#and part of me finds it comforting. the thought that we carry these people we used to be with us

[hexcoreviktor]

love how i, as a grown ass adult, am still fucking terrified of groups of teenagers 🙃

[notomys-mordax-blog]

Regrettably, I have not gotten all of my feelings about Veilguard out of my system. I've decided to cope with this by continuing to post novels regarding my thoughts about the narrative. Since I'm generally here for the characters, I'm organizing my thoughts on a character-by-character basis. I'm going to include my general opinions about the characters, things I liked and disliked about their involvement in the game, and thoughts I have about how I may have improved upon their narrative or things that might have made their stories more effective (for me). 

Part 1 Lace Harding

Overall: 5/10

She's a really cute character with an adorable design. Say what you will about the change in art style, but I find the ladies of Veilguard to be absolutely gorgeous. I also liked the visual storytelling that we had with her design. I could really imagine her adding the little embroidered details to her clothing while away on a scouting mission. 

Lace is our returning companion. When this was revealed, I thought that she was a good choice. She was a fan favorite in DA:I and struck the right balance between being familiar, without having too much pre-existing plot that would need to be incorporated into the story. She's the cute girl-next-door, with some really interesting undertones of having been raised in a farm with all of the bloody pragmatism maintaining a farm requires. 

Before we dive into her story arc, I think it's worthwhile to address her personality. While I don't disagree with the sentiment that she'd be different around Rook (a co-worker) versus the Inquisitor (a literal holy figure), I don't think they've struck the right balance between bubbly and cute with the salt-of-the-earth pragmatism we saw when she was younger. This feels odd, because the situation in veilguard is just as, if not more, pressing than the situation in inquisition.

The romance between Taash and Lace didn't really do it for me. I think there are some interesting parallels between the characters, specifically they are both bicultural (although have very different experiences with what this entails). I also think it's interesting that Taash is very much a person who has gotten comfortable with their own anger, while Lace (who hypothetically has this anger) isn't comfortable with letting her friendly and bubbly mask drop. I like the implication that Lace is the kind of person that people underestimate and mischaracterize, Taash has a very direct kind of sexuality that seems at odds with the "girl-next-door" persona that Lace usually carries, but unfortunately I just didn't buy the chemistry between these two.  

Her story arc consists of getting whacked with a magical MacGuffin and obtaining mysterious magical powers. These powers reveal the painful history of the dwarven people, in which the proto-elves magically lobotomized their ancestors in order to create physical bodies. The dwarves in the DA series suffer a problem that seems pretty common to a lot of dwarves in fantasy series. They have the most fascinating lore and interesting culture, but they never really seem to fit properly in the narrative. The role of the Deep Roads with the wardens helped tie Orzammar to the main conflict better in DA:O, but one of the main problems I had with Harding's story was that there was this really fascinating lore reveal that has been hinted at since the beginning of the series, but it's never really tied back to the main conflict. There is essentially a throw-away line in which harding muses about how messed up it is that the entire economy of modern dwarven society is essentially (unknowingly) mining the bodies of their ancestors. 

The end result is an interesting narrative beat that doesn't really hit right. It feels disconnected with the main conflict, and literally absorbing her race's entire ancestral trauma without any real consequence or impact on her characterization. I'm of the opinion that the lore reveal was really interesting, and something that the series has been building up for a while. 

This is where I'd put my thoughts about Lace's Faction, if it existed

Lace is the only companion who doesn't belong to a faction. 

She's also well positioned to be a bridge between South Thedas and the North, she could have acted as a proxy for the player and been used to explain differences between how the previous games characterized Northern Thedas (especially Tevinter!) and what we experienced. While I believe she has a line or two about how poorly elves are treated in the south, I think this was a largely underutilized aspect of her character.

This post is already upwards of 2k words, so I'll save a more in depth analysis of my feelings about what happened with Southern Thedas and the Inquisitor. Let's just say that I laughed (negative) when Emmrich and Harding decided to go on their camping trip almost immediately after I received notice that the South was completely overrun with Blight and on the Brink of collapse. 

I think part of my longing for a dwarven faction is that in fantasy stories, dwarves often have super cool lore that isn't really explored. DA:O was a bit of an exception, because of the importance that the Deep Roads had to the story, but in the later games ... it doesn't really feel like the dwarves are super related to what's happening in Thedas. With all of the big worldbuilding reveals about the Titans, it would have been nice to have a dwarven faction, and Kal-Sharok is right there. I've been dying to see more of this society since they were first introduced, and I feel like they really would have been an interesting thematic inclusion, given that the entire world is in danger of being blighted. I go into more depth about why I think a dwarven faction would have improved Lace's story later. 

How would I fix this?

Whenever I find something narratively unsatisfying, my brain immediately jumps to fix-it mode. 

So I think the first problem has to do with the characterization of Harding. As mentioned earlier, I always understood her as being a character who is outwardly really bubbly, but also very ruthlessly pragmatic. I don't think this characterization was really well portrayed in Veilguard. Making it more clear that Lace has a brutal side would really go a long way in making the Titan's anger and grief feel more impactful, and making it more clear that she has some darker impulses that could make her embracing her anger dangerous. We get a taste of this in some of her banter's with Taash, but I think I would have liked to see her act on some of these impulses. It's odd that Neve and Lucanis are the only companions who can be hardened. This feels like a perfect place to Harden Harding (heh). 

So, we tweak Harding's characterization and add some gameplay impacts. Better, but Harding's story still feels like it's dangling in space. 

My first impulse was that Harding was the wrong character to tell this story. Narratively, the story doesn't really take advantage of her connection to the Inquisition or Southern Thedas. After all, Lace Harding is a surface dwarf with no real connection to her dwarven heritage, she identifies much more strongly with being ethnically Ferelden than being dwarven. Furthermore she is the most devoutly Andrastian member of the party. Surely a character who identifies as more ethnically dwarven would be better suited to tell this story, why was the Lace chosen when Dagna was right there? 

Given the overall narrative of Veilguard, I think the best way to make the story of the Titans feel connected to the main plot would be to have a dwarven faction as described above. However that would involve some heavy narrative shifting. Without shifting too many major beats, I feel like Harding's story could have been made much more impactful if we were asked to choose "what's next?" for her. She's been given the burden of learning traumatic ancestral knowledge for a group of people she's ethnically related to, but not culturally related to. I think it could have been much more interesting if we gave Taash's choice to Lace. Once the Gods are defeated and the heroes can go home, what does she want to do? 

Taash will probably get their own novel later, but I found it really thematically goofy that the thematic thesis of their character involves "gender isn't a binary, but culture is (apparently)". While thinking about Taash and Lace as a couple, I considered that one of the commonalities the two characters have is the fact that they are visibly part of an ethnic minority that they don't really fully relate to. If anything, Lace would probably experience this to a greater degree than Taash because she's a surface dwarf. Unlike Taash who was raised by a person with a very strong connection to their culture, Lace and her mother feel very integrated with Ferelden society (as mentioned, they've even adopted the majority religion of the region). 

Does Lace Harding return to her mother and the country that she obviously loves, or does she embrace her role as an "oracle" and return to dwarven society (either Kal-Sharok or Orzzamar would have worked)? Unlike Rivaini or Qunari culture which could easily exist in a blended capacity, the cultural taboos of dwarven societies could explain why this needs to be a binary choice.

I also think that this could have made the choice to sacrifice Harding a little bit more impactful. Part of the reason why it hurts to lose Davrin is that you lose Assan too. I think if it was more clear what Harding's future looked like, it would have been more impactful to lose it.

Closing Thoughts

Lace Harding is a good example of a few of the problems with Veilguard. Taken on her own, she's a likeable and fun character, but her characterization feels somewhat shallow compared to what is right there, simmering underneath the surface. Objectionable aspects of the character are smoothed down. In Cullen's bad ending it's implied that Lace straight up mercy-kills him! My girl gets stuff done (with a smile, even if those things are ... emotionally challenging)  If you squint you can kind of see that the implications are still there, but it's so subtle that it truly feels like head-canons are doing the heavy lifting. 

As an aside, two aspects that I think negatively impact Lace's character are the general omission of the Chantry in Veilguard's story, as well as the narrative decisions made around the Inquisitor and Southern Thedas. 

Her freckles are cute tho.

[pepprs]

hi update things are fucking terrible and my eyes hurt from sobbing. lol

[jupiterpilgrim]

The Pleasure Equation: When the Nerd Solves Everything, Including You

Nayeon x Male Reader

word count: 8.2k

a/n: Yo, my first published smut. I hope you like it. Feel free to tell me what you think.

—

You're lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling and wondering why, in the 21st century, universities still think pairing people for projects is a good idea. Plus, you're terrible at this subject. Advanced Calculus? They might as well call it "How to Ruin My Weekend." The only saving grace is that your partner, Nayeon, the biggest nerd in class, will handle most of it. For you, it seems like a golden ticket: she does the work, and you pretend you helped. It was the perfect plan. What could go wrong?

The doorbell rings. Of course, it’s her. You were expecting it—you could almost time Nayeon's nerdy punctuality. And, as always, she looks like the picture-perfect good girl—cardigan, glasses, skirt, that innocent, serious air of someone more interested in spreadsheets than in people. The kind of girl most guys wouldn't look at twice. But you, well, you had to look. It was obligatory since she was going to carry your weight in this project.

You open the door, and there she is, laptop under her arm, shy smile and everything you imagined. The nerd who's here to save your semester.

What you didn’t know—and God knew you were about to find out—is that Nayeon had planned a different type of study for this project.

She walks in with that confident stride that only people who are either extremely smart or who know the subject is your lifeline have. And honestly, you’re not ready for the energy she brings.

“Hi,” she says, glancing around your house, skipping any small talk.

“Hey, Nayeon. Nice to have you here.” You try to sound more enthusiastic than you really are. “Want anything? Water, juice, tea?” you offer, hoping to buy yourself a few more minutes of procrastination before facing the project.

“No, thanks.” She looks at you over her glasses, almost as if she’s analyzing your soul. “I think we should just get started. The sooner we finish, the better.”

“Yeah, better,” you think. And with that, off you go to your bedroom. Yes, the bedroom, because it’s the only place in the house that seems even remotely presentable. There are piles of books (that you haven’t read, just skimmed for the basics), notebooks with ridiculously short notes you took, some clothes scattered here and there... oh, and your unmade but perfectly comfortable bed, where you sit on the edge. It was a clinically tidy room compared to the living room or the kitchen.

Nayeon doesn't seem to care about anything. She sits at the desk chair and opens her laptop.

The project, of course, is about "Modeling Algebraic Functions for the Optimization of Industrial Processes." Or something equally mind-numbing that only Nayeon seems to understand. You’re more lost than someone trying to solve a Rubik's cube in the dark. And it’s all because of your dad, who, in his non-threatening way, persuaded you to follow the family career path. Damn Engineering (and tradition).

Nayeon, as always, is already deep into the work, fingers flying over the keyboard while her glasses slip to the tip of her nose, balancing dangerously between focused nerd and, well... ¿sexy? nerd?

Not that you’d admit that.

She glances at you, and for a second, you almost feel like she expects you to say something useful. Which, of course, would be a grave miscalculation. Literally.

“So, I thought you could start with the part about differential equations,” she says, making the suggestion with the ease of someone asking you to hold a cup, when what she’s really offering is a grand piano. “And then the graphs…”

You pretend to be genuinely interested. Which means nodding in a way that could be mistaken for understanding if someone looked quickly, but in reality, you're utterly lost.

“Oh, sure, differential equations…” you repeat, as if the words held any special meaning. They don’t.

Nayeon sighs and goes back to typing, clearly aware of the level of uselessness you're operating at. She’s probably already mentally dividing the entire project, calculating how many extra hours she'll need to cover for the fact that you're, essentially, dead weight.

“Maybe you could review the introduction,” she suggests, polite but with the patience of someone talking to a child who still doesn’t know the difference between shapes.

You scratch your head, pretending to read the introduction she’s already written. One, two lines. Everything looks very... professional. You attempt to seem helpful:

“You know, I think you’re... um... doing great with this. Maybe... maybe I should focus more on the creative part of the project, like... the presentation design?” you suggest, smiling, as if making a PowerPoint full of silly animations was an undervalued talent in academia.

She raises an eyebrow.

“Design?” Nayeon asks, sarcasm dripping from her tone. “In an Advanced Calculus project? You want to fill the presentation with glitter and stars, is that it?”

“Hey, glitter makes everything better,” you reply, defensive, but unable to suppress a smile. “Maybe throw in some memes to lighten the mood… People love memes... I guess.”

“I’m not sure if you're joking or if you've completely given up on life,” Nayeon mutters, with a short, dry laugh, returning to the keyboard.

You shift on the bed, trying to find a position that seems less like a desperate student and more like someone slightly focused on the project. The silence is broken only by the sound of her typing and your occasional murmur of fake approval: “Hmm, sure, that makes sense…”

It doesn’t.

Then, out of nowhere, Nayeon looks at you again, but this time with a different kind of curiosity. There’s something in her eyes, something that goes beyond pure calculation—and we’re not talking about the equations.

“You live alone, right?” The question comes casually, almost innocently. Almost.

“Uh, yeah, I do,” you answer, a bit confused by the sudden shift. “Why?”

“Just... curious,” she replies, but the smile she gives is far from innocent. “It must be nice living alone. I bet you can do whatever you want, right? No one around to hear...”

“Yeah, kind of,” you say, scratching the back of your neck. “Like... I can have pizza for breakfast without being judged. And play video games late. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds.”

Nayeon laughs, but in a way that makes you feel a bit uncomfortable, like she knows something you don’t.

“And... what do you mean by ‘do whatever you want’?” you ask, hesitant but unable to resist the curiosity.

“Oh, nothing,” she says, looking away for a second. “Just thinking... it must be interesting. Having that kind of freedom.”

She pauses and looks directly at you again, her fingers sliding slowly across the keyboard, as if the project was now the last thing on her mind.

“Tell me something... what’s your type?” The question lands like a stone thrown into a calm lake, sending ripples of confusion through you.

You almost choke.

“My... type?” you repeat, as if it’s a math problem with too many variables.

“Yeah, like... what do you find attractive in someone?” Nayeon continues, her voice far too casual for the situation. She leans forward slightly, her eyes locked on yours.

“Well, I dunno.” You shift uncomfortably. “I guess... someone fun, you know? Someone who can make me laugh.”

“Hmm. And me?” Nayeon tilts her head, her glasses now low enough to reveal her sharp eyes behind them. “Do I make you laugh?”

You freeze, because the right answer to this feels like a trap.

Sure, Nayeon’s made you laugh plenty of times, especially when she freaks out over losing half a point on a test. But that doesn’t seem like the kind of "laugh" she’s asking about.

“Uh, yeah, of course!” you respond, quickly. “I mean, in a good way. Not that I’m laughing *at* you, but... you know what I mean, right?”

She smiles, and you’re not sure if she’s satisfied with your answer or just amused by your nervousness.

“You know,” Nayeon continues, “I think I prefer guys who... know what they want. Guys with attitude.”

You nod, trying to process what’s happening.

“Oh, sure. Attitude is always good, right?” you reply, having no idea where this conversation is heading.

She looks at you in a way that feels almost predatory, and you realize that, somehow, whatever control you thought you had over this situation (even a little) now belongs entirely to her.

“Do you have it?” she asks. “Attitude?”

At that moment, you realize two things: first, Nayeon isn’t interested in solving differential equations today. And second, you probably should’ve agreed to do the graphs.

You feel the pressure of the question like a multiple-choice exam where all the answers seem wrong.

"Now?" you stammer, as if time itself is about to collapse. "Uh… I don’t know, I think we’re in the middle of a project, right? I wouldn’t want to interrupt…"

"Interrupt?" She lets out a short laugh. "I think work went out the window a long time ago, don’t you?"

With that, she stands up, closing the laptop, and starts walking slowly around the room, as if inspecting the space, or maybe just teasing you on purpose. Every step she takes seems more choreographed than anything you’ve ever seen on stage.

Suddenly, she stops, untying her hair and shaking it loose.

"You know," she continues, turning her gaze back to you, "I thought of a way to make things more interesting."

Your brain, of course, is already in full panic mode, but your mouth, as always, insists on trying to sound casual.

"Really? Interesting how?" you ask, hoping the answer isn’t something like "Russian roulette."

She crosses her arms. You realize that, at some point, you completely lost any chance of controlling your own fate.

"A game," Nayeon says, with a sly smile. "Let’s play a game. What do you say?"

"What kind of game?" you ask, already regretting letting curiosity win over survival instinct.

"Oh, don’t worry, nothing too crazy," she replies, shrugging as if the suggestion were perfectly innocent. "Something fun, to relax, since the project clearly isn’t going anywhere today."

She steps closer to you, with that conspiratorial air of someone about to suggest something really dangerous.

"What do you think?" she whispers, lowering her voice. "You up for playing with me?"

"Err... depends on the game, right?" you reply, trying to sound laid-back.

Her eyes gleam behind her glasses, and the smile on her lips is pure provocation.

"Let’s see… How about something simple?" she suggests, her eyes never leaving yours. "Questions and answers. To test what you've been learning in the course."

"Just that?" you ask, half skeptical, half curious.

She speaks with a lightness that contrasts the intensity of her proposal:

"Of course not. For every question you get right, I’ll take off a piece of clothing."

You blink. Blink again. And then a third time, just to make sure you heard correctly.

"What?" you blurt out, a laugh escaping before you can control it. "You’re kidding, right?"

Nayeon crosses her arms, that crafty smile still on her face. Apparently, she’s not kidding.

"I’m dead serious. And if you manage to make me take off everything, I’ll give you a prize."

"A prize?" You try to keep your composure, but all you can think about is that maybe studying Calculus isn’t so bad after all. "What kind of prize?"

Nayeon doesn’t respond with words. Instead, she lifts her skirt just enough to reveal a glimpse of her panties — white, of course, because even in this, she has to be precise and teasing.

You swallow hard, your eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. Suddenly, the temperature in the room rises by five degrees, and it has nothing to do with global warming.

"Hm... okay, let’s go," you respond, trying to sound casual, but in reality, your mind is a complete mess. Who knew the class nerd had this side to her?

"Great." Nayeon giggles before adjusting her glasses and kicking off her shoes to, let’s say, get more comfortable. "First question: What’s the basic principle of algebraic function modeling applied to industrial process optimization?"

You stare at her. Of course, it wasn’t going to be an easy game. Your brain tries, with herculean effort, to remember what the hell that means.

"Hm… I think… it’s using equations to simplify a complex process?" you guess.

She smiles.

"Well, close enough. You got the general concept," she says.

She starts with the most innocent pieces, of course. The cardigan that you barely noticed she was wearing, because let’s be honest, your focus was more on the project — or on how not to do it... Well, at least that’s what you thought. Now, the focus has definitely changed. Every button that opens feels like a small personal victory. And before you know it, the cardigan is on the floor. She looks at you with a sly smile.

"Shall we continue?"

"Damn right, I’m enjoying this!"

"How do you define an improper integral?"

You blink. Of course, she’d come up with one of those questions you never knew the answer to.

"An… improbable integral?"

She laughs, a clear, almost musical sound that fills the room. If Nayeon were the type of person who enjoyed academically torturing others, she was definitely on the right track.

"I’ll give you a hint," she leans forward, just enough for you to see part of the top underneath her perfectly white blouse. "It has something to do with limits."

Limits. Of course. Yours are being tested in a different way. You vaguely remember the professor mentioning something about this, between naps.

"Oh, right! It’s when the interval goes to infinity, right?" you venture, your heart already beating faster.

"Correct!" She claps her hands, feigning innocent excitement that definitely doesn’t match the way her hands move toward the buttons of her blouse. One button, two, three... and soon, Nayeon’s blouse is off, revealing a black camisole, tight enough to show that she had planned all of this meticulously.

You exhale a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Now, you’re invested in the game.

"Next question: What are the three most common methods to solve a system of linear equations?"

Linear equations? Of course, you slept through that class. But then… things start to click.

"Elimination, substitution, and… matrices."

"You’re getting the hang of it, huh?" she says, her voice almost a purr.

Without hesitation, she leans back a little and, with a slow, sensual gesture, removes the black camisole, now revealing a delicate white bra, almost the same shade as her skin.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, but somehow, you’re starting to enjoy the game, and oddly enough, math too. Well, this is definitely a more rewarding way to learn something you don’t like.

"Now an easier one," she teases, as if giving you a break. "How do you calculate the area under a curve?"

You swallow hard, not because of the question, but because Nayeon is crossing her arms in a way that’s far from casual, emphasizing even more what’s... well, on display.

"Definite integrals," you answer quickly, perhaps with more enthusiasm than necessary.

She gives a small round of applause, but this time doesn’t make any immediate move to take off anything else.

"Very good! But... are you sure you want to continue?" she asks, tilting her head, as her fingers rest on the zipper of her skirt.

You’re not sure if you want to continue the game or skip straight to the “prize,” but whatever it is, you need this girl naked. But for that you need to concentrate, but how would you do it? It's certainly not easy. Not when she runs her fingers, provocatively slow, to the zipper of her skirt.

“Alright, just one more, then,” she says, with a false lightness that only adds to the tension in the air, “a simpler one, I promise. If you get it right, I’ll take off one more piece. If you get it wrong… the game’s over.”

Your mind is racing, a mix of nerves and pure curiosity. After all, how did you end up here, being quizzed by Nayeon, The Nerd™? And now, The Nerd™ was about to strip.

Weird world.

“Okay… ask the question,” you say, trying to seem calm. Just trying.

Nayeon raises an eyebrow, still toying with the zipper of her skirt, but not pulling it down at all, just… waiting. “What’s Stokes' theorem?” she asks.

You almost laugh. Not really, more like a nervous chuckle that escapes before you realize… crap, you actually don’t remember.

“Erm…” you begin, desperately searching for some vague memory of a class you definitely slept through.

Nayeon doesn’t miss the look of panic on your face.

“Ah, struggling?” she asks, her voice sweetly sadistic. “How about a hint?” She leans in, the skirt still untouched, but in a deliberate move, she adjusts her bra, already more revealing than it should be, giving you a clear view of her generous cleavage.

You clear your throat, dying a little inside but trying to maintain your composure.

“Uh, it has to do with surface integrals, right? Something about flows… and vectors…”

“Exactly! Flows and vectors,” she repeats, satisfied. And then, in an almost innocent gesture, as if she were merely taking off an uncomfortable shoe after a long day, she pulls the zipper of the skirt, which slides down her legs, hitting the floor like it didn’t even matter, revealing her bare legs and white panties. Her thighs are even more perfect than you imagined—toned, lightly defined. Your throat dries up as if you’ve just run a marathon, but the only thing racing is your heart.

Honestly, you’re never really prepared for every time she gets more and more exposed. She places a hand on her hip, looking at you with that expression that makes you wonder how you never realized this before—that yes, Nayeon, the “nerd” of the class, was a girl far more complex than any Stokes theorem.

“So, what now? Want to continue or… are you satisfied?” She pouts adorably, challenging you, and you know, at that moment, that she wants you to keep going. After all, she’s having way too much fun.

You take a deep breath, determined, even though your mind is light-years away from any coherent thought.

“Sure. Next question. I’m going to win my prize.”

“What a determined guy,” Nayeon chuckles softly, with that teasing air, as if you were on a quiz show and not in some sort of erotically torturous strip game for the brave. “Alright then… explain the principle of superposition.”

She knew you had no idea. You knew that she knew. But what did it matter? What mattered was that your eyes were glued to every movement she made. She tilted her head, playing with the strap of her bra.

You think for a moment. Superposition… electric fields… sure, you got this.

“It’s when, hmm…” your voice cracks, but you force yourself to sound confident. “It’s when the sum of the effects of multiple causes is equal to the sum of the individual causes. Each field acts like the others aren’t even there.”

She leans in, subtly, fiddling with the strap of her bra, her eyes never leaving yours.

“Exactly,” she says, letting the strap fall with a slow motion from one shoulder. And then, from the other. “Congratulations.”

The bra falls to the floor.

You try, honestly try, to keep your focus on what’s happening, but there’s a problem. Actually, two, and both of them are right in front of you, fully exposed. No matter how much your mind insists that you need to concentrate on the game… you simply can’t.

“J-just one more question, right?” You stammer, desperately trying to focus on your shoes, the wall, anything but… well, Nayeon, and the fact that she was now practically naked.

She leans forward slightly, arms “casually” crossed, and you’re convinced she did this just to make sure your brain imploded. One of her breasts lightly brushes against her arm, and your mind screams something between HELP and THANK YOU.

"Exactly,” she says, and there’s a hint of malice in her voice, that tone that indicates she knows by now you’re one step away from a complete meltdown. “One last question. If you get it right… you win your prize. If you get it wrong… you’ll do the entire project alone.”

Your head throbs, struggling to focus on anything besides her smooth skin and the hair falling loosely over her shoulders.

“Alone?” you repeat, dumbfounded. A simple word, but you can barely get it out.

She bites her lip, enjoying herself. And then, in the most seductive voice possible, she drops the bomb:

“Of course… if you mess up now in the final minutes, you’ll have to do it all on your own. But if you get it right, you’ll see what’s under this,” she pulls at the side of her white panties slightly, just enough to let your imagination spin. “And who knows what else…” Her voice is a caress wrapped in pure temptation.

Yeah, it’s worth the risk.

Focus, you tell yourself, as if that’s remotely possible. Here you are, in a state of complete mental confusion, and Nayeon is there, almost naked, suggesting there’s just one question left before… well, paradise. And hell, too, because clearly, you wouldn’t survive doing this fucked-up project alone.

“Alright, let’s go,” you force the words out. “What’s the last question?”

Nayeon smiles in a way that says, I got you. And of course, she did. She leans in again, this time closer, her panties still firmly in place, but for how long?

“Ready for this?” she murmurs, with the tone of a final temptation. “What law of electromagnetism describes the relationship between the circulation of a magnetic field along a closed path and the electric current passing through the surface enclosed by that path?”

You freeze. Your mind is almost there, trying to grab the answer from some corner not focused on the fact that Nayeon is practically naked in front of you.

“Uh…” you begin, Nayeon sways her hips as she waits. “It’s… it’s…” you struggle. Nothing. Your mind is completely blank, a screen of static.

Nayeon sighs, as if she’s genuinely disappointed. Of course she’s not. She’s having way too much fun for that.

“Need a hint?” she offers, with a smile as sweet as it is devastating.

You nod desperately. Anything, for God’s sake, anything to help!

She whispers softly, “This law introduced the concept of ‘displacement current.’”

You blink, and then, as if by some miracle, the answer comes to you. But before you can speak it aloud, Nayeon leans in again and your traitorous eyes glance at her exposed breasts.

You almost forget the answer entirely, but a slip or whatever that was makes you say, “Ampère-Maxwell’s Law,” your voice trembling, unsure if physics is about to save you or be the last nail in the coffin of your sanity.

Nayeon looks you up and down.

She approved.

Slowly, as if savoring the moment, in a exaggeratedly calculated movement, she pulls her panties down, revealing everything.

Her curves are so smooth they seem hand-carved by some Renaissance artist with a thing for naughty nerd girls. Her entire body is a work of art, every inch of her pure perfection, and as she moves closer, you feel like you’re about to lose control for good.

Nayeon sits beside you, her legs slightly apart so you can see her tight little pussy. She looks you up and down, the same look that used to seem like someone fully focused on her studies, now carrying much more obvious intentions.

"Do you like what you see?" she asks, her voice low and seductive.

You swallow hard, trying not to seem as out of control as you really are.

"Yeah... Very much..." you respond, your voice rougher than usual, and before you know it, Nayeon is leaning in closer, her body heat practically radiating onto you.

