#She sounds almost unreal

[uzi-x33]

i genuinely don’t think I’ve heard a better voice then ado.

[luvsupa]

“YOU’RE A STAR!”

tags: musician!choso x manager fem!reader, reader has a secret fan account, both are in 20, choso has lots of tattoos and is an r&b singer, he has piercings, smut (p in v), ōral sex (f!recieving), sub!choso (ish), voyeurism, etc. mdni.

w.c: 3,2k

a/n: YALL I’m almost at 2k LIKE THATS INSANEEEE!! TY GUYS SOSOS MUCHHH AHHH

+ erm if there’s errors lmkk

you sit in choso’s expansive dressing room, surrounded by his makeup and fashion assistants, eyes glued to the big screen as he finishes his final song of the concrrt. the sound of thousands of screaming fans fills the air, their voices blending with his deep, angelic one. even from back here, you can hear the unmistakable roar of the crowd, hanging onto every note he sings. the way he commands the stage, the way he moves—everything about him makes your chest tighten.

he looks unreal tonight, his stylist outdid themselves. the subversive, edgy look suits him perfectly, especially the ripped wife-beater that showcases his inked arms, gleaming under the stage lights. the body glitter you suggested—yeah, that was definitely a good call- catches the light in all the right ways, making him look out of this world.

you’re supposed to be his manager, maintaining some form of professionalism, but damn, it’s impossible when he looks this good. especially when he runs his hand through those messy brown locks , letting a few strands fall over his face. you bite your lip, trying to focus on anything but the way your heart races when he’s on stage.

the thought of professionalism slips even further when you pull out your phone, dimming the brightness low. not for work—no, not tonight. instead, you open the app you use to connect with his fanbase under your secret username.

chogetsmewetter

it still makes you smirk every time you see it. his fans had been relentless, trying to bribe you for the username. but it’s yours, and you're not giving it up for anyone.

chogetsmewetter: are u guys seeing how good he looks… need him immediately

responses flood in almost instantly.

chososwhore: baby, nobody wants him more than i do…

choochoo: y’all send videos of the concert plzzz :(

kamosbaby: my baby daddy lookin good on stage.

you’re too caught up in scrolling through the candid photos and fan reactions, smiling like an idiot, when the makeup assistant catches you off guard.

“what’s got you smiling like that?” she teases, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

you quickly shove your phone into your pocket, plastering on your best fake smile. “just checking cho’s schedule for next week. his brothers want to surprise him at the last show.”

it’s a lie, of course, but you’re used to spinning quick stories, and she just shrugs, moving on. but not without another jab. “girl, you love calling him cho, don’t you? does he let you call him that in bed too?”

your eyes widen as choso’s fashion designer giggles along with her. “guys, nothing’s going on. we’re strictly business—i manage his schedule, and that’s it.” but the words taste bitter, even as you force them out. nothing more. yeah, right.

the deafening cheers from the TV rescue you from any more teasing. all eyes turn to the screen as choso wraps up, thanking the crowd with that deep, velvet voice of his. the camera zooms in on his face, his lips curling into a soft smile as he waves and blows kisses to the adoring fans. gosh, he’s perfect.

a few moments later, the dressing room doors swing open, and there he is. choso, in the flesh, followed by his bodyguards. his team erupts in cheers, swarming him with praise, but you move to the back in the corner, blending into the background. moments like this are too chaotic for you, but you know you’ll have your moment later, probably on the tour bus.

amidst the chaos, his eyes find you, and he frowns a little when he sees you typing away on your phone, oblivious to the world. he doesn't know, of course, that you're replying to posts about him.

before you can finish your latest message, you feel him standing right in front of you, towering over you. the air feels thick between you two, and you curse internally as you slip your phone into your pocket once again, heart racing.

“you forgetting something?” his voice is low, teasing, as he glances down at your hands.

you quickly shake your head, trying to play it cool. “c’mon, cho, you know i’d never survive in that crowd,” you say, nodding toward the gaggle of team still dying for his attention.

his hands, cold from the stage, slide into yours, pulling you just a little closer. you swallow hard. “i knowww, but your support matters the most outta all of ‘em,” he says, rocking slightly, his lips curling into that perfect half-smile. the one that makes your stomach flip.

he smells incredible, the scent of his unreleased cologne wrapping around you, making your head spin. you smile, turning away, but he moves with you, trying to catch a glimpse of that smile.

“c’mon, let’s grab dinner. my director’s waiting,” he says, releasing your hands, and you instantly frown, missing his touch.

you follow him and his bodyguards out, offering a quick farewell to the makeup and fashion team. they don’t miss the chance to wink at you, clearly still enjoying the teasing.

as you near the exit, the noise outside grows louder—fans desperate to catch one last glimpse of choso. this is the part of the night you dread, knowing how insane the crowd can get. but when he looks over his shoulder and gives you that grin, the chaos doesn’t seem so bad.

two guards swing open the doors, harsh light flooding in as flashes from cameras blind you instantly. the screams grow deafening, and you brace yourself. this is always the worst part—being unable to see, disoriented, as the paparazzi go wild trying to capture every inch of choso’s presence.

but choso? he thrives in this. he’s in his element, beaming as he dives straight into the crowd. signing albums, posing for photos, accepting gifts—he eats it all up. you trail behind one of his bodyguards, eyes flickering to where he’s standing. your heart clenches as you catch sight of him—his lips locked with a fan.

you swallow hard. it’s not the first time. he always does this with her—his so-called “number one fan.” he remembers her face, her name, every single time. each time he kisses her in front of his adoring crowd, it feels like a punch to the gut. the fans love it. the media laps it up, turning her into a minor celebrity among his fandom.

how do you know? through your secret fan account.

you scoff quietly to yourself as you slip past the crowf, making it safely onto the tour bus. heading straight for the private area at the back, you drop your bag onto one of the leather couches, sinking into the seat by the window. from here, you can still see him outside, giving the fans hugs, taking endless photos. you watch in silence, jealousy simmering just beneath the surface.

finally, after what feels like forever, choso steps onto the bus, breathless and flushed. he walks down the aisle toward you, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“fuckkk, they’re amazing,” he groans, collapsing onto the couch beside you, still riding the high from the crowd.

they’re amazing? or she’s amazing…

you force a smile, eyes glued to your phone. “you looked like you were having fun, choso,” you mutter, distracted by your personal texts. his head drops back with a groan. one thing he can’t stand is when you don’t give him your full attention.

before he can start whining, one of the fashion designers calls your name from the front of the bus. you sigh, getting up quickly to see what the issue is. in your rush, you leave your phone behind on the couch.

choso watches as you walk away, eyes narrowing when he sees your phone lying there. you never leave it behind, always keeping it close, and curiosity gnaws at him. his leg bounces as he contemplates it. fuck it.

he snatches your phone up, eyes widening as the first thing he sees on your notification center is all he need to see.

[chogetsmewetter] new like from choochoo and 100+ others:

I need to fuck choso nowww, he’s so fuckin hot it’s not fairrr.

damn.

a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. so that’s why you’ve been acting weird. he sets your phone back down just as he hears your footsteps returning.

you return, completely unaware of what just happened. “choso, they said we can’t leave until another hour—” you start to explain, but he’s not listening. his thoughts are elsewhere, his leg bouncing slightly as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“how do you want me to fuck you?” he suddenly blurts out, his voice low and dark.

your eyes widen, body stiffening as his bold words hit you like a train. you fumble for the curtain, pulling it shut so the driver can’t hear.

“w-what the fuck are you talking about?” you stammer, your breath catching in your throat. his dark brown eyes lock onto yours, unwavering. he doesn’t need to say it—his gaze tells you everything.

he knows.

panic rises inside you as you glance toward your phone and then back to him. he nods slowly, confirming your worst fear. he found out.

“so… are you those shy freaks…” he asks casually, standing up from the couch. his towering frame looms over you, and your world feels like it’s shrinking as he removes his leather jacket, revealing his tattooed, muscular arms.

“y-you wanna do this here? in front of the fans?” you whisper loudly, eyes darting toward the windows that are now covered by the blinds.

he chuckles, low and wicked. “you didn’t seem to care posting your dirty thoughts in front of me.”

and he ate with that one.

just like how he’s now devouring you in the back of the tour bus. you’re nestled on the couch, right in front of the curtains that separate the chaos outside from your little world. choso is on his knees, going at you like a possessed man. your legs are pushed tight against your chest as he laps up your juices, sucking and swallowing your sweet fluids. his cold nose piercing nudges your clit as his tongue thrusts deep inside you at an inhumane speed. any trace of shame has long evaporated, replaced by his loud moans vibrating against your cunt, making your eyes cross slightly.

your hands tangle in his silky brown locks, tugging gently, which earns you a whimper as he pulls back, your essence and saliva coating his chin and glossy lips. “mmm, p-pull on it more, pretty,” he urges, gazing up at you with doe eyes, brows furrowed in concentration as he loses himself in you once again.

obeying him, you tug harder on his hair, bucking your hips against his face while his hands grip the back of your thighs, pushing you deeper into your chest. he’s growling now, lost in the pleasure he’s giving you.

“yesss, f-fuck, you’re so goooddd,” you praise, head thrown back as he slurps at your juices like a starving man. he pulls away to admire your twitching hole, his fingers parting your folds wider. he spits a wad of saliva directly into your gaping pussy, making you clench instinctively as he slides in two thick digits, effortlessly gliding through your sloppy walls. his thrusts are calculated as he studies your features, which are now squeezed shut in bliss.

“hmm, she’s fuckin’ wettt,” he comments, your pussy responding with loud, squelching sounds that fill the back of the bus, echoing your mess. “hahh, you put that username to use,” he taunts, your body burning with embarrassment. his thick fingers pick up speed, massaging that sweet spot, and your back arches off the couch, your lower tummy tingling as your breath quickens.

choso can sense you’re close, the way you tighten around him. suddenly, he sucks hard on your clit, swirling his tongue around your poor nub. you cover your mouth with your hands, muffling the moans that threaten to escape .

just before you can cry out his name, he pulls his fingers out, leaving you undone. he retreats from your soaked clit, watching your translucent essence dribble down your convulsing hole, spilling onto the couch. your breath hitches as he delivers a sharp slap to your pussy, jolting electricity through your body, and the sticky remnants of your orgasm cling to his palm, igniting an insatiable addiction to your sensitivity.

“nahhh, is this the wettest you can get?” he says, rising from his knees and unzipping his jeans, pulling his throbbing cock free from its confines. your mind goes blank at the sight. fuck, he definitely never lied about his size, especially in his songs. choso sits beside you, manhandling you onto his lap, your pussy pressing against his hard cock as you whimper,

this is really happening.

“ride me, darling—use me all you want.” he states, and it feels like you’re living out your dirtiest dream, because yu are. he leaves trails of kisses along the side of your neck, his glossy lips—coated in your cum—smudging against your skin. you stare down at his shaft, his leaky tip begging to be touched. raising your hips, you grab the base of his cock, making him wince as you align his rosy tip with your drooling entrance. his crownhead stretches you open, and you whimper at how big he is with each inch you take. your velvety walls accommodate his size, practically expanding as he settles into your pussy.

without warning, choso grips your hips, slamming you down against him. you wail as every inch of his cock plunges deep inside your walls, and he moans at how tight you are around him. “f-fuck, baby, takin’ so fuckin’ l-long,” he says impatiently, thrusting up into you as each movement leaves you more dazed and breathless.

with newfound courage, your hips immediately fuck back into his, faster than his sloppy thrusts, making his eyes roll back in pleasure. your grinding drives him wild, your pussy gripping him like it’s life or death. choso’s head falls back, broken moans slipping past his lips, his adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to hold back even more sounds of ecstasy.

you can feel the heat building between you, his cock stretching you further with each thrust. you grind down harder, relishing the way his body responds, each movement causing him to whimper and squirm beneath you. his hands grip your waist, guiding you, but you can tell he’s losing himself in the sensation, growing more ditzy with every upward thrust.

“c’mon, baby, ride me h-harder,” he begs, voice thick with desperation. his eyes fluttering as he’s moaning loudly. it’s intoxicating, watching him come undone because of you. you match your pace to the rhythm of his moans, your slickness coating him more with each thrust. the sound of your bodies slapping together drowns out the cheers of the fans outside, your pussy so noisy it’s almost too loud for your own liking.

“mmm, keep your eyes on me, pretty boy,” you purr, brushing your fingertips through his hair, tugging a big- earning a whimper at the pet name. you can see the way he bites his lip, trying to hold back more moans, but you know he won’t last long.

“hgn, you think jus’ cause you’re on top ‘m your bitch?” he groans, the tension between you two thcick. his gaze is wild, pupils dilated, and it only drives you further as you increase your pace, your hips slamming hard against his thighs, coating his throbbing base with your slickness. you giggle as he pathetically moans out, hands gripping your flesh tighter as you grind harder. his chubby tip sloppily kisses your cervix, sending shockwaves through your body as it begins to shake.

the way he reacts to every thrust, every grinding motion sends a thrill down your spine. he’s completely lost in you, his breathing ragged and unsteady. “y-you feel so good,” he stammers, voice breaking as he struggles to keep his focus, each word laced with pleasure. you smirk, feeling powerful, proud at the control you have over him.

“mhmm, ‘m starting to think y’er all talk, cho. you’re not showing me how you’d fuck me,” you taunt, leaning in his ear and tugging on his ear piercings, making him shudder at your seductive voice.

your words truly did something to him, awakening something much darker within. without hesitation, he carelessly picks you up, sliding his cock out of your hole as he slams you against the table adjacent to the couch. bending you over, he realigns himself with your hypnotizing cunt, the air thick with the heat of your lust. choso slams his entire length into your pussy, the sound of slickness echoing in the cramped space as your body squelches loudly, both of you moaning in unison. he grips your hips tightly, pounding mercilessly into you, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body as you cry out, not caring if the bus driver or any staff hears your cries of pleasure.

“cunt so good,” he growls, feeling you clamp down hard on his girthy length. his moan resonates deep within your core as he swats your ass, the sound of skin meeting skin sending electric jolts through you. he feels like he’s deep in your guts, rearranging everything inside you, each thrust making your pussy squelch obscenely. it’s so loud that it drowns out any sounds from outside, the wet slaps of your bodies merging into a symphony of lust. you’re practically squeaking like a damn mouse with every thrust, your body unable to contain the pleasure coursing through you.

without warning, he grips your hair and pulls you up against him, his mouth brushing against your ear as he whispers, “take it all, mama. you can take it.” his words send a shiver down your spine, the duality of his sweet yet dominating tone intensifying your arousal. you nod, feeling yourself surrender completely to him, wanting nothing more than to be his.

“m-more cho’ ,” you whine, and he responds with a primal growl, his hips slamming into yours harder, faster, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. his movements are relentless, each thrust a story to his desire, his need for you. you can feel the tension coiling tighter within you, the pressure building to a breaking point.

but then, in the midst of your euphoric bliss, you slowly open your eyes, and your jaw drops in shock. he placed you directly in front of the window, where all the fans are just outside, oblivious to the scandalous scene unfolding inside. the reality of the moment crashes over you, and you gasp, suddenly aware of the possibility of being seen.

“c-cho… the—fuckk—the fans,” you manage to warn, your entire body jolting with his relentless thrusts, each one motivating him to go even faster, to claim you harder.

“nahh, now you wanna back out?” he snarls through gritted teeth, going absolutely feral. his grip tightens as he reaches to grab the back of your hair, pulling you flush against his chest, forcing you to take him deeper. the blinds rattle as he yanks them open wider, letting in more light for the fans to see everything happening inside. the flashes from paparazzi cameras blind your vision as they snap multiple shots of your fucked out expression, choso grinning behind like a devil at each click.

“say cheese, pretty. you’re gonna be a star,”

[chocum]

yea tattoo artist choso but .. what abt tattoo artist geto

congrats on 1k btw!

eee thank youuuu 🙈🙈 i’m souuurrr happy you requested geto bc i’ve been wanting to write abt other characters. AND THISS got out of hand lollll ( 1.5k ) idk what came over me i just word vomited all over my phone… & it’s unedited

— tattooartist!geto x reader // mentions of smoking, m masterbation, fleshlight, cum eating, kinda pervy geto idk he tells reader to take her shirt off when she doesn’t need to so, nipple play, v in p, mentions of overstim, creampiee

suguru geto is one of the most, if not the most popular tattoo artists in your area— hell, probably even farther than that. just to book an appointment, there’s a waitlist not including the months and months he’s already booked for. so when you finally get that confirmation email after waiting for what felt like years, you physically jump up, rushing to get ready and go to the parlor

“i don’t have anyone today under that name, sorry”

suguru pushes a strand of silk black hair behind his pierced ears, the dragon tattoo on his hand moving as he does so almost like it’s taunting you.

“what? i got an email today i just-” your hand reaches into your purse slacked over your shoulder to pull out your phone and prove your appointment was today, but when you go back to check, heat spreads across your cheeks faster than ever.

the date said next month

“ya had the right day i’ll give you that” and he’s laughing. not at you but because you’re cute, he thinks. pouting, growing hot from embarrassment. “i’ll tell you what..”

he leans in and you can smell the smoke that lingers on his breath mixing like some sort of love potion with his musky cologne, his pierced eyebrow quirking, browned eyes staring into yours with puffy lips wet from licking, “i can squeeze you in tomorrow. was supposed to have an off day but ill help a pretty girl like you out, how’s that sound?”

and you’ve never nodded faster. smile pulling at your glossed lips, drawing his to get trapped underneath his teeth.

“here i’ll give you my number, i’ll text you the time ‘n stuff later”

with that, you leave his parlor, your number scribbled on the back of some old receipt next to your name and a heart.

geto’s no better than a man. no better. he goes home that night and texts you as soon as he’s tucked into bed.

hey this is suguru btw.

your phone vibrates on your nightstand, and you smile at the notification. it almost felt unreal, someone who felt so unreachable, someone like geto in your phone, texting you first.

hey!

he catches himself smiling at the message too, his mind trailing back to seeing your pretty face when you walked into the parlor. the way you looked around doe-eyed like a little deer in headlights. looked innocent, and he liked that. maybe a little too much, his dick twitching against the fabric of his boxers.

he only talked to you for a few minutes. barely even held a conversation, but god did you look good. can’t blame him for getting like this.

what time is good for you? like i said, im supposed to be off but had no plans so any time is fine.

your thumbs dance across your keyboard as you think of what to say in response. you’re nervous. and if you knew he was jerking his cock, you’d be even more. his hand slowly .. very slowly rubbing his leaky tip, his head full, overflowing and bubbling with thoughts of you. what are you doing right now? are you in bed too? squeezing his warm balls, cupping them, teasing himself, imagining it’s your sweet little hands.

is 6 pm okay?

the little buzz drags him from his thoughts.

yea. see you then, pretty.

the simple little pet name makes you feel like you’re going to explode. so warm all over your body, and you wish you could just time travel to the next day and see him already.

geto brings the palm of his large hand to his face, lolling his tongue out to lick long stripes on it, shivering at the feeling of his own piercing before wrapping around the base of his thick cock, stroking himself only two times. this won’t do.

he reached for the pocket pussy he keeps nested deep in his drawer. leaning over to let spit fall and dribble into the clear toy before rubbing it on his tip.

groaning, “shiiiiittt” his hips bucking up as he slowly lets it sink down— body twitching at the feeling of all the little bumps and ridges massaging his sensitive cock.

“fu- fuck juuuust like that, mhhhm”

imagining he’s inside your tight little walls, squishing him like he’s meant for you, snug and tight like a puzzle piece.

his chest heaved with every snap of his wrist, spit sinking out and ringing out the base of his cock leaking down to his heavy balls, “feel so fucking good baby”

so fast he’s already shooting into the toy, whining because it’s not you. wishing it was you, your warm walls probably feel so much better. probably sound so cute taking him from behind or from the front, your eyes locked onto his.

he came so much it’s leaking all over himself. so messy and dirty and he brings the toy up and licks it all out, shoving his tongue inside the rubbery walls to flick and clean it up.

“shit”

the next day came too slowly. to you but especially to suguru. he went to the parlor an hour earlier to open and tidy up, pulling his raven locs into a ponytail, letting a few stray strands fall and frame his face, counting each and every second.

and then he hears it. the little ding as the door opens, you push it open smiling up at him as you walk through and you look even better than he remembered. and he’s trying so hard to keep his composure.

he nods at you, giving you a small smile, “so what did you want to get, and where?”

at your reply he freezes, his hands almost crumbling up the paperwork he reached for you to fill out — “my chest”

“your chest?”

he parrots you. then he repeats it in his head a few more times. picturing you pull your little top up.

he can tell you’re not wearing a bra with how your nipples perk up and poke through the flimsy, almost see-through fabric.

you nod your head, mhm sounding and bubbling past your lips.

god, you’re going to be the death of him.

after you finish with all the paperwork, he pulls you into the back making small talk asking about your day. and you indulge, asking back, finding comfort in the normality of your conversation. he’s different from what people painted him out to be and you felt relaxed in his presence.

even more when he offers you a seat, cleaning it off before slipping on some black gloves. his hands almost bulge out, his knuckles poking through the latex.

“can i see the design?”

you pull up the picture on your phone and he hums, “and you said your chest, right?”

again he repeats it, almost as if it’s a mantra he’s using to calm his nerves. calm his dick.

you just nod, “do i need to take my shirt off?”

and well no you don’t, not yet at least, but he says yes, reaching forward to do it for you because he’s just so sweet, right? so nice and caring, and welcoming.

and he only wraps his lips around your tits to soothe you, right? sucking, letting his teeth sink into the buds, the silver ball tracing over them. his other glove-clad hand cupping them.

sinks his cock into you just cause he wants to take care of you, right? he could tell you wanted it soo bad. your thighs pressing together so tightly when he pressed his lips against your chest with a soft, “suguru please”

“mhm let me take care of you, pretty girl, spread em, hold yourself open f’me— uh huh, juuust like that.”

your little arms shake and tremble, hooking around the back of your knees as he pushes into your tight cunt. and fuck, he was right. feels so much better than his toy.

“fuuuckk found your spot, baby, ‘s right there? yeah feel good right there?” he rolls his hips up, brushing against that spot, his thick tip kissing it, making your body twitch.

“yes— fuck yes feels so good”

right about you sounding so fucking good too— his cock twitching inside the solitude of your pretty slimy walls. shivering at how you suck and milk him so well, so tight and warm. so fucking warm. feels so good he’s already close, but he wants to keep making you feel good, keep hearing you, and if he was to fuck his cum into you, overstimulating his needy cock to do that, then so be it.

“inside” you whine out at how he twitches, his stokes sputtering and faltering as he languidly pushing into your sopping pussy, leaking all over him, so wet.

“ohh — fuck ohfuck” and it pushes him over the edge, bottoming out to overfill you, make you nice and creamy ‘cause you deserve it. deserve it for being so good, making him feel so good.

letting his head fall onto your shoulder sweat sprinkling his forehead as he empties himself for you. for your pretty pussy, all for you.

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ 𓍢 JIHYORURI 106 FM | jihyoruri 106 FM catalog for today brought to you by your very own jihyoruri! new music by kim minji will follow up next ; school!au , fluff, angst,

now playing: cool with you; by kim minji 1:35 ━━○───── 3:47 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻ ılıılıılıılıılıılı ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

when yn first laid her eyes on kim minji, she was just amazed at how perfect the girl seemed to her.

minji wasn’t just pretty, she was effortlessly captivating, with an infectious laugh that made yn's heart skip a beat.

as class president, she commanded attention with a natural grace, but it was her confidence and charm that truly left yn in awe.

to yn, she seemed perfect in every way, almost unreal, and from that moment, she couldn't help but be drawn to her.

yn’s first conversation with minji would forever haunt her, a mess of embarrassment she couldn’t shake off, and she blamed it all on hanni.

“where are you taking me?” yn whispered urgently, the jingling charms on her backpack clinking with every hurried step. hanni’s grip on her wrist was relentless, nearly cutting off circulation, as she dragged yn down the hallway without a word.

hanni stayed silent, her pace unrelenting. yn began to wonder if the school had installed a new vending machine, because honestly, that was the only logical reason she could think of for hanni to be acting like this.

but then it hit her. they weren’t heading toward the vending area; they were on a direct path to the guidance room, a place where kim minji practically lived.

yn’s heart sank. hanni knew about her crush on minji, which meant this was going to be a disaster.

