#and to be clear i am in the weird position of being defensive of the devs bc i too am a game dev

[acealistair]

very sweet of them to try and do an AMA but also. um. did they actually think that was going to go well?

[buckyschair]

FLIRTING NEVER GOT YOU NOWHERE

Pairing: Azriel x Day Court! Reader

Summary: You’re an archivist from Day Court visiting Velaris, what happens when you visit a nightclub and things go wrong? Or do they go oh so right? AKA you flirt with Azriel in a bar and sex ensues !

read part 2 now - AFTERGLOW

A/N: I’m lowkey tired of shy insecure self insert fics so I wanted to write a piece about a bold unapologetic bitch who gets what she wants :) This is a very self indulgent fantasy based on rude things men have said to me at bars and how I wish someone had shown up for me. Like yeah I can stand for myself but also what if Azriel stepped up. I also made her bisexual because I’m gay 💅

Content Warnings: smut, cunnilingus & oral (so like m&f receiving), unprotected PIV sex (I am not going to spend my one precious life researching faerie contraceptive methods, so just imagine you’re on magic birth control or whatever. Or don’t, if you’re into that!), female reader (w nipple piercings ooo), gross liberties taken with whatever Day court has going on, unwanted advances from a guy in a bar, uhhh minor gay slur, it’s maybee more OC than self insert cause I gave her a lot of personality, shamelessly self indulgent, no use of Y/N

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. AND I MEAN IT !

Word Count: 12.4k

read on AO3

The flashing lights and lively music that had been a tonic just minutes ago now pounded through your skull, as jarring as the words you’d exchanged with some dipshit at the bar moments ago. You set your eyes back on the dance floor. Where was that group of females you’d mixed with earlier to save you now? You’d come to Rita’s to let loose a little after being cooped up in dusty corners of libraries for weeks now. You wanted to experience Velaris’ famed nightlife. Despite this place coming highly recommended, you were beginning to wonder if you shouldn’t have trusted that shy priestess’ taste in nightclubs.  

“Come on, what’s wrong with you?” The male’s whiny voice didn’t quite hit the macho tenor he was aiming for as he yelled after you. You whip back around, incredulity written on your face.

“What’s wrong with me?” you snarl. “I’m so glad you asked, buddy ,” you see his pretty boy attitude shift into a sneer at the moniker, “cause I am not the one. What the fuck is your problem?” 

Two steps and you’re back up in his space, just as he had invaded yours moments earlier when you’d rejected his advances. He didn’t seem to enjoy the treatment either, now that it was clear you wouldn’t stand for his shit. You could buy your own liquor. Especially when the other offer came from someone who thought appropriate eye contact involved breasts and an introduction equated to wandering hands. 

“What, are you one of those carpet munchers or something?” he tries to deflect. Your eyes narrow. This fucker is in for it now. You can’t blame a guy for wanting to get his dick wet. However, you can blame him for being an entitled bigot about it. 

“You son of a bitch,” you start, your face hardening into a sneer, your stance subconsciously shifting to a defensive position. At this, his eyes widen and his mouth parts but before he can speak– “You think just because someone doesn’t want you, they must be categorically repulsed by males?” You snort, eyeing him up and down. “I’m surprised you haven’t been laughed out of this bar yet. I’ve seen dog’s piss land more artfully than your attempts with females tonight. If you’ve somehow hidden some sense behind that ego, I suggest you take it with you when you leave.” 

He chokes on air, eyes wide and face taught. Okay. Weird. You know you can be ruthless, but typically your feminine stature in a mini skirt meant you had to work harder than that to make a bastard sweat in fear. 

His glassy eyes are focused over your shoulder. You turn your head, keeping the corner of your eye on the sorry male in front of you. When you catch the hulking Illyrian form behind you, you lose that focus as you take in wide shoulders and simmering rage. Rage directed at the whelp still pissing himself behind you at the bar. This new male’s face is a hard mask, his lip curling in disdain.  

“You heard the lady.” Your stomach drops at his voice, deep and resolute. “I suggest you take her advice.”

Azriel watches the slimy bastard hightail it out of the crowded club. You miss the pathetic scene of his flight, only catching how the male in front of you relaxes when his target finally makes an exit. You’re glad he’s been keeping his eyes on the other guy, cause you’ve been staring in shock. His muscled arms, toned chest, looming wings, thick thighs– okay. That you could handle. Under ordinary circumstances. But two shots deep, in your most revealing outfit, and through the swirling lights, seeing the tattoos that peak out over the top of his vest at his collarbones and pecs… you swallow, forcing your mind back to the situation at hand as his eyes shift from the figure disappearing behind you. 

His pinched brows relax as he takes you in. “Looks like you had it under control,” he says, raising one eyebrow- one glorious eyebrow, a hesitant grin making its way onto his face, as if he was impressed. 

“Not the first time I’ve had to put someone in their place,” you shrug, off balance from the abruptly ended confrontation. Before this male appeared, you’d been gearing up for a fight. Boundaries are simple for you. Cross one and you remind them where you stand. He nods, his face solemn in understanding. 