"What are you waiting for, then?" she whispers, her lips just inches from yours. The suggestion lingers in the air, and your body seems to move on its own. Your hand rises, hesitant, until it reaches her breasts, your fingers feeling the smoothness of her skin and the firmness that makes you forget about any equation or college project. You squeeze lightly, and Nayeon lets out a soft sigh that drives you even crazier.

She leans in more, her lips brushing yours in a gentle kiss. When she pulls away, her eyes are gleaming.

"I’ve always liked you, you know?" she confesses, lightly biting her lower lip as her hand slides down your chest. "I've always thought you were really hot… and smart, too. You just needed a little help focusing on what matters. You’ve got potential, you just need to get rid of the distractions."

You chuckle nervously, still trying to process what’s happening.

"I never imagined you were like this… You always seemed so… well-behaved." The words come out with difficulty, your mind still reeling between what you thought you knew about Nayeon and what you're discovering now.

She laughs softly, amused, her eyes half-closed as she replies.

"You can’t judge a book by its cover," she says, her voice almost a whispered secret, as if she’s letting you in on something few people are privileged to know.

She then pulls your hand to her waist, and you squeeze, feeling the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body under your fingers. Nayeon’s body fits against yours in a way that feels almost orchestrated. Her hands, agile and confident, slide down to your thigh, in a way that makes your breathing quicken even more.

And then you feel her touch on your groin. It’s a slow tease, and she looks into your eyes with a smile that’s almost victorious.

"Do you want me to suck you off?" she asks, her voice thick with desire.

Your heart is racing so fast you can barely think of a coherent response, but you nod, without hesitation.

"I do." The word escapes your lips, more of a groan than a response.

Nayeon smiles, that wicked smile you would never have associated with the girl who sat in the front row of the class.

"I’ve been dying to," she murmurs, the heat between you two rising with each second, promising much more than just an intellectual debate.

Nayeon kneels between your legs and prepares to take off her glasses. At that moment, it seems like the last facade of the “well-behaved nerd” is about to fall along with them. But you, in a sudden impulse of something even Freud would hesitate to analyze, reach out and say, almost automatically, “No, leave the glasses on. I like you like that.”

She stops, her fingers still hovering over the frames, and smiles in a way only someone about to change your fate could.

"Really?" She tilts her head, clearly liking the idea. Not just liking it—loving it. The kind of smile she gives you is one of someone who’s just gained a new strategic advantage in the game.

"Can you… do it… with the glasses on?" you ask, and honestly, now that the words are in the air, the question seems less weird than it should.

"Of course. If that’s what you want," Nayeon replies, the smile gaining an edge of provocation that makes you wonder if she hadn’t planned this all along.

She reaches for your pants and pulls them down along with your underwear. Nayeon touches your cock, and the sensation makes you realize how small her hands are. With incredibly soft fingers, she grips it firmly, as if evaluating something rare, a treasure she’s just found. Her eyes, still behind the lenses, look up at you.

"Wow..." she murmurs, impressed. "It’s so… big and thick.”

If you had any chance of keeping your composure, it vanished with that sentence.

"Your hand… is so soft," you manage to say, your brain desperately trying to keep up with what’s happening.

Nayeon smiles.

"Oh, if you liked that, just wait until I put it in my mouth."

And that’s exactly what she does. Nayeon spits into her palm, the quick, indecent sound echoing in the room, and starts stroking you, her touch now sliding with the ease of something well-lubricated, almost clinical—if it weren’t absolutely pornographic.

And then, with little warning, she swallows.

Just like that. As if she’d been trained at some secret school of forbidden pleasure, her mouth wraps around your cock, warm, wet, and with a desire bordering on voracious. She looks up at you from below, her glasses still firmly in place.

You writhe in pleasure. Nothing else matters. Not the project, not life’s worries. Just Nayeon, and the way she sucks, kisses, and takes you deep, with a dedication that would make anyone believe she’s indeed “studying” something.

"I’m going to use my breasts now," she says, stopping briefly, her voice slightly hoarse, as she adjusts her breasts, squeezing them around your cock.

Ah, Nayeon’s breasts. Warm, soft, and incredibly seductive, they create the perfect “pillow” as she starts giving you a titjob. And the glasses? Still there, perfectly framing her face, turning this whole thing into an improbable, yet wonderful fantasy.

The sensation of her breasts pressing against your cock is a next-level delight. Nayeon, with a mischievous look and a voice barely above a whisper, asks, "Are you enjoying this, babe?"

You can only groan in response, the sensation so intense that words refuse to form properly. Her breasts move up and down, creating a warm, sweaty pressure that’s almost indescribable. She adjusts the rhythm.

"This is..." you manage to say, your voice hoarse and breaking. "Fuck, this is amazing."

The pleasure builds, a rising heat that seems to have a life of its own as Nayeon keeps working her magic. Her breasts, pressing and rubbing with delicious intensity, create waves of pleasure that only get stronger.

As the rhythm quickens, Nayeon gives a satisfied smile. Her breasts continue to move up and down, the sensation around your cock hot and wet, and you feel the pressure and heat mounting.

You start to squirm, the sensations growing more and more intense. The pleasure is so overwhelming it feels like your body is on the verge of exploding. Nayeon adjusts the pressure and pace, making every touch and movement you feel even more intense.

“Am I making you feel good?” Nayeon asks.

You can only nod, the feeling of being on the brink of climax almost overwhelming. Your moans become more frequent, and you can feel yourself nearing the point of no return... something Nayeon hadn’t anticipated.

Then, just as the pleasure reaches an almost unbearable level, you cum. The first spurt surprises her, landing on her face. She stays there, wide-eyed and gasping, her glasses now smeared with your semen. She accepts what happened and keeps stroking you, and the second, weaker spurt drips down onto her breasts, slowly trickling. She finishes the job by rubbing your cock on her chest, spreading your cum all over her breasts until they’re thoroughly messy. When she stops, you exhale, feeling like you’re in paradise.

“Fuck… that was so damn good, Nayeon…”

She stays still for a moment, her expression a mix of surprise and indignation. The intensity of your orgasm seems to have caught her so off guard that even she needs a moment to process it.

“Why did you cum?!” Nayeon asks, removing her glasses, her voice filled with a mix of irritation and unfulfilled desire. “You haven’t even fucked me yet!”

Breathless and slightly embarrassed, you try to defuse the situation.

“Well, take it as a compliment,” you say, a sheepish smile forming on your face. “You’re just too hot for me to handle.”

Luckily for you, this makes Nayeon smile, the irritation melting into a flush. She relaxes, though still with a teasing edge.

“Tsk. But next time, don’t cum on my glasses,” she says, her voice softer now. “But if it felt good for you, I guess I can forgive it. Just know that I’ll make sure you get hard for me again,” she says with an authority that makes her even more irresistible.

Nayeon moves closer, slowly, like a predator about to capture its prey, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of challenge and mischief. You feel the air shift as she approaches, as though the entire room is holding its breath for what’s about to happen.

“Take off your clothes,” she commands, her voice low but filled with an authority that makes you obey without hesitation.

In an instant, you’re naked, sitting on the bed, vulnerable, your heart pounding faster. Nayeon watches you, a smile spreading across her lips, like she’s admiring a masterpiece she’s about to perfect. She sits beside you with a calculated calm, and before you know it, her lips are on yours—soft at first, then more intense, as if she’s learning every inch of your mouth.

Between kisses, her hand starts exploring your body, moving slowly, until it reaches exactly where you want it most. Her fingers wrap around your cock, and the touch is... electrifying. It’s not just any touch; it’s the kind that knows exactly what it’s doing. She strokes you lightly, almost teasingly, while her lips pull away just enough for her to whisper in your ear:

“Remember that time in class when the professor asked me to help you with an assignment?” She pauses, her lips brushing lightly against your ear. “All I could think about was how much I wanted you to fuck me until I came.”

The effect of her words is immediate. Your entire body reacts before your mind can even catch up. Your cock pulses hard in her hand, almost as if it’s following an unspoken command. She feels it and giggles softly, a sound just as provocative as every move of her fingers.

“Look at you…” she says, her voice full of amusement and a hint of mockery. “You’re getting hard for me again, aren’t you? What a naughty boy.”

Your heart races, and you can hardly respond. All you can do is gaze at her while your desire skyrockets. Her hand moves slowly and deliberately, teasing every part of you, while her eyes stay locked on yours, as if savoring every second.

“How badly do you want to fuck me?” Nayeon asks, her voice soft but filled with a promise you know she’ll fulfill.

“So much,” you reply, almost breathless, anticipation taking over every inch of your being.

She smirks—that dangerous smile that says, "Exactly what I wanted to hear." Her lips return to yours, but this time there’s more urgency, a hunger building with every passing moment. Her hand moves with more intention now, and your excitement grows at an unimaginable rate.

“I knew you were like this…” she murmurs between kisses, her lips nearly glued to yours. “Such a horny little thing, always wanting more.”

She tightens her grip slightly, making you squirm, the pleasure coursing through you with every squeeze, every word whispered like a secret shared only with you.

“You like this, don’t you?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Her eyes glint as her hand continues its strategic work. “You like me teasing you.”

“Yes,” you manage to say, your voice shaky with desire.

Nayeon pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, her smile blending amusement with seduction.

“Good, because I love teasing you…” she says, then leans down, as if she’s about to do something even more daring. Her lips brush against your neck, lightly biting as her hand slides lower, teasing and gripping, leaving you on the edge of collapse.

“Think you can handle another round?” she asks, her voice now full of challenge.

“There’s only one way to find out,” you respond, trying to keep your composure but knowing you’re completely at her mercy.

“Let’s see then,” she whispers against your skin, and before you know it, she’s moving down, her lips traveling across your body, and you lean back onto the bed. She leaves a trail of kisses and bites along your chest and stomach, making her way lower.

She looks up at you, her eyes dark with desire, and with one final mischievous smile, she leans back up just enough to brush her lips against yours without fully kissing.

“Are you ready to fuck me now?” she asks.

And without a doubt, you are.

Nayeon lies back on the bed, slowly pulling you on top of her until you feel the warmth of her body against yours. The way she molds perfectly beneath you feels like she was made for this. Your hands trace the contours of her breasts, fingers pressing gently against her skin as you slide into her slowly, savoring every second. Your lips meet hers in a slow, intense kiss, tongues moving in sync with the rhythm of your hips—thrusting in and out, deepening with each stroke.

She moans against your mouth, the sound vibrating through your whole body, making you speed up a little while still keeping control. Nayeon breaks the kiss, throwing her head back, eyes closed, and you take the chance to kiss her neck, tasting the salty sheen of sweat. "You like this, don't you?" you whisper in her ear, your voice low and husky as you keep thrusting, feeling how tightly she clenches around you.

"Fuck… yes," she breathes out, her nails now digging into your back, scratching you with a mix of pain and pleasure. "Fuck me harder."

You obey without thinking, picking up the pace, each thrust deeper and more deliberate. Her moans grow louder, almost turning into screams, and it only drives you to go harder. You kiss her again, this time with more urgency, sucking her lower lip between yours as your hips move in a nearly frantic rhythm. The sound of your bodies colliding fills the room, mixed with her broken moans and your own heavy breathing.

"You're so fucking hot," you say between kisses, softly biting along her jawline as you lose yourself in the sensation. "So tight… fuck, Nayeon."

She opens her eyes, looking at you with a mix of challenge and pleasure, her face flushed and sweaty. "Come on, fuck me harder… don’t stop," she pleads, pulling you down for another kiss, this one desperate, as if she needs every touch of yours to survive. You oblige, thrusting harder, while her moans turn into muffled cries as your mouths stay connected.

But then, you decide to switch positions. Science, after all, is about experimentation. You position her at the edge of the bed, Nayeon's legs lifted and spread wide, her pussy on full display—pink and pulsing, inviting. The sight makes you lose control for a moment as you grab her thighs, pulling her closer to you. With one hand, you line up your cock, the tip already slick with excitement, before sliding it inside, feeling the warmth wrap around you completely. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, mingling with both your moans.

Nayeon looks up at you, a wild gleam in her eyes, completely different from the girl everyone thinks they know. "You're such a filthy pervert," she growls through gritted teeth, her voice low and dripping with lust. "Fucking your study partner like this, so dirty… Do you see what you've done to me? The little nerd everyone thinks is so innocent, and look where I am now, all spread out for you…"

The sound of her voice, the moans slipping out as you fuck her harder and deeper, only makes you lose more control. "Innocent?" you mutter, your breathing ragged. "You pretend to be the good little student, but with me, you love being a slut, don’t you?"

She lets out a wicked laugh, cut off by a louder moan as you thrust even deeper. "I fucking love it. I love how you make me forget everything… I love being your little slut. I’m all yours, and you can do whatever you want to me."

Your movements grow faster, each thrust pulling louder moans from her. You grip her thighs tight, pulling her into you with each thrust, your eyes fixed on the sight of your cock sliding in and out, completely soaked. "Look at you," you growl, your voice dripping with taunt. "So depraved… No one would guess that the nerdy girl from class is here, begging to be fucked like a whore."

Nayeon lets out a long, drawn-out moan, almost a scream, her body arching beneath you, fingers gripping the sheets tightly. "Yes! Fuck me harder, fuck! I want you to know this is what I love… I love being the little nerd only you can fuck like this. Faster, harder!"

You don't hesitate, your hips slamming against hers in a frenzied pace, the heat and pressure of every thrust consuming you both. Her legs tremble, and you keep pounding with force and precision. "Admit it, Nayeon," you say through gritted teeth, picking up the pace. "You love being my little slut…"

She opens her eyes, staring at you with an almost possessive intensity. "Fuck, yes! I’m your slut. Fuck me more, fuck my pussy like I’m only yours…" You lower yourself onto her, kissing her hard, pouring every bit of your heat into her through the kiss as you keep thrusting, and between desperate, erratic kisses, she gasps, "Take me from behind now. I want you deep inside me, you filthy pervert!”

You pull away from her, and Nayeon promptly positions herself on your messy bed, arching her back, ready. Your approach is almost reverent. You position yourself behind her as you lower your head slowly, your eyes tracing the sight she offers—her wet pussy, swollen with excitement, and just above, her tight little ass, teasing you. She’s so exposed, so vulnerable, yet there’s a confidence in her, like she’s fully aware of what’s coming. And that’s exactly what turns her on.

Before making a move, you let your warm breath brush against her skin, sending shivers through her body. Nayeon lets out a shaky sigh, and her back arches even more. “Don’t make me wait…” she murmurs, a mix of urgency and need in her voice.

With a sly grin, you lower your mouth, and your tongue finally touches the slick entrance of her pussy. The taste is addictive, just as you suspected. You start with soft, long licks, gliding along the length of her lips, savoring every drop of her juices. Nayeon responds immediately, letting out quiet moans, her breathing already quickening.

“You… know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” she asks, her voice broken by little gasps.

You chuckle lightly between licks but don’t answer. Your hands firmly grip Nayeon’s ass, keeping her in place as your tongue slides deeper, exploring her sensitive folds. Each time you graze the entrance of her pussy, it clenches, almost begging to be filled, but you refuse to give her everything at once. Instead, you decide to tease her even more.

Sliding your tongue upward, you slowly trace circles around her tight little asshole, making it wet with your saliva. The reaction is instant—Nayeon’s body trembles, and her moans intensify. “Oh my God… keep going… please…” she whispers, her voice a desperate plea.

You alternate between quick, gentle licks, sometimes focusing on her swollen, slick pussy, other times on her sensitive ass, driving her to the brink of losing control. Your tongue dances between the two spots, teasing and pleasing her at the same time. With every new touch, Nayeon’s moans grow louder, more urgent.

“You… you like this, don’t you, you pervert?” she asks with a muffled voice, her hands gripping the bed sheets tightly.

“I love how you taste,” you murmur against her skin.

She lets out a breathy laugh, somewhere between pleasure and disbelief. “Of course you do, I’m… delicious.” And you can’t help but agree. Your tongue continues to explore, licking deep into her pussy and then sliding up to her ass, enjoying the way her body reacts to every touch. Your fingers dig into her ass cheeks harder, leaving red marks on her pale skin.

Nayeon’s moans mix with uncontrollable whispers, each word escaping between ragged breaths. “Please… you’re killing me,” she begs, her voice thick with pleasure, her eyes half-closed in pure lust. “Fuck me… just fuck me already!”

Her plea is desperate, loaded with an almost imperious urgency, and you, with a mischievous smile, position yourself behind her, watching as she pushes her ass higher, her slick pussy begging for more. “You sure you can take it?” you tease, your hands already gripping her hips, but before she can even respond, you pull her back, aligning yourself with precision, the head of your cock brushing against her lips.

“Just do it, fuck,” Nayeon shouts, her tone commanding but dripping with so much desire that you can’t resist. In one swift motion, you thrust into her, and the wet heat of her pussy envelops you completely. Pleasure shoots through you like an electric current, and she arches her back, pushing against you, as if begging you to go deeper, faster.

You start slowly, savoring each thrust, each inch sliding in and out of her, but soon the pace picks up, driven by the uncontrollable moans pouring out of Nayeon. “Faster… harder,” she moans, her voice faltering with each deeper thrust, and you don’t hesitate. Your hands sink into the soft flesh of her hips, holding her steady as you speed up, the thrusts becoming more intense, more brutal.

“Look at you, so prim and proper in class, but here…” you say between thrusts, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. “Here you’re just my little slut. The nerd who loves being fucked like a whore.”

Nayeon moans loudly, her voice breaking into wicked laughter. “Is that what you want, huh? To know the nerd loves being fucked like this, like a depraved little slut… Make me scream, fuck!”

With each slap to her ass, she moans louder, her pale skin turning red with every hit. “Hit me harder,” she begs, her eyes gleaming with pleasure, her voice a mix of desperation and ecstasy. And you oblige, slapping her harder, leaving red marks as you bury yourself deeper inside her.

“You’re an unbelievable slut,” you growl, picking up the pace, each thrust drawing louder and more desperate moans from her. “You pretend to be so good, but look at you now… begging for more.”

“I’m your slut,” she screams, pushing her ass back against you even harder. “Do whatever you want with me… I love being fucked like this, fuck! Make me yours, make me cum.”

You keep going, your thrusts becoming frenzied, your hips moving with an uncontrollable speed and intensity. “Fuck, look at you,” you taunt, feeling your own pleasure building. “You love being treated like this, like a desperate little whore. Scream for me, Nayeon.”

“Yes, yes!” she screams, her voice thick with pleasure, almost hoarse. “Fuck me until I can’t take it anymore, babe!”

Her body trembling as her climax approaches. Suddenly, she arches her back, pushing her ass harder against you, and her voice cracks as she screams, “I’m... going... to cum!”

Her pussy clenches tightly around your cock, pulsing and shaking as she’s overtaken by the orgasm, her whole body shuddering in ecstasy while your relentless thrusts continue. But you don't stop. Her pleasure only drives you further, each thrust pulling everything out of her, Nayeon’s body writhing, each scream feeding your own growing desire.

“Yeah… Fuck me, make me yours,” she keeps begging, even in the middle of her own climax, completely surrendered to the sensation.

You can feel your own orgasm building, heat rising fast, pressure mounting. “I’m going to cum,” you warn, your voice rough and broken, unable to stop as the final thrusts send you both over the edge.

The feeling of her pulsating pussy around your cock pushes you to the brink, and with one last frustrated groan, you pull out. Nayeon gasps for a moment, recovering from her orgasm as she kneels down on the floor, almost like she already knows what to do – and, honestly, she does. Her eyes lock on you, her face slightly flushed, and her mouth already open, waiting eagerly like the diligent student she is.

You grip your cock with one hand, still throbbing, and bring it to her lips. With her mouth wide, Nayeon wraps her lips around you once more, sucking softly with a gentleness that almost belies the fevered desire etched across her face. You pull out of her mouth, stroking yourself quickly, feeling the pressure mounting further.

Nayeon waits, obedient, with her tongue stretched out, her eyes hungry and fixed on you, knowing exactly the effect that has on you. When the moment hits, the first spurt of cum lands on her warm tongue, and Nayeon doesn’t even blink. She takes it all in with pleasure, as you empty yourself into her mouth, your body shuddering, nearly out of control.

She keeps her mouth open the entire time, her tongue coated in your cum, and when you finally finish, she closes her lips, licking them as the taste spreads. With perfect manners, she shows you her full mouth, eyes full of playful mischief, and then, without breaking eye contact, she swallows it all in one gulp, her throat moving slowly.

“See?” she says with a satisfied smile, as if she’d just passed a test with flying colors. “I swallowed it all without spilling a drop.”

But, of course, Nayeon, ever the overachiever, wasn’t finished. Before you can catch your breath, she leans in again, taking your sensitive cock into her mouth, sucking with an intensity that makes you moan involuntarily. The jolt of pleasure is so sharp that you try to pull away, your body trembling, but she holds you firmly, her mouth working at a pace that borders on cruel.

“Fuck!... I can’t take any more!” you try to protest, your voice breaking, but Nayeon just hums in response, pulling you out only long enough to say, “Not yet,” before closing her lips around you again, sucking you until, finally, she decides she’s satisfied.

When she releases you, you’re left gasping, almost paralyzed from the intensity of it all. Nayeon smiles sweetly, victorious, wiping the corner of her mouth with her fingers before saying with calm satisfaction, “Mmm, Now that was delicious.”

—

As you desperately gulp water from your bottle, the silence that follows your impromptu "study session" lingers heavily in the air, a strange return to reality. Nayeon had stood up, her hair still slightly messy and a small smile playing on her lips, before heading to the bathroom. She walked with the confidence of someone who had just solved a particularly tricky math problem.

And now you're here, staring at the bathroom door, listening to the sound of water as she washes her face and cleans her glasses, removing any trace of... well, *you*. Then, because life loves to remind you that nothing is ever simple, your mind starts to wander. What, exactly, just happened? Oh, right. You were working on a project. A project that, incidentally, hasn’t moved an inch forward.

Nayeon steps out of the bathroom, picking up the discarded clothes from the floor, dressing herself piece by piece, taking her time, like you were a couple with decades of shared intimacy. She finishes by adjusting her glasses, almost like she’s putting a crown back on after a victorious battle. She sits back down in her chair, opens the laptop as if nothing had happened, and lets out a satisfied but determined sigh.

“Alright,” she says, as if she hadn’t just left you weak-kneed. “Let’s get back to the project.”

You stare at her, incredulous. As if it were possible to get back to the project after that.

And then you realize you’re still naked. You quickly slip on your boxers and pants.

“To be honest, I don’t think I can focus on my part right now,” you admit, your voice still a bit hoarse.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.” She smiles that smile—a mix of mischief and... surprisingly efficient academic prowess. “As long as you keep fucking me, of course. I have to be rewarded somehow.”

You’re speechless for a moment, because, well... you don’t exactly have a counterargument. In fact, it seems like the best deal you’ve ever made in your life.

“Deal,” you say, trying to sound cool, as if you weren’t absolutely thrilled by the arrangement.

Inside, though, you’re jumping for joy.

She adjusts her glasses, watching you for a moment, and you notice that glint in her eyes—a mix of ego, intelligence, and... something else that makes your heart race. Or maybe it’s just the recent sex.

Hard to say.

“But,” she cuts through your thoughts with a serious tone, “no one can know about this. We have to meet in secret. No telling anyone.”

“I swear I won’t tell.”

You wonder how you ended up in this situation, but the answer seems obvious. Who in their right mind would turn down a request like that?

She smiles, satisfied, and turns her attention back to the laptop, as if everything were perfectly resolved.

“Besides,” Nayeon adds, without looking up, “if you need help with any other subject, you can count on me. After all, I think we work well together, don’t we?”

You just nod, but there’s something about her—something between the proud nerd and the bold confidence—that drives you wild. Wild with desire, of course, but also something deeper. And as you watch her, so focused, adjusting her glasses like she’s planning the next phase of a secret mission, you realize that you’re falling for the class nerd.

Yes, she’s hot. Yes, she has a way of disarming you at every turn.

But it’s more than that. It’s as if every time she looks at you with that “know-it-all” air or talks about a complicated academic concept, your mind equates it with something incredibly sexy. And suddenly, your love life has turned into an equation you can’t—and don’t want to—solve.

And, of course, the fact that she’s amazing in bed doesn’t hurt, either.

“Should we meet tomorrow?” you ask casually.

Nayeon doesn’t even look up, just gives a small “mm-hmm” of confirmation, her fingers still typing away.

“Your place again. Same time. Clean up your room... And answer the door in your boxers.”

She glances at you slightly, smiling, and you know exactly what that smile means. And, well, you’re not in any position to complain. In fact, if studying had always been like this, maybe you'd have been the best student in class.

—

As you walk Nayeon to the door, you can’t help but think that maybe you’ve uncovered the true secret to academic success. And who would have thought it was a sexy nerd with glasses who secretly turned out to be a naughty girl who liked sneaking off for sex?

As she leaves, you can’t help but smile when your eyes meet one last time. Not just because of the deal you’ve just made, but because, for the first time in a long while, you’re genuinely excited to "study" with someone. Suddenly, the academic world seems a lot more interesting.

You close the door, but something lingers in the air. Maybe it’s the smell of your sweat—you still haven’t showered, after all. Maybe it’s the trace of Nayeon’s perfume. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the beginning of one of the most unexpectedly erotic adventures of your life.

-----------

A/n: Please forgive any typos or grammatical errors, English is not my first language. Thanks for reading.

[pearlymel]

𓏲 ˖. sum. Neuvillette has this urge to show everyone you are his. And also to worship you as his beloved wife.

Warnings: NSFW, fem!reader, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, breeding, creampie, mentions of children, mention of petnames (Mon amour, Mon cœur, honey, etc.).

Wc: 2k

Notes: to my bestie who knows who they are, if you see this, no you didn't (you're blind you just don't know it.)

You feel like you're resting above the clouds with how comfortable you were in Neuvillette's arms, cradling you like you were the most precious thing, savouring each featherlight caresse of his hand around your thighs and stomach.

His face was buried in your hair, both the strands of your hairs mixing colours into the most beautiful shades and textures. You're too sleepy to listen to his soft whispers, but you can hear him talk... about some baby...

Baby... Wait, baby? He was referring to you, right? Surely.

"Wouldn't it be nice?" His soothing voice snapped you out of your daze, your body rolling around to face him. "Sorry, i wasn't listening." Your lips curl downward, which makes him kiss your sleepy eyelids with a soft chuckle.

"My apologies, i was discussing a certain fantasy to myself... How it would be lovely to see our little ones one day being in our arms."

It takes you a hot minute for his words to soak in. You blink twice, part your lips slightly in shock with the gears in your head moving ever so slow, "Honey, it's a lovely thought. Are you serious about this?"

He nods, “the satisfaction I feel at the thought of everyone realizing that you’re carrying my child makes me want to throw all my propriety out the window.” His hands moved down to your hips and he slowly rolled you onto your back, with him now on top. He kept a firm grip on your hips as he laid himself between you, his head resting on the area where your neck and shoulder met.

“I’m aching,” he muttered. “To see you bear our child, dear one. To fill you up completely.”

"To be filled?" You swallow thickly, the air was suddenly getting hotter, or was it just the heat of this summer that's making your neck all warm?

“Filled up to the brim, mon amour.” he spoke so softly, it was criminal to even have a sweet voice while speaking such words.

"A little vulgar, coming from the Iudex." You fail to bite back the urge to tease.

“My lady,” he spoke in a low, gruff tone this time, lifting his face to lazily kiss your jawline. “You of all people should know how you manage to make me lose my composure." Neuvillette muttered while peppering your skin with the marks of his lips.

All this baby talk was surely rubbing off you, and surely it wasn't because of his sweet talking or that you were ovulating...