“hanni, whatever you’re thinking of doing, please don’t,” yn pleaded, her voice laced with panic.

“just trust me bro,”

without warning, hanni shoved the door open, practically dragging yn inside before she could protest. yn’s heart raced as the familiar scent of the guidance room hit her, her pulse thudding in her ears.

“minji!” hanni called out confidently, her voice echoing through the room.

minji, sitting at her desk, barely looked up from her papers. “if this is about a new vending machine, I don’t want to hear it, I don’t have that kind of power,” she sighed, clearly exasperated.

hanni rolled her eyes. “actually, i’m here to introduce you to someone. remember how you said you needed a vice president? well, i’ve got the perfect candidate for you.” hanni gestured dramatically toward yn, whose face was quickly turning bright red.

minji finally looked up, her eyes landing on yn for the first time. surprise flickered across her face, and she slowly took yn in, her gaze lingering a moment longer than yn expected. “her?” minji asked, her voice soft, curiosity laced in her tone. “do you really think she'd be a good candidate?”

yn's throat went dry. this was her chance. she opened her mouth, but no coherent words came out—just a nervous jumble of sounds. “I, uh… I mean… maybe? I don’t—well, i’m not—”

she could hear hanni’s quiet snickering.

minji’s lips quirked up into a soft smile, clearly amused by yn’s flustered state. “that’s adorable,” she said, her voice gentle. “welcome, vice president.”

the start of the school year had been a whirlwind for yn. after what hanni thought was an hilarious awkward introduction, she and minji had spent months side by side as class president and vice president.

they became inseparable, studying together, planning school events, and even hanging out on weekends. minji’s playful teasing and lingering looks made yn's heart race, and more than once, yn felt like there might be something more between them.

but just when things were starting to feel real, yn’s close friend outside of hanni chaeyoung, threw a wrench into her thoughts.

“yn,” chaeyoung began hesitantly one afternoon, her cheeks turning pink as she twirled a strand of hair nervously. “I… I need to tell you something.”

yn looked up, curious. “what’s up?”

chaeyoung bit her lip, glancing away before taking a deep breath. “I kind of have a crush on someone. like, a huge crush.”

yn smiled, leaning in with a playful nudge. “really? who is it? do I know them?”

chaeyoung nodded, her blush deepening. “yeah, you… you know her really well.” she hesitated, then murmured, “it’s… it’s minji.”

yn’s smile froze, her stomach twisting. “m-minji?”

“yeah.” chaeyoung’s face was filled with hope as she looked at yn. “she’s just… so cool and smart and funny. I’ve been trying to talk to her, but it’s been hard, you know? I thought maybe… maybe you could help me? since you’re close with her.”

yn’s stomach twisted. she liked minji more than she’d ever admitted out loud, but she also wanted her friend to be happy. and, after all, maybe minji didn’t really like her that much… right?

yn forced a smile, trying to ignore the painful knot forming in her chest. “oh, um… yeah. I mean, I guess I could help.”

chaeyoung beamed, oblivious to yn’s inner stress. “thank you, yn! you’re the best. I just… really think she could like me, you know?”

yn’s heart sank, but she nodded, trying to keep her voice steady. “yeah… maybe she could.”

with a heavy heart, yn started putting effort into setting up chaeyoung and minji, brushing aside her own feelings.

she arranged casual hangouts where she’d subtly nudge minji and chaeyoung together, even though each time hurt more than the last. soon enough, a class trip to a theme park came up, and yn thought it’d be the perfect chance for them to grow closer.

the group reached the roller coaster, and yn tried pairing minji with chaeyoung for the ride. “you two go together! I’ll go with hanni,” she said, but hanni immediately backed away, shaking her head, wide-eyed with fear.

chaeyoung wasn’t much better. “sorry, yn… I’m kind of scared too.”

yn forced a smile. “okay, no problem! I’ll just go by myself—”

“wait,” minji interrupted, grabbing yn’s wrist gently. “I’ll go with you.”

as they climbed into the roller coaster, yn noticed how tightly minji was gripping the bar, her face paler than usual. “are you okay? you look terrified,” yn whispered.

minji gave a small laugh, her eyes darting nervously to the towering track ahead. “yeah I’m scared out of my mind,” she admitted. “but… I didn’t want you to go alone. I’d rather be here with you, even if it’s terrifying.”

yn’s heart swelled, and without thinking, she reached over and took minji’s hand. “I’ve got you,” she said softly, and they held hands through the entire ride, neither letting go until it was over.

as the evening wore on, yn and minji broke away from the group to get some drinks. they found a quiet bench under the glow of the theme park lights and sat together, the soft hum of the distant rides mixing with the calming night around them.

“I still can’t believe you went on that ride with me, even though you were scared,” yn said, shaking her head with a soft smile, trying to lighten the air between them.

minji looked down, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “I guess I’d do just about anything if it meant being with you.” she glanced up, her eyes locking with yn’s. after a brief silence, her voice dropped, more vulnerable than yn had ever heard. “yn… I really, really like you.”

yn’s heart seemed to stop mid-beat, her mind racing in a whirlwind of hope and panic. “no… you can’t,” she stammered, her hands trembling. “chaeyoung… she really likes you, minji. I was just trying to set you two up so she could have a chance.”

minji’s expression darkened, her brows knitting together in frustration as hurt flashed in her eyes. “yn, just because chaeyoung likes me doesn’t mean I have to like her back! why do you keep pushing me toward her when I’ve been trying to show you how much I care? why do think I’ve tagged along with you to all these places with her?”

yn shook her head, her vision blurring with unshed tears. “you don’t understand, minji. I’ve been trying so hard to do the right thing. chaeyoung’s my friend, she deserves to be happy, and… and you—” her voice cracked as tears began to fall.

“and what?” minji’s voice wavered, her own tears threatening to spill over. “and I don’t? you don’t? yn, you’ve been so busy thinking about chaeyoung that you haven’t even stopped to ask how I feel how we feel!”

“because it doesn’t matter!” yn cried, her voice breaking as she looked away, her hands gripping the bench to steady herself. “it doesn’t matter what I feel. I can’t hurt her like that. she’s one of my best friends.”

minji’s hands clenched into fists, her frustration mixing with the raw emotion in her voice. “it does matter, yn! it matters because I like you! not chaeyoung, not anyone else—you! why can’t you see that? why would I have accepted you as vice president when all you sis was stutter your ass off, I thought you were cute, and pretty.”

her voice cracked, tears now streaming down her face. “you keep trying to push me away, but it’s you I want.”

yn’s tears fell harder, and she shook her head again, her voice barely a whisper. “please… just stop. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

minji reached out, gently taking yn’s hand, her grip shaky but firm. “I’ll fight for you, yn. I don’t care how complicated this is, I’ll fight for us, because you’re worth it.”

before yn could process the words, minji leaned in, her lips meeting yn’s in a kiss that was tender yet filled with a desperate longing. yn’s heart surged, overwhelmed by the emotions flooding through her. but as minji pulled away, yn’s tears came faster.

“I… I can’t do this to her,” yn choked, pulling her hand from minji’s grasp. “it wouldn’t be fair. I’d be betraying her.”

minji’s face fell, her own tears falling freely now. “and what about us?” she asked, her voice trembling. “what about what we could be? are you really willing to let that go because of her crush?”

yn’s breath hitched, her chest tightening as she looked into minji’s pleading eyes. “I… I don’t know. I just… I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

minji wiped her tears angrily, her frustration bubbling over. “and what about me, yn? I’m hurting too. just because chaeyoung likes me doesn’t mean i’m obligated to feel the same way. I’m telling you, right here, that I like you. isn’t that enough, do you like me?”

“yes.”

“then what’s the problem?!”

yn swallowed hard, her tears blurring her vision. “I can’t… I just can’t do that to her.”

minji let out a shaky breath, defeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “fine. if that’s how you really feel.” she stood up, wiping her face as she looked away, her heart clearly breaking. “let’s just… get back to the others.”

as they made their way back to the group, the silence between them was deafening, both painfully aware of what could have been, yet knowing that something precious had been shattered.

[seratopia]

vi x reader - get up

→ she/her pronouns!

vi thinks of you during the fight with sevika **note: you both loved eachother, back in the lanes. vi thinks you're dead. the last time she saw you was when you were both 17.

The slightest bit of dread starts to fill Vi's stomach when she sees Sevika's bubbling-hot blade pierce through the rickety pool table. The red from the blade is angry, glowing with melted residue dripping off of it. Vi quickly backs away from the table, throwing up her hands as to guard herself from the violent slashes of the sword.

Sevika slices through the table with ease, chopping up a triangle-shaped opening through the wood. As Sevika emerges from the burning-hot opening, she lazily throws her arm at Vi, sending a streak of hot light through the air.

Vi raises her gloves up, ducking her head down. With a smirk, Sevika mercilessly throws fiery slashes towards Vi, each of them growing larger by the second. Sevika marches straight into Vi, slamming down the scarlet blade down directly onto Vi's mech gloves. The gloves falter under the pressure, sending Vi's skin to bubble and blister from the heat.

Vi shrieks from the searing pain of the burn, just before Sevika pulls the knife away and throws a harsh punch to her face. With her vision slightly delayed from the blow, Vi throws a punch to Sevika. The woman sinks her metal fingers into Vi's arm, activating her blade to pierce straight through the mech glove.

Sparking and sputtering with HexTech electricity, the glove deactivates, thumping to the ground and bringing Vi with it. With Vi's hand still stuck in the heavy glove, Sevika takes the chance to hurl a hard punch to her face. Vi practically stumbles on the tips of her feet, the heaviness of the glove sending her face-first into the other side of the bar.

Sevika's arm conveniently starts to falter from so much heat, the bright purple glow beginning to flicker as she takes a few heavy breaths. Vi slumps to the ground, her face smushed into a mixture of bar floor and her own blood. Her brain is almost cloudy, where she could only hear the sound of her light breathing as she tries to refocus her vision.

There's the faintest flicker of you, a ghost of your glowing-white silhouette as her heavy eyelids begin to fall.

Almost, just almost, does Vi flutter her eyes closed, ready to give up.

"That was a real one." She hears you mutter, with a giggle at the end. Vi lets out a ghost of a chuckle.

A gentle, kind warmth fills her to her toes, drifting in blurred memories of you. Ones that are faded, altered, and distant. She's almost forgotten your face over the years, the sound of your cackle, how your skin feels against hers.

Vi hears the airy chuckle that she used to adore, picturing the way you used to laugh when she'd tease you back in the lanes. Your sweet, sugary voice practically pulls her mind awake, cracking open her eyes just the tiniest bit.

You're sat up top the counter, lightly swinging your legs up and down as you peer down at Vi with a tiny smile. She doesn't see you, but feels you nearby.

"I wish I could be there too, y'know?" You start, pausing your leg-swinging. "I'm sorry, Vi. I know it's hard." You almost whisper.

Vi sighs in response, tempted to twist her neck up in forbidden ways just to catch of glimpse of you. Are you really there? Did you come back from the dead? Did you miss her like she misses you?

You then step down from your seat at the counter, making no sound as you lightly kneel closer to her, placing your hands on the floor. She sees a hint of your hand at most, glowing pure white, unreal. You tenderly swipe away a lock of her pink hair away from her bloodied face, laying your cheek against your knee as you peer down at Vi.

For a moment, she forgets all about Sevika, basking in the warmth of your touch.

"She needs you... We need you. So, how about it, hm?" You say, bending down further so she can hear your quiet voice.

A light ignites in her silver eyes, slowly feeling her strength return to her. With a sigh, Vi squeezes her eyes shut. Despite all the pain, the deep ache in her arms, the gravity pulling her down to the floor, Vi pushes herself up with a groan. She spits out a gummy molar from her mouth, letting thick red blood drip from her nose.

Straining her arms to push herself up, Vi slowly raises her head, her eyes traveling from your knees, all the way up to your face. It doesn't seem real for a moment, seeing your smiling self as clear as day. Vi gazes into your eyes with an awed expression, her brows softened and her lips slightly parted.

You're beautiful, as young as the day she lost you.

With your eyes half-lidded, you slowly press your body forward, taking Vi's chin in your hand and pressing a tender kiss to her lips. Vi savors the feeling of your lips against hers; she forgets to move. Her eyes almost flutter shut again.

The kiss ends as soon as it starts, before you step back up to your full height. Vi peers up at you, and you give her a small nod, gesturing with a flick of your hand.

Her legs shake, her arms twitch, but Vi rises, pulling the heavy weight of the gloves with her. With a roll of her right shoulder, Vi stands back to her full height. She savors your appearance in front of her, wondering how long it'll be before you're gone again. She doesn't want you to go, whether you're real or not.

Giving you one last faithful look, you salute to her a goodbye. She slowly turns back towards Sevika.

Vi drops the broken glove onto the ground with a loud thud. Sevika's face twists into shock when she sees Vi, who spits out onto the floor and returns to her guard position.

"Go get 'em, Vi."

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[pretty-circa006]

OKAY imagine IMAGINE reader sees negan/jeffrey naked for the first time AND sees his chest full of chest hair THENNNN nakedly grinds on his chest

Negan x F! Reader

tags nudity, smut, grinding, chest hair fetish i think??

note i did my best, i hope you like it

wc 1.5k

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ 

Negan sits at the head of the table with Lucille in hand and his leather jacket resting on the back of his metal chair. He’s explaining something, likely what the Saviors’ next move against Alexandria is going to be, but it all flies above her head. Her eyes watch his lips as they move in tune with his words, his hazel eyes as they alternate eye contact with each Savior at the table, and occasionally glance down at what parts of his body were visible above the table. 

“Ya get all that, darlin’?” He asks, looking at her. 

“Oh..yeah! Uh huh. Yes…sir,” she lies. The deadpan look Negan sends her way tells her that he is not convinced, and honestly, neither is she. She bashfully looks away from him and down at the table, this time actually trying to pay attention to the rest of the meeting. 

With a bang of his barb wired bat to the metal table, he dismisses everyone as he gets up and leaves, too. She's the last one out of the room, partly because she didn't want to meet Negan's eye on the way out but mainly because she wanted to watch him as he left. Before she can leave the room something catches her eye—Negan's jacket. She looks around the room, making sure it's empty before walking over to his chair and grabbing the expensive looking leather garment. She picks it up and it almost feels unreal to be holding it. She hesitantly brings it up to her nose and breathes in the scent: leather and manliness. She could get lost in it and almost does, but she quickly remembers the task at hand and rushes out the room to catch up to Negan. 

With the jacket cradled in her arms, she hurries down the halls in search of the man in charge—he's nowhere to be seen. She sees his right hand, Simon, walking idly down the hall. 

"Wait, Simon. Do you know where Negan went?" she asks him. The mustached man's eyes drift down to the jacket in her arms and back up to her eyes with suspicion. 

"What're you doin' with Negan's jacket," he questions, reaching down for it as he does. She clutches it closer and moves it out of reach. 

"He left it in the meeting room, so I'm bringin' it back to him. Do you know where he went?" 

"I can give it to him, it's no trouble." 

Annoyed with Simon's insistence, she sidesteps him and storms down the hall, protectively clutching the jacket. 

"I'll handle it, thanks!" 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

Nobody said anything when she knocked on his bedroom door, so she waited a second. She knocks again and yields the same results. She tries the doorknob and surprisingly, it gives, opening the door and letting her into his bedroom. Until now, she'd never been in his room. The sheer luxury of it all strikes her with awe. The king sized bed, the leather couches and chairs, the tall windows and dark curtains, even when the world was normal she's never seen anything anything like this. 

The sound of Negan's voice saying her name snapped her attention away from the room and onto him. He's standing in the middle of the room, practically naked other than the towel wrapped dangerously low around his hips. His tattoos are on full display along with the salt and pepper hair on his torso. Unintentionally, her eyes drift down his body to his belly button, to his v line, and even his–

"My eyes are up here, sweetheart," he reminds her, forcing her eyes to meet his hazel ones. 

"Ah, shit! Sorry, I umm..." 

"The hell are ya doin' in my bedroom?" he asks. 

"You left your jacket," she holds the jacket out to him, to which he accepts. 

"Thanks..." He still looks at her suspiciously as she awkwardly rocks on her heels and doesn't leave. 

"Uh, you're dismissed." She's about to turn and leave, but the sound of fabric hitting the floor keeps her there. Her face burns with heat and eyes widen as she makes eye contact with his dick. He always brags about his size, but now she has proof that he was never exaggerating. Negan doesn't make any moves to grab his towel nor cover himself, instead, he's smirking at her, amused by wide eyes and dropped jaw. Subconsciously, her thighs squeeze together at the feeling of heat pooling in her core.  

"Y'alright, darlin'?" he asks out of amusement rather than concern. She blinks rapidly as her mouth opens and closes but no words come out. Her eyes alternate from meeting his to dropping down to his penis again. 

"S-sorry! Sorry!" she apologizes as she covers her eyes with her hands. The attempt to cover her eyes is fruitless since she's looking through the gaps in her fingers anyway.

"Like watcha see?" he teases. He half expects her embarrassment to take over and for her to run away, but instead she stands her ground and nods. 

"Yes, s-sir." Her breathing is shallow as she shifts around trying to subtly sooth the needy ache in her throbbing pussy. Negan can tell that she wants him, needs him even, and honestly seeing her so needy and desperate is a turn on for him. 

"Well, you can either get the fuck outta my room or take your goddamn clothes off. The choice is yours, doll, but make it quick." 

He didn't have to ask her twice, she's already unbuttoning her jeans. In a rush, she clumsily toes off her shoes before stepping out of her pants and panties. She wishes she could've given Negan a show instead of the unsexy rush-job she's currently putting on but luckily for her, Negan finds her sex crazed desperation for him endearing. But she's taking a little too long for his liking. He approaches her and pulls her shirt over her head before unclasping her bra and discarding the items. 

"Holy shit, baby. You look downright fuckin' delicious," he compliments as he eyes her naked body from head to toe. His arms snake around her and pull her body into his. His hard length slides between her thighs, almost slotted between her lower lips. Her hands slide up his chest, her fingers weaving through the wispy hairs on his chest. By the back of her neck, he pulls her in for a heated kiss, teeth clashing as their tongues get to know each other's mouths. His hands slide down her back and around the curve of her ass before squeezing and kneading it in his hands. He holds her firmly and close as he thrusts his dick along her soft inner thighs. Their pleasured moans mix in their mouths which are still attached to each other. As they kiss, her hands never leave his chest. Her fingers continuously play with his chest hair and occasionally give it a gentle tug. 

He pulls away from the kiss, the string of saliva between them breaks. He looks down at her, his hazel eyes dark with lust. She looks back up at him, her eyes begging him to fuck her. 

"You like my chest hair, don't you, babydoll?" She just giggles but doesn't any anything and continues to doodle abstract swirls with her finger on his chest. 

"I asked you a goddamn question," he says sternly. 

"I do, sir." Without warning, he picks her up by the back of her thighs and she reflexively wraps her legs around his waist. While still holding her, he lays down on the bed with her now straddling his waist. 

"Get yourself off on it," he orders in a way that leaves no room for questions. But she has some anyway. 

"Wh...what?!" she asks through a bout of nervous laughter. 

"If you like my chest hair so much, get yourself off on it, baby." 

"What if I crush you o-or something?" 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes before just pulling her onto his chest by her thighs. He smirks, enjoying the view of having such a beautiful woman on top of him. 

"Well, I'm waitin'," he huffs. Her hands cautiously grip his shoulders before she begins grinding her hips against his strong chest. Her movements are slow and apprehensive at first, but eventually pleasure starts building up. The friction of his chest hair against her clit feels better than she expected and brings her closer to her orgasm. Negan watches her from beneath his thick eyelashes, in awe with the way her tits move in unison with her grinding. 

"I shoulda made you my fuckin' wife," he comments as his hands caress her thighs. 

"Better late than never, right?" comes her breathy reply. She's close and Negan can tell by her breathlessness and sweaty, flushed face. Her hand creeps down between her legs and she rubs her clit in quick circles, urging her orgasm closer. Her thighs squeeze his ribcage and her eyes screw shut as the dam breaks and her orgasm comes crashing over her. 

“You liked that, didn’t you?” He teases. She climbs off his chest and flops onto the bed beside him. 

“Mmm hmm.” She nuzzles into the crook of his neck. He wraps his arm around snugly her as she  caresses his chest. 

“So what was that you were saying about makin’ me your wife…?”

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (20/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, sexual tension, soft dirty talk, targcest stuff, the angst, manipulation, nightmares ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

There was darkness all around her.

It wasn't the darkness of night, the kind when the sun had long since set behind the horizon – then she could at least recognise the shapes around her.

Now, however, she could see nothing but a black void – she tried to focus, wondering where she was and how to escape from the place she was in. After a moment, she realised that although her sense of sight was completely helpless, she could hear something in the distance.

At first she thought it was the rustling of leaves, but then the sound became louder and the hum of the water around her almost deafened her. A cry of surprise and terror stuck in her throat when she suddenly felt some cold, wet hand grab her arm.

When she opened her eyes, it was already dawn – the rising sun outside the window was obscured by heavy grey clouds. Her heart pounded hard for a long moment more before she realised it was just another nightmare.

The arm that embraced her was warm and familiar, her husband's calm, quiet breath enveloped her neck with every movement of his chest. She knew he was already awake because his thumb was stroking her wrist – she closed her eyes, focusing only on that.

On his closeness, his tender touch, his presence.

She wasn't sure if what she had experienced with him that night had really happened – it seemed unreal to her – but on the other hand, the burning discomfort between her thighs told her that it was true.

They were closer than ever, and that made her even more afraid.

Her lord-husband was not thrilled with her idea of speaking with the Witch of Harrenhal. She knew, however, that this woman certainly had the answers to many of her questions – she just had to convince her that she was not her enemy.

Criston Cole led her into the dungeons, which reeked of dampness and rodent excrement – she swallowed hard, trying not to show on her face the discomfort she felt as she heard the moans of the people behind the iron bars, their pleas for her to have mercy on them.

They finally stopped under one of the cells – the light of day fell on the figure of a woman sitting on the ground, with her wrists tied and her mouth stuffed with some dirty cloth. It was a pitiful sight – her gaze was tired and bored, her pupils bright green, her raven-black long hair flowed gently down her shoulders.

She nodded to Criston Cole to open the lock and stepped inside.

"Leave us alone, Ser Criston." She said calmly.

There was an expression full of discomfort on his face, surely because her husband had given him completely opposite orders.

"Our Prince has commanded that I am not to leave your side and to see to it that no harm comes to you." He replied matter-of-factly.

"No harm will come to me. Leave." She said a little cooler.

She crouched down in front of her as Ser Criston closed the door behind her and walked away with a loud clatter of his armour. Once they were alone, she removed the material from her mouth with a gentle, slow motion – she reached back to the short dagger she had strapped to her belt and used it to cut the ropes that tied her hands.

The woman massaged her wrists, where she could see the long blue marks, her mouth dry with thirst. She handed her the cup of fresh water she'd been ordered to bring with her, and she drank slowly of its entire contents, looking her straight in the eye.

"I know what you want." The witch finally said, setting the steel cup down on the ground without even waiting for her to let her speak. "I know what you're trying to prevent."

She swallowed hard, looking down the corridor from the corner of her eye, hoping Criston Cole was standing far enough away not to hear what they were discussing.

"What's your name?" She asked finally.

The woman sighed heavily and leaned back, resting her head against the cold stone wall.

"Alys. Alys Rivers."

A bastard.

"We were greeted in the fortress by blue holly. Is that your creative invention?" She asked softly, sitting down opposite her on the hay.

Alys grinned, watching her figure from top to bottom with her gaze.

"You're smarter than him. Your father didn't even notice." She hummed with some kind of mockery, from which an unpleasant, cold shiver ran through her.

"You wanted him to daydream? Did you succeed?" She asked further.

The woman smiled broadly hearing her questions.

"He saw, heard and experienced some things. Peaceful sleep didn't find him day or night." She concluded.

They were silent for a moment, her gaze full of self-satisfaction.

"You said you know why I am here. So you also understand what I want." She said, looking at her hopefully.

I want him to survive.

Alys was silent for a long moment, looking at her with a kind of boredom, as if disappointed by her attitude.

"In a way, I pity you." She muttered at last, making her feel a strange, disturbing sting in her heart.

"Why?"

The woman sighed with a smirk of amusement and looked to the side, as if she were musing.