“I saw things getting heated. He looked like he was about to… grab you.” His lips twitch, like he still hasn’t decided if he should do something permanent about it. “Then you were removing yourself from him. And here we are.” 

“Here we are,” you repeat. His words, simple as they were, made your spine itch. “Thanks for having my back.” You meant it. You know you could have handled him on your own, but nonetheless, it was nice to have the cavalry arrive right on time.

He flashes you a brief tight lipped smile, the picture of courtesy, “Anytime.” He shifts, like he means to leave you to yourself now that the drama had concluded without any blood. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” you blurt out, almost in reflex at the male now in front of you. “As thanks.” 

His eyebrows raise momentarily in surprise. Curious, you think. Surely the hunk of male was used to females showering him in liquor and more. You notice the lights around him go blurry– oh shit. Those are shadows. Fuck. 

Realization hits you. No fucking way you just asked the High Lord’s inner court shadowsinger if you could buy him a drink. You kick yourself inwardly, but keep your face a mask of coy request. 

“There’s no need to thank me,” he says genuinely, slightly shaking his head, even as his cheeks flush lightly, his eyes skirting up your figure. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Of course I don’t,” you smirk, confidence rushing through you at his reaction. “Consider it an unnecessary but kind gesture, tit for tat,” you tease, since you both know that his presence alone certainly scared off the unwanted male, even if he didn’t need to lift a finger. He cracks a grin at that, the minor barb landing exactly as you’d intended.

“Sure,” he shrugs.

A simple acceptance, so casually offered, lands you deeper than you ever could have expected to get with a high ranking member of a foreign Court. He lets you order him something neat, grunting in appreciation when he catches a whiff of the dark liquid in his glass, same as yours. 

“Cheers.” You clink your glass to his, hiding your smile with a drink. It burns down your throat, grounding you. His hand had gently hovered over your lower back as you’d taken your seat at the bar again, ready to help but also blocking anyone’s view. Even though he hadn’t touched you, the ghost of his hand may as well have scorched your skin for how you felt it.   

“What’s your name?” you ask, suddenly realizing that while you know who he is, you’d never caught his name. Was it confidential information?

“Azriel,” he replies. “Yours?” You tell him, and he hums, repeating it. Your name on his mouth makes your insides burn, but you remind yourself it’s probably just the liquor. 

“Am I allowed to say your name out loud? Or is it a court secret?” you ask, and he graces you with another grin. He looks around conspiratorially before leaning in, which sends a thrill through you. 

“My friends call me Az,” he murmurs lowly. “Just to be safe in the eyes of the law,” he adds with utter seriousness, only betrayed by the glimmer in his eyes. You laugh at that, excited apprehension making you sensitive to his every word. 

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Az.” You swear his shadows twitch at your words. You’re enjoying sitting here with him next to you, his body curved towards yours, knees almost touching. Your body relaxes, all the tension of the evening’s events replaced with a pleasant thrum of vitality.

“Likewise,” he says gruffly. You wonder if he feels the same intoxicating energy between you. His hazel eyes blaze even in the dim light of the quiet corner of the bar, his soft hair sticking slightly to his forehead in the heat of the packed bar. You want to brush it away, but you resist the sudden urge. You’re not sure what to say next. Ordinarily, you’re adept at conversation, but the powerful presence before you renders your mind blank.  

You’re relieved when he says, “I haven’t seen you here before.” His gaze pins you. What is he seeing? What is he looking for? You’re not sure what he finds that causes him to elaborate, “I would have noticed you.” 

“I would have noticed you, too,” you breathe.

“Doubtful,” he drawls in a playfully contrarian tone. His shadows dance along his wings over his shoulders, swirling almost in arrogance around the horns at their apex. 

“What? Do they normally keep you hidden in the shadows?” you prod, flashing your teeth. He exhales sharply from his nose, rolling his eyes at your ridiculous implication. Encouraged, you place your hand on his knee under the bar top. 

“Do they bully you?” you ask sweetly, dropping your voice quietly in mock concern. 

He coughs a little laugh at that, then schools his features into a pained expression. 

“Yes. Yes, they bully me.” You bite your lip at the image of him playing fragile, wounded. Your hand on his thigh is on fire. “Horribly,” he adds, voice wobbling.

“Let me know if you need help with that,” you tell him, with equal sobriety. “I could lend you my services, I have a certain skill in intimidation.” 

His composure breaks at that, and he laughs from his gut this time, and you join him. The sound is prettier than any music.

“My hero!” he exclaims, gasping through his laughter, grabbing the hand that you pull away from his knee. You giggle as he grasps your hand securely, bringing them to rest together at his knee. His thumb brushes your knuckles while he smiles at you. It takes all your discipline to fight the shudder that threatens your body. 

“This is my first time here,” you answer his initial prompt, gesturing around the lively bar. “I’m actually visiting from Day Court.” He quirks his head at that. He looks strangely adorable like this, curiosity cracking his typically closed off expression. 

“You’re from Day?” 

