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tsarisfanfiction · 2 years ago

Text

A Single Drachma

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rated: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Friendship Characters: Michael, Clarisse, Chris Alone. Injured. Hunted. Michael doesn't know where he is, but he knows he's running out of time, and he's only got one shot at calling for help. He's got to make it count. I'm a bit late posting it here because rl, but this was a fic written for @pod-together and my podficcer partner for the event was once again the amazing @stereden, who I also worked with for this event last year and once again had an absolute blast with! I pushed the boat out rather further this year in terms of length (there is actually a lot more to this story planned, but it became unrealistic to podfic... that being said I am still hoping to finish writing it at some point, for all that this does currently work as a stand-alone). We both had a lot more free time this year, and we definitely made sure we used it! I've lost count of how many times I've listened to Stereden's various takes on the podfic but it's been so much fun to work with her on this again this year! I was in a massive Michael&Clarisse mood when the event first started, and Stereden is a fantastic enabler who was more than willing to let them be the focus of the plot for our project, so here we are, and I hope you all enjoyed reading and listening to this as much as I did creating it! You can find the podfic to listen to here (go, listen to it! It’s amazing!)

After so long in darkness, the light of the sun was blinding. Michael’s tolerance for bright lights had always been higher than most, just like his siblings, but as he staggered out onto the street, limping heavily and doing his utmost to ignore the various signals of this fucking hurts different parts of his body were sending to his brain in discordant harmony, his eyes narrowed into a blurry squint. He stumbled, biting back a curse as his leg protested loudly at the bulk of his weight being forced onto it, and raised a dirty, shaking hand to shade his watering eyes from the worst of the glare.

Where was he?

With a wince he couldn’t hold back, he limped a few steps forwards, impatiently waiting for his eyes to adjust to the brightness, until he almost collided with a wall. Knocking his shoulder - the less-bad one, the one that was only bruised and not taunting him with fears of dislocation - against it, he awkwardly shuffled until he was leaning heavily against the painted brickwork, shifting his weight until it was off of his right leg.

It still had the audacity to fucking hurt, and Michael could feel his left leg trembling from the strain, less injured but no less exhausted than the rest of his body, but there was nothing he could do about it except lean harder on his shoulder, shoving as much of his weight as possible onto the building.

He needed to keep moving; he knew that. His arm stung, his newest injury still bleeding sluggishly. Michael could hear the slow yet steady drip, drip, drip of the liquid onto the ground. He’d run out of useable fabric to tear into makeshift bandages a while back - his clothes were in tatters, and stained with so many things he didn’t want to think about that using them to wrap an open wound was probably begging for a dose of tetanus, as though he needed any more problems on top of everything he had already.

Leaning against the building was the most relief he’d had in days, though, and Michael was at loathe to give it up. He glanced towards the sun again, still blindingly bright and near-impossible to look at. Hi, Dad, he thought, his mental tone somewhere between bitterness and despair. Apollo hadn’t contacted him for a long time, not since the night before they left for Manhattan, and Michael missed his father’s dream visits. He didn’t understand why they’d stopped - he’d feared, for a while, that Apollo had fallen to Typhon , that despite the lack of Kronos stomping around suggesting that they’d won the war his father had been lost for good.

Deep down, he still feared that - despite the freak saying things to the contrary - because if it wasn’t true, if Apollo hadn’t been destroyed, then that meant his father had been ignoring all of his pleas for help.

Apollo had been answering him reliably since he was a small kid, before he’d even realised the guy he dreamed about frequently was real and his father. There was no good reason for him to have stopped.

And yet he had.

Where the fuck are you, Dad? he thought at the sun. And where the fuck am I?

He lowered his hand, squinting against the bright light of the sun as it inflicted a fresh assault on his eyeballs, and took stock of his surroundings.

It was some sort of side street. Not enclosed enough to be an alley but no major thoroughfare - Michael could see a busier street, if he squinted against the shadows and too-bright sun hard enough, running perpendicular to the end of the street he was in. People passed through with purpose, none of them batting an eyelid at a messy, injured demigod leaning against the painted bricks and no doubt leaving some crimson stains behind. Was that the Mist at work, or was he somewhere where no-one even noticed bleeding teens?

Michael didn’t really care. Both options were far better than where he’d been, where he was running from.

He needed to keep moving, no matter how much his body protested, but first he needed a plan. Running blindly wouldn’t help; he hadn’t shaken his pursuers despite his best efforts so far, and he wasn’t naive enough to hope he’d shaken them now, either. But now that he was out, he had a chance.

His hand tightened its grip around his precious prize, the one small shard of hope that had crossed his path amongst the pain and fear. Firm edges pressed into his palm in a way that would be almost painful, if his body’s resting pain threshold wasn’t currently up around ten out of ten, a reassurance that he hadn’t lost it, hadn’t dropped it as he ran.

Michael had no weapons. He had no way to fight off his pursuers, no way to make them stop following him for good. Hand-to-hand had been out of the question even before the injuries started stacking up; he’d never done well enough in that during training to treat it as anything other than a last, desperate, resort. Here, where defeat meant getting dragged back to the freak, it was even lower on his list of non-existent options than normal.

But what he did have was one, single golden drachma. A stroke of luck amongst everything else, because drachma meant communication, and communication meant help. He could call Chiron, ask the old centaur to send someone his way, and warn him about the freak while he was at it.

Once he knew where he was.

He only had one drachma, one chance to make a call. He had to make it count.

It didn’t take Michael long to come up with a plan, if it could even be called that. Step one, find out where he was. Step two, find a rainbow and make the call.

Don’t get caught in the process.

He’d lingered too long. He knew he had. With a groan he forced his body upright again, biting back a scream as his right leg buckled and almost collapsed, and shoved himself away from the wall. The movement pushed him into a run, one leg in front of the other with no pause to think, for all that they both threatened to crumple beneath him as he staggered forwards, each step sending a bolt of pain up his right leg.

Michael stumbled his way towards the busier street. He didn’t know if it was a major enough street to have helpful signs like “welcome to”, but it was the best shot he had at finding where he was.

Several times, he almost fell, barely catching himself on the building walls, but he made it to the larger street without picking up any more injuries.

It didn’t have a “welcome to” sign, or any other defining characteristics that might have at least given Michael a clue. Cars drove past him without a second look, not that Michael intended on getting in one, anyway. It would be infinitely easier than walking, but the freak had a lot of influence. Michael couldn’t trust anyone not to be part of his many, many circles. Until he made contact with Chiron, he couldn’t risk talking to anyone.

The street ran east and west, as straight as an arrow, and Michael barely even had to think before he was turning east, glancing up at the sun as he did so and sending yet another silent and rushed prayer his father’s way.

Apollo had guided him to safety before. Why couldn’t he do it again?

Passing mortals paid him no more attention on the major street than they had on the side street. Michael still didn't know if that was due to the Mist concealing the various injuries and blood dripping from hastily wrapped (and in some cases unwrapped) wounds, or if they really just didn't care in this place. Not that the why actually mattered; at least no-one was stopping him.

It was only going to be a matter of time before they found him again, and Michael needed to have figured out where he was and called Chiron by then. If they caught up to him here, he didn’t stand a chance.

The thought spurred his protesting body on, legs screaming and lungs hauling in as much air as they could stand. There had to be some sign, somewhere, to tell him where he was. A café name, roadsigns, billboards. Something.

He reached an intersection just as the lights turned green for the cars. A glance behind him didn’t show any obvious pursuit but Michael couldn’t risk it. He dashed forwards, dodging honking vehicles, and felt his leg buckle halfway across, but he snarled and pushed on, refusing to let it surrender to the break just yet.

Not until he was safe.

It was probably more luck than skill that got him across without being knocked down by a irate driver, but Michael didn't pause when his feet met the sidewalk once more, leaving the cacophony of chaos behind him as he kept running. His lungs were starting to burn; no demigod endurance could keep going forever, and Michael had been fleeing for days, weeks, he didn’t even know. He’d long since lost track of time.

There were more than a few near-misses with crashing into mortals on the street, his legs not quite up for intense manoeuvrability and reliant mostly on other people getting out of his way, and more side streets crossed - more than one involving a game of chicken with cars and the accompanying soundtrack of blaring horns and swearing drivers - but Michael didn’t let himself stop. Couldn’t stop.

Where was he?

His eyes scanned the streets as he ran, desperately searching for any sign, a familiar name to latch onto, but his dyslexia kept jumbling anything that might be helpful and he didn’t dare stop long enough to decipher it. He couldn’t hear any pursuit yet, but he knew with a certainty deep inside his bones that they’d come. If he hadn’t lost them in there, he wouldn’t lose them here.

Another intersection - complete with more cars and horns, and Michael almost collapsing in the middle of the asphalt as his leg buckled alarmingly - and the buildings sharply receded on the other side of the street, leaving a large lawned area with a broad paved path leading directly up to an impressive building. People milled about, sitting on the edge of the cacti-infested planter that ran up the middle of the path, signifying it as a public place, and Michael made a snap decision.

It was the first thing he’d seen that seemed like it could tell him where he was, and further down the street he could see a fountain.

He clutched the drachma tighter, certain it had to be leaving jagged red marks in his skin, and ploughed across the street, his run disintegrating into more of a rapid limp as he dragged himself towards the building. There were words emblazoned above what was clearly the entrance, and flapping banners covering the outside of the second floor windows, more images than words.

When he drew to a stop outside, chest tight with pain and almost all his weight on his left leg, which trembled frantically as it desperately tried to bear it, he blinked at the large words, willing them to arrange themselves in a way that made sense.

AZRINOA STATE MEUSUM

No, that wasn’t right.

Arizona State Museum.

Arizona.

Michael had never been to Arizona before in his life, but the state name triggered an immediate memory of crackling spears and loud, abrasive words.

Clarisse.

He’d had a lot of time to think, while the freak had him. Time to get angry at the daughter of Ares, time to shout and curse her existence, to blame her for the battle going wrong, for the hellhounds tearing Nathan apart, for the shockwave that had sent half his siblings cascading off the shaking bridge-

But then time to go hollow, time to remember that the Ares cabin was never going to be stationed with the Apollo cabin, that the deaths wouldn’t have been prevented.

Time to realise that it wasn’t Clarisse’s fault. That in the grand scheme of things, their argument had been petty and inconsequential.

Gods, but the Fates had a sense of humour, dropping him in Arizona, of all places.

Michael didn’t know which city held the state museum, if it was Phoenix or Tucson or somewhere else entirely, but… Clarisse would know.

Clarisse, for all that they’d never got on, had always been a strong leader. She might hate him, might have told him she hoped he died (and he almost had and that still stung, a little), but she was prepared for trouble and Michael had never seen her without at least two visible weapons on her.

Hades, he’d been on the receiving end of them a few times, when their arguments got too heated. Lee, and Emily before him, had always told him off whenever he landed in the infirmary again after a fight with her.

The drachma felt heavy in his hand.

Michael turned away from the museum and pushed his body to start moving again, a walk that turned into a jog until he dragged it into a full run again, leg screaming in agony but something almost like hope starting to bloom in his chest.

He just had to reach the fountain. The Arizonian sun blazed down above him; there had to be a rainbow shimmering in the droplets somewhere, and then he could call for help.

The back of his neck prickled as his staggered run took him out of the museum grounds and back onto the street, and the blooming hope stuttered before it had much of a chance to grow. He threw a glance down the street, back the way he’d come, even as he pressed forwards towards the fountain, glistening in the sunlight. No sign of pursuit, but that didn’t mean anything. Michael hadn’t survived this long by not listening to his instincts, and the sudden tenseness at the top of his spine told him he had to run.

So he ran.

Jagged agony shot up his broken leg as he pushed it further, stumbling but refusing to fall even when tears of pain started leaking from the corners of his eyes and his breathing took on a whine of desperation that rang in his ears.

He almost crashed into the edge of the fountain, hands reaching forwards to brace himself against it and absorbing the impact. The drachma in his hand dug in deeply enough Michael wouldn’t have been surprised if it had drawn blood, but he’d take that a thousand times over dropping it now, so close to being able to use it.

Exposed and with no cover, if he lost it and the cry for help it afforded him now, it would be over for him.

Dashing away the tears of pain with the back of his hand, and wincing as the salt stung open scratches, he glared at the fountain, desperately searching for the glimmer of colour that had to be there, somewhere. The sun and the falling droplets of water were present, he just had to find -

There.

It was halfway around the fountain from where he’d stopped, and he clawed his way around the edge, leaning heavily on the white stone rim and letting his right leg abandon his weight. His left leg, and the arm he was bracing himself with, both trembled angrily, but Michael wouldn’t fall here. Not now.

The rainbow shimmered in front of him and he forced his fingers to unfurl from their death grip around the drachma, streaked red with angry lines where the coin had imprinted almost every detail onto his palm.

“Oh, Goddess, accept my offering,” he mumbled. His voice rasped in his ears after however many days it had been since he’d last had a reason to talk out loud, hoarse in his throat - maybe he should’ve taken a drink from the fountain first, but there wasn’t time for that - but hopefully the words came out clearly enough for Iris to understand. He tossed the drachma into the rainbow with a shaking hand.

“Clarisse La Rue.”

Fuck.

He hadn’t planned on calling Clarisse.

Even if he was in her home state, Chiron would know where things like the state museum was, and crucially, the centaur had never told him to die .

But the drachma was gone, the only one he had, and he’d said the name now. He dashed more tears - pain, frustration - away and stared at the rainbow, waiting for the call to go through and knowing he wasn’t at all prepared to talk to Clarisse, but that he had to.

Nothing happened.

The rainbow shimmered, glistening in a way that didn’t quite seem natural, and Michael stared at it in horror.

“C’mon,” he muttered, glancing back the way he’d come. Still no signs of pursuit, but his instincts were screaming at him. “C’mon, connect, why aren’t you fucking connecting?”

The rainbow pulsed lightly, as though it was still waiting for something, and realisation crashed over Michael.

“Fuck.” He hadn’t said where Clarisse was - where was Clarisse? He didn’t know, didn’t know if she was even still alive, let alone if she was at camp or if she’d left camp now, or... “Fuck. I don’t- Where the fuck is Clarisse? Iris- fuck- Lady Iris, please.” His hand clenched into a fist as he leaned forwards and rested almost the entirety of his weight on the rim of the fountain. Breathing was supposed to be easier than that but the air kept getting caught in his throat and distantly he realised he was panicking, sensing his hope slipping away from one slip of the tongue. “Clarisse La Rue at… fuck, I don’t know. Camp Half-Blood?”

His right leg buckled and he clamped his mouth shut against the cry of pain as broken bone fragments slipped against each other. More tears welled in the corners of his eyes and he turned his head, wiping them away frantically in the dirty remains of the fabric on his shoulder.

When he looked back up, Clarisse La Rue was staring at him out of the centre of the rainbow, eyes wide in shock.

She looked older than when he’d last seen her, hair semi-neatly chopped around her cheeks and small scars he didn’t remember peppering across her face. She was bigger, too, always broad-shouldered but now easily twice his width, and Michael was pretty sure she was even taller.

“Clarisse,” he rasped, too relieved to even care how frantic he sounded. “Help. ”

“Michael?” she asked. “You’re dead.”

The bark of laughter that erupted from his mouth wasn’t humorous in the slightest. Fuck, camp thought him dead? It made sense, explained why no-one had ever come looking, but-

Fuck.

“Not fucking quite,” he replied hoarsely. The back of his neck tingled again and he glanced back the way he’d come. Still no sign, but that didn’t make him feel any safer. “Not yet.”

Her brown eyes sharpened, narrowing from wide-eyed shock to the assessing daughter of Ares Michael had seen so many times before. “What happened to you?” she demanded. “And why are you calling me?”

“Fuck if I know.” He looked around again, and caught sight of movement in the distance. Movement that didn’t seem natural for mortals going about their day. “Fuck. I’m in Arizona, don’t know where the fuck except the state museum’s just down this road and if I don’t find somewhere safe to hide - or at least some fucking weapons to fight back with - now I’m fucking dead for real.”

“I know where you are,” Clarisse said. Michael saw her glance away from the IM for a moment, then nod firmly, a familiar stubbornness settling into her expression. “There’s a big building behind the fountain.” He looked up and nodded. “That’s the state university. Get around the back of it then follow the boulevard east through the campus. Once you’re out of the campus, keep following the street east for six blocks, then go left, then get to the park on the right. There’s an unused building in the far corner; mortals think it’s locked but it’s not. It’s one of my safehouses. You’ll find weapons there.”

Through the college campus and then another six blocks. Michael’s leg throbbed in protest but he set his jaw and nodded. He could do that.

He had to do that.

“Thanks,” he rasped, glancing back again. The shapes were clearer, bulky individuals that clearly hadn’t figured out exactly where he was yet but were searching. “Fuck. Gotta go.”

He slashed an arm through the rainbow, cutting off Clarisse’s “Mi-”, and pushed himself away from the fountain.

Time to run.

Michael knew that his leg shouldn’t be able to keep moving, let alone running. A mortal could never have managed it, and he was pretty certain most demigods couldn’t, either. Being the son of Apollo had its perks, but that didn’t stop it sending vicious stabs of pain up through his body with every step, reminding him loudly and furiously that son of Apollo or not, he wasn’t doing it any favours and sooner or later it was going to run out of endurance.

Oblivious college students didn’t even seem to blink as he ran past them, adrenaline flooding his body and pushing him further, further, faster. Fear of being caught and the hope of safety ahead of him worked in tandem to urge him on, slamming away the pain with extreme prejudice and forcing his legs, both the broken one and the merely exhausted one, to keep going, one foot in front of the other and jarring with every step. The campus stretched out before him, seeming impossibly long, and in the back of his mind a small voice despaired that he’d never make it.

He told the voice to shut the fuck up and kept going.

The sun beat down as he ran, sweat joining with blood to leave a trail behind that he was painfully aware of but could do nothing about. All he could do was hope that he had enough of a headstart to outrun them to Clarisse’s safehouse. And that Clarisse would think to tell Chiron, because fuck, he’d forgotten to tell her to.

The first sounds of active pursuit reached his ears as he passed a set of tennis courts near the end of the campus, lungs burning, chest heaving, legs screaming, and he glanced over his shoulder to see students being pushed out of the way by larger, armed and dangerous, figures.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

His body had nothing left to give but Michael wasn’t going to let it surrender. Not now, not when he finally had a chance to get away. He ignored the voice in his head that said that a safehouse wasn’t much good if they saw him go into it, and that he didn’t stand a chance in combat even if he did get his hands on weapons, because it didn’t matter how true it was, it was still all he had.

He accelerated again, finding speed he didn’t know he was capable of even with two intact legs and not on the cusp of exhaustion, and bolted across the last few yards of the campus, hurtling across the street without stopping and forcing cars to swerve to avoid hitting him, and kept going.

One block.

Behind him, more car horns sounded and drivers started shouting. Something sounded like it hit something hard.

Two blocks.

Something went crunch and the shouting abruptly stopped.

Three blocks.

Michael’s lungs were on fire. He couldn’t even feel his legs any more, which definitely wasn’t a good thing.

Four blocks.

Fresh shouting started up, low and guttural and undoubtedly aimed at him.

Five blocks.

His lungs transitioned from on fire to non-operational, each breath a constricting choke as he ploughed on.

Six blocks.

Michael skidded around the corner, crossing the intersection to more irate cars and almost toppled over at the change of direction. He caught himself on a wall and all but bounced off of it, lurching down the sidewalk and knowing it was too much to ask that his pursuers hadn’t seen him make the turn but part of him begging whichever gods might be listening that they’d missed it anyway.

The park on the right, Clarisse had said, and Michael almost stumbled over his own feet as he caught sight of greenery after a moment of desperate running.

A javelin sailed past him, missing only because his leg buckled and listed him to one side for a heartbeat, and Michael’s stomach leapt up into his throat. Not now, not now he was so close.

He threw himself into the greenery the moment it opened up, using the shrubbery for what little cover it could give him, but it was barely moments before he heard the leaves get brushed aside behind him. Guttural cursing in a language Michael didn’t know but had got used to hearing was far too close as he frantically scanned the far side of the park for the building Clarisse had mentioned.

Where was it where was it where was it where the fuck was it-

There!

On the far side of the park, sheltered by trees on multiple sides, was a building that looked old and rundown. Chains and padlocks wrapped around the door, but as Michael focused on it, they shimmered and fell away.

He hadn’t known Clarisse could manipulate the Mist that well, but he wasn’t going to complain.

He didn’t have time to complain.

There was still half the park to cross and he wasn’t going to make it unless he found another burst of speed from Hades-knew-where. He choked on more air, willing his legs to go faster, but he still couldn’t feel them, not even the pain from the break, and he definitely wasn’t speeding up.

If anything, he was slowing down.

Fuck no. He wasn’t going to get caught, not here. Not now . He leaned forwards, desperate for just a little more speed, and felt something snag his feet.

He landed on his front hard enough to see stars, every part of his body compressing in a way that made him feel sick, or perhaps that was the knowledge that he’d never get up and away in time. It didn’t stop him trying, pushing himself upright on arms that were shaking almost too much to bear his weight, one shoulder screaming as it reminded him it probably wasn’t in its fucking socket, determined to fucking crawl if he had to.

Electricity crackled.

“Back off!” a female voice roared , footsteps running towards him from where he’d been trying to get to. Michael’s first thought was that he must have hit his head when he fell, because that was Clarisse’s voice.

He dragged his head up just in time to see a figure jump over him, barely an instant before there was the clash of weapons behind him.

Rolling over was marginally easier than trying to stand up. It brought with it a reprise of pain from his broken leg that jolted back into awareness so quickly he barely choked down a cry, but more importantly gave him a front row seat to Clarisse La Rue in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt wielding a familiar electric spear with a vengeance against the freak’s employees as they found themselves on the back foot, clearly not expecting to face anything more than a desperate, injured demigod they’d already run into the ground.

A skilled daughter of Ares with a weapon gifted to her by the god of war himself was not a desperate, injured and run into the ground demigod.

Michael had seen the Germani fight before, when the freak wanted entertainment. They were skilled and powerful, far more so than most demigods - but Clarisse was not most demigods, and had surprise on her side.

He pulled himself backwards with trembling hands, away from the fight, until his back hit something solid. A panicked glance upwards revealed that it was the trunk of a tree - not a rogue Germani trying to get around Clarisse - and Michael reached up with his less-bad arm for a low-hanging branch to haul himself to his feet with, much to the protest of his entire body.

If one of the Germani did get around Clarisse, he refused to be vulnerable on the ground. He could still run to the safehouse if he had to, leg be damned .

For the moment, he let the trunk of the tree take most of his weight, keeping his right leg off the ground and gripping the trunk with white knuckles to stay upright while he watched Clarisse fight.

She’d always been an impressive fighter, but the demigod in front of him here was a whole different class to the one he remembered from before Manhattan. The IM hadn’t deceived him - she was slightly taller and muscular since he’d last seen her - but there was a confidence to her that felt different, almost more natural.

Or maybe he was just so relieved to be saved that his mind had entered delirium. That was certainly possible.

Whatever it was, Clarisse clearly needed no help in finishing up the fight, her spear whirling around and dispatching the startled Germani in a typically child-of-Ares display of aggression, until the last one disintegrated into dust.

Michael was not ready for Clarisse to turn and face him, towering over him the way she always had done and racking him over with narrowed brown eyes. There were some bleeding scratches on her front, and a rather more considerably bleeding gash on one arm, but she didn’t seem to notice them as she stepped towards him. Instinctively, Michael straightened, his weight automatically transferring back to both his legs, and provoking another blinding protest from the right one.

“Clarisse,” he croaked.

“What happened to you?” she demanded, voice sharp and unyielding. “You died in Manhattan.”

“The fuck I did,” he protested. “Some fucking emperor-god-wannabe fished me out the river and dragged me off.” At least, that was what he’d gathered after the fact. He didn’t remember anything between the bridge collapsing and waking up in the freak’s floating villa, which had taken far too fucking long to escape from.

He didn’t expect Clarisse to believe him, though. It sounded fantastical, he knew it did, wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t lived it himself. But it was the truth.

To his surprise, Clarisse’s gaze sharpened. “Emperor-god?” she demanded, and there was something in her tone that made Michael’s default defensive snap back falter briefly, because it sounded like she did, somehow, believe him.

Still, “that’s what I fucking said,” he retorted after a few seconds, the familiarity of arguing an unlooked-for comfort washing over him even though he didn’t want to argue, still needed Clarisse’s help badly. “Freak said he was one of the Roman bastards despite the fact they’ve been dead for fucking millennia. Called himself Caligula.”