"If you weren't here, he would have taken me the very first night. Your husband. He would have cuddled up to my bare breasts. He would have sucked the milk from my nipples. He would have left his legacy, his son in my womb." She said lightly with a quiet click of her tongue, stroking her lower abdomen as if she could see it in her imagination.

The shame, pain, disgust and grief she felt deep inside her was indescribable – a previously unknown feeling squeezed her throat, her eyes filled with burning tears of rage that she refused to let flow.

Some part of her knew she was telling the truth.

He was incapable of being alone, incapable of facing the reality around him on his own.

He needed a mother, a mistress, a whore, a servant, a witch, any warm body with soft breasts that he could snuggle into and hide.

You are his favourite toy, but you are not irreplaceable, she remembered Gwayne's words.

She lowered her gaze, knowing that Alys had told her this to hurt her, to gain a mental advantage over her, to destroy what was between them and watch with satisfaction as the lives of the people who had imprisoned her burned.

If you weren't here, he would have taken me the very first night.

If I had not been here, she thought, it would have meant that I had refused to come with him to Harrehnal – I would have failed his trust, his hope, our pledge that whatever happened, we would remain by each other's side, like brother and sister.

She realised after a moment that Alys was trying to manipulate her: to make her imagine things that she knew would cause her pain.

She came to the conclusion that if it had been her husband speaking with her, she would have done the same thing: she would have planted doubts in him.

She would convince him that his wife would sooner or later give herself to his mother's brother and betray him anyway, and that he could have her, right here, right now.

Drop by drop, she would let the poison into his mind and heart.

She had to be wiser than she was, to believe what was real, not the visions she wanted her to imagine inside her head.

"I took this cloth out of your mouth because I was hoping we could have a conversation like two mature people. I can shove it back down your throat and let you die here. My husband, who might otherwise be cuddling his face to your chest right now, from my current observations doesn't care much about you or your fate. As you yourself rightly noticed, I am here."

Alys looked at her for a long time in silence, as if wondering what to make of her words.

"You don't resemble him at all. Your father. But the resemblance to your mother is not in you either. As if you were not their child." She replied finally.

For some reason what she said pleased her.

"I am my brother's sister. My husband's wife. A dragon rider. But I am afraid that, like you, I am no one's daughter. The names Rivers and Targaryen mean as much to me, though I'm sure if my lord-husband heard my words, he would burst with rage." She replied, turning her head towards the small window from behind which the sun shone.

Alys laughed at her words.

"You are what he wants you to be. He created you anew." The witch stated without thinking, and she, for some reason, smiled.

"Yes. Although violently, he gave my life meaning. Had it not been for him, I would never have tamed my dragon. I would not have experienced the deep and mysterious feeling that fills my whole heart." She confessed finally.

The woman sighed heavily, twisting in her seat, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Men fail us all the time, and yet we still put our hope in them."

She nodded at her words.

"I'll ask again. Blue holly. Was that your gift to my father or to us?" She continued, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye.

Alys looked at her, a smile on her lips that only pretended to be cheerful.

"For all of you. As I said, Daemon didn't even notice them. His fiery temper did not allow him to connect what hung over his head with the nightmares and visions that haunted him day and night. They haunt you too. What do you see?" She asked, changing her tone of voice, looking at her in a way from which an unpleasant shiver ran down her spine.

She was silent for a long moment, wondering if she should tell her.

"I see my husband drowning. He grasps my hand, but I am unable to pull him out of the water." She whispered.

The Witch of Harrenhal looked at her with piercing gaze, wrinkling her brows, as if something in her words intrigued her, and then her eyes looked lower, at the height of her stomach.

"It is he who sends you these visions. Not me." She said softly.

Her hand involuntarily clamped down on the leather material at the height of her lower abdomen, her heart beginning to pound like mad in her chest.

"Who?" She mumbled.

"Your son. He sees things. And you see them with him."

She lowered her gaze, looking at her stomach, stroking it with her hand, as if trying to reassure herself and the being deep inside her at the same time.

Had Helaena seen him because she was already with child at the time?

"What was my father dreaming about?" She muttered, looking at her uncertainly.

Alys grinned broadly, but her eyes remained blank and wide.

Dangerous.

"About you. About his wives. About his brother. Remorse is consuming him from the inside." She replied with amusement.

"What does he want?" She whispered, breathing with increasing difficulty.

"Forgiveness. He knows he doesn't deserve it, and that is why he will never be able to change."

She thought for a long moment about what she had said, involuntarily stroking her abdomen.

He knows he doesn't deserve it, and that is why he will never be able to change.

"Can I save him? My husband?" She asked finally, lifting her gaze to her.

Alys snorted.

"You can try. The question is, is it worth it? If they were both gone, you'd be free at last."

Alys couldn't or wouldn't tell her anything else, and she knew that torture in her case wouldn't do any good. She ordered food to be served to her, and then that her mouth would be stuffed and her hands would be tied again, knowing that she could not be trusted.

As she climbed the steps to the top of the fortress, she felt that her legs were shaking all over, her breath deep and uneven – Criston Cole froze at the sight of her and swallowed hard, shifting from foot to foot.

"My Lady. Something happened?" He asked, but she only shook her head, having the feeling that the corridor she was walking down was spinning around her.

As she stepped into her husband's chamber, she saw his silhouette standing by the window – he turned immediately upon hearing her footsteps, as if he had been waiting for her not for hours, but for days.

"And?" He asked.

"The herbs hung all over the fortress are her doing. They were already waiting here for my father and drove him to a state close to madness." She said, watching him carefully.

He was pale and his mouth had taken on the shape of a thin line, as if he wanted to say something – he nodded and looked out of the window again, his hands clenched into fists.

Only after a moment did she see that in one of them he held something that looked like a crumpled piece of parchment.

Was it a message from King's Landing?

"What's it?" She muttered, feeling her heart begin to pound hard in her chest.

She saw that he hesitated – he simultaneously wanted and didn't want to tell her, so he remained silent, as always finding this state safer.

As long as nothing was said, nothing was a foregone conclusion either.

"Aemond."

She wasn't sure she'd ever called him by his name outside of bed before – then, when she'd felt him deep inside her, it had been a moan of delight, a proof of her affection and devotion, of pure desire.

Now, however, it was an expression of who he was to her – she was not addressing him as husband, cousin, lover, prince, but as a man – a man who was dear to her.

He looked at her in a way she hadn't seen before – he was tense, the tip of his thumb scratching the cuticles around his fingernails in a subconscious, nervous reflex.

"Tell me."

His lip twitched, and then a single word left his throat.

"Daemon."

She swallowed hard, feeling an unpleasant clench in her stomach, a cold drop of sweat trickling down her back. Her husband tossed carelessly the piece of parchment he held in his hand onto the table, looking at it as if he had seen something disgusting.

"He challenged me."

"Us."

He looked at her grimly, as if her remark irritated him.

"This is my battle and my victory to achieve." He said dispassionately.

"This is my father and my revenge. Which makes it our cause to solve. Isn't it?" She asked coolly, feeling her hands involuntarily clench into fists.

They looked at each other for a moment in a silence full of tension, fighting with something that was happening deep inside them.

"He wants me to face him like a man. Alone." He said finally.

She was only able to snort at his words, the wide smile on her face proving that she couldn't believe what he was saying.

"Of course he wants you to come alone. He knows your nature, your pride, and he's counting you won't take me with you out of fear of his judgement. Me, your biggest negotiating card in a confrontation with him that could make him hesitate, make him lose confidence, make him make a mistake. This could be a battle of two dragons against one, and you think of your image in the eyes of others as one of those vain, conceited lords you so despise?" She asked, feeling that she was speaking louder and louder with every word – the expression on his face told her that he was enraged with the way she spoke to him, his posture erect and tense, his hands clenched.

Her words frustrated him, but he listened, so she continued on even when he turned away and began pacing around the room, clearly not knowing himself what he thought about it.

"You told me yourself that Helaena ordered you to keep me close. You abducted me from Runestone to turn me into a weapon against Daemon, and now, when the opportunity to face him comes, your pride is more important to you?" She asked, and he pressed his lips together as if her words made him uncomfortable.

"I didn't know at the time." He said regretfully, running his hand over his face in a gesture of helplessness, as if he himself did not believe he had said it.

"You didn't know what?" She asked dryly, completely without strength.

"I didn't plan…this." He muttered, pointing at her with his hand as if trying to show her what he meant.

And suddenly she understood.

He hadn't planned for what they had become to each other, the closeness that had brought them together, the bond that was out of his control.

"This is what keeps me here, fighting for your cause." She said with pain.

"If he says he regrets everything. That he will be the kind of father to you that you have always wanted him to be. How can I be sure you won't flee with him?" He asked.

She stared at him dully, slowly understanding how deep his suspicion ran, how fragile and volatile his trust in her was despite the fact that she had never given him reason to doubt her.

"Do you think it would have made a difference? That a few of his empty words would make me abandon someone who gave me a reason to live? That I would run away with a stranger for whom my person has so far represented no value?" She asked in a breaking voice, feeling a growing panic rising inside her.

"We crave the love of our parents no matter how much they hurt us. That's just the way we are." He said lowly, as if he were stating some known, universal truth.

"Speak for yourself." She hissed coldly, exasperated and embittered. "If your trust in me is dependent on your mood, it means that our marriage is a mere fiction without foundation, and I remain your slave. You may command me as your prisoner to remain in Harrenhal for fear of my desertion, but do not count on me continuing to warm your bed."

Her feet carried her to the door herself – it seemed to her that her words and behaviour had shocked him so much that he was unable to get anything out, much less stop her.

Never before had she so clearly and firmly shown him her displeasure and disobedience.

After all she had done for him, all she had sacrificed for him, how could he still look at her as if she were his enemy, someone who could stab him in the back?

On the one hand, she understood his fears, that surely his outspoken tongue and what he said were expressions of his terror and uncertainty, of how he feared that the person he had allowed to get close to him could decide the fate of his war.

On the other hand, her every breath and deed was proof of her bravery and devotion, her fidelity, and he, seeing this, allowed himself to be blinded by a childish conviction that if he did not risk her betrayal, he would not be disappointed if it actually happened.

Her husband didn't go after her – she knew he was furious and, according to himself, was showing his power and dominance to her by doing so. She didn't care too much about that, instead thinking about how she could defeat her father.

Lying on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling of the wooden construction with her hand placed on her stomach, she found that the child growing in her womb, of which her cousin was not yet aware, might have been her advantage, if her father had any conscience.

On the other hand, Daemon himself had killed Aegon's innocent son, she reminded herself and sighed heavily, closing her eyes.

She knew that her presence could have made a difference.

She felt it.

But how?

Convinced that her cousin was still offended by her outburst, she wasn't particularly surprised that he hadn't come to her chamber during the night – she guessed that they would spend that time apart, and decided it would do them both good.

She shuddered when she heard a loud knock at her door – she thought at first that it was him, but after a moment she opened her eyes, half-sunk in sleep, reminding herself that, after all, if he had wanted to, he would have simply come inside.

"My Lady! My Lady, open the door! The matter is urgent." She heard Criston Cole's voice.

She rose quickly and ran to the door, opening it hurriedly – Ser Criston was pale, his gaze panicked.

"Our Prince set off for Vhagar's lair in full armour. Alone. Did he mention to you that he would be patrolling the skies tonight?" He asked, and she shook her head.

"No. Wait here. I'll go after him immediately."

Ser Criston and she, dressed in her leather riding attire, armed with bow and arrows, ran arm in arm down the worn stone steps of grim Harrenhal, conversing in between.

"Daemon? Gods, what drove him to such madness to try to face him alone?"

"You know him best, so you should be able to guess. His fucking pride. Like any man, he's a fool." She hissed with rage on the verge of crying, feeling that she only half understood what was happening around her.

"I will move after you. I will gather our army." He said, and she laughed out loud, seeing that, like her, he was not thinking logically.

"To be burned alive? This is a battle of dragons, not men. Pray that Rhaenyra does not attack you in our absence, for you will be completely defenceless." She said in a trembling voice, pulling on her leather gloves.

As soon as they left the gate of the fortress, she immediately jumped on her mare, Ser Criston's voice echoing behind her.

"May the Seven protect you!"

Even since she had met him, she knew that she was a better rider than her cousin – looking at his technique from the side, she knew that the horse was only an indirect form of travel for him, as he obviously considered his dragoness to be the highest and most important one. It was for this reason that he lacked the lightness and confidence in the delicate movements of the body that formed the bond between mount and its rider.

That's why she galloped between the hills faster than she had ever done in her life, breathing heavily, hoping to catch up with him.

After a moment, she noticed Vhagar's large silhouette lying on the ground, and then his – he was most likely preparing for the exertion of climbing onto her back in heavy armour. He stopped in mid-motion when he heard her horse and turned towards them, surprised.

She had never seen him in an armour before – apart from the helmet that lay beside his feet, his body was protected by polished steel gleaming in the moonlight. All of his snow-white hair was tied up with a black ribbon at the back of his head, and there was no eye patch on his face.

When she jumped down from her mare he simply stared at her, as if he didn't believe that she had followed him – he only made a move when she rushed at him and swung, intending to slap him across the face with all her strength – he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, her body slammed into his.

"You fucking bastard! How dare you leave me behind!" She hissed in a breaking, childish voice, trying to free herself from his grasp.

His lips clung to hers in a sudden, aggressive act, as if he wanted to devour her – she moaned with rage and squealed as his arms locked her in an iron grip, as their heavy breaths mingled in the moist, sticky chaos of their tongues and teeth.

They took their faces in each other's hands – the steel of his armour was unpleasantly cold, but she didn't mind – her fingers sank into his soft hair with his loud grunt of pleasure, the tip of his slick tongue ran over her palate.

"My armour got unpleasantly tight. Right here." He gasped out in a trembling voice, rubbing the part of his armour against her lower abdomen, behind which his manhood hid.

She ran her hands over his cheeks, shaking her head, unable to sympathise with him now for such a trivial reason as lust.

"Take me with you." She mumbled, looking straight into his eyes – one alive, filled with passionate affection and pain, the other empty, dead, shining with an unnatural, sinister glow.

"I want you to live, even if I'm gone. Daemon, if he succeeds in defeating me, will not kill you. You will tell him that I forced you to marry me." He said softly, as if he was telling her a secret he had kept deep inside himself for a long time.

Her thumb ran over his sharply outlined jaw, making him close his eye, trying to focus on how pleasant and gentle her touch was.

"You promised me something then, under a starry sky, like the one spreading over our heads now. You said: tame a dragon, and your place will always be by my side. It was not to be my punishment, but my reward. So reward me, for my devotion, courage and faithfulness. Let me spend the night with you." She whispered.

He opened his eyelid and stared at her for a moment with his lips slightly parted, breathing hard, as if he couldn't believe what she was saying – she had the feeling that his healthy eye had glazed over from emotion, his hands wandering along her neck, to her cheeks and hair.

He kissed her again and that was his answer – she knew it and she could feel it in his sigh of relief, in his realisation that if he was heading for death, he would not face it alone.

They embraced like a pair of lovers, letting their lips, swollen with desire, to join again and again in a sweet, wet caress – the quiet clicks of their saliva and their ragged, loud breaths made her feel the sticky arousal between her thighs.

His hands were everywhere – on her ass, her waist, her back, her breasts and she knew that he regretted wearing his armour at the moment.

If it weren't for it, he would have fucked her here and now.

But he couldn't do it and they both knew it, so when he pulled away from her, he just pressed his forehead against hers, panting hard.

"– hāedar (little sister) –" He whispered.

For some reason, this word meant more to her than any declaration of love.

She smiled, and he pressed his lips together, as if something about the sight caused him pain – she wiped a tear from his eyelid with her thumb before it could run down his cheek, and he snuggled his face into her palm.

"– lēkia (big brother) –" She hummed sweetly, placing a warm, tender kiss on his cheek, from which he sighed softly.

"– promise not to leave my side –" He mumbled in a trembling voice, as if ashamed that he was afraid to die.

She nodded, pressing her nose into the smooth skin of his clean-shaven face.

"– I promise –"

[renku]

Up and Under

TWICE Chou Tzuyu x Male Reader

Sitting and staring nowhere in the middle of the park, holding a cup of coffee that went cold from that old vending machine nearby, and the freezing evening wind has no effect at all in your current state—high on adrenaline and it looks like it’d take an hour or two before it subsides in your system.

“This must remain just between us. Got it?”

Each word kept playing again and again in your head, like the same lyrics from the song five years ago that’s still not leaving your playlist. Not to mention how Chou Tzuyu—yes, the idol—whispered those words with her sexy yet cute voice along with a warm breath inducing goosebumps; from the back of your neck spreading down to your legs. You even started to question your reality. Did that really happen?

Everything that happened today was messed up, or to be exact, fucked up. But wait, how did you even get to this situation by the way?

It was about noon, and the usual routine at work is to take a break empty space upstairs before Inkigayo broadcast starts. Landing a job at a place like this isn’t something you thought of but there’s no much options on your hand, so here you are. The spot is usually silent since most are out to get their lunch. Lately, you prefer taking a nap up there since a bench is available. It’s crucial for you to have that time alone for yourself. One hour of freedom to collect your shit again is enough to get through to the rest of the shift. Work itself is already draining, but dealing with people is another.

The pace of your steps is increasing yet you still try not to make a sound. I should hurry before surviving another four hours of work, you thought. Getting closer to your so-called sanctuary, this is when things started to take a turn—a complete hundred and eighty turn.

It made you stop, and carefully listen again to make sure it’s not your head playing games at you.

“Yes— Hmm... Ah~”

You’re not definitely hearing things. It’s definitely a moan. A woman’s moan on top of that. She’s really into it; given how she lets out all those moans like no one will hear her and not giving a single damn.

Forget the nap, going back should be the immediate course action in this kind of situation. But, being a man and curiosity got the best of you.

“I shouldn’t be doing this, shit,” you whispered.

Taking extremely careful steps—almost tiptoeing, making that one, tempting peek. Lifted black skirt, fingerless-gloved right hand holding onto the handle for support, and probably her other hand doing the job. It’s quite difficult to recognize who she is since her loose, black hair covered the side of her face and a tent is already forming inside your pants. Each second that passes corresponds to the moans getting shorter and shorter, hinting that she’s close to that release.

“UGH! OH- YES, YES, OH FUCKKK!”

She threw head back, exposing the side of her face.

“Is that... Tzuyu?!” For a moment, you couldn’t move a muscle. Chou Tzuyu, who is known to be pure, kind, lovely, and innocent idol for years. Yet here she is, masturbating and made herself cum.

Your feet went cold stunned by what you just witnessed. Tzuyu then turned her head to where you are like she knew you were there all along, and not showing any sign of surprise at all when both of your eyes met. She's insanely fucking beautiful.

After fixing herself up and the mess she made, Tzuyu went right away to you. “This must remain just between us. Got it? Everything.” she whispered, then grabbed your hard member; fingers making random movements, playing with your already leaking rod making you jolt before adding, “Why don't you come here again next time? Same place, same time then maybe we can do some interesting things, don't you think?”

Does she even hear herself? How could she willingly say those words to someone she never knew her whole life. You can only nod to whatever she'll say, truth be told. The fact that a goddess like her is standing next to you is unreal.

“I got to go now, bye!” she said, winking and waving as she went on her way.

Back at the present—after reminiscing everything that happened all you could think of was, “I need to find a new job immediately.”

A/N: Hi. Ren (new name, can’t remember my old one) here. Plotless fic and not stuffed with much details to make it “smutty” enough, I just want to get the gist of writing again after not being able to make a stable progress after leaving the platform for about a year. So yeah, not much but I hope it will spark my enjoyment of writing again.

[lacollectionneuse1967]

remembering you

Theseus Scamander x Reader

summary: the year is 1916 and you live with your family near the western front in france. after a chance encounter with a wizard soldier during the war, you don't think you'll ever see him again, although you're sure you'll always remember him.

nine years later, you find that the man not only works with you at the ministry, but he also happens to be the annoying auror who keeps accidentally sending interdepartmental memos to your desk. you develop a friendly, albeit anonymous, banter through sending each other notes, but the question remains--does he know who you are? and, if he does, does he remember you?

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: office romance. smut with plot.

warnings: 18+ smut scene. unprotected penetration. oral sex (fem receiving). dirty talk. mdom/femsub. fyi he begs for it.

author's note: i am not an expert on the wizarding world nor am i an expert on wwi / world history! with respect, i do not claim to be. this is a work of fanfiction.

1916, Northern France

How strange it was, being at home when it no longer felt like home.

Your memories from childhood were precious and few, almost unreal. It was uncanny to be back with your father at that small, unchanging farmhouse on the far outskirts of Verdun. Your school waited until the last possible minute to send its students home, as they would have been sending many students home to die.

The perpetual afternoon, summery quiet of the countryside that you were so used to took on a disconcerting edge, an unspoken terror. This was the silence of a stalemate, of a breath being held. Not far from here lay the trenches and, beyond that, the Germans.

The flat, low-slung lines of Meuse were an additional shock to you. You'd spent the last five years of your life in the high, rocky mountains of the Pyrenees, at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

The river-run grasslands around you now had a vacant, exposed quality to them, the trees bare of birds, the squat buildings in town possessing the hollowed-out feel of an abandoned amusement park.

Even before the soldiers came you'd felt like a sitting duck.

Your sister's scream was the first noise to break the deadlock silence of the night.

You run from the windowsill without looking back. Smoke smell pricks your nostrils.

Your front door is swinging frenetically on its squealing hinges, left open, gapingly and awfully so. There are three uniformed men in boots, heavy gear, standing in your living room, looking around your small, low-ceilinged house with barely concealed reproach on their faces.

The wooden floors creak weakly underfoot. Through the doorframe you can make out some distant fires burning, you can't see them but you can smell them.

The sharp, whistling sound of war planes tears through the air.

"Parlez-vous anglais?" One of the men says in mangled French. He's redheaded, maybe in his early forties. There's black soot on his face which makes his irises look so light blue they're nearly white. "English. Anyone speak English?"

Your younger sister cowers at the booming cadence of his voice, she doesn't speak English. One of her bare feet takes a step back.

So they're English soldiers at least, but you don't recognize their uniforms. The redheaded one is brandishing a wand. But that can't be...

"[Your sister's name]," your father is too sick to rise from his chair, but he beckons to your sister, feebly, calling her away from the door in French. "Please, darling. It's okay, he's a soldier."

"There are no wizard soldiers," you step forward, placing yourself between the men and your family members. They look to you in plain surprise. Your English is unaccented. "The British and French Ministries of Magic abandoned us, forbade any wizard from involvement in-"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Your gaze shoots to the man who spoke.

He looks young. He has a long face and short-cut, curly brown hair. Handsome but not roguishly, not like a soldier ought to be. Handsome in an upright, gentlemanly way, the kind of face that exudes goodness and inspires trust. He almost seems out of place in his uniform, dressed for combat.

"What do you want?" you ask warily.

The third, sunken-eyed man gawks and lets out an incredulous sneer.

"Ungrateful little-"

"Quiet, it's fine," the brown-haired man says, silencing his comrade before turning to you. "We're here to evacuate all magical families in the area. We've received prophetic intel that invasion is imminent, the battle will begin moments from now and will span months. Hundreds of thousands will die. Pack your family's things."

Your brother lets out a noise of trepidation, turning to your father.

Your father--paler every day, made older by his illness, slumped over in his chair. He could not even make it out to the front garden, nevertheless survive an evacuation. His eyes are twinkling acutely, buried like gems in his wrinkled, ruined face.

"Come on!" Says the redheaded man in frustration. His blackened, ash-covered face is frightening to your siblings, as is his anger.

He pulls the man standing in the back towards him roughly by the shoulder to hiss in his ear.

"I'd understand if it was an estate that had been in their family for centuries, some of the pure-blood families that we…" For a moment his whispers are unintelligible, but you make out the last words well enough. "But this little farm?"

"Little farm?!" You step forward again, bristling. "This is our home. Can't you understand wanting the dignity of dying in your own home?"

The handsome one looks sharply to your father in his chair then. It is like he is seeing him clearly for the first time, you can see it click in his mind.

"Your father is a Muggle..." he says sympathetically.

"And he is sick. He won't survive apparition. Besides," you protest. "The Germans haven't broken the line since the Battle of the Marne."

The other two soldiers are stilled in shock, aghast at the fact of you, a young girl, arguing with them at all.