"I need you." It was your turn to whisper, fingers finding their way to brush his hair and to wrap your arms around his neck. He continued peppering your neck with soft, sensual kisses, his hands slowly starting to caresse under your thighs, playing with the elastic band of your panties under your oversized shirt, tempted to just rip them off you.

"Are you trying to tempt me to take you right now?"

"Yeah?" You bat your eyelashes innocently at him, "i want you to fill me up like you said."

Oh, archons.

Neuvillette visibly shivered as he heard those words — your smile was as innocent as a lamb’s, yet the sultriness of your voice spoke of nothing but sin.

He claimed your lips in a deep, bruising kiss, his tongue seeking entry and exploring the sweet confines of your mouth. Neuvillette’s hands roaming across your body again, but this time they were more assertive — desperate, almost.

He wanted you. Needed you. In the rawest, most primal way possible.

"We can always go slow, no rush." Neuvillette relaxed a little at your words, his breath shuddering as the tension slowly left his body.

“Slow it is, then.” He murmured against your skin, as he slowly, painstakingly began to move himself down your body, pressing kisses down the expanse of your stomach as he continued to trail his way down. “You tell me when to stop if it hurts, alright?”

"Mhmm," you smile lazily at him while he looked up at you from his spot between your legs, his expression a mix of both tenderness and hunger. One tug down, and your panties were down to your ankles. His lips began trailing kisses up your inner thighs at first before licking a long stripe along your slick folds, and you were already trying your hardest not to crush his head with your thighs, even when that's all he'd ever want.

And when his tongue starts flicking and sucking on your already sensitive clit, like he was practically making out with your pussy, treating it with such gentleness and care, is when you also start being more vocal.

He made sure he was never hurried because this was an intimacy act he enjoys having the pleasure doing with you.

Neuvillette would occasionally glance at your face, watching your expressions closely for even the slightest hint of discomfort, but your face was only twisted in pleasure, eyes half-lidded while you panted softly as you stared up straight at the ceiling. It fills him with pride knowing you enjoy this just as much.

You don't notice how your fingers weave through his hair, not yet pulling, more like pulling him back so you could grind against his face. He was more than happy to accept your invitation, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he moved his lips closer to your core.

He began to move his mouth in earnest at the sound of your moans from above, his tongue working with determined flicks, sucking harder so he could finally taste the reward of your honeyed essence.

"S-so good to me—" you start panting heavier now, your hips rubbing against his mouth, and he found it impossibly alluring — the knowledge that you were deriving such pleasure from his mouth alone was driving him mad. To the point that it was hard to try not to hump against the bed mattress with how painfully tight and uncomfortable his pants felt.

Your husband wanted — needed — you to come. He wanted to feel you unravel on his tongue. He intensified his assault on your core, his lips, tongue and mouth working in tandem, determined to draw out every drop of ecstasy from your body.

"A-ah, wait—" your thighs twitch together when he starts sucking harsher on your swollen clit. You felt your throat already dry up, how you were on the verge of tears when you finally came with a shuddering breath.

Neuvillette took in every second of your climax, groaning in satisfaction as he felt you come undone under his ministrations. His mouth continued to work against you as you came down from your climax, greedily licking and tasting you as he continued to draw out the last throes of your orgasm.

His face emerged from between your legs, the evident glisten on his face from the slightest light from outside was enough to make you breathless.

"the sweetest treat," he murmured, his voice low and huskier than before as he began to make his way back up to your face. "So pretty, coming all on my tongue.." You don't say anything but bring a hand to the back of his head and pull him in for a sweeter kiss.

Finally.

He leaned in to meet your lips, groaning against his mouth at the taste of you that still lingered on his lips. He quickly deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entry as he claimed your mouth in another romantic dance.

Neuvillette was all too happy to satisfy your hunger, He was like a man possessed, as if he was trying to devour you whole — his kisses were hot, hungry, and full of want.

You helped him off his tight confinements so fast next, letting out a sigh of relief as the cool air hit his weeping flushed tip.

Not wanting to wait any longer, he inhaled sharply as he slowly, deliberately began to push himself inside you — his eyes fixed on your face, watching closely as your face contours everytime his fat tip would inch in your hole.

He let out a long, low moan at the sensation, his arms shaking as he held himself up above you, "so tight..." He continued to ease himself inside of you, every inch seemingly drawing out another low groan from his lips. It took all of his willpower to keep his pace slow and gentle, he was restraining himself, trying his damndest to go slow for your sake.

"s- so good," you whimpered, back arching off the bed, fingernails marking crescent on his skin while your other hand tore the bedsheet off the mattress from how much you were twisting it.

He was losing it. every sound and movement you made was driving him wild. He lifted one of your legs, holding it against his hip as he continued to push inside of you, deeper, deeper, making you unintentionally clamp down around him with each welcomed inch of his cock.

"H-hold on," he panted, his voice a low, strangled hiss, "don't... don't do that, or I'll... I'll..." He trailed off, holding your thighs in a bruising grip to ground himself from spilling too quickly inside of you, and he could, but he would never leave you unsatisfied.

"you okay, Neuvi?" You try teasing him a bit, this time tightening around him on purpose. His entire body shuddered violently at your action, a strangled moan escaping his lips as you tightened around him again like a vice. His hips instinctively jerked forward, seeking friction against you, and his control snapped.

"Mon cœur, you're teasing me..." he uttered in a hushed tone against your ear, "you're trying to drive me mad, aren't you?" You start to slowly rock your hips back and forth against him, taking his hand and interlacing your fingers together. "I'm just trying to please my lover." You hum back.

"I'm trying so hard to be gentle and patient... and you're not helping—mhm, at all."

"It's okaaay. Don't be gentle."

His restraint finally snapped, Neuvillette let out a low growl as he grabbed your hips and slammed himself into you. The sounds your moans and whimpers of pleasure were like music to his ears, he could vaguely feel your nails scratching down his back, the pain only adding to his ecstasy as his continues ramming into you like a starved beast.

Neuvillette's strokes would be powerful, rough, bordering on brutal, as he sought to breed you with his seed. He would grip your hips, holding you steady as his cock throbbed with every thrust. nothing but ragged pants and grunts filled the air, his body straining with the effort of holding back his release, he was close, so close to finding his release, but he needed to watch you fall apart first.

He let out a growl as he felt your teeth sink into his skin, his cock continuing to kiss the deepest and sweetest parts inside of you, making your eyes instantly roll back. his pace becoming brutal as he slammed into you relentlessly, his voice nothing more than a ravaged whisper against your ear.

"Come for me, love. Let go."

As he felt you come for him with a strangled cry of his name, he followed after, burying his face deep into your neck as his own release came over him, a thick load shooting straight into your womb, it's so much— creamy ropes of cum that quickly filled you to the brim.

It was hot and dizzying.

with his seed slowly seeping out of you, he immediately tried pushing himself deeper into you, if that was even possible, keeping it all plugged in, "S- so much for you, my sweet." He gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he comfortably laid on top of you, his other hand tracing down to your hips and belly.

"shall we start thinking of baby names, hm?"

Do you guys think he moans in french (sorry)

[cozycottagetarot]

The First Time They See You

🎥 Reading Contents:

First Impressions

Their Immediate Thoughts

What They Think About You

🎞️ Extended Reading Contents:

How You Make Them Feel

What They Tell Others About You

Impact on the Future Relationship

This reading is for entertainment purposes only! Take only what resonates be it all, some or none! ✨

LINKS: Reading Masterlist | Dividers | Ko-Fi | Patreon | Patreon Masterlist | Paid Readings | Paid Readings - $10 and Under - Open 🥂

Pile 1

First Impressions

Cards: Eight of Pentacles, Queen of Pentacles, Page of Wands, The Forgotten, The Founder

For some reason, the first thing that popped into my mind was We Built This City on Rock and Roll. I’m not sure if that resonates with someone here, but it feels relevant—maybe you give off a bit of a rebel vibe, or it’s reflected in the way you dress or carry yourself. Something along those lines.

When it comes to first impressions, the one you leave on your person might not necessarily stick—and that’s not a bad thing. It could simply be that while you remember meeting them, they might not, or the other way around.

I get the sense that your person sees you as someone who’s done well for themselves. They likely think of you as someone who works hard to get where you are. You might give off an air of enjoying life’s luxuries, though not necessarily in a flashy way. It could be more about appreciating the little luxuries, the small joys that bring comfort or happiness.

They might also see you as someone who’s open to adventure. A scene keeps playing in my mind: you’re chatting with someone, maybe in a store, and your person is off to the side, casually observing. It’s like the way you’d notice someone having a conversation—not really focused on them, but still aware of their presence.

Their Immediate Thoughts

Cards: Nine of Cups, The Sun, The Hanged Man

Your person will really like you. I think they’ll see you as someone who radiates joy or has the ability to bring happiness into people’s lives effortlessly. You might have this knack for lifting their spirits or brightening their mood. There’s something about you that will subtly shift their perspective as well—like a little spark of insight or inspiration. Part of me feels like this could have something to do with the way you’re dressed.

I also sense that this encounter will happen in passing—a brief, fleeting moment. Even so, they might think something along the lines of, Wow, this person is... Perhaps you have a super eccentric style, or maybe it’s just something about your personality that makes you stand out in an unmistakable way.

It feels like this will catch their attention. Their immediate thoughts might be something like, Huh, this person is different, or even, Oh, I really like them. Those are the kinds of impressions I’m picking up here.

What They Think About You

Cards: The Acolyte, The Sentinel Rev, The Catalyst, Amanita - Conduit, Pau D’Arco - Metamorphosis

Your person may think of you as someone with feminine qualities—exuding a nurturing, gentle energy. They might also see you as a bit whimsical, especially in terms of your appearance. That said, I feel like they could struggle to fully interpret or "read" you. There’s a certain complexity to you that they might find intriguing or even a little puzzling. For example, you might come across as someone who is wise and mature, yet youthful in appearance. You could also give off the impression of being a student—someone who is curious about others, always learning, and dedicated to personal growth.

There’s definitely a sense of playfulness they might pick up on, too. The imagery that comes to mind is something like a mystical or enchanted vibe—mushrooms, fairies, gnomes, that sort of whimsical, otherworldly energy.

They might also notice that you seem to be someone who’s always changing. For instance, maybe your hair is dyed one color, but your roots are showing in a different shade, signaling transformation and evolution. It could also be something they pick up on just by overhearing you talk about yourself—how you actively seek change and growth rather than waiting for life to happen to you.

Your person might think you’re someone unafraid of the unknown. They could see you as someone who thrives on challenges, always seeking the next thing to conquer or explore. There’s also a sense that they might perceive you as confident and self-assured. Depending on the context, this could even come across as arrogance or self-centeredness, but it seems more tied to how much power or presence you have—and your awareness of it.

They might also view you as someone artistic or deeply connected to nature. Mystical energy keeps coming through strongly, and I think that’s a key part of how they’ll perceive you the first time they see you.

If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read this post! 💚

✨Curious about how you make them feel? ✨ What whispers might they share about you with others? 🤫💕 How will that first glance shape your future connection? 👀💞 Dive deeper with the extended access tier on Patreon for the full, in-depth reading 🔮✨—or read "How You Make Them Feel" as a free member! 💌🌟

Pile 2

First Impressions

Cards: Eight of Wands, The Stars, The Devil, The Painter, The Gambler

This is so amusing. I feel like your person’s first impression when they see you is, are you the thing that will save them or the thing that will ruin them completely?

I think you come in very quickly, leaving your person all wide awake and alert. You’re this beacon of light and hope for them, but at the same time, there’s something so mysterious and forbidden about you. Pursuing you, or even the idea of having you, feels thrilling, but it also carries an edge of danger. That’s the vibe I’m getting here from the cards.

It’s like you have the power to show them a whole new world, and that world could be incredible, or it could be devastating. Either way, they seem willing to take the risk and dive in. Honestly, I don’t sense any hesitation from them—none at all. They’re completely enthralled by you, and that’s their first impression.

It’s like… wow.

I think they find you incredibly beautiful. In fact, I’d say they’re very physically attracted to you, and that plays a significant part in it. For some reason, I’m also getting that you might come from different cultures, which could add to the intrigue.

But more than anything, there’s just this overwhelming thrill. You’re so addictive and so enticing—it’s like, oh my gosh. That’s all I can say: oh my gosh. Pile 2, what the heck? Your person is going to be all in for you from the start. That’s their first impression.

Their Immediate Thoughts

Cards: Ace of Cups, Six of Wands, The World

I think doing this pile is definitely going to be a highlight of my day. I’m getting that your person’s immediate thoughts are something like, they just want to eat you up. That’s the phrase I keep hearing, and it feels like your person has such a bold and playful personality—it really comes through in this reading. They see you as someone who probably has a ton of romantic attention. It’s like you’re this irresistible catch, and people are all over you. That’s what keeps coming through: you’ve got so many people chasing after you, and honestly, I can’t see it any other way.

So yeah, their immediate thought is that you’re an absolute catch. You’ve got so much going for you—you’re stunning, beautiful, and it’s something I keep circling back to throughout this reading.

Your person also seems to think you’d be an amazing lover, and they want to be your lover.

What They Think About You

Cards: The merchant, The Pilgrim, The Alchemist, Rue - Protection, Ginkgo - Breakthrough

You seem to have a very magnetic aura, and because of that, you don’t let people in very easily. You’re discerning about who you allow into your energy field. Your energy feels heavily protected, and that’s something people notice about you right away. They might sense—or assume—that you’ve got a deeper layer to you, and I think that’s part of what they initially find so alluring. There’s something about you that feels guarded but also captivating.

I think they see you as someone who’s very confident and aware of your worth. You’re not the type to settle for less than you deserve, and that confidence is magnetic in itself.

At the same time, they might think you’re a bit lost or lacking direction in where you’re headed. There’s this sense that they could see you as someone who might be a little self-destructive at times—or at least that’s a perception they could have. It’s almost like they imagine you as someone who builds yourself up but then occasionally tears it all down.

That dynamic—of being both powerful and a little risky—is part of what they find so intriguing. They sense there’s some level of risk in being with you or around you, and that’s a big part of the pull they feel toward you.

If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read this post! 💚

✨Curious about how you make them feel? ✨ What whispers might they share about you with others? 🤫💕 How will that first glance shape your future connection? 👀💞 Dive deeper with the extended access tier on Patreon for the full, in-depth reading 🔮✨—or read "How You Make Them Feel" as a free member! 💌🌟

PILE 3

First Impressions

Cards: Knight of Wands, The Star, Ace of Pentacles, The Witch, The Diviner

Your person sees you as someone who is very energetic, optimistic, and motivated, with a go-getter attitude toward the things you set your mind to. Their first impression might be that you’re someone who comes up with a lot of great ideas and has the potential for successful outcomes—though what “success” means might vary. Rather than defining it specifically, let’s just say they see you as someone likely to achieve positive results.

They also view you as someone very hopeful, someone who tries to see the best in situations without ignoring potential risks. You seem to strike a balance, focusing on the positives while still acknowledging the negatives. Depending on the context, you might come across as slightly impulsive, but overall, they perceive you as charismatic and confident.

There’s a mystical quality about you, too. They might feel like you have all the answers or that you’ve got the path ahead of you figured out, which leaves them a little mystified. At the same time, you might seem like you’re in your own world, unconcerned with what others are doing and entirely focused on your own goals—what you need to do to get from point A to point B.

They might also pick up on an earthy, natural vibe from you. There’s a sense that you could have an interest in nature, architecture, or even herbalism. These impressions might come across subtly, but they add to the idea that you’re someone who knows a lot about those kinds of things, or at least gives off that impression.

Their Immediate Thoughts

Cards: Ten of Swords, Six of Swords, Page of Swords

This won't resonate with everyone, but I’m picking up on an image of someone wearing a shawl and a lot of bangles or bracelets on their wrists—depending on how they express themselves. Glasses might also come to mind, along with imagery of a greenhouse or a guest speaker at an event. Of course, this could be very specific and apply to just one person.

Your person might perceive you as someone currently in a "solo era." It feels like you’re focused on healing, recovery, or just regaining balance after a draining experience. This could suggest you’re not actively seeking social connections right now.

Alternatively, if you’re working on a project or an idea with long-term potential, they may see you as someone who prefers to handle things independently. This could lead them to think you’re not particularly looking to collaborate at the moment. They might also believe you’re already in a relationship, which would tie into their perception that you’re either unavailable for social connections or preoccupied with your personal work.

Another thing they could sense about you is that you’re someone who has "breakthrough ideas," particularly in environments like school, work, or professional settings. They might see you as a person who consistently comes up with fresh, innovative concepts.

Overall, they view you as someone transitioning—leaving something behind and moving toward something healthier. It feels like "recovery mode" is a recurring theme. Whatever you’re moving on from, they think you’re navigating it with purpose.

What They Think About You

Cards: The Warrior, The Botanist, The Mascareri, Horsetail - Patience, Cacao - Initiation

Their thoughts align with an image of someone deeply connected to nature. They might imagine you working with plants, exploring nature, or pursuing hobbies like painting, pottery, or other creative, hands-on activities—perhaps even as a profession.

They might see you as someone who strives for perfection, but they could also feel that you hide your authentic self behind a mask of this perfectionism. At the same time, they view you as nurturing, patient, and willing to put in the necessary effort to see something bloom, even if it requires isolation.

Wherever they encounter you, it seems like they see you in your element—whether it’s creating, strategizing, or working on something meaningful. There’s a serene and calm energy about you, almost like a "green witch" archetype, embodying a sense of harmony and trust in the process of life.

They might feel that you have a strong connection to the Divine, as many of the cards reflect this theme. There’s a sense of familiarity they might feel with your soul, as if they intuitively recognize something deep about you.

It’s possible they see you as a teacher or mentor in some way—someone they watch and learn from, whether intentionally or by circumstance. This observant nature suggests a level of intrigue on their part. They might think: “I know this person’s soul,” and this thought could leave them feeling both curious and captivated by your essence.

If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read this post! 💚

✨Curious about how you make them feel? ✨ What whispers might they share about you with others? 🤫💕 How will that first glance shape your future connection? 👀💞 Dive deeper with the extended access tier on Patreon for the full, in-depth reading 🔮✨—or read "How You Make Them Feel" as a free member! 💌🌟

[wheneclipsefalls]

Little Gift- Tremble

Pairing: Soft Dark Neteyam x Fem Human Reader

Little Gift Masterlist

Beautiful adult Neteyam pic by @cinetrix2

Summary: This is your last chance to run.

Warnings: aged up Neteyam, NSFW minors do not interact, dark Neteyam, NONCON/DUBCON, spanking, dirty talk, punishment, size difference, etc.

A/N: This one took a little longer than intended with all the life stuff going on, but yay it's here. Also, migt have gotten a little carried away with this part.

The outpost feels like a relic of a different time. One that you have only heard of in stories, but now seeing those worn down bunk beds and the corner of a room that Spider calls his own, it doesn’t feel as glorious. The worst part, however, is how naked you feel around other humans. It’s only a slight comfort that Spider is wearing Na’vi apparel too. 

“Oh and yeah and this is a spear I made in Awalatuu.” Spider says. “But maybe let’s move it out of the way.” He gives an awkward chuckle but it’s obvious that his only concern is you suddenly deciding to use it against him. 

Your arrival at the outpost had been anything but graceful. In hindsight you would have preferred to meet these people face to face instead of over Neteyam’s shoulder. 

“If you want we can uh….watch a movie. Oh yeah I bet I could swipe Norm’s Star Wars collection.” 

You don’t return the smile he gives you, too busy awkwardly sitting on his bed while pouting. You never thought it would feel strange to be back in a place like this but after being around the Na’vi for the past week, the outpost feels like walking into a rundown dollhouse. Everything is your size and nothing is as beautifully crafted as Neteyam’s kelku. 

The awkward silence is slightly painful but you can’t find it within yourself to feel bad for Spider. Not when he hasn’t shown even a morsel of sympathy for your situation. Your own kind and not even they find it important to get you out of here. Not that they could anyways. No doubt Neteyam would view such actions as a betrayal. 

“He wouldn’t let you come along, huh?” You finally ask. 

Spider stops digging through the worn down hard drives. 

“Who?” 

“Neteyam. Didn’t want you coming to see the RDA off either?” 

Spider scoffs at the, leaving the tech behind to cross the small room. 

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m not the one he’s worried about getting into trouble.” 

Spider may not have heightened senses like the Na’vi but you worry that he sees the way your hands ball around the thin blankets.

“So Lo’ak handed the role of babysitter off to you somehow.” You lean back against the cold wall, trying to appear bored by the conversation. 

“Just for today. He was clear that I would only be a substitute.” 

Your brows furrow at that. Maybe Lo’ak doesn’t mind watching over you as much as he lets on. Then again Lo’ak never fails to find your company amusing, and for all the wrong reasons. Some days you wonder if Neteyam would really be cross with you for slapping his brother across the face. Maybe if you batted your lashes and played it off as self defense….

“Well I’m sorry you can’t be there.” 

It’s Spider’s turn to look confused. 

“Why?” 

“Colonel Quaritch is your dad, isn’t he?” 

“That asshole is nothing close to a father.” Spider’s jaw clenches, posturing already shifting to loom over you. He may be human but his six foot frame of striped muscle greatly outweighs your own. 

“Oh trust me, I know. Quaritch has been nothing but a tyrant my entire life. I honestly don’t know how he managed to get back into General Ardmore’s good graces after half the stunts he has pulled. That’s why I was excited for today. Finally see that bastard put in his place.” Spider watches you closely. In some ways it feels like all he is missing he ears and tail of a Na’vi.

“Thought maybe you would want to see that too.” 

You know a good deal about Spider Soccoro. He is a story that is often shared among the recombinants but never in Quaritch’s presence. Many tales have been told of the feral stripped boy that was more trouble than worth. You wonder if the stories would have been different if he hadn’t chosen the Sullys in the end. Still, even with their biased filters you know that they put Spider through hell. 

Kidnapping is traumatic enough without having to watch islands burn and friends cry for justice. 

“I don’t care what happens to that bastard.” Spider huffs before promptly turning around and fishing through the hard drives once more. You’ve killed the already strained mood. 

“Well then you’re a better person than me. Good for you.” Spider doesn’t answer but you can tell he is listening. 

A bitter laugh escapes you. “Hell, I’ve only had to put up with him from a distance and I would ring his neck myself if given the chance.” 

Spider’s fingers fiddle with a blue hard drive, eyes staring down thoughtfully. 

“But I guess I should trust Neteyam to give him what he deserves. Watch that monster tuck his tail and accept his failure for what it is.”  It’s the one cause you consider Neteyam and yourself on the same side of. 

Leaning back, you prop your feet up onto the creaky mattress. 

“Yeah.” He says shortly. 

“Ugh don’t get me started on Lyle though-”

“What are you trying to do?” Spider springs to his feet, glaring daggers down at you. 

“What do-”

“Do you think I’m really that stupid? Neteyam told me you would do this. Trying to spin a story that would allow you to escape.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat. You’re startled by the outburst to say the least but at this point there is nothing to lose. This man you only met fifteen minutes ago is the difference between spending the rest of your days here and returning back to Earth. Neteyam’s punishments are far from being enough to deter you from taking this chance. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t trying to-”

“Would it kill you to just stay out of trouble for this one day? For my sake?” The look he gives you is anything but tender in comparison to his words. 

The bitter taste of impending failure is already settling in. You can already feel the immense weight of this dread and it springs you into action. This can’t be the end. 

It won’t be. 

“Can you really blame me though? For wanting to say goodbye to everything and everyone I have ever known?” 

Spider goes quiet, hazel eyes suddenly avoiding your own gaze. 

“Believe whatever you want but the fact is this day will never repeat. This is literal history and…” You voice quivers, blunt teeth sinking into your bottom lip in restraint. The last barrier to holding the words back. “The last glimpse at my old life.” 

You don’t allow the gravity of those whispered words to plant themselves. This is all a ruse after all. Just enough sadness to get Spider to cooperate and yet saying it out loud feels like tying an anchor to your ankle. Truly realizing how stuck you may be from here on out. 

Spider doesn’t say anything for a long while. Neither of you look at each other, letting the silence sizzle between you. 

And then finally….

“We have to be quick.”

“And no touching anything. I mean it, shit out here can be extremely poisonous.” Spider rattles on, listing yet another rule to follow as the two of you venture through the thick terrain. You roll your eyes. You may not be a match for the creatures of Pandora physically but you’ve studied enough to understand what to stay away from.

“We’re there for five minutes tops, got it?” Spider says as he pushes a hanging branch out of your path. 

“Yes sir.” You salute him playfully. Now that you are less than a mile away from Bridgehead a certain giddiness begins to take over. It swirls together with your nerves and apprehension but it doesn’t deter you. This is the closest you have been to freedom in a week. 

Eywa’s mightiest creatures could not keep you from your goal. 

Years down the road when you wake up from kyro this will all be some awful dream that embeds itself into your revenge arch. Starting with Miles Quaritch of course. 

“I’m being serious. Neteyam will kill me if he sees you out here. I’m sticking my neck out for you.” 

“It will be worth it.” You say simply, a skip in your step when you recognize the familiar path that leads back to Bridgehead. This the same one you had carved deeper with every trip you had taken to your oasis. Looking back there is nothing more you regret but the sight of it still makes you smile. 

Spider never stops his stern rambling. Despite the fact that he is built like a Greek God, his speeches do little to intimidate you. Not when you’re used to nine feet of solid muscle and sharp canines. 

There is a bank that overhangs Bridgehead. A spot that Spider deems the perfect lookout for the two of you. You consider trying to convince him to get the two of you closer. After all, what good is a farewell that can’t be heard? Truth is, there really aren’t many people you would bother trying to say goodbye to. Jeremy moved on from you months ago, you have very little friends outside of that and what little you did have can be nothing but traitors by letting you get offered up without complaint. 

It feels like a risky move, however. Spider is sure to catch wind of your deception at the first hints of you disobeying.

“Here,” Spider mutters, suddenly pulling your arm so you stand directly in front of him. This leaves you sandwiched between the cliff’s edge and Spider’s tall frame. 

“Hey!” You snip at him, ripping your arm from his hold. 

“This way I can keep a close eye on you.” He smirks, hands resting confidently on his hips because he knows as well as you that his physical prowess greatly outweighs your own. It’s clear his trust is far from being earned. 

“Well do you have to breathe down my neck? Christ! I could use some space.” 

“No chance.” Spider responds shortly but his eyes are already scanning the crowd of RDA members below. 

“Neteyam doesn’t really take kindly to others sniffing around me.” 

You hate to play that card but it seems to be the only one you have in your deck and if you have any chance of getting out of here, Spider can’t be pressed up against you. A harsh glare is thrown down at you but with knitted brows and a fierce frown, the male takes a few steps back. It isn’t much, surely his presence will still be your first obstacle, but it’s a start. 

Every minute that passes by feels like torture. You watch as palettes of heavy equipment and artillery are rolled along the concrete with Na’vi supervising. Each one packed away is a signal of passing time, another stream of sand that falls through your hourglass of opportunity. The real nerves, however, kick in when the line of RDA members are escorted onto the ship. 

How long is it going to take them to load everyone?

How long until your hopes are dashed?

You spot Neteyam taking his place at the head. He is dressed up in his traditional Olo’eyktan gear completely with a feathered mantle and oval forehead jewelry, but this time he holds a gun. He holds it with confidence, finger strategically placed over the barrel and ready to strike at a moment’s notice. His golden eyes spark today like fire. Even from your lookout spot from above, you can feel that darting heat. 

You pray that they never fall on you again. 

Spider shifts over your shoulder suddenly, blonde dreads ticking your neck. You scramble out of his space but instead of jerking you into place as you expect, he takes your spot at the front. Brows knitting together, you watch him carefully as he crawls forward. 

Finally you spot what has captured his undivided attention. 

