]

Much Love, Saige 

————————

The castle hallways were unsurprisingly empty. It was considerably late at night and most students were barred away in their dormitories; you two just barely made it to the common room before curfew was in place. On the way back you both joked about the romance between students and the stereotypes you find most in your clientele —

“I’d consider myself to be one of the hopeless romantic types.” Fred boasts, his hand on his chest, looking up to the air dramatically. You roll your eyes, both of you halting at the portrait of the fat lady. “But something tells me that you knew that already?” He wagged his eyebrows, nudging you playfully. Ignoring his gesture, you shake your head. 

“Mimbulus Mimbletonia”. The painting swung open, Fred again bowing and ushering you in first. 

”Alright alright, I get it, you’re a gentleman.” You laugh, stepping through the corridor. Fred scoffs, standing jokingly aghast before following you behind. Fred didn’t respond, just smiled to himself watching you walk through the common room.

 Looking around, he noticed it was quite vacant, happy at the prospect that you two could hang out together alone, no one to bother you. Turning to the warmth to his left, he eyed the coveted spots in front of the fireplace that were open for the taking. 

“Pst.” Fred pestered, getting your attention. He cocked his head towards the fireplace, walking over there himself. Plopping on the large couch, his legs spread wide taking up most of the sofa. You walked over, hesitating where you should sit. Contemplating the proximity you’d be comfortable being next to him, the idea of your thighs touching sent flutters through your stomach. Biting your lip lightly, you walked around to the front of the fire, setting your belongings on the floor. 

Fred watched you casually, a small ping of disappointment that you didn’t decide to sit next to him, but grateful that he now had a better view of you. 

Reaching into your book bag, you grabbed a conglomerate of papers, passing a few over to Fred. Outstretching his hand, your fingers grazed each other, the act was temporary and unimportant, but the feeling was everlasting. You released the papers, attempting in any way possible to hide the nervousness that suddenly overcame you.

Fred on the other hand was thrilled, the feeling only making him itch for more contact with you. He took the papers and laid them in his lap, flickering his gaze to you every so often, noticing how fidgety you suddenly became. 

“Alright, let’s see your knowledge on the student population eh?” You cleared your throat, breaking the silence. Fred nodded, shuffling through the papers, fanning them all in front of himself. 

“How do you remember all of this stuff, there has to be thousands of students at Hogwarts.” Fred chucked, suddenly becoming more aware that he in fact did not know the students like he bragged about just hours prior. 

“Actually its there is just over 975 this year.” You shrugged your shoulders. “But honestly, im just in a lot of clubs. Easy to know people's faces and learn about them.” You started 7 piles in front of you, one for each year. 

“Clubs? What clubs are you in.” Fred inquired, his eyebrows raising. He was surprised that you had time for anything outside of schoolwork and your little matchmaking busniess. 

“Um well.” You sat up, facing Fred more directly, thinking of where to start. You held out your hand, beginning to point at your fingers to keep track “Okay so Monday’s, Dueling club and Gobstones, Tuesday mornings there’s charms club before charms class, Dragon club after school. Wednesdays; Slugs and Bugs—“

”Slugs and Bugs?” 

“Yes. Slugs and bugs.” You laughed, looking down at your hands. “I’m running out of room and we're only on Wednesday.” You giggled, dropping your hands to your lap. Freds eyes were wide in amazement and disbelief. 

“That’s why I never see you around. You’re in seven places at once!” He attempted to remember all of the clubs you named off, but quickly gave up, soon realizing it was a lost cause. 

“Yeah i like to stay busy” You shrug, slightly embarrassed. You look back up at Fred, his face still bewildered; you could see the wheels turning in his head. 

“Sooo… What do you like to do?” You ask, bringing him back to reality. He set the papers down in his lap, not even attempting to sort them anymore.

”I suppose just quidditch.” He looked at you, slightly disappointed that his answer wasn’t as grand as yours. 

“Oh yes!! You're a beater right? Tough position if you ask me.” You exclaimed excitedly. You could sense a switch in his demeanor after you responded positivity, secretly enjoying the way his eyes lit up. 

”Yeah. Gotta be at least a little tough if you're getting hit with bludgers.” He raised both of his arms, flexing them dramatically. 

“Maybe you got hit in the head one too many times.” You chuckled, watching the cockiness in his face switch to utter surprise. “I’m kidding im kidding” You put your hands up in defense, laughing even harder. 

“Hey..you've got the brains I've got the brawn.” He laughed, knocking his knuckles against his head, imitating an empty chamber where his brain would be.

Fred relaxes back into the sofa watching you keel over in laughter. Something deep inside him fluttered at the sound of your laugh. The way it enveloped the room, the way it unconsciously made him smile wanting to join in. Something about you pulled him to you; and he loved it. After a little while you caught your breath, getting back to sorting the papers in front of you. Making great progress, Fred just watched you, his thoughts traveling to all corners of his mind; some innocent and some not. 

Watching you made his head spin, the way you sorted the papers, how your hands brushed the hair out of your face, your eyes glancing up at him every so often. His mind was racing. He’d pick up the papers, hiding his face behind the students trying to calm himself down. He wasn’t sure how fast it got out of hand, his body reacting to his thoughts now too far gone, he had to leave. 

Wringing his hands, he felt an overwhelming sense of heat in his body. His body rambling in inappropriate thoughts, mentally kicking himself for allowing him to think of you that way; at least this fast into knowing you. Getting up from his chair, he adjusted his trousers quickly, the movement completely unknown to you, turning and facing away from you,

“I’m hitting the loo! One moment—“ he rushed out of the room, leaving you by the fireplace alone. As Fred left the common room, he immediately shut himself into the bathroom, his face hot from embarrassment. He mentally begged any god or angel above that you didn’t see anything, stress overtaking him. Running the tap, he splashed cold water on his face, cupping his hands lightly and drinking to cool his system. Looking at himself in the mirror, he paused suddenly insecure.

“Get it together Weasley.” He thought to himself. He glanced at his watch wondering how long he had left you alone. Taking another look at himself in the mirror he felt satisfied with his appearance, the blood in his body now flowing with ease. Brushing his fingers through his hair, he set out to meet you again.

Once Fred was out of sight, you glanced around the common room. Huffing lightly, you looked over at his stack of papers on the couch, the students still jumbled together. Taking them back to your pile, you sit, holding them in your hands taking the opportunity to let your mind wander. You started to think about how he looked, how he listened to you so adimentqly. He wasn’t bored by your clubs or how strange you knew about every student in the castle. But mainly you thought about him.

How his body lazily draped over the couch, his long body slightly overtaking the space between you, but in a way that was inviting, and invigorating. He laid comfortably, the conversation between you two so natural. His muscular frame, no doubt from quidditch, even when he joked about his muscles you couldn’t help but noticed how they rippled below his uniform. It was undeniably attractive, the thoughts making you shiver. Shaking your head, you attempted to physically emit the contemplation of any mutual feelings of desire.

Were you jumping too far to conclusions?

[sapphosclosefriend]

- Money, Power, Glory pt 2 -

Pairing: CEO! Silverfox! Natasha Romanoff x Escort! Fem! Reader

Genre: smut

Summary: your first time at the Romanoff household starts off more than well. Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: top! Natasha x bottom! R, Natasha has a penis, big age gap (N=56, R=24), very brief drinking (N), making out, SMUT, dry humping, face riding, 69ing, tit fucking, brief cum eating (R).

A/N: this story contains smut so anyone who isn’t 18+ DNI. Sorry for the longest wait ever, chapter 3 should be basically ready to go, so I'll dedicate myself to writing the Christmas special in the meantime! Thanks so much to @supercorpdanbeau and @rt--link for being so amazing 💕 As usual, likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated! Enjoy ♡

Masterlist

You tried so hard to keep your wandering eyes from selfishly focusing on her hands as she poured herself a glass of whiskey by the small corner bar in her living room, but you just couldn't help but appreciate the beautiful sight in front of you. You could see the tension in her casual standing as she finished making herself a drink, before walking over to the couch and sitting down next to you, too far away for your bodies to touch but close enough to suggest her intent to make it happen. You couldn't keep your lips from slightly curling up at her eyes, behind the glass of expensive liquor, constantly moving, not as sneakily as she thought, to the small snippet of thighs that was being revealed by your dress naturally riding up a bit thanks to your crossed legs.

She thought she was going to be stronger than that, stronger than most, yet there she was, with a tent already starting to form in her pants at the sight of a beautiful young woman all dressed up for her, sitting on her couch only waiting to be taken by her. She felt like a hormonal teenager at the thought of how easily you had started to affect her. She wasn't exactly a playboy, but she'd seen and been with her fair share of women in her life, yet the simple sight of you, sitting while turned towards her, showing off your legs and hips and chest, only made her mouth drier the more she drank. She had downed her glass in one go by the time her eyes were able to leave your body and, in the brief seconds that seemed to have lasted hours, she had been able to explore every inch of you she could have laid her gaze on, leaving her only wanting for more.

“Would you like to talk for a bit?”

Your words, spoken so casually in contrast to her almost spiraling thoughts, pulled her eyes to your face. You were smiling politely, yet sincerely, at her. You almost felt bad for putting an end to the amusing sight of her getting herself more and more flustered, but you selfishly needed to, if not to know more about her, at least to get started as soon as possible. You were hoping that your poker face was good enough to only display your faux calmness and hide the turmoil of emotions you were feeling at being face to face with her, so close you would’ve been able to feel her touch if only you moved your leg one small bit.

“Do you usually do that?”

She tried to regain what composure she had left by trying to engage in the casual chatting you had initiated as she leaned to put down her empty glass on the coffee table. You had declined her polite offer for a drink of your own, but started to regret your decision at her husky voice and the sight of her sharp jawline and lean neck getting exposed as she moved to settle down the expensive glass, making you feel your cheeks getting slightly warmer and your heartbeat faster for a second.