The soft shit that slipped out of Clarisse’s mouth seemed like a reflex, and Michael blinked as she set the butt of her spear on the ground. “Let’s move,” she said, glancing around. “We can talk once we’re somewhere more secure.”

That, Michael agreed with, and he took a step away from the trunk.

His body did not agree.

Enough, said his leg, at the same time adrenaline drained away, leaving his head lighter than air.

He crumpled.

“Shit!” Large, warm hands caught his shoulders in a grip of iron. “Michael!”

Michael snarled weakly and tried to get his leg under him again. “I’m fine,” he insisted, knowing it was a lie. He wasn’t fine, but he hadn’t hit his limit yet - he refused. He dragged his head up to meet Clarisse’s searching gaze.

She snorted. “Pull the other one, Yew.”

To his surprise, she sank down in front of him, and by the time his brain realised what was going on he was slumped over her shoulders, pinned in place by an arm around his leg and hand clamped around his wrist.

“The fuck, La Rue?” he yelped as she grabbed her spear with the hand not holding him in place and straightened up. “I can fucking walk!”

“This is faster,” she said. “Instead of slowing us down, keep an eye out for more of Caligula’s people.”

Michael tried to be offended, but as she broke into an even jog, he had to at least privately concede the point. The movement jostled his broken leg, thankfully not the one she was using to hold him in place, and he fought back whimpers, but after so long running under his own steam, it was a relief not to have to, anymore.

Even though it meant a fireman carry from Clarisse.

It was easier to let his head hang than try to hold it up, and his matted hair made a curtain that was difficult to see through, but Michael had no desire to be ambushed by more Germani - more of Caligula’s people, and he was starting to wonder how much Clarisse knew about the freak, how she knew anything about him in the first place. He squinted past his hair, watching the park behind them as Clarisse jogged forwards, and then the street as she passed the safehouse without pausing.

“Where’re we going?” he asked, watching the building get smaller for a moment before flicking his attention back to the street.

“My apartment,” Clarisse said shortly. “It’s more secure than that.”

Clarisse’s apartment? “Your mom’s place?”

She snorted. “No. My apartment. You just ran through my college campus.”

It hadn’t occurred to Michael that Clarisse would be in college, now. Fuck, they were the same age; if she was in college, then if it wasn’t for the freak, he probably would be, too - if he’d ever decided what the Hades he wanted to do.

“Huh,” was the only noise he could summon in response, followed by another muffled whine as his broken leg jarred again. Fuck, he missed the pain numbing properties of adrenaline. Clarisse’s grip on his wrist shifted, and he realised that she’d heard it. She didn’t mention it, though, just kept up with the jog as though he didn’t weigh a thing.

In his current state, he probably didn’t as far as she was concerned.

Wherever Clarisse lived, it felt a long way away. Maybe it was because she wasn’t running in a flat-out sprint, but the journey seemed to take forever. More than once, Michael found his eyes starting to slide shut, exhaustion fighting for dominance, and forced them open again, unwilling to risk missing a threat.

Nothing attacked them. Michael could feel the tension in Clarisse’s shoulders rising the longer they went without being attacked, but she drew to a halt outside an apartment building unchallenged.

“Still awake?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“Good.” She turned around, looking back the way they’d come for herself and giving Michael a clearer view of the building, complete with the flight of stairs they were no doubt about to go up. Seemingly satisfied that he hadn’t missed anything, she then turned back and continued towards what was clearly her apartment door.

Michael’s leg did not approve of the stairs. Clarisse went slower than he expected, the rise and fall of her body minimal, but still his leg complained and more than one hiss forced its way past gritted teeth on the ascent. Her grip on his wrist tightened, but she still said nothing. Michael appreciated it.

Eventually, they came to a stop outside a plain door, indistinguishable from the rest of the apartment doors. Michael wasn’t sure how Clarisse was planning on opening it with her spear in one hand while the other kept hold of him, but he wasn’t expecting for her to call, “it’s him.”

The door was yanked open so fast, Michael half-expected it to fly off the hinges.

“Michael?”

He forced his head to raise, his hair falling mostly out of his face so that he could see over Clarisse’s shoulder.

“Chris,” he rasped, not liking the way the son of Hermes was looking at him in horror. “Take it you two are still together, then?”

“Yeah,” Clarisse confirmed as she walked past her boyfriend, who shut the door behind them. At the click of the catch falling into place, Michael let his head sag again. “Down you go.”

Michael didn’t manage to brace himself before spilling out of Clarisse’s grip, but he didn’t have to as he was gently laid on a throw-covered couch, his limbs limp and boneless as he sank into the fabric.

It felt heavenly.

“Gods,” Chris breathed, kneeling on the floor next to him, dark eyes surveying him from head to toe. Michael heard the quiet click of a catch opening and his eyes flitted to look at the floor, where Chris had a large plastic box cracked open on the rug. “Eat.” A small square of ambrosia was held up in front of him. Michael forced a shaking hand to take it from him and slipped it into his mouth, instantly feeling the relief that came from eating the godly food.

Hades, how long had it been since he’d last had ambrosia? The freak certainly hadn’t ever given him any.

He let his arm fall heavily back onto the couch as he savoured the taste.

“Let me treat your wounds,” Chris insisted. He was already pulling on gloves, and Michael eyed him in surprise. The son of Hermes huffed. “I know I’m not an Apollo kid, but my dad is still a patron of medicine, even if he’s not strictly a god of it. I might not be able to instantly heal you but I can make sure you don’t die of sepsis.”

It wasn’t like Michael could do much more for his own wounds than he had already; he healed fast but not instantly.

“Fine,” he agreed, and Chris broke into a relieved look. Clarisse shifted her weight.

“I’ll make sure the perimeter is secure,” she said, grabbing a small vial of nectar and taking a sip from it.

“Could you grab Michael something clean to wear before you go?” Chris asked her. Michael felt him gently take hold of one of his arms, then hissed as he gently dabbed at the exposed cut with antiseptic. “These clothes are filthy.”

“Fuck you,” Michael muttered, well aware that he was right. They weren’t clothes he was attached to - the freak had got rid of his clothes after Manhattan and replaced them with some sort of sailor’s outfit, which Michael had had no hesitation about tearing up for makeshift bandages.

He was still furious about the loss of his camp necklace, though.

Clarisse headed further into the apartment without another word as Chris wiped down the skin around the gash before peeling away one of Michael’s makeshift bandaging attempts and getting to work treating the wound underneath it.

“You know I’m right,” Chris replied. “Those rags need cutting off, anyway.”

Michael bristled. “I can-”

“I know a broken leg when I see one,” Chris overrode him. “I don’t even want to think about how much damage you’ve done to it running around - or how the Hades you managed to run around on that - but it won’t thank you for moving it again.”

Clarisse returned before Michael could come up with a retort, dropping a bundle of fabric over the back of the couch. “I’m securing the perimeter now,” she said.

“Be careful,” Chris replied, and Michael watched as she stalked out the front door, shutting it with a loud click behind her. “Okay, let’s get these rags out of the way.”

Chris’ hands were gentle as they tended to each cut, scrape, gash or worse. It wasn’t the same as one of his siblings, but it was enough to make Michael feel halfway human again, if completely helpless.

“I’d run you a bath now but I think you’d fall asleep in it,” the son of Hermes told him as he probed gently at the probably-dislocated shoulder. As much as Michael hated to admit it, the older demigod was once again right; he was well aware of the exhaustion doggedly gnawing away at him now that the adrenaline had faded away. “I’ll do that later.” He frowned at Michael’s shoulder. “This, on the other hand, I’ve got to deal with now.”

One good thing about the encroaching exhaustion was that Michael’s muscles couldn’t tense up too much, even if they wanted to. He grit his teeth as Chris carefully manipulated his arm into extending, before slowly starting to rotate it. The earlier ambrosia was not enough to completely muffle the sensation of the joint grinding back into its socket; some whimpers slipped out past his clenched jaw. Like Clarisse earlier, Chris had the tact to not mention it.

Even worse than the dislocated shoulder, predictably, was the broken leg. That was by far the worst part of the treatment as Chris gently poked and prodded at it before resetting the bone. The ambrosia was no more effective as a painkiller for his leg than it had been for his shoulder, and Michael couldn’t help a short, high-pitched shout as it shifted back into position - thankfully also passing unacknowledged by the son of Hermes.

“No walking on it,” Chris said firmly as he fitted a splint to keep it in place. Michael grumbled a string of curses under his breath as it was secured. “It - and the rest of you - needs rest.” It was obvious that he wanted to ask about what had happened to Michael, much in the same way Clarisse had, but to Michael’s relief, he wasn’t actually broaching the subject.

Then again, Chris knew a lot about traumatic experiences.

Once all his wounds were treated properly, Michael pulled on the spare clothes Clarisse had dug out for him, begrudgingly accepting Chris’ help. Unsurprisingly, they were all far too big for him - Clarisse was easily twice his size, now, and Chris might have been rather lither than his girlfriend, but he was far taller than Michael. The only advantage was that it meant they were easy to pull on over the various bandages and even leg splint, which didn’t negate Michael feeling like he was swimming in fabric.

“I’ll get you something that fits better soon,” Chris apologised as Michael flaked back down again, finding the couch far more comfortable than it had any right to be.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

The apartment door opened and Clarisse strode back in, bolting it behind her and propping her spear up beside it. “Secure,” she reported, heading for them. “Done with the first aid?”

“Done,” Chris confirmed. “He won’t be walking on that leg any time soon, but otherwise it’s mostly exhaustion.”

Clarisse sat down on the rug; with Michael laying down on the couch, their heads were at similar heights. “So what happened after Caligula grabbed you?” she demanded. Chris’ sharp intake of breath at the name told Michael that they definitely knew something about the freak. “That was nearly two years ago.”

Michael grimaced.

“Couldn’t get out,” he admitted, glossing over the gloating, the leering Germani and the self-important big-eared pandos, to say nothing of the fucking horse and the freak himself. They’d found his attempts amusing. The freak had even dared him to get out, promising him that he couldn’t.

The freak had said a lot of things, and Michael still couldn’t shake the shivers at the promise that he would be the new sun god. It was delusional - it had to be, Apollo was the sun god and wouldn’t be usurped by some fucking wannabe - but the freak had always sounded deadly serious when he’d said it, like he fully believed he would . He’d said Michael would help him, too.

Michael’s attempts to escape had always got more frantic whenever he heard that gloat.

He didn’t say any of that, didn’t think he could if he tried. Neither Clarisse or Chris pressed him for details.

“Had a fucking boat villa. Never let the thing near land.” He’d managed to get on one of the boarding boats, once. Mortal security guards had spotted him and dragged him back, citing some nonsense about the boss’ son not being allowed to leave. “Took for fucking ever to get off.”

Eventually, one day, the guards had been distracted by something. Michael still didn’t know what, but it had been enough for him to finally slip past them, onto land for the first time in eighteen fucking months, and run for it.

It almost hadn’t been enough, he’d almost been caught, but a door he’d run through had ended up in tunnels and more tunnels and more and more and more fucking tunnels with monsters with claws and teeth and other appendages they shouldn’t be allowed to fucking have that wanted a piece of demigod flesh and-

“Michael, breathe.”

A hand rested on the couch, not touching him but enough to catch his attention. His eyes snapped to it, then followed the arm up to a shoulder and up again until he was looking at Chris’ face. The older demigod’s brow was furrowed in concern, and Michael realised he was breathing too fast, air not actually reaching his lungs.

Fuck.

Michael closed his eyes, only to be assaulted by memories of being tracked, hunted, and snapped them open again, focusing instead on Chris’ face as he tried to wrench his breathing under control.

“Don’t push yourself,” Chris told him gently as air started to reach his lungs again. “It’s okay if you can’t talk about it.” Michael glanced at Clarisse, still sat on the rug behind her boyfriend but frowning, face all twisted up.

“No,” he said, hating how thin his voice sounded. “I- fuck.” If it was anyone else, he’d take the invitation to stop talking, because they wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t get it. But these two…

“Fucking Labyrinth.”

Chris’ face paled, and Clarisse moved, putting her hand on the son of Hermes’ shoulder. Her knuckles were white.

“It got me away,” Michael admitted, because it had; without its twists and turns and traps absolutely everywhere the freak’s men would have caught up to him within a day.

He didn’t know how many days he’d been running through the fucking thing before it finally spat him out in Arizona.

“But- fuck .” He’d never been in the fucking thing before, but he’d seen what it had done to Chris, how pale and shaken Annabeth had been when she re-emerged alone after her quest. Had seen the monsters spill out of it into camp, had seen Lee’s head smashed open-

The fucking thing was supposed to be destroyed. Why was it back?

He could’ve done without experiencing the inside of the fucking living nightmare for himself.

“You made it,” Chris told him, voice shaky but assuring. “You made it out, Michael.”

“You’re safe,” Clarisse added, tone firm and leaving no room for debate. Michael looked at her, remembering too many arguments and disagreements and threats from the daughter of Ares but seeing only pure sincerity and stubbornness there now. “Those shitheads won’t get you, and you’re never going in there again.”

Michael swallowed around a lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he agreed, voice shaking just as much as Chris’. “Yeah.”

He was out. He was safe.

The knowledge settled over him, heavy and warm as it finally sank in, and with it came a looming darkness his battered, aching and exhausted body finally stopped fighting and instead welcomed with open arms.

potentially tbc...

#riordanverse #riordanverse fanfic #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson fanfiction #trials of apollo #trials of apollo fanfiction #michael yew #clarisse la rue #chris rodriguez #toa caligula #tsari writes fanfiction #stereden #podfic #podfic of my fic

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habizuh-studios · 1 year ago

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I've Held My Heart Close All These Years

Since the day he woke up here and again, and again, and again, he has never felt happiness. Until there is a light, and he's set free. A word rings in his head: Ascension. Out of the coffin after ninety-six years, however, can change a lot. Especially if there were countless people to see it.

OR: Xie Lian ascends from the coffin and chaos ensues :) ---- Chapter 2- Melancholic Joy:

(A grateful and uninhibited joy for the goodness of being, but one tinged by sadness at the pervasiveness of evil and melancholy because it all comes to an end... ____ He enjoys it while he can.) AO3 LINK (Next Chapter)

He Xuan, disguised as Ming Yi, almost never comes to heaven. The keyword here is almost because right now he is being dragged there by Shi Qingxuan to watch a new god ascend. Which, if you look on the bright side, is great, because now he has an excuse to freely get new information for Hua Cheng.

The problem is he is really not in the mood right now.

“Come on, Ming-xiong!” Shi Qingxuan had said. “This is important! Do you know how many vacant spots we have here? It could be a new elemental master, like a Fire Master! Come on, don’t you want to take a look? A tiny peek, and then you can go back… eating… or whatever, come on!”

His half-death glare did nothing to make Shi Qingxuan even hesitate a little, which is just great. Maybe later he could play a drinking game and take a shot every time they dragged him along to whatever adventure they felt like going on. Bonus sips for however many times they’ve said ‘come on’ while doing so.

The sky rumbles and quakes. The bell tolls a lot. Like, more so than usual, which is normally… not very many. It’s just there to cheer them on. If the bell had a face, He Xuan thinks it would be screaming, or bawling, or maybe both with how loud and how many times it's ringing. It’s starting to hurt He Xuan’s ears. Still, he follows Shi Qingxuan to watch whoever it is ascend. Once the light finally recedes back into nothingness, he hears a lot of gasps, one of them coming from right next to him. He can see why.

There is a dead body��in front of him. A dead body has ascended.

Well, it’s probably not dead, but if someone said it was, He Xuan would believe them without a second thought.

The god’s skin reminded him of a stiff, shiny cloth, with the way it fitted around its bones like some twisted Ghost City meat. The dark, matted hair looked and smelled like it was covered in blood. The clothes were so bloody that He Xuan couldn’t guess the original color of them. It had more places where it was bleeding even more fresh blood.

In one word: bloody.

That does not help the dirt, grime, and tears it is also covered with.

Not to mention it was especially chilling with the new-looking, shiny silver mask it was wearing. The body, as He Xuan will name it, is wearing a mask adorned with exquisite detailed carvings. Though everything else was dirty beyond compare, the mask remained untouched as if it was only just made. A legend resurfaces in He Xuan’s mind.

The legend of Guoshi Fangxin.

Appointed as the Guoshi for His Highness Tai Hua, or Lang Qianqiu, he taught him for years before his seventeenth birthday, in which he hacked all the people there into corpses and killed everyone at the gilded banquet. Later, he was buried and sealed in a coffin after Lang Qianqiu defeated him, as the legend goes…

Was that Guoshi Fangxin?!

Did he ascend from the coffin!?Ling Wen arrives with little fanfare. “General Xuan Zhen,” she says. “please bring the new god to your palace to heal. I will look into this matter at once.”

He Xuan watches as General Nan Yang and General Xuan Zhen carry the body to the former's palace. After they’re out of sight, he makes a tactical retreat. That body really woke him up.

“Shi Qingxuan-” he starts, but Shi Qingxuan fills in his story for him,

“N-need a moment?” they ask shakily. Lucky for him, he does need a moment. Just not like what they’re thinking. Shi Qingxuan would want comfort from another person, but they know He Xuan, or in their eyes, Ming Yi, would not. Hopefully, they can find their brother or something.

“Yeah,” he replies. Thank goodness for Shi Qingxuan.

____

A few minutes later, he’s back at the Earth Master’s palace, using the communication array to contact another Supreme.

“What is it?” The Supreme in question drawls lazily. “What do you need, money? Food? It will be added onto your debt.”“Nothing of that sort,” He Xuan sneers, though Hua Cheng cannot see it. “Someone new has ascended to heaven. Thought you might want to know who it is?” He can feel Hua Cheng become more attentive, probably hoping it was his god. He probably would have paused if he were below himself. “Well then? Who is it?”“That’s the thing,” He Xuan says. “What ascended was, basically, a corpse.”“A corpse? Not a ghost?” Hua Cheng inquires. He can tell that he’s very interested. “Can ghosts even ascend? No, like, a corpse. It might have been alive, but it certainly looked dead. I might be wrong, but I believe it’s the Guoshi Fangxin. I could check for you.”“Perhaps you could. That’s certainly interesting.”“Do you want me to go to General Xuan Zhen’s palace?”“I really don’t care.”“Okay…”____

And that was how He Xuan found his way to General Xuan Zhen’s palace. Fucking great.

Fate really doesn’t like him anymore, does it?

He absent-mindedly goes through the routine of getting past some of the junior officials and insists he can find Guoshi Fangxin on his own. Which is how he finds himself peeking through a random door. And of course, he has to deal with the bullshit that is Guoshi Fangxin is sitting up, probably awake.

Listening closer, he hears… something. Akin to sobbing, maybe.

____

When he awakens, there is pain.

There is always pain.

But the pain is lesser, now.

And everything felt so… light. And he can see, in what feels like forever. When was the last time he truly saw? It isn’t as beautiful as the gold-white light and the people, but it’s something other than nothing. He’s endlessly grateful for this dream.

He tries sitting up, which doesn’t work. His core isn’t what it used to be. He wishes he could experience this dream to the fullest, but this works as well. Despite everything, it’s still him. He’s still here.

It’s so good.He eventually finds his way up, supporting himself on the soft lumps below him. His arms aren't what he wishes they were, but he can still move them. He still tries. His face stretches into something, he doesn’t know what. It pulls at his skin uncomfortably, but he can’t stop.

He tries to make a sound. It doesn’t work.

His arms still work, so he reaches up to his throat, feeling… something. It’s hollow. Maybe a hole? Or a scar? Something. He can’t talk anymore. He wishes he could express his joy, but the sound won’t come out.

He must stay strong for this to continue. He realizes he’s kept his eyes closed the whole time.

He names the color he saw; red. It was red he saw beneath his eyelids. Another beautiful color, he thinks. Red.

Oh wow, he has eyelids too.

He cracks open his eyelids a tiny bit; enough for light to seep through his eyelashes. It’s beautiful.

The design is elegant but not too much, from what he can see. The walls are white. There are carvings along the pillars. He gives his moments some time to adjust before opening them up some more. It seems almost like a white flash, the way he processes it- it’s too much, too fast, but still he can’t help but want more.

Heaven, he thinks. This is Heaven. He relaxes, allowing himself to take in the sight of this perfect place slowly. He feels a sense of joy, a feeling of contentment. He’s shaking, that much he knows.

His head gets tired, or maybe it’s just him. He looks down. The soft cloth beneath him becomes blurry. He blinks some wetness away from his eyes, but they fall, staining it. His face scrunches up painfully. He doesn’t feel bloody anymore. He’s still dirty, though. He’s messy.

Blood- the blood inside him- rushes down his arms and chest. It has been since he sat up. It feels good. There is an infinite amount of it inside and outside of him. Blood is always a constant; whether dry or wet or blue or red or-

It’s always there. Inside of you.

His blood is red, too.

His shoulders shake. He hears something creak .

His head leads his eyes towards the noise. Standing in between… two doors, is a person, a real, living person.

He could cry from joy, he is crying from joy. He could lift his arms, but he can’t talk. He wants to see them.

Catching the stranger's eye, the stranger hesitantly walks in. He stares at them in awe.

The stranger wears detailed black and gold robes. The gold matches the stranger's eyes, which are narrowed and locked on him. Dark hair is tied up in a high ponytail, but his bangs still cover some of his face.

Before, he didn’t have enough time to study the people in front of him; he was too overcome with emotions to even register their facial expressions. Years of solitude have probably rubbed off some of his social skills, but the stranger looks… weird. Disgusted? Hesitant? It’s certainly something, he knows.

Maybe it’s uncomfortable, the way the stranger shuffles his feet and looks like they’re working up the courage to say something. He doesn’t know why it catches him off guard when he finally speaks.

“Are you the Guoshi Fangxin?”

#tgcf #xie lian #heaven officials blessing #mu qing #ming yi #he xuan #shi qingxuan #suspense #heaven #woooohooo #ao3 link

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theoldaeroplane · 2 years ago

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jouwnaling

had a really, really nice day yesterday, was just in a lovely mood all day. I think it may have been related to the fact I did not get high the night before, so I'm going to try to test that theory and dial my usage down. I really enjoy weed and think it has a lot of benefits, especially for neurodivergent folk, but I'm recognizing that I used it as a way to cope with my situations last year. I'd like to wean myself off it a bit and be more present now that my life is starting to not suck. Still gonna keep it around for fun and really bad ruminating though. Weed makes it so much easier for me to hang out with people in person for a long time, and to go into overstimulating spaces.

Been having tons of fun rotating my version of Link in my brain for Antebellum (the WIP name of my LoZ fic). He has so many problems. He is a dumb motherfucker. I'm also consciously putting a lot of things I've been struggling with into this story, both to process them for myself and to give the fic, you know, that extra layer of authenticity, relatability? It's nice, I'm excited to be excited again. I'm gonna fuck up that elf boy so bad.

Had my second yoga class last night, it was nice. I'm not sure if I can afford to keep going but I'm going to try to. In a way it feels silly to pay for something I could technically do for free at home with a YouTube video, but I think the atmosphere makes a significant enough difference to be worth paying for.

Finally made a vet appointment for the dog. She needs her shots and I can't put off the fact she needs dental surgery any longer.

I really, really need to reopen commissions, but I still feel burned out on art. I'm trying to make some adoptables and YCHs as a middle ground. Haven't had a lot of success there yet. That said, I've been putting a lot of my energy into cleaning up my house and taking care of myself. The house is coming along really well, and hopefully soon I'll have it leveled out enough to make it a nicer space for my creative endeavors.

I applied for another job this week, one totally out of my field and experience: house cleaning. It's not something I'd ever considered, but I found the listing by chance and it occurred to me that a job where I just clean and listen to podcasts sounds like heaven. Especially for my autistic ass. No constant stream of customers. No dress shirts. No repeatedly explaining terms and price sheets. Just show up and clean. I'm sure such a job has its own frustrations (hard on the body, exceptionally gross houses, telling people when something is not in my job description, driving a lot), but, like. My current job---while I genuinely like a lot of the work, and I really love my boss and coworkers---the customer service aspect is killing me, the dress code brings back bad memories, and even though I'm working full time (over full time, even, I'm there 8:30-5 because I take a thirty minute lunch break) I'm not making enough to fully support myself. I keep getting sent home early because there's nothing for me to do, and my boss is only a regional manager and has been very forthcoming with the fact I am already at the absolute highest end of the payscale for my position without taking on more responsibilities.

The fact that I can be working full time and still have to rely on a side hustle, and even THEN can't put anything aside for savings, is awful. I can't do more hours, I can't take on more responsibilities, and I can't get a second job. Any of those things would seriously compromise my mental health and I have to take care of myself. I've always dreaded it when I'm asked to take on more responsibilities at my jobs. I don't want advancement, I don't want to manage anyone (I can barely manage myself!), I don't give a shit what my title is. I want to do my work really well, get paid, and go home.