"Please," you entreat them. "There's been no movement. This is trench warfare, sir. They won't-"

"They will," the redheaded soldier's voice is grave, uncompromising. "Tonight, tomorrow. I don't know when, but the Germans intend to bleed the French white. They will break the line at Verdun. It is certain."

If what they said was true, if there was a prophecy....

Your hope sinks away from you, you feel your palms go limp and bloodless.

For a moment no one speaks. The silence of the night returns from wherever it fled to, creeps and settles around you.

When you find it again, your voice sounds heartless to your ears.

"Take my siblings," you say.

[Your brother's name] shouts in objection, your little sister cries out.

"No! Y/N, you can't-"

"Not another word!" You order. The words burn you to say. "You will go with these men, I won't hear anything about it."

The redheaded man grabs your sister by the forearm swiftly, and the sullen one extends a hand to your brother. They apparate away in a solitary whoosh. You feel the last remnants of your heart tear away and leave with them.

When the last man, the handsome one, steps towards you, you shake your head and retreat, backing up against the wall.

"I'm not going, sir."

You speak firmly, but the man scoffs anyway.

The front door is still erratically swinging on its hinges like a weather vane. Your father's neck has drooped forward, his chin buried in his chest. He falls in and out of sleep like this lately. He grows worse every day.

The lone soldier purses his lips, his eyes gleam testily. You think he might grab you then, and it sends a tingle down your spine.

"I'm a war nurse, you know?" Your hands are trembling suddenly. No one to pretend to be brave for now that your siblings are gone. Your courage takes on a raw, desperate quality. "Or I want to be. I know enough to help."

"Miss," the man speaks sincerely. Unlike his comrades, he really looks at you when he talks, looks you dead in the eyes. It should be unnerving, but it isn't. You can't name what it does to you.

"I vow to take full responsibility for your father's health and safety. Home or not, he won't be better off here. I will personally care for and protect him, I promise you."

You swallow and nod. He's about to grab your hand when you speak again.

"And them?" You say. "The Muggle soldiers? Who protects them? You can take my father, but I will stay."

He makes a noise of gentle surprise.

"Miss, we're here to minimize the global wizarding community's losses. No magical blood needs to be spi-"

"I don't care about all that," your voice is sharper than you intended. It appears to have cut him to the core. 'Magical blood,' he'd said. But you've never been ashamed of being a half-blood. You've never been ashamed of being your father's daughter.

He frowns in contemplation, more to himself than at you.

"You want to stay so badly. Why?"

"I told you, I'm a nurse."

"You're a child."

"I'm sixteen," you bite back.

"Like I said," his rebuttal is delivered with a sly smile. You amuse him, though you're not sure why. "A child. Not even old enough for Muggle conscription."

"I'm no Muggle."

"No, you're... You're something else."

You bite your lip. Your words are braver than your feelings now.

"If what you say is true, the Muggles--the Allied soldiers--will need medical attention. A woman in town has been training me as a nurse. I've been to the front, I can help. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."

His eyes don't leave your face, some silent assessment taking place within him. You're already thinking of what else you can say to him, how else to convince him.

"Okay," he says, unflinchingly. "You can stay." He'll turn a blind eye.

Your shoulders slump in relief.

He walks towards your father, who is still sagged over in a worrisome-looking unconsciousness, too deep to be sleep.

'No,' you think. 'Don't go yet.'

Mindlessly, senselessly, you feel a blooming alarm. Some death rattle, some dying burst of life.

"Wait!" You call out to him, stepping away from the wall.

The man turns. "The handsome one," you'd called him in your head, fancifully, maybe even teasingly. Nothing about it seems funny now. It never had to mean anything to you, people being handsome or beautiful. It didn't have to be about you. But this, it feels serious, personal.

You don't know what overcomes you, how you could act so boldly. He'll probably think you deranged, hysterical.

But you can't imagine he'll deny you.

You've seen enough soldiers these last two years of war to know what they want from women and girls, what they all inescapably hunger for.

"Kiss me," you say, and then add, "Please. Please kiss me."

He halts completely. When his brows knit together your heart shutters closed, meekly.

"Why?"

"I..." It's hard to admit, even now, the world burning around you. "I've never been kissed. I want to be kissed, just once, before I die. In case I do..."

You're losing your breath as you speak, your stamina sputters out.

You know how he must see you--naive, insane, maybe even pathetic. You can bear the rejection, but, suddenly, can't bear to face him anymore.

You don't hear his footsteps. His touch is so gentle you barely feel it, are still turning away when you notice his fingertips resting on your wrist.

When you look up at his face it's so unexpectedly close that you gasp. His eyes are blue, a deep and true blue. You were a fool to think him anything like the other soldiers you'd encountered. No, his expression was achingly kind and perceptive. Devastatingly handsome.

He smells like engine smoke and soap and spearmint. He smells like a man. It's intoxicating. It makes you shudder.

You close your eyes tight and hold your breath. There is the smell of fire and the echoes of distant warfare around you, but your entire body drones that out, pauses and prepares for this moment, readies itself to be kissed.

The man rests a hand on the side of your face, that alone is as intimate as any kiss, the warmth of his palm. He hesitates.

His lips on your forehead are not what you expect, but your body thrills anyway when you feel them press there.

But you are sixteen and you want a real kiss.

You don't even care who from. You want just this one selfish, childish thing in a warring world where no one is afforded childhood.

You stare at him in unhappy perplexity when he pulls back.

You might cry, you realize, and the swelling tears in your vision, they stun you.

"Live," he says, softly. Insistently. "You'll live to be kissed."

He turns to leave, but stops midway. Your siblings gone, soon your father too. The Germans invading. Your whole life taken in one fell swoop, one night. The last trace of your girlhood will be the sight of this soldier's back as he walks out the door of your childhood home. This, you know.

The man looks back at your face and asks you a question no soldier has ever bothered to ask you, not when they burst into your home, not even when you were cleaning their wounds and saving their lives at the front.

"What is your name?" he says.

"What's yours?"

"Theseus Scamander," he doesn't miss a beat. He's an open book. "Do you not want to tell me your name?"

"It won't matter soon enough..."

"Do you so badly not want to live?"

"No, I do. I am just no longer afraid of death."

The look in his eyes is so tender and considerate, it's almost painful.

"I don't need a name to remember you," he's smiling again, it's so strange and out of place and, you admit, heartening. "Good luck. Goodbye."

Theseus Scamander leaves with your father in tow, closing the violently fluctuating door, at last, on his way out.

----

1925, London, Nine Years Later

'It can't be,' you think to yourself. 'Improbable.'

It's just too soon. You've hardly sat down at your new desk when you receive the interdepartmental memo. It unfolds from its airplane shape mid-air and sways delicately, falling in a rocking motion until it's flat on your desk.

A memo already?

You have just been moved to the Department of Magical Games and Sports from the Department of Mysteries. The man who sat there before you was moved to a bigger, better office, had been some hunching, Quidditch-loving Old Boy who wore long socks and smelled of moth-eaten cotton. Allegedly his name was Mr. Byrne.

A real success story in his department, or, rather, your host department, as you'd been appointed Interdepartmental Liaison for the Department of Mysteries. A new position. In fact, the only "above ground" position in your department, which was, expectedly, shrouded in mystery and sunken deep within the depths of the British Ministry of Magic.

In truth, you were also here on a mission. There had been rumors of conspiracy, political mutiny. Grindelwald supporters who had infiltrated the British Ministry of Magic. And the top suspect was the Head of the Department you'd been moved to. You'd been instructed to investigate, discern the truth of the rumors.

This would usually be a job for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but they had also been compromised. Or so you'd been told...

Your new position meant that you were to be kept in the dark more often than not, but it also meant having a desk above ground and being around other people. Luxuries.

No more time travel experiments, thought experiments, or, thankfully, demented blood purity experiments that always made your half-blood boil. You could live without all of that.

Still, none of that explained you receiving an interdepartmental memo before you'd even settled in.

You lift it from your desk in annoyance.

You do a double-take at the words, blinking hard at them.

"Holy hell," the memo reads. "When I told you I wanted to investigate some cursed Gobstones I didn't mean I wanted you to send them to my office, fuck's sake. Next after-work pint is on you, my friend."

You scoff.

It must have been misaddressed. The unfortunate writer must not know about Mr. Byrne's relocation.

It's beneath you, and childish, but you can't help but write back.

It's the sort of enchanted parchment that you can just write your responding message on. The ink disappears into the scrap of paper and appears wherever your mystery correspondent may be.

For your own amusement, you try to picture their reaction the best that you can.

"First of all, 'Holy hell'? 'Fuck's sake'? How dare you," you write. "Second of all, I'm not your friend and I most certainly will not be paying for an 'after-hours' pint. If I'm not clocked in, I'll have nothing to do with the Ministry."

It takes him so long to write back you nearly forget about it, have already gotten to unpacking all your silver nibs and ink pots and lining them up in the drawer like little soldiers, just how you like.

"Who is this?" Comes the message.

It's so dry, the response, so worried and perfunctory, that you nearly laugh out loud.

But something about the formality and genuine concern in your mystery messenger's script compels you to reply with mercy.

"Relax. Mr. Byrne's desk has been moved. If you want to write him, he has the big office on level seven with the view of the Atrium now. Lucky bastard. I'm at his old desk. Was just kidding about being offended. You can say 'fuck' and 'hell' all you want to me."

His reply comes quickly this time.

"Oh, good. Fucking hell, I was scared for a moment there."

You smile in bemusement. Who knew anyone at the Ministry could have a sense of humor? You'd thought you were the only one. You can't help but write back eagerly.

"Damn, I should have lied and said I was the Minister for Magic."

"Have mercy. I think I honest to God would have cried."

"So, no after-work pint for me then?"

"Forgive me, where are my manners? Today. The White Horse. Not sure who you are, but pint is on me, sir."

"*Miss!!" You correct. "And I was only joking. I really meant what I said before about not wanting anything to do with the Ministry unless I'm at work and being paid for my time."

"How very patriotic."

There's nothing in his writing to indicate sarcasm, but it practically drips off the page. This person is cheeky, you realize. Sarcastic. And a little annoying.

You like it.

The Department of Magical Games and Sports is a sleepy, uneventful affair compared to the work you'd been engaged in for the Department of Mysteries when you were "below ground." You look around at your colleagues, your dreary officemates. They were relatively sedentary outside of Quidditch season. Sleepy, slow-moving creatures.

As interdepartmental liaison for the Department of Mysteries, a fabricated position, really, you were already bored out of your mind.

Maybe that's why you write back with unfounded enthusiasm.

"Mystery boy: Tell me something about you. Tell me something true."

----

London hadn't been kind to you.

It seemed you had a hard time of everything: finding a flat with your sister as two unmarried, unchaperoned women, making friends outside of work, making sure to look the right way when crossing the street to avoid getting hit by a bus ('They drive on the left side, Y/N. Get it together'). All these things had proved to be excessively difficult. Especially the not-getting-hit-by-a-bus part.

During the war, while you served as an underaged combat nurse on the frontlines, your father died, but your siblings lived.

They told you the soldier from that night, the one who denied you your first kiss, had kept his word. He'd done the best he could to care for your father and, more importantly, he'd stayed with him until the very end.

Your brother was still in France, working with magical aquatic beasts around les Calanques de Cassis, but your sister was here with you. She worked in some Muggle field you didn't quite understand.

Her, your brother, and, now, the mystery man you'd been writing to every day were the only real people in your life. The only people who really talked to and knew you.

Day by day you'd grown closer to the mystery man. What had started out as vaguely funny, sometimes hostile banter had developed into something more. You'd both genuinely warmed to each other.

"Morning, sunshine!"

You were so accustomed to reading his greeting with your morning coffee that you reached for it automatically, as soon as you arrived, hand sweeping wide over the expanse of your desk to pick it up.

"Hope you caught some bad guys today. Or at least got to enforce a law or two. Bye-bye, idiot." You sign at the end of most days. Or some other joking farewell.

It's a constant correspondence between the two of you, scrawled-in between assignments and research. On your desk there is your inbox, your outbox, the stack of parchment (whatever you happen to be working on), and, just to the side of that, the discreet piece of paper you use to correspond with the mystery man.

However, you do try to mitigate the sharing of identifying information. Even when he learns you're an "Unspeakable," or someone working for the Department of Mysteries, it does little to deter him.

"Keep your department's secrets," he writes. "I just want yours."

He volunteers information about himself, his initials ("TS") and even his department (Magical Law Enforcement), in the hopes that you'll reciprocate.

You do, but you offer unimportant, silly facts about yourself. Nothing that will help him identify you, though he's insistent that he'd know you anyway if you ran into each other.

"I'm an Auror. I fought in the war," he reveals one day. "Your turn now."

"Fine: I never learned how to swim. So if you want to kill me you should probably drown me."

"I'm considering it. I'll bring a bottle of water when I finally see you. Why won't you tell me something more about yourself?!"

"What do you want to know? Can't a girl working for the Department of Mysteries be mysterious once in a while?"

"It gets old."

"You're a liar. You love me."

"True on both counts. But one of these days I'm just going to show up at your desk. I know where it is, you know... Mu-ha-ha."

You write back dismissively. "Why show up? So I can berate you in person?"

Your heart pounds stupidly as you watch the message sink away. You don't want to encourage him.

It's been one whole month of your daily exchanging of magical notes.

You know his biggest stressors at work, you know what he finds irritating, what he finds funny. Know his hopes and dreams.

You hate to admit it, but you'd be completely adrift without it, without him. Even when you're back at your flat with your sister you find your hands moving to write whenever something weird or funny happens, just to tell him, instinctually. You find yourself missing him.

It makes you shudder, the thought.

You don't want anything more... You're both comfortable and satisfied with how things are now. It's really only him who jokes about meeting up sometimes. But you? You're afraid meeting him in person would ruin that.

Maybe it's easier to have a close relationship with him across the merciful distance of anonymity.

"Night night." He writes at the end of the day. He seems to get to work earlier than you and leave later, but he's learned to say goodbye right at 6:00pm, when you usually leave.

For some reason, the words don't disappear from the page, even when you write back beneath them. His boyish script stays put.

"'Night night?'" you write back. "Ouch. I'm not a grandmother, I do intend to go out for dinner after work. Why the bedtime message?"

His words fade in and your heart swells.

"I wrote it so you can put it in your pocket and save it for tonight. I get to say goodbye to you, and good morning, but not goodnight. Just trying to cover all my bases."

You smile and tear off the message, putting it in your pocket. On the remaining paper, you cast a spell for the same, lingering text that he'd gifted you.

"Okay. You can save and reuse this message: Goodnight then, T. Sleep well, I'll talk to you tomorrow, and tomorrow. And the day after that, too."

----

You're prone to daydreaming, you'll admit to that.

"You live in a world of your own!" your favorite professor at Beauxbatons would say fondly.

"Ditzy girl, that one!" your least favorite professor would scowl within earshot of you.

But it's so easy to slip away, especially when you have something, someone, to dream about.

You watch your feet sweep across the dark green tiled floors of the Atrium, but hardly pay attention to anything else as you make your way to the elevators.

You're chuckling to yourself, remembering something your mystery correspondent wrote yesterday. It was some outrageous story, so ridiculous you wouldn't have believed it if it came from anyone but him, who was honest to a fault.

It was about a disastrous trip he took with his younger brother and involved camping on a storm-logged beach, an angry Graphorn, and frantically singing some maritime folk song they'd been misinformed would calm the beast.

You're still smiling at the floor when you step into the elevator, or, more correctly, step directly into a tall man in a three-piece suit. You crash into him with a crushing momentum.

"Oof!" you redden immediately, try to catch your breath and sputter out an apology at the same time. "I'm so sorry, forgive me!"

But the man is engaged in a conversation with two other men in the elevator, laughing.

He doesn't look over to you, he just stills you with an attractive casualness, steadies your frame with a firm hand on your shoulder. You know you hit him hard, his nonchalance is for your benefit.

"S'alright. Sorry, miss," he says with a half-glance, before turning back to his conversation.

A half-glance is all you need.

The profile of his face in the elevator light. His exact height and the feeling of being next to him. His voice, for Christ's sake!

You go stiff, your face wan.

It was him. Unmistakably. The English soldier from that night at your father's house in France. From the last time you saw your father, the last time you felt like a girl...

You couldn't speak if you wanted to. You feel something like seasickness come over you, you don't dare open your mouth.

"Theseus Scamander," his colleague is joking. "I mean it when I say well done! We should've known our young war hero would make the best Auror in the department!"

"Really, really spectacular job, son!" The other man claps a hand over Theseus's back in agreement. They're both older, sort of brash men, they don't seem to sense Theseus's discomfort at being complimented.

Theseus is grinning bashfully.

"Just doing my job," he delivers with charm, shrugging.

"Nonsense! Tonight, we celebrate. I'm not taking no for an answer. I've actually felt somewhat of a mentor to you, when you first started out-"

"We ought to invite Mr. Byrne out with us!" The third man exclaims with revelatory fervor. "How has the old chap been? Do you still go down to the pub with him, Theseus?"

It is the second, overlapping wave of nausea that really does you in, digs in its claws and drags downwards. You feel your feet physically sink into the floor. You can't bring yourself to move at all, you drone out the rest of what they're saying. It's white noise, the buzz of flies.

Mr. Byrne.

War hero.

Auror.

Initials T.S.

God, how stupid could you be? No, that's not fair.

The chances of seeing him again were slim. The chances of the two of you working together were even slimmer. The chances of him, the soldier from that night, Theseus Scamander, being your mystery correspondent these last weeks.... It should've been impossible.

When the elevator doors ding open at level seven, you step past the men quickly, rudely, afraid they'll turn to say something to you. Even a belated greeting or perfunctory farewell you couldn't bear.

You don't know why you feel so shaken.

'It's not a big deal,' you tell yourself consolingly once at your desk. 'You were sixteen. So what if you asked him to kiss you?'

But deep within your core, in a space beyond words or reason, you know that it was more than that. You weren't embarrassed about a stupid non-kiss. No, you haven't been able to shake that night, to shake him.

You'd connected. Or, rather, he'd seen you. Something about his gaze and his words had cut through the fat of life, of circumstance, and he'd seen you for who you really are.

And he'd promised to remember you.

It's gutting, harrowing almost. Realizing he'd been writing to you all this time, unaware. Some sick joke from the universe with no punchline--because you decided then and there to stop writing to him, immediately.

Theseus realizes long before the end of the day.

After you crumple his unanswered "good morning" memo and push it to the far corner of your desk, another flies in.

"URGENT: Is it just me or is Mr. Byrne particularly dapper today? The magenta top hat I can forgive, even the monocle is pardonable, but the polkadot bowtie? Inexcusable. Unbecoming of the Ministry. Need your thoughts immediately."

You had seen Mr. Byrne's polkadot bowtie today. You still found the magenta top hat more scandalizing. You wanted to laugh, but felt too much like crying to give way to the urge.

Then:

"I'm dying. Dark wizard lead in Suffolk but I can't be bothered. Tell me some funny story about you telling the professors off in school. I'm relying on tales of your genius to boost my morale. The fate of the Aurors Office depends on you alone. T."

It's three hours before the next memo comes flapping around the corner like some wounded bird.

"Have I done something wrong?" Shortly after, "More importantly--Are you alright?"

You don't know why you can't leave them be, why you keep reading them with no intention of responding.

"Scaring me here, mystery girl. Write back and I'll stop harassing you, write anything at all. Even a little drawing or scribble will suffice."

"You're not liaising very well, Liaison... Sorry, that was a joke. Ha-ha. I know the Department of Mysteries isn't expected to answer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement but I'd always hoped you'd still answer to me..."

You throw yourself into your work with rigor.

Even your Department of Magical Games and Sports officemates comment on it, commendably. They don't realize you're just trying to occupy your brain, distract yourself from the sizable pile of memos lying formidably on your desk until you can go home.

The last one comes late in the day: "Really--Are you alright?"

Your heart aches weakly.

But no, you know how persistent and how persistently optimistic the mystery man ('Theseus,' you correct yourself) could be. If you wrote back he'd want an explanation, which he'd inevitably refute, and, besides, you weren't ready to tell him the truth or to face him again.

Your head is a jumbled mess of half-formed truths and complicated emotions.

It's a few minutes before 6:00pm, but you click off your desk lamp anxiously and begin to organize your things.

The nature of your position for the Department of Mysteries required you to lock your work up before you left. It involves two spells and four charmed latches and bolts, and it takes some time. You sit back in your chair with a sigh, waiting for the process to finish. The soft, mechanical whirring and clicking noises are a comfort to you.

The frosted glass door to the office swings open thunderously, with the unnecessary force of someone unfamiliar with the delicate door.

You sit up straight in your chair, startled. A few of the workers behind you even look over in alarm, heads shooting up from their desks.

No. Fucking. Way.

Theseus's chest is heaving softly. He's looking right at you, purposefully.

He actually showed up to your desk like he always joked about doing. You want to feel angry, indignant that he'd betray your trust, but all you feel is a numbing shock.

The sight of his face alone would've been a shock. Blue eyes. High cheekbones. Wavy, dark hair. Handsome as the day he left you.

He seems genuinely rendered speechless. The open part of his lips suggests that he had come with some speech prepared for you when he first burst in, although now he is, evidently, lost.

His eyes keep flitting up and down your form, lingering especially on your lips. It makes you flush. Yes, he gets a good look at your face, and at the small pile of his opened memos shoved to the far corner of your desk.

Whatever he expected to find, expected you to look like, this clearly wasn't it.

"Mr. Scamander!"

Your officemate Ana's voice from behind you makes you jolt again.

She walks over and places a hand on your shoulder tenderly. She seems to be completely unaware of any tension between the two of you, speaking to Theseus with ease.

"I'm sorry to steal Y/N from you, but I have to talk to her about an interdepartmental issue before she leaves. Can't wait!"

You wince at the mention of your name, but you're standing, bag clutched like a shield, and Ana is already whisking you past Theseus and through the frosted glass double doors.

"Y/N..." you hear Theseus echo, dreamily, as you pass, just before the doors close in his face and sever you from him completely.

-----

The next day you see him at a far distance.

You feel less shaken about things after having screamed to your little sister about it all last night. But she'd said something stupid about some "string of fate" that irritated you so much that you'd ultimately resorted to screaming into your pillow.

Regardless, you feel more secure. Less unsettled.

Still, the sight of Theseus's open expression in the Atrium, looking back at you in recognition across the crowds of businessmen and women just as the doors to the elevator you're in close--it's a bit haunting.

You gulp once in the safety of the elevator.

He saw you.

His eyes had drifted up and down your form, unreadably, before settling on your face. You didn't have time to react, and he was too far away besides.

Later, later than usual, a small memo floats onto your desk.

You don't hesitate, reaching for it, but the words aren't what you expect. No "good morning," not even anything referencing what had happened yesterday.

The words are so unexpected that his handwriting is the only indication that it's from him.

"You were so beautiful in that skirt this morning. So fucking beautiful. You look so enchanting in blue."

You flush deeply. So, that was what his look this morning had meant.

The relief comes delayed, second to your shyness at his flattery.

"Oh, thank God," you think.

He'd seen you, twice now, and hadn't recognized you.

He didn't remember. Or maybe he just didn't recognize you, it'd been nine years after all and you were no longer a scrawny, scrappy sixteen-year-old. But it was more likely that he just didn't remember.

You decide his not referencing your awkward encounter yesterday either is another mercy, so you go along pretending nothing happened.

"Are you flirting with me, sir?"

It's a comfort to be writing to him again.

"No," he writes back. Then, "Yes."

You laugh aloud at his candor.

"Y/N, I apologize for my outburst yesterday. I shouldn't have sprung on you like that, unannounced. Uninvited. I wish I could say I was afraid something had happened to you, but really I was just afraid you had stopped writing me for good. But then I just stood there like an absolute idiot, you probably had no idea who I was."

You huff at that.

"I knew who you were. I'm no Auror but 'Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' 'war hero,' and 'initials T.S.' aren't exactly subtle hints."

"Hey! I mentioned the war but never called myself 'hero.' I have a strong sense of propriety and I pride myself on it."

"How British..." you write back mockingly, unthinkingly.

"Are you not?"

Fuck. Well, you've already met.

"I live here now, and have for years, but I'm French."

The ink feels seared into the paper, how black your scrawl is, how you can't take it back. You don't know what you want from him. You wish he'd go away. You wish he'd never stop writing.

You wish he'd remember you on his own.

"Hmm..." he writes back.