“Yeah.” Several of his shadows break away from his form to explore you, like you’ve suddenly become an irresistible object of interest to them. “I was an archivist at one of the central public libraries, and recently… I’ve been brought on to work in my Lord’s personal collection.” Azriel looks curious at that, so you continue, “Lord Helion is a generous boss.” His eyebrows shoot up at that. 

“Not like that!” you defend, blushing, aware of his reputation. “He trusts me,” you amend. 

“So I’m here for your libraries. After…” You’re remiss to mention Amarantha, despite her destruction coloring every sphere of your work. “Well. We all lost something, didn’t we? Now my role is to see what information can be recovered and preserved in my Court once more.”

Azriel listens intently, seeming to understand exactly what gave you pause. He nods as you finish. He also works in information, he tells you, although his intelligence operates in a different arena. You tell him more about your research when he prompts; the long hours in dimly lit rooms, the sweet but introverted colleagues, and, despite what an endless endeavor it was, the excitement when you discover just the right source. 

If someone had asked you that morning, you’d have been certain that an archivist’s work would bore anyone with such a high profile role as his, but he sees the heart of your contribution, the valuable work of recovery. 

His concentration on your every word would be unnerving, if it weren’t so enthralling. He maintains eye contact even as you gesture wildly with your free hand, snorts at all your jokes, and asks questions to keep you talking. It doesn’t escape you how he poses these questions just as the conversation might have naturally turned towards him. He deftly pulls information out of you with subtle cues, a question here, a curious look there. Once you’ve dazzled him with stories of your life back in Day and bored him with the details of your work, (although you did your best to pepper in your favorite stories, like the time you discovered an entire catalogue of ancient erotic court poetry), you dare to ask him about his own life here at the Night Court. 

You expected him to continue deflecting, as he’d been so fascinated by your home court, but he actually responds with some substance. Azriel pauses before pointing out his family, a group of equally breathtaking and imposing fae in a booth at the other end of the bar. He keeps it brief, but shares how he met Cassian and Rhys in a training camp and hasn’t known a moment's peace since. Despite his harsh words, you catch the tenderness even as he grumbles on about Mor and Feyre, and Amren, who isn’t here tonight, which he says you can detect by the lack of frightened screams. You’re equally shocked and delighted by the casual humor with which he treats them all. 

It’s not lost on you that he’s just told you about his family when you had asked about him. Yet between his calculated words and their meaningful tone, he’s actually sketched quite an intimate picture of his life and his values. 

You like the rhythm of his curt words, how he says a lot with a little. Occasionally, his dry humor will catch you by surprise, and he’ll grace you with a wry smile as you laugh. The spymaster can be quite unexpectedly cavalier at moments, much to your delight. He meets your playful verbal sparring with just as much fire.  

After chatting amiably for a while, a comfortable silence falls between you as you nurse your drinks. Azriel surveys the crowded room, ever on alert. You take the chance to brazenly observe him. You can’t pick what to focus on. The slope of his nose fascinates you, you wish you could reach out and trace it. The elegant planes of his face are punctuated by strong features, his brows, chin, and jaw all bold. You wonder how he’s such a successful spy when he’s built so distractingly. Especially with such expansive wings, currently tucked behind where he perches on his stool. His careful arrangement of them does little to hide their imposing glory. You suddenly wish you could see them splayed out in full spectacle. 

Over the duration of your research at Night Court, you’d come across descriptions of Illyrians, read about their culture, their physical traits. Their wings were closely guarded, sensitive parts. You were curious about flying, what it felt like, if they enjoyed it. You feel his rough hand on yours still, noticing their size and the thick veins under his scars. You force yourself to reel your mind out of the gutter, instead diverting to wonder at the marks that cross his hands. When you look back to his face, his unreasonably fashionable lashes flutter as he finally catches you observing him. You see high color in his cheeks, but he doesn’t call you out. You finish your drink, noting that his glass is also empty.

You motion your glass to the bartender, chatting briefly while he pours you two fresh ones. You can barely focus on the pleasantries you exchange, aware of Azriel’s eyes on you. His expression is soft, yet heady. Intense. His gaze traces your features in the same way you had just admired him. 

You turn back to him eventually to push his drink into his hand. His eyes reluctantly move from your exposed back and briefly over your lips before meeting your eyes. You immediately look away, scanning the bar absentmindedly as you flick your hair over your shoulder. The motion exposes your neck, testing, aware of his gaze still on you. He takes a long, slow drink, his eyes never leaving you. When you swallow, you see his eyes follow the movement of your throat.

“Is this a gay bar?” you ask abruptly.

He chokes, coughing into his arm. “What?” 

“Is this a gay bar?” you repeat, your nose scrunching in a wince at his reaction. You’ve never seen him so caught off guard, didn’t know it was possible. He catches your grimace, and quickly recovers, wiping his nose as he recovers from his coughing fit. He nods in confirmation. 