Colonel Miles Quaritch sternly leads his band of mutants through the crowd. They tower so high over the rest of the Sky People the sight is almost comedic. However, Spider is doing anything but laughing. His mask fogs up as he watches the scene with intensity. 

It’s like he is dead to the world, eyes trained on the man that has been anything but a father to him. 

You expect him to cheer, snarl, anything that shouts of victory. It was promises of seeing karma after all that had bought you this outing but Spider is silent and still. And then there is something else that flashes over his demeanor, a pang of emotion that is hard for you to place. 

Pain?

Hatred? 

Guilt? 

This swirl of tangled feelings is confusing.

Perhaps there is still so much more to learn about Spider Socorro. 

Regardless, this is your chance and you plan to take it. Tension bleeding into the moment you watch Spider diligently while beginning to back away. It feels as if the world’s ambience has been muffled into background noise and the only sound breaking through is the obnoxious puff of each breath through your mask. Neteyam hadn’t given you the serum shot this morning, assuming you would be spending the whole day in the outpost. Now, however, you wish he had. 

Spider is so enveloped in the moment, however, that he gives no recognition of the sound or even branch you clumsily snap when backing down from the cliff’s edge. 

There is no telling how long this trance will last or at what point you will be out of ear shot so you risk it all. 

Bare feet tingling in protest, you race across the forest floor. There’s no sign of an easy and stealthy way down into Bridgehead. Going back down your normal path would risk Spider spotting you race by. That’s not an option but neither is falling to your death. On the east side the cliff shallows out into a grassy hill. If you’re lucky enough you might just be able to creep down it and remain hidden beneath the heavy greenery. 

Upon reaching it, however, you step on loose dirt and the world rapidly spins around you. With neither a hint of grace or stealth you clumsily roll down the hill. Your muscles ache by the time you clunk to the bottom and you’re sure there are other injuries to be found. Adrenaline dulling the pain and panic, you dart to hide in the nearest bush instantly. 

The scene is so much louder now that you are up close. Heavy trucks make blaring beeping sounds while reversing and Na’vi freely let out loose cries of victory and foreign threats. The commotion is just enough to have your presence remain undetected. 

You don’t bank on that lasting for long though.

Your scanty traditional Na’vi attire is sure to draw attention. You need different clothes and you need it fast. Scaling around the outskirts of the chaos, you miraculously manage to make it to that familiar run down door. Sector two-your building. 

Paranoia constantly scraping at your attention, you barely let the room equalize before ripping your mask off. These hallways feel so different than you remember them. Perhaps it is the feel of the metal floors beneath bare feet or the lacking furniture and crowd. It sends a chill up your spine as you sprint towards your room. 

How much time do you have?

They can’t have loaded more than half of the crew by now.

And yet, the sight of deserted halls makes your feet slap against the floor faster. 

Get dressed. Immerse yourself in the crowd. Hide until take off is through and then find a kyro capsule.

You mentally check through this list. 

Piece of cake. 

Maybe saying it out loud would make it sound less like a fool’s hope. 

Fuck it. The odds don’t matter and neither do your nerves. This is a necessity, pure survival and that will be enough to keep you going. It will because it has to. 

Your feet slip across the laminated floor when you frantically scramble to go back the way you came. Two tall and ominous shadows wrap from around the opposite corner and you are afforded just enough time to dart behind a wall before Lyle and Z Dawg appear. 

“You’re an idiot.” She says. 

“Yeah yeah say whatever you want but don’t pretend like you wouldn’t rip someone in half for a Big Mac right now.” Lyle defends himself, their shadows now paint the dimly lit corridor, stretching closer and closer to your tucked away spot.

You could run, but these are recombinants. They would pick up the sound of your footsteps in an instant. The wind from your sprint would carry your scent. 

“Sure, but I asked what your first meal back on Earth would be, not what your guilty pleasure fast food order is.” 

“These savages can keep their overgrown weeded garden of a planet. I want some fucking chicken nuggets!” 

As their voices become louder it appears that running will be your only choice after all. 

“I don’t even know why I ask at this point.” She sighs and a short hiss echoes down the hallway. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, feet repositioning as you prepare yourself to run. If you were smart you would have already been halfway down the hallway at this point but some part of you refuses to move. It clings to hope foolishly. 

“Well I’m sure-”

“Shut up asshole. The comm.” Z Dawg hisses and they both turn silent, no doubt listening to the orders on the other end. 

Your hands are shaking now, that tremor traveling up your shoulders as you await their response. 

“Copy that.” Lyle says and then the sound of heavy boots recedes into the distance. 

You can hardly believe your luck. 

That dark cloud of dread ripples away and hope takes its place once more. Maybe you can pull this off after all. 

Your room is exactly as you left it. No one has bothered to pack up any of your things or even dispose of your half folded laundry. This tiny corner of a shared living space has been your own for your whole life, everything you have known. It feels so small now. 

Rifling through the laundry basket you find a loose green tee and a pair of  tan shorts. You originally had a whole outfit planned for this day, something comfortable but nice. Those garments are, however, still crumpled up on the ground. This will have to do. 

As you hastily slip them over the beaded jewelry and tewng you pray to whatever god will listen that this will be enough to keep you incognito. You are barely finished buttoning up the shorts when heavy footsteps ring down the hallway. 

Their echo is soft, no doubt still several halls away but they are progressively getting louder. Now is not the time to take any more risks. This room is tiny and already cramped with scattered junk. Hiding under your bed would not only be idiotic but near impossible with the way your creaky bed  swoopes so low to the ground. There is, however, an old built-in cabinet above that you’ve used to hold your clothes. 

It’s just barely big enough for you to squeeze into so with those footsteps getting louder and your own terror sky rocketing, you push everything out of it and shove your body into the metal space. The door has metal slots with just enough slant to allow your visual through it. 

Your clammy right hand presses over your mouth when the door to the room creaks open.

Neteyam strolls in leisurely, eyes sweeping over the cramped space with interest. With wide eyes and strangled lungs, you watch him prowl through the area slowly. He bends down to run his fingers over the rumbled sheets, the back of his hand lingers over your pillow case. 

He takes his time looking through the various knick knacks and cords littering your night stand. He doesn’t hesitate to ball the old picture of Jeremy into his fists. Its remains are tossed to the side without care. 

Did he toss the real Jeremy like that?

You make a vow to find him as soon as you make it on board. 

Assuming Neteyam hasn’t already hunted him down. 

You could look for whatever is left of Jeremy.

You can’t think about that now, though. Not as your heart is pounding against your ribs like a bird trying to escape a cage. Not when Neteyam lifts his mask for a sip of air as he plays with your tiny music box. 

He is gentle with all of your belongings, roaming through the area like a man that doesn’t have hundreds of Sky People to threaten off of his planet. Surely, he will have to leave soon. He’s just here out of curiosity, more of his stalker tendencies pushing him to invade your space. 

The music box looks like a Christmas ornament in his palm and you worry that he will accidently crush it. It was a pain in the ass to get and a possession you have always treasured because of that. Neteyam’s ears push forward when he finally figures out how to start the music and that delicate ballerina begins to twirl. 

“Maybe it’s all of your silly trinkets.” He breaks the silence, you startle slightly. He can’t be talking to you, you remind yourself. Neteyam thinks he is alone, just nosing through your old room as he thinks out loud. “Is that what you miss so much? What has you running off and acting naughty, little gift?” 

He’s bluffing. There is no way he could know you are here. Your scent has to be strong in the room but that’s to be expected since this was your living space. Ironically this should be the perfect place to hide away. 

“You know,” He starts, carefully placing the music box back down. “I was planning on letting you bring some of these funny things back to our kelku once you start behaving. A little incentive to be my good girl.” 

The knot in your throat is near impossible to gulp down and when you do, his ears twitch. You don’t want to believe it. How did he find you? You tug your legs closer to your chest as if you can contort yourself into a small enough ball that will magically disappear. 

“But it’s obvious now that you respond better to retribution than reward.” 

It’s a miracle that your lip doesn’t split from how hard your teeth press into it. Neteyam may not be able to track your scent here but the smell of blood would be a dead giveaway. All signs point to being caught but you aren’t ready to hand over the last shreds of hope yet. Neteyam doesn’t know about the cabinet. He’s bluffing about knowing you are here. No one has seen you. 

“We can revisit the idea of a reward system later, pet.” 

The muscles in your legs are cramping beyond relief, begging you to stretch out. You don’t heed these discomforts, too paralyzed by the proximity of your captor. Neteyam on the other hand appears deceivingly content and relaxed, rummaging through your things as if he has all the time in the world. 

He carefully opens your nightstand drawer and those hairless eyebrows raise immediately. The bras are tossed to the side with the same care as the picture but then tiny little lace fabric hangs from his fingers. It’s far from your greatest problem but your cheeks heat anyways when he carefully observes your light purple panties. 

Out of all the drawers to open it seems that Neteyam knows just the one to torment you with. 

“Then again,” The Olo’eyktan smirks. “These are quite cute.” And this time instead of inhaling from the respirator he soaks in the scent from the small fabric instead. Your thighs clench together. 

“Wouldn’t mind having my little tawtute model these for me.” He hums, while pulling out several more pairs. He tucks them away safely in a small pouch attached to his loincloth. “That is, once I finally get rid of this rebellious streak of yours.” 

You allow yourself a small sigh when Neteyam goes around to the other side of the bed, just enough distance for you to breathe properly. 

“Time to come out, little gift.” He squats down onto his haunches, prowling across the floor like a predator on track. He must be searching for you and if that is true then you may still have a chance yet. Neteyam may think you are in here but he doesn’t know where exactly. 

Thoughts race through your mind at a thousand miles per minute. They twist and twirl to find some way that you could get out of this situation unscathed. The doorway is visible through the slanted slits of the cupboard. With the proper footing you may be able to close that distance with a courageous leap. And maybe, just maybe that would be enough to catch Neteyam off guard and give you a head start. 

You make one fatal mistake, however. 

If there is one thing a good prey knows to do, it is to keep sight of their predator at all times. 

Your feet don’t even get the chance to hit the ground, instead dangling and thrashing once you are caught with a strong hold around your waist. Hoping is waning but disappointment sprouts into increased vigor as your nails digging into his arms and legs struggle to kick back at him. 

“YOU MOTHERFUCK-” Your cursing slings into a shriek when Neteyam grabs a fistful of your hair and uses it to strongly crane your head backwards. His golden eyes are dilated until only a thin rim of molten gold is visible. The weight of his angry gaze takes your breath away. 

“Enough.” He enunciates the word, like a drawn sword ready to slash. “Listen closely, pet.” The lump in your throat goes down with a strained gulp. “There is not an inch of this Sky Demon hell hole or corner of this planet that you can run to without being drawn back to me. You are mine and I’ve done well to mark my property.” The fingers intertwined in your hair tickle over the back of your neck, no doubt leaving the trail of his scent behind. “You reek of me.” 

Tears gather at the corner of your eyes and you flutter them closed to avoid his burning attention. 

“As you should.” His voice rumbles as nothing more than a growl against the nape of your neck. 

“I never asked for this!” Your fighting dimms down to nothing more than squirming as gritting the choked words out sucks your energy away. Before you can do anything to stop it, tears blaze trails down your cheeks. “Just let me go! Please!” 

“Quiet, pet.” 

Another yank to your hair and the words die on your lips. It’s clear now that the time for fun and games is over. Neteyam wastes no time in throwing you onto the creaky mattress and covering your body with his own until he becomes a shadow blocking out the fluorescent light above. His thighs straddle your waist, putting just enough weight down to keep you in place. 

“No more tears.” He sighs, with down turned lips, but doesn’t pause his bunching of your tee shirt. “It’s clear I’ve been spoiling you too much.” 

A broken grasp is pulled from your throat when he easily tears the shirt straight down the middle. You’re not sure what you are trying to accomplish as you swat at his working hands. The shirt was neither your favorite nor of great importance but you still try to stop the onslaught of ripping. 

Confused and overwhelmed you squirm as he rips it into wide ribbons of fabric and then without warning you are flipped onto your stomach. You scramble to crawl away but Neteyam’s plants a foot on your ass and that is unfortunately all it takes to pin you down. Your hands are snatched next, forced together behind your back as the ripped stripes of your own shirt are used as makeshift rope to tie your wrists together. 

Something about him using your own personal clothing to keep you bound for him has your legs kicking out fiercely. It won’t do much damage even if you manage to hit him, but there needs to be an outlet for your anger. You need to feel like there is still some wreckage for you to inflict. The last tiny shred of power that you cling to for dear life. 

Neteyam isn’t in the mood to put up with your outbursts. Much like a fresh kill from his hunting trips he keeps you pinned and makes quick work of binding you imobile. The action is so well rehearsed and instinctual in fact that he already moves on to his next task of destroying your shorts. 

Shrieks and small clawing fingers are simply background ambience for the Olo’eyktan as he works. Surprisingly the small tawtute sized Na’vi clothing is not exempt from the male’s destructive hands. They too become nothing more than rolling beads and scraps of fabric falling to the floor. 

Your string of bloody curses are only temporarily interrupted by your own gasp when Neteyam takes a seat on the bed and throws you over his knee in one swift move. Kicking is no longer an option for your rage when he swings one leg over both of yours. Blood rushes to your head but even dizziness can’t stop your violent outrage. 

However, it appears a cracking smack to your upturned ass can. 

The pain doesn’t ripple forward until a few moments after your shock has subsided. Neteyam has always had creative ways of punishing you but this is different. You’d figured that he would never lay a hand on you after all that he has droned on and on about how important it is to protect a fragile thing like you. 

But another hit accompanies the first and this time you can’t hold back your small squeak. 

“Just as I thought.” He spanks you again, his hand mercilessly hitting both cheeks with every strike. “You’ve been practically begging for a firmer hand.” The cry that the next rapid three slaps pull from you is one that you don’t recognize. 

“Pretty little things like you still struggle to remember their place.” 

“Stop! Stop!” You shriek, trapped legs still fruitlessly sprawling for escape. 

“Don’t worry, little gift.” He squeezes one of your pink cheeks after this last spank. “That’s what I am here for. I won’t let your silly little tawtute tendencies keep you away from me.” 

It doesn’t take long for the color of your backside to match your face as the blood drains to your head. Neteyam is persistent, hardly batting an eye at your cries and shrieks. From cursing to death threats, none of your spewed venom makes him flinch. If anything you manage to catch his small smirk when you twist to glare up at him. You don’t make that mistake again when you find this behavior only rewards you with condescending coos from the Na’vi. 

“That’s a good girl. Let all those nasty words go.” He purrs, heavy hand never letting up on your poor bottom. 

It’s this praise that has your mouth clamping shut. You hold back any and every sound you can as your ass takes a beating. Which is not a lot when the Na’vi male has unfathomable strength and your backside already feels like flames could erupt from it at any moment. 

“Oh pet, I’ve hardly even touched you and you’re already blushing so pretty for me.” Neteyam hums in delight, hand roaming over your burning ass like an art piece just waiting to be admired properly. 

Hardly even touched you?

Is this just his way of being an ass or are you truly that far from the finish line?

You jolt when one finger slips between the crack of your cheeks, teasing over your hole gently. A sound caught between a scream and whimper erupts from you without thought. Bound hands flatten and flail to cover the untouched area but Neteyam simply chuckles and lets his own hand retreat. 

“Mawey, tiyawn.” Neteyam pats your backside softly, almost in a casual reassuring manner. “Another day.” 

It’s hard to say what is more humiliating. Being bound and turned over the Olo’eyktan’s knee like a naughty child or the wetness trickling from your pussy at the feel of his teasing fingers in a place you’ve never dared let anyone else explore before. 

Pain is a great distraction from your humiliation. So much so that it eventually motivates you to dash pride to the side and begin your pleading. 

“A-ah Neteyam! I’m sorry! I’m sorry…eh-ah I-I’ll be good!” It’s not even clear what you are trying to say anymore. Your mouth runs on autopilot, throwing out any line of remorse in hopes of one doing the job. “I ngh-ah didn’t mean to! I won’t run! Can’t take anymo- ah! Neteyam!” 

He reigns his hits to warm the underside of your thighs too, moving between that vulnerable area and your ass in such an erratic way that it is impossible to anticipate where the next will land. 

Plea after plea is thrown out but resembles nothing more than garbled desperation, nothing that can pass as a full sentence.

However, one call catches his attention.

“Olo’eyktan please!” 

The sound of slapping skin stops. 

Tears continue to plunge down your cheeks even without the constant spanking, your ass burns and tingles in shock. The tuft of his tail poruses over your naked thighs, sending a sensation both painful and ticklish. 

“Repeat, pet.” 

“Wha-what?” You stammer, voice thick with tears. 

“What did you say?” That large hand comes down once more like a crack of lightning. 

“AH! Olo’eyktan O-Olo’eyktan please please please. No more no more!” 

He smooths over your knotted hair, pushing it away from your sweaty temple and tear stained face. It’s tempting to look away from his soft gaze but intuition tells you to let him see the trembling state he has left you in. Let him witness how pitiful and distraught a simple spanking has made you be. 

“I….I’m sorry, Olo’eyktan.” 

Neteyam smiles like one would at a lover, a tender pride lacing his lips. 

“You’re learning, pet.”

Putting batteries in that small remote was a mistake. A ridiculous useless mistake that now leaves you standing on shaky legs. The pink vibrator that has resided in your nightstand drawer dutifully on hand for years is now the source of your torment. 

Well, maybe not the source per say. 

No, the true origin of this humiliation stares back at you with knowing eyes and swatting tail, his large hand making that tiny remote look like a children’s toy. The vibrator buzzes inside of you on the lowest setting, but that relief can only last for so long with the way Neteyam enjoys jumping between the different levels. 

Every last shredded piece of your Na’vi and human clothing lays back on the floor of your old bedroom. The only savior of your decency is Neteyam’s cloak that he had thrown around your shoulders. With the size difference this cloak acts more like a dress and therefore gives you more coverage than you’ve had in a week yet somehow leaves you feeling more vulnerable than ever before. Trembling fingers never stray from the seams of the cloak, keeping it wrapped around you tightly as the crowds of humans and Na’vi continue to pass you. 

Neteyam has left you with one of the other Na’vi warriors but never out of his sight. It’s a miracle that your hands were cut loose in the first place but perhaps that is another sick joke the Olo’eyktan plays on you. He knows that you won’t run. He knows you can’t run. His attention and promised consequences for misbehavior are more than enough to keep you tucked in his pocket. 

That and of course his control over the rippling vibrations that torture your pussy. 

The nearest warrior is sure to be noticing your frazzled state by now. At least he has the decency to hide his interest, unlike another Na’vi that watched from the sidelines. Lo’ak, leaned against one of the hoverships like it’s a random Tuesday afternoon, watches with a small smirk and perked ears. If Neteyam notices, he doesn’t seem to have a problem with it because Lo’ak is left unbothered in his ogling. 

The tempo increases, the vibrator now picking a pattern of random pulses that bash against your sweet spot. Bottom lip bleeding now from your biting, it’s a struggle to keep your moans at bay. With the heavy machinery moving and hundreds of Na’vi and humans passing surely there must be enough noise to block out any degrading sounds you make. But you can’t take that risk. You’ve made the mistake of underestimating the Na’vi’s enhanced hearing before and that is what has landed you here. 

Neteyam twirls the tiny remote between his fingers like a fidget toy as another Na’vi warrior comes to report. 

You start to commiserate the loss of that ridiculous human sized loincloth Neteyam made you because at least then there was some fabric barrier to hide your wetness. Now, the thick Pandoran air runs up the cloak and over your soaked thighs and cunt. It reminds you constantly how pathetic you have become as orgasm after orgasm has escaped your grip. Even worse it reminds you how easy it is to carry that aroused scent through the breeze for all Na’vi to detect. At that rate, worrying about your noises is the least of your concerns. 

Lo’ak reloads the machine gun with practiced hands, moving with muscle memory so he can continue to stare and send silent messages your way. No doubt he is theorizing on what exactly his brother has done to diminish you to such a state. His eyes dance with those ideas, the little quirk of his lips telling you just how creative and vial his thoughts have turned. 

Another level up and this time it is Neteyam’s eyes that have you squirming. Your impending orgasm coils tighter and tighter with every passing second and you're so desperate to find some way to release this energy that your bare feet begin fidgeting against the concrete. It’s almost like a little dance, one that has Lo’ak laughing under his breath. 

It stops.

You breathe. 

There is some sort of commotion off in the distance. Not one that you can truly pin down the source of but you do notice the way Neteyam nods as a Na’vi female says something to him. With a wave she is dismissed and then the Olo’eyktan saunters off. Although slightly worried over the trouble, you are grateful for the respite. 

And then a nightmare unfurls before your eyes.

Instead of marching to the issue, Neteyam takes a pit stop to converse with his younger brother. Lo’ak’s tail whips in the wind at whatever is whispered in his ear but the real horror comes when that traitor of a remote is handed over to the younger Sully male. 

You are seconds away from stomping over there and crushing that pink little weapon before the other male can wield it. However, your dutiful guard places a hand on your shoulder after just one step. His eyes remain locked forward but the warning is enough as his hand retreats. You are still being watched. 

With one last glance your way, Neteyam has the audacity to give you, his little pet, a warm smile before leaving you in the hands of his brother. 

Lo’ak swings the gun around to his back in favor of playing with his new toy. Every dark and viscous fiber left within you is channeled into the glare you give him. It should say everything that your lips can not.

Don’t you dare.

Don’t you fucking dare. 

Now would be a good time to look into Na’vi curses, anything you could betrix upon him for what he is about to do, because of course Lo’ak won’t back down. If anything that fire in your eyes lights his own delight and has him sitting down and bracing forward. Forearms resting on his thighs he clocks your every movement.

This is sure to be the best entertainment the bastard has had in a long time. 

He savors the passing moments of anticipation. Never backing down from the ultimate seething looks you give him. Finally a crash sounds and that distraction is right when Lo’ak sets the vibrator to high. From zero to one hundred, pleasure rackets through you like a shock wave. The force is so much that it temporarily makes you stumble on your feet. The other guard wordlessly steadies you back into place. 

Lo’ak’s grin is feral. 

This silent battle slips between your fingers so quickly it is hard to comprehend, because all that can register in your brain is how fast you are hurtling towards an orgasm. After Neteyam’s denial your body is high strung and ready to take any sensation as fuel to push you over the edge. Nails digging into the soft fabric of Neteyam’s cloak, pleasure rockets higher and higher until only the whites of your eyes are visible. 

Knees bowing inward, ecstasy is finally yours. 

There isn’t enough energy left to question why Lo’ak let you reach your high. Instead you focus on riding that wave while simultaneously keeping upright. 

That persistent buzzing against your sweet spot continues until your nerves are short circuiting. The pleasure turns to overstimulation and you give Lo’ak a look that alerts him of this change. 

His amusement tells you that he already knows your predicament but his thumb remains far from the off button. 

Pathetic noises now bubble up your throat without restraint as pleasure ebbs into pain. It switches back and forth until another release is on the verge of consuming your being. The guard next to you doesn’t say anything when he helps to sit on the cold ground. 

The second orgasm has a bitter taste to it but your greedy pussy clenches around the toy all the same. It’s almost too bad that Neteyam decided not to gag you because at least that would muffle your cries as you rock down onto the toy. Lo’ak gulps at the sight, pupils blown wide when the first glimmer of tears scrape down your cheeks.

Regardless, he shows no mercy as he takes in the show with undivided interest. 

Vaguely you register the bustle and commotion around you as different Na’vi and humans rush to and fro, giant machinery finally backing into place but they are only background noise to your third orgasm. 

Your body is caught between delight and despair with every passing second. When you are close to reaching your peak for the fourth time your body is resistant to get you there all the way. The intense buzzing in your pussy is driving you wild but still not enough to drag out another orgasm after being too overstimulated. Despite the soreness that emanates from your wrecked hole, your clit throbs in agony. Begging to be touched. To be licked. Pinched. Flicked. God, anything at this point.

Memories of Neteyam doing just that surface, pushing you closer and closer to another dumbing climax and yet only serve as a reminder of how you are not getting the treatment you so desperately need. Pride is dashed to the side, you’ll worry about the consequences of grinding onto the toy in public later. 

Lo’ak’s hands roughly brush over his inner thighs and it draws your attention. The taunt muscle and smooth skin of those thighs would surely brush over your intimate flesh so perfectly. He would probably help you too, hands clawing at your hips as they urge you back and forth over the area. Even more so, the younger brother would not be able to pass up the opportunity to show his power over the situation, muscles flexing to tease your clit oh so beautifully. 

You’re not sure when Lo’ak became telepathic but he grips his knees and gives you a look that says he knows every dark desire that plagues your brain. His nails press into that soft flesh and drag until there are pretty red marks left behind. If you crawled over there sweetly, would he let you ride? Maybe if you healed those red marks with open mouthed kisses and kitten licks. 

Unaroused you would be ashamed of this train of thought but she is so far gone now. 

The only thing your poor abused cunt is begging for was attention. Anything to get this awful mix of heaven and hell to bleed into euphoric release and rest. 

The only thing stopping you from reaching down and finishing the job yourself is the assurance that Lo’ak would snip all pleasure in a bud at the sight of any touching. 

The area has been cleared of invaders. Na’vi begin to make their way off to the hills before take off but you are none the wiser. Caught in your own little bubble you don’t even notice when a sudden shadow blocks out the sun. That is until, large warm hands slip under the cloak and skate over your spread legs. 

Such a simple touch has never made you whimper more. 

Neteyam’s accent is thicker now, words heavy enough to hardly understand the meaning as he coos at you. “There’s my sweet pet. Little slut just wants to come again, don’t you?”

His fingers force your legs to spread even wider. Lo’ak’s stares as if his glare could heat up enough to burn through that cloak. 

With such delicacy it makes you want to scream, Neteyam uses two fingers to part your pussy lips and expose your pulsing clit. The other hand slithers down to rest on your thigh as you try to buck against the air. 

“Come for your Olo’eyktan, pet,” He growls and with the other hand he begins delivering rapid little taps to your clit. It’s humiliating how tiny the gesture that puts you over the edge is but you paint the toy white regardless. 

When the vibrator finally takes a rest you are too far lost in your own little world. Neteyam swaddles you in the cloak and carries you in his arm as you bury into his chest. And conveniently, when you are tucked back in the forest there is no awareness left in you to recognize the sound of launching ships. 

As always interaction and feedback not only means the world to me but also as a great motivator for writing and updating<3

Taglist: @pandoraslxna@neteyamssyulang@tallulah477@criticallybella@sullybrothersmate@lilghostiequinni@chershire23@lala-1516@teyamshuman@yawnetu@puddle-nerd@ratchetprime211@avatargirly @chocolatechocobo91 @kariz-stark@bunnscoffe @avatarwifey @universal-s1ut@witchsprit@heart-an0n @riri-is-a-girlie @rivatar@minnory@ikeyniofthetayrangi@ilovehobi101@spicymayyo@v4mp1rr3@nilsavatar@bambithewriter@quicktosimp@itchaboi-itchyboy@thehoneymushroomhealer @ilytulipse @witchsprit@imwutim@crazy4books1@thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction@danniackerman@dayyzlol@justabite7 @krispyjellyfishkitty @neteyamtesuli @sakurayuki8655-blog @deadpool15 @valeriinee @leaveitbythewave @aqxllo @mxnygn @crazed-flower @crimsonroses666 @property-of-neteyam @rejectedbytheempty

Let me know if I missed you. It's getting a littly tricky to keep track of everyone haha

[sanguineterrain]

YES. BODYGUARD JASON TODD.

He's used to being looked over, just seen as meat & muscle (he doesn't mind, it's part of the job) but you're the first "job" who actually sees him, talks to him, makes him laugh 🫠 he doesn't know what he'll do if someone actually tries to put their hands on you 🙂

hiiii aud thank you for the scrumptious jaybird thoughts <3 so begins my bodyguard!Jason agenda!

bodyguard!jason todd x gn!reader. fluff, pining, and tension so thick you could cut it with a batarang.