“It's not necessary, it's just to let you know that we can, if you want. And yes, apparently, a little ramble can help destress just as much”

By the time you had finished speaking, a smirk was gracing her lips, making her appearance seem much closer to the usual confident one you had always seen in her pictures and wiping away almost all traces of the small, brief panic you had just gotten a glimpse of.

“So they treat you like a therapist”

You couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at the exact same words uttered by multiple of your friends in the past. She was right, though. Surprisingly enough, one of the main skills you absolutely needed to have, and that your agent couldn’t stop reminding you of at first, was that of listening. Keeping updated on the news, always reading and being able to hold a proper conversation were definitely important, but never as critical as always being willing to listen for as long as needed and to indulge in any issue presented. It didn’t matter how much you didn’t care or what pieces of shits were talking to you, their problems were the greatest ones in the world and the only ones a simple girl like you could’ve ever had on her mind. Or at least that’s what they needed to believe.

“Sometimes. I guess that they like therapy with a little more kick at the end of the session”

You tried to be just a little more playful, hoping to get her to relax and feel like she could open up in case she wanted to. Her brief chuckle warmed your heart at its unrestrained nature and made it impossible for you to keep yourself from ogling at her as she swiftly ran her hand through her gray hair to get it back out of her face after she had briefly lost her composure. Her attention was back on your face as she found you beaming at her with your lower lip caught in your teeth to try, in vain, to hold back a big smile that threatened to come out at her beauty. A strange mix of sweet hunger, so tender it almost weirded her out, started to come to the surface as her eyes locked with your young and almost innocent ones, as alluring as the most dangerous siren's. If she had to be honest, she kind of felt like an asshole for wanting to jump right into the more intimate part of the night, overlooking your kind offer to let her vent, but got reassured once she finally noticed your slightly quickened breathing and fingers fidgeting with your dress as you leaned towards her a little bit.

“It’s been a pretty rough week. Thank you for coming”

She tried to acknowledge your availability while she was still in full control of her own mind, because now she knew that, as soon as she would have gotten a taste of you, she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself anymore.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m happy to be here if it means I can help you out”

You tried so hard to keep your voice from trembling too pathetically and ignore her darkening eyes boring into you, but the heavenly sight in front of you, and the slight straining in her pants, only made your cheeks grow warmer at the excitement you tried to contain that made you feel like a foolish schoolgirl.

“What can I do, Ms Romanoff?”

Her jaw clenched as your hand gently fell on a way too safe spot on her thigh, right above her knee, miles away from where you both truly wanted it to get.

“You can call me Natasha”

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from your lips, slightly apart, a sign of your collected stance starting to crumble, that only called her more intensely as you wet them before unconsciously biting your lower one as anticipation ate you up more and more, making your hand slightly tighten on her thigh.

“What do you want me to do, Natasha?”

This time, as you almost whispered the words, your weak gaze succumbed to the seduction of her lips as she slowly inched closer to you, hoping to get rid of the space cruelly dividing you two and finally get lost in the pleasure she so desperately wanted to reach. In that moment she felt as if she needed nothing more than the feeling of your lips on hers, even though she knew that as soon as her favor would have been granted she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from trying to get more and more of you. She had almost reached her final destination, her gates to heaven, when you suddenly turned your head a little bit, making her lips land on the corner of your mouth. She couldn’t stop a deep grumble from coming to the surface, but barely had the time to feel the initial frustration of being denied what she wanted, before you hand moved in the direction of her center, still way too far away for her liking, but close enough for the warmth of your skin through the fabric on her to make her twitch in her pants, and your lips started gently kissing her neck, leaving her even more in need of some relief, if that was even possible. Her panting in your ear as your hand moved closer and closer to where she needed it the most made goosebumps grow on your arms and you couldn’t stop a muffled whimper in her neck when she grasped your waist with one hand, touching you for the first time. You wanted, no, needed to feel her, but, for the sake of teasing her some more, you swiftly skipped her crotch to sneak your hand under her sweater and touch her bare stomach, pathetically mewling against her throat at the way her hand moved under your ass to pull you even closer to her, making you almost sit in her lap. You were both a panting mess and, after some wiggling and squirming from her trying to keep herself from ripping your dress with her bare hands, you ended up fully on top of her, straddling her lap while still on your knees, resisting her hands on your hips trying to make you properly sit on her clothed erection. It was only once she finally gave up and ended up moving downward to bunch your dress over your hips and grab your ass that you finally fully sat down on her, letting her feel your covered center on her.

“Fuck!”

Her voice and the buck of her hips into you sent a strong shiver through your whole body and a pang of arousal in your lower stomach. Leaning your forehead against hers, you looked deep into her eyes as you grounded your hips into her hard on, starting with a low rhythm that easily got the older woman panting and desperately grabbing your hips to try to make your movements quicken. The rough surface of her boxers and your underwear did wonders at heightening the pleasure you both already felt and in no time you could feel the fabric against yourself dampening up from your arousal, thanks to the way her covered cock perfectly hit your clit.

The sudden movement of her arms, slithering around your torso to keep you from moving away, and her hips thrusting more and more up into you, made you take pity on her and you finally started gradually speeding up your movements. The moan she let out once you grounded harder into her took your breath away and got a louder one out of you at the hard grasp of her hands on your waist, making you lose track of the speed of your own hips, seemingly moving on their own accord to only make you both feel as good as possible. The older woman found herself enamored at the sinful sight of the black fabric of your underwear glistening a bit under the warm light of her living room and creating a small damp patch on her pants. For a second she couldn’t help but find herself wondering if your displays of pure bliss were genuine or if she was witnessing a thoroughly curated act you used with all of your clients, but she decided to trust you and the whiny moans coming from deep within you and solidly planted her feet on the ground to easily thrust up into you and meet your movements.

The almost animalistic way in which you were dry humping each other was making you lose your mind, even more so at the other woman cursing under her breath and the sudden slap she landed on your ass, making you moan loudly as your head fell back, exposing your neck to her and making it hard for her to respect your no marking rule and latch onto the soft skin she suddenly needed to taste. Natasha completely lost her composure at the sight of your face, a perfect display of pure ecstasy, and you hips erratically moving to take your own pleasure from her and got a hold of your hips in a way that definitely must’ve hurt a bit, but maybe not as much as she thought, according to your breathless moan at the action, to press you even harder on her, getting herself impossibly close to her orgasm.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum”

She was looking at your center moving over her clothed cock once her panting words got your attention to her face and, finally wanting to indulge her initial wish you still hadn’t granted her, you moved one of your hands from her shoulders to the nape of her neck, getting her attention back on you, and leaned in, stopping for a second and only a breath away, before finally pressing your lips on hers, making her moan in the kiss at finally being able to taste you, even if only for a moment. The hard orgasm hit her so hard she had to move away to lean her head back, closing her eyes at the high levels of ecstasy you made her reach, and grunt loudly every time her hips thrusted up hard into you on their own accord while shooting string after string of cum into her own underwear. The sinfully beautiful sight of her face as she came and the veins of her neck, more defined than ever, sent a painful twinge of arousal to your core as you moved more and more slowly over her as she came down from her orgasm, stopping only once she hissed at her sensitive cock meeting your center with one final thrust of hers.

“Holy shit”

Her head was still leaning back on the edge of the couch and her eyes were still closed as she murmured the words, but she opened them once you pressed one last kiss to her lips, looking more inviting than necessary as she breathed through them while she caught her breath. For a second she found herself lost in the sight of your exposed lower half, clad only by a black thong that barely covered your core and traces of clear slick on the inside of your thighs. Your chest was about to spill out of your dress as you heaved, your hair was a bit messier than earlier and your hands were still tightly gripping her shoulders for dear life and that’s when she realized, after her post orgasm haziness started disappearing, that you hadn’t cum yet.

One of her hands finally left its death grip on your hips, leaving behind a delicious ache on your skin, as she reached for your face to swipe her thumb over your warm cheek before gently cradling it and leaning in to peck your lips, waiting for your approval of her action and receiving it at the slight drag of your tongue over her lower one. As soon as she opened her mouth you were on her, kissing her with all your might and threading your fingers through her glorious hair to make sure to keep her as close as possible. You were still on edge from the high levels of arousal still pumping intensely through you and, as they blurred your mind, also thanks to her tongue easily dominating yours, they prevented you from registering her movements, which you noticed only by the time she had positioned you just how she wanted.

You ended up straddling her, as she now lay down on the couch, while you still made out like your life depended on it and your hips unconsciously tried to find some relief by slowly moving over her lower abdomen. She soon ceased your movements, though, and gently started pushing you from the back of your thighs until you had wiggled closer and closer to her face. Standing on your knees while hovering over her torso, the sight of her lips, swollen by the intense kissing and almost curled into a small smirk, and her hands gently caressing your thighs almost made them buckle at the imminent moment. For a second, all the hints of playfulness were gone from her eyes and got replaced by hard seriousness, as she nodded once at you and waited for your own nod of approval, that tried unsuccessfully to hide your enthusiasm and need, before smiling softly at you. It's only once she had made sure that you were fine with her wish that she slithered down a bit until you were right by her neck, close enough for her to smell the arousal that you couldn't contain anymore. You were driving her insane and, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in her pants from her previous orgasm and her still semi hard cock, she slowly started moving her hands over your body, over your thighs, your ass, your back, until she was swiftly moving your soaked underwear to the side, moaning at the sight of your exposed pussy and the fabric briefly sticking to it because of your wetness. You looked like a dream to her, looking down at her with pure anticipation as you tried to keep your breathing at bay, and all she needed in that moment was only to see you crumble just for her.