And the cleaning job, at the absolute lowest end, still pays about 5k more per year than my current position.

So, currently, yeah, housecleaning sounds like a dream job. Show up. Clean. Leave. Repeat. The company in question also has glowing employee reviews on Glassdoor, with the worst things being "could pay better" and "sometimes there's favoritism." I don't have any qualms about """being a maid""" on like a social level or whatever. I like the idea that I would be making a tangible difference for individuals, instead of printing out hundreds of advertising mailers that are going to go directly into the trash. I finding cleaning very satisfying. I like the idea of not sitting around bored because there's no customers and nothing to do and I'm not allowed to have my phone out, and then getting sent home early so I miss out on half my pay for that day. And so much less masking! My god! It sounds like paradise!

The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, but sometimes that's because it really is better grass.

So. Hoping to hear back about that soon. I filled out a questionnaire thing for them yesterday that seemed like it was basically checking to see if I was a narcissistic sociopath or not. I have a weekend without any Special Events happening for the first time in like a month, just my tabletop games and my volunteer work. My clothes and bedding are all washed, I got most of the dog piss smell out of the carpet from when I was too exhausted to take her out often enough, and I cut my hair. I have a writing project again. I've been making new friends and reconnecting with old ones. I adore going out to the barn every saturday. My therapist says I'm doing really, really well. Everything's coming up Corgi, for now. Fingers crossed :)

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princeescaluswords · 2 years ago

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Your reply about the Jeep covered a lot, but it left out what I think may be one of the most significant, or at least most explicit, discussions of its symbolism: the speech that the Sheriff gave Eli during Scott’s eulogy for Derek. I’ve seen it inspire hatred toward Scott for abandoning the Jeep even though, as you stated, the last time we see it driven is by Stiles. It arguably also praises Derek at Stiles’ expense re: putting bandaids on problems. Badly timed but interesting dialogue.

In The Wolves of War (6x20), the series' final episode, there is a scene where Scott, Stiles, Derek, and Lydia are in the animal clinic's back room. Stiles tells the story of how he rescued Derek from an FBI manhunt after he was framed by Kate and Gerard.

In the first version of the story, told by Stiles, he heroically brings Derek out of danger during a gun fight. It's dramatic. In the second version of the story, Derek carries a yowling Stiles who has got shot in the foot. It is revealed, of course, that the second version is the true one: Stiles did get a wound in the foot. His pinkie toe was obliterated; it was very funny.

But what was the purpose of that scene? It didn't reveal any new information. It lightened the mood after the death of Deucalion and the reveal that Gerard has put people into danger, but that could have been done with a little banter. I feel that the key piece of evidence is the presence of Lydia in the scene. Almost every cast member was present at the fight at the shipping containers, so why add only her to Scott, Stiles, and Derek?

This scene, in my opinion, was the production's acknowledgement and thank you to the Sterek shippers, which is an extraordinarily significant part of the Teen Wolf fandom. They invoked the Rashomon Effect to tell those fans "you saw something that you enjoyed, and we appreciate the passion you put into it, but it's not real. Stiles is with Lydia; Stiles and Derek were never romantically involved." As part of the final episode it was a compromise with those fans and a farewell.

The scene to which you refer in the movie doesn't serve a similar function. It's not a secret message to the Sterek fandom. Let me reproduce the dialogue:

Sheriff Stilinski: Hey. Your dad had complicated feelings about that Jeep. But it doesn't mean it needs to be complicated for you. All you got to do… is keep it running. Just keep it going.

The primary function of this speech -- the essential reason it's there -- is to remind the audience that the show always argued for focusing on what's valuable rather than dwelling on loss. This was embodied in the resilience of Scott's and Stiles's friendship, a friendship that was most often symbolized by the Jeep. Do I need to list the number of season-ending set pieces which serve to underline the enduring nature of their friendship -- Season 2, Season 3A, Season 5B, Season 6A? Two of which featured the Jeep prominently.

Noah is telling Eli that the way to move forward is not by ignoring the past, but not allowing it to control you . Yeah, Eli clashed with his father (the same way Scott and Stiles clashed from time to time), but Derek loved Eli and Eli loved Derek (the same with Scott and Stiles). That's what is important. It's a very good message, and one repeated often in the show. But there's nothing romantic about that scene. It's about moving on from the past without forgetting it, not revealing an important secret from it. It would be downright cruel for the production to use that scene to reveal that "Sterek is real" and there is no motive, profit-based or artistic, for anyone to do that.

Jeff Davis moved heaven an earth to keep Stiles's presence in the movie when he didn't have to. He certainly wasn't doing it to protect the movie from the haters. Nothing short of a nuclear war could do that.

Why would a speech by Noah to Eli about enduring loss be a secret (or apparently not-so-secret) message to Sterek shippers? As for the fandom scorn, why would they expect Scott to drive a 46-year old Jeep? It's not like Scott insisted it be destroyed or made fun of it? And he didn't abandon it by the side of the road. As Noah put it, Stiles 'left it behind.' We leave all sorts of things behind when we grow up, because we have to.

After all, they underlined this message with Scott's opening and closing line: "I'm not worried about the past, because now I have a future." I think that's a much more consistent message than hints at a love story that never happened.

#sterek #scott mccall #eli hale #derek hale #stiles stilinski #teen wolf the movie

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hellototty · 4 years ago

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Head cannon/Scenario #1

(Prompt sent in by bunniesugarie, prompt being: wanting to surprise boyfriend with kiss but accidently kissing one of the other NEETs instead)

__________________________________________________

Osomatsu:

(Y/n) just won big at Pachinko and so being a good partner they decided to share the money with their pervert boyfriend, Osomatsu

When they got there they had knocked on the door three times but seeing as no one responded they decided to just go in

When (Y/n) entered they decided to head to the living room, half because they felt their boyfriend would be too distracted reading his p*rnos to answer the door and half because they wanted to sneak kiss him

When they came into the room they saw that the Matsuno's got a new green sofa and they also saw their "boyfriend" sitting on it with his face looking down

Suddenly however he looked up upon hearing them entering the room and that was when they decided to strike

And so they kissed their "boyfriend"

"(Y/n)?"

They heard a voice from behind them and immediately recognized it as being Osomatsu’s

But wait if Oso is behind them then who's...?

They immediately pulled away and noticed that they had accidently kissed Choromatsu, and that Choromatsu was surprisingly redder that the pine on their boyfriend's sweater

"Ah, sorry Choro-ppi. Shoulda noticed the lack of cowlicks."

However he was too shocked to answer back

Osomatsu went up to his brother and put his arm around his brother neck

"Yeah, but it's okay that you didn't notice, (Y/n). Anyway I gotta go make Fappymatsu into Fappydeadtsu."

And with that he carried Choro out of the room.

Karamatsu:

(Y/n) had started to take guitar lessons from their “cool” boyfriend, Karamatsu

And so they walked up to their door and knocked on it five times

On the fifth knock (Y/n) decided to enter by themself and came to the thought that maybe he was waiting on the roof to serenade them when they came but simply didn't see them

Well they simply couldn't have this; I mean he already did a lot for them, they felt

So instead (Y/n) decided to go to the roof and surprise him instead

When they got to the roof as they expected they saw their “boyfriend” sitting there

Yet going to the roof maybe wasn't their smartest plan, as due to their fear of heights they started to stager around

And that's when they accidently fell on him in turn smashing their lips together

'Well not exactly the way I wanted to surprise him but I guess this works.' (Y/n) thought actually being half right as they certainly did surprise their gray and blue clad boyfriend

"(Y/n)?"

They heard the distinctive deep voice of their boyfriend behind them, and with that they immediately pounced off of the brother they accidently kissed, very cat like

However that wasn't the only thing that was very cat like as the guy they kissed turned out to be Jyushimatsu who had his trademark cat eyes

"My little Jyushimatsu, what were you and MY belle Karamatsu darling doing?"

He asked with a bit of a possessive voice, before sighing

"No, that came out wrong, just (Y/n) what were you doing on the roof, if you missed me then that's okay, just don't do something reckless, okay my Karamatsu bunny, I just don't want you to be hurt. And bruzzah, we'll talk about this later."

Choromatsu:

(Y/n) had just bought tickets to Nyaa-Chans newest concert, and while they were alright on the singer they knew Hashimoto was a particular favourite of their otaku boyfriend, Choromatsu

They just arrived after the purchase of said tickets, '6000 yen just for some tickets?! If only Choro-ppi's interests were less expensive!'

They knocked on the door of their house four times, before deciding to just enter and get swarmed by the brothers

However when they entered, there was nothing of the sort

This somewhat relieved (Y/n) as at least they wouldn't have to deal with their tomfoolery like usual

And so they decided to head to their bedroom/personal living room and wait there for them to come back

However when they did go there instead of a bare room like they expected, they did actually see that one of the boys was still home

(Y/n) assumed that it would've been their boyfriend as he wasn't the most sociable and they knew that he had just recently bought a new issue of OPM, so he may have decided to stay home to read that instead

And (Y/n) really liked seeing his adorable embarrassed blushing face so what better way to be privy to that look than surprise kiss him?

So they did just that but they must have been too distracted by kissing their "boyfriend" to notice the loud bang of two doors opening, one being the house door, and the other being the bedroom door

"Jeez, what an asshole! He really lit my ass hair on- (Y/n)-Chan?"

(Y/n)'s ears immediately picked up on the annoyed but cute voice of their boyfriend coming from behind them and so they shot up like a rocket and looked rather bashful and ashamed of their mistake

"Ichimatsu… anyway wanna go to the pub, (Y/n)-Chan? Akatsuka knows I could do with a drink."

This immediately brightened their mood and soon after they went out of the house to go to the aforementioned pub, while Ichimatsu passed out from excessive blood loss

Ichimatsu:

'I miss Ichinyah!' (Y/n) thought whining, as they had not seen their boyfriend since Monday (provided Monday was yesterday)

(Y/n) was on their usual walk when they looked to the left of their and saw an alley way

Now in the alley way, they saw someone with a bowl haircut and a hoodie on feeding some adorable little stray cats

However, the alley was much too dark to pick up on anything else apart from that

So with those distinctive clues they decided that it must have been their anti-social boyfriend, Ichimatsu

'Ichinyah? Ichinyah!' They thought as they ran up to their "boyfriend", loomed over him, and planted a kiss on his lips

"(Y/n)?"

They heard Ichimatsu's dreary voice from behind them say, causing them to turn around and say happily, "Yes?"

However immediately after that they realized that if Ichimatsu was behind them then who did they just kiss?!

"Karamatsu?" They said looking at the man's face and immediately noticing the shades that only he would wear in a dark alley

"Akatsuka-damnit, Shittymatsu! First you steal cats from me and now this?!"

Ichimatsu shouted more than peeved off, and this was (Y/n) knew they had to say something before this escalated like it usually does

"Wait it was my fault! I accidently kissed Kara-Kun!" (Y/n) said and Ichimatsu's face immediately softened

"Oh… Well, what were you even doing here? I thought you preferred dogs." Ichimatsu asked with a raised eyebrow

"Ichinyah, just cause I prefer dogs doesn't mean that I don't like cats, I mean that's like me saying that just cause I prefer you as my boyfriend means that I don't like your brothers as friends." This caused Ichimatsu to blush as he was happy to know you preferred him over his brothers

Jyushimatsu:

(Y/n) decided to take their dog out for a walk and decided to go to the park, as they hoped they would be able to run (most likely literally) into their happy-go-lucky boyfriend, Jyushimatsu

After taking a walk around the park maybe six times, they decided to go find a bench to sit down, when to their surprise and joy they saw their "boyfriend"

'Huh, weird that he isn't wearing his usual training gear but maybe he decided to go to the park for some other reason.' (Y/n) thought but they was certain it must've been Jyushi as they never knew any of the other brothers to enjoy the park

And so they went to walk over to him but last minute decided that a fun way to say hi to him was to surprise him with a kiss

And so before they sat down next to him they closed their eyes, puckered their lips, and went in for the smooch

"(Y/n)-Chan!!!"

They heard a voice from behind their shout as it came closer and closer, they knew that voice to be Jyushi's, but if that was Jyushi then…

"Huh, Totty? (Y/n)-Chan why did you just kiss Todomatsu? Well… I guess it's okay cause we do look similar from behind! Especially when we're wearing the same colour!"

(Y/n) was really happy that due to the adorable naivety of their boyfriend he just saw it as a mistake which, in fairness, it was

"Ah, Kiiro don't jump on him I thought I told you about this."

Todomatsu:

(Y/n) was currently in a Sanrio shop as they had a love of all things cute just like their devious boyfriend, Todomatsu

That was when they passed by the Hello Kitty section and saw a boy who looked exactly like their boyfriend

And so (Y/n) walked over to him and decided to wait until he turned around to around to surprise him with a kiss

Now, they figured that this wouldn't be a problem as Totty was never the type to mind PDA, in fact he enjoyed it and was happy to have a person as attractive as them show publicly display their love

Well let's just say today was different…

Anyway, as their "boyfriend" turned around they smashed their lips together

"(Y/n)-Chan?"

They heard Totty's catty voice from behind and with hearing that they immediately pulled away from the person they just kissed, and saw it to be Osomatsu

"Oso? I'm sorry about that."

(Y/n) apologized while Osomatsu's face became smug and flirty

"Oh please, if you can do that again it would make my day."

He said causing the youngest to shoot a death glare at the oldest

"Hehe, you're soooo funny Nii-San anyway, what are you even doing here?"

He asked with a scowl and raised eyebrow, well that was before (Y/n) turned to face him and his face immediately went to his usual expression

On the other hand Oso was nervous about explaining the reason why he was their in the first place

"Uh… Well, I guess there's no point hiding it, I'm a huge fan of Hello Kitty."

However instead of the deriving laughter he expected he instead got a smile from (Y/n) and a shrug from Totty

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(Whelp, there you are my first ever scenario thing, I tried to make (Y/n) as gender neutral as I possibly could, and I would again like to thank bunniesugarie for sending the prompt in, but I would also like to thank you for reading it, well until next time feel free to request away, and Imma start working on memes)

#osomatsu x reader #karamatsu x reader #choromatsu x reader #ichimatsu x reader #jyushimatsu x reader #todomatsu x reader #osomatsu san scenarios #osomatsu san head cannons

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krabjoons · 4 years ago

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omg professor... what are you doing?!?!?! [pjm]

⮕ summary: park jimin is the hottest, most popular guy at school. the only catch? he also just so happens to be your teacher.

⮕ pairing: park jimin x reader, mentions of jaebum x reader

⮕ genre: smut, university!au, pwp

⮕ word count: 12.8k

⮕ rating: 18+, nsfw

⮕ warnings: hard dom!jimin x bratty-ish sub!y/n, professor!jimin x university student! y/n (he’s 27-28 ish and she’s 21-22), fuckboy!jaebum, pussy eating, fingering, thigh riding, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk (carries the whole fic tbh), degradation, edging, dumbification, impact play (pussy + ass spanking), manhandling, humiliation, exhibitionism, creampie, teasing, praise, orgasm denial, begging, overstimulation, crying, kissing/making out, jimin’s a meanie but y/n likes it (aka i go ham on the degradation and edging you have been warned), aftercare (like 500 words of it :P)

⮕ a/n: this took too long to come out and has literally been sitting in my drafts since august but here it is! writing this was definitely a rollercoaster because this was my first smut and honestly i felt like it was really bad at times but other times i was like wtf this is so hot,, ANYWAYS, i’m glad that i’m posting it and getting over that fear of imperfection. i hope that you guys enjoy this piece :). i would also like to add that please don’t hook up with your teachers… if you do, that’s on you i take no responsibility for that whatsoever lol. excuse the title i literally have no idea what to change it to but i like it the way it is tbh LMFAOOO OK I’LL STOP RAMBLING NOW BYEEE ILY ALL

University has never been when you’ve expected. When you first graduated high school and came here, you expected your late teenage years to be filled with just as much studying as high school combined with only a few parties here and there. You didn’t expect to make as many friends as you did and certainly did not expect to be known as the girl with the high grades and even higher alcohol tolerance. No longer are you the shy Y/N L/N that walked through the entrance gates on the first day of school; you’ve changed a lot.

It was a surprise to you. With academics taking precedence much of your life, the freedom university provided you with was welcomed - perhaps a little too much. You quickly learned that polar bear shots were great to keep you in a good mood at parties and that eating mangoes before smoking gave you a better high. And, you also learned about sex.

Admittedly, the first time you had a hookup, it was awkward and messy (at least for you… it was a guy, what else were you expecting?) but with more practice, you were able to get the hang of it. You’ve found your tastes and now willingly talk about who catches your eye to your best friends, something you never thought you’d do last year.

Speaking of who catches your eye, as of now it’s Park Jimin. A really hot guy, according to your friends, and according to you, an even better voice. When you first walked into your Applications of Economics class, you nearly spit out your Starbucks drink after you saw the astonishingly handsome man with silky black hair in a dress shirt and tie. Surprisingly formal for a university student, you thought, but you weren’t one to talk, considering your current outfit of business casual.

Only, he wasn’t a student. He was your teacher. You should’ve put the pieces together earlier but you didn’t. Let's just say a Coconut Lime Refresher is good for hangovers, and you needed one desperately (basically, you were drunk as hell the night before and were still in the process of recovering). It certainly didn’t take long before all of campus was talking about the new economics professor who was hotter than hell. Girls (and some guys) immediately tried transferring into his class, one of them being your best friend Lisa, just to get a glimpse of how attractive he was. You remember a couple of girls offering you literal cash to transfer out, but you didn’t.

A good call, thinking about it now. You’ve gotten closer with Mr. Park, although it’s nothing too special yet, the two of you are on good terms and have even hugged before (you still get giddy thinking about it). Y/N from 2 years ago would be screaming her head off at how bold you’ve gotten, but now, you can’t bring yourself to care. Park Jimin is a hot guy, and you’re pretty hot too (if you must admit), so it would only be logical if the two of you could hook up. Unsurprisingly, you’ve lost your shame, nothing but thoughts of your teacher filling your mind in your spare time.

So here you are, another day of university, as monotonous as ever. The only highlight of your day will be the morning, where you have a class with Mr. Park. You've started changing your style a bit recently, opting for more, let’s just leave it at provocative outfits. Walking into the room, you take your usual seat in the front, closest to Mr. Park’s desk.

The class progresses like it normally does, starting with a review of the work from the last class and a discussion about the new material. "I’m going to give you guys this last half hour of class to review the material individually if you want or you can leave early, I don’t mind. I know it's a Friday so there’s gonna be some parties around campus, if you want to prepare yourselves for that then go ahead." Your professor glances around the room, smirking at you when mentioning the parties. You flush and look away, biting your lower lip.

You make the decision to stay in the classroom while the majority of the other students file out of the room. "I'll be available for any questions," Jimin calls out, returning to his desk across from you.

Sticking to your reputation, you get a head start on the assignment and easily work through the homework. Surprisingly, you forget about Jimin for the time being, focused on finishing your assignment so that you have as little work as possible to do after classes. You don’t notice your teacher looking at you, admiring the way you put so much effort into the things you’re passionate about. Hearing a student call his name, he gets up to help him.

Surprisingly, Mr. Park has assigned a disturbingly low amount of homework, probably because of the upcoming weekend and maybe a pop quiz later next week (ugh). You’ve finished your work in a mere twenty minutes and are surprised to find that Jimin is not at his desk when you look up from your laptop. You turn around, looking for him, and see that he’s helping another student. Whipping out your phone, you text your best friend Lisa (who just so conveniently, also thirsts over Jimin the same way you do).

to lisa: hey i finished classwork for mr park and have like 10 minutes of free time now lol

Instantly, she responds as if she wasn’t in class. Then again, she has never been one to pay too much attention to her professors.

from lisa: ayo talk to him

from lisa: also save me from bio i literally cannot

Smiling slightly, you respond to her.

to lisa: i WOULD but he’s helping other students

from lisa: then be like "m- mister park, i- need help please" and use puppy eyes

to lisa: LMFAOO PLEASE he’d be like whats wrong with you since when did you struggle in this class

to lisa: but i mean, anything to hear him talk i guess

from lisa: god i'm so jealous you have him early so you can hear his morning voice it must be hot asf

to lisa: it is omg

from lisa: god what if he moans like that it'd be such a turn on

to lisa: dUDE STOP NO the way this is literally true like if he has a good sip of coffee or a pastry he likes hes gonna go all "mmmm I wish you could try this" pls its so fking hot

to lisa: like SIR I WANNA TRY YOU or you to try me no complaints

from lisa: wtf he finishes his breakfast before my class so i can't even hear it tf I hate it here

to lisa: u have him right after my block bro at leAST you have him

to lisa: what ab the people who don't even have him

from lisa: idk what i'd do honestly. imagine not having a literal sex god teaching you every day i pity those who dont

You’re about to type out a response when a smooth voice sounds out from behind you, "alright guys, you’re good to go. Have a good weekend!" You jump in your seat, not realizing that your teacher was helping the student right behind you for the past five minutes.

As the rest of the class begins to pack up, you pray that he hasn’t seen you talking about your sexual fantasies less than five feet away from him. Mr. Park doesn’t say anything, so you must be in the clear, right? You’re hoping and praying that he didn’t find out, but your heart rate is already rising and you’re getting a sick feeling in your stomach. Your gut must be trying to tell you something.

Well, your gut’s telling you that the universe must not be on your side because as soon as you stand up, he says, "Ms. L/N, can you stay a bit after class? I have a few things I want to discuss with you." Cheeks flushing hot, you squeak out a "yes, sir."

When everyone has left and it’s just the two of you left in the room, Jimin pulls up a seat next to his desk. "Sit," he commands, leaning on his desk. You scramble to your feet and walk over, mind buzzing with thoughts. Oh god, what if he tells the administration department? Then you’d definitely be punished and maybe even kicked out of the school. Maybe you could make up a story? Oh, it’s ANOTHER Park Jimin, haha. Definitely NOT my teacher. Even if you did, they could go the rest of the texts between you and Lisa and you’d be screwed. And not to be petty or anything, but being kicked out would mean that you wouldn’t be able to be in Jimin’s class anymore and wouldn’t be able to see him. Oh, and the bigger problem would be that you’d also be unable to get your degree.

You start internally panicking, heart rate picking up even when your teacher rolls up his sleeves and leans down in front of you. Stop thinking about dirty things FOR ONCE, Y/N, half of you screams, while the other half of you has already started fantasizing about things which shouldn’t be thought about, especially with one of the people in the fantasies less than a couple of feet in front of you. With his hands on his thighs, the ones you’ve thought about riding far too often, he smirks.

"So, I heard you wanna try me?"

You gulp, absolutely mortified that Jimin caught you. Yes, he was attractive, and you would do practically anything to fuck him, but you didn’t expect to be humiliated into admitting it. "Um, no sir! I mean, maybe, but not in the way you think!" you ramble. Shut up, Y/N, part of you screams. You’re only digging yourself into a deeper hole.

"Yeah, sure. Because I definitely didn’t see what you were talking about with your friend. Be honest, Y/N," he says, smirking down at you. "You think about me, don't you? I'm not new to this. I see the way girls like you look at me. I know the way they talk about me when they think I can't hear. I know the way you think. Who would've thought? Little Miss L/N, all prim and proper on the outside, would be so filthy deep down?"

"Sir, I- uh. I-" you stutter out, cheeks burning furiously hot.

"You what? You're not going to try to prove your innocence now, are you? Not when you've gotten this far, hm? Getting to do what you’ve wanted after all this time?" he asks, standing up from his desk, and walking over to you, kneeling in front of you so that you were forced to hold eye contact.

"You know, nobody else has been as daring as you, my dear," he hums softly. "Sending promiscuous texts about their teacher in the very class they're in. Rubbing their thighs together every time their teacher catches their eye." You shift in your seat, Jimin's words sparking the slightest of fires in your core. "Gazing ever so obviously at said teacher’s dick, too. Y/N, you amaze me. So, so brilliant. yet so, so naughty. You thought that nobody else would catch onto you? Unfortunately, you thought wrong."

"I'm s- sorry sir," you whisper out.

"You're just sorry that you got caught, Y/N. You'll keep doing this even after today," Jimin chuckles lowly. "Possibly even more after today," he adds on, taking note of how his words have affected you. Your pupils are dilated and your cheeks are starting to get flushed. "Such a dirty girl. I'm here trying to scold you, and here you are, getting turned on by my words. Is this why you ask so many questions, doll? To hear my voice?"