All fics are reblogged to @sanguinelibrary

****

"Y'know, I think you just keep me around to carry your bags."

You grin over your shoulder where the Red Hood trails behind you, always five paces behind. Your takeout bag is in one hand, your new shirts in another. He wears a red mask over the lower half of his face, like always. Only seeing his eyes used to unnerve you, but now it's a comfort, finding his gaze in a crowd.

"That's not true. I also keep you around for something nice to look at," you say.

He tilts his head. Your belly flutters. "Flattery will get you nowhere, trouble."

"Flattery got me outside of my hotel, Red."

He sighs. "Tricking the hotel concierge doesn't count."

You laugh. "Sure it does. I think it does." You stick your arm out. "Will you walk next to me?"

"You know my rule."

"But you can easily cover me if you're next to me! And I'm so good at ducking. See?"

You duck and straighten a few times in a row to demonstrate. A few people stare. You ignore them. Hood's eyes crinkle in a way that tells you he's smiling.

"Mm, incredible technique. Wonder who taught you that. A ruggedly handsome bodyguard, perhaps?"

"Always hungry for the credit," you say. "Despicable."

"Ain't I?"

You turn around and stop. He stops five paces behind. You take a step forward. He takes a step back.

"I wanna see your face when we talk," you say, face pinched.

"Not in public, trouble. It's for your safety. You know that."

"Can't you come a little closer?"

None of your friends are like this with their personal guards. A moment from a friend's birthday party resurfaces.

It's almost like you'd rather be with him than us. You know he's just doing his job, right?

Hood stays exactly where he is. "This is the ideal spot for covering you. Now, c'mon. Thought you wanted to shop."

You sigh and let your arms flop to your sides. He must be nervous today. You can't imagine why.

"Fine. Be that way."

You hurry ahead. Hood doesn't lag behind. Stupid long-legged bodyguard.

"You can be mad at me as long as you stay safe," he says.

You turn again, about to really bitch about how strict he's being. But his proximity stops you short. He's inched closer, so close that you can properly see his eyes.

"This close enough for you?" he asks.

Hood's eyes are warm in the light, mossy and rich. His lashes and brows are dark and thick. Once or twice, you've seen a splash of freckles across his nose. The bridge of his nose is crooked like it's been broken one too many times.

Dear God, you yearn to know him.

Your stomach does more flips. Hood watches you, half-lidded.

"What're y'doing, trouble?"

His voice is soft, the way it gets when he's trying to smooth over a tiff between you. You can't figure out why he does that. You always get over it. And so does he. He has no choice.

"I'm looking at you, Red," you say.

"Yeah? What're y'lookin' at me for?"

"'Cause I want to."

He blinks. "Me? Not much to look at."

You look at each other for another minute. The want bubbles up again, spills out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"Please walk next to me," you say. "I need to know you're there."

He leans in to speak, black curl tumbling over his forehead. He smells sweet, like apples and spice. You almost appreciate the danger in your life because it keeps you in the Red Hood's line of sight.

"Wha's the matter? Y'nervous? I'm right here."

Oh, you're nervous, alright. Just not in the way he thinks. The way you ought to be.

You turn around. For your sake and his.

"Not nervous. Just... just... never mind. You pick where we go next, Red."

"It's your day. 'M just the driver," he says.

"If you won't walk next to me, the least you can do is pick where we go."

"The least I can do, huh?"

It's clear he isn't going to choose. So you watch him instead. You turn the corner and sneak glances over your shoulder. You don't care much about shopping anymore anyway. It's only an excuse to go out. To be alone with him.

Your answer comes. It's only for a split second, but you catch it anyway. He taught you to notice things after all. Says it could be the difference between living and dying.

You immediately change course. Hood follows you easily, and you breeze through the bookstore's entrance. You sneak a look to gauge his reaction. He's looking around, but that could just be him clocking the exits and obstacles. You grab his hand. He looks at your joined hands, then at you.

"Feeling lost?" he asks.

"No. Just trying to keep you present. Nothing’s gonna happen in a bookshop, Red."

That crease in the middle of his forehead returns. "'S my job to plan for the worst. Keeping you safe is the only thing that matters."

"Not the only thing."

His eyebrows rise. "Whaddya talking about? 'Course it is."

You look at your joined hands. This is bad. This is really, really bad. You'd might as well pull your heart out of your chest and let Hood carry that too.

You start to walk, fingers slipping out of his. Hood doesn't try to rejoin them.

He stays closer in here, close enough that you can talk quietly and smell his apple pie scent.

"What do you like to read?" you ask.

Hood glances at you. "Clocked that about me, did you?"

"I was taught by the best," you say sweetly.

He hums. Doesn't joke or laugh. Just makes a soft sound. It's not often you render him speechless.

"I loved Frankenstein as a kid. I always hoped he'd love his monster, but..."

Hood disappears for a moment, lost in his head. You take his hand, heart be damned.

"Red?"

He looks at you again. His eyes are wild. Sometimes, it seems like they glow.

"My... my dad used to read it to me," he says. "One time I asked if he'd love the monster anyway. He promised he would."

You rub his knuckles. He flinches, like he's forgotten where he is. 

"Someone's devotion to our monstrous parts is something we all want," you say.

You spend more time in the bookstore. Hood attracts a few stares, like always, but you're left alone. He carries your shopping without complaint, without strain, and you wonder if your friend was right, if this is just a job.

You buy a special edition of Frankenstein under his attention. Then you turn around and hand him the book. He keeps it under his arm.

"Ready to head back? Y'hungry?"

"That's for you," you say.

"Hm? What is?"

"The book. It's for you, Red."

Silence. The second time that you've stunned the words out of him. You're on a roll.

"Y'don't have to do that," he says, gentle as can be.

"It's a present for you. A thank you."

Hood shakes his head. "You don't need to thank me for protecting you. Just doing my job."

"I'm thanking you for being my friend. Because... you are, right? My friend?"

This time, Hood's eyes on you are heavy. You wonder if he can see your heart beating, see your belly fluttering, see the real reason why you get nervous around him.

"Yeah, trouble," he says, book cradled to his chest like it's precious cargo. "I'm yours."

[cupidkenji]

Doctor, Doctor, please listen!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Chubby!Fem!reader Cw; Tension (I tried), cursing, the smallest physical description of reader in the last portion (just mentions their stomach going over their pants), reader has scars from previous cases, rivals to lovers?, lmk if i'm missing smth Summary: 3 times you called him doctor, 3 times he wonders why. Disclaimer: Reader is always written with a chubby/bigger person in mind but I don't really ever describe their bodies that much cause it's x READER and every body has a different body <3 WC: 3,596 I am literally so obsessed with criminal minds somebody save my soul OBLIVOUS IDIOTS WHO WANT EACH OTHER MY BELOVED. Title from mad hatter by Melanie Martinez don't even @ me for that

1.

“...she will be an important part of making your team function quicker. We fought hard to get her here. I ask that you all treat her with respect and not make me intervene.” 

Strauss finished her introductory spiel with a familiar “mom-glare” towards the team, walking away once she finished her speech. Unfortunately, her departure left you standing alone in front of the most intimidating man you’ve ever seen and four of his team members. You had been practically still until now. You hated the pressure of everyone’s eyes on you, causing a general freeze response to the stress of a new team. Fawn, you thought, the newest addition to the fight or flight categories and also the lovely thing forcing you to practically disassociate in front of your new boss and co-workers. 

“Welcome, Dr. L/N. We’ve heard good things. I’m Aaron Hotchner, I supervise the team.” He was leaning on the table before he stepped forward to shake your hand as he spoke. “This is Emily Prentiss, Jenifer Jareau, Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid.” He pointed towards the corresponding people as he spoke of them. “Agent Rossi is away right now, and you’ll meet our T.I. later…she’s been excited.” If you hadn’t been good at your job, you’re sure you would have missed the way his lips turned up slightly at the edges when mentioning the woman. He didn’t seem so scary anymore, more like a father of the team. You’d been expecting a drill sergeant - your last team leader could have given a bull a run for it’s money with how much aggression that guy had. You welcomed the rush of excitement you felt at the discovery, mentally shaking off the stiffness you were carrying. 

“I’m happy to be here, sir. I’ve heard good things about the team, too. Your boss seems to think highly of your capabilities.” You addressed the room as you spoke. Public speaking was a skill you were still trying to master, so you practiced whenever you could. 

Your statement earned a chuckle from the table. Nobody bothered to explain the reason. You figured it was too much history to sum up on the spot. Your eyes wanted to linger on Reid. He seemed so young, and you wondered if he’d been told that his entire career - lord knows you had too. A fellow doctor. You assumed he was a bit of a stickler about the title, as even his boss kept it tacked onto his name when introducing him. You’d originally hoped to find some comfort in the man, on the surface he seemed a lot like you. He was probably too smart for his own good as well. Given the way he was staring at you, though, you felt the realization sink in that the man had no intention of welcoming you. 

“Why exactly do we need another profiler?” His voice held no malice as he spoke in the direction of his boss. There was more curiosity in his voice than anything, however you did pick up on the sense of superiority that sat just beneath the surface of his words. You guessed that’s how he behaved generally - as though he was superior. Still, your head tilted slightly to the side at the question. 

Damn. Tough crowd. 

You saw the intake of breath in Hotchner as he prepared to defend your place here but you spoke before he could start. “While I am a profiler, sir, first and foremost I am a psychiatrist - a doctor. As I’m sure you heard from Strauss, the board is unhappy with your recent efficiency rates and would also like to aid your team in dealing with mental health crises. I’ve spent my entire life studying the effects and conditions of the mentally diseased brain. I’ll be able to tell you the most efficient and effective way of interacting with these individuals, along with more accurately predicting their actions and methodology. I’m an agent, I took the same oath everyone here did but I was brought here for my expertise.” You were on a bit of a tangent, you knew that, but something about the smug feel of the man forced an emergence of competitiveness. He looked at you so indifferent, and you couldn’t help the tiny sparks of anger lighting beneath your skin. You kept a friendly disposition towards the man - you were a professional, after all, not a teenager - but you sensed a rivalry sprouting it’s roots.

The others at the table suppressed their smiles or looked down to hide it. Nobody had ever challenged Spencer like that. They could all feel he was a tad bit territorial. He was the guy people went to when they needed to know something. He was the Doctor of the group. They didn’t think he would take too kindly to another one encroaching his land. They saw the way he was tense, even more so after you responded. It was a riveting sight, though. The lot of them saw Spencer as a younger brother, and him meeting his match was something they were all so excited to see.

“Play nice, pretty boy.” Derek muttered to him, Spencer was slightly slouched in his chair now, not losing sight of you. Derek followed suit, turning his attention towards you. “We’re glad to have you, Doctor. We’ve spoken about an addition like you before, I’m glad to see the higher ups finally listened. I look forward to working with you - excuse me.” He left once his phone rang. 

The others took his exit as an excuse for their own, everyone giving you a warm welcome as they left. You reciprocated happily, telling everyone they could just call you by your first name, never having been one for titles. ‘There’s one difference.’ You thought, even your internal dialogue was bitter. Aside from him, there was a warmth here that you had been desperate to find in your last team. If you had to work passive aggressively with one uptight man in exchange for a team like this - you were going to take that deal. 

He refused to leave it seemed. He just sat looking inquisitively at the table, occasionally extending his stare to look at you before returning. How did you two end up alone in this room?

“Are you gonna have a problem with me, Doctor?” You shifted slightly on your feet. A notoriously nervous sign, one he definitely picked up on.

He stared again. It was his mind that kept him rooted in his seat. You were fucking alluring. He’d never met someone so like himself in his line of work. He was being a dick and he knew it but it seemed to be instinctual - some type of precaution, maybe. He didn’t know why you were being so respectful. Doctor. God, he didn’t know if the title had ever sounded so good being directed at him. His frustration only rose as he thought on the issue more. He wasn’t welcoming, it would be so easy to drop the formality, something he knew you knew would get on his nerves. But you didn’t. It didn’t seem like a question of dignity. You didn’t seem like the type to refuse a little pettiness - he sure wasn’t the type either. A thought stirred, an unsafe one he wanted to squash immediately but one he also couldn’t help but lean into. Did you want a power imbalance?

“No.” He stood abruptly, obviously still focused on the thoughts in his head. “Welcome to the team.” He addressed you one last time and then walked out of the room.

You followed shortly after, ready to make home on your couch and be done with being the newbie for the day. Your stress would follow you home, though, as the last thing you heard before you left the building was “Oh my god they’re perfect for each other.”

2.

The first few weeks were always the hardest. This was something you knew and were prepared for but it did nothing to calm your nerves. You’d been on countless missions having worked this job for a while now, but this was an entirely new dynamic to learn. You were an outsider for the first time in four years and it was scary. This case was shaping up to be a rough one, too. A man was having delusions telling him to kill. An extremely rare manifestation of his Schizophrenia, only elevated by the newly acquired aspect of him being an insomniac. 

Spencer hadn’t ceased being headstrong in cases either. Every time you wanted to help he made it his mission to overcompensate in order to snuff you out. On the contrary, he’d warmed up to you a little. It wasn’t major, he barely held any positive feelings toward you, but barely was better than not at all, so you coped. You two had managed a couple small talk conversations outside the battle of one-upping that you were currently losing. You absolutely hated it, but you liked him. You liked him a lot, actually. You don’t know when in the past few days that anger morphed into fondness but it had shifted hard. The casual dominance he exuded drew you in like a porchlight lures a moth. You doubted the opposite proved true for him, and that stung. You came to enjoy the banter, the competition, even if you were always playing the losing hand. It was the only way to get his undivided attention and the feeling of his eyes on you started to follow you home. 

You thought a lot about how you could get the relationship to pivot into something better. You didn’t want to be the girl he bickered with at work. You didn’t know what it was you wanted but you knew that your current fate sounded horrid. He was an ass, though, and he did not make it easy to admit those feelings. Every time he undermined you, you grew more attached and also more angry at yourself for doing so. It was because he’s so much like you, you thought. You knew from the way he interacted with his team that he wasn’t a cold guy, didn’t hold malice towards people for no reason. He needs time. He needs to know you, and God how badly you wanted to know him. 

You had sustained good relations with everyone the past few weeks you’ve been here. Meeting Garcia and Rossi had been a treat - both of them being delightful company. You’d heard them whispering about you and Spencer when they thought you weren’t around. The whole team seems to think that you’re basically fated to be together. It was unnerving how comforting that thought was to you. You hoped they were right. 

Spencer hoped they were right too. He’d heard the same whispers you had, chastising the team when he got the chance as if he didn’t think about you every moment he could. His eyes seemed to naturally land on you if you were around. He watched you walk around the bureau more and more lately, enjoying the gained confidence in your step as you cemented your place in the team. The sway of your hips or the swing of your arms. You mesmerized him no matter what you did. One time he got so caught up in his thoughts of you that Prentiss had to check he wasn’t having a silent panic attack. He clung to his sense of resentment, tried so hard to remind himself of the feelings he had when he first met you - you were beautiful, of course you were - but you were on claimed land and he was anything but eager for you to make home on it. That had faded fast, seeing how kind you were, scrambling to help and earn respect from everyone. The only reason he kept up the act of  “man who wants you gone” was so that he could keep talking to you. Spencer was a genius but he didn’t know how to handle someone like you. He’d been interested in girls before, hell he’d had girlfriends before but it had never felt like this in such little time. Such intense infatuation was crippling for someone who’s brain worked in patterns - this was new ground for him. 

“Everybody suit up. We have Foster’s location and we need to move quickly. He’s going after the source of his rage and we don’t have time to spare.” Hotch came down the stairs two at a time, spurring the team into action. 

“This man is highly dangerous but also highly deluded. The cases I’ve read similar to this say it’s best to speak gently. He’s sick but he can be reasoned with.” Spencer pulls from his memory as he sets his ‘FBI’ vest into place on his chest. 

“No, not this time. This man is too severe, his mind is too far gone. If these hallucinations of his are strong enough for him to touch them it’ll be extremely easy for him to rearrange or imagine your words differently. You need to be loud, direct, and assertive. Speak as little as possible. The quieter you are, the easier it will be for him to change what you’re saying in his head.” You also spoke while putting your vest on. You didn’t carry a weapon - a personal vow of yours, as you were more than classified to - so there were no holsters to fill. The contradictions between the two doctors of the team made everyone hesitate even though they lacked the time to do so.

Spencer looked at you, slightly out of breath from working so quickly. “You’re questioning my memory?” 

“I’m not questioning your memory, Doctor. I’m questioning your sources. There’s a higher risk level if we do what you’re suggesting. Let me do my job.” You made the final adjustments to your attire as you finished speaking. You returned his eye contact for just a beat too long, letting the others rush out of the building while you stood your ground, the two of you begrudgingly following after them a moment later.

You had been assigned a different car than him for the ride over. ‘Thank God’ was the only thing you could think when you saw him heading to the other SUV. After another confrontation - another public one, at that - you weren’t sure you could handle being pressed leg to leg with him in the backseat. Your words were a looping record in his head as he rode towards Foster. They were about to attempt a hostage negotiation with a man seeing people who weren’t there but all he could think about was that fucking word you refused to drop. 

I’m not questioning your memory, Doctor

You had to be doing this on purpose, he thought. He originally believed this had started because you knew stripping him of his beloved title would cause irritation. Now he suspected you knew how badly he wanted his name in your mouth and this was your way of torturing him. ‘It’s working.’ He thought. God was it working. He agreed with his team, you were perfect for him. You had knowledge to match his, kept him on his toes. One time the start of a ramble slipped through his “I don’t like you” façade and he felt his heart speed up at the genuine interest that roused in your eyes. You wanted to know him and he was an idiot for all the shit he was doing. 

He wasn’t surprised when your strategy worked and Ben Foster was taken into custody. You were the one to talk him down, and if you hadn’t already been accepted to the team, he knew then and there that they needed you. You were flawless. He knew you’d been doing this as long as he had and it showed. He pleaded with himself to stay focused, zeroed in on the weight of the gun in his hand to save face. His mind never left you, though, much like his eyes. This was the expertise you spoke of - no wonder they fought hard to get you here. 

“You were excellent in there.” It was just the two of you now. Even in the dull, flashing police lights, you were breathtaking. “Good job.” He said. Then he walked away because he was on the brink of kissing you and didn’t feel like breaking about 18 workplace rules while at the scene of a crime. You wouldn’t have been complaining if he did.

3.

Every time something like this happened it was difficult to remind yourself that not carrying a weapon was a choice you made willingly. You were currently sitting in the back of an open ambulance, about to be hoisted onto a stretcher and driven to the ER for stitches. You’ve been with the BAU for almost 3 months now and have miraculously managed to avoid injury in that time. This had been one of the easier cases. No chases or clues to follow, just a sick man who left a fairly obvious paper trail. You were the speaker on almost all cases. You were in charge of de-escalating a situation, making sure the bomb didn’t blow. You’ve never carried a weapon, always preferring to take the wounds of a job over using a gun to back up your words. You were a psychiatrist, you wanted to make people better, not vilify them. It worked, usually. People did tend to trust you more when you were unarmed. This time, though, it got you stabbed.

It wasn’t a bad injury, the blood had already stopped and was mildly dry by the time Spencer was joining you. Just one more scar to your collection. It was to the side of your quad, missing any artery by miles and just serving as a pain source at this point. A little numbing and some stitches and you’d be right as rain is what the doctor in the ambulance had said. 

“What happened?” He spoke softly to you. There wasn’t a rivalry between you two, not really. The banter hadn’t stopped, but it changed. It was playful and actually fun now. The both of you weren’t obsessed with outdoing the other anymore. Some casual boastfulness and a budding friendship is where you were at with him currently. 

“I got stabbed.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

He exhaled like he couldn’t comprehend the stupidity of your answer. You laughed at that. One enjoyable pastime you’d picked up in the past month was trying to bewilder him. The EMT said he needed to check the rest of your body for injury despite your protest of such a procedure. It was typical and you knew that, but you held onto the fear of your own body that middle school gave you. There was a man you liked here, and the thought of him seeing the bit of stomach that hung outside the waistline of your pants scared you more than you thought it would. You forced yourself to be rational in spite of this. It was Spencer, you wanted to be seen by him. 

“Holy shit.”

You chuckled at that. You forgot that maybe a warning was in order for the amount of scars that littered your stomach.

“Probably should have told you about those.” There were dozens. You amassed a countless amount of scars over the course of your job. Stab wounds, bullet grazes, burn marks. Unsubs, as much as you tried to empathize, were often violent at the end of the day and usually lashed out before they could be helped. 

He was staring - well, gazing more like. Not like someone stares at a car accident on the freeway but instead how someone stares at the moon - awe. He was in awe of you. Your strength, your courage, the fact that you went through all these individual events and still chose not to arm yourself. Some of these were in places that could have been fatal, and he thanked whatever entity may be listening that you persevered, begged them to continue that streak. He crashed hard into the desire to touch you, to run his hands over what little of your past he could see. He wondered if you would let him. If you’d fit into his palms the way he thought you would - if that was something you even wanted. The EMT was gone by now, having moved to the passenger seat for the ride to the hospital. 

“Could I - " He hesitated for a moment, this was definitely the wrong question to ask. “Can I touch you?”

Your eyes glazed over slightly. Jesus. You felt your lips part a little.

“You want to?” Genuine surprise. You didn’t think you looked particularly desirable in your current state. He wanted to touch your fucking scars. Who does he think he is?

“Please.” He was looking at you in a way you hadn’t seen before. His eyes were glazed over too. You held his eyes as you nodded. The heat was so stifling that you laughed just a little at the tension.

“Fucking hell, Spence.”

Blood shot to his ears when you said his name. It had been well worth the wait to hear you say it like that - breathy and confused and so fucking pretty that he wondered how he ever lived before you said it. 

“Will you tell me about them?” He was breathy too, but he wouldn’t have you here, not like this. He just needed to feel you. 

“I’ll tell you anything you want, Doc.”

His hands were warm. It wouldn’t be the last time you felt them.

[lovifie]

Lift Me Off My Feet

Chapter 2: Captain’s Dinner

Masterlist

Original Thought - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

Warning/Notes: Captain Price x Reader (on this chapter only, the poly 141 is still building), Oral sex (F receiver), a bit nasty

The rest of the drive goes by in a breath, suspiciously, Simon didn't step on any more bumps, and it felt like being rocking a baby. Kyle got his hand inside your shirt, but as nasty as your acts before, now his hand was just innocently caressing your back, keeping you calm and pliant against him.

At some point, the car stops and you hear Simon talk with someone outside of the car.

“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

The car moves again but for short this time. And just after a minute or two, the car stops and Simon turns off the engine. Everyone begins to exit the car, Kyle included with you in his arms. You notice people walking around, not too close but enough to see you, and you start to feel self-aware of the fact that you are being carried like a baby by the Sergeant.

“Can you put me down? I want to walk.” You say squirming a bit in the Sergeant’s arms.

“It's faster this way actually, doll.” He responds giving you a quick smile.

“At least put me on your back, it feels weird not seeing where we going.” You say turning your head around as much as you can.

Kyle snickers, making you turn to him with your eyebrows furrowed. “Doll, I actually would be really glad if you let me carry you like this the rest of the way because like this I can hide the fact that I came on my pants like a teenager.”

“Oh.” That's all you managed to say as you feel your cheek blushing. You can definitely feel your panties sticking to your pussy, but he must definitely feel his underwear hardening.

“Soap, Ghost, we will tomorrow at 0700 for a debriefing of today's events. Go rest now. Kyle, come into my office so we can find the key and free our little birdie.” Price orders behind you, relief flowing through your veins at the thought of being free.

Kyle enters the room, Price’s office by logic, and sits you on a desk. And once you are seated, he raises his arm and crouches down getting out of the weird knot of limbs.

He stands before you, free, as you look at him dumbfounded, still cuffed.

“H-how… You could do that?!” You ask looking at him. “I thought you didn't fit, that's why you haven't got out! You could do that?!”

Kyle simply chuckles at you while he adjusts his pants quickly and drops a peck on your forehead whispering against your skin. “Sorry, luv. But it was just too comfortable.” He turns to Price, announcing he is going to take a shower and leaves the room sending you a wink right before closing the door.

You turn to Price, looking a bit shocked still and he picks the key from the drawer at his desk. “Sorry about him, he is a good lad. Hope you were not uncomfortable, right?” He asks as he walks up to you, you put your hands together expecting him to unlock the cuffs, but instead, his hands travel to the back of your tights and he picks you up forcing you to put your hands around his shoulder (almost strangling him for a second before you remember to move your hands above his head)

You let him be, too tired already to fight anymore, and he sits you on the other side of the desk. In front of his chair, once you are seated, he sits on his chair and gets between your legs.

The sight in front of you shouldn't be allowed, broad shoulders making you physically spread your legs to accommodate him, blue eyes looking up at you and warm hands picking yours. “Let's take these off, yeah?”

“Yes, please.” You whisper back, not even sure what you are begging for.

Price takes the cuffs back, furrowing when he sees the red mark where the metal dented into your soft skin. He caresses both wrists drawing circles and then one of them goes higher on your arm up to the bandages. “How's the pain?” He asks looking at your arm.

“Hm? Oh, that… honestly, I always thought bullet wounds would hurt a lot more. It's not too bad, I almost had forgotten about it.” You say smiling back at him.

He chuckles back shaking his head. “I'm definitely having you give a pep talk to the rookies. Sorry about your blouse, as well. I'll pay for a new one.” He says caressing your arm.

“Oh, there is no need, really. This is an old one, I should have thrown it out a bit ago anyway.” You admit shaking your hands to let him know there is no need.

“I insist. And if you get any medical bills, or need any physiotherapy sessions or anything. We will pay for them, we'll take care of you, doll.” He says standing up to his full height still between your legs.

“You keep saying that…”

“What do you mean?”

“That you will take care of me.”

“Yes. We will if you allow us.”

You look at his face, trying to decipher what he means. But the intensity of his gaze pulls the air out of your lungs leaving you breathless, the heat from his body is scorching against you and the ground seems so far away you feel like you falling off a cliff.

“Are you okay, doll?” He asks softly looking to meet your gaze again cupping your face.

“Yeah.” You say softly pulling his hand away and you put a hand on his chest pushing him back. “I-I should get going, I have work in the morning it's better if I get back home.”

“You can stay the night if you want, I'll drive you to work tomorrow.” He quickly responds like he doesn't want you to go.

“Capt- John.” You correct yourself earning a smile from him. “John, I need to shower, and I don't have any clean clothes, really you have done more than enough for me, I will just go home.”

You stay looking at him, waiting for him to move back so you can hop off the desk and get out. But he doesn't, instead, he gets closer and moves both hands to cup your face making you look at him. “You are thinking too hard, doll.”

And then, as natural as it is to blink, he kisses you.

A soft peck right on the corner of your mouth to test the waters, a soft peck on the other side, and then, softly, almost like melting at the touch, a kiss right to the centre of your lips.

He moves slightly back, enough to be able to speak and ask. “You solid?”

And you nod.

You are not even a hundred per cent sure you know what he means, but you know that whatever the man in front of you would ask, you would say yes.

You shouldn't, you don't know him. You only know his name and his position as Captain. You know your mind is not clear, right now he is your saviour, he is been taking care of you since you met, and he is so strong, so gentle with you, so handsome.

You shouldn't be leaning in for another kiss, but you are.

There is always tomorrow for regrets.

But tonight, all your senses scream John Price.

Never did you though a kiss could get you so hot and bothered, he only has his hands on your face and his lips on yours and you are already panting.

He moves forward, hips crashing onto yours making you gasp and he uses the opportunity to get his tongue on your mouth.