Her hands finally got back to the apex of your thigh and, after taking a secure hold on both of them, she gave one small push to make you lower yourself on her. She knew what you wanted and she wanted it too, all of it immediately, but the smooth skin of your inner thighs, still glistening, did nothing but made you look like an absolute goddess to her, and who was she to deprive you of the adequate worship you deserved? Once her lips left a small peck on your soft skin, still close enough to your center to make your hips buckle a little and your breathing hitch, the older woman's hunger got the best of her and, while still trying to control herself enough to unfortunately leave no trace of herself behind, she got lost in the plumpness of your inner thighs. She would've gladly spent hours kissing and very lightly scraping her teeth over the velvety skin if it meant hearing you yelp over and over as you tried to keep yourself upright.

Your mind was foggy and all you needed to clear it was her mouth just a bit higher. You knew at least a part of her was trying to get you to your breaking point, but she thankfully stopped her cruel actions once your hand suddenly flew to her hair to try to keep yourself standing, getting her attention to your closed eyes and shaky breathing. Natasha wished she could've said that the reason behind her stopping her torturous teasing was to indulge you in the pleasure you deserved, but the truth was that the selfish need to see you broken because of her was way too intense for her to keep herself back any longer.

The moment her lips left your skin you felt some sort of relief at being able to properly breath once again, but almost missed her teasing once she immediately dove into your pussy, drawing a breathy moan out of you before you could contain yourself.

“Fuck, you taste good”

Natasha couldn't help herself from briefly overlooking your pleasure to randomly explore your core as she pleased, getting hungrier each time she discovered a new spot that got your thighs trembling over her. She was the thirstiest woman on the planet and you were the most gratifying oasis she could've asked to encounter. For the first time in your career, you felt embarrassed of the extreme pleasure you were feeling and its unrestrained displays you could barely contain, but the swift movements of her tongue and lips, clear sign of someone who knew very well what they were doing, were getting you way too close to your peak in such a short period of time. By the time she gave some mercy to your clit and moved downwards to enter your aching hole with her tongue, her nose bumped right on your sensitive bean, making it impossible for you to stop your hips from slightly moving over her face to heighten the heavenly feeling. You tried to keep your loud moans at bay by biting down on your index finger, but foolishly defeated yourself by looking down at the older woman, finding her hooded eyes already on you, as she moaned against your folds and tightened her hold on your thighs at the sight of your watery, desperate eyes, drawing a loud whine deep from you.

You wanted more, you needed more, so you suddenly lifted yourself off of her, ignoring her frustrated grunt, to turn around and place yourself back over her lips before immediately starting to unbutton her pants, hearing her sighing and cursing to herself at the prospect of your touch directly on her. Her sticky boxers were an absolute mess, and you tried to ignore her mouthwatering cum on them to get her cock fully free from the fabric. The woman under you, resuming her mission to make you cum, finally got your attention away from her length standing proud in front of you. You tried to distract yourself from your impending peak by finally wrapping your hand around her and licking the clear precum oozing out of the head of her cock, feeling her moaning right against you at the small bits of stimulation you were giving her. You truly realized you had been lazily sucking her head for quite a bit, your mind completely taken over by her perfect ministrations between your legs, only once her hands tightened their hold on your thighs so much you were sure there was definitely going to be at least some bruising the next day, and she couldn’t hold back her groans anymore, shooting such delicious sparkles of pleasure through you thanks to the vibrations of her voice on your core. You wished you could have pleased her in a much better way with your mouth, selfishly wanting to feel her in your throat as well, but the orgasm that was seconds away from crashing down on you finally made it impossible for you to hold back your moans, making your composure crumble once and for all and finally gracing her ears with such heavenly sounds that quickly got her equally close even without your touch on her anymore. You finally snapped for the first time of the night with her tongue on your clit and her hands almost ripping your expensive, flimsy underwear in half as she tightly held it to pull you even more flush against her mouth, so desperate to taste your heavenly essence she would’ve almost felt embarrassed for it if she was in any way in her right mind.

Your legs were shaky and, anytime you thought you had finally caught your breath, the sight of her hard cock in front of your face, right on the brink of another orgasm, made the air get caught in your throat all over again at its sight gracing your no longer fogged up eyes, now able to properly appreciate it. You had to be the one to stop Natasha, still lazily tasting as much of you as she could, and lift yourself off of her, muffling an almost whiny sound of frustration of hers with a quick kiss, which you deepened as you grabbed the neck of her sweater to make her move to a sitting position. One of her hands immediately moved to your chest and finally indulged herself, groping your boob a bit more firmly the more you hummed in the kiss at the beautiful sensation of being wanted by her. Feeling her trying to pull you in more and more to make you sit back in her lap, right over her thigh, you unfortunately had to break the perfect kiss.

“I wanna make you cum”

Your sweet voice and pretty eyes as you mumbled the words while looking up at her made her twitch at the mere thought of her cum possibly painting your skin and you could almost see the thoughts quickly racing behind her eyes as she decided where exactly she wanted to do it. Your pretty face admittedly looked just too inviting for it, the thought having graced her mind only moments after you greeted her at the door, but her thoughts couldn’t stop from going back to the sinful sight of your cleavage so perfectly on display for her yet still way too covered for her liking. Without uttering a word she reached for your back to slowly pull down the small zipper while leaving pecks over the top of your chest and collarbone, slowing her moving hand every time you shakily gasped in order to never stop hearing the beautiful noises you made that went straight to her cock each time.

“I wanna fuck these tits”

Her words, spoken more to herself than to you, only drove you more insane for her and clouded your mind as she pushed you to lie on the couch, leaning over you between your legs as she hurriedly pulled your dress down and took off your bra. She left the dress below your torso, not bothering to slip the now useless fabric fully off of you, and leaving it bunched at your waist to expose your chest and core to her. She wouldn't have had the chance to do it even if she wanted to, as her cock bumped with your naked center every time she moved while hungrily kissing your boobs. Your hand on her head as she sucked your nipple got her attention to your beautiful face as you looked at her with hooded eyes while biting your lip. That was it, she couldn't keep herself back anymore, she needed to cum and she needed to do it all over you right then and there.

Your heart skipped a beat as she moved over you to straddle your torso and took your breath away at her beauty as she loomed over you and let her spit fall on her cock before pumping it. You couldn't help but stare in awe at the lewd action, making her hum at you staring at her lips with your mouth open.

“Now that's interesting”

Your slightly embarrassed look at her new discovery only amused her even more and, gently holding your chin, she managed to haze your already obedient mind even more as she spoke once again.

“Open up”

You immediately opened your mouth and pushed your tongue out a little, waiting with closed eyes to be graced by the goddess on top of you, but felt slight disappointment when her hand ended up leaving your face and she chuckled through her nose.

“Maybe later”

Damn her. You shot your eyes open at her words and you couldn't help but pout slightly, before reluctantly nodding obediently at her, secretly savoring the “good girl” coming from her perfect lips. You couldn't even fathom the power the older woman already had over you and could only lay limp to let her position her cock between your boobs before grabbing each one and pressing them on either side of her own length. The moment her hips began to move and she threw her head back with a loud moan your breath was knocked away from you and you were left to stare in awe at her beautiful face taken over by pleasure and the sight of her cock moving on your chest, looking way too delicious to ignore. She knew she was barely going to last seconds, but she felt no embarrassment as her mind was completely taken over by ecstasy. Seeing your tongue out, waiting for the head of her cock every time she thrusted forward, almost got her to her breaking point and your eyes meeting hers, beaming at her as she took her own pleasure from your body, finally made her reach her peak. As soon as her orgasm suddenly hit her she quickly pumped her cock with her hand to finally shoot her cum all over your tits, groaning as you intently kept looking at her as she breathlessly moaned each time more of the white fluid hit your skin.

She felt almost shocked by just how hard she came, certainly the hardest in a very long time, but barely had the time to recover at all before the sight of you scooping some of her cum from your boob with your fingers and sucking them clean with a languid moan left her speechless.

It was going to be a long long night…and hopefully the beginning of an even longer acquaintance.

.

.

Part 3

.

.

Tags: @fxckmiup @natashasilverfox @dmenby3100 @marvels--slut @dvrkhcld @elenimoris @mrsrushman @mrsromanoff @thalia-is-not-ok @alianovnasposts @clintsupremacy @taliiiaasteria @meowymari @lissaaaa145 @natashaswife4125 @olsenmyolsen @angrywhisperslove @aemilia19

[flowerandblood]

The Last Drop (2/?)

[ modern • vampire • Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: kissing, description of blood drinking and bleeding in general, sexual tension, angst, toxic relationship with Alys ]

[ description: Encouraged by the information that the town he has landed in is not known for having the most vigilant police in the world, he decides to go on a little hunting trip to finally quench his burning thirst. However, not everything goes according to plan. (A lot of sexual tension, grumpy, gloomy Aemond). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He was only supposed to stay in this town for three days, eat to his heart's content and return by train to one of his flats a few hours away.

Or at least that was his plan.

He didn't know why he was standing outside a nerdy club where, from what he understood, game and board enthusiasts ate popcorn and nachos while sipping drinks.

Admittedly, he worked on a laptop and using a computer made his life a lot easier: he didn't have to show up at the company as he did his tasks remotely, but he was still far from a fan of modern technology.

He felt that it was killing something, although he wasn't sure what.

She told him that she worked there and that he should come visit her on her shift. She said something about drinks with an extra element, which surely was blood, that she wanted to prepare especially for him.

He was unable to grasp neither the full absurdity of the situation nor why he was just standing outside the entrance like an idiot, instead of returning to his quiet, well-ordered life.

To Alys.

He sighed, glancing down at his phone, seeing that she had sent him another two new messages, several missed calls showed that she was starting to get impatient.