Your heart is pounding. When he writes again your anxiety dissolves but your heart continues its steady, heavy drum.

"You're beautiful."

Your head is a scattered, overstimulated mess. You can't think straight.

He's still writing. The words fade in one by one.

"Why didn't you tell me you were beautiful? God, I didn't expect it, it took any coherent thought or word right out of me yesterday when you looked up at me with those eyes. And this morning, that skirt. Y/N, you should've warned me."

You laugh at the words on the paper, but your body's reaction to the thought of him writing them, thinking them, thinking of you, is anything but funny.

It feels overly warm in the office suddenly, and you are agitated. You stand and pace around your desk, fanning yourself with your hands.

Your fingers are shaking around the quill when you bend over your desktop to write back.

"Don't be dramatic, you'll live."

You worry you sound cruel so you add.

"And thank you. I don't think anyone has called me beautiful in a very long time."

He writes back: "Any time. And I highly doubt that. Y/N, I'm sure you've been beautiful your whole life. I can tell just by looking at you."

You don't know what possesses you when you write the next words:

"Can I come see you?"

There's a few, atypical beats before he writes back. It's excruciating.

"What, you mean at lunch?"

You look down at the small, oval face of your wristwatch.

Lunch is too far away. The bundle of nerves and anticipation you feel about Theseus, that swarming anxiety, is too unbearable to wait for lunch. You need to get him out of your system now, get him over with, and then you can move on and focus on your work.

"I mean now. In your office." You write back.

'Am I being presumptuous?' The thought makes you furrow your brow and bite your fingernail in worry. But then you remind yourself, 'Beautiful. He called you beautiful.'

It takes so long for him to reply that you almost write again to tell him never mind. But then his words come, like the sweet relief of rain:

"Yes, please. Level two, the very back left office."

You leave at once, smoothing down your skirt and brushing your hair back out of your face.

The anxiety ebbs and peaks at random. On the elevator ride you feel like you're dying. You recollect your confidence while walking to the wooden door of the Aurors Office only to feel another stab of panic as you make your way down the curved hall.

You feel so frazzled and worked up, too distracted to work or even ponder work. But you don't understand why until you push open Theseus's door, not bothering to knock. Until you're alone in the room with him, just the two of you behind closed doors.

He stands quickly upon your entrance, like a soldier.

For a moment the two of you just stare.

'Oh, God,' you realize with mounting dread. 'I am attracted to him. I am like this because I'm attracted to him.'

It feels terrible, awful, that sapping loss of power, that weakness in the knees. You haven't had a crush in your adult life, it's a trampling blow, the realization.

Theseus looks just as handsome as he always has, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, the sharp curve of his jaw.

He laughs and it breaks the spell of silence.

"Hello, you," his tone is fond but he still hasn't walked over to you, which is confusing and makes you shuffle aimlessly in place.

"Hi," you say, stupidly.

"Hi is all I get?" he jokes. "You know you've become something like my best friend in the office this last month. Actually, you probably know me better than my entire department."

You laugh bleakly, and you hope it dissipates the electrified energy between the two of you. That live-wire tension.

"I could say the same about you, actually."

He makes a strange, indecipherable expression then. It's both wry and lamenting.

"I don't want anything to change that, Y/N."

You frown.

"Why would anything change that?"

He doesn't answer you, changing the subject and turning his attention to the cup of quills on his desk, fiddling with the feathers.

"I... I didn't expect to react the way I did to seeing you for the first time yesterday. I've never reacted that way to anyone, anyone. When you told me you wanted to come see me here today, I panicked. I almost said no."

That hurts your feelings. "Why?"

He looks up from his desk. Your face burns at the sincerity of his expression.

"Because I knew it'd be harder for me to control myself if we were alone together. Harder to be a good friend and... behave."

He says the last word carefully. If he is calculated, delicate, you are anything but.

"I don't want you to behave," you whisper.

You step up to him, boldly. The tension is unbearable now.

"Y/N," he says warningly, disapprovingly. But the look in his eyes is agony.

"Kiss me," you say. The words come to you from far away, a train at the end of the tunnel, you pull them from that night in Verdun, from nine years ago. You need him just the same as you did then.

Theseus smiles reluctantly. The sideways tilt to his mouth is so captivating, it makes you want it more. God, he's attractive. Even more so now that you know him, are his friend.

"I can't," he says, pitifully.

But the look on his face, the way he's standing steadfastly behind his desk like having it between you will protect him, the way his eyes are flitting from yours down to your lips and back up again and again, that isn't saying no.

"Okay, have it your way. But I won't ask you again," you warn.

You want to admit that this isn't the first time he's denied you. He promised you'd live to be kissed, you've come back to haunt him for it now.

You would not ask him a third time.

Theseus groans loudly and puts his head in his hands. When you laugh he looks up at you disparagingly.

"You think that's funny, do you?"

You do. You find it cute. Maybe you don't realize the extent of his distress.

You reach forward to pinch his cheek, jokingly. He bats your hand away with an unwilling smile.

Then you're falling into him, losing your balance. He grasps both your hands in his to keep you from toppling over, the both of you laughing.

"Get off!" you shout gleefully.

"You get off," he retorts jokingly.

Pushing and pulling and touching, it's something like play-fighting the way you're both falling into and catching each other.

At last, he wrangles you onto his desk, so you're sitting there at the edge.

Your head is spinning. He grabs both your wrists, holding them together in a single, large hand.

"Hands to yourself, Y/N," is his gentle reprimand.

But you know, know from the soft pant of his breathing, the undone look on his face, lips half parted, that you've already won.

He doesn't cave into your will so much as collapse altogether, soundlessly, undetectably.

You don't blink, big, innocuous look in your eyes, staring up at him. Even when you're raised up, sitting on his desk while he stands, he's so tall that you have to look up at him.

"Please," Theseus says, and it's so attractive, his broken whisper. "I'm begging you, Y/N."

He drops down to his knees, one leg at a time with the heavy, hypnotized motions of a man defeated.

You gasp softly when his warm palms grip your kneecaps, rubbing gingerly over the sheer material of your tights, reverently.

A man on his knees, his curly head between your thighs. Your stomach plummets, burning low in desire.

You want him bad. Mind-numbingly bad, your whole body tingling underneath and keening to his touch. But it's too addictively sweet, him begging for it like this. You want to draw it out.

"Hm," you sigh, not responding, but you let your legs fall open under the guidance of his hands.

He moans at the sight. When he speaks again his voice is weak and ruined. Rough and pleading.

"Please, I'll do anything. Let me touch you. You're killing me, please."

It's almost a whine.

You can see that the fabric of his pants is stretched taut across his crotch--he's already hard.

His chest is rising and falling softly. There's a needy, trancelike glint in his eyes. He wants it bad, it's plain on his face. It's different from impatience, it's anguish.

"Kiss me," you say again. It's a demand this time. He gives in without a fight, rising up and capturing your open mouth in his.

It's a deep, languishing kiss. He kisses you like he wants to taste you, like he can't get enough of it. He grips your head by the jaw to kiss you better, deeper. When his tongue presses into your mouth you moan into his.

His hand sweeps blindly across his desk, clearing it with a crash. You jump at the sound but he grabs your face again, turning it back to his roughly.

"No," he murmurs. "C'mere."

And he's kissing you again, humming in approval when you tentatively push back against his tongue with your own.

With effort, you pull back to look at him. His pupils are blown out with desire, the collar of his dress shirt pulled open, revealing a collarbone.

"Theseus," you say, your whole body tingling with warmth. You say his name just to say it.

You're too shy to tell him that this is your first kiss, that you'd waited all this time.

It's startling, how quickly the tables turned. How deftly he took control of the situation once he had your permission to.

His hands pull down your skirt, worshipfully, that blue skirt he loves so much. He sets it aside, you're just in your sheer black tights now.

You understand why he cleared his desk now. You fall back with a moan when he flattens his massive hand across your crotch, spreads his fingers. It covers the entire expanse between your legs easily. It feels so lewd for him to touch you there now, but then he drags his hand up, sliding it over your stomach, the middle of your chest, up your neck.

"You'll let me touch you like this?" he asks.

You nod, quickly.

"Only me?" he inquires, sounding pleased. Maybe amused.

"Yes," you say, nodding again with urgency. "Only you. Nobody else."

"Fuck," he curses. He pulls open your blouse then, and disposes of that as well. You half sit up to help him with your bra. Whereas his movements are devout, seeming to worship every part of you, yours are frantic, crazed.

It's not just that you're in his office, at work, but it's that you want him badly. So very badly. It feels like the only thing that can make it better.

Once you have your bra off he pushes you back on the desk again. Places open-mouth kisses your neck, drags his teeth over the skin there then moves down. You gasp when he puts his mouth on your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue. He pinches your other nipple with his hand, rolling it gently between his rough fingertips.

"Hngh," you can't help but moan, writhe, throw your head back against the wood.

You almost want to cry out in disbelief when his head leaves your chest, sinking lower. He's on his knees again, pulling down your tights. You don't understand.

"Theseus, what-" you start, but you are silenced, the breath stolen from your chest, at the sensation of his mouth on your clit.

The moan that leaves your mouth this time is recklessly loud, carelessly so.

Theseus doesn't seem to mind.

"You taste so fucking good," he pulls back to say, his voice is ragged.

You're shy. The idea of him tasting and licking you, putting his mouth there makes you shy. But the pleasure that rocks through your entire body is too strong to deny. You'd never ask him to stop. You weren't capable of it.

Your hands go to his head, fingers wind through his hair automatically.

"Fuck," you say, involuntarily.

He's sucking your clit so well, you hardly notice when he brings up a hand, finger tracing the line of your wet slit, prodding in and out of your tight hole just barely, just to the knuckle. Kitten-fucking you with it.

He stops sucking to lick you up and down with his tongue, again and again in quick, steady rhythm, flicking the firm tip of it against your clit until you have to bite the back of your hand to keep from crying out. When he sinks his two fingers into your pussy fully, stuffing them in forcefully despite the restrictive tightness, still licking, that's all it takes for your orgasm to overtake you in pulses of unbelievable, unknown pleasure.

He removes his fingers and rises. His plush lips are slick with your arousal. He has a dreamy, dazed look in his eyes. The ravaged, destroyed look on your face seems to do something awful to him.

"Let me fuck you," Theseus says. It makes your stomach flip.

He doesn't ask, didn't say 'do you want to,' or 'can we.' He wants to take it from you.

"Yes," you mutter, spreading your legs again without thinking, head still laid back on his desk. Your orgasm made your limbs feel loose, compliant. Anything he wants. Anything at all.

Even the clinking sound of him undoing his belt buckle makes you swoon with yearning, makes your mouth water. He doesn't bother to take off his pants, just pulls his dick out, still staring into your eyes.

'God. Mercy,' you think. Even in his hand it looks huge. It's pretty.

He smiles crookedly at the widening of your eyes.

"You like my cock, baby?"

"Yes," you whisper. "Please. I want it."

He leans over you to kiss your forehead. You don't have the chance to reminisce, for it to remind you of anything, because then he is pushing into your wet warmth. He slides in so snugly, so smoothly, fits like a glove despite the stretch. The feeling of being so overfull is lewd and perfect.

He presses a hand to your lower stomach. He can feel himself inside of you there.

You gasp at the applied pressure.

He keeps his hand pressed there as he angles his hips back and then begins to fuck you. He wants to feel it underhand, how he's moving inside of you.

"Fuuuuucckkkk," you're incoherent, you know. But you can't help but swear, your whole body is vibrating with ecstasy as he drives his dick in and out of you.

"You're beautiful," he groans, throwing his head back. His entire world narrows down to this, fucking you, pumping his dick into your tightness and feeling you flutter and flex around him.

"Wait, Theseus I-" your second orgasm takes you by surprise. Your back arches off the desk, it hits you like a train, it's like an out-of-body experience.

"Fuck," He grips the back of your thighs to the point of pain. But you hardly notice that, you only feel his dick grow achingly hard. He pulls out at the last moment, coming into his hand. It spills out and between his fingertips anyway.

He makes a face of sore regret at the mess. You knew how badly he wanted to come inside of you, you could feel it, but you are grateful he didn't.

You have the strangest urge to get up and lick his fingers, but realistically you're too wrecked to move.

It takes a solid two minutes before either of you return to breathing normally and regain your bearings.

'What did we just do?' you think as you put your clothes back on.

You glance over to Theseus, he's fixing his tie in the small mirror next to the closed door of his office.

It was like you were a woman possessed. You can hardly believe your actions. But, strangely, you don't feel guilty or regretful. And your feelings for Theseus are stronger than ever. Consummated. You feel safe with him. Overjoyed, really.

He catches you looking at him in the mirror and turns. The look on his face is one of total contentment.

He comes over to you, runs his fingers through your hair gently. There's nothing but adoration in his eyes as he beholds you.

"I don't know how I'm expected to just sit back down and continue to do work on my desk now, after that. I'm gonna go insane, just knowing you're only a few levels away."

You laugh. It's an airy, light-hearted sound.

"I like you so much," he admits, brazenly, before you can even respond to him.

Your head is still a muddled mess, but this here is easy to admit. He could probably see it on your face anyway. Read you like a book.

"I like you too," you say. "I miss you already. Keep writing to me."

"I promise."

-----

part two here

author's note: what will happen when the truth of their past comes to light?? part two incoming!!! please leave feedback :)

comment/ask to be added to the taglist!

taglist: @msauthor

[winxanity-ii]

SECOND, SERVITUDE

ship: incubus!gojo x fem!virgin!reader (ft.geto) warnings: nsfw 🔞 (oral sex/f. receiving; handjob/m. recieving; coercion/dub-con?; p in v; overstimulation) word count: 5.0k a/n: 2nd part to my first KINKtober attempt: 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓, 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄.…

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

It had been a few weeks since that night, and somehow, you had managed to push it to the back of your mind.

You kept yourself busy with schoolwork, study sessions with Megumi, and hanging out with Nobara. Whenever your mind dared to wander back to Satoru—the heat of his touch, the intensity of his eyes—you quickly forced yourself to focus on something else.

You couldn't afford to dwell on something so unreal, something that made your heart race and your skin tingle just from the memory.

No, it was easier to pretend it had never happened, easier to bury the experience under mundane routines and daily life.

But today was different. Today was your birthday, and Nobara had made it her personal mission to drag you out to celebrate.

You'd tried to protest, but she wasn't having any of it. By the time she was done with you, you were dressed in an outfit you never would have chosen for yourself: a short, tight leather mini skirt that hugged your hips and a tube top that left little to the imagination.

The fabric clung to your chest, and every time you looked in the mirror, you felt your face flush. But Nobara had insisted, claiming you looked "absolutely hot" and that you "had to show off a little for once."

The club was loud, the music pulsing through the floor and vibrating up your legs.

Nobara had led you straight to a booth near the back, ordering drinks before you could even settle in. She was in her element, already chatting up someone at the bar, leaving you to nurse a drink that tasted far too strong for your liking.

The lights were dim, neon colors flashing across the room, and you tried your best to relax, telling yourself to just enjoy the night.

You sat in the booth, shifting uncomfortably in the tight skirt, your fingers tapping nervously against the glass in your hand. You weren't used to this—the clothes, the atmosphere, the attention.

You could feel eyes on you, and it made your skin prickle with unease. You took another sip of your drink, trying to ignore the feeling, focusing instead on the music, letting it drown out your thoughts.

A shadow fell over you, and you looked up, startled. A tall figure ambled over, his silhouette barely visible under the flashing lights. As he got closer, you felt your breath catch in your throat.

It was Suguru.

He looked striking, his long dark hair let down, flowing freely over his shoulders, a few loose strands framing his face. His eyes, sharp and dark, locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

"Hey," he said, his voice smooth, almost drowned out by the music. He slid into the booth beside you, his presence overwhelming in the small space. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and you swallowed hard, trying to find your voice.

"Hi," you managed, your voice barely audible over the pounding music. You glanced around, hoping to catch sight of Nobara, but she was nowhere to be found.

"I saw you sitting here all alone," Suguru said, leaning in closer. His breath brushed against your ear, and you shivered. "Figured I'd come keep you company."

You could feel your face heating up, and you quickly looked down at your drink, your fingers tightening around the glass. "Oh, um, thanks. I'm just... not really used to this kind of place," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Suguru chuckled, the sound low and warm. "That's alright," he said, his hand coming to rest on the back of the booth, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. "The party scene isn't for everyone."

Your heart was pounding, your mind racing as you tried to make sense of what was happening. His touch was light, almost teasing, and you couldn't help the way your body reacted, a shiver running down your spine.

Then, Suguru leaned in closer, his lips brushing near your ear, his voice smooth and dripping with curiosity. "So, why haven't you told me you weren't a freshman?"

You blinked, leaning back slightly, confusion crossing your face. The question caught you off guard, and you found yourself at a loss for words. He chuckled, the rich sound somehow audible even over the loud music, his eyes glinting with amusement. The laughter sent a thrill through you, and you couldn't help but feel even more exposed under his gaze.

"Megumi let me know," he continued, his tone casual but with a teasing edge. "I asked about you sometime after our little meeting. He mentioned you weren't exactly new here."

You let out a sigh, mixed with a small, awkward laugh, biting your lip as you decided to just be honest. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and you looked away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. "Well... I mean... I was a virgin," you admitted, the words almost getting lost in your throat.

Suguru's brow quirked up, his lips curling into a sly smile. "Was?" he echoed, his tone laced with intrigue.

You gave a small shrug, trying to appear nonchalant despite the way your heart hammered in your chest. "Yeah... I've, um, done some things since talking to you," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Suguru's eyes darkened, his gaze raking over you slowly, almost possessively, taking in every detail of your appearance. You could feel his eyes traveling over the curve of your neck, down to where the tight tube top hugged your chest, his eyes lingering for a moment before moving back up to meet yours. He licked his lips, his eyes hooded as he leaned in, closing the small distance between you.

He shifted closer, his thigh pressing against yours, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, your body instinctively leaning into his. His voice dropped, growing lower, the words coming out smooth and suggestive. "You know... I'd love to see exactly what you've learned." His eyes flickered down to your lips, and before you could react, he tilted your chin up with his fingers, his touch both gentle and firm.

His lips brushed against yours, soft at first, testing. You could feel your heart skip a beat, your breath hitching in your throat. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours, searching for any hesitation. When he found none, he leaned in again, his lips pressing more firmly against yours, his other hand moving to cup your cheek.

You melted into the kiss, your body responding before your mind could catch up, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

His lips moved against yours with a confidence that made your head spin, his tongue brushing against your bottom lip, coaxing a soft gasp from you. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips, exploring, teasing.

You could taste the hint of alcohol on his breath, mixed with something distinctly him, and it made your head swim.

Suguru's hand moved from your chin, trailing down to rest on your waist, his fingers splayed against the exposed skin, his thumb brushing lightly against your side.

The touch sent a jolt through you, and you found yourself leaning further into him, your body craving more. His other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head just right, allowing him to control the kiss, his lips moving hungrily against yours.

When he finally pulled back, you were both panting, your forehead resting against his as you tried to catch your breath. His eyes were half-lidded, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched you, clearly pleased with the way you were reacting to him.

You didn't even hesitate as you leaned forward again, your lips seeking his, a soft whine escaping you when he pulled just out of reach, chuckling softly.

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, his lips brushing against your skin as he murmured, "How about we take this somewhere a little more... private?"

You nodded, your mind too foggy with desire to think straight. "Okay," you breathed out, your voice shaky.

Suguru grinned, standing up from the booth and taking your hand, his fingers lacing with yours as he led you through the crowded club. Your heart was pounding in your ears, your body buzzing with anticipation as you followed him, your eyes fixed on his broad back, the way his hair flowed freely as he moved.

He led you to a single bathroom, pushing the door open and pulling you inside before locking it behind you. The room was small, the dim light casting shadows across the tiled walls.

The moment the door clicked shut, Suguru's hands were on you again, pulling you close, his lips crashing against yours, the intensity of his kiss taking your breath away.

His mouth moved against yours with a fervor that made your knees weak, his tongue slipping past your lips, seeking out yours. He sucked on your tongue, swallowing every whimper and whine that escaped you, his kisses heated and demanding.

Your back hit the wall, the cold tiles a stark contrast to the heat of his body. You could feel his need—the way his body pressed into yours, his hands gripping your waist as if he couldn't get close enough.

You let out a soft moan, your arms wrapping around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. His lips left yours, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, his breath warm against your skin. He moved to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before sucking lightly, drawing out a gasp from you.

Suguru lifted you up effortlessly, his strong hands gripping the backs of your thighs as he pulled your legs to wrap around his waist. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him closer, your body craving more of the contact.

His hips grinded against you, moving in a steady rhythm, his hardness pressing against you through the thin fabric of your clothes, each movement sending a wave of heat through your body. His lips trailed up the side of your neck, his tongue flicking against your pulse point, his teeth nipping at your skin before he soothed it with his tongue.

Your eyes fluttered open, and for a split second, you thought you saw something—a shadowed figure stepping out from the corner of the small bathroom. Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes widening as you focused on the figure.

It was Satoru.

His eyes were glowing faintly in the dim light, his tail swinging low against the ground, the tip flicking back and forth as if in anticipation.

Satoru just watched, his lips curling into a knowing smirk as his eyes locked onto you, then shifted to Suguru. He didn't say anything, just leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed on you both with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

Suguru's hands moved lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. You let out a gasp, your eyes squeezing shut, trying to ignore the fact that Satoru was watching. Suguru's fingers brushed against you, his touch featherlight at first, teasing.

He found your clit, his long fingers moving in gentle, precise circles, the sensation making your head fall back against the wall, a soft moan slipping from your lips.

He watched your reaction, his eyes dark with desire, his lips curling into a satisfied smile as he continued. His fingers moved skillfully, the pressure just right, drawing out soft whimpers from you with every movement.

Your hips bucked against his hand, your body reacting on its own, craving more of the pleasure he was giving you.

You could feel Satoru's eyes on you, his gaze burning into your skin, but all you could focus on was the way Suguru's fingers moved against you, the way his lips found yours again, swallowing every sound you made.

When your eyes fluttered open, you saw Satoru right next to you, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. He didn't spare Suguru a single glance; it was as if Suguru couldn't even see him.

As if understanding the confusion in your gaze, Satoru leaned forward, his nose brushing along the side of your face, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver through you.

"No one else can see me but you," he whispered, his tone almost mocking. His lips curved into a smirk as he watched your reaction, his eyes flickering down to where Suguru's hand was still moving against you.

Satoru's eyes darkened, and he let out a soft, almost dismissive hum. "Look at him," he said, his voice dripping with judgment. "He looks like he doesn't even know what he's doing. Doesn't know how to touch you properly."

You let out a shaky breath, your back arching as Suguru's fingers moved inside you, his touch sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You tried to focus on Suguru, on the way he was making you feel, but Satoru's presence was impossible to ignore. His words were a constant distraction, his voice cutting through the haze of pleasure.

"What... what are you doing here?" you managed to stutter out, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes squeezed shut again, your body reacting to Suguru's touch, your hips bucking slightly against his hand.

Satoru tilted his head, a grin spreading across his face as he watched you. "Your request wasn't completed," he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You blinked, your mind struggling to keep up, confusion clouding your thoughts. "But... but I thought the request was completed," you stammered, your voice shaky.

Satoru's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He chuckled, asking, "Don't you recall me saying it was never fulfilled? You're still a virgin."

You stuttered out a "B-but I—" but he cut you off, his lips brushing against your ear. "Tsk tsk, poor you. So shocked, yet made a deal with a demon."

Suguru's moans and groans in your ear were what pulled you out of your daze. The sound was raw, almost desperate, and it made your body shiver in response. But before you could react further, Satoru's expression twisted, a scowl forming as his eyes narrowed, his fangs glistening under the dim light. His annoyance was palpable, radiating off him like a heatwave.

Without warning, Satoru grabbed a fistful of Suguru's hair, yanking his head back with a rough pull. Suguru let out a shocked gasp, his eyes widening in confusion, his hands momentarily stilling on your body. His head turned, and like a veil had been lifted, his eyes landed on Satoru.

You could see the shock ripple across his features, his gaze taking in the dark eyes, the elongated canines, and the narrow, cold look Satoru was giving him.

Suguru's steps staggered back, his hold on you loosening as he stared at the demon before him. Satoru's head tilted slightly, his lips twitching up into a smirk, his amusement evident.