You can taste the tobacco on his tongue, swimming down your body. His hands move, taking your hair back into a ponytail and he pulls back. It stings and you groan softly, shifting to a moan when you feel his lips down your throat.

His moustache tickles the soft skin of your neck in contrast with the scorching feeling of his breath. “Who beat me to it?” He asks, chuckling drily looking at something on your neck.

Fucking Kyle.

“Better to erase it, doll.” He says, possessiveness taking over him. And there are no more soft kisses, now he makes out, no, he devours your neck like a madman. Sucking and biting, feeling the mark erupt and your panties to grow wetter.

You bite your lip to try and not make an embarrassment of yourself from how badly you want to moan, and you take his shirt out of his pants. Running your hands under the shirt, needing to feel him.

“I hope you don't mind, sweetheart. Since it is already ruined…” He trails off as he grabs your shirt over your chest and pulls, hard, pulling the buttons of the fabric and ripping it where it didn't give in.

He almost growls when he sees the skin giggle and he dives right into your chest. His hands rest on your waist pulling you forward him, pulling your shirt out of your pants.

You try to take off your jacket, but the sudden movement causes a sharp pain in your arm making you groan in pain. Price quickly detaches himself from your skin to look at your face, alarmed he hurted you. “Sorry, you alright love?” He asks feeling guilty. You shake your head, only worrying him more and then you add. “It's not you, the jacket. Got stuck on the bandages or something; can you help me, please?” He smirks mischievously at you. “Help you to undress? Oh, darling, that's my pleasure.”

He kisses you on your lips again, taking off your jacket carefully and then your shirt. He pulls your bra strap down your shoulder, leaving your bra downside, your boobs out and pushes up. He cups one of your boobs groaning on your mouth when you moan softly and then bends down to get the other one inside his mouth.

He twirls his tongue around your nipple, savouring the taste of your skin. You move your hand to the back of his head, and when he gets lower, right under your boob over your ribs, and he bites you as you pull his hair moaning his name. “John…”

“Yeah, darling, moan my name like that.” He mumbles against your skin before he goes back to your mouth. “You taste like fucking candy, sweetheart. Can't fucking wait to taste all of your.”

“Do it. Do it, please.” You say against his mouth, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“Aw, darling, what a fucking sight. Asking so nicely, how can I say no?” He says between kisses as he undoes your pants.

He lifts your ass from the desk with an arm as he pulls down your pants and your underwear all together. He leaves you again on the desk and undoes the clasp of your bra taking it off. Leaving you completely bare on his desk, while he remains completely dressed. The vest is even still on.

“Fuck… I must have been a fucking saint on my last life to be worth it of this sight, angel.” He says looking up and down your body as he moves his hands from your waist up to your face to give you a kiss. “I'm gonna make you feel good, love. So, so good…” he trails off as he begins to give kisses down your jaw, neck, collarbones, sternum, tummy, and just when he is about to reach your mount. He pulls back making you whine. “Shh, pretty, just getting comfy.”

He grabs the chair from before sitting down, gets closer between your legs and pulls them over his shoulder forcing you to lean on your back using the elbow that is not hurt to prop yourself up enough to see him.

He kisses the inside of your tights, from your knee and higher, higher, higher… you can feel his beard on that soaking part of you where you need him the most. But he doesn't indulge you, instead, he goes back to your knee and high again. Teasing you, leaving you panting, aching, clenching around anything, needy, desperate.

“John… please… no more teasing…” you beg, feeling desperate for him.

“Poor baby, already soaking.” He says looking directly at your cunt, and you feel as he presses a thumb on your clit making you shudder at the feeling and he slowly moves it down your slit, reaching your dripping hole and pressing it, but without getting it inside. Just collecting your juices and driving you mad.

He takes the thumb up to his lips licking it while he looks at your eyes. “Just as I thought, fucking candy, love.” You want to complain, to grab his hair and shove his face against your cunt but the only thing that leaves your lips is a bratty whine, too horny to think straight.

You feel Price chuckle against your skin, and when you finally feel ready to tell him off, he presses his tongue flat against your clit turning your brain to absolute mush as you let go of a moan worth of a porn video as you let your head fall back.

He moves his head up and down, letting his tongue move between your folds; collecting your arousal mixing it with his spit making a mess on his beard.

His index finger moves to your entrance, slowly getting it inside stretching you slightly because of the size of his hands. He sucks at your clit, almost making out with it. And once he feels satisfied with it, he gets a second finger inside.

You keep moaning his name, like a mantra almost, not being able to remain quiet when he begins to thrust his finger in and out of your wet cunt. The sounds, the squelch, the sight, delightful.

You have been given head before, but never like this. It never had you begin for them to keep going, to not let you hanging, never this desperate. But John Price, it has you wishing you could kiss the terrorist of your neighbour just for putting you in his line of vision.

He curls his fingers inside of you pressing a point that has you falling on your back hitting your head load enough for him to chuckle against your cunt, but before he can lift his head to check on you, you just get your hand on his head keeping him in place.

Caressing his hair, spreading your legs even wider, he eats you out like a man starved. Like he hasn't eaten in days like he just found a water fountain in the middle of the desert.

You realise then, that the reason why you have never felt like this before with any ex-lover, is because you have never felt this desired. You can feel Price moaning against your cunt, and it makes you wonder who is enjoying it more.

Not for long though, because you begin to feel the knot on your stomach get tighter. More and more tight, you feel your toes curl and you close your eyes letting your mouth open as you feel the knot coming undone like an elevator free-falling. A high-pitched moan leaves your lips that in any other situation would make you feel embarrassed and your tights clasp around Price’s head when he doesn't relent on his attack.

He helps you ride out your orgasm as you cover your face with your hands, the light in the room is suddenly too bright, and after a couple of seconds, you look up at him.

And the sight…

He is sitting, leaning back against the chair, manspreading wide, an elbow resting on the armrest as he lazily licks clean the fingers that were just inside of you. Absolutely content with himself and his accomplishments, a sight absolutely devilishly delicious.

You notice the tent on his pants, and you try to touch him with your feet. But he grabs your ankle, and you don't have enough energy on you to push it.

“As much as I would like to keep going, doll.” He says letting your leg down and coming up closer to your face. “You can barely keep your eyes open, so I think it's time to rest.”

He stands up, goes somewhere behind you that you guess is the bathroom because of the sound of water and a bit later, he is back. He picks you up, and lays down on a sofa, with you on top.

A bathroom and a sofa inside of his personal office, he really is a military captain. He covers the both of you with a blanket, he gives you a kiss to the forehead and before you know it, you are out.

Post-nut clarity doesn't hit until a couple of hours later.

You are naked, in an unknown man's office, far away from home, with no phone, no keys, no money, no clothes, ashamed.

So you do the only thing you can do, you slip away from the sleeping handsome man, get dressed as fast as you can without making any noise and leave the room. You don't even bother to put on your blouse, choosing to just close your jacket.

Once outside, you let a sigh escape your lips. You know the military base, it is actually not that far away from your home, less than an hour walking back.

Are you excited about walking back home at the break of dawn alone? No. Do you have another choice? Not really, not any that would help reduce the walk of shame you found yourself doing.

So you get your hands on your pockets and start doing your half a marathon back home.

And just as the sun is beginning to pick over the horizon, you reach your home.

Just last night there were dozens of police cars, military workers, everything, the whole paraphernalia. But now? It is just dead silence, no a soul in sight, as if nothing has ever happened.

The janitor calls your name when he sees you, he gives you your keys and tells you that the police dropped them by when they cleaned everything.

You wait for the elevator and make your way up to your floor. On apartment 608, there is a police notice, banning everyone from getting close to the crime scene. There are bullet holes and some bloody handprints on the walls, a blood splutters a bit too close to the height your arm is.

You shake your head trying to forget about it, and open your door. Once inside, you lock the door and look for your phone. Only to remember that it must be in your bag, in your car, where you dropped it when you tried to run.

You look at the clock on the wall that you always forget about, and realise you have 20 minutes to get ready if you want to make it time to work. So get at it.

Most of those 20 minutes, go into taking a shower. You feel dirty, mainly because you are, but also because you feel used. You think about Price and Kyle, handsome military men, they have probably visited countries you don't even know exist and they probably have a lover in each of them.

You are probably just another one, and you let them in so easily. They must have barely felt any satisfaction from such an easy catch.

You feel like crying for being so silly, but a voice in your head stops you. The voice in your head that picks you up whenever you fuck something up. Don't cry! Why would you cry?! They used you just as much as you used them! And they are not crying! So neither are you! You made a grown man cum on his pants by rubbing yourself a bit and an even grown-er man basically get on his knees to eat you out! So don't cry!

So you get out of the shower with another attitude, you are going to get a hold of the situation, you are going to get space between these men and yourself, and you are going to be just fine!

“Son of a bitch!” You exclaim when you see yourself in the mirror, if you had thrown yourself down the stairs there would be fewer bruises on your body. Well, not bruises, hickeys.

You huff getting out of the bathroom to get dressed, and then back to the bathroom to cover all the hickeys.

By divine grace, you make on time for work. You are exhausted, starving and if any of your coworkers spoke to you today just a bit out of tone, you would chew their arms off. But luckily, everything goes right.

At least, until you get back home, and the first thing you see when you get off the elevator, is a masked man standing in front of your door.

I guess it is a series now, I don't know where I'm going with it but there is still a couple of things I have thoughts about.

If you guys have any ideas or scenarios please, tell me hehe

And if you want me to tag you on the next part drop a coment 💗

[suguru-getos]

Hi En I had an idea which I can’t get off my mind it’s eating me alive it’s making me pounce on my pillow and screech wildly. Hear me out- bully Getou with a who did this to you moment 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

oh my goddd ‼️ 🥵 this sounds like such a good idea, especially with bully!geto 🙈

-> who did this to you? — geto suguru

summary: bully!sugu notices you were also becoming a target for others & kicks ass for you x (comments and reblogs are appreciated)

just because suguru thought he had free reign over you, so did another brat from his class. you were his junior after all and only satoru knew that he actually doted on you. suguru was getting restless for the day, he hasn’t seen his pretty little babygirl today. sure, he loves the look when your eyes try to evade eye contact from his stern gaze. when he says you need to be put in place for looking so delectable. when he teasingly calls you a little whore for suguru’s attention.

you deflected him so many times but his persistence has led to your ignorance. though he can’t find you anymore. his best friend satoru is quick though, “she’s near the store room hallway.” he hums, shrugging. why were you there? were you trying to run from suguru? he scoffed, pouting a little and ushering towards the known location.

finally, what he saw made his heart clutch a little. it’s december, you’re shivering from cold because someone had drenched your white shirt, your red bra is visible from it instantly and you hug yourself. you want to cry but you know that wouldn’t really help you. so you just sit there, shivering and spasming and knowing you’d catch a fever soon.

the echoes of his footsteps distract you instantly, you turned back, watching him and wanting to kill yourself. suguru would make such fun of you for being so miserable & looking so miserable. so weak and pathetic. “you think i did this for your attention too? yeah i did it, now leave me alone.” you managed to croak with your chattering teeth.

he hums, cupping your face and blood boiling when he found you cold. “let’s get you a blanket first, then you will go to the infirmary and change it. you’ll catch a cold and fall sick & we don’t want that do we? we have our exams soon, little girl.”

you can’t help but nod in affirmation, feeling a little taken cared of by him. though you think it was done by suguru… “yeah, don’t act like you didn’t ask your classmates to put ice cold water on me.” you were glossy eyed and felt pathetic. “you’ve let others joined in your-”

“who did this?” suguru was stern, almost unrelenting with the way his brows furrowed and his jaw tightened. you wince at the demeanour change and looked up at him, pouting with your glossed eyes.

“stop pretending-”

“i asked you something little one. who did this?” he asked once more, a little tender. “who did this to you?”

you parted your lips to finally mumble that you infact, don’t know who these people were. you have seen them around satosugu and hence you know they are his classmates. suguru sighs, his rage knew no bounds. his pretty little girl only he could bully, was taken lightly because of his behavior. he hums, carrying you princess-style, as a statement that you’re not to be fucked with. the most popular guy in school was whipped and carrying you as if you were his prized possession. the school saw it, everyone saw it. you… saw it.

you had time to change and when you were done, satoru brought you hot chocolate, smiling and headpatting you. “yer going to be fine little girl. i know suguru wouldn’t let anyone irritate ya! only us!” he grins, sitting beside you.

“now, he’s gone to bring all the bastards and bootlickers around us, so you can recognize them and let us deal with it, easy? no?” satoru smiles, giving you some comfort as you nodded. “mm, yeah…”

and suguru did bring them, the people who did this to you looked terrified, the same way you felt around suguru in the beginning. only suguru never really gave you any reason to… you thought he’d hit you for rejecting him but he never did. never raised a voice on you. but yes; loomed around you, commented on your body, your face, everything… suguru was a piece of shit with morals. yeah — that’s how you’d label him.

you pointed at the guys who gave the mere explaination before getting their ass brutally whopped in front of you that they thought suguru did it, which gave them a free pass to. while their noses bled and they mumbled apologies from suguru’s kicks and sickly behavior of - “sorry, she can’t hear you.”

you heard him mumble, “she’s mine to toy with, you fuckers can’t touch her or i’ll rip your hands and legs out.” suguru geto was indeed, a piece of shit with morals.

[galactic-magick]

I Love You, I'm Sorry: Viktor x Reader

Based off of this reply on my last Viktor fic:

@lillycore : Duddee, imagine after the final scene between Viktor and Jayce they just disappear (I refuse to believe they both died, I’m just going believe, until it’s confirmed, that they simply teleported somewhere else), leaving reader alone without a chance to confront Viktor and believing they both died. So now, reader is left to pick up the pieces of her closest friend and love of her life gone, while believing Viktor no longer loves her (he does though, he was just a little confused with everything, but he still loves her)

Words: 1.2k

Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for the notes and kind words on my last Viktor fic, it truly means the world to me as a writer to see so many people touched by my writing. I hope you enjoy this equally devastating part 2.

They’re gone. They’re really gone.

No family, no friends, not a single loved one of yours survived this damn war. All this world has done is take, take, take.

You’re haunted by the last time you saw your beloved Viktor—completely unrecognizable. He had turned himself into a monster, disappearing with Jayce trying to save him. You didn’t even get to say goodbye, you didn’t even get to tell him you still love him.

Or ask if he still loved you.

You don’t know what would hurt less, believing he stopped loving you, or believing he did everything he did while loving you.

-

“Why can’t she hear me?” Viktor shouts into the void. He’s been calling your name for what feels like an eternity, his voice no longer carrying to your world.

Jayce puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, “You don’t have vessels to speak through anymore. She probably thinks we’re dead. Well, maybe we are…”

“No, no, this can’t be the end,” Viktor shakes his head vigorously. “I have to get back to her. She...she needs to know I love her. She needs to know I’m sorry.”

He falls to his knees amongst the stars, cursing himself for everything. How could he choose the hexcore over you? Why didn’t he seek you out when he survived the explosion? How did he let himself descend so far into madness that he forgot about your importance to him?

He’s now desperate for you to hear him, pleading the forces that bind his consciousness to this astral plane for another chance. He searches this dimension he’s come to know so well, looking for a loophole or tear in the fabric, but it’s no use. Everything has been closed—his supposed eternal consequence for his abuse of power.

Jayce saved him from himself, a feat he will forever be indebted to him for, but what is the point of redemption if he cannot live it out in his own flesh?

Would there have been a body left for him anyway? Would you still have loved him as the monstrosity he became?

Why must he still be cursed with the full vision of the universe? He sees you continue your life so clearly, but he can’t touch you, can’t speak to you. Your form shines the brightest light he’s ever seem in this dimension, an achievement that is not easily matched. He wonders if you can feel him reaching out to you, some sort of spiritual pull back to him. He will do anything to find a way to talk to you again.

-

You’ve been having dreams—dreams you can’t explain. Ever since Viktor’s disappearance, he’s tormented you day and night, constantly occupying your thoughts without mercy. You can hear his voice, but it sounds so far away you can never make out the words. You just wish it would all stop. You wish you could just erase him and all of the pain from your memory.

Sometimes you still feel a presence, the feeling you used to feel when he was in the same vicinity with you, admiring you from across a room. It’s a familiar warmth that used to wash you with peace, whereas now it makes your heart ache. You suppose it’s a normal symptom of grief, subconsciously denying that he’s really gone.

You start to go through his things he left at your house, beginning with his various textbooks and notebooks he would bring over for studying. Seeing his scribbles and handwriting again brings tears to your eyes, a single drop falling onto the paper as you read.

You blink a few times, seeing a couple of letters on the page start to glow. You must be seeing things, hallucinating from sleep deprivation. You close the journal and open it again, but the glowing letters are still there.

You grab a separate piece of paper and write down each glowing letter, finding fifteen total.

“I - L-O-V-E - Y-O-U - I-M - S-O-R-R-Y”

This isn’t happening. It can’t be.

-

“It’s working! She got my message!” Viktor exclaims.

“How...how are you doing that?” Jayce asks.

“Tiny rips in space—not big enough for either of us to escape through—but certainly big enough to briefly touch that reality,” Viktor pauses, still waiting for a response from you, but it doesn’t come.

-

You close the journal and sob, praying for an end to this misery. Your mind is playing tricks on you, deceiving you to a level you never thought possible. Must you be haunted by this forever? Must you endure the aftermath of this trauma?

You open it once again, the letters still glowing, but they start to fade right in front of your eyes. A new set of letters begin to glow, so you write those down as well.

“I-T-S - M-E - D-A-R-L-I-N-G”

And then another set of letters.

“P-L-E-A-S-E - T-A-L-K - T-O - M-E”

Maybe you’re not imagining.

You’ve heard of magicians who can converse with the dead, and the possibility of other dimensional planes and universes. Viktor himself had some theories about it, although he never pursued proving them. Could it really be possible that your beloved was speaking to you?

“Viktor?” you say out loud. “Are you...are you alive?”

“I - D-O-N-T - K-N-O-W”

The pencil drops from your hand again as your head falls to the table. His consciousness is somehow alive, clearly, but there’s no way he can explain to you where he is and how to get him out one letter at a time. You’re nowhere near his level of intellect—even if he explained how to rescue him like you’re five years old—you fear you still would mess something up.

“Viktor...I can’t do this. You can’t do this to me,” you sigh, daring to look at the words again. “You abandoned me, and now my life is a living hell because of the destruction you helped cause. I want nothing to do with your war and stupid glorious evolution. So if you’re not here to take me away from this life, please go away.”

The same original words start glowing again, brighter each time they sequence:

I love you, I’m sorry.

I love you, I’m sorry.

I love you, I’m sorry.

“Love doesn’t do what you did. Love doesn’t abandon its humanity for power.”

Please forgive me.

“I do forgive you for everything, Viktor. That’s exactly why I need to forget about you, because I will never stop loving you and hurting for it if I don’t.”

With blurry eyes, you close the journal and throw it into the fireplace, regretting it almost immediately. You grab a stick and pull it out, your tears falling onto the soot-stained cover.

“Please, just...find a way back to me.”

I will.

[theosbaby]

brokenhearted

theodore nott x fem!reader

masterlist

SUMMARY ! theo breaks up with his girlfriend and you comfort him, but things get a little bit heated in the process.

WARNINGS ! a bit of angst, heavy make out (this shit is long af), NSFW, some light dirty talk, praising, dry humping, p in v, marking, hair pulling, unprotected sex... that's all, i think. this is kinda a fluffy smut.

NOTES ! i'm back!! i'm sorry for disappearing for such a long time, i hope this makes up for it ♡ (i don't really like how it turned out, but i hope you do). ps: thank you all so much for still supporting my acc while i was gone! i appreciate it so much.

you had been looking for theodore for some time now; the night had fallen already, and you hadn't heard from him since the day before; he didn't go to class, neither contact you in any way. preoccupied, you headed over the astronomy tower again; you had already looked for him there —like four times during the day— but you decided to try again, after all, it was his favourite place in the entire castle. that time, you actually found him there, sitting with his back against the railings and a cigarette between his lips... classic theo.

when he noticed your presence, he looked up at you and bluntly said, "luna broke up with me." his expression was almost emotionless, but you knew him well enough to know he was hurting deep down.

"what?" you gasped, your brow furrowed, as you walked slowly to take a seat by his side on the floor.

you didn't know what to say or how to act; his admission had taken you by surprise. one part of you —the part of you that was crazy in love him— wanted to scream and cry happy tears at the news, but the other part empathised with him, making you feel his pain.

you hated seeing him suffer.

"yeah, she said it wasn't working out," theo replied.

he took one last drag from his cigarette before blowing out the smoke and tossing it aside as he looked up at the stars, his eyes distant and lost in thought. you kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt him so he could let it all out.

"i guess she's right, though. we never really had anything in common." he chuckled bitterly, shaking his head before talking again, "i don't know why i'm surprised, though. i'm not the most lovable person, am i?"

his eyes met yours, and you could see the pain in them. he was your best friend; you knew damn well the baggage he carried on his shoulders, the trauma his mother's death and his father's neglect had caused on him. theo was not one to get attached to people because of that and every time he lost someone, grief hit him like a truck, even if he didn't let it show. you reached to grab his large hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"hey, that's not true," you told him, your voice softening to try and reassure him, "don't say that."

theo gave you a small smile, his eyes searching yours to try and find comfort in them. he took a deep breath and let it out slowly as his hand squeezed yours back. you could feel the tension emanating from his body, the pain he was trying to hide. then he looked away again, blue eyes dropping to the floor.

"i just... i don't know how to do relationships, you know? i never had any good examples growing up." his voice was quiet as he talked, almost a whisper, like he was telling you his darkest secret and feared someone else could hear him. "my dad... he never loved my mom. he never loved me. and now i feel like i don't know how to be loved, or how to love someone else," he explained, letting out a sigh, his brow furrowed. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to bring this up..."

"theo..." you muttered, your voice cracking as you cupped his face to force him to look at you, "that's bullshit, alright? listen to me." you stared at him intently as you spoke, gently caressing his cheek, "you're nothing like your father."

theo's eyes remained locked on yours, his gaze searching for any sign of truth in your words. you swore that you saw his eyes fill with tears as he heard you talk, but he quickly blinked them away, not wanting to cry in front of you; crying made him feel vulnerable.

"i needed to hear that," he muttered, leaning into your touch, "thanks."

"want a hug?" you asked, smiling warmly at him.

you both stayed quiet for a few seconds, just staring at each other with an intensity that spoke volumes, and you were so close together that you could see the little freckles that covered his cheeks and nose, painting his skin like constellations painted the starry night sky.

"please," he responded.

you felt him wrapping his strong arms around your slim body and you melted into his embrace, your body heat mingling with his as you felt the tension leaving his muscles. one of your hands rested on his back, rubbing reassuring patterns on in, while the other caressed his soft waves and he sighed contently.

"you always know how to make me feel better," he murmured while pulling away slowly, his eyes filled with gratitude and a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

your eyes dropped to his lips unconsciously, your pulse racing; he noticed your stare and smirked.

"of course," you whispered back, "that's what friends are for."

you wished you could be more than friends, though.

theo watched you as you averted your gaze shyly and he couldn't help but notice how beautiful you looked with the moonlight kissing your pretty face.

"you know," he said quietly, "i've always had this strange feeling about us."

"what feeling?" you asked curiously, chuckling; your cheeks flushed as you looked back at him.

theo took a deep breath before answering, "like we're meant to be together... like i was supposed to meet you and spend my whole life with you." his voice was slightly shaky, as if he was nervous about something.

he looked at you intently, waiting for your reaction.

"well, you ain't getting rid of me anytime soon, so yeah, i guess we're stuck together." you laughed, not understanding what he really meant; you thought he was talking about your friendship.

theo chuckled at your response nervously, shaking his head lightly when he realised you hadn't noticed he was actually trying to confess his feelings; he had always liked you, even though he was dating other girl, he always knew it was you who owned his heart. maybe that was why he couldn't just give luna all the love she deserved.

"i mean... as more than friends," he admitted.

he looked at you intently, searching for a reaction from your part that let him know you felt the same way. his heart was pounding in his chest; that was a big step for him to take.

you couldn't help but smile, anxiously biting your lower lip as you dropped your gaze to the ground.

"your mom used to say that we were going to end up together someday," you whispered with longing.

your smile turned into a sad one as you mentioned her; you knew theo missed her a lot, and to be honest, you missed her too. you turned towards him just to see that he was smiling back at you, but his smile didn't really reach his eyes.

"she always knew what was best for me. i miss her so much." he sighed deeply and tilted his head, resting it against yours. "i only wish she was here."

"she would be so proud of you," you told him, trying to make him feel better.

theo nodded, his voice barely above a whisper as he said, "i really hope so."

he looked at you again and smiled warmly. the air felt intimate and special between the two of you; it was like nothing else mattered but this moment together. and you both knew, you were in love.

"i missed this," you murmured, your eyes dropping to his lips briefly once again.

that time, theo's gaze fell to your lips as well, and you felt your heart pounding in your chest. when theo started dating luna, that intimate conversations with him started getting less frequent, making you drift apart slightly and it had made you realise how much you actually needed him in your life.

"i missed it too," he whispered back, "i missed you."

after a moment of silence, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. It caught you off guard, but you returned the kiss, feeling like your soul was about to leave your body as his soft lips caressed yours in such an intimate touch.

but then reality crashed you; you couldn't do it, not when he had just broken up with his girlfriend and he was feeling down, so you put your hand on his chest, reluctantly pulling him away to stop him from kissing you.

"we shouldn't do this..." you shook your head; your faces were so close together that your warm breath hit his face. "you and luna..."

"please," he interrupted you, his voice almost pleading, "make me forget."

"theo, i–" you stuttered.

you were fighting an inner war with yourself; you had been dreaming about that moment for so long, but it didn't felt right to take advantage of the situation like that. you couldn't bear it if he regretted this decision the day after.

he shook his head, as if he could read your mind just looking into your eyes, and cupped your face gently, pulling you closer to him.

"you're everything that's right in my life, sunshine. you're all i need..." he murmured, his voice low and desperate. "you've always been."

your heart melted when you heard him calling you "sunshine". that was the nickname he had given you when you first started being friends; when you asked him why he called you that, he told you that he had picked it because you were the light to his darkness, the only thing that made him truly happy.

you knew theo would never hurt you, that he would prefer to die rather than making you suffer in any way, so any doubt lingering in your mind slowly faded away.

"i'm sorry i didn't have the courage to tell you sooner," he added, his gaze piercing through yours with an intensity that spoke volumes.

"it's better late than never, right?" you whispered, gulping nervously.

you could feel your heart beating in your throat as you stared at him, waiting for him to make a move.

he smirked. "i guess we'll have to make up for the lost time."

and with that, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours once more. it was a tender, gentle kiss that started slowly but gradually intensified as his hand slid down towards the small of your back, pressing you closer to his body. time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the warmth and comfort of his embrace. you were on cloud nine; lips avidly kissing his and skin prickling wherever he touched you, igniting sparks in your belly. you parted your lips, allowing him to slip his tongue inside your mouth, and you exhaled a sharp breath, whimpering against his lips.

he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that mirrored your own. his other hand found its way to your neck, holding you firmly as he continued to devour you with every ounce of passion he possessed. after a few seconds, though, you had to pull away reluctantly to be able to breathe, your chest heaving up and down as you reached up to tangle your fingers in his soft hair, gently caressing it.

he smirked and rested his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your skin. "you're a very good kisser," he murmured, his fingers still running up and down back, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

he was looking at you with an intensity that made your head spin, your cheeks blushing at the compliment as you smiled back at him.