He swallowed hard reading the last message, recognising that he didn't feel like letting Alys play with her at all.

He wrote back and tucked the phone into his pocket, running down the stairs to the premises which were twinkling with lots of coloured lights and neon.

As he stepped inside, he immediately heard 80s electronic music – the Depeche Mode track I just can't get enough was pounding from the speakers around him. The club's clientele was mostly very young, dancing in front of large monitors following the instructions of some character, singing karaoke, playing at a PlayStation or bent over large boards, planning the entire game.

"Hi!" He heard a cheerful voice from behind the bar – when he looked there, he saw her and her wide smile, her hair pinned up in a ponytail on top of her head.

He didn't understand why her eyes sparkled with joy at the sight of him, and why he felt a pleasant warmth at the thought.

Was he so desperate to be noticed and needed?

He thought he was pathetic, but still his feet carried him further to the counter behind which she stood.

"I'm so glad you're here. Would you like to try the drink I mentioned yesterday?" She asked immediately, while her shift mate started to serve another customer.

He just nodded, for some reason embarrassed and overwhelmed, sitting down on one of the high chairs just off the bar.

He saw that she had gone to the back room and then returned with a bottle in which he was sure there was blood.

He looked around anxiously, but no one took any notice.

"I'm going to make a drink for my friend with rum, ice, cherry and apricot juice." She said aloud, pouring something that was certainly not cherry juice along with the other ingredients into a shaker.

He couldn't hide his surprise at the fact that he didn't see any sign of discomfort or fear on her face that someone would discover what she was doing – on the contrary, she seemed delighted to share her next treat with him again.

Although he didn't admit it out loud, fuck, her blood jellies were so good.

She poured the contents of the container into a nice tall glass and put a cardboard straw in it, placing the whole thing right in front of his face.

"I hope you will like it." She said lightly, immediately moving on to attend to the customer behind him.

He reached for the glass, raised it to his lips and hesitantly took a sip from it. He had to bite his lower lip to hold back a smirk of amusement.

It was delicious.

For some reason, being with her made him feel like a human again and maybe that's why he came back.

Maybe that's why he couldn't leave.

"What do you think?" She asked aloud, preparing an order for a second customer, already with completely normal ingredients.

"Very good." He admitted, throwing her a drawn-out, satisfied look.

For some reason, he was smiling.

Her shift ended an hour later so, as per her request, he waited for her at the exit. As she came out of the back room, one of the guys, similar in age to her at least in appearance, clearly drunk, approached her.

"– hi – shit, I know I'm drunk and – you know – but – fuck, will you give me your number? – sorry if I'm imposing –" He mumbled, clearly stressed and filled with emotion.

He saw that this confession had impressed her and did not make her uncomfortable, however, he knew she would refuse.

She, unlike him, was not playing with her food.

"Forgive me, but I already have someone." She said and looked up at him, surprising him completely.

He snorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

"– oh – I'm so sorry – I thought –" The boy began to babble, clearly embarrassed, wanting for sure now to erase from her memory what he had said and just disappear.

"– it's okay – you're really sweet –" She assured him warmly and walked past him, throwing him a horrified, apologetic look.

"You already have someone?" He sneered, walking up the stairs at her side, stepping out into the fresh night air at last.

"Sorry, I didn't know what to answer. Don't be mad. Otherwise he'd be getting his hopes up." She said with sincere concern, grabbing his coat sleeve, clearly wanting him to accept her explanation and look at her.

"Nevermind." He said, not knowing what he was doing here.

I should go home, he thought.

"If you want, you can rest in my apartment." He heard her voice and swallowed loudly, thinking that he shouldn't.

He shouldn't, but he ended up lying in her bed anyway, with his fangs sunk into her fragrant neck, snuggled into her soft flesh. Her fluffy pyjamas, consisting of trousers and a shirt buttoned up the front, smelled of some pleasant, delicate washing powder.

He had to undo a few buttons to reach the hollow of her neck, or at least that's how he explained it to himself – his hand, as he drank her blood in slow, lazy sips, brushed her plump breast under the material, founding itself there completely by accident.

Every time his thumb, also by accident of course, rubbed her hard nipple, something on the edge of a sigh and a moan left her lips: her body tensed like a string, vulnerable and responsive to his every move.

It occurred to him that what he was doing, as well as the reactions of her own body, were a surprise to her – she was certainly not as experienced in these matters as he was, if at all.

That thought aroused him even more.

When he finally pulled away from her, he wanted to take his hand from under her shirt, but her fingers stopped him, pressing it back against her skin. He sighed as she turned with him, when, trailing her knuckles along his long jaw, this time it was her moist lips that reached his neck.

He licked his mouth and flinched, feeling the dull pain and sting as her fangs dug slowly into his flesh. He closed his eyes, focusing on the softness of her breast under his hand, kneading it gently in his palm, feeling the wonderful, intimate scent of their blood all around them.

Sip after sip she quenched her thirst, cuddling up to him like a small child – he couldn't help the pleasant shiver that ran through his lungs as she threw her leg over his hip, pressing her body against his.

When she finally pulled away from his neck, she laid her head on the pillow right next to his – their lips, chins and cheeks were all sticky with blood. When she leaned towards him, they simply kissed: he grunted with delight, feeling their mingled taste melt on his tongue, and pressed her tighter to himself, clasping his free hand in her hair.

It doesn't mean anything, he repeated to himself, forcing his tongue deep into her throat, rolling with his hips back and forth, rubbing his swollen erection against her lower abdomen.

He was simply tired and she was a break from the monotony of his life.

He would get bored with her quickly, as he did with all the women before her.

He opened his eyes as she pressed her forehead against his, listening to their loud, raspy breaths. He gasped as her fingers ran down his cheek, as the tips of their tongues brushed invitingly, clicking with each lazy lick, sending a delicious, hot shiver down his spine.

It was one of the most perverse sensations he had ever experienced in his life.

He was unable to contain the pleasant, warm feeling that spread through his heart as she combed her fingers through his short hair – to his displeasure, she broke the caress and kissed the tip of his nose.

He was fully hard, but he had no intention of taking more from her than she was willing to give him.

"Why did you come?" She asked in a whisper, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

He simply looked at her for a moment, wondering what he should answer.

Why he had actually done it again.

"I don't know." He replied finally. "I don't know the answer to that question."

His words did not discourage or sadden her, as she smiled with understanding.

"I see. Rest now. I will too." She said softly.

They both lay on their stomachs, embracing each other with their arms around each other's waists – their foreheads still touched as they both closed their eyes.

For some reason, he wanted to feel her close.

They weren't friends, just some strange kind of lovers, he realized with pain, but he felt a strange discomfort at the thought, indicating that he himself wasn't sure he believed what he was trying to tell himself.

What had he really come for?

What was he expecting?

Was he simply curious about how her drink tasted?

How their night would turn out?

Would he drink her blood again?

Will they have sex?

Will they fall asleep next to each other?

He closed his eyes, recognising that it didn't matter.

For the first time in many years he had fully quenched his hunger.

The thought that this was surely the last night he would spend with her filled him with a strange kind of sadness and regret – he held her close in his embrace, knowing that he would eventually have to tell her that he didn't live here at all.

That he had lied to her.

When she woke up and lifted her head, she saw his face – she smiled sweetly in a way from which he felt a sting in his heart.

Although all sticky with blood, she looked so innocent.

"I lied to you." He said.

She blinked and shook her head, surprised and horrified, her expression one of complete consternation.

"What do you mean?" She muttered.

"I didn't move here. I just came for a while. You know. To eat." He explained, feeling that for some reason his heart was pounding in his chest like crazy.

Why was he scared?

"Oh. I understand. We don't know each other well yet, you had every right to act like that. Don't worry." She said reassuringly, making him feel an uncomfortable tightness in his throat, a wetness under his eyelids that he hadn't felt in years.

What was happening to him?

"There's someone out there waiting for me. And I don't want her to find out about you. It would be dangerous for you. I'm leaving today." He whispered with surprising difficulty, hearing, shocked, that his voice broke at the last sentence.

He saw her eyebrows arch in pain, her nose twitched as her eyes turned red with tears, the request and plea for him to stay written on her face so clearly that she didn't need to say anything.

Instead of stopping him, however, she let him go and pulled away slightly.

"Your friend?" She asked, not looking him in the eye, but at his chest.

He had a feeling that if he opened his mouth, he would cry.

He let his broad, pale hand raise – his fingers ran gently across her cheek in some hopeless attempt to comfort her.

"If I could, I would take you with me." He said with difficulty, hearing, embarrassed, how pathetic it sounded.

She laughed, but it was a chuckle full of sadness and disappointment, from which he felt a cold, unpleasant shiver.

"Is that how it is with you? Do you play separately and then come back together?" She asked.

He swallowed hard, feeling as if a stone had fallen to the bottom of his stomach, dragging him down.

He felt ashamed at the thought of how accurately she had judged him.

"Go back to her, but don't mention me. I don't need any more problems, much less a jealous woman on my mind." She said, rising from the bed at last, leaving him with emptiness and coldness all around.

"Of course. I'm not going to expose you." He muttered, raising himself up on his elbow, stupefied, feeling like he'd woken up from some deep sleep.

It wasn't real.

"Do you need blood? I can give you a few bags." She said calmly, standing with her back to him, pacing the kitchen as if she were preparing to make herself breakfast.

"No. No need."

The sky outside the window was cloudy, exactly as his thoughts – he was sitting in a train car filled with people, and although he usually struggled to control himself, he felt no hunger.

Her blood satisfied him.

He lowered his gaze, wondering why he didn't feel like he was coming home at all. Usually after such a journey he was tired and discouraged, relieved to return to what was familiar to him. Now, however, he felt like he was sinking deeper and deeper into the dark, damp underworld of his heart.