You bite your lip in a mixture of embarrassment and nervousness, nodding imperceptibly. The logical, studious side of you is thinking, oh my god, is this really happening? Am I going to fuck my teacher? I really shouldn’t be doing this. The relaxed, easygoing side of you (pretty much your horny side) is thinking, finally, it’s happening. I’m going to FINALLY be fucking Park Jimin.

"What else have you imagined about my voice, hm? How I'd whisper into your ear while pounding into you? Hear me moan as your tight cunt clenches around my dick? Tell you how good you're making me feel? Reminding you how much of a slut you are to fuck your teacher in the middle of his classroom, where anyone could walk in?" he continues, seeing you shift in your seat more. "Would you like that?" he asks.

"Y- yes Mr. Park. I- I would," you whisper. You have to consciously clench your thighs together to keep them from spreading at his words.

"Hm, I don't believe you. Try again another time, darling," he sighs, leaning back on his knees, getting ready to stand up. You don't want this, whatever it is, to be over that quickly so you make up your mind. Swallowing your pride and succumbing to the dull throb in your panties, you pout.

"But professor, I really do want you. I want you to make me feel good and I wanna make you feel good. Please," you whine out. "I wanna be thinking about you all the time because you fucked me so well in class. And when my friends talk about wanting to get in your pants, I want to be the only one who already has. Please, Mr. Park. I need you." you breathe out. At this point, the pressure in your core is rising steadily, and only intensifies when you see the way your teacher's eyes are glazed over in lust and eyebrows are furrowed. Your eyes travel down the expanse of his face to his lips, plump and pink. Oh, the number of times you've wished to kiss them, imagined them suckling on your clit. And now that Jimin knows, perhaps it's finally coming true.

"You'd like that, hm? God, you're so dirty," Jimin mutters, inching closer to you, cautiously placing a hand on your knee. Your legs instantly part to make room for him in between and he inches forward. "Does dirty talk really turn you on that much, Y/N? I can smell you through your panties," he remarks.

"Mr. Park, please do something," you whimper. And with that, Jimin pulls you over to his desk and sits you on the edge. You spread your legs and he stands in between them. He leans his head closer to you until he's next to your ear.

"Want me to get you off with my words? You seem to like that already and I haven't even tried, doll. Or perhaps," he pauses, bunching up your skirt so that it pools at your waist. "You want me to touch you?"

You nod eagerly, chest heaving in anticipation. "I want both Mr. Park. I want you," you purr salaciously. And with that, your teacher lets out a low growl and presses his lips onto yours harshly. It’s already bruising, but you just can’t get enough of the way he tastes of caramel and coffee and how ridiculously soft his lips are, so you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in even closer. He seems a little put off by how eager you are, but once he hears you sigh in enjoyment, he melts into your eager grasp.

His hands start sliding down your waist so that they are resting on your upper thighs, and he rubs comforting circles into them, trailing them closer and closer to your panties. He breaks off from the kiss to look down and smirks back at you before joining his lips to yours with even more fervor and you praise yourself for deciding to wear your lace thong today. You feel his tongue slide against your lips, asking for permission to enter and your mouth immediately complies.

The feeling of his hot breath on your lips and thumbs rubbing against the juncture of your thighs has you feeling needy for more. Jimin swirls the tip of his tongue against yours, the filthy action turning you on even more. You moan into his mouth and thread your fingers through his hair, causing him to let out a low groan.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the two of you break apart. Chest heaving up and down, you take note of your teacher's face. His lips are redder and plumper than ever before. His cheeks have the faintest blush on them. His eyes, the ones that crinkle into a happy smile whenever you answer a question correctly in class, are now clouded over with deep lust.

"Get onto all fours. On the desk," Jimin commands, and you immediately comply. Now your ass is facing Jimin and you're very nearly completely exposed to him, save the thong you're wearing.

"God, you're such a slut," Jimin moans out at the sight. "Do you get dressed up like this just so you can get fucked in class? Such a short fucking skirt that I can see whatever you're wearing underneath whenever you bend over, hm? You wanted me to give in to you, doll?" When you nod weakly, he chuckles, "I don't think so."

Arching your back so your ass sticks out even more, you whine, "professor, please fuck me. I'm so fucking horny, please." Jimin cups your pussy from outside your panties and leans over you, "I don't think so, kitten. I'm the one calling the shots here." Your pussy flutters in response and Jimin slaps it lightly, chuckling. The brief stimulation has your cunt clenching around nothing.

He spreads your knees slightly and begins trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses up your thighs to the arch of your back. Feeling his breath so close to your core has you getting wetter by the minute in anticipation. He finally hovers over your back, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder, muttering, "I'm going to wreck you, Y/N", and you feel yourself clench in excitement.

"Then do it," you whisper, and Jimin hooks his fingers around the waistband of your thong and pulls it down, so slow that it's almost painful, exposing your heat to the cool air of the classroom and causing you to shiver in response.

You don't see it, but his eyes widen seeing the strings of your slick connecting your pussy to your panties. He takes a look at your core and his mouth starts watering. You're soaking and clenching around nothing, thighs shaking ever so slightly in anticipation.

He flattens his tongue and licks a flat stripe up your pussy, from your clit to your entrance. He pauses to suck some of your juices from it, but your cunt just keeps leaking them out. He runs his tongues through your folds over and over again until you let out a wanton moan.

Encouraged by your reaction, he hooks his arms around the side of your hips, nuzzling closer into your pussy. He laps at your cunt and purposely avoids your clit, only heightening the pressure in your core.

"Mr. Park," you whine out, pushing your hips back. "Please. More," you pant out. Suddenly, Jimin spanks your right ass cheek, rubbing his hand over the fleshy globe soothingly afterward. You let out a little yelp and turn around to catch his eyes.

"More what?" he spits out, smiling at you evilly. "My little slut's gotta tell me what she wants. How else would I give it to her?" your mind is foggy, pleasure causing you to lose track of everything other than the man behind you. "W- want you," you garble out, "t- to play with my clit too."

"What's the magic word, doll?" Jimin teases, breath fanning over your slit, causing your walls to clench erratically. "Please, Mr. Park," you whine, pushing your cunt closer to his face. He smirks at you, avoiding your advances.

"Good girl," he praises before finally positioning himself just barely in front of your clit. You feel him blow cool air onto your slit, but the temperature of it is magnified even more due to how wet you are. You whine out, expressing your displeasure, and Jimin finally indulges you by taking your throbbing button between his plush lips.

"F- fuck, sir, yes! Right there, please," you squeal, back arching even more. Jimin hums, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel yourself growing wetter, your entrance squeezing out more and more of your arousal down to where Jimin's lips are sucking. He momentarily pauses to flatten his tongue out, letting your juices drip onto them and slurping them up eagerly. The obscene noises behind you combined with the low thrum of student life just outside the classroom door mesh together to have you realize where exactly the two of you are doing this.

You glance at the clock, and your eyes widen. "Prof- oh my god, Pr- Professor Park," you moan out, trying to keep your focus. Jimin again hums, making you jolt in pleasure. "I- uh, there’s only ten minutes until the next block of classes start. I need t- to leave in around five." When Jimin releases from you with a pop, you can feel your slick running down your thighs and some dripping onto his desk. You feel a rush of excitement at the thought of everyone walking in during class to see the mess Jimin made of you on his desk and again squeeze around nothing.

"Well then," Jimin hums lazily, "guess you better cum within five minutes if you want to cum at all." He dives back into your heat, tongue skillfully running through your folds. He cycles between kitten licking and delivering harsh sucks to your clit and dipping his tongue into your entrance. You grind against his face in desperation to reach your release, and just when you finally feel it hurtling towards you at an alarming rate, suddenly, Jimin gets up.

He leans over you, trailing a hand up your slick-ridden thigh to cup your bare heat and mutters lowly in your ear, "time’s up." Your heart drops in frustration, and you whine out. Grinding into his palm, you beg for him to touch you once again, knowing nothing but how good he was making you feel just seconds ago. "Mr. P- Park, please. Make me cum," you cry out.

Jimin spanks your pussy, a wet echo sounding through the room. You jolt forward and your cunt leaks out even more of your arousal in response to the combination of pain and pleasure. "I said no," he hisses, "you couldn't cum in time, you don't deserve to cum."

"God, look at you, you're a mess. Bent over and spread out so desperately for me. You taste so sweet, doll. So responsive, too," Jimin murmurs, lazily rubbing your slit. He's, once again, avoiding your clit and driving you insane. Your sensitive nub is now swollen and throbbing with need, slick with your arousal.

"Has anyone touched you as well as I do, Y/N?" he asks. When you shake your head, he slaps your cunt again, another wet sound echoing through the room. "Words, baby girl," he goads, fingers dancing through your folds.

"N- no, sir. they can’t make me feel half as good as you did. I’ve al- I’ve always been thinking about having you touch m- my cunt and making me cum really hard. and I- shit I’m so needy sir, I wanna cum," you garble out, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. You feel Jimin’s hand leave your pussy, exposing your soaked heat to the cool air of the room. Slowly, he pulls your thong up your thighs and the light touches make you clench in desperation and whine out.

He marvels at the sight of you so fucked out in front of him. The way his top student was falling apart at the slightest touches he gave you. And the words you said. God, to have you say such filthy things in comparison to your gentle demeanor, all because of him, it really did something to him.

Jimin finishes clothing you and presses a kiss to the top of your ass and walks across the room to get some tissues to clean up the mess you made. Still perched on the desk, you watch him needily, thighs rubbing together to relieve some of the pressure from being denied your orgasm. "So I really don’t get to cum?" You ask meekly, holding back a sob. "I need to cum, Mr. Park."

He chuckles, "there’s a difference between need and want, doll. You want to cum, you don't need to cum. But what you do need," he returns to you, leaning down so that his face is right in front of yours, "is to get to your next class." Your face, once eagerly lit up in anticipation, has now fallen in disappointment.

Rolling your eyes, you huff out a "fine" and get off his desk, feeling your arousal make your thighs stick together. Your panties are uncomfortably damp and you’re so wet you can even smell yourself. "Can you make me cum later?" you question Jimin, sliding closer to him and playing with his tie, praying that he’ll be the one to make you release instead of having to do it yourself when you get home.

"If you play nice I might. If not, then… we’ll see," he hums, handing you a tissue to clean yourself up while heading to wipe down his desk. "I have a lunch meeting in the second half of the lunch block, so if you really need me, I’ll be here before then."

You grin and nod in excitement. "Cool! so I’ll-" you begin before the first students from the next class start filing in, making you jump. "The door wasn’t locked?" you whisper frantically to him. "We could have been caught, Jimin! Are you crazy?!"

He smirks at you, "didn’t you say you wanted it that way? Where anyone could walk in? I only did what you asked, doll." You’re left speechless as he continues. "Anyways, you should be in your next class pretty soon. I’ll write a note to your professor just in case you’re late. But get going, yeah? I’ll see you in time for our meeting." He hands you a slip of paper and straightens up, tossing the dirty tissues into the trash can in the corner of the room.

"Okay class, we’re going to get started soon. I presume you all did the reading, so just prepare for the discussion we’re going to be having about it when the bell rings," he calls out to the class. Turning to face you, he questions quietly with genuine concern, "you okay? Did I push you too much for our first time?"

Your mind swirls with thoughts. Our first time. The words fill you with giddy excitement. It’s just the two of you that know about this, the dirty things you were doing just minutes ago, very nearly getting caught. Knowing that this won’t be the only moment you guys are doing this, fills you with excitement.

"On the contrary, actually," you tease your teacher with a smile. "It was really nice honestly, but perhaps, you didn’t do enough." You bite your lip at the way Jimin's eyes darken and he looks away. "Get to class, Ms. L/N. The bell will ring any minute," he says lowly, jaw slightly clenched. Your core throbs at the sight and you head towards the door.

"Goodbye, Mr. Park. Thank you!" you call out, catching sight of Lisa, who raises her eyebrows at you teasingly and mouths text me. Blushing, you nod at her before leaving the room to go to your next class.

Being "one of the smartest students on campus" comes with its perks. Like right now, for example. You always (somehow) come to class overprepared, so when your next teacher gives you a day to work on your project (which you've already finished), you head to the back of the room to text Lisa in private.

from lisa: dude wtf was that you were literally talking to Mr. Park outside of ur class time with him

from lisa: omg wait don't tell me you fucked him

from lisa: did you

to lisa: NO I DID NOT OMG I wish tho lmao

to lisa: I was asking him for help on the paper he's assigning us and to proofread it and stuff before I submit it

from lisa: omg I forgot he assigned us that shit

to lisa: dude lmao its due in a week or so you have plenty of time

from lisa: ugh literally he's such a hottie why does he have to be so into teaching

to lisa: sis commitment to something is hot

from lisa: omg ur right wait a sec tho

from lisa: dude

from lisa: omg

from lisa: he definitely has a boner

Knowing that you were likely the cause of it, you shift in your seat cockily, smiling slyly to yourself while looking down.

to lisa: whAT

to lisa: wait how big is it

from lisa: ok I dont think he’s fully hard yet he's like semi hard but barely

from lisa: LMFAO Y/N don't worry I think he’s packing seems kinda thick too

Taking in a deep breath, you look up at the ceiling. You imagine him slowly sinking into you and making you whimper at his size. Him seeing your face and growling, "if you’re really a good girl, you should be able to take it." You cross your legs tightly and rock up and down in a lame attempt to diminish the rising pressure between your thighs and look back down at your phone.

to lisa: pls thats so hot

from lisa: IKR I want him to r a i l me

to lisa: or eat me out… have you sEEN those lips of his wtf

from lisa: on god do not get me started

to lisa: pls i bet he’d be the type to tease you

Oh Lisa, if only you knew the truth behind those words.

from lisa: YES hes lowkey cocky bc he knows like the entire fucking population simps for him

from lisa: he’s def gonna make you beg to cum

to lisa: pls thats hot do not get me riled up in class istg

from lisa: too late i've already started babe ;)

You continue texting Lisa throughout the entirety of your class. Finally, you look at the clock and seeing that there are only a few more minutes till the class ends, you wrap up your conversation with her.

to lisa: hey btw i’m gonna be coming to lunch late… save me a seat at our regular spot?

from lisa: when ur best friend is a teachers pet :(( fiNE I guess I will

to lisa: love u!! xx

from lisa: love you too nerd xoxo

The bell finally rings, signaling the start of the lunch break and you immediately stand up and walk out the door, bidding your teacher goodbye and thanks.

Running into the bathroom, you do a quick check of your appearance. You tug up your skirt a bit higher and tuck in your shirt so that your outfit accentuates your curves. You glance at your face and notice how abnormally large your pupils are in comparison to most days. Jimin has completely ruined you today, just like he said he would. I'm going to wreck you, Y/N. His words echo in your ears as you make your way out to his classroom. Trying to ignore how uncomfortably wet your panties are, you knock on the door to his room.

You hear a smooth voice answer with a, "come in," and take a deep breath before opening the door to see Jimin sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head. He scans you up and down, eyes taking in every inch of your figure. "Nice outfit alterations," he notes, patting his laps as a hint for you to sit on it. You quickly lock the door and make your way to him, placing one leg on each side of him so that you’re now straddling his thighs. "Is this all for me?" he asks and you tuck your head down, suddenly shy now that all his attention is on you again.

"Mhm, depends on whether you like it or not" you smile timidly, hands reaching out to play with his tie again. He laughs. "Princess, I’m conflicted. You do look very nice, all dolled up for me like this. It’d be a shame if I were to ruin your efforts. But on the other hand," he remarks, "you’ve very nearly crossed the line for indecent exposure. What if another teacher caught you like this? you would get in trouble, hm? And what if it were a student to see you like this? What would they think of you then?" He questions, causing your cheeks to burn at his words.

"They would think I- that I’m a whore. I- and that I dress up like this just so I can pass my classes," you whisper out, biting your lips in a combination of excitement and humiliation. You can feel yourself start to throb again and you start to rut against Jimin’s thighs. He shifts you over so that you are sitting on only one and slightly bounces his leg. The stimulation to your neglected cunt sends a shock running through your body and you squeeze your thighs around his.

"Look at you, so fucking desperate to cum. You think that you aren’t a little whore already, so needy for me this quickly, hm? Do you really think you deserve to cum?" He hums, admiring the way you’re worked up. He pushes up your skirt and slaps your thigh just underneath your ass. You shift away as a reaction, causing your clit to get the stimulation it finally deserved. The way your underwear rubs against your neglected bundle of nerves causes you to let out a groan and drop your head to Jimin's shoulder. He spanks you this time, making you yelp. "I asked you a question, doll."

"Mmhm, yeah," you whine out, "I deserve t- to cum, sir." At this point, your hips are moving on their own accord, shifting back and forth desperately against Jimin's thigh. He grabs your waist tightly, holding you still. "Look at me," he commands, bouncing his thigh. You mewl into his shoulder, the change in motion making you lose focus. He spanks you again, the sound echoing around the room. "Listen to directions, sweetheart. Or else you’ll get punished," he warns.

You lift your head to look at Jimin, faces just inches apart. His eyes scan over your face, lingering on your lips. Slowly, you lean towards him, closing the distance between you two. He gives into your eager kiss and you glide your hands up his firm chest to run your fingers through his hair. He starts bouncing you on his thigh and you groan into his mouth. Breaking apart panting, you place your forehead against Jimin’s, moving your hips back and forth harder to increase the pressure going to your clit.

"God, Y/N, you’re so wet," Jimin pants while looking down at the way your clothed pussy drags over his thigh. "I can feel you soaking through my slacks," he says, shifting you over. just like he said, there is now a wet spot on his thigh from where you just were. Thankfully, it’s barely noticeable, but if you focus enough, you can see it.

"What are you going to do about it, hm? I have classes to teach, meetings to attend. Do you want people to see the mess you made all over me?" He hisses, spanking you to elicit an answer. "N- no, sir. I’m s- sorry," you whisper out, eyes clenched, still rutting against him. You feel your orgasm bubbling up as every second passes.

"I don't think you're sorry, doll. Look at you making a mess all over me through your panties. You're absolutely soaked, so fucking desperate to cum," he tuts, clenching his thigh muscles purposely. You gasp and shove your head into the crook of Jimin's neck, letting out a low groan.

"Mr. Park, I'm so wet because of you. I- god, I wanna cum. please. I'm so close," you mewl into him, legs starting to tighten around his thigh.

You shut your eyes, feeling your impending orgasm build up. Right when you're about to let go, Jimin holds your hips in place tightly, preventing you from moving. Squeaking out, you make an attempt to shift your pussy over his thighs. It's no use because you can feel it start to drift away slowly and you look at him in need. Tears stinging the corners of your eyes, you plead, "S- sir I need you to touch me again. Please."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Jimin smiles cockily, lifting you onto his desk and spreading your legs after stripping you of your panties. You lean back so that you face the ceiling. Your eyes roll back once you feel him take your clit into his mouth. You moan and arch your back off of the desk, thighs involuntarily clenching around his head.

"God, Mr. Park, yes! O- oh, fuck, please," you blabber out incoherently, your mind hazy and overwhelmed with pleasure. "More," you whimper out without thinking.

Jimin disconnects from your heat to look up at you, murmuring, "Greedy little slut wants it all, huh? Won't even ask nicely for it. Tell me what you want, Y/N. Beg for it, and I might just give it to you."

"God, I- I want it all, professor," you call out, wiggling your hips in search of stimulation that never comes. "Want you to stuff me with your f- fingers and lick my p- pussy and make me cum. Want you to fuck me r- raw with your fat cock from behind and sp- and spank me. Want you to ma- make me cry from cumming so hard just as much as you have from not letting me cum. A- and I want you to leave hi- hickies on my thighs so that if I bend over, p- people are gonna know how much of a cockslut I am, just for you."

"Yeah? Well, I can tell you this," Jimin says, fingers dancing up your thigh closer to your sick-ridden core. "You are a cockslut. So fucking dirty. Most people come to class to learn but it seems that you come here to get off." He inserts a finger into you and your walls immediately clamp down on it. He moves the digit in and out of you smoothly, your arousal allowing the smoothest of motions. "You like that, baby? Finally having something in that tight cunt of yours?" You nod at his question, adding on "want more, sir."

"Not enough? Greedy little bitch. look at you, so needy. What are you gonna do when I have my cock out, hm?" He shoves a second finger into you and starts curling them into your heat. You arch your back to the ceiling and he hovers over you. For a moment, there’s nothing but the squelch of his fingers in your wet pussy and your panting as he stares into your eyes. Jimin's eyebrows are furrowed and he’s biting his lip - he’s focusing on something.

That "something" becomes apparent when, all of a sudden, you nearly sit upright and let out a loud moan of pleasure, "Fuck, Mr. Park! right there." His fingers continue rubbing that special spot inside you repeatedly and your legs start shaking ever so slightly. You look back at him to see a smug smile on his face. "I found it," he chuckles as you writhe underneath him. He leans down to kiss you, lips melding together.

He keeps fingering you, bringing his thumb up to ghost over your clit ever so slightly to provide enough pleasure to bring you close to your orgasm but just not enough to make you cum. You whine against his lips and he breaks the kiss, asking "you want to cum, doll?" to which you weakly nod. "Then fuck yourself on my fingers. Show me how much of a little slut you are for me. How you’re a cocksleeve for me, so wet and needy as soon as I touch you, so ready for me to fuck you." He stills his digits inside of you and you buck your hips on them, rolling your pelvis repeatedly in an attempt to get to your orgasm. You reach down to provide some stimulation to your clit, but he smacks it away.

"Jim- professor, it’s not enough. I- I need more, please." Tears start welling up in your eyes at the thought of not cumming for the third time. Jimin kisses your temple, the gentle action reminding you that he’s not going to do something you can’t handle. "Please, Mr. Park. I wanna cum," you whine out, hips jerking back and forth in a pathetic attempt to chase after your high.

"Show me then, Y/N. how much you want it. A good girl can show me that she wants it bad enough and will make herself come on my fingers alone. She’s not greedy. She doesn’t need to touch herself too. She just needs my fingers to cum. I know you can be a good girl, Y/N," he goads. "Can you show me what the pretty little face of yours looks like when you cum? I bet you’ll look so beautiful, even more than you are right now, all fucked out for me."

"Hhngh, sir I- I’m trying," you pant out. "It’s just not enough. I promise I'm a good girl, I swear. Please let me cum. Oh god, I wanna cum." At this point, you’re nearly crying. You haven't ever been edged like this and are desperate for release.

Jimin sees this and purposefully retracts his hand from your cunt covered in your honeyed juices, glistening in the lights of his classroom. "Professor Park, please," you choke out weakly, chest constricting in disappointment. With a soft smile, he brings his fingers up to his mouth and cleans them off, savoring the flavor of you.

"Be a good girl for the rest of the day and then I’ll let you cum, baby," he hums. "You promise?" you plead, holding onto his arm desperately.

"I promise, Y/N," he kisses you gently and you taste the remnants of yourself on his tongue, the filthy action causing your clit to throb even more. Combined with the way your cunt is still clenched tight in preparation for an orgasm that won’t come soon, you can definitely say that you can't wait for the school day to come to an end.

"Go to lunch, doll. I have a meeting soon. Don’t think of me too much, hm? Gotta keep those straight A’s the way they are," Jimin teases, pulling down your skirt slowly, fingers just grazing your thighs. He grabs your panties. "Oh, and I think I'll keep these for now," he says cheekily, putting them in his pocket. "They didn’t seem to be doing their job when you were riding my thigh."

You watch him in shock, cheeks flushing red hot. "I- okay. uh, I’m going to lunch now, Jimin. Have a good lunch and meeting, I guess?" you say awkwardly, shuffling to the door with him, tugging your skirt down.

"Jimin? We’re on a first-name basis already, Y/N? Don’t let anybody hear you call me that in class, baby," he winks, holding the door open and you nod, preoccupied with the little "situation" your skirt just barely hides. You can feel yourself still leaking down your inner thighs, and pray that nobody’s going to notice when you walk into the dining hall.

"Ugh! Bitch, what took you so long?" Lisa exclaims when you sit down next to her with your lunch. You pout. "I wasn't even gone for that long."

"Ha! That long, my ass. You were gone for more than half of the break! I had to tell Jaebum and his cronies to fuck off on my own! I’m not as intimidating when you’re not around, though, so I don’t think it worked. They’ll probably come over again soon." Lisa rolls her eyes. You snort, "One of them probably likes you, that’s why they keep bothering you."

"They just like any female and will take what they can get," Lisa mutters, "but anyway! How was your meeting with Mr. Park? Did you solve his boner problem?" she wiggles her eyebrows.