"you too," you whispered against his lips, unable to resist the urge of leaning in to kiss him once again.

his mouth tasted like mints and cigarettes; it was new, but at the same time, it felt familiar.

you heard him chuckling softly before he returned the kiss, this time slowing things down, as if he wanted to savour every moment he had with you. his hands wandered over your body, memorizing every curve and dip, his touch setting your body on fire. eventually, his fingers found the hem of your shirt, slowly creeping underneath and causing goosebumps to break out on your skin.

your plump lips parted, a shaky breath slipping past them as you felt him caressing your soft flesh ever so delicately, as if he was afraid of breaking you. he took this as an invitation to slide his tongue inside your mouth once again, avidly searching for yours and starting a playful war between the both of you.

you felt his lips forming a smirk against yours, his tongue having apparently won the little play fight it had with yours as he took full control of the kiss. his hand moved down your back, caressing your skin before he gently cupped your ass, squeezing it lightly, which earned him a soft gasp from you. you didn't oppose when he gently pulled at you to bring you closer to his body, making you straddle his lap as he leaned back against the railings.

he finally broke the kiss, letting out a low groan as you settled on top of him. his eyes were dark, and he looked up at you like he wanted to eat you alive. his hands moved to grip your creamy thighs, fingers digging into your skin possessively. you were panting at that point, cheeks flushed and lips swollen from all the kissing, but his breathing was just as ragged as yours, and his heart was beating so fast that he was sure you could hear it if you paid just enough attention to it.

"you're absolutely breathtaking, you know that?" he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

you blushed in response, the smile that appeared in your face impossible to hold in. your small hands cupped his face tenderly, and your thumbs caressed his sharp cheekbones.

"don't say things like that," you muttered, getting all flustered and shy suddenly.

his lips twitched in a amused smile at your reaction, but before he could even say or do anything, your lips were on his again and the feeling was so intense it robbed him of his breath for a moment there.

"i want you so bad," he whispered against your lips, hips bucking up to grind against you unconsciously.

and that's when you felt it. he was hard. the mere discovery had you moaning softly into the kiss, hips grinding down onto his crotch in a desperate attempt to feel him once more as you placed your hands on his chest. good lord, the friction was making his head swim. he groaned in response as he slid his hands up your thighs to grasp at your hips, the need to fuck you coursing through him like a wildfire.

"you're killing me here, sunshine," he muttered, breaking the kiss for a moment before swooping back in for another.

you giggled playfully against his mouth, hips still rocking onto the straining erection in his pants. you weren't thinking straight anymore, your need for him clouding all your rational thoughts; theo was the only thing in your mind in that moment. the feeling was mutual. theo's mind was consumed with wanting you, his hands moving to your ass to encourage your movements, eliciting a whimper from somewhere deep in your throat that sent his head spiralling.

okay, so keeping a semblance of his cool was completely out of the window now.

pulling your lips apart with a loud snap, he growled something that sounded like, "you're a fucking dream."

you responded with a harsh tug at his brown curls, tilting his head back to expose the pale expanse of his neck. you attached your mouth to it greedily, kissing and sucking on his skin as you ground against him, which caused him to literally whimper as he shuddered beneath you.

for god's sake, he did sound pretty whimpering.

meanwhile, you felt one adventurous hand slipping underneath your top and sliding up your belly. theo's hand was on a mission, his fingers tracing along your silky skin before he cupped one of your breasts, gasping at the feel of its weight on his palm. he kneaded it, his other hand reaching up to grip the hem of your shirt while he pushed you away from his neck. he looked up at you, silently asking for permission to undress you.

"it's okay," you whimpered in response, nodding with a little smile on your puffy, red lips.

you knew you were in the middle of the astronomy tower, a public place, but you just couldn't bring yourself to care about it. theo didn't need more encouragement than that, he was already tugging your top over your head, tossing it aside before his eyes feasted on the sight of your naked breasts; his gaze was hungry, devouring every inch of your exposed skin.

"you're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, leaning forward to take one of your nipples into his mouth while his hand pinched and rubbed the other.

"theo," you whined as his tongue flicked your sensitive nub.

your hips resumed their previous movements as you fisted his hair once again; your heart pounded in your chest when you felt his hard cock pressing against your aching pussy, both of your clothes getting in the way as your need grew stronger.

fuck, you were so wet.

his breath was hitching from the friction between your hips, and he tore his lips away from your boob with a desperate moan, his lids falling close, a sheen of sweat already glistening on his brow.

"god damn, fuck me already, would you?"

you couldn't help but chuckle at his desperate plea, leaning forward to kiss his lips once more; it was like you couldn't get enough from him.

you broke the contact after a few seconds, your teeth sinking into his bottom lip to tug at it playfully, then, you asked him, "here?"

his eyes flickered around the tower, barely sparing it a glance before his hungry gaze settled back on you. theo's mind was clouded, his cock aching and his fingers already tugging idly at his zipper.

"the hell if i care..." he mumbled, voice raspy from all the kissing.

you helped him get rid of his clothes, lowering his pants and boxers just enough to free his dick, which sprang against his stomach, long and thick; your mouth watered and now you were eager to have him inside you.

how could a cock be that perfect? not fair.

"fuck, come here."

before you could even process what was happening, you felt his hands gripping the hem of your shorts to tug them down your thighs alongside your panties. you slipped just one leg out of them before he pulled you towards him desperately.

you were completely naked, while he was almost fully dressed, and it was unfair, so you forced him to lift his arms up so you could yank his t-shirt off, exposing his ripped abs. thank you, quidditch.

he pulled you flush against him, skin to skin for the first time today and you both moaned; his hands gripped your hips tightly, fingertips tracing over your bare flesh as he guided you on top of his cock.

"gonna fuck you now, sunshine, you want that?" he asked for your consent, lips peppering kisses all over your collarbone and chest.

"yeah," you mumbled in response, nodding eagerly.

you reached down to wrap your small hand around the base of his shaft, placing the tip against your soaked entrance and lowering yourself onto it. since you both were a little too impatient to do any foreplay, his thick cock sliding inside your tight pussy knocked the air out of your lungs.

theo watched your face, lips parted and panting as you slowly took him inside yourself: he gave a low moan when his cock bottomed out inside you, hands gripping you tightly.

"fuck– baby, so fucking good," he complimented you, whimpering needily.

you stood still for a few moments to get used to his size before you started bouncing up and down on his dick, the delicious drag of his thick cock head against your inner walls making you shiver from pleasure. you gripped his shoulders to try and steady yourself, nails digging into his flesh and leaving bright red marks.

theo grunted, tossing his head back as he felt your walls clutching him. his eyes closed in ecstasy, hands travelling down to grip your ass cheeks and helping you bounce up and down on him a little bit faster.

"shit, baby... so fucking tight," he growled out.

"your cock feels so good," you cried out while dragging your nails down his chest and abs, scratching his skin.

theo hissed as he felt your nails clawing at him. his hands squeezed your ass tighter before he smacked it, groaning. "bad girl... don't scratch."

the slap made you yelp slightly, cheeks flushing red at his words. "wanna mark you up," you confessed, breathlessly, "so everyone knows you're mine."

you stopped bouncing as you felt your legs getting tired, rocking your hips back and forward instead; the new motion made your clit rub against his pelvis, sending pleasure waves down your spine.

theo chuckled, his eyes smouldering. "i am yours, sunshine. always have been."

his hands kept roaming your body, taking in the softness of your skin as he lifted you up just enough to be able to thrust up into you, hard and fast. you grasped at the railings behind him for support, crying out in complete and utter ecstasy as he railed you, hips snapping against yours and creating a wet slapping sound that mingled with your loud moans. your pussy clenched around him, and you felt your belly muscles tightening, signaling your upcoming orgasm. theo's thrusting became more erratic, his breath hitching as he pounded into you, chasing his own release. he grabbed your hair and yanked it back, exposing your neck to him. he leaned in and bit down on the sensitive skin where your shoulder met your neck.

"gonna cum for me like a good girl?" he purred, panting.

"yes, please," you answered between little moans and cries, your voice whiny and agitated.

your eyes rolled back when his hand slid between your legs and his thumb grazed your clit; you trembled in response. it didn't take long for you to reach your peak and when you did, it was with a loud cry.

"that's it, that's my good girl," he cooed at you, fucking you through your climax.

your cunt spasmed around his cock as you came, your juices soaking his shaft. your arms wrapped around his body while you squirmed uncontrollably on top of him, moaning repeatedly in his ear. theo wasn't far behind you, the feeling of your walls clenching around him sending him over the edge. he buried himself deep inside you, whimpering helplessly as he came in your cunt.

you moaned when you felt his hot cum filling you up, pussy still tingling so nicely that you weren't even thinking. "fuck– i love you... i love you so fucking much." it just slipped in the heat of the moment without you realising.

but of course he noticed.

theo's breath caught, his orgasm still rocking through him. he looked at you with a surprised expression, but it quickly melted into a tender smile, a warm sensation flooding his chest.

"i love you too, sunshine."

[luveline]

Hellooo!! I saw your requests were open so I thought I'd ask if you could do singer/guitarist reader who fucked up on a gig (totally not self projecting here) and she like forgot some lyrics and stuff and she's just really upset and poly!marauders or really any of them comfort her

If not I totally get it and no worries!!

ty for requesting!! fem!reader, 1k

The best part about having more than one boyfriend is that one of them is bound to be good at something if the others aren’t. So while Remus can’t usually lift heavy things and Sirius doesn’t want to, James is more than happy to help your band pack up their things at the end of the night. 

It also helps that he’s a bit of a fanboy about it. He might jokingly ask you for your autograph from time to time, but he genuinely likes talking to your bandmates about the songs you play and the equipment. You can hear him talking someone’s ear off as the other boys in the band huff and puff as they lift the amps into the back of the van. 

“Why are you all silent?” Sirius asks, blowing a breath into your ear.

It’s not a very Sirius question. He sounds teasing, and his hand is playful as he pulls you into his side against the hood of his car, eyes on Remus where he chats across the car park to a friend. 

You look up into his face. “M’not.” 

“Ah, forgive me. I must be going deaf.” 

You press your cheek to his shoulder. “You are. Hope that helps.” 

“Of course it does.” 

He hooks your shirt with his pinky and slides his hand onto bare skin, scratching at your tummy and ribs with short nails. “You don’t want to tell me?” 

You turn further into him, hiding from his nagging questions, though you answer, because he’ll only find a way to drag it from you, and because you’d desperately like some reassurance. “I messed up really badly tonight. I ruined the set.” 

“You didn’t ruin the set. You did mess up, but really badly is subjective.” Sirius looks down at you on his shoulder, his breath warming your skin, strands of his hair falling onto your face softly, you’re that close. “Everyone messes up,” he murmurs, “doesn’t mean you ruined it.” 

Remus’ voice carries from a few feet away, “Where’s James?” 

“He’s still helping. Our poor angel can’t use her arms, it seems.” 

You and Remus wrinkle your noses simultaneously. “Her arms are fine,” he says. 

“James offered,” you butt in. 

“I’m joking,” Sirius says, touching his nose to your face, drawing a soft line before pulling away. He leans back casually. “It’s what people tend to do when their partners are upset.” 

You needle him with your arm. “Dick.” 

“You’re upset?” Remus asks. 

That’s exactly why Sirius is a dick. You step away from his arm in time for Remus to stop in front of you and look you over in concern. “What’s the matter?” Remus asks. 

“She’s embarrassed about forgetting the words earlier,” Sirius answers immediately. 

You glare at him. He lays back against the car with an arm behind his head, grinning. Makes sense for him to be sweet and kiss you like that just to chuck you into the deep end. 

“I didn’t want to say,” you mumble. 

Remus sidles up to you, and he’s taking the same stance as Sirius, a teasing lightness that colours his smile as he wraps his arms around you. These boys are always hugging you. 

“I don’t care if you want to say,” he murmurs, “you must tell me.” His hands clasp behind your back. “I won’t be left out.” 

His face works into your neck, breath warms and tickles your skin. 

He gives a scratch of kiss before he yanks away to meet your eyes. “Come on.” 

“Messed up. Everyone saw. Set ruined.” 

“Oh, oh,” he murmurs, “is that what you think happened?” 

“Don’t be a liar,” you say. 

“You forgot the words to one song. Everybody still had a good time, you looked amazing up there.” Remus leans far from you with his arms still braced behind your back, laughing as he says, “You were nearly perfect, and next time you’ll remember the embarrassment you’re feeling now and you won't forget the words.” 

He kisses your cheek.

“Can we not tell James?” you ask. 

“We have to.” 

“I know.” 

James is back sooner than you anticipated with a grin, the curls of his hair still perfect with pomade, not a drop of sweat on him. To your surprise, he doesn’t need to be told. “Oh, my girl,” he says proudly, jabbing your stomach with fake blows, “you did great! You only messed up one song!” 

Remus winces, but you think perhaps James’ way of looking at it is best of all. You could’ve messed up every song you performed tonight but it was just one.

“You’re amazing,” he furthers, taking your face into both hands. “Fuck, you look amazing when you’re up there with your guitar like that. I had a dream once we were in a band together. Remus got all handsy with you–”

“Are you sure you’ve got the right man?” Sirius asks, letting Remus pull him up from the hood.

“It might’ve been me,” James concedes. “I know it’s not like me to ask for something back, but I did all that heavy lifting for you shortcake, and I’m dying for an encore.” 

You’re not sure if he’s asking for something more than a show, your cheek turning hot in his hold. He encourages your face to his, his nose tapping yours up for a long, slow moving kiss, at odds with his flirtations but not his touches. His hands drag sluggishly down to your shoulders, the breath he takes on your lips like a happy sigh. 

“Get off of her, pervert,” Sirius says, jostling you both apart. “We’re in public.” 

“It’s just a kiss. I’m very proud of her, Sirius. She deserves a good kiss.” 

You fluster in his hands. 

[stellasdrafts]

The Light in His Eyes (Vendetta! Leon)

Summary: you have each other’s backs (Vendetta! Leon x DSO!Reader)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: alcoholism (on Leon’s part), some vendetta leon comfort because that man needs it :(, no official relationship but mutual feelings are implied, pining…

Notes: a small Christmas-ish one-shot in january because it’s my blog and i make the rules (i forgot to post in december whoops). also sorry this one is christmas specific but christmas lights are very special to me and i wanted to write a little something about them <3

One of these days, these missions are going to kill you. You’re sure of it. You find yourself sitting on a rooftop overlooking the city, needing some fresh air after almost getting your head bitten off on call today. Being a D.S.O. agent isn’t for the faint-hearted and truth be told, sometimes you aren’t sure how you got this far in the first place. You close your eyes, deeply breathing in the cold, stuffy city air and listening to the night traffic below. What would it be like to live a normal, quiet life? For your only burden to be being stuck in the traffic below on your way home from your safe nine to five? Your heart aches when you have thoughts like these…

You’re snapped out of your mournful contemplation when someone clears their throat behind you. You whip your head around, startled. You barely register your fists clenching and muscles tensing up, ready to throw a punch or something, your tired brain registering the sound as the grunt of an infected.

“S’just me.” Leon lifts his hands, traipsing toward you. “Can I join?”

Your shoulders slump with relief. Truth be told, you wanted to spend time alone tonight, but Leon happens to be the one who saved your life today and you figure you owe him this much. “Mhm.” You nod and pat the freezing concrete beside you.

He takes the offered seat and leans back, propping himself on his arms. His warmth carries through the cold wind and seeps through your jeans. He’s only an inch or two away, after all. Despite your previous sentiment, his presence is oddly soothing. You’ve never met anyone as good as him in your field of work. He makes you feel safe, like somehow, you’re immortal in his presence because he always looks out for his team. It’s impossible, really. You know it’s a childish and dangerous mindset to have in this line of work, but there’s just something about him. You wonder how much that selflessness is destroying him from the inside….

Actually, the habituality of the liquor on his breath may already give you an idea.

“Quite a view, isn’t it?”

“Hmm?” You look up at him, noticing how his eyes are fixed on the sea of tall buildings before you. “Oh, yeah… I like the lights. I’ve always liked lights.”

A grin tugs at his lips. “Oh yeah?” He shifts to rest on one knee to get a better look at you.

You feel yourself melt under the older agent’s gaze. “Yeah. All kinds of lights…”

He just watches you for a moment and you find yourself silently cursing the extensive psychology training the government’s had you D.S.O. agents do. You’re sure he can read you like a book, seeing through the façade you’ve been tirelessly trying to keep up. He has his own, after all.

He looks out at the few festive lights wrapped around balcony railings and trees standing proudly in windows. “Like… Christmas lights?”

That reaches you. You turn your head to look at him with a dopey smile. “Especially Christmas lights. I miss them a lot.”

Your nostalgia must be contagious because he smiles at you too. You never see him smile anymore. In your few years of working together, you’ve never known him to be an extraordinarily sunny man, but it had worsened recently. Little to your knowledge, he likes seeing you smile, especially when it’s directed at him. “I didn’t know you liked Christmas so much. Maybe I should buy you a tree and some lights this year,” he jokes lightly.

You shrug, your smile fading a bit. “We never stay in one place long enough… And people don’t celebrate as much as when we were kids. It wouldn’t be the same.”

His expression softens considerably when he notices the shift in your demeanour. His lips pull into a much more familiar tight frown, his shoulders dropping a bit as well. “Yeah, I guess so…” he pauses for a moment, debating his next words. “We could make our own tradition, you know?”

You tilt your head, your smile fully sarcastic and sour now. “Sure. If we’re both still alive by holiday break.”

He grimaces, evidently not liking the sudden grim attitude, even if it carries truth. Ironic, you find yourself thinking, for a man with his attitude. “Don’t talk like that,” he chides softly, wrapping an arm behind you and dragging you a twinge closer. “I’m not letting you die anytime soon.”

And you know that coming from his lips, that’s a vow, not a weak promise. You lean into his warmth, the cold wind hitting you again now that you’re no longer in your cozy bubble of colourful lights and denial. “Right. Sorry…”

“It’s alright.” He gives your side a reassuring squeeze and resumes staring out at the dark skyline.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a minute or two, admiring (perhaps longingly) the people going about their lives in their apartments and offices. Parents putting their children to bed, couples cooking together, families watching what you self-indulgingly believe to be holiday movies in their decorated living rooms… Even the young man working alone at this hour of the night seems to sit with some sense of serenity. All possibilities of the lives you and Leon could have had if you hadn’t been pushed into the claws of the genius Division of Security Operations. He sighs – if in soul-crushing envy or in momentary peacefulness, you can’t tell. But his whiskey-ridden breath is warm and a welcome contrast to the cool winter night air.

You chew at your lip, getting a bit nervous. “You smell like booze,” you remark quietly.

“I know.” He chuckles and you know it’s a piss-poor attempt to cover how uncomfortable the topic of his drinking makes him feel. “You got a problem with that?” He scratches his neglected stubble.

You know a slightly hostile question is the best outcome for you. If it were anyone else starting an intervention, he would’ve raised his voice already. You’ve seen it first-hand with some other people on the team. “You’ve got a problem with that, Leon.” You stare blankly at the buildings ahead, your previous fascination and warmth for the sight dampened.

You feel Leon’s body stiffen beside you and his demeanour shifts. You look, and like you, he no longer seems as placated as he was a mere minute ago. His brows tug down and his gaze darkens. “Don’t do that. Not you,” his tone is surprisingly tender for being paired with his current expression.

He knows you mean well. He knows you’re worried about him. But he can’t bear having you look at him like everyone else does, like you have to tiptoe around him or like he’s always incompetent and inebriated. He looks away out of shame. He knows you’re right, but he’s stubborn and also knows that’s led to his downfall more than once.

“Are you even going to remember this tomorrow?”

Leon looks back up, his gaze stormy. His defensiveness gets the best of him, as it usually does in these situations. He’s angry, or at least he’s trying to be. But you’re sitting close enough to spot the gleam of self-hatred in those beloved blue eyes. “Why does it matter if I do or not?”

“Because believe it or not, our conversations actually mean a lot to me.” The weight of your words hangs between the pair of you for a moment. “And it’s dangerous to day drink with a job like ours. We never know when we’ll get called out. It’ll get you killed,” you add to try and save face as if you don’t care more about him than you do the other agents.

He cringes a bit more at that, and his anger falters in favour of discomfort. He sighs and leans an elbow on his knee, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I appreciate the concern, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”

You tuck your knees up to your chest, even his body heat isn’t enough to cancel out the cold between you now. “That’s what worries me. You act like it’s fine, it’s normal. You don’t even act drunk anymore. You don’t… slur your words or stumble around or vomit everywhere. Apart from being angrier… depressed… you behave normally when you’re drunk.” You turn your body in his direction, trying desperately to get through to him. “You’re not even you anymore. Isn’t that scary?”

He exhales again, letting his hand drop from his face. He knows you’re right. Damn it, you’re always right, but he can never bring himself to admit it. “I… I don’t get what the big deal is. I do my job – well, if I might add. I don’t get into bar fights with random civilians… unless they ask for it. I supply my own drinks and keep to myself. So why’re you worrying?”

You take his face in your hands, your expression softening. Maybe he won’t lie to your face if he’s looking right at it. “Leon, drop the act, please.” From what you hear, he’s a shell of the person he used to be.

His eyes widen with surprise. He doesn’t answer anything for a few moments, your gentle touch making his mind go blank for a second. He can’t remember the last time anyone was gentle with him. He knows he can’t argue when you use that tone or when you have that look in your eye. “Fuck…”

He practically sags onto you as he lets himself feel everything he’s been drowning in alcohol for months. You have an agonizing way of making the tension in his body disappear with nothing but a few words in that honeyed tone of yours.

You support his weight. Like you always do, as he always does yours. Because it’s just Leon. You’d never let him fall, in any sense of the word. “You know, how are you supposed to put up that tree and the lights you offered me if you’re too drunk to make sense of anything? I’m not letting you in my room at HQ if the drinks are making you a grouch, either.”

He does want to give you that, a tree grand and worth being yours, pretty lights you can stare at while you doze off in the evenings, Christmas itself… More than anything, he wants to make you happy. The thought alone makes him happy. He huffs and looks away to hide his smile. “Yeah, yeah. Damn you.”

You let out a breath and a smile of your own, feeling relieved that you got to him at least a little bit. “Try again, please… At least to cut back. We can do it this time.”

He tenses again at your request. It’s not an easy one, and he’s reluctant to agree, not sure if he can even will himself to cut back so easily. But you’re too close, too warm, and you’re using that damn tone in your voice that always gets to him. He wants better for you. For himself, too. A shot at a better life. “I’ll try. Try. For you, alright?”

You hum. “That’s all I ask.” You bring up a delicate hand and brush some of that pesky hair out of his face.

He practically melts into your touch, too tired to bother hiding the effect you have on him. You both know something has been lingering between you for a while, anyway. “Anything else you want from me?” he mutters in a teasing tone, trying to lift the atmosphere he feels he ruined.

You chuckle lightly. “Probably, but we’ll work towards those things later on.”

He perks up at that, a smug smirk toying at his lips as he picks up on the implications of your words. “Y’gotta be a little more specific than that.”

Your eyes soften. Not now. Not like this. “I’ll tell you when you’re sober.” Your timbre isn’t unkind – it’s careful, genuine… You’re trying to encourage him more than anything, knowing he always fares well with a challenge or an end goal.

The muscles in his face ease as well. He gives a small nod. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You feel a spark in your chest of something you haven’t felt in a long time – hope. “So will I.”

You’re more determined than ever to bring back that light to his eyes.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Six — Azriel x Reader

Note — Tumblr still isn’t allowing me to tag some of you. I’ll keep trying but if you haven’t already, make sure you check in settings that your username is able to be searched/tagged! Mwah 💕

Summary: Reader seeks comfort after the events in Fenlaros. Lines are crossed that can’t be uncrossed. Actions come with consequences.

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: Some violence. Things get fiiiilthy. 18+, NSFW, smut, minors dni.

It’s not clear who punches who first, because fists are flying left and right. The male in front of you lands a harsh hit on your cheek, the metal of a ring catching your skin, but there’s no chance to register the burst of pain, because you’re being shoved, and you’re shoving back, and your knuckles are pummelling into another male’s face while his friend sends a punch straight into your gut.

It’s that impact that winds you too much to move. You’re doubling over, trying to draw breath while the fight continues around you. The same male goes to hit you a second time.

But he doesn’t have a chance as Rhys comes lunging at him and knocks him to the floor. Your friend is as flawless with his fists as he is with steel. The Fenlaros male doesn’t stand a chance against him.

This is…this is bad. If you can somehow round your friends up and get out of there before it gets any worse, you may be able to escape the repercussions. A fight like this between two camps could carry a punishment anywhere from revoked privileges to an outright flogging. You’d really rather not face a disgruntled Lord of Windhaven upon your return.

Through the brawl, you’re searching for both Azriel and Cassian. You’ve lost sight of them both completely. And you know they can hold their own, that they’re some of the best fighters in all of Illyria, but the four of you are vastly outnumbered. Even the trio of your closest friends have limits, and being dogpiled by a group of males out for blood surely brings them close to theirs.

Someone grabs the back of your shirt, and with your breath having returned to you somewhat, you round on them, ready to defend yourself once more. However, it’s Cassian who looms over you, hair tousled and shirt wrinkled.

He yells at you over the noise, “This is getting out of hand! We need to get out of here!”

Thank gods he’s choosing to be sensible for once. You suppose even Cass knows when a fight is worth having.

“I’m trying to find Az!” You shout back. “I don’t know where he—”

“Kaeda already pulled him out. Let’s grab Rhys and go!”

Now is a really, really inappropriate time to feel jealous.

And yet jealous, you are.

And maybe even a little hurt, too. Did Az even try to find you before making an exit with Kaeda?

You banish the thoughts, allowing Cassian to wrench you through the people and mostly avoid getting hurt, besides the odd wayward fist that isn’t intended for you. The second he spots Rhys, still fighting with the male who winded you, he’s grabbing him firmly by the collar of his shirt and leaving no room for protest.

“We’re getting out of here before this turns really bloody.” He tells him loudly.

Rhys doesn’t put up a fight. He nods, straight on board with the exit strategy. His wild, alert gaze swivels to study you. “You’re alright?”

“Fine.” You nod. “Let’s go.”

It turns out the exit strategy is to just shove through hordes of people until you find a way out. Rhys is keeping hold of Cassian and you’re keeping hold of Rhys, and the three of you create an aggressive little train that wends through the chaos until cold air washes over you, and you’re spilling out onto the front path. You can hear the distant whoosh and thwack of the Fenlaros lot having no choice but to turn on each other.

“Y/N!”

You turn, just in time to see Az pushing away from a wall, Kaeda in tow. She carries a bloodied dish rag that she was clearly using to dab at his bust lip, but she falls back as Az strides over to you.

“I was looking for you everywhere.” He grabs your chin in his hand, turning your head to the side. “Your cheek is cut.”

You stare back at him, waiting for him to say something — something that even vaguely resembles an explanation as to why he started all of this.

“We should really get out of here—”

“Does it hurt?” He interrupts Rhysand’s interjection, his touch gentle despite the ferocity in his gaze. His thumb brushes over your cheek.

You’re too pissed off to care about his concern.

“I’ll live.” You snap, shoving him away from you. “Azriel, what the fuck?”

“My sentiments entirely.” Cass mumbles.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You continue. “You were the one who said coming here was nothing to be worried about, and then you start that? Have you totally lost your mind?”

“My sentiments entirely.” Rhys echoes.

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw ticks. He takes a step back, swallowing hard. “Sorry for being protective—”

“Possessive, more like—”

“It’s my fault.”

Both your heads snap round as Kaeda steps closer. She stares between you, wide-eyed. Doe-eyed. Looking like she stole the last slice of cake and has a litany of evidence stacked against her.

“He was being protective over me.” She says, and you freeze. She angles herself towards Azriel. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that Thedis and I have history. I don’t know why I did. I’m sorry, I—I didn’t think you’d react like that.”