He leaned in close, his nose brushing along Suguru's neck, inhaling deeply. "You're handsome," he muttered, his voice low and almost teasing. "I'll give you that."

Suguru's eyes darted between you and Satoru, his expression shifting from shock to something akin to fear. His gaze bounced back and forth, searching for some kind of answer, but there was none.

You could see the fear settling in his eyes, the way his body tensed as Satoru's presence became more overbearing, more predatory.

Without giving Suguru a second to react, Satoru's lips were on his, locking them in a fierce kiss. Suguru let out a muffled, shocked sound, his eyes widening in surprise. Satoru's eyes, however, were focused, dark with a carnal, predatory glint that made your breath catch in your throat.

He kissed Suguru with an intensity that left no room for protest, his tongue pushing past Suguru's lips, licking into his mouth with a possessive fervor.

You could see the way Suguru's body shivered, the fight draining out of him as Satoru's tongue moved against his, the raw dominance in Satoru's kiss overpowering any resistance.

Slowly, Suguru's eyes began to glaze over, the tension leaving his body, his expression going blank as if all the fight had been taken from him.

Satoru finally pulled back, a grin on his face as he popped off Suguru's lips, a thin string of spit connecting their mouths. He brought his thumb up, rubbing away the saliva with a slow, deliberate movement, his eyes flicking to yours with a gleam of satisfaction. "Done~" he purred, his voice dripping with amusement.

All you could do was stare, your body trembling slightly in Suguru's loosened arms, your eyes wide with a mix of fear and confusion.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your gaze flicking from Satoru's satisfied smirk to Suguru's blank, dazed expression, your mind struggling to process what had just happened.

Satoru's hand moved to pet Suguru's head, his fingers threading through the dark strands. "Good boy," he murmured, his voice dripping with condescension. "Now, why don't you get on your knees and prepare her, hm?"

You could only watch, frozen in place as Suguru shifted beneath you, his hands moving you effortlessly. He repositioned you on his shoulders as he knelt on one knee, his eyes still glazed over, obedient.

You felt a jolt of panic as his fingers moved to pull down your underwear, the realization of what was happening breaking through the fog of confusion clouding your mind.

"Um, Suguru," you called awkwardly, your voice trembling. "I-I don't think we... you should do this." You tried to push yourself off his shoulder, your movements clumsy and desperate. You managed to get one leg back onto the floor with some difficulty, your heart pounding as you tried to free yourself.

But before you could hop down completely, you felt warm hands circling around your waist, stopping you in your tracks. "And where do you think you're going?" Satoru purred, his voice smooth and mocking, his hands tightening their hold on you.

Your head snapped up, your eyes meeting his briefly before you swallowed and looked away, your gaze shifting back to Suguru's blank, awaiting expression. "L-look, Satoru, this can't happen," you stammered, your voice shaky. "It's wrong. I wanted Suguru, but not like this... not like this."

Satoru's eyes softened, but it wasn't with kindness. It was pity, as if he found your resistance amusing. He raised a hand, his thumb caressing the apple of your cheek, his touch deceptively gentle. "I don't think you understand, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice almost sweet. "I'm not doing this for you." He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he hummed, "I'm simply fulfilling my part of the deal, whether you like it or not."

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could get the words out, you felt something change. Your body went slack, the fight draining from your limbs. It was like a switch had been flipped, and you could feel yourself losing control, your mind still aware but your body no longer your own.

You felt your muscles moving, your hands reaching out to steady yourself as you climbed back onto Suguru's shoulders.

Satoru watched, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "That's right," he cooed, his voice soft, almost tender. "Just like that." His words washed over you, your body responding to his command, your movements automatic, robotic.

You could feel the tears welling in your eyes, your heart aching with a mix of fear and helplessness as you settled back onto Suguru, your mind screaming even as your body obeyed.

"Don't worry," Satoru cooed, his voice sickeningly gentle as he yanked down your underwear, "I won't let you forget such an important night." His words sent a shiver down your spine, dread coiling in your stomach, but your body still moved, still obeyed the unspoken command.

Suguru's head dipped between your thighs, his lips brushing against your sensitive skin, his breath warm as he began his work. His tongue moved up and down your slit, slow and deliberate, tasting you.

The sensation made you shiver, your breath catching in your throat as his tongue pressed harder, licking a steady path. He sucked gently on your clit, his lips enclosing around the sensitive nub, and you couldn't help the gasp that escaped your lips, your back arching as pleasure shot through you.

You could feel Satoru's eyes on you, his gaze piercing as he watched every reaction, every movement. He leaned down, capturing your lips with his, swallowing the sounds that slipped out, his mouth moving against yours in a heated kiss.

It was possessive, demanding, and you felt your head spin, the taste of him mingling with the sensations Suguru was pulling from you.

Suguru's fingers slipped inside you, moving expertly as if he knew exactly what to do, exactly how to unravel you. His fingers curled, brushing against your g-spot, and your hips jerked in response, a moan caught in your throat.

You tried to fight it, tried to resist the pleasure coursing through your body, but it was like your mind and body were disconnected. Your hips began to rock against Suguru's hold, seeking more of the sensation, more of the pleasure, even as your mind screamed at you to stop.

Why couldn't you stop? Why couldn't you fight it? The pleasure was overwhelming, your body responding to every touch, every kiss, even though your heart pounded with fear, your mind clouded with shame.

You didn't want this. Not like this. But Satoru's voice, his presence, seemed to drown out every other thought, every attempt to resist.

His lips moved against your ear, his voice a low whisper. "That's it... just let go." His words felt like a command, and you felt your body responding, your muscles relaxing, your hips rocking in a steady rhythm against Suguru's mouth.

The tears slipped down your cheeks, a mix of frustration and helplessness, but the pleasure kept building, drowning out everything else, making it harder and harder to think.

Then, with one final, rough swipe of Suguru's tongue, you felt yourself unraveling. Your thighs shook, your back arching as the wave of release washed over you. You came, your entire body trembling, and a broken moan escaped your lips, your fingers clenching tightly in Suguru's hair.

Before you could fully recover, Satoru's hand was in Suguru's hair again, pulling him up roughly. He kissed Suguru deeply, his lips crashing against his with a ferocity that made Suguru's eyes widen in shock.

Satoru groaned into the kiss, the sound deep and raw as he licked into Suguru's mouth, his tongue exploring without hesitation. His eyes flashed a bright electric blue, filled with something primal, as he pulled back, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

"Hold her," Satoru ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. Suguru's expression remained blank, obedient, as he shifted you in his arms, turning you around so your back was pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, his grip firm as he held your legs open, leaving you exposed.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, fear and anticipation mixing as Satoru's eyes roamed over you. His hand slipped down to touch himself, stroking lazily as he watched you, his gaze heated.

Suguru's hold on you was steady, and you could feel the way his breath hitched, the way his chest rose and fell behind you. Satoru gave a soft hum of approval, his eyes flicking between you and Suguru.

"Perfect," he murmured, his voice low and filled with dark amusement. He stepped forward, his length in hand, and you could feel your stomach tighten, your heart pounding even faster. "Did you ever imagine your first time like this?" he asked, his tone blunt, teasing, as he rubbed the tip of his cock up and down your slit, spreading your wetness.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a whimper as the head of his cock pressed against your entrance. The pressure was almost too much, and you felt the stretch, the burn, as he slowly pushed in. The sensation made your back arch, your fingers digging into Suguru's arms as you tried to adjust.

It was overwhelming, the fullness, the burn, but Satoru's pace was relentless, pushing deeper until he bottomed out, a long groan escaping his lips.

Satoru set a rough pace, his hips snapping forward with each thrust, his hands gripping you and Suguru tightly. You could feel the hardness of Suguru behind you, his body pressed against yours, his breath hot against your ear.

Satoru's hand moved to your hair, pulling your head back, and then he grabbed Suguru's hair too, holding you both in place as he thrust into you. The feeling was intense, the pleasure mixing with the pain, and you could hear the ragged breaths, the groans, filling the room.

"Maybe... I'll keep... you both," Satoru muttered, his voice low and taunting. "A cute little pair." His words sent a shiver through you, your body tensing, clenching down around him. The sensation pushed you over the edge, your vision flashing white as another orgasm tore through you.

Your body shook, sparks dancing behind your closed eyelids, the pleasure overwhelming as you let out a choked sob.

The only sounds in the room were your panting breaths, the slap of skin against skin, and Satoru's low, satisfied groans. He pulled out of you suddenly, still hard, and you winced at the emptiness. He hummed, content, as he looked down at your trembling form, his gaze filled with a dark satisfaction.

"Oh," he said, as if just remembering something. His eyes flicked to Suguru, and he licked his lips, a smirk forming. "Since you did such a good job following instructions, I think you deserve a reward." He nodded towards Suguru, his voice soft, almost mocking. "Set her down."

Suguru shifted, his grip loosening as he helped you to your feet. Your legs felt weak, trembling as you found your footing, and you swayed slightly, your body still reeling from everything that had happened.

Satoru watched, his eyes glinting with amusement as Suguru moved.

In one swift movement, Satoru pulled Suguru's cock out, the length hard and aching. Suguru's body shivered at the touch, his eyes closing briefly as Satoru's hand moved over him.

It didn't take long—Satoru's strokes were firm, practiced, and Suguru's breath hitched, his body tensing as he neared his release. With a low groan, Suguru came, his head falling back, his eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure washed over him.

Satoru's smirk widened as he watched Suguru unravel, his hand never slowing until the last shudder left Suguru's body. He turned his attention back to you, stepping closer, his gaze still dark with satisfaction. He cupped your chin, tilting your face up towards him, his eyes locking onto yours.

Leaning in, he pressed his lips to yours in one last lingering kiss, the taste of him making your head spin, your body still trembling with the remnants of everything that had happened.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes glinted with a hint of amusement. "You'd have to be my favorite in a while," he murmured, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "Be sure to request me again if you want a little more fun." His voice was smooth, teasing, before he stepped back, his form dissolving into a puff of smoke.

Just like that, he was gone.

It took a few seconds, but you felt your body slowly becoming your own again, your muscles relaxing, the control returning to you. You blinked, trying to steady yourself, the room feeling strangely empty without Satoru's overwhelming presence.

Suguru let out a soft groan, his eyes fluttering open as he seemed to come out of his daze. He looked around, a slight confusion in his gaze before his eyes found you. His brows furrowed, and he moved towards you quickly, concern etched across his features. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft, his eyes searching your face. "Was I... too rough?" He seemed genuinely worried, his gaze dropping to your still unsteady form.

You nodded quickly, waving him off, trying to reassure him. "I'm fine," you managed to say, your voice a bit shaky but sincere. The awkward silence that followed was heavy, neither of you quite sure what to say or how to act after everything that had just transpired.

Suguru rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I, uh... I usually don't come that fast," he admitted, a hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

You blinked, confused for a second, before the realization hit you—Suguru didn't remember anything with Satoru. He thought it had just been the two of you, fooling around.

You offered him a small smile, shaking your head. "No worries," you said, trying to ease his discomfort. "I... I enjoyed myself."

Suguru's eyes softened, his lips curving into a relieved smile. "You did?" he asked, and you nodded. He seemed to relax a bit, the tension leaving his shoulders. "Maybe we could try again sometime," he suggested, his eyes flicking around the dingy bathroom with a hint of amusement. "Somewhere better, though." His words made you laugh softly, the tension between you easing just a bit.

"Yeah," you said, a smile tugging at your lips. "I'd like that."

Suguru's smile widened, his hand reaching out to grasp yours gently. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before pulling you towards the door.

Together, you stepped out of the bathroom, leaving behind the chaos and the strange events of the night.

A/N: ah, not my best but i just wanted to wrap this up 😭

Tag List: idk12345675

[dolliels]

I'VE BECOME THE FIANCÉ OF THE VILLAIN?!

leona x gn reader

synopsis: going to bed after reading a horribly self indulgent romance novel, you seemed to wake up as an extra of the series. what stories will unfold while on a mission to find a way out?

author’s note: this is a mini series. no idea if i'll finish it tho.

[one] [two] [three] [four] [epilogue]

the whirring of the fan was the only other sound that you could other than your nail tapping on your phone. 

it’s been a full day now and you’ve done nothing except lie on your couch and read a horribly self indulgent novel. the weather was too hot and the chewed up popsicle stick flung around in your mouth.

I’ve become the fiancé of a villain?! was an all-time hit novel, written by an anonymous writer. you’ve heard about it and the plot clearly interested you, but there were only 5 chapters when you discovered it so you let it marinate for a while. today you found out it was completed, so you sat down and spent your entire day reading.

much to your disappointment, the story sucked.

it was about the main character, roselia, who fell asleep in the middle of class and woke up in the middle of a fantasy world that she wrote when she was bored!

leona kingscholar, a jealous second-born son who wanted to be king more than anything, devises a plan to kill his older brother. fortunately, roselia wrote the story so she knew leona like the back of her hand. unfortunately, she was the betrothed fiancé of leona, someone he took advantage of to execute his plan. when she found out about his goal of murdering the king, the fiance tried to warn everyone and leona finds out, killing her. the novel focused on roselia trying her best to not get murdered and falling in love with leona in the process.

it wasn’t like the idea was bad, you’ve read thousands of stories like that before and enjoyed them all. it’s just that this one was incredibly self-indulgent, with leona’s cold, merciless eyes that turn into metaphorical hues of warmth when he sees the girl he used to hate, the girl he was reluctantly betrothed to, the girl who is now the woman of his dreams. (you almost threw up reading that)

how was this novel even popular? with plans to complain about it tomorrow, you passed out on your bed.

birds chirped and you soaked in the warmth of the sun. you felt incredibly gross and dirty that morning, and wanted to freshen up. heading to the bathroom, you tumbled your way to the door (was the floor always this slippery?) as you groggily looked into the mirror, you saw yourself………..? huh? is that you? wait no, you don’t look like that…. what?!

after much looking around, you figured that this wasn’t your body (obviously) but you were you, and the body you were in definitely wasn’t what you remembered looking like the other night. you examined your face carefully, you frowned. what is this? some sort of isekai? it has to be. but that sounds completely unreal! aren’t isekai’s…fake? you felt way too overpowered knowing what an isekai even is in the first place. most leads in these novels don’t know what the word means at all. you felt too advantaged.

what crazy novel were you reading…?

you frowned until an imaginary light bulb popped up.

i’ve become the fiancé of the villain!

does that mean you’re roselia…?

no, that couldn’t be right. roselia woke up in a grand but empty bedroom that she shared with leona. you… woke up in a boring commoner’s room.

you looked around your messy bedroom, trying to gather any hints of who you are and what you do.

after rummaging through the entire house, you concluded three things.

1. you ran a small bookstore. which is honestly a win because you’ve always wanted to run one without financially skinning you alive. you seem to be stable so that’s a pro in your head.

2. you were just some character extra that didn’t matter to the plot.

3. you were assigned to stock up some books for the royal library. the kingscholar royal library.

from reading the novel, you knew leona did nothing but stay in the castle all day. that gives you a glimmer of hope that you’d see roselia.

the things, there are two possibilities as to where the story is going.

the first possibility is that the roselia in this universe is the roselia that you read in the novel. which is more likely, because it is the story that you read.

the second possibility is that this may be the original story and you might be the only person in this whole story that has been isekai’d. which means leona would kill her eventually.

either way, you had a strong feeling that roselia was the key for you to get back home. and that was the only thing that was on your mind right now. and no, you are not going to be like those other leads that just settle for a life in another universe that does not belong to them. you are determined to go back.

on that fateful morning you luckily packed the boxes of books the day before, or any other day, you can’t recall anything in your current self. but the person who held consciousness of this body already packed the books, which means you should be able to just drive your cart to the castle. the castle is huge and you can see from your window. there should be no problem getting the, right?

-

“…you’re late.”

you huff and puff as you bend your knees. you got lost as to where to go and ended up carrying the boxes of books yourself around the place before finding the area.

“i’m sorry. i got lost.”

“lost? you’re never lost. you’ve been here plenty of times.”

you had no excuse for that. but whatever, you got the job done, right?

the man with neat blue hair clicked his tongue and scratched something off of his paper.

“well?” he said, staring you down.

“well what?”

“aren’t you gonna go bring the books inside?”

oh, right.

-

you weren’t a huge bookworm, unless you count the copious amounts of isekai novels you’ve read. but looking at the glamorous library, it suddenly made you thirst for all books that exists, even the classics, something you’ve tried to enjoy but struggled to fully digest. hey, don’t blame anyone! thou shall not lie, thou shall not cheat aren’t the best ways to use english in the modern world.

as you stack the books into the shelves, you find yourself browsing through the already existing books, browsing your fingers across the spines, feeling each and every gold brim.

maybe this world isn’t as bad.

you were originally under the assumption that you had to just drop off the books and go, but you soon found out that you’re also responsible for the library archive, not like you needed to keep track anyway.

you sighed and smiled. so a small bookstore wasn’t enough to hold you up financially after all. you ended up getting a side in the royal palace of all places! the pay must be pretty good.

you know… as you think back, you remember roselia coming into the library, attempting to find any other information of escape and accidentally bumping into the book stocker… could that possibly be you?

then that means roselia is bound to bump into you any moment!

as you eagerly keep your eye out for the pretty princess, you take your time putting the books away. there should be no problem how long you take, right?

“hey.”

roselia? no. the voice is gruff, and deep. that… no. roselia is definitely a girl… so that is not the lady you are waiting for.

you turn around.

leona kingscholar. 

he’s exactly as he’s described. the novel mentions leona’s good looks so much it was practically shoved in your face. but you felt like the words itself couldn’t properly describe his beauty.

he had the kind of hair that gently parts around his shoulders, comfortably setting itself down on top, a sleek, shiny glow to it that is only prominent and glittery at certain angles of the sun, making you want to stare at his hair alone even more.

his skin was smooth, almost doll-like with little to absolutely no imperfections. it scrunched up perfectly, creating deliberate folds across his face as his eyebrows pursed together, frowning. his emerald-esque eyes staring directly at you. he looked like the kind of guy you’d want to make a good impression to.

unfortunately, you don’t look like you’re doing your job, with a book open and a box full of them that haven’t been organized yet, and your mouth… was agape. it seems like you forgot that you are actually in the universe, looking directly at what you deemed to be the handsomest man you have ever met.

you seemed to thank the skies and above for gracing you with an opportunity to be able to place your eyes on someone so perfect that your brain completely lagged.

you had to remind yourself, leona is not real! and you won’t ever see his kind of beauty anywhere in the real world. he’s a fictional character!

suddenly, you felt like you were pulled back into reality.

oh right, in the novel, leona is actually a huge dick in the novel!

before leona fell in love with roselia, he was demanding, lazy and scheming. he was smart, and used his wits for his own gain (ultimately leading to roselia and his brother’s demise in the original story.)

speaking of, where is roselia?

you distinctly remember that roselia was supposed to bump into you and then afterwards leona walks in on her.

it seemed as if the story was going as planned, but without roselia.

“well?” the same voice caught you alert again, and you remembered that you had to act like a normal person.

“oh. uh. hello…?”

you didn’t know what to say. you spent the entirety of the day before in your world reading about him, his backstory and everything else that talking to him as if he’s a treasure box to be unlocked was surreal.

“hello? hello??” leona scoffed. “first, you’re not doing your job properly, snooping around the royal collection and no etiquette remaining at all.”

you bowed down, trying to look as shameful as possible. there was no hierarchical respect for him lingering at all. you assume this is because you saw him as a fictional character first and foremost.

“I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

“psh.” he replied, waving his hand back. “hurry up. I’ll come back later.”

you snickered to yourself as leona walked away. the clacking of his fancy shoes on the glass floors echoing throughout the library. when you snorted, you heard the walking pause then continue again, as if leona heard the laugh but wasn’t bothered enough to say anything.

-

you sat in your chair, frowning, your elbow propped up against the table under your chin.

it has been nearly a week since you woke up in this world so far, and you haven’t seen roselia anywhere.

of course, roselia being a princess after all, rarely ever left the palace, but in the novel, the new roselia went out and about in many places.

after you were able to catch up to the timeline when leona walked into the library, you tried to follow your memory as much as possible and wasted your time lurking in places roselia should’ve been at.

could this possibly not be the novel you read after all? maybe… this roselia isn’t the roselia you know.

you shake your head. your hopes were diminishing, but it wasn’t like there was no hope at all!

plus, the bookstore you ran had minimal conversations, people would browse through and purchase. this meant you had all the time in the world to try and figure out other alternatives.

cling

the bell of the door clang a few times before quieting down. the array of bookshelves blocked your few from seeing whoever entered, but you could hear the pitter patter of rain hitting the ground outside when the door opened. you hoped they didn’t get anything wet.

“welcome!”

no reply.

you shrugged and went back to scribbling down on your paper.

stomp, stomp, stomp

you looked up. something was oddly out of place.

holding the nearest weapon you had (a paper cutter, ridiculous.) you slowly got out of your seat in between the many shelves of your bookstore.

the paper cutter firmly between your hands, you pointed it out just in case.

“who’s… who’s in here?”

no reply.

stomp, stomp, stomp

“I said… who’s in here?”

no reply, but you heard an annoyed grunt.

BOOM!

just as the thunders outside clashed, you finally reached the last shelf to see a figure entirely hidden by the lightning.

as it died down, you saw the trail of blood on the floor under your soft yellow lights and an injured man who stood right in front of you.

before you could react, the man completely slumped to the ground, giving you an opportunity to safely approach him.

you lifted the familiar locks of chocolatey brown hair to see… leona kingscholar. bloodied, injured and unconscious.

TO BE CONTINUED...

an: lowkey really got into the story rather than the romance... oops. if this fic receives well i'll focus on romance on the next part :)

[hannahmanderr]

I haven't seen anyone else talk about this yet so I'm going to assume no one has (and if this is the millionth post about this I am so sorry), but apparently there was a leak at Viacom last month, and one of the things that got leaked was the original Danny Phantom pitch bible, and let me tell y'all, there is some interesting lore to be had. I've taken the liberty of summing up a few notable points, but feel free to read for yourself - it's pretty short.

Jack was originally written as an ex-spy, test pilot... basically if it was a daring job, he probably had it. His IQ was supposedly only one point off from Maddie's, and his bumbling was more of a result of him being more "brave than smart."

Maddie was originally written as "one of the world's most respected theoretical physicists" and the brains between her and Jack. Get this: her full name was supposed to be Madison!

Sam and Danny's psychic connection was actually a result of the accident. When he was in the hospital and still very much saturated with ectoplasm, she gave him a "get better" kiss on the forehead, which sparked the connection. The connection would've manifested in a number of ways, including a perpetual ability to "sense" the other, see visions, and hear each other's thoughts, though it was supposed to be somewhat unpredictable.

Jazz hid her brains from her cheerleader friends because she wanted to fit in with them.

Danny was supposed to be the only person able to see, hear, and interact with ghosts.

On the subject of Danny, his reputation for being a scaredy-cat was much more well-known, even to the point where Sam and Tucker gave him the nickname Danny Phantom before he even had his accident. This kid was scared of his own shadow, frogs, you name it.

Overshadowing was originally called "ghosting," and the more intelligent a person, the more difficult it would be to control them.

Jack and Maddie were hoping to break the barrier between the "Real World" (our world) and the "Unreal World" (the ghost world). They wanted to get through to the spirit realm to be able to communicate with the dead in order to help make the world a better place (think picking Einstein's brain a little more, seeing what other music Mozart has cooking, etc.). That dimensional barrier was damaged when they first tried out their experiment, and Danny - who was hiding out from Dash in the lab - would be caught in the middle.

Much like how fans have interpreted things and how the show tried to imply, Danny felt responsible for unleashing the ghosts into our world and decided to adopt the name Sam and Tucker had teased him with to help put a stop to their reign of terror.

Seriously, y'all should read this. There's a lot of interesting info in here, and really it sounds like such a cool concept?? Like I'll probably add my personal thoughts in a reblog, but there's a lot of potential for untapped creativity from the phandom here. Plus it's always nice to see what's technically official content almost 20 years after the show's premiere.

[candyeager]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄

— ran haitani x fem!reader

synopsis. in which you fall under the spell of Ran Haitani, where his charm wraps around you like a sweet whisper, but as the truth reveals itself, you see him for what he truly is—a liar with a pretty face.

warnings. mature themes ahead, explicit sexual content, drug use. tags. female reader insert, bonten au, heavy pining, angst, hurt no comfort.

wc. 5.1k words.