“You must think us horrible,” he says, referring to his court, compared to Day, which was much more open around sexual attraction and orientation, he guessed, if their High Lord was any indication. He thought of Helion’s history of advances to him, and Mor and Cassian for that matter. “First, that bastard talks to you like that. Then–”

“No!” you interject. “No, your people are just more… reserved. I didn’t see anything indicating it… but I noticed a few ladies sitting together like we are. So I wondered…” you flounder. It’s his turn to wince.

“Why?” he asks. “Are you looking for a lucky lady?”

“Not tonight.” You hide your grin behind a sip, as his eyes widen almost imperceptibly at your meaning, his pupils dilating. You’d enjoyed your fair share of females, males, others… Your eyes narrow on him then. “Wait, why are you here then?” 

“It’s Mor’s favorite club.” He shrugs. “And I don’t mind playing security in case any oblivious males wander in with big ideas in the wrong way.” 

“Ahh. So you don’t usually come to the gay club to pick up females?” 

He just snorts at that, shaking his head at your nonsense. You don’t miss how his shadows perk up at your choice of words. You grin, showing him your teeth as you prod further. 

“So I should feel special then?”

You hear his sharp intake of breath, the only sign he understands your implication. He sets his drink down, his eyes on yours, questioning. Your heart thuds heavily in your chest as you watch his motions, tense with anticipation. You meet his gaze, confident and steady. You’d seen how he had devoured you with his gaze moments ago. 

“What are you implying?” he grunts, voice thick. 

“I think you’re smart enough to figure it out,” you whisper, your eyes on his. 

He only hums, his hand coming to cradle your face, caressing your jaw. The touch arouses your senses, a slow flame flickering to life in your abdomen. His pupils are blown wide, like he’s found a mystical reality in your eyes. It’s his gaze flickering to your lips before finding your eyes again, imploring, that causes you to break. “Are you gonna make me say it?” 

“Yes.” He squints, unyielding. 

You whine. You whine . You’ve never whined for a male in your life. There’s a first time for everything, you suppose. After all, you were sent here for research. A new experience such as this could certainly fall within that wheelhouse. Azriel was generously helping you with your research, exploring your capacity to keen for someone in desperation. You take in his capable hands, his broad shoulders and wings, his delicate lips. The fantasies flashing in your mind force you to confront your desire. It’s been brewing all night. 

“I want you,” you speak with utter clarity. 

That’s all it takes and he’s tossing back the rest of his drink, his hand sliding down to catch your arm, unwilling to break contact. And then he’s ushering you out of your chair, ever the gentleman, and rushing you through the crowd until you hit the fresh air, your feet on the cobblestone street for the barest moment before he sweeps you up again, one hand gripping your hip, the other placed firmly on your jaw. His breath comes in short pants as his flared eyes meet yours, again questioning, allowing you control. 

In answer, you angle your head up to meet his mouth in a furious kiss. Your hands circle his neck, grasping his hair, blindly trying to find purchase as your lips connect. All your sensory experience fades save for the burn of his mouth on yours, and the feeling of his hands pressed to your body. You taste the lingering spice of the liquor you’d shared and beneath it, something earthier, the taste of him. You pour all your passion and need into the contact, and you feel the same charge from him. His ravenous kiss is a window to the tempest inside, his desperation evident in every move of his powerful jaw against yours. 

When he pulls away, he’s panting hard, a grin threatening to overtake his majestic features, his lips swollen and shining in the starlight. 

“We doing this on the street, or…?” you prompt breathlessly.

He takes in the thankfully deserted street outside the noisy club. “Good a place as any,” he shrugs. 

You scrunch your nose and tug his hair. His laughter dissolves into a groan at your actions. “Fuck. You’re killing me,” he breathes.

“I’m about to,” you say, exasperated with the delicious male entangled with you. 

“My place?” he asks. You nod quickly, in desperation for his touch as much as desire to get out of the public area. He hums again, “And here I was thinking that you Day Court fae were so much more open and shameless about these things.” 

You scoff at his words. 

“You’d better be worth the trouble,” you grumble, hiding your mirth. He flashes you the cockiest grin, and you’d smack him if you didn’t want to preserve his mouth’s function for better uses. 

“Trust me, baby, I am.” 

“Prove it.” 

His eyes flash at your taunting. “Hold on,” he growls.

You swallow a scream as his wings extend, and his legs bend briefly before leaping into flight. His arms wrap tightly around your frame, and you cling to his neck fiercely. You recall your fantasy about his wings from earlier in the evening. As you soar into the night sky, you find yourself admiring them once more, their power and his deft command of them. 

“I can’t believe you’re admiring me instead of the view.” His voice interrupts your thoughts.

“If I look at the view, we might be seeing some of that whiskey from earlier again,” you admit, your stomach dancing from so many different stimuli on your nervous system. The flying, the anticipation of sex, the sheer proximity with the stunning male who carried you now. 

“We’re not far away,” he assures. Sure enough, when you risk looking away from his elegant, aerodynamic form, you see the city below rising into the cliffside where the court’s residence was perched. 

You barely have a moment to take in the magnificent columns and lavish ornamentation of the palace balcony after he sets you down before he reconnects your lips. His blistering appetite sets your own aflame again, his hands sliding along your form, pausing briefly at your exposed midriff. 