You clear your throat. "No, Lisa I did not. I'm obviously above that," you say in a sarcastic tone. "I simply offered to," you tease. Lisa squeals and slaps your arm in response. "But for real though," she says. "Anyone that gets to hook up with mister Park Jimin automatically wins at life," and you hum in agreement.

You scan at the dining hall around you and catch the eye of Jaebum sitting with his friend group. He winks at you and you roll your eyes and stand up, "come on Lisa, let’s go. Those assholes are going to come over any second if we stay here any longer." You drag her to your guys’ next class.

The bell rings and the two of you burst out of the classroom. Thank god that’s over. Only one more class left, you think to yourself, gripping your books tighter to your chest in excitement.

"Jesus fuck, since when were you this eager to get to the last class of the day, Y/N? I thought you loved staying in school for as long as possible," Lisa huffs out. You steer her into the direction of your locker, right across from Jimin’s classroom.

"I'm picking up my books, you dummy. Be grateful I paid for this locker because otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to put your books here." You put in the code and exchange your books while Lisa checks herself in the magnetic mirror attached to the door. you have to be careful when bending over because otherwise you’ll flash the entire school, so you do a weird sit-squat thing. "Geeking out over lockers? You act as if you’re still in high school, Y/N," Lisa teases. "Only during the school day," you wink up at her.

Lisa spots someone through the reflection of the mirror and groans out. "Incoming," she warns, rolling her eyes and turning around. "Wha-" you begin when you get cut off by a smooth voice behind you.

"Damn, L/N. didn’t know you wore skirts this short on campus. Looks good on you," the guy winks. "But it would look even better on my bedroom floor." You hold back a gag and turn to Lisa, raising your eyebrows in exasperation.

"Wow, I see the originality," Lisa says in the most sickeningly sweet voice. "What do you want, Jaebum?" He chuckles and places an arm over your head, leaning over you. "Well, I’m having a party tonight, and it would be amazing if you two little ladies could attend. Be mine and Jackson’s plus one?" he says. You’re about to say no when he leans in closer to you, inches away from your face, "plus you can get the high-quality drinks for free, not the cheap booze we leave out for the randos who show up."

"You’re probably gonna drug them or something. No thanks, dickwad." you huff out after a second’s hesitation, pushing him away, ready to go to your next class. "Nah, baby. I may be a fuckboy but at least I've got morals. Whaddya say? You get me off, I get you off? Maybe make you cum so many times it starts hurting? You look like you haven’t been able to get an orgasm in a while, you’re so uptight, L/N," Jaebum smirks.

"You fuckin-" you start to hiss out but you’re shut off again. This time it’s by someone different. Jimin. "Mr. Lim, I don’t think it’s necessarily appropriate to discuss your sexual endeavors while in an academic setting. I’ll be letting you off with a warning for now." He turns to you, eyes flitting across your DIY skimpy outfit. You feel your cunt leak more of your honeyed juices under his piercing gaze and clamp your thighs together to keep them from dripping down your thighs. "And Ms. L/N, I expected better from you. You’re not typically one to do these things in a school environment. Get to class, the two of you," he says, turning back to his classroom.

"Oh," he adds, "and Y/N. fix your outfit. I would hate to see you get dress coded by a teacher who isn’t as lenient." You, Lisa, and Jaebum stare at his back in shock as he heads inside his classroom.

"Well, uh, that just happened," Lisa states, turning to you. "Ready to go?" you nod numbly, mind swirling with embarrassment and excitement as you tug down your skirt. The two of you walk to the last class of the day while Jaebum calls out, "my place after 11, L/N! I’ll be waiting!", making you wince. Great, now a bunch of people are gonna think you’re hooking up with him.

The last bell of the day finally rings, and you head to your locker after bidding Lisa goodbye. You put your books in your locker and head to the bathroom to fix your clothes. You decide to tease Jimin even more by adjusting your skirt so that it ends just at the bottom of your ass. It’s a terribly risky decision; if you walk too fast, you risk flashing everyone. You’ve tried to wipe the slick off the juncture of your thighs, but it keeps getting replaced with more of your arousal.

You speed walk down the halls and fling open the door to see that Jimin isn’t in his classroom - or so you think. Once you take a few steps into the room, you hear the door shut behind you and lock. Jimin looks at you up and down. "You didn’t fix your outfit, Ms. L/N. Looks like I’ll have to dress code you for indecent exposure then," he hums, heading to his desk to take out a slip of paper.

"Wait Jimin, what? I thought we were- um. You know, going to-" you splutter out, realizing he was actually serious. You can’t have this on your academic record! What would your parents think?

"Going to what? Fuck? Seems like you already have someone else for that, Y/N," he shakes his head, grabbing a pen. You reach forward quickly to stop him, hand, gripping his forearm in desperation.

"No Mr. Park, I- I never told Jaebum yes. I just-" you try to explain, but Jimin cuts you off. "You what?" he asks bitingly, taking you by surprise. "Did you think that you could just come back and hop on my dick after nearly making out with another guy? God, you really are a slut, aren’t you?"

You rub your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the steadily mounting pressure in your core at Jimin’s words. "Look at you, I told you to fix your outfit and you fucking pulled up your skirt. You pulled it up. You don’t listen to me, talk to your friends about how much you want me to rail you, and yet let other guys make plans to hook up with you. And you expect me to let you cum after all of that?" he continues, noticing the effect he has on you. "You really think I should let you cum, Y/N? I'll tell you what I think. I think I should leave you like this, dripping and needy for me. So ready to get fucked by me but not being able to."

Your eyes widen, "no, please professor, no!"

"Should I jack off in front of you and not let you touch me? Maybe then would you learn your lesson? Or maybe I should spank your ass till it’s blue you’re unable to sit. Would that work, hm? What if I just send you back to the dorms? You could ask Jaebum to touch you, even if he can’t make you half the mess I can," he continues, pushing you onto his desk. He grabs your jaw and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him, humiliated, with tears in your eyes.

"Aw," he pouts sarcastically, "is the baby crying? Because I didn’t let her cum? Well, princess, you knew what you were getting yourself into. Little cocksluts like you don’t deserve to cum so easily."

"P- professor, please. You can punish me. Teach me a lesson. B- but just please let me cum." You whimper out, attempting to cross your legs together to assuage your aching clit, but Jimin stops you by holding your knee with his other hand.

He slowly trails his hands up your bare thigh, admiring the way your soft skin seems to get chills at his touch. He pushes you back onto the desk and you prop yourself up your elbows to look at him. "Are you a cockslut, Y/N?" he asks, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers.

"Y- yes Mr. Park. I- I’m nothing but a hole for you to fuck," you whimper meekly as he pushes up your skirt. He pushes apart your thighs and tugs you to the edge of the desk. "Damn right you are. Nothing but a little whore that I can use to get off. I’m going to fuck you here in school like you’ve never been fucked before. And this dick you’ve been thinking about all this time, it’s going to finally be in you, and I better not hear any complaints," Jimin growls, pumping his length in his hand. "No sir," you whimper out.

"You on the pill?" he asks, to which you reply with a yes. He teases your slit with the pink head of his cock and your entrance flutters at the touch. "But on another note, tell me if you want to stop. I don’t want to push you too much."

You smile, "Jimin, you’re being too kind. I promise I'll tell you. But I did say before perhaps you weren’t doing enough. Mr. Park, I want you to ruin me," you bite your lips, mimicking his words from earlier in the day. He cocks his head in amusement.

"Don’t worry princess, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing." Without warning, he thrusts forward into your heart, barely giving you time to adjust to his size. The girth of his cock stretches open your cunt with painful pleasure. Once he’s sheathed inside you, you can feel him very near your cervix.

You let out a shaky breath but it’s cut off as he continues thrusting in and out of you, wet slaps echoing through the room. "M- Mr. Park-" you moan incoherently.

"Fucking take it, Y/N. You wanted me to ruin you? Well here I am doing it; be fucking grateful." he rolls his hips into yours, hands gripping your sides harshly.

"Th- thank you Mr. Park, s- so much," you nearly sob out, almost crying at the relief of being fucked. You’re so turned on that your walls are clenching around Jimin’s dick so hard that he grips your jaw harshly. Gritting his teeth, he spits, "loosen up, babe. You’re so fuckin’ tight." You whine and try to relax but the stimulation Jimin’s providing has your eyes rolling back instead.

He snakes a hand down to your stomach and under your skirt, circling your throbbing clit. Your pussy flutters at the stimulation and you bite your lip harshly. He changes his angle slightly, causing your thighs to start shaking. His precum and your honeyed juices drip out your sopping cunt, the sound of wet slaps echoing around the room.

"Mmmmh," you moan out softly, back arching slightly. You can feel Jimin hitting your g-spot with impeccable accuracy each time. Doubled with the way his thumb is rubbing circles on your sensitive clit, you feel yourself reaching your orgasm. You try to suppress the giveaway signs of your impending release, knowing that Jimin, in order to "teach you a lesson" of sorts, is likely to take it away from you, so you attempt to just breathe out, "Jimin, fuck, it feels so good."

"Yeah, you like that, baby?" he thrusts into you deeper and harder and you bite your upper lip to stop your moans from slipping out. "Come on Y/N, let me hear those pretty little moans. Let everyone else know how well I'm fucking you, how good I make you feel," Jimin urges.

As soon as he utters those words, you give in, letting high pitched whimpers spill from your lips. Your pussy lets out filthy squelching noises at each of his thrusts, your wetness dripping down your ass and onto the desk. You feel your walls tightening around his cock and try to fight it off, but Jimin can already tell of your impending orgasm. He pulls out of you, leaving your warm and soaked cunt open to the air.

"Fuck," you exclaim in frustration, bringing your hands up to cover your face so Jimin doesn’t see your face, tears starting to spill down your face. It’s frustrating you so much that he won’t let you cum. That he enjoys seeing you whimpering and teary-eyed for him. Your thighs haven’t stopped shaking and Jimin parts them after you close them. He pulls down your arms and smiles evilly.

"Well, what do we have here," he exclaims, "looks like the baby finally did start crying. Come on, Y/N, I thought you had it in you. But look at how you’re spread out on this desk for me, such a fucking mess. I bet you like it, huh? Dirtying up my desk with that cunt of yours."

"I need to cum, Mr. Park," you choke out, trying to gather your thoughts. "I need to cum now." your teacher’s eyes narrow and he grips your thighs harshly. "What did you say to me?" he asks, a tone laced with dangerous amusement.

"You heard me. I-," you hesitate for a moment, but decide you’ve already put yourself through enough teasing today. You muster up your courage before saying, "I want you to make me cum now."

There’s a moment’s silence before you add on shamelessly, "o- or if it’s too much to ask of you, I- I’ll just find someone else to help me do it. Maybe Jaebum? He promised a good time a- and said he would let me cum as many times as I want."

Jimin grabs you by the chin and pulls you up. "You’re such a fucking brat, Y/N." Shifting his hand so it’s gripping your throat, he mutters, "you don’t fucking learn, do you? I thought you were smart, hm? But has the need for sex made you lose your sense? Made you turn into a dumb little bitch, ready to bend over for anyone because you’re so horny? And here I was thinking you were better than that. That you had standards. Perhaps I was wrong, hm? Would you like to tell me?"

You try to look down, away from his piercing glare, but he turns your chin to look back at him. Humiliation courses through your veins as Jimin’s gaze wanders down your body scathingly. "Look at you," he coos sarcastically. "Y/N, baby, you’re such a fucking mess. Pathetic." Suddenly, he lifts you off the desk and bends you over it, cheek pressing the top and ass exposed over the edge to him. You whimper at the feeling of your shirt being stickied from your arousal left on the table from just a few minutes ago. You try moving away from it, but Jimin holds you in place.

"Are you afraid that everyone else is going to see the mess on your shirt, Y/N? Is that why you’re trying to move?" he hovers over you from behind. "Or perhaps," he continues, hot breath tickling over the shell of your ear, "you want to continue being a brat. Make me punish you until you’re begging for me to make it stop."

He spanks you, the sound echoing across the room before you register the sting of his action. You clench involuntarily and let out the slightest of whimpers. "Fucking hell, are you this turned on? Making noises even if I don’t touch your filthy little pussy?" he asks, smacking your behind again. You bite down on your lip to avoid giving him the answer he already knows.

"Count for me. Be good and maybe I’ll finally let you cum." he commands, spanking your right ass cheek again. "O- one!" you groan. He spanks your left side, the stinging sensation causing you to leak more arousal. "Louder, Y/N. Let me hear you," he hisses, hand in your hair, and pulls you up slightly. "T- two," you stammer. another slap echoes across the room. "Three! God Mr. Park, please." At this point, you’re not even sure what you’re begging for; your mind is numb with lust.

"T- twenty! Agh, fuck, please," you squirm under Jimins grasp. The throbbing of your clit has increased tenfold, and you can practically feel the shaking of your thighs through the desk.

Jimin slips his hand between your legs, feeling the soft flesh of your inner thighs slicked with your juices. "You’re fucking dripping, Y/N. Look at you. Did getting punished turn you on this much, doll?" He swipes up your slit, teasing your fluttering hole. You scrunch your eyes in displeasure and try to back up into him, only to be stopped by a harsh smack onto your already throbbing cunt. You yelp and flop back on the desk, cheek pressing the surface.

You feel him rubbing his dick against your folds and sigh in relief. Suddenly, Jimin slams into you from behind with no warning causing you to let out a harsh groan. "Ah, professor!" you exclaim, balling your fists in pleasure at finally being stimulated. His cock seems even bigger from this angle, and your entrance stings delectably at the way he splits you open.

"You feel how tight your pussy is, princess? How tight it is for me? Nobody else makes you feel this needy. Nobody," Jimin mutters in your ear after pulling you up. He pulls your head back by your hair, exposing your neck, which he plants wet kisses on. He reaches down in front of you, tracing an achingly slow path from your stomach to your slit with his fingers. You’re reaching your orgasm at an embarrassingly fast rate due to all of the edging you’re been through, so when Jimin finally brushes over your clit, it’s no surprise that your walls tighten even more instantaneously.

"Ji- ‘m gonna cum," you moan wantonly. "Yeah? Is my little slut finally going to cum?" He hisses out at the way you tighten around him. You nod desperately, gripping his arm rubbing figure eights over your sensitive bud.

"Oh god, Jimin, I feel it coming. Please please please let me cum. I'm being good for you, Mr. Park, please let me cum," you sob out incoherently as Jimin continues railing you from behind. You feel the ridges of his cock brushing your walls and shudder at his ministrations.

"Let go, princess, I got you. Cum for me. Tell me how good I’m making you feel," Jimin snarls, snapping his hips into yours, eager to get you to finally melt in his arms. You feel your orgasm crashing over you and you clamp down on his dick, legs shaking in relief. Jimin's grip on your hair tightens as he feels you pulsing around him, getting impossibly tight. Nevertheless, he continues thrusting into you.

You mewl, trying to shift away from Jimin's hold as his fingers return to your clit, rubbing figure eights into them, "J- too m- much," you whimper out, straining against his arms.

"Yeah?" his smooth voice asks, "but I thought you wanted to cum, princess? Didn't you? I need to cum, Mr. Park. I need to cum now." He mocks you. “Well, that's what I'm doing doll. I'm. Making. You. Cum," he emphasizes each word with a harsh thrust, jolting you forward.

You're being reduced to a mess, tears streaming down your face and slick dripping down your thighs. You can feel your gummy walls tightening more and more on their own accord, without even trying. Without even realizing it, you've changed from trying to move away from Jimin's fingers to grinding down on his dick.

Jimin, however, notices this. "God, you're such a slut, Y/N. Weren't you just asking me to stop?" He raises your left leg onto the desk, allowing him to have more access to your folds. He slaps your clit when you don’t give a response and you yelp, clenching down on his dick. He slaps you a couple more times, and your cunt drips even more, making your thighs sticky with your honeyed juices. You can feel yourself nearing your orgasm once again from his motions.

Suddenly, Jimin pushes you back on his desk and begins hammering into you from behind. "You're going to cum again, aren't you? Filthy little girl, didn't you just cum? Are you really that needy for some dick?" You try to hold back a whimper from his words but it slips from your lips. "You're really a whore, aren't you, baby?"

In response, Jimin spanks you, and you yelp. "Keep doing that," he hisses when you clench down on his dick. "You like being punished, don't you?" You nod meekly in response. He smacks your already reddened ass again and you hiss at the stinging sensation. Paired with the pleasure his cock is giving you, thrusting so deep into you, you can feel yourself practically getting high off the feeling.

Jimin feels you cumming before you realize it yourself. His hips nearly stutter at the way your walls have clenched around his dick. He opts to rut his hips into yours, no longer being able to thrust in and out due to how tight you are. He reaches under your body to rub tight circles on your throbbing clit and you start cumming again, clenching erratically around his dick. "You cumming, Y/N? Be a good girl and let go for me. Get this fat cock all wet," he commands. You ball up your fists and dig your nails into your palms, pleasure coursing through your veins. Riding the course of your high, you wish for nothing more but to be in the moment.

When you come down from your orgasm, Jimin finally pulls his hard dick out of you. You feel his precum and your cum drip down your thighs. Whining, you rub them together to get rid of the feeling but it only serves to make you stickier. Jimin parts your thighs and runs a hand up them to cup your pussy, pausing to feel your cunt still clenching from the aftershocks of your orgasm. He smacks your abused heat, jolting you forwards and causing you to grit your teeth in overstimulation.

He flips you over, spreading your legs open. He leans over you, rubbing the tip of his dick over your swollen and throbbing clit, making you shiver. "Prof- professor, I can’t-" you begin but are interrupted my Jimin quickly shoving into you. Gasping, you clench down onto his dick, eyes rolling back into your head.

"You can, Y/N, and you fucking will," he grunts harshly, snapping his hips into yours. You grasp at his arm after feeling him in you deeper than before. The head of his cock nearly kisses your cervix and his impossibly hard dick stretches your tight cunt open even more, making you wince at the pleasurable pain.

"I- oh god, I really can’t. It feels-" you choke out through your tears. "It feels too- oh!" your head rolls back as Jimin hooks your legs over his shoulders, creating a new angle of penetration. He rubs your clit ever so slightly, the abused bundle of nerves pulsing under his touch. "It feels too what?" he hisses, rolling his hips upward so that his tip just barely grazes your g-spot. Too good, you want to say, but pleasure is clouding your mind and you can’t get the words out.

"That’s it, baby," he hums, "taking my fat cock so well even though you’re so- shit, you’re so fucking tight. Are you gonna cum again, hm? Cream all over my dick and make another mess?" you’re being reduced to a blathering mess, Jimin’s name rolling off the tip of your tongue. "Yeah? Can’t even hold it back a little? Even though I let you cum so many times, you still want more? Greedy little bitch," he spits at you.

When you clench down at his words, he starts pistoning his hips into yours, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass echoing around the room. His cock seems to be splitting you open even more, and you can feel every pulse of his dick on your walls. "Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to cum," he groans.

"I- I’m close too, Mr. Park. It- fuck, it feels really good," you breathe out as Jimin leans down over you. He slows his hips down, opting to roll his hips smoothly and brushing over your g-spot with painful accuracy. Hovering over you, his stare bores into yours, eyes flitting down to your lips, reddened and swollen from you biting them. You whimper and tilt your chin up towards him and he leans his head down to yours.

He lets his lips ghost over yours, warm breath brushing over your lips as his hips grind into yours. "P- please," you beg, and Jimin finally relents and melds his lips to yours, bringing the two of you into a searing kiss, groaning as you near each of your highs. You break the kiss to gasp out, "I’m c- cumming again Mr. Park."

"Yeah?" he breathes surprisedly, "your little pussy’s that sensitive that you’re gonna- fuck, you’re cumming already? So quickly?" he leans down as your orgasm washes over you, this one hitting you slowly and harshly. You arch your back into Jimin’s chest, hands gripping at the collar of his shirt. His thumb continues to gently rub over your clit, causing you to roll your eyes back into your head at the overstimulation. You start shaking underneath him, squirming to get away from the overload of senses, but he holds you in place as you ride your high for what seems to be like an eternity.

"That's a good girl," he soothes as you continue to writhe underneath him. "Look at you, stuffed so full of my cock it’s making you cry. Does that feel good, darling?" you nod, sobbing. When your orgasm starts to fade away, spots of white dotting your vision, he still doesn’t stop thrusting into you.

You bite your lip, and seeing that he’s close, you whisper, "M- Mr. Park, I want you t- to cum too. I- in me." His hips stutter at your words. "Shit, yeah? You’d let me do that?"

You nod, "want you to fill me up w- with your cum and s- stuff me so full of it that it’s gonna be in me for days. And I wanna fe- fuck, I wanna feel you in me even when I’m alone, professor." At your words, Jimin lets out a slightly animalistic growl and leans in. "You’d like that, huh?" he asks. "Me fucking you so well till you can’t think straight? Putting my cum in you so that when you walk out of here, it’s dripping down your pretty little thighs, making you look like the filthy little slut you really are? You think you deserve that?"

"Please, sir, I really want it," you beg, "please." With that, Jimin attaches his lips onto yours again, grinding his hips into yours even deeper as he finally orgasms. He doesn’t stutter his hips as he continues his ministrations, even though he can feel your walls desperately squeezing around him, milking his cock of its seed. You feel the thick ropes of his warm cum painting your inner walls every second. Each time he pulls out slightly, a bit of it leaks out of your cunt, dripping down your ass onto his desk. He continues fucking his cum into you until he’s satisfied with the way you’re shivering under him.

For a moment, all is still, nothing but the sound of the two of your breathing filling the air as you stare into each other’s eyes. "Um-," you begin, and Jimin quickly looks away, brushing his thumb over his plump lips. So that just happened. I fucked my teacher. I fucked Park Jimin.

"Wait here," he mutters, making your heart drop in disappointment. You nod, offering him a weak smile. Seeing this, Jimin reassures you, "don’t worry, I’m not leaving you. I’ll be right back," and cautiously steps out of the room after clothing himself.

You take this moment to recollect what exactly happened. Okay, so you just fucked your teacher. It still hasn’t sunk in yet, and probably won’t till you leave to clean yourself and look at the marks he’s made on your thighs and ass. You can’t help the giddiness you feel, like a kid who got the best candy bar in the world. After all, you got to hook up with your crush - in fact, the entire campus’s crush. The door creaks open and Jimin returns with some paper towels and wipes.

"H- hey," he smiles nervously. For the first time, he’s the one that’s stuttering. "Let me clean you up. It’s the least I could do after putting you through so much today." He spreads your legs gently, cheeks flushed, and begins wiping off the slick and cum between your thighs.

"Jimin, you didn’t do anything bad, calm down. Well, I mean you fucked your student? But other than that you’re fine. I really liked it," you try to explain, stumbling over your words. He looks at you incredulously, but shakes his head, smiling. "I don't want to tell anyone about this," you continue, "and I highly doubt you will, so this can stay as our little secret."

"Well looks like someone got fucked a little too happy. How come you never smile this much when I’m teaching, hm?" Jimin jokes after he finishes cleaning you up, kissing your knee gently. He hands you your thong that he’s kept for half the day and tells you to put it on.

"You’re still going to the party, right? Jaebum’s?" he asks and you shrug. "You should go. Have a fun time there, drinking and all that stuff." He leans into you, whispering into your ear, "and if that rascal wants to get into your pants, he’s going to see your soaked panties covering up that precious little cunt of yours stuffed with all that cum of mine. Maybe then he’ll finally back off," he smirks.

You blush, "maybe, Mr. Park. You know, you’re pettier than I thought you’d be." Standing up, to face him, he pulls you in by the waist till your chests are touching. You wrap your arms around his neck and he leans in, whispering, "well, Y/N, I don’t think you knew too much about me in the first place." Closing the gap between the two of you, you give him a peck on the lips, which quickly turns into a more heated kiss, lips melding together and tongues colliding. When you break apart, a faint blush on the two of your cheeks, Jimin smiles fondly at you and you look away.

"Well," you hum contentedly, "if I don’t know much about you now, I’d at least like to get to know you better in the future."

"One day," he breathes out. "One day."

Your grin, disentangling yourself from his arms. "One day soon, I hope. I’ve got to go now, but I’ll see you next class. Goodbye prof- Jimin. Have a great weekend."

He smiles softly, walking you to the door. "You too, Y/N. If you do end up going to that party, have fun. Stay safe."

558 notes · View notes

idy-ll-ique · 4 years ago

Text

All Mine.

Pairing: Andy Barber x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Warnings: age gap, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, squirting (damn)

Requested: nope

Summary: Andy Barber has been through a lot. After getting a divorce from his ex-wife, he moves into the house next to the Y/L/Ns. And he has his eyes on Y/N since day one. Little does he know, Y/N likes him too and things get interesting one night.