Loving Ran Haitani was far too easy. The kind of easy that made you question how quickly you fell for him, how dangerously seamless it felt, like slipping into a dream you knew you shouldn't be having.

The first time you met him, it was just another early morning at the café your grandmother had owned for as long as you could remember, where you spent your days tucked behind the counter. The place was still waking up, with only the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the quiet air. You were wiping down the counter, settling into the routine, when the doorbell chimed, signaling the arrival of a customer.

You glanced up, and your world paused.

There he was.

His presence alone demanded attention, a stark contrast to the gentle stillness of the café. What struck you first was his hair—a striking blend of purple and black, cascading in deliberate waves that looked as if they'd been touched by a painter's hand. He wore a tailored suit, purplish-blue that clung to his broad shoulders and tapered at his waist, paired with a pink tie that perfectly matched the hues in his hair. His eyes—an unusual, captivating lavender—were half-lidded, their gaze indifferent, as though nothing in this world could possibly faze him.

It was the kind of effortless beauty that felt almost unreal, as if he'd walked out of a glossy magazine and into the quiet of your world. He moved like he owned the room, each step measured, one hand buried lazily in his pocket while the other held a sleek black briefcase. You were no stranger to attractive customers, but something about this man made your heart skip in a way you hadn't experienced before.

He stopped right in front of you, and suddenly you became acutely aware of how close he was. His height cast a shadow that swallowed the counter between you, and you felt small beneath the weight of his gaze. The air around him was magnetic, almost stifling, and for a fleeting second, you forgot what you were supposed to do.

His lavender eyes locked onto yours, more piercing up close, and you could feel yourself unraveling under his attention. You were staring, openly, and it must've been obvious because his lips curled into a knowing smirk—a small, lazy twitch that sent your heart into overdrive.

You swallowed, clearing your throat as heat crept up your neck. "Uh—what would you like to order, sir?"

He chuckled, a low sound that sent shivers through you, and the smirk never left his lips. "First time here. Any recommendations?" His voice held a playful lilt that invited a similar response.

You leaned forward slightly, dropping your voice as if you were about to share a secret. "I'd steer clear of the cold brew latte. We've had, uh... mixed reviews. Too bitter for most folks."

You glanced around quickly, making sure your grandmother wasn't within earshot. She prided herself on that cold brew and though you loved her dearly, you didn't have the heart to let her know it wasn't the hit she thought it was.

You saw his lavender eyes gleamed with amusement, as if your attempt to protect your grandmother's pride entertained him. He leaned on the counter too, closing the distance between you. "Is that so? Sounds like it's exactly what I'm looking for. I'll take that."

You blinked in surprise, momentarily thrown off. "Are you sure? It's... really not what people expect."

"That's why I want to try it." His voice was smooth, his confidence unwavering, as if his choice was the most obvious thing in the world.

You nodded, a little unsure but intrigued nonetheless. You proceeded to make his drink with deliberate focus, aware of his lavender eyes never leaving you, watching your every move. It felt strange, like you were on display, but not in a way that made you uncomfortable—just more alert. When you handed him the cup, his fingers brushed yours briefly, sending a strange, electric current through your skin.

He took a small sip, then nodded, as though satisfied, and without another word, he turned and walked out. The door swung closed behind him, and you found yourself staring at the empty space where he had just been.

That's it? you thought. He's gone, and you'd probably never see him again—especially after tasting that bitter cold brew. But life had a strange way of surprising you.

The next day, he was back.

The bell chimed, and as you turned, there he was—purple and black hair catching the light, eyes scanning the room until they found yours. Your heart leaped in a way that both excited and unnerved you.

"I'll have the cold brew latte," he said, as casually as if he hadn't almost disappeared from your life forever yesterday.

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. "You're still set on that drink?"

"I like it," he replied with a shrug, his smirk growing a fraction wider, like there was more he wasn't saying.

"Then you must really like bitter things," you teased lightly, but there was a question in your voice, a curiosity that was growing the more he showed up.

His lavender eyes twinkled as he leaned in a little, lowering his voice. "Depends on the kind of bitter."

His words lingered in the air between you, thick with a meaning you couldn't quite place, but it sent a flutter of warmth through your chest. There was something so deliberate in his presence, in the way he spoke and carried himself.

You didn't even know his name yet, but in your mind, you simply called him the "pretty face". It was easier that way—keeping some distance between yourself and this enigmatic man who seemed to be weaving his way into your quiet little world.

The next time he came in, your heart reacted before your mind did, a now-familiar jolt coursing through you the moment the door chimed. The pretty face was back. He moved through the café with that same effortless grace, his lavender eyes already seeking you out as if no one else in the room mattered.

And for some reason, it felt like maybe they didn't.

You didn't ask what he wanted anymore. You just started on his cold brew latte, trying to keep your hands steady while feeling his gaze on you. It was as though he found amusement in how easily you anticipated his order, how quickly you learned his routine.

When you slid the cup across the counter, he met you with that usual smirk—one that had begun to chip away at your resolve. "Cold brew latte, right?"

He nodded, lips curving into a familiar, lazy smile. "You're good at this," he said, his voice smooth, like he was talking about more than just your ability to make coffee.

"You're persistent," you quipped, trying to keep your voice light and teasing, even though his gaze was doing strange things to your pulse.

"Maybe I just like coming here."

There was a silence that stretched between you after that, thick with unspoken tension. You could feel the weight of his words, the way they hung in the air like a challenge, daring you to ask what he meant. But you didn't. You couldn't.

Instead, you swallowed, averting your eyes. "Well, if you're not here just for the coffee, I guess that's a good sign."

That's when something shifted. His eyes, which were usually laced with amusement, darkened, just for a moment. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping low enough that only you could hear. "Oh, it's definitely not just the coffee."

There it was again—that warmth spreading from your chest, up to your cheeks, faster than you could stop it. You glanced down, pretending to busy yourself with cleaning the counter, but your hands were shaking slightly.

What did he mean by that? Was he flirting with you? Or were you reading too much into it?

You tried to tell yourself he was just playing, that an attractive man like him wouldn't be interested in someone like you. He was too smooth, too composed, his world far too different from yours. He looked like the kind of man who had a story for every scar and a lie behind every smile.

The tattoo snaking up his neck only added to the mystery, a stark reminder that this man wasn't just another ordinary customer in your grandmother's café. No matter how curious you were, you knew better than to get involved with someone like him. But knowing better didn't stop your heart from fluttering every time he looked at you like that.

And he looked at you like that a lot.

Still, you couldn't help but wonder what his world was really like, what stories were tucked behind that calm, confident smile. You wanted to know why he kept coming back, day after day, ordering a drink that you knew most people found unbearable.

Maybe it was that same pull—the same strange, irresistible pull that had your heart racing in his presence, the one that left you wanting more even though you knew you shouldn't.

Because now, you weren't just making him coffee.

You were waiting for him to come back.

The club was a chaotic blend of neon lights and pulsing beats, the kind of place where you could lose yourself if you weren't careful. The music thrummed through your body, making your bones vibrate, and the alcohol had done its work. Your limbs felt light, your inhibitions loosened just enough to let you float through the night without a care. You leaned against the wall, scanning the dance floor through the blur of bodies, feeling distanced from the scene yet still tethered to it, your mind somewhere between reality and a tipsy daze.

Then you saw him.

The pretty face.

The man from the café, the one whose presence had lingered in your mind longer than you'd care to admit, even though it had only been a few days since you'd last seen him.

You couldn't tell if it was fate, or maybe just the alcohol playing tricks on you, but there he was, gliding effortlessly through the crowd. His tall frame moved like he was part of the music, his lavender eyes scanning the room until they found you.

And once they did, it was like the whole club faded away. The noise, the lights, the people—it all blurred into the background, leaving only him, walking toward you with that slow, deliberate stride. Your heart skipped a beat, though you weren't sure why. Maybe it was the way he seemed to fit perfectly into this scene, like he was made for the dark allure of places like this.

Or maybe it was the way his eyes never left yours, locking you in place before he even reached you.

When he finally stopped in front of you, that familiar smirk tugged at his lips—the one that had haunted your thoughts since the moment he first walked into the café.

"Didn't expect to see you here," he said, his voice smooth, cutting through the noise like it was meant just for you. The confidence in his tone made it sound like he wasn't surprised at all.

You blinked, trying to shake off the haze, though the alcohol didn't help. "Same. What are you doing here?"

He leaned in, his lips brushing close to your ear, the heat of his breath making your skin tingle. "Looking for a little fun. You?"

His proximity made your stomach twist, a subtle shiver running down your spine as his body radiated warmth. It was the kind of closeness that felt intentional, calculated. He was pulling you in, daring you to respond in kind.

"Just... hanging out," you managed, your voice barely steady. You hoped he didn't hear the tremble in it.

He chuckled softly, his breath skimming the sensitive skin of your neck. "Hanging out alone?"

His question caught you off guard, and you averted your gaze, suddenly aware of how vulnerable you felt under the weight of his attention.

"I came with friends. They're... around somewhere." You waved a hand vaguely, though you hadn't seen them for a while now.

You saw his smirk deepened, his lavender eyes glinting with amusement, but there was something darker there too—something that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Looks like I'm your company now."

You should've pulled away, kept your distance. But instead, your pulse quickened, a thrill shooting through you that you couldn't shake. There was an undeniable magnetism about him, drawing you in, and you couldn't resist the urge to see where this would lead. Perhaps it was the alcohol clouding your judgment, or maybe it was simply him.

The night became a blur of sensation after that. You remembered the two of you drawing closer, your conversations a murmur beneath the pounding music, your body brushing against his more than once. His touch was subtle but deliberate—fingers grazing your waist, the back of your neck, sending sparks through your skin. You couldn't tell if it was intentional or if you were imagining it, but every glance, every brush of his hand made your heart race faster.

Before you knew it, you were outside, stumbling into a cab with him, your head spinning but not just from the alcohol anymore. His lips found the skin of your neck, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh as if he had all the time in the world. And even though you knew you should be thinking this through, all you could think about was how badly you wanted him to keep touching you.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were barely holding onto reason. His hands were on you the moment you closed the door behind you, his fingers gripping your hips as your back hit the wall. His lips crashed against yours, and you responded with equal intensity, fingers tangling in his hair, your body arching into him.

His kiss was urgent, almost hungry, yet beneath that roughness was a surprising gentleness. His hands moved over you with a mix of care and possession, and when he finally pushed you onto the bed, it felt like you were falling into something deeper than just a fleeting encounter.

His mouth trailed down your body, slow and deliberate, igniting every nerve until your thoughts were nothing but static. When he finally reached between your legs, your breath caught, the sensation almost too much, too perfect. His tongue moved with expert precision, each flick sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You grabbed at the sheets, your body trembling as he pushed you closer to the edge, until finally, you were lost in it, your world narrowing down to nothing but him.

The morning sunlight filtered through your bedroom curtains, casting a golden glow on the room. You stirred, feeling the warmth of a body next to yours, the weight of an arm draped across your waist. You thought you were still dreaming. But then you felt his breath on your neck, his hand lazily tracing circles on your back, and reality settled in.

His lavender eyes were open, watching you with a soft, lazy smile, the intensity of last night replaced by something gentler, something almost tender. His fingers continued their slow, soothing motions against your skin, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in the comfort of it.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice low and rough with sleep.

You blinked, still groggy, your mind trying to catch up with what had happened. As the events of the night before came rushing back, you opened your mouth to say something—anything—but one glaring fact stopped you.

You didn't even know his name.

Heat flooded your cheeks in embarrassment. You'd spent the night tangled up with him, shared something intimate and raw, but somehow, you hadn't learned the most basic thing about him. Biting your lip, you hesitated. "So... I’m drawing a blank. What’s your name?"

His grin widened, a playful spark lighting his eyes. "It's Ran. Ran Haitani." He chuckled, his voice laced with amusement. "Don't you recall moaning it last night?"

Your face burned even hotter at that, and you buried it in the pillow with a groan. "Oh god..."

The pretty face—Ran—laughed softly, his hand rubbing your back in soothing circles. "Relax. I'm not judging."

You peeked up at him through the haze of your own embarrassment, your heart still thudding in your chest. "Is this... was this just a one-time thing?"

Ran's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as if considering your question more seriously than you'd expected. Then, with that same infuriatingly smooth tone, he replied, "Is that what you want?"

You hesitated, your fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. "No... not really."

A grin spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Good," he said, without missing a beat.

Then he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "I was hoping you’d say that. Tonight, then."

True to his word, Ran returned that night, and kept coming back every night after that. Some nights he would arrive unannounced, his knock soft but purposeful, and the moment you opened the door, he'd pull you into him, his hands already sliding over your skin before the door even closed. His lips would capture yours in a hungry kiss, his body pressed hard against yours, as if he had been starving for you the entire day.

Other times, his presence was quieter. He'd crawl into bed beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world, both of you cocooned in the unspoken connection that had grown between you. No words were needed—no labels or discussions about what this was. But there was an unspoken truth in the air, something more than just casual encounters.

Ran's touch had become familiar, yet each time it felt like a discovery. He knew your body better than anyone else ever had—every curve, every gasp, every way you trembled beneath him. His fingers were always precise, like he was mapping you out with every touch. His thrusts were hard, relentless, but never careless. He'd push you to the brink with a ruthless kind of attention, his focus sharp, knowing exactly how to unravel you. And when you thought you couldn't take any more, that you were completely undone, he would find a way to pull you into another wave, your body responding to him without hesitation.

But there were moments, between the raw intensity, when something shifted. There were nights when Ran would slow down, his movements more deliberate, his lips brushing over your skin with a gentleness that seemed to contradict the ferocity of his desire. His forehead would rest against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet between thrusts. And in those moments, something deeper passed between you, as if his body was speaking what his words wouldn't.

One night, after an especially heated round of sex, you found yourselves caught in one of those moments. His body was still pressed against yours, his hip movements slower now, deliberate, each thrust deep and intimate, as though he wanted to make you feel every inch of him.

The sweat glistened on his tattooed skin, your half-lidded eyes tracing the intricate patterns on the left side of his chest, his throat. In that moment, he seemed so different from the dangerous, mysterious man you'd first met.

The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, a confession that had been sitting heavy on your chest for too long.

"I love you..."

It was quiet, almost instinctive, but it hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of its meaning.

Ran froze, mid-thrust, his entire body tensing as if the words had struck him like a blow. His lavender eyes locked onto yours, wide with surprise, as though he hadn't expected you to say it—or maybe hadn't allowed himself to think about the possibility.

The seconds stretched out, your heart hammering in your chest, fear creeping up your spine. Maybe you'd ruined it, broken the fragile balance you'd been walking.

He swallowed hard, his breath shallow, voice rough as he managed to ask, "What?"

You bit your lip, a wave of uncertainty crashing over you. But you didn't back down. You couldn't.

"I love you," you repeated, quieter this time but with all the conviction in your heart. It wasn't just a slip of the tongue. You meant it.

For a moment, Ran just stared at you, his brows drawn together, as if he was processing what you'd said. But then, a flicker of darkness passed through his eyes, and before you could react, his hands gripped your thighs tighter, pushing your legs up higher and closer to your chest, and he drove himself deeper into you with a renewed intensity that took your breath away. His thrusts were rougher now, almost frantic, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck.

"Fuck... say that again," he growled, his voice hoarse, filled with a kind of raw need you hadn't heard from him before.

The desperation in his voice sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you didn't hesitate. "I love you, Ran... I love you," you whispered, your voice breathless, trembling as you clung to him.

"Fuck," he cursed again, his pace becoming erratic as he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You felt his body tremble above you, his fingers digging into your skin as if he needed to anchor himself.

"Love you too, baby," he moaned against your throat, his voice breaking as he pushed you both toward the edge.

Your heart stuttered at his words, at the vulnerability in them, even as pleasure overwhelmed you. His thrusts became more uncoordinated, more frantic, and you felt yourself hurtling toward the peak, your body responding to his with an intensity that left you breathless. You clung to him, nails raking down his back as you both reached your climax, the world narrowing down to the sensation of him inside you, his body trembling against yours as you came together.

When it was over, Ran collapsed onto you, his weight comforting, grounding. His head rested against your shoulder, his breath still coming in uneven gasps as his chest rose and fell against yours. He was still inside you, the warmth of him filling every inch of your body. You could feel his heart hammering against your own, both of you caught in the aftershocks of the moment.

As you lay there, the afterglow of passion still lingering, you saw something different in his eyes. It wasn't just lust, or satisfaction, or even that cocky smirk he so often wore. It was something softer, a vulnerability that surprised you. His lavender eyes searched yours, and for a fleeting moment, you saw it—love. Real and raw, something he didn't say often, maybe something he hadn't allowed himself to feel until now.

He loved you. He really loved you.

Or at least, that's what you wanted to believe.

Your relationship with Ran Haitani had always felt like a whirlwind—fast, intoxicating, and all-consuming. It was a heady rush, each night spent tangled in sheets, each day a stolen moment of passion. Ran never hesitated to claim your time, whether it was quiet afternoons spent wandering the city or chaotic nights in the throbbing heart of nightclubs. In those moments, when the bass pounded through the air and the sweat clung to your skin, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, and in those fleeting hours, nothing else mattered.

He had a way of making you feel like you were the center of his world, even though there were pieces of him you could never quite reach. His eyes, that lazy, predatory gaze, would linger on you in a way that sent shivers down your spine, yet there was always something lurking behind them—something he never allowed you to see. Whenever you asked about his life, his work, the parts of himself that stayed locked away, he'd brush off your concerns with that signature smirk.

"Oh, it’s nothing much. Just a bit of this and that. You know, nothing too serious.” Ran paused one day, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied your face. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’m always safe, always in control.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Besides, I've got you to look after me, right?"

A small smile tugged at your lips as you tried to hide your concern. You knew better than to pry, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Ran than what he was letting on.

Slowly, the cracks began to show. The nights together became fewer, the distance between you growing with each passing day. Weeks stretched into months, and his absence became a haunting presence in your life. You clung to every fleeting appearance, every time he showed up with flowers or an exhausted smile, desperate to believe that this was just temporary. That he would come back to you, like he always had.

But, one day, he simply stopped coming altogether.

Your calls went unanswered. Messages left on read. The silence was deafening, and each passing day felt like a slow descent into despair. You told yourself he was busy. That something had come up. But deep down, a gnawing fear had already taken root in your heart. Something was wrong, and you were helpless to stop it.

Then the doorbell rang.

Your heart leaped in your chest, hope surging through your veins. You practically stumbled to the door, expecting to see him standing there with that familiar, infuriating smirk. But when you opened the door, the sight that greeted you wasn't Ran. It was a group of police officers, their expressions stern, almost apologetic.

"Are you familiar with a man named Ran Haitani?" one of the officers asked, their voice flat, emotionless.

You froze. The blood drained from your face, your hands suddenly clammy. "Ran?" you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, I... why? What happened? Is he alright?"

The officer's gaze hardened slightly. "We've received information that he may be hiding drugs here. We have a warrant to search the premises."

For a moment, you couldn't process the words. It felt like the ground had disappeared beneath your feet, the world tilting violently. "Drugs?" you echoed, disbelief thick in your throat. "No, there must be some mistake. He—he wouldn't..."

"Ran Haitani is a member of Bonten, ma'am," the officer continued, voice clipped. "A criminal organization involved in drug trafficking and other illegal activities. He's been under surveillance for months."

Bonten. The word hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs. You had heard the name before, in passing—whispers of a syndicate that controlled the city's underworld. A dangerous, ruthless group that no one dared to cross. But Ran... your Ran.... was part of that?

Numbness spread through your body as you watched the officers step inside, moving past you with cold efficiency. They didn't wait for permission. They didn't need it. For the next hour, you stood there, frozen in place, as they turned your apartment upside down. Every drawer, every cupboard, every corner of your life with him exposed to their cold, methodical search.

And then they found it.

Tucked away behind a pile of your clothes in the back of the closet—several small packets of drugs. The officer pulled them out, holding them up as if they were the final, irrefutable proof of your own naivety.

You stared at the stash, the air leaving your lungs in shallow gasps. It felt like a nightmare, like the world was shattering around you. How could you have been so blind? How had you not seen it? The man you had fallen so deeply for, the man with the charming smile and the pretty face, had been using you. Playing you.

The officer noticed your stunned silence, offering you a pitying look. "I'm sorry. But this isn't uncommon. People like him—people in his line of work—they use those closest to them as cover. It's easier to hide their tracks that way."

The words felt like daggers, twisting inside you. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you forced them back. "So... everything he said, everything we had—it was all a lie?"

The officer hesitated, as if unsure how to answer. In the end, he didn't. His silence spoke louder than words ever could.

They left, taking the drugs with them, leaving you alone in the echo of your now-empty apartment. The space felt colder, emptier, as if Ran's absence had finally filled the void it was always destined to leave. You sank to the floor, knees drawn to your chest, your body trembling as the weight of everything came crashing down on you.

The memories—of his laugh, his touch, the way he'd pull you close in the dead of night—now felt like sharp fragments cutting into your soul. You had fallen for him so completely, let him into every part of your life, and he had shattered you in return. How easily you had believed in him, in his lazy smiles and gentle touches, all the while he had been weaving a web of lies.

He was the liar with the pretty face. And you? You had been his willing victim, drawn in by the allure of his charm, too blinded by love to see the truth.

As you sat there, the tears finally broke free, silent and unrelenting. You wanted to scream, to rage, to tear apart the image of the man who had once made you feel like you were everything. But all that came was quiet sobs, muffled by the crushing weight of betrayal.

And even through the pain, a part of you still waited—still hoped—that one day, Ran would come back. That he would walk through that door with that same infuriating grin, lavender eyes gleaming as if none of this had ever happened. Because love, even when built on lies, is hard to kill.

But deep down, you knew. He wasn't coming back.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the cruelest lie of all.

< the end >

© CANDYEAGER. do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my works in any other platforms.

[buuniebaby]

HOME TO ME - HAMZAH X LATINA!READER 🎀

hiii! first of all i wanna make a quick note - very sorry for the inconsistency in posting for a few days. ive been struggling with writers block and summer bedrotting is getting to me a lil. 😓😓

there were A LOT of drafts of this fic that i picked up and then didn’t like. a big part of that is that i really wanted to make a fic that hits sort of close to home, and that’s what this one is to me! i was born in nicaragua and moved to the us at a young age, so this fic is based off of my experiences relating to that, even down to little things like my parents and their broken english lol. i still tried to make it pretty ambiguous to other latin-american countries, so I hope it isn’t too specific. it took me a long time to write, but im really happy with the way it came out after a day or two of really thinking about it.

this fic includes: lots of fluff, then it gets nasty. mirror sex, nothing too rough 🤗

wc: 3.4k

Your childhood summers haven’t changed since the last time you stepped foot here, even though it feels like it’s been lifetimes. you’re home, and you’ve brought your boyfriend along with you this time.

the sun shines down on you, a little too hot for your liking. it’s a lot hotter down here than the canadian weather you’re used to. it’s different, but comforting at the same time. what really makes the biggest change is the sight of your boyfriend, rays of sunlight beaming down on him, framing his curls perfectly. it makes you feel at home just as much as being here does.

the air is warm and sticky, thick with remnants of a heavy rain. sweat clings to areas of exposed skin, dampening his shirt collar and hair with a sweat.

you don’t think you’ve loved the latin-american summer as much as you have seeing hamzah bask under it.

showing your boyfriend around your home country feels like the world around you is unreal. it’s like two universes colliding - ones that probably shouldn’t coexist.

one of the things that really makes you feel like you’re out of your own body is walking down the same road that baby-you walked down to get to school. if you could’ve told your middle school self that you bagged a man this bad she would’ve forgiven you for not marrying her celebrity crush.

and the food is what really gets you - the flavor of nostalgia mixing with the taste of your boyfriend’s lips is an otherworldly sensation. although you can’t get him too full yet; that’s a job for your family.

speaking of your family - hamzah is terrified.

he tries looking extra nice at first. he wants to make a good impression, just like you’ve told him to - it’s why he’s surprised you’re bursting out in laughter seeing him walk out in full black tie attire.

“you don’t have to dress like you’re going to a wedding, hamzah-“ you giggle when he speaks over you, trying to defend himself.