When he first appeared behind you in the bar, he had been gallant and polite, the perfect picture of a noble courtier. As you’d flirted over your drinks, his wry humor had surfaced, and now this unbridled passion had emerged. There certainly was more to the shadowsinger than met the eye. Your insides fluttered at the intimacy of your insight into the divine male who you were currently swapping spit with. You thanked the Mother that you’d dedicated yourself to flirting all these years in good faith, without ever knowing that your dedication would be rewarded in such fine form. Against your will, your mouth began to curve into a smile against his. 

With backbreaking effort, you break away from his lips. He goes to follow your lips, but you stop him with a chaste kiss before pressing kisses along his jaw and down his throat.

“Sorry for the turbulence,” he gasps out as you continue your assault on his neck. “I needed us to get here. F-fast.” 

Your only acknowledgement of his words is the flick of your tongue over the spot under his jaw you’d just marked. How considerate of him. Even when he’s melting beneath you, he maintains his manners. The devil inside you wonders what it would take for him to abandon his civility. Between kisses, you glance down to see his leathers barely restraining him. You figure you might not need an elaborate plot to find out after all.

He growls as you notice his arousal. You look up from the crook of his neck, and his expression turns your core molten, desire written plainly across his face. His hands had wandered down to your ass, where he now taps gently, urging you up into his strong arms. Your heart leaps as he picks you up, but he doesn’t take off flying this time. He carries you further into the interior, your legs coming to wrap around his midsection, your arms secured again around his neck. He’s holding you by your thighs like your weight is nothing, causing you to burn in anticipation of how he might throw you around later.   

Fire throttles through your veins at the incessant touch of his wet lips on your neck. He’s dedicated to returning the favor of your vicious attack on him moments ago. You have no idea how he successfully navigates the hallways despite being buried under your jaw, for all you know he’s using your moans and whines to echolocate. 

It’s a short trip, but right when you were about to beg for him to just take you in the hallway, he walks you into a simply furnished room with expansive windows and another balcony that offers a sweeping view of the city. Starlight streams in, painting the room and the male carrying you in a silver glow. The breathtaking midnight ambiance does nothing to distract the soldier currently working through your meager defenses via bruising open mouthed kisses to your collarbone. His fervor makes your skin dance, it's been a while since your body has received such attentions.

“Fuck, am I glad I caused a scene with that bastard earlier. Got your attention an’ all.” You mean it as a joke, but his expression darkens with reserved aggression. 

“That was meant in jest,” you clarify. 

“He was leering at you all night,” Azriel growls, between wet kisses to your neck. “I still might tear his throat out.” 

His words go straight to your core. 

“He’s long gone,” you force yourself to say casually, despite how his words affected you. Between that and his tongue, it’s a wonder you’re still stringing together coherent syllables. “How would you even find him?” you laugh, attempting to divert the male’s intensity. 

He pulls away from your neck and gives you a pointed look. “It’s… kind of my job,” he says.

“Oh,” you say foolishly. Right. Azriel is the court’s Spymaster. He probably has his shadows tailing the bastard at this very moment to make sure he doesn’t bother anyone else. He could easily eliminate anyone he so chose. “Right.” 

He shakes his head at your antics, finally walking you over to the bed. In your research, you never came across anything about shadowsingers, so you’re not sure if his shadows had read your mind – but he throws you on the bed exactly as you’d fantasized, powerfully and precisely, your body bouncing as you gasp in shock and delight before he follows you, crawling onto the bed to hover over you. 

His wings flare slightly as his legs settle between yours, one of his knees hooking under your leg, exposing your clothed core to his every brush. 

“Do you want me to kill him for you?” he purrs into your skin. You gasp, at his words as much as the twisted thrill they send through you. You look into his eyes, and slap his shoulder at the mischief you see in his expression. He laughs at your indignation. 

“I would if you wanted me to,” he reiterates, an arrogant grin spreading across his face. “I might do it just because it seems like it would turn you on.” You gasp again at his words, face flushing in embarrassment. “No need to be embarrassed, baby.” He returns to placing lazy kisses along your neck as you moan beneath him. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice heady. You almost can’t bear it. He’s making you feel so good with just his mouth on your neck. You’re not sure how you’ll survive the night. 

Azriel must be determined to take you within an inch of your life, you think. His next dizzying move is to grab your hands from where they’d begun exploring his body to trap them above your head. To your relief, he ends his siege on your neck, instead serving slow torture as he reconnects your lips in a sensuous kiss, your body singing as you lay pinned beneath him. You feel his hard length press into your thigh. By his quiet moans, you recognize the same ardor he displayed earlier, though at an easier pace now that he has you where he wants you. That just wouldn’t do. He can’t have all that muscle mass just to keep it covered, poised tantalizingly out of sight above you. 

He’s reading your mind again, you think, as his fingers toy with the hem of your top in silent question. You sit up rapidly, his quick reflexes narrowly avoiding your head colliding with his nose. 