What was really waiting for him there?

He got the answer as soon as he crossed the threshold of his flat.

Alys was waiting for him with candles all around her, which she must have lit beforehand. She looked very good: an elegant knee-length black dress perfectly accentuated her physical assets, her long hair falling loosely over her shoulders.

He didn't know why, but the sight of her made him feel uncomfortable.

Is this how it is with you?

Do you play separately and then come back to each other?

It's not like that, he thought.

It's just that when I go home, she's already waiting for me there.

Always.

"What's that face? Did you kill someone?" She asked with a hint of amusement, rising from the couch, a pretty, ornate goblet filled with blood in her hand.

Fresh blood.

He didn't want to know where she'd gotten it or who'd paid for it.

"No." He replied wearily, putting the keys down on one of the shelves in the corridor.

I don't have the strength for this, he thought.

"I've missed you. This city is so boring when you're not around." She said softly, combing her long nails through his short hair.

He felt an unsettling shudder when she did this: unlike her touch, in which there was first and foremost a desire for comfort, there was pure sexual intent in Alys's.

She wanted to get straight to the point.

He closed his eyes as she embraced him from behind, as her lips placed a kiss on his neck, as her free hand slowly slid down his torso between his thighs. She froze, not finding there what she had clearly expected.

He wasn't hard.

"What's the matter? Aren't you in the mood? Didn't you miss me?" She asked, and he sighed, taking her hand from his crotch.

"No." He replied again, pulling his coat off his shoulders.

He felt the atmosphere around them grow thicker, knowing that her momentary silence was not a good sign.

She was preparing to attack.

"Are you in love with some poor human girl again? You'll get over it, as you always do. She'll eventually grow old and die, and you'll come back, seeking comfort from me." She muttered with a kind of certainty in her voice that annoyed him.

"What are you doing in my flat?" He asked dryly, knocking her off guard.

She looked at him, wrinkling her eyebrows, increasingly frustrated.

"I came to say hello to you. I was hoping for a warmer welcome." She replied coldly.

Welcome, meaning wild sex full of blood?

"I don't recall inviting you. I want to rest." He said dryly, sidestepping her, feeling some kind of frustration and regret.

Because of you, I had to leave her behind.

She needed me.

But if I had stayed with her, she would have found out what a jealous monster you are.

Alys was able to reconcile with his female human lovers because she knew they would eventually disappear – she herself did not shy away from such excesses, fucking young, handsome boys whenever the opportunity arose.

A female vampire, however, would be a threat to her.

"Ah, yes. You only need me when you cry and miss your mummy. When the remorse and memories of how you killed your father come back. But don't worry. I know you better than you know yourself. Have fun, and when you're done, come and we'll forget this conversation." She said dispassionately and grabbed her coat, putting on her high-heels on the way, leaving his flat with a loud slam of the door.

He rested his hands on the countertop and leaned forward, for some strange reason feeling relieved.

He was alone.

He sat down at his old oak desk and opened his laptop – he sighed heavily as he saw 46 new emails from work, knowing he would have to wade through them all one by one.

He had always loved reading, and over his far too long life he had read so many books that he thought he might be able to make some money from it. He therefore became an editor and translator for a publishing house that released volumes of poetry, but also books on history and philosophy.

He liked this job: he received assignments by email, and could discuss them over the phone. His employers were happy with his work, and his readers praised the fidelity of his translations and revisions, so in the end he managed to live on that alone.

He used an alias and false documents so no one has yet realised that he has been several other people in different countries over the past decade.

He could, of course, like other vampires, simply kill rich people and steal their life savings, however, he knew that in the long run such a life was very miserable: for obvious reasons it is then easier to draw attention to yourself and you still have to hide.

He had enough of that.

Maybe that's why she made such an impression on me, he thought.

She lived as if nothing had happened.

He sighed, running his hand over his face, feeling nothing but remorse at the memory of the expression on her face when he told her he was leaving. He didn't understand why those three days had affected him so much, why she, a stranger, had made him doubt himself completely as a person.

Maybe it was because he had touched her even though he shouldn't have: she had no obligations to anyone, he knew, however, that by entering into any kind of intimate relationship with her, he might be exposing her to Alys' wrath – and even though nothing but a kiss had actually happened between them, he had the feeling that they had had sex at least a few times.

This kind of unforced, intense intimacy, this touch full of desire and need for closeness, was so painfully sincere that it went beyond what he was usually familiar with: what he had done was not only out of his physiological needs, but out of something much deeper.

Something more sad, more pathetic, more real.

Some part of him wanted to be human again.

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 13

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N: I'm back!!! Some trigger warnings: death mentioned and some medical stuff (probable inacuracies).

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12

• ··········· • ············ •

The council met two days after Jayce found Viktor and yourself inside the closet. Two long days of having the big, broad man teasing both of you to hide his own anxiety.

At the beginning of the second day, in the afternoon, Jayce, Viktor, Esther, and most of the investors your mother had rallied had been called to the brightly lit council chamber. You, however, were barred as soon as you tried to get in, the enforcer by the door giving you a sardonic grin when he placed a hand on your shoulder and gently pushed you away. Your mother was about to protest, but you shook your head and watched the double doors close on you.

With a sigh, you walked back to the lab. You took your time, pleasurably walking around the Academy until you arrived at your destination.

The glove came off as soon as you got to the lab's floor, and the door unlocked with a flick of your wrist, the rune spoken without thinking about it.

The lab was mostly clean, and you knew that it was because of the council's constant inspection that it had been organized. You sat on Viktor’s worktable, careful not to disturb anything. He had some books on magic scattered with his own notes and writing utensils. After a few minutes of twirling around on his stool, you thought your time would be better spent learning about your power.

The books had different thicknesses and a variety of covers. Some looked antique, leather-bound, and gold-foiled, while others looked more modern with hardcovers and simpler designs. One caught your attention, mostly because Viktor had left a note stuck on it with your name underlined.

'Read!'

The small couch behind the blackboard seemed like the perfect place to read it. Pushing the blackboard out of the way, you grabbed Viktor’s blanket and sat down. 

The inventor had already read the book, you noted by the little remarks he had added in little sticky notes. 

‘More than one language?’ ‘Prefixes and suffixes. Try.’ 'Curse words? Cursing runes?’ 'Are the runes a foreign language?' 'Do runes have accents?'

You laughed quietly at the annotations. Sitting quietly in the lab was always a peaceful experience. The muffled sounds of the people in the corridors and the soft whooshing of airships going around were soothing. Familiar.

Time ticked by as you read until you found yourself closing your eyes at the words. Shaking your head, you decided to try some new things with the runes.

If runes were similar to words, then they could be combined to make sentences. You looked around the room for inspiration, and your eyes fell on the locked hex-core storage. You knew the cores and gems were either in the council chamber or in Heimerdinger's locked office, now a sort of secure room since he had disappeared.

Not waiting for someone to walk in on you with a blue hand, you grabbed Viktor's colored sticky notepad and wrote the 'unlock' and 'move' rune. Before you could flick the rune with a finger, the locked door slammed against the wall.

“That’s new…” You frowned, determined to try and close the door and lock it from where you sat. 

You made the moving rune again, added the little coda signal next to it, and pulled. The door closed with a click. Still unlocked, though.

It didn't take you long to go through half of the notepad trying to decode what you should add to relock the door, and nothing worked. 

“Fine…be that way…” you grumbled as you got up and walked to Viktor’s shoulder bag on the coat hanger, grabbed his lab keys, walked to the door, and locked it. As you were walking back from dropping the keys back in the bag, the lab's door opened. For a moment you were confused, not having used any magic, but then Viktor’s handsome face peeked through.

“I thought I told you not to enter the lab without supervision.” He warned without menace in his voice.

“According to my mom, I own 2% of this lab, and I decided that this couch is just that. My 2%.” You joked, getting back to the warmth of the blanket on the couch.

He walked inside, closing the door as he made his way to you, a mocking, pensive expression on his face.

“I guess that is fair. Still does not explain why you are inside the lab.” He got to the couch and moved his index finger around, mentioning the room. "Unsupervised."

“Well, I need access to my 2%, don’t I?”

He rolled his eyes dramatically and sat next to you, leaning his cane on the arm of the couch and his shoulders on the back of it. Without thinking, you covered his legs with the wool blanket, patting his knees.

Viktor looked at you with a raised eyebrow, and you shrugged, trying to look nonchalant at the friendly move.

“Has the council session ended?” You asked, clearing your throat and closing the book. He shook his head. “Shouldn’t you be there?”

“Whenever Salo starts throwing personal jabs at me about where I’m from, I know whatever discussion was being had is over.”

“Yeah… stain on the hexgate floor…” you whispered, and he raised his eyebrows. “And how did the discussion end?”

“The council agreed to let the Tallis Lab operate as is... under supervision for a while, but they aren’t going to interfere with it.” He played with the hem of the blanket and shook his head. “Esther was a force of nature in that room tonight. For a moment I thought she was going to start casting runes and making the table float.”

You snorted and leaned against the arm of the couch, looking at his profile. Viktor always had a striking profile, with high cheekbones and a sharp jaw. 

“Did she ever tell you how we became friends?” He looked at the opposite wall, and you shook your head, making a negative sound.

“All she told me was that you and she had similar interests.”

“About… mmm… 11 years ago, before Jayce and Hextech, Professor Heimerdinger thought it was a good idea to give the engineering students something creative to do. So he asked Esther to come and give our analytical little brains some writing classes.”

“Aren’t you an inventor, though?” You tilted your head sideways to lean against the back of the couch; he nodded.