Author's Note: Hiya peeps! Before you ask, no, I haven't watched Defending Jacob yet because I do not have the attention span to watch an entire series. So yeah, this has no spoilers. Also, I'm asexual so don't @ me for the smut please and thank you. Enjoy!

---

"Good morning, Mr Barber!"

He looked up from his phone and saw his neighbor smiling at him. He grinned back at her, his mood immediately lightening. "Hi, Y/N! How many times have I told you, call me Andy," he chided gently, keeping his phone away. "Okay, okay, just feels a little weird, ya know? Anyway, what are you doing here? You almost never take the bus," Y/N chuckled.

He flashed her another grin, his boyish side automatically coming out. It always happened when she was near. Y/N Y/L/N was Andy Barber's cute neighbor, but the only thing is, she was way, way younger than he was, her parents were just a couple of years older than him. Despite the huge age-gap, Y/N had won his heart. And he didn't mind in the slightest.

"My car broke down yesterday, it's at the auto repair shop. I got no other vehicle," he shrugged. Y/N nodded just as she saw her bus approaching. "Are you getting on this one?" she asked him and he squinted. "Nah, not this one. Are you?" She verbally confirmed a yes and turned to look at him fully. "I'll see you later, Mr Barber, bye!" With that, she waved at him and stepped into the bus.

"Andy!" he mouthed when she sat near the window seat, giggling. "Andy," she repeated, winking at him just as the bus turned around the corner. A laugh involuntarily escaped his lips as he ran a hand through his hair. Oh, what am I gonna do with you, angel? Inside the bus, Y/N had to keep herself from fidgeting, too overstimulated after her conversation with the handsome lawyer.

She had had a crush on him ever since he had moved in next-door. Her parents had immediately invited the lone man to dinner and he had, thankfully, accepted. They had a lot of fun; Andy was a proper gentleman, well-spoken, intelligent and extremely handsome. Y/N got a crush on him on the first day itself. She knew about the things his family had been through, and the thought crushed her.

Can't even imagine, your own child, guilty of murder?

Andy and his ex-wife, Laurie had divorced immediately after their son's trial. It was all months ago, though, Andy was doing much better now. He had Y/N, after all. In his thoughts only, but that would suffice. Because he knew, she'd never fall for him. Why would she? He was much older than her, a divorced man, with a son who got convicted for murder.

But Y/N didn't care about any of those things. She liked the Andy who was her awesome, good looking and smart neighbor. That's all that mattered to her. But then came another problem, Y/N's parents. Would they be okay with her going out with him? Of course not! Y/N sighed and leaned her head against the window of the bus; oh God, what ever was she gonna do?

Andy had ruined all men for her.

---

"Come in!"

Looking up, a surprised gasp left the mouths of both; the person inside the office and the person at the door. "Y/N?" Andy blurted out. "Mr Barber?" Y/N blinked as well. "Andy," he corrected incessantly and she waved her arm in dismissal. "Wow, I, uh… I didn't realize— you don't have a name plate outside—" He motioned to the chair in front of him and she sat.

"What happened, darling?"

Y/N unconsciously shivered at the nickname. She loved it when he called her that. "I don't know, my colleague sent me here, she was busy… gave me the address and said there was a file she needed…" Y/N spoke unsurely. Her eyes quickly skimmed over his figure; he had taken off the trenchcoat he was wearing in the morning, leaving him in a tight, white shirt, black trousers and a tie hanging loosely around his neck.

The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Y/N concluded that he looked insanely gorgeous. "Does your colleague happen to be Mrs Renoir? She told me she was coming to get the file." She smiled and nodded at him. "Yes, Mrs Renoir, that's her." Andy smiled back and took out a file from his drawer. "Here you go."

She accepted the file, stowing it away in her bag. "I'll see you!" She moved to get up but Andy tutted, checking his watch. "Why don't you stay, Y/N? It's getting late, we can go home together," he spoke, his eyes soft as he gazed at her. She froze for a moment. "Um, it's fine, I can—" He was shaking his head. "Y/N, if something happens to you, I'll not be able to forgive myself."

What's going on? "Mr Barber—" "Andy." "What do you mean?" He got up from his chair and moved to the couch that was in the room. She sat next to him. "You never stay out this late, Y/N, your parents told me you're usually at home by 8:30. It's almost midnight, and I can't let you venture into the city all alone at this hour. Do you know the dangers that lurk at night?"

Y/N's heart started thudding in her chest. Indeed, this was new to her; and before even meeting with him, she had been scared of roaming the city alone at night. "I don't," she muttered truthfully, looking up when Andy placed his hand on her thigh. "It's okay. You can stay, I just need to go over a few more things and then we can go home, hm?" Y/N grinned and nodded.

Andy lifted his hand off her thigh and went back to his desk. He began scribbling something on a paper, which Y/N realized was a form. After admiring him for a few minutes, she took out her phone and scrolled through her messages. She had already texted her mom about staying out late, and her mother had complained until Y/N told her she was out for business, not fun.

As time passed, Y/N's shoulders sagged. Her eyes drooped, heavy with sleep. "Andy," she whined in a sleepy stupor and his head shot up, "Are you done? I wanna go home!" His dark eyes softened instantly and he chuckled. She looked cute when she was sleepy. "Just a moment, darling, I'm almost finished." Y/N simply groaned and threw her head back against the couch.

"All done."

Y/N opened her eyes and saw Andy fixing his appearance, before shrugging on the coat. Then he turned to her, offering her his hand with a smile. She took it and heaved herself up, stumbling a little but Andy was there to hold her up. Effortlessly wrapping an arm around her waist, he guided her out of his office, switching off the lights and locking the door.

Both of them walked out of the building and Andy got Y/N seated in the passenger seat of his car. "I thought your car was at the auto repair shop?" Y/N remembered. She felt his chuckle next to her ear as he reached over and fastened her seatbelt and then his own. "Went to get it in the afternoon because I realized buses aren't for me." She giggled and leaned back against the seat.

"Why don't you try and fall asleep? I'll wake you up," he whispered, his heart swelling in his chest when she nodded meekly. "Goodnight, Mr Barber." He still corrected her, "Andy." Truth be told, Y/N didn't want to call him Andy because that would only make her feelings worse. If she called him Mr Barber… that was a constant reminder that he was a man much older, a successful lawyer, and just her neighbor.

Nothing else.

"Such a sweet doll." Ever since he heard her whining his name in his office, his mind had clouded over with lust. She sounded so fucking beautiful when she said his name. And suddenly, all he wanted to do was to claim her on his couch. He had controlled himself easily, he knew he had to wait till he had her consent. Which he thought he'd probably never get.

---

"Thank you so much, Andy!"

"Oh, it's not a problem at all, Mrs Y/L/N. Y/N is great company and I admit, the house does get a little lonely at times," Andy chuckled as Y/N's mother beamed at him. Y/N was looking down at her feet, clutching the handles of her travel bags. She was going to move in with Andy for a few weeks, since her room was getting renovated. There was no other place in the house.

When Andy heard that, he had instantly offered that she move in with him for the time-being. And Y/N's parents were, surprisingly, ecstatic at the idea. "She can move into the guest bedroom," he had spoken at the time. That's how she ended up here; now following Andy into his house as she yelled her goodbyes to her parents. "Welcome! It isn't much, I hope you like it still."

Y/N looked around in awe. The place was well-kept, the colour theme for almost everything was either beige or brown. It all looked very modern and cool. "Are you kidding? This is awesome!" He chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Let me show you to your room." Both of them walked up the stairs and stopped at the first door. Andy opened the door and another gasp left her lips.

"Wow," she whispered automatically and Andy smiled to himself. "I take it that you like it," he drawled, closing the door behind them as they walked into the room. Y/N kept her luggage on the bed and sat down, swinging her legs. "Thanks for all this, Mr Barber, it's appreciated." He scoffed. "Andy," he rectified, "And it was not a problem at all, Y/N, you're my friend."

A chill ran down her spine. His friend? He considered her to be a friend? "A friend, huh, I'm… I'm honored," she chuckled and he grinned. "I'll leave you be now, get comfortable." He waved at her and left the room, going downstairs to get a glass of water for himself. Y/N spent the rest of the day at her place, only returning at nighttime after dinner.

That's how it went for a week. She'd be at her job most days, would have dinner with her parents at night and then would finally walk into Andy's house to get some sleep. She liked the routine, and so did he. When she wasn't at her job, she'd spend the day in the living room of her own, or rather, her parents' house. Only, something changed a week later.

Andy was running late that day. As he drove home, at nearly 1:30 am, he was sure that he was going to be greeted by a quiet and empty house, Y/N already asleep in her room. She always fell asleep before 11:30, he didn't know how she did it. After parking his car in his garage, he walked into the sitting room only to see Y/N sitting in front of the television. She looked up and swtiched it off when he walked in.

"Mr Barber, hi." Her voice was hoarse. "Y/N? Darling, is everything okay?" he asked worriedly, sitting next to her. The dried tear stains on her cheeks made it clear that she had been crying. "I'm fine," she insisted, in vain. Andy gently cupped her cheeks, running his fingers over the stains. "You've been crying, honey, tell me what happened. I'll make it better," he whispered and Y/N melted against him.

"Um, can I… can I please… can I hug you?"

Without another word, Andy pulled her to him, her head resting on his chest as his arms wrapped around her middle. She snuggled into his side. "I just had a bad dream," she mumbled, burying her face in his chest. His arm rose and he delicately cradled her head, massaging her hair with his fingers. Y/N whimpered at the soothing sensation and Andy's heart raced.

"I'm here now, sweetheart, you have nothing to be worried about. I'll protect you, come what may," he uttered softly, almost in a daze. Something inside Y/N stirred deeply when he said those words. She pulled away slightly and he looked down at her, a questioning look on his face. Y/N blushed under his intense stare. "I, um… can I… kiss you?" Her question made Andy's heart beat faster.

Consent? Check.

Gently grabbing her jaw, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, pulling her into his lap. Y/N kissed back just as fervently, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Do you know how long I've wanted to do that?" Andy asked huskily upon pulling away. "How long?" Y/N squeaked. "Ever since I first saw you. You won my heart right there, Y/N, right at that dinner. The moment I saw you, I knew that you had ruined all women for me."

"Same. I mean, I— not women, obviously, I'm not attracted to other women— men, but—" Andy chuckled and kissed her again, cutting off her rambling. "God, I need to feel you, love, why don't we go upstairs?" It turned out to be a rhetorical question as he immediately stood up, easily carrying Y/N up the stairs. Y/N wrapped her legs around his torso.

He placed her down on his bed, in his bedroom and settled between her legs, hungrily kissing down her body. He used his tongue to stimulate her first, pulling orgasm after orgasm after her. She had never had these many orgasms in one night and that wasn't lost on Andy. "No one has ever made you feel this good, right, darling? Only I can do it this good." Y/N whined loudly when his tongue circled her bud.

"Bet those nasty boys your age have never made you feel this way. Worshipped. You're mine, Y/N, only mine. Say it." Y/N was too overwhelmed to respond, only a pathetic "yours" leaving her lips as she came again. For the… third? No, fourth time? She definitely lost count. "You're so fucking gorgeous," Andy moaned as he emerged from between her thighs, his jaw and chin covered in her juices.

He had eaten her out so well, like her a hungry man offered a meal after a long starvation. Like she was his last meal. Y/N blushed at the sight of him, covering her face with her hands. Andy easily shoved the hands aside, leaning in to kiss her. "All mine. Beautiful. Mine, only mine," he grunted possessively and Y/N gasped when she felt something poking her thigh. She looked down and saw him. He was giant.

"It's too big," she blurted out and Andy chuckled, giving her a soft kiss on the forehead. "You'll be okay." Grabbing the base of his shaft, he slowly pushed inside of her, giving her time to adjust to his size. Y/N winced at the burn on her hips but when he bottomed out inside her, all the pain was replaced by pleasure. "Fuck, so fucking tight," Andy helplessly groaned, leaning forward and resting his forehead against her shoulder.

"Please, please move." Andy complied, thrusting into her at a slow pace at first but when he was certain she was able to handle it, he sped up. Y/N moaned right into his ear as he nibbled on her neck, leaving behind dark, red marks. Now everyone will know she's taken. The moan fueled his libido and he sped up more, growling deep in his chest.

Y/N's eyes flew open at the animalistic sound and she gripped his shoulders, trying to steady herself as she moved like a rag doll against him and his powerful thrusts. "Scream my name, darling, tell everyone who's making you feel so good. Tell everyone you belong to me and me only. You're mine, all mine. I'm never letting you go," he snarled as he neared his release. "Andy," Y/N screamed shamelessly.

"That's it, doll. Months, for months I've tried to get you to say my name. Is that why you've been avoiding it? Can't help but imagine being under me and moaning my name every time you heard it?" he groaned brusquely and Y/N jerked, her orgasm hitting her unexpectedly. "Yes," she whimpered at his previous comment but Andy couldn't speak. Holy shit, she just squirted all over my bed.

His taut abdomen, his shaft, his thighs and his bed were all drenched. Y/N was lying on the bed, her eyes closed, convulsing as she reeled in from the first-time experience. "Shit, baby, do you see this? You just squirted all over me," Andy laughed breathlessly, leaning over to press his lips to hers. Y/N cocked an eye open as a blush spread across her cheeks.

"I what?! Oh my God, I'm so sorry—"

Andy entered her core with one swift motion, shutting her up. "That was fucking hot, doll, do it again," he urged and resumed his fast pace. Y/N cried out tiredly, her eyes landing on the clock in the corner of the room. It's been an hour?! How much energy does this man have? "Andy, I'm—" He was already close to his release and when she took his name, he was done. He pulled out of her and spilled his seed all over her chest and face, groaning loudly.

Then he spit on his fingers and brought them to her bud, furiously rubbing until she squirted again, right on his face. "Oh my God," Andy groaned, licking up and swallowing all her juices. "Andy, I'm tired…" She couldn't even lift a finger, that's how spent she was.

Andy was a sight. All wet, from top to bottom, covered in her juices, he looked like he had just stepped out of a swimming pool. "Okay, baby girl, get some sleep. I'll take care of you." And he did, he gently cleaned her up as she dozed off, and carried her to her room. He then hopped into the shower for a quick wash, dried himself up, put on some boxers and went to Y/N's room as well.

The bed in his room was… well, let's just say it was done for. He was going to be throwing the mattress out the next day, he knew that. When he walked into her room, his heart melted at the sight of her deep asleep, still naked, curled up on her side. He shut the door behind him and walked towards the bed, easily sliding in next to her. He pulled the covers on top of them and pulled Y/N into his arms, dropping a kiss to her shoulder.

"I love you, angel. So sweet, only mine."

---

A/N: This is the first time I've posted smut and a non-marvel fic 😳 I know it's probably not that good but thanks for reading anyway! Leave a like if you enjoyed!

#andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #andy barber x y/n #andy barber x female reader #andrew barber #andy barber smut #defending jacob #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans characters #disney #mcu #marvel #avengers #fanfic #writing #writeblr

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navalcriminalimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Lost self confidence

Anon: Can I request a lil one-shot where y/n has been on the team for a while and she put on some weight/starts feeling insecure about it and Gibbs helps her feel better? :> If not it's okay (Preferably a lot of fluff, angst & smut up to you)

Anon: Can I ask for a plus sized reader and gibbs please? I never see them :( Maybe someone says something about her weight when theyre working a case or something and he does the gibbs-legendary-elevator-conversation??? OuO