“Yes, please! Finally,” you nod, his laughter echoing in reply at your eagerness. “You want to help?” you ask. His face is flushed from your activities but you swear it deepens at your words. You raise your arms, allowing him to lift the silky black material from your form. He’s silent, starlight flashing on the dark expanse of his pupils, blown wide. You would be unnerved if it weren't for the way his chest is rising and falling dramatically, the hunger in his gaze, in his parted lips. You see him start to crisply fold the slim fabric before his brain kicks in and he throws it aside haphazardly. While you love a tidy male, you do prefer one with such a proper sense of priorities. 

“Good boy,” you coo absently, preoccupied with absorbing every detail of his reaction to your lace clad chest. 

“You’re fucking perfect,” he sighs finally, his eyes flickering to yours as his hands hover above your breasts. You bite your lip and grab his hands to connect them to your waiting chest.

“Touch me, Az. Don’t be shy with that mouth either,” you order as he scowls playfully, already palming your tits with zeal. You see his eyes widen as he feels them, specifically the bars in your nipples. His mouth falls open, and it's your turn to flash him a smug grin even as he has you writhing from just his rough hands playing with your chest. 

“I’m not shy,” he grumbles brattily. You allow his attitude given how he quickly follows it up by placing his mouth back to your chest, this time exploring further from your collarbones, moving to skim the tops of your bra and the valley between your breasts. 

“It’s not my fault you make me crazy,” he groans, his eyes glistening like the spit dangling deliciously between his mouth and your skin. 

You just moan in response. How are you supposed to respond to that coherently? Especially as he cruelly pulls away for a brief moment to shrug off his vest, revealing the inked expanse of his chest and the curling hair trailed low on his stomach to disappear beneath his leathers. 

“Can I taste you, baby?” Scratch that thought. How are you supposed to respond to that coherently? “Gonna let me make you feel good, huh?” Azriel begs, his voice thick with need. You nod, delirious at the mere suggestion. 

“I need to hear your words, angel,” he smiles, seeing the fog in your eyes, needing to know it's all for the right reasons.

“Yes, Az. Yes, please,” you manage. He presses a quick kiss to your lips, humming in satisfaction, before moving his touches down your body. 

He handles you like you’re the most cherished thing he’s ever beheld, but not like you’re fragile. You can’t remember the last time a male handled you with such awe and respect. You whine as he kisses your stomach, making your center melt. You’re sure you’re dripping at this point, but you can’t be bothered to feel embarrassment in the presence of the Illyrian kneeling before you in reverence, his mussed hair a dark halo, his leathers conspicuously strained at his crotch. 

He tugs you to the edge of the bed, carefully situating you with a pillow as he kneels on the floor. You feel like a boxing dummy that he’s strategically setting up just to destroy. 

“I’ve been looking forward to this all night,” he admits as he sets your knees over his shoulders, your feet kicking his wings lightly. You realize you haven’t even taken off your boots, you’re not even sure when he took his off, but as you go to mention your shoes and your skirt, he kisses the inside of your knee and the words die in your throat. 

He rubs his hands over the tops of your thighs, pulling pretty moans from you as he kisses along the inside of your legs, towards where you need him most. You’re really not sure what his plan is with your skirt and underwear– until he dives right in, licking you over your clothed center, eliciting a garbled sound you hardly recognize as yours. 

Your skirt is so short it offers no real barrier, except slightly obscuring the tip of his nose as it digs salaciously into your clit. A shadow curls around his ear, and he makes eye contact with you as he hikes your skirt up slightly, so you can see his every move. 

“Eyes on me, angel,” he commands softly, and any response you might have had chokes and dies on your lips. He deftly hooks his fingers in your undergarments, aggressively pulling them to the side. And then his mouth is back on your core, and it’s an overwhelming sensation, his warm tongue licking a stripe up your center, then relaying to repeat the motion down to your opening. You grip the sheets in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. One of his hands strokes your thigh while the other keeps your wild hips pressed firmly into the mattress. 

He pauses only to murmur soft praises as you tremble at his caresses. At this point you’re seriously concerned about your erotic future. What if this male ruins you for everyone else? What if you can never successfully pleasure yourself again? You know you’ll never be able to replicate the bliss he’s currently delivering. His mouth scorches you, he’s taken on a slow and steady rhythm, lapping and sucking, that’s unstringing your body from your soul. You’re not sure that you’ll ever recover. You’re grateful that you have no plans tomorrow because you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk. Maybe you’ll be able to roll yourself down the palace’s endless steps and to the library where one of the priestesses might take mercy on you and nurse you back to health. You could pay them by recounting this experience, surely this prime fuel for fantasy would equate to some kind of currency. With a generous exchange rate. 

Your eyes shoot open as his mouth leaves you, your moans taking on a pained note at the visceral loss. 

“Baby,” Azriel chides. “I asked you to keep your eyes on me.” 

You hadn’t even realized you’d closed your eyes as you’d been calculating the exchange rate of sexual fantasy fodder to gold. You will yourself out of the delirium, but his glistening mouth isn’t helping. 