“I still think in numbers... It's different…Anyway, she would teach one class every two weeks. At first, I did not enjoy it; I could be studying or working, but at some point, I started to like it. My brain would go to these faraway places and imagine all of the things that, back then, were impossible. At some point your mother let us know her opinions of the Undercity, and after class, we spent a good two hours just speaking about it.”

“She does like to talk.” You joked, and he looked at you smiling.

“That she does, especially if she likes the subject. For one whole year, every two weeks I would be the first one in and the last one out. Sometimes she would let me read some of her manuscripts and ask for an honest review; other times I let her read my own school papers.”

“Wouldn’t that be cheating? Having an actual writer proofread your papers?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I was an Undercity boy, with an Undercity accent and a limp. I was taking any help I could get.” He shrugged, and you snorted. “One day she didn’t show up. I asked Professor Heimerdinger, and he said something awful had happened to her and her family.”

Immediately you straightened up, eyes wide in curiosity. If his math was correct, and it was, this was about the same time engraved on the stone at the cemetery.

“I knew she had a husband and a child about my age. There was never an opportunity for me to meet them, but still, whatever had happened, I wanted to show my solidarity. So, poor young Viktor walked all the way to the penthouse, and once he got there, Voltaire told poor young Viktor she was at the Skyward Clinic."He sighed, looking at his hands, flexing and relaxing his long fingers. "A trolley had derailed. Her husband had died on the route to the clinic. Her child seemed to be in a very precarious state.”

The buzzing in your ears started to drown out anything but Viktor's particular speech pattern. The corner of your eyes started to tunnel around him. Your breathing started to become elaborate as you tried to hide your restlessness.

It had never seemed to be the right opportunity to ask your mother how it happened. She had mentioned the accident but never in specifics, and you respected her need to keep it to herself. People grieve in their own way.

Your father could never pass by the hospital your mother had died in, even though he would make generous donations to it. But he would always take the long way if the quickest path passed by it.

“I had little money to spend on frivolous things like trolleys, so I walked all the way back to Skyward…” He made his fingers do a little walking motion in the air.

“That’s on the opposite side of the city.”

“It is.”

“And you walked there?”

“I did.” He nodded, his own eyes focusing on something on the floor, his mind tracing the memory.

“Your leg... your back...” You were about to start to complain about his recklessness, but he snorted.

“My lungs.”

“Your lungs?” This was the first time he had mentioned them.

“They took the brunt of my stupidity and my lack of funds." He gave a humorless snort and took a deep breath. "Everything collapsed as soon as my brain figured out how much strain I had put on my body."

He tilted his head to you but didn't look up from whatever it was that he was focused on on the floor.

"Do you know what the gray is?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Do you know what it does after long-term exposure to it?"

The question wasn't out of the blue, because of the subject being discussed and the person it was being discussed with. However, it hit you like a rush of cold water. You didn't know what it did personally, but you'd seen it on someone else. You'd seen it on his other dimension twin.

"Yes." You couldn't look at him.

"The respiratory system starts to rot. According to the doctors, I would be dead in about five to six years. But Esther…”

You remembered the day your Viktor had announced his own diagnosis. He had used those exact words, but the years were shortened to months.

That day had been seared into your brain. The way his voice sounded so strong and yet so broken, and he hadn’t allowed you to shed a single tear, even though they were flowing. ‘Save them for when I’m gone.’.

Your eyes filled with unshed tears now that he wasn't here to see them fall.

“I don’t know how, or even when, but I distinctly remember your mother holding my hand and crying by my bedside table. She said to me..." He cleaned a tear of his own, with the tip of his fingers. “She said nobody else’s child would be dying that night.”

It was like the air in your body had been sucked out. It held in your throat as your eyes widened.

“The doctors said we were a perfect match." He sighed, his eyebrow furrowing. "From blood type to size to the age of the donor. The chances of my body accepting the donated organ were above 80%. And Esther allowed it. And I survived.”

You gasped and followed his hand, which was now tracing a line of his diaphragm gingerly.

“There’s a scar right here…” He tapped his fingers in the lower part of his chest. “A reminder that death is sometimes inevitable for life to happen."

Viktor sniffled, closing his eyes, his hand still on his chest as it rose and fell with each breath.

"After that, we became inseparable. I will never be able to thank her for what she did, and if there is ever anything I can do to repay it, I will do it.”

There was silence now in the lab. The words he had spoken kept swimming freely in your head, fading into images of another Viktor coughing up blood and slowly succumbing to his illness.

You felt your body move on its own accord, your mental state not providing the necessary filters for you to stop yourself.

Viktor jumped when he felt your palm on top of his, on his chest, but didn't move away. You felt his breathing even out and even felt his little sniffles. 

“You’re not dying.” You whispered more to his other self than this one, as if somewhere in the other timeline your Viktor could hear you. 

“I am not.” Viktor whispered back, moving his hand so your own was flat against the fabric of his uniform.

You touched his shoulder with your forehead, a hand still on his chest, and you sobbed. There was sadness and anger and happiness and confusion; it was a convoluted mix of emotions that you couldn’t stop.

You were ecstatic that this Viktor was free from his impending doom, but you felt like your heart was breaking because your Viktor, the one you had loved and lost, could have been saved, could have had this. 

Hindsight was indeed 20/20. This type of procedure has never been given a thought. Although something told you the Viktor you knew would never go for it. He had already accepted his fate. His death. 

You kept asking yourself: Had you known then what you know now, not just about the Herald but about the possibility of you giving him a chance, would you accept it? Would you give your life for him? If you could?

Sadly, you didn’t know the answer to that. In a second of insanity, you just might, but if you had more time to think, the answer was not as clear.

And that confused you and angered you. 

You noticed his hand on top of your own, his thumb gently stroking the back of it. You stiffen, finally realizing where and how you were placed. Half on top of his torso, your forehead on his shoulders, hand on his chest.

Quickly you moved your body away from his.

“Sorry…I... You tried to clean your face with the back of your hands.

“It is expected. Aside from this..." He pointed to the hand he still held on his chest, and you quickly moved it away. "Jayce's reaction was sort of the same...”

“Sorry…It’s…huh…hard, I guess.”

“Matters of life and death often are.” He looked at you, his eyes softening.

Your mind jumped to when you asked if she would choose you or Viktor in case of need and how her answer was immediately him. Since the subject was saving Piltover, it made sense she didn’t hesitate, but now…now you understood it more deeply. He had a part of her child in him. She would save him not just because of the future but also because of what he meant to her. 

“Esther... she...” you said, accepting the burgundy handkerchief he was offering you. “She's very brave...”

Viktor smiled brightly even if his cheeks still had tears in them, and you did the same, seeing him as a completely different person for the first time since you got here.

Nature made them equal; nurture made them opposites.

• ············ •

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked your mother as soon as you were both alone in the penthouse.

“About?” she asked, going around the kitchen, having decided at 11 at night to make cupcakes.

“Viktor and the surgery.” 

She stopped abruptly and looked at you as you sat quietly in the breakfast nook of the kitchen. You made a conscious effort not to show or sound angry, because you weren’t.

“I…Did he tell you that?” You nodded, and she leaned her hip into the counter, looking at a point in the distance. “It was a burden that I didn’t think you’d need.”

She sighed, coming to sit on the opposite side of the table with a deep breath.

“Sometimes I still struggle with the decision I made. My child was gone, and he was there, lying on a hospital bed filled with tubes and machines, and…it became such an easy decision to make back then… I sometimes wonder if she would think less of me because of that...”

“I’m sorry.” You grabbed her shaking hand after a few minutes of silence. “I…don’t know if it means anything, but…as your child from another dimension, I don’t think I could ever think less of you.”

Esther smiled at you and extended a hand to touch your cheek. You took a deep breath and waited. Her touch was warm and gentle, her thumb stroking the top of your cheekbone, and you felt a kiss on your knuckles.

“Thank you, my dear. It means the world to me.” She whispered.

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat @kneelarmhstrung @dedicated2viktor @elvishstudies

[keeryhours]

wildflower chapter four

Eddie Munson x Henderson! female reader, Steve Harrington x reader

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Summary:

Eddie shows up drunk.

Warnings:

Drinking, Eddie being a perv, angst, secret baby

Word Count: 3k

A/N:

Shout out to @punkrockmlchael for the help with this one!

—

It was a week later, and Eddie hadn’t seen or heard from you again. Not that he had tried. He knew what Wayne thought, what he thought, too, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone, or drive to your apartment and demand to talk. He was a coward.

Now, he was drinking again, just like he’d done every day since he’d found out.

“Eddie’s here!”

The band cheered as Eddie walked into The Hideout, clearly after already pre gaming at home. He was already swaying as he approached the bar where Gareth, Jeff, and Doug sat, and they noticed immediately.

“Rough night?” Gareth asked with an eyebrow raised as Eddie sat down next to him, ordering a round of shots.

“You have no fuckin’ idea,” Eddie mumbled, downing a shot the second they were placed in front of him. Gareth reached for one but Eddie waved him off. “These are for me, fucker.”

Gareth backed off, hands up defensively. “Okay, okay. What’s up with you?”

Eddie downed three more shots in succession. Jeff and Doug were staring at him, too - sure, Eddie liked to drink, but not like this. Something was obviously very wrong.

“Talk to us, man,” Jeff added.

Eddie ordered some more shots. He would need them. “I got some…news.”

If the boys weren’t concerned before, they certainly were now. “What, are you dying or something?” Gareth asked, genuinely worried for his friend despite his wording.

Eddie laughed, but there wasn’t much humor behind it. “No.”

“Well what’s up then, man?” Doug asked. “You’re worrying us.”

Eddie downed another two shots. He was on his way to a blackout. “I have a son.”

It went silent. Then, the guys all broke out into nervous laughter. “Good one, man,” Gareth said, his voice uncertain. Eddie didn’t look like he was joking, but he had to be. There was no way he had a kid.