Oh.

Oh.

That’s—that’s not what you thought was happening.

Clearly, you and Kaeda have two very different understandings of what went down.

You study Az closely, waiting for his reaction — to see if Kaeda is right, and it wasn’t you he was starting a fight over at all.

He stares at her like she’s spoken in a foreign tongue. He opens his mouth.

“Shit.” Kaeda swears suddenly, looking past him. “Shit, that’s my father.”

Each of you swivels around to see the colossal male striding down the path towards you, two slightly — very slightly — smaller males flanking either side of him. His long hair falls about his head in unruly waves, and there’s something ruggedly handsome about his face that kind of makes you want him to smother you with his ridiculously huge bicep. Everything about him is dark. His eyes and his beard and the whorls of Illyrian tattoos that cover the expanse of his neck.

This…this is a male who could snuff out a family of six just by looking in their direction. And his gaze zeroes in entirely on Azriel.

Cassian yanks you closer by the back of your shirt. “Let’s go—”

“He’s going to want to speak with you.” Kaeda turns to Azriel. “You’re the only shadowsinger around here. He knows who you are. He’s intrigued by your power.”

Az continues to watch his approach. And then he squares his shoulders. “Fine.” He doesn’t even glance your way as he says, “I’ll see the rest of you back in Windhaven.”

You don’t like this. Not one bit. Who knows what the male might do to Azriel? You want to say something, to protest—

But Kaeda links her arm through his, and you know there’s no point. This isn’t your fight.

“Don’t get yourself into even deeper shit.” Cassian says, lifting you into his arms.

Kaeda doesn’t seem worried. She rolls her eyes at that. “He’s not going to hurt him.”

You can’t help staring at her. She seems so sure, so unbothered. Not just by what her father might have in store, but by the entire situation. She seems almost…smug.

Az did start an entire fucking brawl over her, after all.

You can’t meet his gaze as you cling to Cassian. Too much has happened in a short space of time. It makes you feel…full. Uncomfortable. You need some space from Az to process what exactly just occurred.

And it seems like your wish will be granted. It’s clear, as he steps closer, that Kaeda’s father has no interest in the rest of you. His cat-like eyes follow a shadow that coils around your friend, and you could swear his lips want to smirk. Like there’s some inside joke the rest of you aren’t privy to.

“Go.” Azriel says, and neither Rhys nor Cass need telling twice. They don’t seem particularly concerned.

Your gaze snags on Az just as Cassian’s arms tighten around you, and he shoots into the skies with an unpleasantly steep climb. Rhys does the same.

And as Kaeda and Azriel become smaller the higher you go, you’re just able to glimpse Kaeda’s father stopping before him and shaking his hand. It’s then that you look away.

This isn’t for you to worry about. It’s—

It’s between him and Kaeda.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The thing about flying — or, in your case, being flown — is that it’s invaluable for moments of pensiveness. There’s no better time to face your thoughts than when the clarity of the sky stretches all around you.

But that can also be really fucking dangerous. Because you think. And then you think some more. And then suddenly, you’re thinking about anything and everything all at once, thinking about ifs, buts, maybes, thinking yourself into a bad mood.

And that is precisely what you do.

You are pissed the fuck off.

So pissed off, you want to scream into the void, at the shifting landscape below. You’re pissed off with Azriel, with his actions, with your entire situation.

He has never been as stupid, as reckless, as he has been recently. Never did you think you’d see a day where Cassian was the more sensible of the two. You’re used to Az being the mediator, to always approaching situations with a rational mind.

And yet these days, he’s a ticking time bomb. You don’t know who he might have a problem with, and clearly you don’t know why, given that you so wrongly assumed his protectiveness — possessiveness — flared up over you.

Of course it was Kaeda. How stupid you are.

Lust is one hell of a blinding light.

Every few seconds, you tell yourself you’re not going to think about it. And then a few seconds after that, you’re straight back to that constant screech of AZRIELANDKAEDAAZRIELANDKAEDAAZRIELANDKAEDA.

If this is who he’s becoming because of her…you’re not sure that’s a good thing.

By the time Cassian is setting you down in front of the cottage, your mood is absolutely foul. You feel sobered by the situation. You may as well have not had a drop of alcohol at all.

Rhys doesn’t stick around. He tells you and Cass that he’s going to Velaris — he wants to explain what happened in Fenlaros to his father before the High Lord can hear it from anyone else. And so it’s just you and Cassian traipsing into the cottage, freezing cold and fed up that the night went how it did. Your stomach is starting to ache where the male punched you, the cut on your cheek starting to sting.

You head straight for the kitchen and begin turfing through the cabinets, looking for a half-empty bottle of whiskey or a snack or something. You slam each cabinet door closed, but it does nothing to alleviate your irritation.

Cassian lights a fire, his eyes watching you closely. Perhaps he can sense that something is brewing in your veins. And he’d be right about that — you’re just not sure what it is.

Finally, you sit up on the kitchen counter and settle on biting into a stale bread roll. It’s dry and tasteless, but it occupies your mouth and stops a scream from escaping.

“I want to clean that cut on your cheek.” Cass strides over to the kitchen, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Only in your heart. “No.” You lie.

He nods, and just like the other night, he begins gathering medical supplies. He’s getting good at this. You kind of want to tell him not to bother, to just let the cut sting, but you’re brooding too much to get the words out.

You swallow down your last, dry bite of bread, and you comment, “I knew going to Fenlaros was a fucking terrible idea.”

Cassian chuckles. There isn’t much that fazes him. “In hindsight, I don’t know what we were thinking.”

“With your cocks, probably.”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, and then his hands are on your knees, parting your legs so he can slot himself in between. You don’t protest; he’ll only start a mother hen routine and threaten to bring you to a healer instead.

He wets a rag and begins to gently dab the gash on your cheek. It hurts, but not enough. Not bad enough to drown out the thoughts of the night’s events. You go through them from start to finish, and you have to suck in a deep breath just to stop yourself from punching something.

Why had Kaeda suggested such a stupid fucking thing?

And okay, you can’t put the blame entirely on her; it’s mostly your jealousy that stokes your anger. You, Azriel, Cassian and Rhys are all fully autonomous adults. Any of you could have shot the idea down and refused to go.

But it just…it just sits funny with you, weird in your chest. Something about it feels…gross.

Again — probably your jealousy talking.

But the entire thing had been a shit show from start to finish. You should have known, from the self-loathing thoughts that were pelting you on the way there, that you should never have gone. And your failure to listen to your gut only worsens your mood.

“You push that brain to think any harder and it’ll explode.” Cassian murmurs, his warm breath fanning your face. “You can share, if you like. I may even be able to dredge up some wisdom to impart.”

You bite down on your lower lip. “Why would Kaeda’s father want to speak with Az?”

It surprises you that the question makes him smile. “I wouldn’t worry over that.” He says. “I imagine he’s more interested in speaking to Az because he’s fucking his daughter than because he came to a rival camp.”

You almost flinch at the words.

Of course, you know that by now, Azriel and Kaeda have probably taken that leap and slept together. But torturing yourself with your thoughts is different to hearing it said aloud, and by someone so close to Az, too.

It hurts. And you want to scratch away at the feeling. It might just be what tips you over.

Cass studies you for a moment, reading the change, the tightening, in your expression. He knows there’s something — but thank the gods he doesn’t know what.

He turns his attention to your hand — your knuckles must have split when you threw a couple of good punches — and he begins to clean it gently.

“Here I am again, eh? Playing healer. I should get myself an apron.”

He’s trying to make you laugh, but you can barely force your lips to twitch upwards. He drinks in your pathetic attempt with a sympathy that you can’t stand. And, sensing that humour isn’t going to be enough tonight, he tries a different approach.

“Talk to me, Y/N.” He pleads softly, dabbing gently at your hand. “Please…”

You frown. You’re thinking and feeling too many things at once to make sense of them. Running through the entire night over and over. You’re not sure which of those feelings will rear its ugly head when you try to speak.

But you open your mouth, and the words just spill out.

“I really fucking hated myself tonight.”

Cassian pauses momentarily. And then he continues his treatment to your wounds. “Y/N, fights break out every other hour—”

“No. Not because of the fight. It wasn’t that.” You swallow a lump down. “It was the flying.”

“…the flying?”

“Being carried by Rhys while the rest of you flew so freely. Knowing I’ll never be able to do that. I’m Illyrian, and yet I’m always going to be confined to the ground. I hated myself—”

“Y/N—”

“I really fucking hated myself, Cass. And to be confronted by that fact every damn time I take my shirt off…to see the fucking hideous remains of my wings—”

Your words are cut short when Cassian’s huge hands grab your face and force you to look at him. It stings the cut on your cheek, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he stares at you fiercely.

“No. Cut that out right now.” A muscle in his jaw moves. You’re looking back at a lesser-spotted serious Cassian. “There is no part of you — not one part — that comes even close to being hideous, scars or no scars. You’re brilliant. Inside and out. You’re fucking beautiful, and I love you, and I won’t have you hating yourself. Particularly not at the hands of your piece of shit father.”

For a moment, you’re so stunned by the impassioned speech that you don’t know what to say. Thanking him wouldn’t be enough. And you think you might want to cry, but tonight, crying wouldn’t be enough, either. Nor would screaming. You just…want to feel something different. Something good.

Something worth feeling.

You stare back at Cassian, and your throat bobs.

And it might be against your better judgement, but you cover his hands with yours, and you haul your mouth to his.

You can’t exactly explain it, but he has a mouth as rugged as his general appearance, something rough and untamed and just…Cassian. It’s exactly what you need in that moment. You kiss him as if you’ve kissed him a thousand times before.

You feel the moment’s hesitation on his end. It’s rare that anything is able to knock him silent, but this most certainly does. After a pause, he rips his mouth away from yours, and he stares at you, wide-eyed and flushed, reading your face as if in search of an answer to an unspoken question.

But his internal battle isn’t a long one. He seems satisfied with whatever conclusion he comes to. And then he’s surging forward and kissing you back, hard.

What follows is not slow nor tentative.

You and Cassian love each other dearly, but there are no illusions that this is anything but needed pleasure. He’s not reciprocating because he’s spent hours daydreaming about this, or because you mean more to him than any other female.

Cassian would fuck a tree if a stirred branch waved in his general direction.

And that is absolutely fine. That is exactly what you need.

He wrenches your legs further apart and yanks you to the very edge of the counter, just so he can get closer, kiss you harder. His hand snakes up the nape of your neck and bunches in your hair, strands of it tangling around his fingers, and he tips your head back, his mouth scorching hot and hungry on yours.

This is not something you’ve ever thought about, because he is just Cassian. He’s the male who pisses you off by leaving weapons lying around under couch cushions, who sings loudly at the top of his voice first thing in the morning, who fights like fighting is going out of fashion. Since the first day you’d met him, when his eleven-year-old self had looked you up and down and challenged you to an arm wrestle, he’s always just been Cassian.

You’ve always needed him in some impulsive, temperamental way — someone who keeps you on your toes, even if you complain about it sometimes. But now, you need him in a different way.

You part your mouth from his, just long enough to rip your shirt off and chuck it vaguely over his shoulder. Cass watches as you unclasp the bandeau that covers your breasts, and that’s being thrown away, too, and now your top half is naked, and Cassian is growling. It’s not even that he hasn’t seen these parts of you before, but you’d think it was the first ever time, going by the way his eyes darken, and a thousand sinful thoughts flit over his face.

“Fuck.” His voice is deeper. Both of his hands cup your breasts, and he kisses you again. “I love these.”

You smile, and you lock your legs around his waist, and you both groan as you yank him as close as he can get, and you’re grinding the centre of you over the bulge in his breeches. That, alone, feels too good — the length of him pushing through the barrier of your clothing. It’s not enough. You need more. You need him inside you.

Cass seems to echo the sentiment as he growls and finally yanks you fully off the counter. “No screwing around.” He says through gritted teeth. “I need to fuck you.”

His hands are at your breeches, and he’s ripping them open, and you’re so wet between your legs that you have to rub your thighs together, desperate for some kind of friction. Cassian notices, of course, and one side of his mouth tips up into a smirk.

“Turn around.”

You do.

You’re happy to be commanded. You don’t want to be in charge, don’t want to teach.

You want to be taken, and you want to be taught.

His rough hands shove your breeches all the way down, and then he’s seeing to his, ripping at the buttons and stays just enough to pull the hard length of him out. You turn your head to drink in the sight, but he doesn’t allow it.

He slams your front against that counter, and then he’s at your back, the head of his cock brushing against you as he murmurs into your ear, “How do you want it?”

You think your mouth might be watering. “Hard.”

“Hard?”

“Hard.”

“Brace yourself, then, sweetpea.” He grabs your hands, plants them firmly on the counter, calluses biting into your skin. His teeth graze the shell of your ear as he asks, “Are you ready for me?”

You couldn’t be more ready if you tried. You moan, pushing your ass back against him. His chuckle is felt through every inch of you.

He moves one hand down, drags it down your body, slots it between your legs. Your hips give a little jerk as he mops up some of your wetness with his fingers.

“Oh, yeah, you’re ready for me.” There’s a smirk in his voice. His fingers land on your clit, and he nips your ear again. “Good girl.”

You open your mouth — to say something, or to beg, you’re not sure. But there’s no chance.

The head of Cassian’s cock is guided to your entrance. You gasp at the mere feeling of it bumping against you, teasing the opening.

And then he fucking thrusts all the way in, hard enough that you slam once again against the counter. Medical supplies go flying onto the floor.

And gods, it feels too good.

There’s a tiny bite of pain, yes, but it’s pleasurable — more a feeling of fullness. He’s pushed all the way in to the hilt, and the guttural noise that leaves him might just be enough to make you come. It’s animalistic, the way he groans, almost a snarl.

“Hard?” He repeats, withdrawing slightly.

You gasp, your head tipping back. “Hard.”

“Thank the Mother.”

You yelp as his hand suddenly smacks against your ass cheek, and then he’s spreading you open and thrusting in again.

He is not gentle.

He is not soft or tentative or even kind.

This is how Cassian — the much-feared Illyrian — fucks.

And you like it, want it, need it. You push back against him to remind him he doesn’t need to be gentle. Forget about the fact that you’ve always known each other, that you have a fondness for each other.

Fuck me, you communicate silently. Ruin me, and make me forget who I am.

He growls, as if those very thoughts reached him mind-to-mind. And fuck you, he does.

You’re slammed again and again against the counter, hard enough to bruise and leave marks. His balls slap against your skin as he damn near rams into you at an unstoppable force. He’s grunting and snarling and panting. His hands suddenly clasp both of your arms, and he pulls them behind your back, holding onto them and thrusting faster.

“Fucking knew,” he growls, “that your cunt would feel like this. That you’d squeeze my cock like this.”

He slows just slightly — just enough to roll his hips and make sure you feel every single inch of him stroking the inside of you. The shout that leaves you doesn’t even sound like you.

“You like that, sweetpea?” He chuckles darkly. He pushes in to the hilt again, and you moan — a mistake that comes with a penalty. His hips still. “Give me your words, sweetheart. I want to know how much you need my cock.”

“Cassian.” You grit your teeth. “Fuck me.”

He withdraws. Slams into you again. And then the rhythm picks up, the pace fast and raw and unbeatable. Gripping onto your arms gives Cass the perfect leverage to take you exactly as you want him to take you, as he wants to take you. He can’t possibly go any faster, reach any deeper.

Heat coils in your lower belly. You meet every one of his thrusts by bucking against him, and it spurs your body on. You can feel something brilliant building beneath your skin and firing through your veins.

And when he lets go of one of your arms and dips his hand between your legs, his fingers immediately finding your clit, you’re not at all sure that you won’t just explode.

As you feel the head of his cock hit deep inside you, unable to go any further, as the pads of his fingers circle your clit, the noise that leaves you is unlike any other noise you’ve ever made. You’re vaguely aware of a sudden surge of wetness between your legs that drips down your thighs. Cassian made you squirt.

He half-laughs-half-groans, and his teeth nip your ear. “Sweetpea,” he bites out, “who knew you were such a filthy girl? Is this what I’ve been missing out on?”

You can’t speak — words fail you. You’re utterly incapable of doing anything but making your breathy little noises, your fractured moans, as Cassian pounds into you. His ministrations at your clit don’t even falter, even as he lets out a noise that hints at his own release being close.

“Come for me again.” Your wetness still drenches his hand, you know, but it’s not enough — he wants more. His finger presses down hard on your clit, and at the exact same moment, he lands a harsh kiss on your neck that turns into a suck. He slams into you so hard that you have to grip the counter to stop yourself being winded for the second time that night. And you erupt.

You hear the exact moment the walls of your cunt clamp around Cassian’s length. The noise he makes is one that you need to commit to memory, keep for a cold, lonely night when it’s just you and your hand. You’ve never heard anything like it. You never imagined he could make a sound like it.

“Oh, gods, yes,” He damn near whines. His hand is suddenly at your back, and he pushes you down, bends you over until your cheek is pressed to the countertop. He fastens that hand at your shoulder, the other at your hip, and then he’s on the homestretch. “Oh, fuck!”

He thrusts, and he thrusts, and he thrusts — and then he goes still, his cock exploding inside you.

He grunts through every spurt, his fingers biting into your skin. You’re not sure you can move as your cunt continues to contract around him, draining him of every last drop. The counter and Cassian’s hands are the only things holding you up. If he steps away now, your legs may just buckle and drag you to the floor.

So in contrast to the wicked noises you were both just making, near-silence sweeps in, broken only by you both gasping for breath. You close your eyes, your brow furrowing. Press your forehead against the surface you’re currently slumped over. You can’t remember how to…how to exist outside of pleasure.

You are well and truly fucked out.

You’re almost content to just stay there, gripping onto the counter for dear life. But then Cassian finally slides out of you, pulling his seed with him. It drips down your legs, into your underwear. A shudder leaves you.

“Shit, that was—” Cass breathes a laugh. “Gods. Why have we never done that before?”

You manage your own weak, sated chuckle, and finally try to stand up straight. “Because friends aren’t supposed to fuck friends senseless.”

“No,” he agrees. Pauses. “But, like…it doesn’t have to make things awkward, does it? We’re both adults. Capable of sharing pleasure and…and carrying on as normal…”

Oh, bless his heart.

Non-committal Cass is now worried that a casual rearranging of your organs might turn into you falling in love.

“It’s not going to be awkward, Cass.” You snort softly. “I’m just not sure I can move.”

He stares at you. And you stare at him.

The laughter hits you both at the same time. It’s laughter of both relief and release. An acknowledgement that you both feel a darn sight better now than you did when you first walked in. The night isn’t weighing on you so heavily, now.

Is that bad? Perhaps.

But you can fuck people, too. Why…why should you regret it?

“Here.” Tucking himself back into his breeches, Cassian yanks his shirt off, handing it to you. “You can use this to clean yourself up. I’ll run you a bath.”

He turns, but you’re stopping him with a hand on his arm. “I don’t want special treatment just because we fucked. Just…be normal.”

One eyebrow quirks up. “I planned to run you a bath after I cleaned your cheek. We just got a bit…sidetracked. I’m looking after you, Y/N — as your friend.”

You study his face. He’s open, sincere — not pitying. Good.

“Okay.” You tug your hand away. “Thank you.”

He dips his chin, and then he’s strolling away again. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, turning back to look at you.

“I love you.” He says. “Just…don’t ever doubt that.”

You’re not sure you ever could. He’s one of the few constants in your life.

You nod, suddenly not sure you can make eye contact. “I know. I love you, too.”

He, too, nods. And then he disappears, and you’re listening to his boots thudding against each step of the stairs.

You wipe yourself down, tug your breeches up. Slump back against the counter. Drag a hand over your face.

You kind of just want to sleep, be unconscious, before the weighty thoughts begin to shove their way in again.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The summons comes early the next morning, before the sun has even arisen.

One of Lord Devlon’s cronies comes to pluck you and Cassian from the cottage, lead you to the Camp Lord’s study. Azriel is already there when you arrive.

You meet his gaze as you sit down, trying to look for some clue as to what might have occurred in Fenlaros after you’d left. All he seems interested in is checking you over, surveying you for what injuries you have as a result of the night before.

You’re not all too sure if your stomach is tender because of the punch you received to your gut, or because of how thoroughly Cassian fucked you against the kitchen counter.

 Probably best not to linger on that thought for too long.

You’re sandwiched between your two friends, waiting for Lord Devlon to actually grace you with his presence. Where Rhysand is, you can only imagine — probably dealing with his father’s wrath.

You glance down at a slight, sudden pressure you feel at your leg. Azriel presses his thigh into yours, and you lift your gaze to meet his.

“You’re not too hurt?” He speaks quietly.

You shake your head. “You?”

“I’m fine. All good, Cass?”

With his typical, swaggering nonchalance that will most certainly land him in deeper shit, Cass grins and stretches his arms above his head. “Just peachy.”

“Az.” You coax the shadowsinger’s gaze back to yours. “What happened with Kaeda’s father?”

Perhaps you’re being a tad dramatic, but you’d lain awake pretty much all night, brooding on the fact that you’d fucked Cass whilst Az was being subjected to the gods knew what. Your thoughts had snowballed into preparing you for Az to return beaten black and blue — or not return at all.

But he looks…fine. A little roughed up from the brawl, but otherwise fine.

He opens his mouth, leaning closer, and that’s when the door flies open.

The three of you stand up immediately. Tuck your hands behind your backs. Bow your heads.

Lord Devlon saunters into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. His footsteps are loud and purposed as he strides to his chair.

“Sit.” He says coldly.

You take your seats once more. The Lord’s eyes skate over the three of you for a pensive few moments, before settling entirely on you. It makes you uncomfortable.

“So.” He sits back. “Who wants to take a stab at why I’m not very happy this morning?”

The three of you keep your mouths clamped shut.

“I’ll give you a clue. It’s not so much to do with a piss-poor night’s sleep, as it is to do with the fact that three of my fucking soldiers,” his lip curls as he looks you up and down, “and their little plaything,snuck off to a rival camp and picked a fight.”

“She’s not our—”

“Did I give you permission to speak, Azriel?”

The ticking in Az’s jaw is slight, but it’s there, as he stares forward. “No, my lord.”

“Then keep your fucking mouth shut until I do.”

Your friend bows his head once more.

“Can any one of you explain why, exactly, you not only travelled to a rival camp without my orders, but why you then decided to stoke tensions between our two camps? Because, you know, that’s their territory. They were well within their rights to defend themselves and not one of them is being punished for it.”

None of you are sure whether he actually wants an answer. It’s best to just…keep your mouth shut.

“None of you have anything to say?” Devlon’s eyebrows flick up. “Fine. How about I offer you my theory? Because I’m seeing a running theme, here.”

You can feel his hard, intense stare bounce from Azriel, to you, to Cassian. Back and forth and back and forth.

But it always returns to you.

It might be in that moment that you realise there’s another layer to this, that you stupidly hadn’t considered. One that’s really going to get Devlon and his cronies grinding their teeth.

You’re female.

And it’s bad enough for males, his soldiers, to behave like this. But you? A mere, docile female? Someone who should be focused on housekeeping and finding someone to breed with?

A female stepping outside of her place is more or less considered a crime by Illyrians. And you don’t have a Camp Lord father to get you out of that very deep shit.

“It’s Y/N, isn’t it?” Lord Devlon addresses you. He knows your name. He’s a cat playing with a mouse.

You meet his gaze and nod. “Yes, my lord.”

“The blacksmith’s daughter.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Hm. The thing is, Y/N, I am here to raise armies. To oversee the training of their soldiers. As Camp Lord, that is my duty.”

You grit your teeth, bite your tongue. You hate the condescending tone that is so fucking typical of Illyrian males. It’s patronising. Offensive. He’s stating blatant facts and explaining them to you as though you are a child.

But you simply dip your chin in acknowledgment, because playing your part is the only way the three of you are getting out of here with a slap on the wrist.

“I cannot afford for my soldiers to be distracted from their training, or be seduced into making trouble for themselves.” The way he looks you up and down, in that moment, makes you feel oily. “I need my soldiers to be prepared. If war came tomorrow, do you honestly think I could send these two out onto a battlefield?”

These two. He says it with such dismissal, such contempt, that you find yourself balling your fists at your sides. He’s always singled your friends out, tried to break them. He may have to tolerate Rhysand — his father being the High Lord and all — but the tiny slither of acceptance he has for Rhys does not hold up for Azriel or Cassian. He sees them as useless. As nobodies. He’s waiting for them to lose their lives in training or combat so he can be rid of them for good.

It boils your blood.

Before you can stop yourself, your lip curls. “I think they’re two of the best soldiers in Illyria, and you’re damn well lucky to have them.”

Devlon sneers back at you. “I’m sure you would say that. If only to keep them in your bed.”

Beside you, the arms of Cassian’s chair creak as he squeezes them hard. “My Lord—”

“If either one of you speaks without my permission again, I will string you up by your balls. Understood?”

There’s a pause. And then both Cass and Az are sitting back in their seats. Offering quiet, affirmative responses.

“So.” Devlon focuses on you once more. Anger mottles his cheeks a reddish hue. “Considering every time these two land themselves in shit, you are at the centre of it, I see only one appropriate course of action. I will not have you leading them astray. Be it pointless fighting or the absolute colossal fuck up of last night, you are always the common denominator. That stops today. This instant.”

You stare at him. You’re not entirely sure what he’s getting at, but something lurches in your stomach. You swallow down a lump in your throat and grip hard onto your chair.

“As soldiers under my command,” Devlon’s eyes flit between Cassian and Azriel, “I forbid you — and Rhysand — from having any more involvement with her. You will not spend time with her. You will not speak to her in passing. You won’t even look at her. If I find out you do, you’ll regret it.”

All three of you shoot up in your seats, alarmed looks passing your faces. “You can’t do this.” You’re the first to spit.

“Oh?” Devlon cocks an eyebrow. “This is Camp Windhaven, is it not?”

“Yes, but—”

“I am Lord of Camp Windhaven, am I not?”

“Obviously—”

“Then I absolutely have the authority to give such orders, and thus, consider them given. Starting today, your involvement with my soldiers ends.”

“My Lord,” Azriel’s tone is pinched, panicked, “you don’t understand — she’s living with us right now. Her father kicked her out of his home. She has nowhere else to go.”

“Do you think I give a shit about her domestic situation, Shadowsinger?” The Lord snaps at him. “I’m here to oversee the training of Windhaven’s soldiers. Not to get involved in pointless family drama.”

“But where am I supposed to go?” You can’t help it — you slam your fist against the arm of your chair. “What am I supposed to do?”

“That isn’t my problem.” Devlon shrugs. He stands up, planting his hands on the desk between you. He leans over with a glower. “But you better run home with your tail between your legs and begin mending relations with your father, because if I detect that there’s even a hint of involvement with you and my soldiers, I will make you regret it, girl. Do not cross me.”

He tucks — no, slams — his chair under the table. It’s a dismissal. You’re not allowed to respond.

You’re silent, too stunned to think, speak, breathe, as Devlon strides to the door and rips it open.

“Get the fuck out, all three of you.” He orders, and you stand numbly from your chair. “You two,” he directs his attention to your friends, “I want your asses in the training ring immediately. Go.”

They don’t want to, you can tell. They hesitate, but ultimately, there’s no other choice. They have no authority. They’re mere soldiers in training. This is their career, their life’s work, on the line. They can’t meet your gaze as they file out of the door, and you don’t blame them.

“And you?” Devlon stops you as you try to follow, gripping onto your shoulder hard. He may as well pick you up by the scruff of your neck like a boisterous pup. “You’d better heed my warning, Y/N the blacksmith’s daughter.”

He shoves you out of the room. You throw your hands out before you slam into the wall.

“Stay. The fuck. Away.”

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