“you told me to look nice, and we’re going to a dinner, y’know-“ he rambles, but catches himself. “and you’re wearing a dress!”

you roll your eyes, giving him a dead stare. “this a a sundress, hamzah. it’s not like.. fancy.” he looks at you blankly back. it’s like there’s not a single thought behind his eyes.

after your criticism and a lot of banter, you’ve got him dressed up more.. how you would have envisioned. he’s got those glasses on - the ones he usually edits with. and god, he looks good. he’s paired those with a polo shirt and a nice pair of jeans; he looks nice, presentable, but not over the top.

you’re knocking on the door while he almost shyly stands behind you before you know it. it takes a good few seconds for you to receive any sort of response, but you’re used to it. once someone eventually comes to the door, you’re greeted with the sound of children squealing in the background and music playing off a speaker - the loud environment you’re most used to.

you think you can see hamzah sweating.

your mom greets you with two little cheek kisses, as always, then smothers you into a hug. “muy linda,” she presses another kiss to your forehead, “mi alma.” she eventually finishes her ramblings about how beautiful you are and how much she’s missed you, then pauses as she pulls back. hamzah flinches.

she’s eyeing him down, eyebrows furrowed with a hand on her hip. It’s the death glare - one you know very well. if he wasn’t sweating before he definitely is now, and you’re even close to breaking into one.

hamzah doesn’t even have time to panic before her angry demeanor snaps into laughter. she’s giggling at the way his smile had dropped, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him into that same little cheek kiss. he stumbles when she does it, not knowing what to do; an anxious fluster of sorts.

she pulls away looking at you, and her giggles turn into straight-up laughter.

“he look at me so scared.. he like, ‘i already messed up!’” she says, still laughing, now imitating hamzah’s flustered appearance. her English is slightly broken, as you expected, but it’s the way she tries for you is what really counts. she’s putting in the effort. you laugh with her, but not really at what she’s saying - it’s the way she’s already made herself comfortable around your boyfriend.

“y tu eres el novio, verdad?” your father says, pointing at hamzah, managing to creep up behind your mother without you even noticing. “you going to marry her?”

you awkwardly laugh at your father and how weird he has to make things, but that’s just how your family is. hamzah doesn’t mind it, he understands - nonchalantly smiling, looking down at you as he replies with a quick “hope so.”

you giggle back, but your smile is genuine - you know he’s serious about what he just said. “maybe one day.” you continue for him.

you two enter your house and he’s already being crowded by relatives of yours. he’s introducing himself to one of your tías when he feels something tugging on the leg of his pants, startling him. he looks down only to see your baby cousin staring up at him, big beady eyes and an open mouth, almost like he’s some sort of god.

around an hour later, hamzah is about a beer and two plates of food in to the family function. he’s sitting on the floor, a doll in his hand, playing with that same prima from before. you’re not even sure if they’re communicating, if that baby can even speak any language yet, but whatever they’re doing hamzah.. seems to be enjoying himself.

it’s funny, but it’s sweet at the same time, watching your boyfriend like this. it makes you think of your future together. marrying him, taking him into your family - even watching him play with your little prima makes you fall ill with baby fever. he would be an amazing girl dad.

by the end of the night, hamzah is starting to get a little bit plastered, and your mom is already calling him mijo. you’re trying to teach him how to dance to your country’s music (which he surprisingly happens to not be bad at) while also trying to sneak a few drinks yourself. you’re running back to the bathroom when your mom catches you, pulling you aside for a second.

you tilt your head at her, confused. you’re hoping this isn’t what you’ve been nervous about the whole night - you really, really don’t want a “we don’t like this boy” talk.

instead, she smiles, which wipes away most of your worry, but you’re still staring at her reluctantly.

“te vas a casar con este chico.” she mutters, smiling. she might be a little drunk herself from the way she’s talking, but you know there’s a truth to her words. you smile back a small grin, but it means more to you than what appears - your man is locked in. even your mom agrees, he’s the one.

thank the lord.

the party dies down after a while, baby cousin and older relatives drifting off to their bedrooms one by one. you somehow find yourself sitting on your parent’s couch, cuddled up in a blanket next to hamzah. you’re both a little tipsy, what you would say is fine enough to drive, but you already know your mother will argue against you.

“y’wanna get out of here too?” hamzah whispers, voice deep and soft in your ear.

“mhmm.” you say, comfortable in his arms. “wanna stay here for a second though.”

hamzah doesn’t complain, gently rubbing your shoulder underneath the blanket with his forefinger and thumb. it’s domestic, a gentle touch, and it makes you feel warm inside.

“was cute seeing you play with my prima.” you mumble, smiling to yourself at the memory. he laughs when he picks up on what you’re talking about.

“I don’t really think I understood what was going on like, that whole time.” he begins to ramble. “I think her barbies were like, beefing and shit.” he says, smiling down at you when he sees the way you light up with laughter.

“if we ever like, get married, i wanna have a girl.” you say. he’s quick to rebut you.

“that’s not how it works.” he argues back, stupidly.

“well then, like, we just have more.” you say, the mix of alcohol and sleepiness not giving you the energy to seriously discuss this with him. “you’d make a good girl dad, i think.”

he smiles at that comment. he’s seen it around on tiktok and other social media. he thinks it’s cute, and suddenly the idea of marriage and knocking you up doesn’t seem so scary to him. that gentle touch on your shoulders is moving down to your hips before you know it. you’re both aware that you can’t do anything on your family couch, but you know the intention behind his grip.

“i think you’d be a good boy mom.” he says back. “i could see you like, teaching him how to cook and stuff. i think if you had a baby boy he would be like, really respectful, not like brain-rotted.” you laugh at the stupidity of his comments.

“i think if you raised a boy, he would end up going down like, the alt right pipeline, and start watching andrew tate clips on youtube shorts.”

you both laugh at that - it’s obvious that you’re joking now, but you still enjoy the deprecating banter.

“if my kid doesn’t reach alpha male status, im sending his ass to the frontlines.”

you continue your painfully stupid chatter, not paying attention to how dark it’s getting.

your mother eventually creeps up to you, and you take it as a sign that you should probably start making your way out.

after saying your final goodbyes to your family members who are still standing awake, you’re making your way out the door. after a few cheek kisses and repeatedly denying the “no cab? you sure?” from your mom, you two are on the way back to your hotel.

hamzah’s hand is on your thigh as he drives. it’s another domestic touch that drives you crazy. the little things are really getting to you tonight.

“you’re good with kids.” you mumble, letting your thoughts out with no warning.

“yeah?” is all hamzah says, keeping his eyes on the road and his hand on your thigh.

“yeah.” you repeat back in a breathier tone.

“im not getting you pregnant right now, if that’s what you’re asking.” he mutters, still focused on the road. “I’ll cum inside you, but I can’t handle a baby yet-”

“hamzah!” you nearly yell. “i don’t mean- i mean yeah, that’s a part of it, but like- i guess you’re just like-“ you stutter, trying to gather your flustered self. “it’s like, a domestic thing I guess. makes me wanna settle down with you one day.”

despite how nonchalant he’s acting, he gets exactly what you’re saying.

“yeah. y’know, that little sundress you’re wearing?” hamzah starts, eyes tearing off the road for a second. “that’s like, wife shit.”

you giggle at the way he says it, but you’re flattered at the intention.

“kinda surprised you liked it that much. feel like guys think sundresses are just like, skin-tight skims dresses.”

“you look fucking hot in it, are you serious? like shit, maybe i will just get you pregnant if you’re wearing that.” hamzah pauses for a moment, looking over at you while your eyes widen. “i’m joking. by the way.” you let out a soft “aww,” making a soft smile creep onto his face.

“you don’t have to tonight. i’m joking.” you smile up at him. “but i do miss the feeling of you inside me.” you can tell that you’re at least getting to him a little bit; he’s starting to get riled up.

“duh,” he says, jokingly, but his tone changes with his next words. “ill cum all over that fuckin’ dress if you really want me to.”

there’s the hamzah you were looking for.

he’s already pulling the car you two rented into the parking lot of your hotel, and you can’t even speak before the silence is interrupted with his own thoughts.

“gonna be all over you the second we get to our fucking room.” he mutters, opening his car door. as both of you get out, you can see the hard-on already somewhat formed through his pants.

you love getting him worked up like this.

checking into the room is almost painful. he stands behind you as you speak in spanish to the hotel staff, cock pressed up right against your ass. you’re stuttering as she asks you for your reservation, knowing you’re about to get fucking destroyed.

he wasn’t lying about being all over you. the minute that keycard clicks and the door is open, you’re being shoved onto the bed, hamzah crawling on top of you.

it’s a pretty hotel room - you’re taking it all in as hamzah is on top of you. huge bathroom, silky sheets, relatively good size, yet there’s one thing that sticks out to you. there’s a long mirror, placed at the side of the bed.

it’s the perfect place to get fucked in front of.

you don’t even think hamzah has taken a glance at the architecture around him from the way he’s locked in on your body. you feel his hands gravitate against different areas of your body, resting on your hips, grabbing the soft flesh through your dress. he places a soft, warm kiss to your lips, but continues with a harsher, more sloppy one. it only continues on your neck, biting and kissing down to your collarbone.

he keeps his lips in a certain place for a second, and you already know you’re going to be covering up dark spots on your neck tomorrow.

“pretty,” is all he mumbles when he pulls off, moving down to add yet another bite to your neck.

he pulls the top of your sundress down a little bit, straps going over your shoulders. it’s just enough to free your bra, which he pulls off even quicker.

his mouth is all over your tits before you know it - as expected. he’s sucking at them, licking at the nipple while the other hand fondles the soft flesh around. you can feel him getting harder against your thigh, which you didn’t even think was possible at this point.

you can tell he’s getting frustrated with how fucking tight his pants are getting, cock getting harder by the second. he quickly unbuttons his jeans, pulling them down to his ankles - he’s a little too horny to take the effort to fully pull them down. when he pulls off his boxers he lets out a sigh, letting his cock free.

you readjust to do the same, pulling at the straps of your dress, but hamzah stops you, a large hand covering yours.

“want you to keep it on.”

yes sir.

you pull the straps back up to where they should regularly be, wearing your sundress like normal, just braless. hamzah takes a minute to catch his breath, but it’s hard when you’re under him looking like that. he takes in his surroundings a little bit more as he calms down, finally noticing the mirror to his side. you can tell by the look on his face that he’s got the same idea as you.

his focus lands back on you when he turns back to look you in the eyes, gently stroking himself. his hips roll softly into his hand, pumping himself loosely in his fist. he takes his other hand and pulls your dress up just enough to see your underwear.

he’s too lazy to get them off your body, so he just pushes them to the side, a finger sliding between the soft lips to your entrance. it emits a gasp from you, even though you were expecting it.

“you look so fucking good from here.” he says, breathy. your brows furrow for a second, confused as to what he means by ‘from here,’ but then you realize where his eyes are pointed -

- the mirror.

you turn your head to look at it too, and god, he isn’t wrong. the way his hands strain, groping at your thighs while he grazes against your cunt. it’s hotter than you had expected, the idea of seeing yourself get destroyed from multiple angles.

he presses a finger into you, and you flinch at the feeling. it’s not long before he’s sliding another one in with it, pulling at your hips with his strong arms to bring you down to his knuckles. you’re looking at yourself in the mirror as he does it, watching as he pushes you around like a toy.

he pulls his fingers out after curling them a few times inside of you, and you protest by trying to buck up your hips up again. he pushes on your womb with big hands, forcing you down.

“s’okay baby.” he affirms you in a soft voice. “wanna fuck you now.”

he grabs you by the waist, strong enough to pick you up with just his bare hands and flip you over. he presses your bodies close together once you’re on your hands and knees, your back against his chest. he nestles his head right above your neck, the perfect spot to whisper into your ear.

“look in the mirror,” he starts, and you immediately do what he says. “watch how fucking good you look while I touch you.”

your back arches as an instinct at his words, feeling his palms glide against your hips. your vision feels hazy, but you’re still paying attention to the way he clings onto soft skin.

you let out a whine, shutting your eyes and facing down when he touches your inner thighs, but it doesn’t last long. before you can finish his hand rushes to your jaw, grabbing your face, pointing your head back to the mirror.

“told you to look at yourself, baby.”

it’s hot, the way he’s in control of you, even if it doesn’t take much to get you to submit. he kisses at your shoulder blade softly, watching your desperate expression fade into excitement. he strokes himself one last time before the tip meets your pussy.

your breath hitches when you feel him slide into you, strokes slow. it fits in you nicely, the back of your thighs pressing against his when he’s all the way in. a finger and thumb caress the skin between your ass and hips while he bottoms out.

“c’mon baby,” he says, slowly starting to drag his hips in and out of you. “move those hips.”

you can’t argue with him, doing what he says on command. you roll your hips back the same way you roll your eyes, creating a rhythm with his thrusts. it earns a moan from him.

he grips your hips while his speed up, moving in and out of you with an unforgiving pace. it’s enough to send you reeling, squealing as you struggle to keep your focus on the mirror. you can barely keep your composure, the urge to shove your head in your pillow and just let him use you stronger than ever.

“wasn’t- fuck- lying when I told you I wanna come all over that dress.” he says, struggling to get his words out. it only makes you clench around him, his words driving you to your own finish.

you’re screaming a “hamzah! can’t fucking take it-“ while he’s plowing into you, building up a well-awaited orgasm. he waits until he feels that clench-and-pulse sensation around his cock, signaling that you’ve came before he pulls out.

he doesn’t even need to touch himself to cum after seeing you like this - he lets himself go, ropes of his semen covering the floral patterns of your dress.

he basks in the sight of you for a moment, catching his breath after his orgasm. it’s a lot for him, fucking you after being pent up the whole day. overstimulating, almost. you’re just that attractive to him, poor boy can’t control himself.

he lays on top of your chest, grounding himself. the feeling of being against you bare skin is comforting to him, a sense of home that you two both find in each other. you run your hands through the curls of his hair.

that’s what he is to you - home. just like how it feels to be here.

[albaskies]

‘You didn’t have to do that, you know.’

His voice lingers in the air like a sweet scent of honey, and pulls her to a halt just before she reaches the stairs leading up to the dormitories. 

Ginny turns, drawn by the ever-familiar sound that still makes her heart sing despite herself, and finds Harry slumped in a solitary chair at the far end of the common room. His head rests in his hands, his shoulders seem stiff under the weight of his own exhaustion. And yet, his voice is soft - so soft that she wonders if she’s imagined it. It’s only when she notices his gaze fixed upon her that she has the confirmation that it was not just a trick of her mind.

The quiet in the room is mitigated by the gentle crackle of the fire, its warm glow flickering across the walls, and by the occasional whispers of a few lingering Gryffindors, not yet ready for sleep.

She smiles gingerly and draws closer to where Harry is sitting, the air around them feeling somehow thicker and thicker at every step she takes towards him. She is sure, quite sure, to notice his posture relax, his muscles loosen, and for a fleeting, desperately terrifying moment, she just knows — he feels it, too. 

She stops right in front of him, her knees slightly brushing his, and she realises she’s been holding her breath.

‘Do what?’

She knows what, of course, but her throat has suddenly gone dry under the weight of his unwavering gaze, never once leaving her.

He smiles tentatively, and it still feels unreal that she can make him do that, that she can be the reason for it.

‘Well.’ He shrugs. ‘Telling people off on my behalf.’

She hums, then winks at him. ‘You looked like you needed saving, and I do have a debt to settle.’

He snorts, the glimpse of a short-lived moment of lightheartedness brightening his eyes, then quickly shakes his head, coming back to reality.

‘Everyone is right to be disappointed, especially you’, he says, then pauses, staring at her intently, struggling to find the right words. ‘Because I-’.

What he did remains hanging in the air, his voice breaking right in the middle of it. She tries to contain the urge to sit on the armrest of his chair and to throw her hands around his neck, holding him tight, telling him it’s OK, he’s OK, and they’ll be just fine. 

Instead, she looks at him, faking a shrug to dissimulate a shiver.

‘You took orders from something someone wrote in a book.’

There’s another pause, a beat, and the air around them suddenly feels unbreathable.

‘Yeah.’ His eyes flash before her, and she feels them burning on her skin, like the scariest and yet most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. ‘I’m very sorry, Ginny.’

How do you tell someone, you know, I think I’m in love with you. I think I’ve been for the longest of times and damn you, damn you, for looking at me like that right now. Just when I had almost moved on, just when I had almost let you go. Damn you for having those eyes, that face, those hands. I’ve spent so many sleepless nights over the years, but your smile is the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen. I want to spend my days telling you about it, laughing with you, crying with you. I want to kiss that sad frown away from your face and make all this disappear. I want to take your pain away, I want to make you smile like you do until the air in my lungs runs out. I want the good, I want the bad, I want it fucking all.

I’m so screwed, she concludes. She gives in, stops resisting. I’m so fucking screwed.

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Moonstruck

Werewolf!Logan Howlett x F!Reader

Summary: Reader is a Mutant and her power is the ability to communicate with animals. While she is out admiring the full moon one night, she finds herself in unexpected company.

cw: breeding kink, biting, doggy-style, creampie

a/n: my boyfriend pointed out this is just van helsing 😂😭

~~~

Full Moon.

You always were a night owl. Loving watching the beautiful night sky become illuminated by the glow of a fully circular moon. Stars twinkling as they all danced around their stunning mother. Chill of a midnight breeze pecked at your skin. Kisses of the air dancing along your body.

Everyone else was asleep. But the midnight hours called to you. Alluring you into its dark void. Admiring the fountain in the courtyard and how it reflecting the night sky perfectly. The trees shook as another breeze blew through them. Watching the leaves delicately float to the ground. Reds, oranges, and yellows painted the leaves.

Crack.

The sudden sound of company made you jump. Looking over into the woods for a sign of some kind of animal. The steps were too heavy to be one of your housemates.

Glowing yellow eyes shined through the break in the trees. Harsh breaths being taken in by the creature before you. Maybe it was injured? Or worse, maybe it was hungry…?

“Hello?” You softly called out to the monster in the woods. Hoping it would understand that you were friend not prey. Watching as the eyes dipped back and forth as the creature analyzed you.

A large dark figure sprung out at you. Knocking you onto the grass, pinning you down with its heavy claws. Panting above you as it snarled its sharp teeth at you. Slobber dripped from the sides of its jaws.

Wait—

It looked… human? Wolf-like features complimented its body. Sharp teeth, fur down its arms and around its face, animal-like hands and… metal claws?

“Logan?”

He growled above you. Calming down to take in more details of the creature. Hair similar to his, muscular arms similar to his, adamantium claws just like his, and that familiar necklace he always wore. The realization that this was your close friend washed over you. Your cheeks glowing with heat.

Slowly, you reached your hand up to his face. Touching his cheek softly. His eyes squinting shut as he leaned into your palm. Fear leaving you and being replaced with a different feeling.

“What’s going on?”

“Need… Need to,” he panted on top of you. Words not coming to him the way he would like. Snarling and growling as he fought with himself. Tongue coming out to lick up your neck. Cold air sending chills down your body as it danced across your now damp skin.

“Sm-smells so good. Need to take you,” he growled in your ear. Chest heaving, hot breath hitting your ear. Large, fur covered hands wrapped around your body, pulling you flush against his chest. He began sprinting into the surrounding woods. You tucked your face into his chest. The sound of everything flying past you rang in your ears. Musky smell of his chest filled your senses. Delving deep into your core.

Finally, he slowed down. Completely unable to tell how far he had taken you from your home. Bright, pale moonlight illuminating the ground you stood on. A clearing of a field. Soft, almost unreal grass on the ground. Far away from any pollution of city lights. Able to get a clearer view of the moon and stars.

He panted behind you. Looking over your shoulder. Seeing how his hot breath was visible against the cold air. His yellow eyes sparkling in the light of the midnight hour. Clawed hands gripped you from behind. You shuddered. He towered over you.

“I… need relief,” Logan’s sharp teeth grazed up your neck.

“What can I do, Logan…?”

Large hands roamed your body. Tugging and groping at any piece of skin he could. Shaky breaths mixed with the sound of growls fell from him. Wet lips began kissing your skin. Quickly turning feral, biting the tender flesh. Sucking purple markings into you. Your head fell back into his firm, broad chest. A sigh of a moan vibrating your chest. Thick fingers grazed your aching core.

“Let me… let me breed you,” Logan snarled in your ear.

Chills danced down your figure at his words. Each inch of your body burning where his hands caressed you. Bruising grasp being dug into your hips. Silence shared between you. Unsure what to say to him. Breeze of the night shaking the trees that lined the surrounding forest.

“Please,” he pleaded to you. A whine of desperation on his tone. Feeling his stiff member poke you from behind. You ran your hand up, tangling fingers in his hair. Giving him permission to take you. Your other hand stroked his member. Pulling a grunt from him, hips rutting in your hand.

“Yes,” he cooed in your ear, thrusting himself into your grasp. You turned yourself around, making it simpler for you to give him your full attention. Continuing playing with his member, while your lips kissed up his torso. Planting sloppy kisses along anything you could. Animalistic eyes watched as your hand wrapped perfectly around him. His hand still planted on your hip.

You were shocked at his size. Unable to get the full picture through his clothing, but able to feel how long and thick his member is. Wanting to free him from his confides, but wanting to make sure he got as much pleasure as possible.

“So good,” he praised. Finally able to form more than broken sentences. Voice deeper than normal, gravely with a growl behind every word.

“Let me fuck you,” his yellow eyes softened when yours met his. Smiling up at him. Feeling his lips kiss yours as his hands wrapped around your back to lower you onto the ground. Soft grass pressing into your skin. Logan rolled you over onto all fours. Aggressively pulling your sleep shorts down your legs. Seeing how your soft panties framed your ass, riling him up further. Claws ripping them off you. Cool air wafting over your soaking core.

Logan’s tip prodded at your entrance. Playing in the folds momentarily before delving the head in. You called out to him at the sudden entry. Arching your back at the feeling of him stretching you. This monstrous version of the man you had known was absolutely relentless. Aggressively pounding into you. Curved cock scraping that spongy spot inside you that had you seeing stars. Sound of skin smacking together echoing through the trees.

Sloppy sounds of your wet hole was like music to his ears. Repeated puncturing of his thick head into you had you a screaming, whining mess. Walls clamping momentarily when he would fully sheath himself inside. His name a mantra on your lips.

Logan was a snarling, grunting monster behind you. Cracking his hips into your opening as if he was going to break you. Bruising pace being given by his pelvis. Feeling of your tight walls sucking him back in over and over again made him want to scream. He was enamored. Lost as he fucked into you.

“P-Perfect girl,” he slurred his words. Cock swollen and sensitive inside you. Animal like urges causing him to lean down against your back. Giving himself a better angle to hit into you.

The coil inside you tightened. Swearing it would break any moment now. Ecstasy felt as it was never ending. The way he filled your ache perfectly. How his hands felt gripping at your body. The way his chest hair stimulated your back now.

Logan’s thrusts were growing erratic. Chest heaving with each pop of skin. His balls feeling full and ready to explode. Wanting nothing more than to coat your insides with him. While no one else knew of his secret, you did. And you accepted him with open arms. Doing whatever it took to satisfy his desires. You were his. His cum sock. His fuck you. His girl. Only his.

“G-Gonna fill this perfect cunt,” he growled into the air, “You’ll be so full I’ll be spilling out of you for days.” Logan looked up at the full moon above. The cause of this. Forcing him to act on pure urges. Only desire to breed.

With a few more thrusts and smacks of his balls, you came undone. Walls fluttering and milking his length. Screaming as tears picked at your eyes. Orgasmic glee taking over your senses. Never having been fucked so good.

Logan could not hold back any longer. Shooting himself up inside you when your walls constricted extra tight. Throwing his head back in a howl at the moon. Hot, sticky white filled you. Ropes of him spreading through your insides. Continuing to thrust himself through his own finish. Heavy body slumping on top of you. Cock still nuzzled deep in your warmth. Both of your bodies quivering and pulsing with afterglow. Both of you attempted to catch your breath.

His hands ghosted down your sides. Hairy digits tickling you. He was petting you. Feeling how you breathed. Knowing he had worked your body more than a normal night together. Silently laying in the grass together. He rolled off and out of you. Curving you into his front.

You laid comfortably with your wolflike companion. Still unsure how he got like this.

Too lost in overstimulation to care.

~

[END]

// Thank you for reading! This was a quick AU I thought up and had to write for my October writing challenge. If anyone wants to be tagged in future Fics or has requests, always feel free to message me. //

{tags}

@megangovier ~ @sleepyamaya ~ @flayne ~ @i-voluntears ~