“I’m serious,” Eddie said, his eyes locked on the shots in front of him. “I have a son. He’s almost 2. His name is Asher.” He downed another. “And I’ve never met him. Don’t know shit about him, b’sides what he looks like. I dunno what he likes, or if he’s anything like me. I don’t know shit.”

Gareth, Jeff, and Doug were silent. They exchanged a confused look. Finally, Gareth spoke up again. “Ed, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I told you.” Eddie slammed down another shot glass, causing the guys to jump. “I have a kid. A son.”

“Are you being serious?” Jeff asked, nursing his own beer. The guys would all need a drink after this conversation.

“Yes,” Eddie said. “I just found out.”

It was silent for a minute. “With who?” Gareth asked. “A groupie? Or…” It dawned on the group at once. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, voice slurring even more heavily, “Oh shit.”

“How…what the fuck?” Gareth said, trying to wrap his mind around the situation. “She didn’t tell you?”

Another shot. “Nope.”

“So she just…talked to you while we were gone, and never mentioned anything?” Doug asked.

Eddie laughed humorlessly again, looking down at the empty shot glass in his hand. “I never called her,” he admitted. “Like a fucking idiot.”

“What the hell, man?” Gareth asked, looking at Eddie incredulously. “You never called her? I thought you loved her.”

Eddie waved a hand. “I don’t need the lecture all over again, Gare.”

Eddie drank himself stupid that night. The guys tried to get him to slow down, but he wasn’t having any of it. By the time the other bandmates were nearing drunk, Eddie was beyond wasted, barely able to sit up on the barstool.

“I gotta go,” he slurred, taking multiple tries to stand up.

“Where you going?” Gareth asked.

Eddie didn’t answer. He stumbled his way out of the bar, into the car waiting for him. He gave the driver the address that hadn’t left his head for a single second.

—

Your mind had been racing with thoughts of Eddie since the argument. You thought about calling him, but you felt that it was his responsibility to step up if that’s what he wanted to do. You weren’t going to chase him, that was for sure.

Asher was spending the night at your mom’s again, giving you the night to yourself. Your mom and Dustin loved their grandma and Uncle Dusty time, and you were grateful for the break, because you felt like you’d been going crazy since Eddie came back into your life.

You were just getting comfortable in bed when there was a knock at the door.

You checked the clock on the bedside table. 12am. Who the fuck would be knocking on your door in the middle of the night?

You grabbed the baseball bat Steve insisted you keep for protection and cautiously neared the front door. You peered through the peephole, seeing nothing but blackness. That was weird.

You kept the top chain bolt hooked in as you unlocked the door and opened it the few inches it allowed you. The figure on the other side, who had apparently been leaning against the door, stumbled forward. “Oh, shit,” he uttered, catching his balance with a giggle.

You narrowed your eyes. “Eddie?”

“Hey, baby,” he slurred, some attempt at a flirtatious smirk on his face. “Can I come in?”

“Jesus Christ, you’re wasted,” you remarked, observing how incredibly drunk he looked. He was sweating, his cheeks flushed red, and he smelled like alcohol. “Fuck. Come in, I guess.”

You unlocked the chain bolt and opened the door wide, letting him stumble inside. He knocked over the picture frames by the front door as he came in, and you cursed under your breath as you sat the bat down and picked them up.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You asked him, watching as he collapsed onto your couch with a little “Oof.”

“‘s he here?” Eddie slurred, looking around the apartment.

“Who? Asher?” You asked.

“Yeah.”

“No. He’s at my mom’s.” And good thing, you thought, because this was the last way he needed to meet his father.

“Claudia?”

“…Yeah. Claudia’s still my mom.”

Eddie heaved a heavy sigh. “She always liked me.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, adjusting the frames he had knocked over back the way you had them, “a lot has changed since you disappeared on us.”

“‘m really sorry,” Eddie said, catching you by surprise. “I was so stupid. So fuckin’ stupid.” He looked like he might be starting to cry as he wiped at his face. “I missed you every day.”

You felt yourself start to soften, despite your anger at what he had done. “I missed you, too. That’s why it hurt so bad.”

Eddie shook his head, wild curls bouncing. “So fuckin’ stupid. Big fuckin’ idiot. Dumbest person on the planet.”

You sighed, sitting on the couch next to him. He really reeked like alcohol. “It’s okay, Eds. You’re drunk. We don’t need to talk about it right now.”

He turned to you abruptly, grabbing onto your hands and catching you by surprise. “I love you. Y’know that? I’ve always loved you. I still love you. I’ll always love you.”

Your expression softened to one of pity and hurt. You’d wanted to hear those words for so long, but not while he was wasted on your couch after not hearing a word from him for two years. “Come on, Eddie. You reek. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You helped him off the couch and to the bathroom. You ran a hot shower, helping peel off his gross clothes. You had seen Eddie naked a million times, so you weren’t bothered. But he kept trying to grab at you, and he was half hard as you got him undressed.

“Not tonight, big boy,” you told him as you pushed him into the shower. Eddie grumbled under his breath.

“Come in with me,” he begged, and you weren’t planning to, but you were getting soaked trying to keep him upright and help him wash. You pulled off your pajamas, stepping into the shower as Eddie gave you a wolfish grin.

“No touching,” you reminded him sternly.

He held his hands up. “Yes ma’am. Looking only.”

You rolled your eyes as you put some shampoo in the palm of your hand and began washing his wild hair. Eddie closed his eyes and hummed as you massaged his scalp, relaxing beneath your touch. He stumbled as he nearly fell asleep from the feeling.

“Woah, I’m gonna need you to stay awake for me,” you told him, pushing him under the stream of water to rinse the shampoo out. “I can’t drag you out of here if you pass out on me.”

“‘m not gonna pass out,” he assured you, but you weren’t sure if you fully believed him.

You lathered conditioner into his hair then put some body wash on your loofah. You scrubbed his whole body, washing away the sweat and alcohol. He wiggled his eyebrows at you as you washed him, but you ignored him.

As you washed his body, you noticed a new tattoo you’d never seen before - your name in a swirling script, right on his hip. He certainly hadn’t had that when he left. Your heart clenched in your chest, but you pushed the feelings away.

You pushed him under the water a final time, rinsing him off, before you switched spots with him and washed yourself, too. Might as well.

You turned the shower head off and climbed out, grabbing three towels. You wrapped one around your body and one around your hair and handed the third to Eddie. He shook his head like a dog, sprinkling water all around the bathroom as you glared at him.

Eddie dried himself off, leaning against the shower wall for support. When he was done, you helped him out and back into the living room.

“I think I have some of Steve’s sweatpants around here somewhere…” you mumbled to yourself as you left Eddie on the couch and walked into your bedroom, digging through your dresser drawers. You felt triumphant as you found the grey sweatpants, returning to the living room with them.

You handed them to Eddie, but quickly found he was too drunk to dress himself. You pulled him up, and he held onto your shoulders as you helped him step into the pants one leg at a time, like you would with Asher.

He fell back onto the couch again. You helped him lay down and covered him with the blanket on the back of the couch. “Get some sleep,” you told him. “You’re gonna feel like shit in the morning.”

You turned to walk away, but you were stopped by Eddie grabbing onto your hand. You turned, seeing his sleepy eyes looking up at you.

“Please don’t leave me,” he said, sounding pathetically sad. Despite yourself, you felt bad for him.

“I can’t fit on the couch with you, Eds,” you told him.

“Can I sleep in your bed with you?”

Your mouth opened to tell him no, but the words didn’t come out. You thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess.”

Eddie smiled, and you helped him up and into your bedroom. He fell onto your bed, snuggling into the blankets and pillows. “So comfy,” he muttered, voice muffled into the pillow.

You climbed into bed next to him, even more exhausted now. It was seconds later when you heard soft snores from next to you, and you couldn’t help smiling softly to yourself. It felt so domestic, so familiar, you could almost imagine it was years ago and this was your normal.

But things were different now.

—

Eddie woke the next morning with the worst pounding headache. The sunlight through the window burned his eyes, and he pulled the blankets over his head with a groan.

The first thing he noticed was that the smell of the detergent was unfamiliar. He opened his eyes again, seeing the clean bedroom, the light purple comforter, the framed photos decorating the space. He looked to the side and saw a bottle of water and some Tylenol waiting for him.

He recognized the room immediately. He was at your apartment again. God, what the fuck did I do?

He popped the medicine bottle open and took 3 of them, washing them down with the water. He was shirtless, dressed in some grey sweatpants he didn’t recognize.

He cautiously crawled out of bed, taking the time to make it before he left the room. He found you in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. It smelled delicious, and he saw eggs and pancakes waiting on the counter as you fried the bacon. You turned as you heard his footsteps.

“Good morning,” you greeted, and he couldn’t tell if you were upset with him or not.

“Morning,” he said, tentatively approaching you. “Uh, did we…?”

“No,” you answered simply. You removed the pan from the heat and plated the bacon. “You should eat. I’m sure you feel like shit.”

He definitely did. You made plates for both of you, and he sat at the kitchen table across from you. “What…what happened last night?” He asked, before quickly digging into the breakfast feast you’d prepared.

“Well, you showed up at my door completely wasted,” you said, picking at your own plate. “I gave you a shower because you smelled like a bottle of whiskey. Then you asked to sleep in my bed with me.” You didn’t mention the way he’d tried for more.

Eddie’s cheeks blushed red with embarrassment. “Jesus. I’m so sorry.”

You shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“Is…”

“No, Asher isn’t here.”

Eddie breathed a sigh of relief. He would feel even more like the worst dad in the world if he’d met his son for the first time in that state. “Look, I was thinking…”

You looked up at him. “What?”