“Stay with me, angel,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing encouraging circles on your inner thigh as you babble something rude about his upbringing while he takes the moment to slip your ruined undergarment down your legs. 

He’d given up on holding you down, so you grind into his face as he resumes his merciless consumption of your molten pussy. The vibrations of his moans on your core multiply your pleasure delectably. The whole glorious sky of the Night Court seemingly flashes across your vision as he lowers his rough fingers to add pressure to your sensitive bud, swirling pleasure explosive as shooting stars. 

“You taste so good, baby,” he praises. “This all for me?” he asks as he gathers your slick with his fingers before resuming his strokes. All you can do is moan helplessly in affirmation. 

When he finally sucks your clit into his mouth, the pressure has you gasping, gripping his hair to anchor yourself to him, to the pleasure he’s delivering straight to your weeping core. He alternates between licking and sucking your clit while he teases you with his thick digits. He looks utterly engrossed, devoted to your trembling form, working you meticulously. 

“Azriel,” you warn. Your breath quickens just before your body stills, broken noises escaping your lips, falling like a beautiful reward on his waiting ears. The release is more powerful than anything you’ve experienced in recent memory, rocking you to your teeth. 

He works you through the aftershock of your orgasm, continuing to lick and thrust until your spasms quiet, your breathing calmed from its fervent staccato as he cleans you out. 

“Hey, are you still with me?” he asks, concerned. 

You realize you haven’t said anything and he’s been sitting rubbing the tops of your thighs softly while you come down from your high. Too tired for words, you bend to guide his head up to meet yours in a luxurious kiss. It invigorates you, languid as it is, his tongue exploring the backs of your teeth as he sucks in a long breath before moaning into your mouth. 

His arms come to cup your face, dislodging one of your legs that remain thrown over his shoulder. It falls with a loud thud as your booted heel meets the floor, your limbs like lead. The sound makes him jump and pull away guiltily as he takes in your state of collapse. 

“I’ve never been better,” you confess candidly. 

He smiles at that, ruddiness in his cheeks deepening at your declaration. 

“I can’t believe they let you walk free about the lands,” you continue, egging him on, shaking your head. “You’re a goddamn menace! That mouth should be regulated! I should have gotten security clearance to have that experience.” 

He buries his head in your knee, his shoulders shaking in mirth as he hides from your praise. He kisses your knee and you curse the rubber feeling in your legs, wishing you could kick him for his insolence. Instead you pet the back of his neck, soaking in the sight of him between your legs. 

You don’t know it, but he’s soaking in your image as much as you are his. You look ethereal splayed out above him, his shadows skirting around the silver light glowing on your scalp, creating a kinetic halo fit for a queen. In your bra and hiked up skirt, catching your breath on his bed, your vitality is on full display for Azriel’s keen eyes, your pulsing life form beating and raw to his senses. Even in your state of undress, your appearance is regal, striking in command above him. He feels his shadows writhing in excitement, thrilled with your energy, matching the gravitational anomaly in his gut. 

Azriel is reminded of the gravity of battle, how for centuries he has waded through enemies time and time again in a familiar yet shapeless pattern of destruction. Despite the wrathful chaos, there’s a rhythm he’s come to anticipate. Amidst the waves of common soldiers, every division or so, he will fall into the gravity of a real threat, usually an enemy commander, an opportunity to face a real contender. Their paths of destruction will orbit briefly before colliding in gruesome ruin. He knows he’s been lucky to emerge in the land of the living after these conflicts. 

At this moment, he’s strangely reminded of that repulsive kind of attraction, of power to power, as he once again faces a real contender. It’s a total inverse, yet your magnitude presents a similarly brilliant polarity. The aftershock of your pleasure is a welcome sequence compared to the grim aftermath of such a battle. He much prefers your sacred subversion of that profane impact. As you stroke his hair, it feels like redemption. It feels like his twisted history of bloodshed could be transformed and redeemed as justice under your tender hand. 

He kisses your knee once more, blinking away the stinging in his eyes. His thoughts return to the present as you shift above him, sinking to his level on the carpet to capture his lips with a kiss once more. You hum, tasting yourself on him now that your senses have recovered from his euphoric torment. 

The impatient male lifts you up effortlessly, and you let him stand the two of you, until he moves to take you back to the bed. You twist, and Azriel allows you to spin him so that you’re backing him towards the cushions. He groans into the kiss as your fingers brush his lower abdomen, skimming the edge of his leathers. You feel the reverberation of it in your own stomach. 

“Are you going to let me return the favor?” you ask with a devilish grin. The sight of your soft tongue and sharp canines makes his wings twitch, willing his shadows to relax their riot, but they betray him. His eyes shine with need, breath hitching as you dip a finger under the waistband of his pants. 

“I need to hear your words, angel,” you mimic his earlier words. 

“Do your worst,” Azriel grunts, instantly regretting his words as he catches your wicked look. 