I thought those two requests work well together. Enjoy, lovely anons! ❤️

Warnings: punch, mention of blood, hurtful comments about weight

Tags: @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @madamsnape921 @specialagentastra

~~~~~

Your body changed. A lot. More than you like to admit.

You have been avoiding mirrors for a while now, but as you stand in front of it right now, only dressed in underwear, you have to face it. Your body changed and you don’t like it. Actually, you hate it.

As you look at your stomach that used to be flat, your hips that are larger, the celulitis… you can’t help but to think it’s no wonder you’re alone. Who could you attract, looking like this? Not many people and definitely not the man you wish you had. He has probably noticed how your body is different. Maybe before, you stood a chance with the man but not anymore. It’s a lost cause.

You put some clothes on and left for work.

You and your team are working on a tricky case, you are not impatient to get into the office today. But as always, you put on your best smile and pretend that everything is okay. Even though it’s most definitely not.

You skipped breakfast this morning - on purpose - but when you sit at your desk, you can see a brown bag sitting there. You look inside; donuts. Not just regular donuts, but your two favorites.

“Gibbs’s treat.” Tony lets you know.

“What’s the occasion?” you casually answer, putting the bag aside. It’s definitely a bad idea to eat them.

“No occasion. You’re just his favorite,”

You can’t help but smile at this. Not that it’s true, but it feels nice anyway. Before, you would have been happy about your boss’s attention, but not today. “Aren’t you going to eat them?”

“I’m not hungry. Do you want them?”

Tony grabs the bag before you know it. At least, you won’t have to throw them away.

You put yourself into work quickly after. You need to take your mind off your insecurities and how bad you feel about yourself. Tony tries to make casual conversation, just being his old self but as you barely answer, he realizes that something’s wrong with you. He just doesn’t know what.

“You’re staring.” You say to him, without looking up from your computer screen.

“You’re in a bad mood.” He states.

“Am not.”

“Y/N, please.” He stands up from his desk and walks up to yours. “I’m a trained investigator. Talk to me.”

“Not a chance.” You keep working, avoiding eye contact. You’re scared that he may read into you, or worse; that you may cry if he starts to ask too many questions.

“Did Gibbs get the order wrong?” He jokes. He doesn’t mean wrong at all, but it sets you off.

“Just-- leave me alone, DiNozzo.”

You practically jump for your chair, grab your laptop and walk away from the bullpen, leaving your coworker in awe. He’s not sure what just happened, but he’s more convinced that something’s really not okay with you.

You spend the next two hours hiding in the conference room. You didn’t work much, you mostly cried and felt sorry for yourself. You really hate yourself and your body right now. It’s not about gaining some weight, it’s also about how lonely you feel. You love your team more than anything, they really are like your family but when you get home at night, it’s just you. You and your thoughts. You and your loneliness.

You just want someone to get home to. Someone to cuddle, someone to love and who loves you back, someone to fall asleep with. Just someone.

You had your face buried in your arms when you heard the door opening. You look up, ashamed. Gibbs is standing here.

He closes the door behind him and walks to you. “You okay, Y/N?” he softly asks.

“Y-yeah. Just a bit tired.”

“You know, if DiNozzo pissed you off, you can tell me.”

You chuckle. “Nah, it’s nothing he did. I guess I got up on the wrong foot this morning, that’s it.”

Gibbs did let it go - for now - but you knew he didn’t buy any of it.

That is later's concern though, there is some news on the case and you need to get going. The afternoon went better; your mind was focused on the case, you didn’t have time to think of the rest. It’s only when you get back home that it hits again. Before taking a shower, you put a sheet on the big mirror in your bedroom. You don’t want to face your reflection for now.

*****

The next morning, you are in a better mood. Not entirely, you still skipped breakfast and avoided all the mirrors but you made a decision: you won’t let the team know. You won’t let them see you’re going through a tough time. It would only make things worse.

Everything’s going okay until that stupid lawyer shows up. You never wanted to see him again after hooking up with him over a year ago. He seemed nice and good looking, he flirted with you the whole time he was in the office, so when he invited you for a drink, you said yes.

Your agreement had something to do with Gibbs’s flirting with that shrink but to this day, you keep telling yourself that it hadn’t.

After a few drinks, you let the lawyer kiss you and before you knew it, you took him home and you had a one night stand.

The sex wasn’t the problem, you actually had a lot of fun. The problem was the next day.

He was gone before you woke up - still not a problem. But when Gibbs yelled at you for giving him some private information, you understood your mistake. The man had used you. While you were sleeping, he looked into your files and found the information he needed to save his client’s butt.

After that, Gibbs gave you the silent treatment for weeks. And he stopped being mad at you after you came to see him in his basement and did your mea culpa. No one ever talked about it since.

But now, the same man is standing in the middle of the bullpen. You growled to yourself before going in.

You don’t greet him at all, just sit at your desk. “Y/N? That’s you?” he says, apparently shocked.

You look at him briefly and don’t answer.

“My god, what happened to you?” he adds.

“Excuse you?” you snap.

“God, if you had been looking like this last year, I wouldn’t have been able to use you.”

His sentence feels like a punch in your stomach, it hurts. But it shouldn’t and you know it. But it still does. You stay there a moment, not knowing if you want to cry and beat the crap out of him. Probably both at the same, but you don’t move or don’t say a thing, you’re like frozen. You barely don’t notice when Gibbs pushes the man towards the elevator.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Ziva asks.

In the elevator

“Overprotective much, Gibbs?” the lawyer tries to appear confident and unafraid. He has his back against the wall, and in a second, he can hear Gibbs’s fist hitting a few inches away from his head. If the fist had touched his nose, he probably would have needed plastic surgery.

“Ever in your life, you disrespect a woman like that again, and especially--especially not Y/N.”

The lawyer made many people angry over the years, but never had he seen a man as angry as Gibbs looks right now.

“The only reason my hand is in this wall and not your face right now, is because she wouldn’t want me to get in trouble, but trust me when I say that all I want to do right now is to shoot you right in your precious parts.”

Gibbs is panting from anger. He can’t remember the last time he said that many words at once. But there’s no way that he or anyone else can disrespect you like this. Never, under his watch.

“So I’m gonna be very clear, you give that case to someone else. I don’t give a shit who, you just do it. And I don’t ever want to see your face again. Cause if I do, you’ll be so disfigured, you won’t be able to get another woman. Ever.”

“I could sue you for those threats, Special Agent Gibbs.”

“Are you planning to?”

“Maybe I am.”

“Well, in that case--”

This time, Gibbs’s fist hit the nose.

Meanwhile, in the bullpen

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Ziva asks.

“Yeah-yeah,” you clearly lie as your eyes are watering.

Your coworker isn’t buying it. She takes a step forward and hugs you softly. “Please, don’t let him get to you.” she whispers in your ear. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Those words make you cry. You are not really buying them, but it does something to hear them. And you know deep inside that Ziva wouldn’t say something she doesn’t think.

As she keeps hugging, you can feel someone else’s arms wrapping around both of you. It’s Tony and shortly after, Tim is joining. “I think we should call Ducky. We’re going to have a crime scene.” Tony jokes to light the mood.

“I don’t want Gibbs to put himself in trouble for me.” you sadly say.

“Y/N, if Gibbs hadn’t taken him in the elevator, we would all have jumped on him.” Tim tells you. Which surprises you because Tim is the one to avoid a fight as much as he can.

“Also, the only reason I’m not asking you out is because of Rule 12.”

You are about to answer to Tony when you can hear the elevator’s doors opening. You let go of one another and watch Gibbs as he comes back to you and takes you by the hand. “Someone may have to call 911.” he tells the rest of the team.

Gibbs takes you to the other elevator, the one that leads to the lower floors, where Abby’s lab and Autopsy are. But of course, he switches the button as soon as the doors close. He doesn’t say a thing, he just hugs you tight. “Your hand is blue, Gibbs.” you cry in his neck.

“Yeah and his nose is red, who cares.” he kisses your hair. “I don’t want you to cry because of him, Y/N. And especially not because of what he said.”

“But Gibbs--”

“Not ‘but’, Y/N. Look at me.” he softly grabs your chin with his non-injured hand and forces you to look into his eyes. “You may not believe me right now, but you’re beautiful, Y/N. Sexy. Hot.” you uncontrollably shake your head, not buying a word he says. “I know I’m not the best with words, so I’ll let my actions speak.”

Gibbs ducks his head just a bit and closes the gap between his lips and yours. He softly kisses. You probably have never been kissed this softly before. Gibbs is so gentle and tender, his lips move slowly but expertedly. You’re literally melting under him.

The kiss may have lasted for minutes, hours, you don’t really know. You lost track of time, as if the world had stopped spinning.

“I’m sorry I waited for something like this to happen to do it. I’ve wanted this for a very long time, Y/N.”

“Me, too, Gibbs. But I’m not sure that’s the best time. I’ve lost all self confidence and--”

He kisses you again, undoubtedly to make you shut up. “I’ll help you find it again. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

You rest your forehead against his, some tears are still rolling down your cheeks. “You’re not bad with words.”

“I’m still better with touch.”

#jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #gibbs x reader #jethro gibbs x reader #jethro gibbs #gibbs #leroy jethro gibbs #agent gibbs #ncis #ncis imagines #ncis fiction #ncis fanfic #tony dinozzo #ziva david #Tim McGee

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whereismymindnow · 3 years ago

Text

Begging For Thread (softdark!Azazeal x ofc)

Author's Note: A little one-shot I wrote a while ago featuring Azazeal and an oc character. I feel like he's softdark here because he is possessive and manipulative, but this is how he shows his love after centuries of pain and hurt. He is also still recovering from the loss of Cassie and does not wish for the same to happen to Alyssa.

I don't expect much traction with this little one-shot, but Azazeal is one of my favourite characters and I'm in a major Fassbender mood currently. If you read this then I hope you enjoy!!

Warning(s): coercion, smut.

---

“Let’s face the truth, you cannot be trusted.” The tears steadily dripped down her face as she stared at the sunset. His hot breath hit her cheek as he spoke his cold words. A hand was tightly grasping her shoulder to further accentuate the point: she would not be escaping again. “Appreciate this whilst you can; you won’t be seeing the sky for a long time.” The pad of his thumb slowly wiped away the wet trails on her cheeks before gripping her hand in his hold. “Come. There is no point in upsetting yourself further. It isn’t good for you… either of you.” Her free hand immediately went to her stomach; she was dreading the moment that she’d feel the child move.

That’s when it would be real.

That’s when she could no longer pretend that she had not lost her war with Azazeal.

“I never asked for this.”

“I am aware, but you still followed the path that had been outlined for you. You couldn’t have beaten me even if you had had an army behind you. This was your destiny.” His fingers curled around hers and he squeezed in warning. “I won’t ask you again.” Alyssa gave one last glance to the beautiful sky before allowing him to walk her back into her prison. The church was beautiful to everyone but her. She knew what horrors lay inside; she knew what monsters inhabited it.

“Please don’t lock me in there again…” She tried to drag her feet to slow Azazeal’s pace but merely found herself being tugged along roughly. “I don’t want to be left in there!” Alyssa began to panic and scratched at the hand that gripped hers.

“Alys, calm yourself.” He quickly backed her against one of the hard walls and stared into her eyes. “I cannot trust you any longer. I’ve given you chance after chance, but now that you’re with child everything has changed. I shall not risk your life or the child’s. I was too kind to Cassie and now Malachi has no mother. That mistake shall not be repeated with you.”

“I do not want this child. You can keep it if you wish, but I will have nothing to do with it.” His shark-like grin spread across his face. He truly looked like a predator at that moment.

“It’s nice that you think you have a choice in the matter. You will be a mother, and a good one at that. I know that deep down a part of you wants this child; you want to give it a better childhood than what you had.”

“You know nothing.” Azazeal wanted to roll his eyes but stopped himself so as to not antagonise her further; she was allowing herself to get much too stressed over matters that deep down she knew she had no choice in.

“Will you walk back to our room or do I need to carry you like a new bride over the threshold?” She choked back a sob and walked ahead of the smirking man. Her feet froze just outside the frame of the door and she stared at the lock that was on the outside. The sound of the key being turned echoed in her mind each time she was isolated in there. A small pressure at her back urged her to keep going forward, but she couldn’t.

“No.” He gave no reply and merely gripped the back of her neck whilst forcefully pushing her onward. Alyssa let out a squeak as she stumbled forward. Azazeal shut the door behind him and leant against it to look at the quaking woman in front of him.

“You should really start just saying yes. It would make things a lot easier, Alys.”

“My name is Alyssa!”

“Malachi calls you Alys and you don’t seem to have a problem with that.”

“I didn’t used to because I felt that we were good enough friends, but then he just handed me over to you and didn’t look back.”

“That’s not true and you know it. Malachi doesn’t care about many people, but he cares for you. He didn’t even know of the prophecy until I recognised you to be the one that I was supposed to find. He didn’t wish to betray your trust; why do you think he always tries to appeal to my better nature when you go against my rules? Why do you think he saves you from punishment time and time again?”

“Guilt. Nothing more than that.”

“If he didn’t care for you then why would he feel guilt?” Azazeal ignored her stumbling backwards as he moved closer to her and carried on mirroring her movements. “You were born to be mine-”

“Like Cassie?”

“You were both born to be mine; she was to give birth to my first-born and you were to create my second. Unfortunately I didn’t protect her as much as I should have and so now my focus is on ensuring that you don’t copy her actions.” Alyssa let out a gasp as her legs met a barrier and fell backwards onto the bouncy mattress of his bed. “You will continue being Malachi’s friend and confidante. He needs you just as much as I. Then you shall soon be a mother to this child that grows within you. He may not show it, but I know that Malachi is looking forward to having a sibling.”

“I don’t care about any of that anymore! He allows you to use me and lock me away in this room. He is no friend of mine… not anymore.” Azazeal’s smiling face changed immediately. His cold glare pierced through Alys before he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Sleep. You look like you need it.” Alyssa spent a few moments calming herself before she heard the familiar click ring throughout the room.

“No… No!” Her fists banged against the hard wood and she desperately pulled at the door handle. “Please! Don’t lock me in here again…” Azazeal stood on the other side of the door and swallowed down the part of him that wanted to comfort her. She shouldn’t have tried to run again, he told himself. “Please… No…” He heard her slump to the floor and give a final few half-hearted hits to the door. Silly girl. Once he was satisfied that she was alright and had given up her futile attempts to open the door, he walked away before he heard her shed more tears because of him.

Alyssa crawled over to the bed and cocooned herself inside the red silk sheets. “It’s your own fault. Stupid, stupid, stupid!” She clawed at her hair and cried out. “You didn’t stand a chance.” She unconsciously burrowed into the side of the bed that smelt most like Azazeal. It soothed her strangely enough; it made her feel less alone. After a few more minutes of self-pity filled sobs all went quiet. She sniffled a little before sitting up and staring at the cot that was stored in the corner of the room. It was Malachi’s and soon it would be her baby sleeping in there. More tears ran down her cheeks as she scanned her prison cell - nothing ever changed, but what else could she do? Alyssa lay back down and looked at the ceiling that blocked her from seeing the sky that had become so important to her. Seeing the sky gave her that sense of freedom; she could watch the birds fly without a care and feel the warmth of the sun’s rays on her skin. She remembered back to her latest escape attempt and how it felt to feel the summer breeze on her cheeks. It was good for the short time it lasted… before Malachi once again betrayed her.

No one was around. Alyssa quietly shut the bedroom door and stood for a few moments until she was completely sure that no one was guarding the small corridor that led to Azazeal’s chambers. With a satisfied smile she quickly ran to the back of the church where she knew there was a door; they’d more than likely be near the altar at the front so this was her best shot. The door opened with a loud creak causing Alys to freeze in fear. After a few moments of continuous silence she slipped through the small gap as swiftly as she could and quietly shut the door behind her. Her eyes darted around the church grounds before she began to run.

“Alys!” Malachi’s voice sounded from behind her which made her pick up her speed. Tears of frustration began to blind her as she knew that she wouldn’t be able to outrun him in her current state. She was exhausted from not sleeping much for the past couple of weeks since she found out about the child growing within her. The burn began in her legs before she even managed to get more than 10 feet away from the church; an arm wrapped around her from behind and dragged her down onto the grass. Malachi acted as a cushion as he lay beneath her and held her struggling form to his front. “Stop. Alyssa you need to calm down.” He manoeuvred her under him so that he could grip her flailing arms and press them down onto the ground. His curls tickled her face as he pressed his forehead against her own.

“Let me go, Chi. Please!”

“You know I can’t do that, Alys.” She began to furiously shake her head and dig her heels into the ground as she found him unmoveable.

“I hate you. I hate all of you!”

“I know, I know.” He carefully placed a kiss on her cheek before helping her up. “Look, we can just go back inside now and Dad needn’t know-” At that moment a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder making her freeze in fear.

“Is that so, Malachi?” Azazeal looked down at the shivering girl that avoided his angry gaze. He refused to have her repeat Cassie’s mistakes. She may think he that he was being cruel and horrid, but he was only protecting her from those that would harm her. Just like Malachi, Ella wanted this child also. “Come.” The hand steered her back into her prison as Malachi walked silently beside her.

“Why couldn’t you have just let me go?”

“Alyssa?” The girl ignored Azazeal as he returned to the room that he shared with her. “Do not disregard me.” He noted how she was clinging onto the pillow that he slept on and smiled. Carefully he moved onto the bed and wrapped an arm around her. Her immediate reaction was to move away until he placed his hand onto her head and whispered a short spell that made her stay where she was. Once again tears of frustration slipped down her face as Alyssa found she could do nothing other than move her head and arms.

“Alys?” Malachi made his way around the other side of the bed and knelt in front of her form. “I’m sorry, Alys.”

“You need not apologise; this has always been her destiny.” Azazeal spoke when it was clear that the girl wasn’t going to.

“She was my friend before all of this... one of the only people that I could trust and now she despises my very being.” At this her hand groggily moved towards him. Alyssa didn’t hate Malachi. She couldn’t hate him, even when he pulled the stupidest stunts with his powers she could never find it in herself to be angry. “Alys?” She didn’t speak but allowed him to curl his fingers with hers. She gave a slight squeeze before letting go.

“You need to leave now, Malachi.” The jealousy in Azazeal’s tone was evident. However, his son didn’t even flinch and leant closer to his confidante.

“I shall come to you later.” In a bold move he pressed his lips to hers and was surprised when she gently pressed her fingers to his cheek. They moved their lips against each other in sync before Alyssa moved backwards and gave him a small smile. Malachi returned it with a cheeky grin; they hadn’t done that in a while. He missed that; he missed her old self. “I’ll be back.” Alys touched her lips and barely registered Azazeal’s arm tightening around her waist or the bedroom door being shut gently.

“I didn’t realise the pair of you were so close.”

“It was a mutual arrangement. It’s been a long time since we’ve done anything.”

“You may carry on if you wish, but you shall not deny me or leave this child in return. It’s a fair trade.” Azazeal turned her onto her back and spread her limp legs to lie between them. “You shall have the comfort of Malachi and I shall have the queen that I have longed for for centuries. We could be the family that this child deserves.” One of his hands carefully trailed over her belly; it was early days, but within a couple of months the child would be born.

“I will not bargain with you; you’ve already taken my freedom and my power, I will not give you anything else.” She moved her hands to hold the bottom of her dress as he tried to slide it upwards. She knew that it wouldn’t make him stop, but it helped her believe that she was fighting still and hadn’t given up yet.

“I don’t have to give you a choice, but I am. I could be so much crueller to you.” Azazeal gently took her wrists and put them above her head, he gave a warning squeeze for her to stay still before returning back to lifting her dress to her waist and pulling down the small pair of knickers that he had given her to wear.

“What you are doing now is cruel.”

“It is not. This is one of the most natural things in the world.” He leant down and softly kissed her lips before smiling. “You are not as repulsed by me as you would like to think. You like my touch; you crave my attention.” A deep sigh left his mouth as he gently pushed inside of the girl beneath him. “You smother yourself with the sheets of this bed when I am gone because you want me near you. You wear my shirts when I am not around because you desire to smell my scent. You are just too stubborn to realise it.”

“I don’t want you…” Alyssa breathed out whilst clutching at the silk beneath her to stop from crying out.

“You lust after me just as much as you lust after Malachi. We could have the perfect arrangement if you would just let yourself feel your true emotions.” His hand went back to her face as he removed his earlier spell; immediately her legs locked around his waist. “Stop pretending. Pretending is what got Cassie killed; I will not have you meet the same fate.”

“So… you keep… saying.” Alyssa panted despite her earlier protests and arched her back as the pleasure rippled through her body. Azazeal groaned and slightly turned his head towards the door as he felt a lingering presence.

“Malachi; either leave or enter.”

“What?” Alys asked confused until the door creaked open and the boy in question walked back into the room. She immediately started to push at her lover’s chest and attempted to squirm out of his grasp as she locked eyes with her friend. “Stop-”

“Shhh, it’s alright.” Azazeal distracted his mate by moving his hand between their bodies and rubbing that warm nub until she gripped his shoulders in an effort to stop her body from convulsing. Malachi sat on the edge of the mattress and watched his little paramour writhe against the bed. “What do you want, Malachi?” Azazeal forced out before dipping his head down to bite Alyssa’s neck.

“I merely wondered if you could satisfy her as much as I have in the past.” He watched with a small smile as her eyes captured his; he was always enthralled by the sight of her in bodily bliss. She never made much noise, which wasn’t entirely a bad thing, but her eyes would cloud over and her pupils would expand until there was barely any of that beautiful green colour left.

Azazeal watched her look at his son and grunted before picking up speed. Her gaze strayed back to his as her mouth opened into an ‘O’ shape; he gave a smug smirk down at her and carried on at the fast, rough pace that she seemed to want at the moment. His hand moved from between their bodies and gripped at the headboard of the bed to gain more control over his deep thrusts. He reached further inside her than ever and began to move around until he hit that sweet spot that made her claw harder at his shirt. “You are so close I can feel it.” He whispered down at her as she began to tighten around him.

Alyssa couldn’t control her body; her hips crashed against Azazeal’s as she felt her climax drawing closer. The fallen angel immediately captured her mouth to smother her small whimpers of pleasure. Her nails clawed at his shirt sleeves furiously as she felt her release overpower her. Her entire body shook, the vibrations causing Azazeal to fall over the edge of bliss and empty himself inside of her still quivering body. He gave a few slow, languid thrusts and groaned into her welcoming mouth. Azazeal gently rolled himself over, keeping Alyssa against his chest and allowed her to move her lips from his. His length kept her feeling full as she rested her head under his chin; gasps escaping her mouth as she tried to catch her breath.

Azazeal recovered much faster than she did but still made no move to remove himself from inside her body. He merely stroked his hand through his mate’s hair and smiled to himself. He felt Malachi’s glare on his head but did not openly acknowledge his son.

What a funny predicament Alyssa found herself in… She was trapped between a possessive fallen angel and his equally dangerous offspring. How on earth was she going to escape this madness?

As though they were hearing her thoughts, both supernatural beings chuckled to themselves. There was no escaping them.

---

‘Stooped down and out, you got me beggin' for thread, To sew this hole up that you ripped in my head, Stupidly think you had it under control. Strapped down to something that you don't understand, Don't know what you were getting yourself into, You should have known, secretly I think you knew. (Secretly I think you knew)’

---Beggin for Thread by BANKS---

#michael fassbender #hex #azazeal #softdark!azazeal #azazeal x oc #michael fassbender smut #original female character #azazeal hex #azazeal fanfiction #hex tv series #malachi hex #hex fanfiction

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no-droids · 5 years ago

Text

Just the Translator

Part Ten of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.6K

Warnings: There is rough sex in this. THERE IS ROUGH SEX IN THIS. Do NOT read if that offends you. There is also more anal stuff—NO FUCKING (not yet). Uh, canon-typical violence, grumpy Din Djarin, some fluffy moments, Baby Yoda being a little troublemaker, bit of a cliffhanger ending BUT NOT TO WORRY PALS I ALREADY GOT QUITE A BIT OF THE NEXT PART WRITTEN

A/N: ***Please take a second to visit this googledoc, in it are useful links regarding the BLM protests and what we can do to help. Here is a separate link to where I originally addressed this and shared more thoughts***

***

Whelp. At least you’re in a good mood.

In contrast, Din and the kid have been causing problems all morning, the both of them. Like two… two annoying, middle-aged children competing to see which one is less mature.

The smaller of the two, and older (most likely) is bouncing with energy. Acting a complete fool. Ready and willing to launch out of his restricting little sphere at any second, a bright green bundle of energy that slept way too well last night and is just rubbing it in at this point. He was fine earlier—checking out of the inn, picking up some food at a local market, riding in the Crest as it navigated towards the most isolated sector on this planet—but the hike to this field has been like pulling teeth.

In fact, Din is currently wearing a singular gauntlet on his left hand for that very reason—so this child’s hyper ass could be contained within the hovering, reflective prison. He’s restless, though, continuing to act out. At one point you suggest just letting him walk to let some energy out like yesterday, even if he slows the group down with his tiny little legs. Once you let the little menace out on parole though, he just continues to veer off in his own direction and irritate his dad even further.

And, oh stars—his dad.

Din has barely said a word, only answering with short responses when directly prompted and spending most of his energy just silently stewing inside his own little grumpy teapot on his head. The helmet is the only other piece of armor he’s donning besides the lone vambrace, and you’re surprised steam hasn’t started whistling through the top of it with how frustrated he is, how many times you’ve seen him curl his hands with impatience. At first it was amusing, though you know better than to tease him about it right now. You keep your mouth shut and try your best to wrangle the kid, doing everything you can to be helpful while also steering clear of unintentionally exacerbating his silent irritation, knowing Din isn’t in the mood for jokes after being interrupted at a very crucial moment last night. The sun shines directly on the front of his helmet and blinds you with every single annoyed step, so you follow just far enough behind him and try to use his enormous refrigerator of a body to shield your eyes.

At first it was amusing. But then the baby catches sight of a gorgeously patterned butterfly floating through the field that he probably wants to snack on for breakfast, and he breaks off from your entourage once more with a quiet little coo that should strike pure terror into the hearts of small animals everywhere.

Immediately you’re turning to go get him—but then a large hand quickly snatches the front of your shirt before you can take a single step, pulling until you’re colliding with an unarmored chest with an oof.

A bare hand catches your jaw and tightens until you’re staring deep into the thin blade of his visor, before Din whispers rough through the modulator, “As soon as he falls asleep.”

That’s all he says. And then he’s releasing you and letting you stumble back towards his wayward son a whole lot less amused than you were before, and a whole lot more achy. The baby shenanigans are far less amusing too.

“You’re killing me here, kiddo,” you breathe after quickly catching up with him, having to bend in half to lead him back towards his impatient dad.

His hot, moody… incredibly well endowed dad, thick arms crossed tight over his chest as he waits for your return.

The monster’s hand lifts high above him as his three fingers cling to just one of yours, the baggy brown sack exposing his pudgy little green elbow as he follows next to you with a waddle. It’s slow going, but at some point he decides to pull himself up onto your wrist and you catch him, cradling him in your arms before quickly hurrying back to Din.

Thankfully he begins to calm down a little after that. As you three eventually find a spot in the endlessly breezy field to settle into, the kid clamors back into his shield while Din carelessly drops the dark bag of supplies he carried from the Crest into the tall grass. You twist your back to let some of the stiffness out, rotating your arms to encourage more movement as he approaches.

“Same thing as yesterday,” he gruffs when he’s in reach, patting his chest again with a bare hand. “Hard as you can.”

“My… My hands hurt,” you eventually admit, not wanting to frustrate him even more and hoping you would be able to work on blocking today instead, but Din just nods while you gently brush your thumb along your sore knuckles.

“That’ll happen until it doesn’t,” he tells you quietly, reaching out to touch your elbow in a quick, awkward gesture of comfort and then dropping his arm to his side. Short, but not unkind. “Push through. You can do it.”

You nod, knowing that’s probably the very best motivation you’ll get from him. His beliefs, condensed down to quick, stunted sentences, presented with such unwavering surety that they must be truths. Weirdly, it works wonders for you. Maybe it’s just the person it’s coming from.

You drop into stance and then slam your fist into his chest before he’s ready, and Din steps back on impact with a small grunt while you bite your lip to silence your own noise from the pain reverberating up your arm.

“Good,” he huffs nonetheless, rubbing the spot on his chest he’s historically designated as target practice. “Good. You’re… hitting harder than yesterday. That’s… fuck. Good.”

“Good?” You ask lowly, chancing a quick look over at the kid. Who blinks directly back at you, wide-eyed and staring purposefully from his crib. You deflate just a little bit at the sight of him still wide awake, and Din’s fists are clenched by his sides when you turn back to him.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the pent up tightness in his body as you spend the next couple hours throwing more hits at him, different types. Left hooks, right hooks, crosses, jabs, elbow strikes, palm heels. He was absolutely right though—the more you make contact with him, the less you begin to feel the pain, until it eventually feels like nothing at all to you.

But then, at one point, you pull your hardened fist back, aimed and focused directly on that same spot on his chest once more—when suddenly his hand flashes up and he flicks his finger against the lower part of your open ribcage.

He barely puts any strength into it at all—it’s the pressure you’d use to tap someone on the shoulder if you were trying to get their attention, but for some reason the incredibly well-placed reminder throws you. A little fucking touch like that shouldn’t hurt nearly as much as it does, but you nearly tip sideways and have to catch your footing with how dizzy it makes you.