Eddie took a bite of his eggs, stalling. He realized you’d made them just the way he preferred them, even though you liked your eggs softer. “I’d like to meet him.”

You thought for a moment, pushing your food around your plate. “Yeah. We could do that.”

Eddie was surprised at the amount of relief he felt. He wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d said no. “Can I ask about him?”

You raised your eyebrows. “Yeah, of course.”

“What’s his favorite color?”

You smiled to yourself. “Blue. Like Thomas.”

Eddie smiled, too. “He likes trains?”

“Loves them.”

“What does he like to watch?”

“Mostly Sesame Street,” you said, “but he’s starting to get into the Ninja Turtles now.”

Eddie laughed. He could picture the little boy dancing to the theme song. “Is he anything like me?”

“God,” you said, huffing a small laugh. “Just like you.”

Eddie felt pride at that answer, for some reason. “Yeah?”

“Hell yes,” you said, shaking your head as you took a bite of bacon. “He’s wild. Loves to climb. He loves music, especially metal. He watches the music videos on MTV and tries to headbang along with them. He’s got the hair for it.”

Eddie laughed hard. “Oh my god. I’ve got to see that.”

It went quiet again as the two of you ate, and Eddie lost himself in his thoughts. He thought about how much he’d missed, how his son didn’t even know who he was. When he spoke up again, his tone was serious. “Does he know he has a dad?”

You paused, thinking of how to answer. “I…don’t think he really understands yet,” you said finally. “I guess he kind of sees Steve as a father figure, since he’s around all the time.”

That made Eddie feel sick to his stomach. The idea of Steve being a dad to his kid made him angry - even though he knew he didn’t really have the right to be. He was the one who left and never called, after all.

“But you know,” you said, sensing the hurt Eddie was feeling, “it’s not too late.”

Eddie nodded. He knew that was true. He had a lot to make up for, but Asher was young enough that he could make up for lost time. And he was determined to.

“When do you think I could meet him?” Eddie asked.

You thought for a moment. “You could come over tomorrow?”

Eddie smiled softly. “I’d like that.” He ate another bite of eggs. “Wayne wants to meet him, too.”

You smiled at the mention of his uncle. “I’ve missed Wayne.”

Eddie snorted. “He’s missed you too, believe me.”

The two of you finished the rest of your breakfast in silence. Eddie washed up after - it was the least he could do, he said, after you had essentially taken care of him last night. When he was done, you met him in the living room with his clothes from last night, freshly washed and dried. He felt guilty and grateful as he took them from you.

He changed back into his own clothes in your bedroom. When he was done, he examined the photos decorating the room that he hadn’t noticed when he’d been here before. There were plenty of Asher - he featured in most of them, in fact. Photos of you with Claudia and Dustin, with Steve and Robin. He even found the photo from when you and Eddie had gone to prom together among them. He smiled at the memory, looking at your high school selves. You looked happy. Happier than he’d seen you since he’d gotten back.

He wondered if he was the one who’d taken that sparkle out of your eyes.

When he left the bedroom, you were curled on the couch, watching an episode of Freddy’s Nightmares. Eddie approached, watching over your shoulder for a minute.

“I should probably get going,” he said, startling you. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t hear you,” you laughed lightly. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow? He wakes up from his nap around 2:30.”

“Yeah. Sounds good.” Eddie headed to the door, and you followed. “I’ll see you then.”

“Bye, Eds.”

“Bye.”

You closed the door behind him, locking it. You’d be going to pick up Asher soon, but for now you’d sit in the peace and quiet. You leaned your back against the door, thinking that maybe things could be okay.

tag list

@awkward00noodle @american-idiot-jpg @georgeweasleyslostearhq @fandom-princess-forevermore @emxxblog @hopesicle @hellv1ra @whimsiwitchy @avalon-wolf @kellsck @toomuchbucky @sashaphantomhive @losingmygrasponreality @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddiesgirl1944 @ashcal99 @richardsamboramylove55 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @allhailtheslothoverlord @micheledawn1975 @browneyes528 @costellation-hunter @taccobelle

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter seven: Closer Than Before

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12

The rain hadn’t stopped since the afternoon, a constant thrum against the windows. The kind of weather that felt like the world was pressing in, making everything inside feel a little more closed off, a little more confined. You stood on the first level of the VIP room, eyes wandering over the cold, imposing space. It was beautiful in its own way, all sharp edges and dark marble, but it lacked… warmth.

You needed to change that.

The Frontman—still wearing his mask, as always—stood a few steps behind you, his figure tall and unreadable, like he was a part of the room itself. Silent. Unmoving.

“I’ve been thinking,” you started, turning to face him, your voice a little louder than you’d intended, breaking the silence. “About what I want to do with the VIP room. It’s… too cold. I think it needs something different.”

You looked at him, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze scanned the space, lingering over the walls, the large, dark staircase, the bar area layered along the far wall. The way he looked at it made it clear that he wasn’t just seeing the design, but feeling it too, like he could sense the emptiness in the room.

“Like what?” His voice finally cut through the silence, low and steady.

You shrugged, trying to explain. “I was thinking of doing something like… Ancient Greece. Dark marble walls, dark green plants… a more organic vibe. I could make the models like Greek statues. You know, the ones with the sheer togas—more like they belong in the room, not just… standing there. It’d be darker, but it would feel more alive.”

The Frontman was quiet for a moment, processing your words. You couldn’t tell if he liked the idea or if he thought it was too much. His mask hid everything. His silence made it hard to read him.

“I think it could work,” he said finally, his voice distant but not dismissive. “The space is big enough for it.”

You felt yourself exhale, not realizing how much tension had been in your shoulders until it started to ease. You’d expected him to argue, or at least poke holes in your plan. But he was… actually considering it.

“I’ll need to see the full plan when you have it,” he added. “If you’re sure about it, I’ll get the contractors to start working on it.”

“Of course,” you said, your voice lighter now. “I’ll get something to you soon.”

You both stood there in silence for a while, looking around the room. It was still cold, but now, there was a shift. You’d actually said something, made a choice about this place. And he’d listened. He hadn’t rejected you outright. It felt… like progress, in a way.

Once the silence lingered too long, you followed him as he started to walk toward the staircase, down to the second level of the VIP room. You didn’t even think about it, just automatically stepping behind him. You both descended the stairs and made your way toward the couches, the massive TV on the wall. Everything in the room felt bigger, more imposing the longer you stayed there, but now there was a faint connection between you two that wasn’t there before.

The bar area was silent as always. You could hear the soft hum of the air conditioning, the sound of your heels on the polished floor. You broke the silence first.

“Do you ever get tired of this place?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “All of this… the Games? The power? The way everything just feels like it’s running on autopilot?”

You glanced at him quickly. You weren’t sure if he was going to answer or if you’d just overstepped, but you couldn’t help it. Something about the heaviness in the air between you both made you feel like he might actually understand.

“I don’t have the luxury of tiring,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet. There was no edge to his tone, no anger, just… resignation.

You wanted to push further, to ask him about the cost of all this—about the man behind the mask. But something stopped you. Instead, you nodded, accepting his words, even though they didn’t answer your question.

Neither of you spoke again as you made your way back to your shared quarters. The walk was slow, deliberate, like neither of you wanted to break the delicate silence. During the walk, you couldn’t help but think about how you’d been married to the Frontman for a little over a month, and you still didn’t know his name.

He knew yours, so what’s the problem?

The thought lingered in your mind as you reached the door to your quarters, and for a moment, you hesitated before reaching for the handle. The Frontman stopped beside you, his gaze on the door, but for a brief moment, you could feel his attention shift toward you. You weren’t sure if it was because of what you’d just discussed or if it was something else, but the atmosphere between you had changed—just a little.

You swung the door open and stepped inside, the Frontman following closely behind. You both moved further into the quarters, but he stepped past you, on his way to his office.

“Goodnight,” you said softly, the word feeling heavier than usual.

He didn’t respond right away. You were about to turn away when his voice stopped you.

“Goodnight.” He said, his tone softer than before. He seemed to hesitate, stopping in his place in the hallway.

He turned to face you once more, and there was a brief pause before he added, almost casually, “My name is In-ho.”

The words hung in the air between you like a revelation—something you hadn’t expected but that you’d somehow been waiting for. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t some grand confession. It was just… simple. Human. In-ho. It didn’t feel like the name of the Frontman, the man behind the mask. It felt like the name of someone who was finally letting go, just a little.

You blinked, surprised, your throat tight. “In-ho,” you repeated, almost as if testing it, letting it sit in your mouth. His name. Not the cold title you’d been using all this time, but the real one.

He nodded once, short and simple, and then opened the door. But before he stepped inside, he paused for a moment, glancing back at you. “I won’t be hard to find, if you need me,” he said, voice soft, quieter than before. Then, without another word, he disappeared into the room.

You stood there for a while, processing what had just happened. In-ho. You didn’t know what it meant yet, but somehow, it felt like it mattered. Maybe not everything would change overnight, but this moment—this small shift—it was something.

It was a crack in the wall, a small opening that let you see a little more of him than before. And that was a start.

———————

This is chapter seven!! I have a few more coming tonight! Lemme know what you think!!

Tag list:

@sunny21200

@lucinda-reads

@shakysif

@whoisbriannaa

@allmylovegoestomusic

@swthrtbyeol

@strawberrychita

@hoddystark

@livelaughcelica

@foulbreadpaenut

@write-from-the-heart

@angelofthorr

@sylviavf

@missroro

@siloveyourmoms

@luv1ze

@audrey223

@khaylin27

@gay4hotmilfs

@mimis-u3u

@captainlunaxmen

@cdej6

@ritaaaz07

@chateaumarmontt

@eepgirls

@ushouldhmhas

@fedsvenable

@dahliawarner

@fyodorssimp1

@nanamilkbread