“That’s what’s called a liver shot,” Din tells you calmly, watching you wrap your hand around your ribcage and wince at the lingering pain through gritted teeth. “Keep your arm down like I told you. That’ll happen every time you wanna get lazy with me, little chicken wing.”

You hiss and shake your head a little bit, trying to clear the fog, and then purposefully tuck both arms tight to your sides. But then—

His hand flashes up again and taps the side of your face this time—not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you flinch on instinct and take a step back. “That arm stays up.”

Your quick huff of air is suppressed. Somewhat censored—it doesn’t duly portray the sharp flare of annoyance you experience. You do exactly what he says, however, and keep your arms in position in front of you.

But then you jerk back and sputter angrily when the tips of his fingers lightly connect with your cheek once more. “Stop that! My hands are up!”

“Then why’d you let me do it?” He asks, stepping up as you retreat to poke you square in your chest. “Stop letting me do it.”

He goes to tap your face again, but this time your forearm comes up to swat his away before he can make contact, and he seems pleased for the moment. Din steps back and hits his chest again. “Come on.”

He lets you get in just a few more blows before coming at you again. You smack his hand away and then go to throw another punch, but he’s quick. He cheats—goes for you twice in a row when you’re not expecting it, and taps the vulnerable spot on your side for the second time today. It hits you like a bullet and takes you a second to snap out of the abrupt shot of pain.

“Come on,” Din taunts once more, curling his mismatched fingers at you—one hand leathered and the other tan and bare. He sounds like he’s grinning under the helmet, starting to enjoy this way too fucking much. It makes your blood boil, makes you just stand there like an idiot for a few seconds and fume at his audacity.

Apparently you take too long getting pissed off at him. He comes at you first, going for your side again, but you shove his arm out of the way with a growl. Except his other arm flashes and you react instantly, ducking under the wide, careful swipe aimed for your cheek and then zeroing in on the same exact spot below his ribs he’s been torturing you with all day, the one left wide open while his arm misses its mark.

Except—yours isn’t a tap, or a flick. It’s a hard uppercut.

Air rushes through the modulator as he groans and stumbles sideways, gasping and trying to steady himself. Triumph surges through your veins as you watch him, shaking your hand out at your side to quickly encourage the numbness away, your knuckles not yet used to hitting bone. He clutches his side and shakes the helmet violently in an effort to regain himself, breathing hard through the filter and—

The visor instantly jerks to you and you’re already taking a step back on instinct, adrenaline roaring. He snaps upright as you continue to retreat—until you trip over yourself and plunge to the grass.

A reflection catches in your peripheral, and you whip your head to the side to see the kid completely passed out in his metallic cradle, eyes closed and mouth drooping a bit. The sight shoots pure exhilaration through you, but it’s nothing compared to the thrill of only seeing him there for a split second before chrome shields instantly slide shut over his head.

You look back to Din just in time to see him dropping his gloved hand back down to his side and taking quick steps towards you—and you react without thinking. You scramble over on your hands and knees and then launch forwards before you’re even halfway off the ground, finding your feet as you stumble into a run and hearing footsteps pick up behind you.

Maker, it’s been ages since you’ve run like this. You don’t even know why you’re running—you just do, it just feels like you should. Your body barrels through tall grass and your heart thunders faster than the sound of your pumping legs, louder than the wind whipping through your ears. You don’t know if he purposefully allows you to get this far or if you’re genuinely quick—

—nope. Nope, you’re not quick, because he suddenly bursts into a sprint behind you and gains way too much ground way too quickly. You try to break left as soon as you realize what’s happening, but he’s too fast and hooks an arm around your stomach just before you’re out of reach. Din yanks you back to his chest as he twists around and takes you both to the ground, his shoulder blades slamming down first and softening your landing with his whole body and a grunt, skidding you both to a halt in the endlessly wavy field.

The wind is knocked out of you regardless. You try and struggle off of him but the positioning makes it almost impossible—your abdominal muscles are no match for the strength of his arms wrapped around your stomach, keeping your body pinned tight to his as you wrestle to lift against him in the grass.

“Fight harder,” Din growls raggedly in your ear, and your pussy seizes with need when you feel how rock hard he is against your ass. It encourages you—you make a rough sound towards the sky and then lift against him with all your strength, and your elbow comes down hard into his ribcage. Air whooshes out of him and his arms loosen just slightly. You’re able to wiggle off him and start crawling away, but then he heaves over and snatches at your pant leg—

Which means you pull them down yourself as you keep clawing yourself forward by your arms, raw excitement coursing through your veins, the fabric pulling tight over your ass and then bunching around your thighs. You squeal and flounder and kick at him—but Din just grabs at your ankle and then pins your leg to the ground, pushing up and using your calves to clamor on top of you with brute strength, catching your underwear and ripping them down too. Your heart pounds and your pussy just about floods itself hearing him dig in his pants to pull his cock out, his breath coming heavy through the helmet.

Maker, you’re so fucking ready for it. You keep struggling just because your body is telling you to, but nothing close to the word ‘stop’ ever leaves your mouth, never even comes to mind. You feel wetness slicking your inner thighs as Din grunts and plants an arm next to your head, his bare hand shooting out to hover in front of your face. You flinch—but he keeps it there, palm open in front of your lips in silent expectation.

“Wet or dry,” he snarls when you don’t immediately react. “I don’t give a shit.”

Still, his hand stays right in front of your face long enough to let you make up your mind.

And… not lick it.

After a moment, Din makes a sound that drops another wave of white hot arousal down through your stomach—a furious, growly noise that resembles distorted static passing through the filter. He angles his cock against your opening and when you hear him muttering angrily, you think he’s scolding you for it. Calling you dirty under his breath, promising you you’ll regret saying that in a second. But no—he’s—

“Perfect. Perfect little girl, fucking perfect,” Din hisses darkly, pushing into your soaking entrance without anything but your slick to ease his way. “H-How are you—s-so fuck—ing—”

Oh Maker, you turn your head into the grass and cry out through the delicious, blissful intrusion, pushing your hips back against his—and Din curses as he quickly bottoms out, making sure he lurches fully into you before his hands find out exactly where they want to be. They land on your lower back and he mounts up, pinning your body hard to the ground with almost his full weight. It means you can rip out as much grass with your useless arms as you want—he doesn’t even give you a single moment now that he’s successfully rooted you to the crushed greenery. You bloom for him all the same, as soon as Din pulls out with a wet sound and then starts fucking you strong and steady.

It’s sharp. Biting. Even the pleasure has a hard edge to it, completely paralyzing you even if you could struggle in this position. His hands are pushing down so hard that the ground digs into your tummy and makes his cock angle and slam right into your g-spot each and every time. You want to moan out your ecstasy but he’s wringing the air from your lungs with every shattering swing of his hips back and forth, quickly speeding up as he goes and taking out a full night’s worth of deprivation on you.

“Ngh. Take. Cock. So. Fucking. Good—” Din grits with every mean thrust, the staccato growls of praise getting lost in the echoing, rhythmic clap of his hips. You can’t fucking breathe—the pleasure is too overwhelming, your face is pressed into the grass, he’s got almost all his weight on you. You’re helpless to do anything besides close your eyes, furrow your brows, drop your jaw, and just let him own your body in the middle of this beautiful oasis. The heavy, wild thrusts steal every sense away from you, any ability to think beyond the fractured piece of heaven he’s striking inside you over and over. You don’t even feel him grabbing your asscheeks and spreading them—

Somebody makes a pitiful, breathless whine—it’s you, you realize. You make that sound, because worn leather lands right on the entrance he was denied last night and shamelessly breaches it before anything else can interrupt him.

“Tight,” he hisses, slowly sinking his thumb all the way down to the knuckle while you clench your eyes shut and choke out his name, “—f-fucking tight—”

His cock pulses inside you and you bear down as hard as you can on it in return, trying to get accustomed to being penetrated in two places at once. He doesn’t move his thumb after that—he just keeps it there, deep inside you while he continues wrecking you with the brutal hammering of his hips from behind.

Still—the impropriety of it starts to burn you up, how… dirty it is. Getting the life fucked out of you in broad daylight, in the middle of a wide open field, the thickest finger he has buried deep in your ass, helpless to do anything else besides lay here and let him—you feel yourself start to clamp down, steadily getting tighter and tighter around the intrusions while he grits out hard curses and keeps giving it to you through the rapid build.

His name—you start repeating it into the ground like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. The word scrapes from your throat over and over, and you try to pull at the grass but your hands are clenched into fists and you can’t seem to remember which muscles to use to open them.

“You like this?” You’re able to hear him grit from above you. “Like when I—fuck—when I fuck you l-like this? When I just. H-Hold you down and take—” he chokes, “—take what I w-want—”

You can’t respond, but fuck yes, you do. The kindling spark inside you suddenly flares up and starts to spread through your body like wildfire, tightening, tightening, tightening, but then—

He’s so pent up—Din cums.

Devastatingly early.

The savage thrusts suddenly stutter to a halt and the gasp he takes in sounds like it physically hurts him. Like the orgasm is just ripped out of him. His hold turns to steel on you, as if he thinks you can somehow get away right now, and Din cums deep inside your spasming cunt with a shuddering, desperate groan of your name.

It’s like it drains everything from him—he slumps, just conscious enough to slowly ease his thumb out of your tight asshole, and then he collapses in the grass next to you. You stay there for just a second and shake next to him, muscles feeling like they’re creaking even while just laying on the ground like this, completely motionless.

“Shit—was that—” Din pants, turning and scooting over to you to brush your hair out of your face with his bare hand, “was that… okay? Do you… do you need…?”

You’re still so submissive, still so high on the overwhelming rush of pleasure, your mouth opens and croaks out a response without your permission. “It was good.”

“Yeah?” He huffs, dropping back on the grass and trying to catch his breath. “Good.”

And… it’s true. It was good, it was absolutely fucking amazing. So overpowering, such a hard fuck that you almost don’t think about the fact that you didn’t actually cum from it. The thought doesn’t really even register with you fully, not yet.

Eventually you both push yourselves up, each of you equally lacking in energy, just in different ways. Din looks like he’s drunk—unbalanced and dizzy while he removes his glove and stuffs it into one of his pockets, before carefully tucking his spent cock back in his trousers. In contrast, you’re nothing more than another trembling blade of grass in an enormous landscape of them, flimsy and yielding to the powerful, rippling wind as you attempt to adjust your clothing.

It’s fine, you tell yourself on the slow, quiet walk back. Sex doesn’t always need to end in a fiery orgasm. Sometimes a rough pounding hits the spot, scratches that itch. You feel like you’re a newborn blurg trying to balance your oddly proportioned weight on two noodle legs as Din’s hand patiently guides you from your lower back, and a bright flare of arousal arcs through you feeling how gentle his hold is compared to the way his cum is steadily leaking from your throbbing, aching cunt.

You don’t need to cum every single time he fucks you. It’s fine.

***

Upon returning to the sight of the unbothered, napping kid, you both decide to walk a bit more, and you learn your lesson this time. The sun glints bright against Din’s left side while traveling in this direction, so you stick purposefully to his right the entire time.

In the meantime, you share easy conversation and attempt to regain some semblance of control over your still slightly… restless body. Slowly but surely, your feverish arousal for him dims and fades to the backburner, replaced instead by… softer, quieter feelings. There’s not a solid word for it, not really. If you were mixing on a palette, you’d start out with a base of gentle contentment and then add a big dollop of affection, diluted with silence until it’s a swirling, pastel… color you don’t have a name for, but cherish all the same.

The baby wakes up about halfway through the afternoon hike, and he’s better now too. Eventually your ragtag party finds a place to settle for the night—a small clearing in the field at the edge of a thick forest. There’s a sizable log and boulder situated relatively close together, with a wide open space to make a fire in the center.

Din disappears for a bit to go get some firewood from the looming forest while you entertain the kid; the log is tilted perfectly to allow you both to watch the sunset, and you easily converse with the riveting baby talk as if he’s an absolute genius.

“I’m not so sure about that, honestly,” you tell him diplomatically, receiving nothing but unintelligible babbles in response as he climbs all over you. “Well, no actually, because there’s two major schools of thought concerning that, the first being—”

He pops up in front of your face to interrupt you heatedly and you scoff, rolling your eyes over the loud gibberish. “Look, I’d appreciate it if we could tone down the passive-aggressiveness, okay? If we can’t have a respectful discussi—”

Three green fingers settle over your lips and you gasp at the nerve of him, forced to let him continue to ramble on your lap about absolutely nothing at all, the size of his ego soon growing to match the size of his ears.

“Hear that, shiny?” You turn your head and ask his father upon his eventual return, and Din grunts distractedly as he dumps the firewood down and rummages around in the bag for a lighter. Tilting your head back towards the kid, you prompt him with a raised brow. “Tell him what you just told me.”

The baby bursts into more nonsense, encouraged by your attention, and Din crouches down to set the wood into position in the dusky twilight glow while saying nothing at all, and it somehow manages to pass as listening intently.

It continues to go on like that far longer than you expected it would, the baby apparently having quite the bone to pick about something that’s been on his mind, and one point you have to rest your hand over his mouth so he finally stops babbling. “Hey, that’s not very nice,” you scold him quietly. “I’m sure his face is perfectly normal under there.”

The helmet turns just slightly towards you, unamused while you snort at your own joke for a little bit.

“I didn’t say it,” you remind him after far too long of just celebrating your own hilarity, clearing your throat through the stifled chuckles. “I’m just translating.”

“Oh yeah?” He eventually murmurs, beginning to ignite some of the crumpled twigs at the center of the pile, and if you worked at it, you could probably convince yourself he’s sharing your gentle smile. More muted than yours perhaps, but beautiful and easy on his face, fitting him simply and perfectly. “What did… What did he say I look like?”

You would’ve shot something ridiculous back at him, something snarky and facetious, but you stop short. You catch it—underneath his voice, it sounds… timid, almost. Uncertain. It makes you take just a second in responding.

“Brown eyes,” you tell him after a moment, and Din doesn’t visibly react, just continues to slowly add small branches to kindle the flame. It’s so quiet out here, but it’s different from hyperspace quiet. This quiet is… natural. Warm, and. Free. Fleeting, allowed to roam. In a way that hyperspace just feels compact, stifling. “He said you have… brown eyes. And a… a strong bone structure, striking features. A sharp, chiseled jaw, dark facial hair. And, uh. He also said…”

Din keeps silently feeding the fire until it’s crackling and bright, and then he settles back on his butt next to it, both elbows resting on his knees, not moving the visor towards you but waiting for you to finish regardless.

The stunning backdrop gives way to a stunning surge of bravery.

“He said you make a bunch of faces under there that nobody ever sees,” you say softly, blinking at Din in the fading twilight while the kid sits silently in your lap. “That you’re an open book. Behind a metal wall. And you have a really nice smile, I bet—he bets… he bets you probably do it more often than anyone realizes. And your… your hair starts to curl when you let it grow long, and. And you’re almost guaranteed to be drop dead gorgeous under there, and it’s a real fucking shame that you’ve probably never had anyone tell you it.”

Din tilts his helmet at you, looks at you for a long time—long enough for blood to rush to your cheeks and for you to get fidgety. But when he finally does respond, his voice is gentle through the modulator. “He said that.”

You mhm at him quickly, nodding your head and turning away as casually as you can, heart beating incredibly fast for some reason. “Just the translator.”

A lovely silence soon blankets the both of you, a warmth permeating through to your bones that has nothing to do with the steadily growing fire.

***

A little while later, the kid has retired to his reflective cradle and the dancing flames are the only source of light besides the bright moon hanging directly overhead. Din sits with his back to the large boulder and digs through the bag, pulling out all sorts of food you picked up before leaving the village this morning and handing them to you. Something red and unfocused flashes oddly against the curve of his helmet when he reaches his hand back in, but it’s only for a second—he’s already pushing more food at you and filling your arms with bags of dried meats, fresh fruit, and loaves of bread.

“Stars,” you whisper under your breath, examining the feast in the flickering firelight. “Here, take—take some of this, it’s too much.”

“There’s more in here,” he counters lowly, zipping the bag and dropping it somewhere on the other side of his body. “The kid hasn’t eaten all day. Might crawl away and catch himself a Gungan later if you don’t feed him soon.”

“No, I mean—” you let all the food drop into your lap and start sorting the items, “—you need to eat. What do you want? There’s plenty.”

“I’m not hungry,” he answers, far too quickly to have actually taken a moment to check. “Just give me whatever you two don’t eat when you’re finished, I’ll put it back in the bag.”

Okay, if he’s gonna play it like this, you’ll just have to choose for him. You’ve already dedicated at least two bags of dried meat to the kid, which takes care of him. So, you take an extended moment to methodically find the ripest fruit in the bunch, the one with the most squish to it, and then search for the softest loaf of bread, not caring that Din is silently watching you. You gather both of them in your arms and then pluck three bags of meat from the pile, before depositing all of them back into his lap.

“Eat,” you urge quietly, grabbing another portion of food for yourself, heavy on the fruit. “Don’t inhale it. Please.”

With that, you grab the kid’s food and then scoop the little guy up from his shield with your free arm, standing and walking to the other side of the fire. You carefully plop yourself down with your back purposefully to Din, the kid happily finding a place on your lap with his back to you and reaching six little fingers out for the food.

You start eating, and after a moment, you smile around the large bites of fruit at the sound of metal clinking against stone. The baby, of course, refuses to even open the bag of dried meat you set in front of him, so you roll your eyes and do it yourself, hoping he’ll at least eat like an adult and give you some time to feed yourself. But no—the fifty year old creep demands to be hand fed, and any other day, you wouldn’t have let him get away with it.

Today, you’re just really fucking. Happy.

You’re unbelievably happy. Having spent a few days on this gorgeous planet, your two favorite people in the galaxy with you. It fills your heart with air.

You start out quiet, praying you aren’t bothering Din as he (hopefully) continues to relax and enjoy his food behind you. You begin humming your favorite melody under the sound of the crackling flames, the source of heat burning pleasantly against the curve of your lower back, setting another piece of dried meat into the kid’s cute little mouth and only just slightly annoyed that he refuses to do this himself. Admittedly though, you do love babying him, especially when he shows you his adorable little chompers.

One bite for him, two bites for you. That’s the deal, even though you’re hungry and you deserve way more than double his food intake rate. You try to be quiet enough that your gentle humming will get lost with the fire between you and Din, and he never says anything or tells you to cut it out, so you just continue to let your cheerful mood provide a quiet soundtrack to the moonlit evening.

Even better, you and the kid actually finish snacking before he does, and you’re more than willing to wait for him, thrilled that this is actually happening. It’s so simple, such a throwaway thing, but. Knowing he used to eat his meals as quick as he can and now he’s comfortable enough to just take a second and enjoy it… you don’t know, there’s something inherently meaningful about it, something that you specifically notice. Something about this, about sitting around a fire and sharing a meal together for the first time—even with your back turned to him, it just feels… familial. In a way. More than it’s ever felt before.

You have a little moment. It’s nice. You drop your head back and gaze up at the night sky, in awe of how different the stars look from this side of the galaxy and remembering how far you’ve come. The kid follows suit, leaning back against your tummy and blinking silently at the universe, the star-speckled sky reflecting in his gigantic dark eyes.

He starts to doze after awhile, listening to you hum softly to yourself, but the noise of a helmet finally lifting from the boulder and most likely fitting itself back in its rightful place snaps him awake just enough. The kid pushes off you and waddles over to his dad, and you scoot yourself back over to your little log while he unceremoniously clamors up onto Din’s thighs.

Admittedly, it’s really fucking cute. The visor moves just enough to watch him plop his little green butt down and find a comfy position on his lap, not helping but not preventing the movement either. A heartwarming, silent kind of tolerance hardened men have for innocent little creatures that makes you bite your lip to hide your smile. What a softie.

You sit there in companionable quiet, staring deep into the dancing firelight and losing track of time just a bit. They’re hypnotic, the flames. Crackling and popping, warming just the forward-facing parts of you and nearly burning your cheeks, but you love it. Breathing in the woodsy campfire air, hearing the gentle breeze float through the field surrounding you, the quiet forest waving dark and deep in the distance. The midnight sky stretches long above you and the stars seem… brighter than they were on Arvala-7. They probably aren’t—that planet is practically abandoned and has almost no light pollution whatsoever compared to Naboo, but… maybe it’s because now they feel… in reach. Something you can touch. Interact with. Something you can cover your eyes, blindly point at, and then say—that one. That’s where we should go next.

After awhile—you have no idea how long—you blink your gaze over to Din and startle to find the helmet facing you directly, shamelessly, the kid completely passed out on his lap as the flames reflect in the visor.

Without intending to, you’re already thinking back to earlier today. How quickly he bolted after you, how strong he was bringing you to the ground, pinning you under him and taking what was so rudely denied to him last night.

You didn’t actually finish, and you can still feel it simmering down low. Din’s cum has been steadily leaking from you all day, and while you eventually became successful at blocking out the sensation, it suddenly slams to the forefront of your mind again. The visor pierces deep into you while you start to squirm just a bit against the rough log pressed into your back. You can still feel him when you flex your lower muscles, and you bite your lip and do it repeatedly while blinking at him, waiting, squeezing your thighs together and loving the reminder.

He still hasn’t said anything to you, and you start to get antsy under his stare. Your body works itself up even more, fueled by the flames reflecting in his helmet. After a few more moments of silent tension, you’ve finally had enough.

“Din,” you whisper, trying not to make it sound like a whine and his head quickly lifts when you didn’t even realize it was slightly tipped forward. The helmet rolls back in a drowsy little circle, as if his neck is suddenly remembering the weight burdening it. Embarrassment instantly floods you. “Oh. Shit. I’m so stupid. I’m sor—”

Only he’s already pushing himself up with his free arm, lethargic and drunk with exhaustion, not saying a single word as he sets the conked out kid in the cradle and closes the shield over his sleepy little head with the push of a button.

You bite your lip as he drags himself over to you, swinging a leg behind you and then dropping down without any ceremony, firmly inserting himself between the uncomfortable log and your back. Your butt is shoved forward from the sudden displacement but he’s not done. Din wraps both his arms around you and pulls, dragging you up onto his long torso while his legs close under you and you’re off the ground completely.

Oh Maker, he’s already thousands of times more comfortable than sleeping up against the log would be. He makes the best bed in the galaxy, big and warm and firm under you, letting you stretch out long on him. You lounge on his lap and drop your head to his shoulder, resting your arms on top of his as they drape heavy across your belly.

“Sorry,” he gruffs, voice low and rough through the modulator. The filter rings sharp through your ear when it’s pressed up against his helmet like this. “Just need a few hours. Didn’t… didn't sleep great last night.”

You close your eyes and internally scold yourself, now taking responsibility for his lack of rest for the past two days. Shit. You don’t actively respond, feeling slightly put out, but your body is of another mind altogether. It still continues trundling down the steep slope you shoved it towards earlier, when you stupidly thought he was giving you eyes under the helmet instead of him being passed out cold. You wiggle against him just slightly under the guise of finding a comfortable position, but it has unintentional consequences.

You breathe out a soft sigh when your hips move over his cock, biting your lip at the sensation but trying so hard to stop it in its tracks. He’s exhausted, and he already fucked the life out of you today, there’s no way he’ll want to go again this soon. Except—then he shifts and mmms low in his throat.

“And you,” Din murmurs quietly, reaching a hand down to slowly push under your pants, “need to start being more honest with me.”

“What are you t—oh, stars,” you whisper, your body shuddering as one of his thick fingers slowly dips into your slit.

“Shit, you’re wet,” he groans, sinking his hand down lower to feel remnants of himself still easing its way out of you. Your lashes flutter as your jaw drops, and his cock gets hard against your spine almost immediately. “You’re fucking… soaked. I—I asked if you came and you said yeah,” he whispers low to you, but you shake your head. “Why’d you lie to me abo—”

“No, no—” you protest breathlessly, “—you asked if it was okay, and then I said—”

“You said it was good. It’s not good if you didn’t cum,” he grunts quietly, and the tip of his finger now drawing tight circles over your clit makes it damn near impossible to argue. “I didn’t fuck you right if you didn’t cum. You should be fucked right.”

“Maker, you fuck me exactly how I need to be fucked,” you whimper, tilting your head until your lips are pressed against the curve of his helmet while his hand steadily works under your pants. “And—oh, fuck, that’s… h-however you need to fuck me.”

“Fuck—obedient little thing…” he huffs, starting to rub harder over your clit. “What I need is for you to cum. From now on, you’ll tell me. Say yes.”

“Yes,” you moan into the beskar, your eyes fluttering back at the slowly building pressure.

“Say, ‘yes, Din,’” he breathes.

“Yes, Din,” you dutifully repeat, lifting your hips up against his hand, and he groans softly through the modulator.

“Say, ‘Din, I need something to cum on’,” he whispers.

You’re delirious, you don’t even catch it before most of it is already out of your mouth. “Din, I need something to c—” you cut off but he’s already reaching down between your bodies to ease his cock out, before yanking your pants down your ass just enough to position himself up against your entrance.

He rocks his hips up and he slides in easier than ever before, and you… don’t know what you’re expecting, but he surprises you nonetheless. He doesn’t start thrusting into you at all. Even though he’s rock hard inside you, thick and pulsing and breaking you open, he doesn’t move a single inch. He just keeps himself there, continuing to rub circles around your clit and giving you exactly what he prompted you to ask for.

Something to cum on.

Your body tenses and squeezes him, and Din shushes you before you realize you were making noise. His free hand comes up to settle tight over your mouth and guide you turn your head away from his helmet. At first you think it’s because your heavy breathing was probably fogging the visor up, but no—his fingers leave your pussy for a split second and you hear him maneuver himself out of it. The hollow noise it makes thunking to the ground is beginning to become your favorite sound in this universe.

But then of course, Din buries his face into your neck and starts talking again, whispering low praises behind your ear with that bassy, dark chocolate rasp, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. His fingers return to your cunt to slowly rub your clit and his cock throbs hotter than sin inside you, building your pleasure into a strong, slow crescendo.

You start to whimper unintentionally, but his hand is wrapped tight around your mouth, muting and confining the desperate sounds to your throat. His finger presses down harder on your clit and his cock flexes inside you.

“That’s it, sw—sweet girl,” Din mutters, his voice interrupted by his own staccato breaths and tight gasps the longer he talks you through it, the longer he keeps himself perfectly still while engulfed in your drenched, fluttering cunt. “That’s—that’s it, I can feel it c-coming. Fuck—make it good for me, give me a good one—”

His words shove you right over a cliff you didn’t even realize was there until you were dangling over the steep drop for an extended moment like a cartoon. Everything squeezes around him unbearably tight—your hands dig into his forearms, your back arches up against him, your pussy constricts his thick cock until you feel like you’re hurting the both of you with it, and Din’s breath catches next to your ear while you’re both suspended in thin air for a split second—

—before you’re convulsing in pure bliss, flooding his cock with cum while he rasps out, “good girl,” into the crook of your neck and rocks his hips up into yours. The few heavenly inches of movement hits something jaw-dropping inside you and nearly makes you scream against his palm, launching your body even higher into mind-bending rapture. Fucking Maker, you cum hard for him, on him, around him. You downright drown his cock in your pleasure, suffocate it and work out the aching tightness in your pussy all over him until you feel like you can’t breathe anymore.

“Mmm…” Din murmurs quietly, continuing to circle your swollen clit hard through the shattering aftershocks. His voice is deep and sinful and vibrates your whole back with its frequency, but something underneath it also sounds as if he’s considering, before he seems to land on an answer to a wordless question he just asked himself. “…One more.”

And, like the fucking Maker himself commanded it, another blazing hot wave of fire suddenly rips you apart and sends you spasming rhythmically around the throbbing cock buried inside you once again. This one wrings you completely dry, robbing you of every sense. The ragged whine you make behind his hand must be too loud—his fingers quickly tighten around your jaw and lock down, keeping you as still as possible while you give him everything you have to give.

Eventually the sparks die out and you’re left a shell of what you once were, clamping down hard on him and shuddering your bliss at the night sky. He lays there silently under you, holding you as you fall back down to reality. Your breathing is a mess and so is everything below your waist, and your whole body jerks when Din carefully slides his hand from your pussy and rubs gently over your thighs, your tummy, your chest.

“That was…” you croak out, trying to remember how to speak, “ … g-good.”

“Go to sleep,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses against the side of your neck. You can hear the gentle grin he’s hiding from you, knowing he completely incapacitated you.

“But what about—” you start to protest, when Din’s teeth sink into your flesh and your pussy seizes up tight around him, making him choke a hoarse little groan into your skin.

After a moment, he eases his throbbing cock out of you, and he resets your clothing while you whimper in distress. “Go to sleep,” Din murmurs, before softly kissing your neck once more, and your eyes slowly droop against your will. Fuck, his body beats a king size mattress any day of the week. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

He…

He isn’t.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #smut #reader insert #fanfic #star wars

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