You push his shoulders so he throws himself dramatically against the bed, wings flared slightly in anticipation. His mouth falls open as you move away from him, but his protests die as he sees you reach behind your torso to unclasp your bra, finally revealing your chest to him fully. His throat thickens, fists clenching in the sheets as you run your hands along your form, massaging your breasts, relieved to be unconstricted at last. The moonlight glitters on the jewelry in your hard nipples, attractively ornamenting some of your favorite features. Looking at the male barely restraining himself in front of you, you almost feel bad for how riled up he is. 

Taking pity on the simmering Illyrian, you cut your strip tease short, planting a slow kiss on his lips before kneeling before him. If Azriel was concerned about your magnetism earlier, he’s certain it’s fatal now. Your fluffed hair, dislodged skirt, and bare chest all poised to drive him insane with want. When you finally slide his leathers down his thighs, he’s relying on his centuries of training to keep himself under control. The sight of his impressive length, swollen and rigid against his stomach, has your thighs clenching.    

You stroke his upper thighs, kissing along the inside of his knees. His dick twitches as you wrap your hand around its swollen girth. Your first experimental tug elicits a deep stuttering groan from the male. His expression is almost flustered, skin flushed and damp. Despite the sweat you’ve both broken, it’s not doing anything for the chafing. Dissatisfied with the dry friction, you use your brain, quickly locating the nearest source of wetness, which happens to be between your legs. Azriel’s jaw looks like it's about to break from tension, his eyes wide as he follows your hand disappearing under your skimpy skirt. When you grip his cock again, it’s to spread the slickness along his member. You look up at him innocently as you continue pumping, finding a satisfying rhythm. 

“You like that?” you ask teasingly. 

“You’re gonna kill me, angel.” He can’t contain the shudder that racks his body at the image and sensation of your firm hand pumping his dick. He’s worried about losing brain function with the lack of blood circulating anywhere else in his body. His chest heaves, and he forces himself to focus on breathing regularly as you drag your hand up and down him, squeezing occasionally at the base. When you lick flat along the underside of his length, his wings flap in a brief frenzy. 

“Just like that,” he cries. 

You grin at his reactions, his broken moans and spasms only encouraging your actions. After he just rewrote your pussy’s worldview with his tongue, you’re delighted to serve him the same experience. 

“You look so stunning on your knees for me.” 

He grasps your scalp, keeping a light hold on your hair as you bend to place shallow licks at his head. His strangled groan has you wrapping your lips fully around his neglected tip. 

“Fuck,” he exhales. 

The salty musk of him fills your mouth as you breathe through your nose to focus on his sensitive head. You use your hand to pleasure him from the shaft as you suck lightly on the end of his cock, swirling your tongue. His moans of rapture send thrills through you. You look up at him, entranced by the pleasure written on his face. You bob your head, taking him in further, causing him to curse again. You don’t bother with taking all of him, you’re not trying to choke and die even on this divine dick, and your mouth is full as it is, tears threatening your waterline. Your saliva mixes with your slick, coating him, delivering layers of pleasure through Azriel, vibrating from his spine to his toes. The wetness of your mouth and the warmth of your hand ease him stroke by stroke into his ecstasy. 

When Azriel feels his wings seize up and his toes begin to curl, he tightens his fist on the back of your neck, pulling you abruptly off of his cock. You glance back up at him, appreciating his delirious arousal, his flexing thighs. His inked chest shines, slick with exertion, his whole form sharpened into an enticing point fit just for you. 

“Sorry,” he wheezes. “I didn’t want to finish like this, I want to feel you.” 

You nod, biting your lip. 

“This isn’t over,” you promise in a whisper to his furiously hard member, placing one last tender kiss at the base of his cock. He shudders at the abrupt touch, and you laugh at your own antics. His eyes shine with humor and lust. 

“Come here,” he begs, pointlessly, since he pulls you up to his lap effortlessly, and you offer no resistance. Your bent knees rest on either side of his thighs, your cores separated by mere inches as you straddle him, your feet coming to rest against his shins. He presses kisses into your mouth, jaw, and collarbone in manic succession, your hands coming to tangle in his hair. 

“Fuck. Don’t tease now,” you chastise him as his mouth finds your nipple, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud, your back arching instinctively into his touch. 

“What do you want from me?” he retorts, continuing his biting caresses. 

“I want you to fuck me, Azriel,” you order, emphasizing your words with a sharp tug on his dark locks. He snarls against your chest, hips bucking involuntarily. 

“I thought you liked putting in some work, baby. You sure seemed to enjoy being on your knees for me just now,” he taunts.  

“You need me to do the work, huh?” you muse, and his motions pause at your jab. “Fine by me,” you sigh, swiftly gripping his length and sliding over him before he can comment. His head whips up from your chest, fiery response dying in a whimper at the sensation. You notch him at your entrance, pausing to make sure he approves your actions. 

He catches your look, but instead of replying he takes advantage of your hesitance to grab your hips and rub himself against your folds, both of you groaning at the delicious feeling of your collision. 

“Come on, baby. If you’re so tough, have your way with me,” he coaxes, the brazen words lacking any real bite as he strains beneath you. With shaking hands, you reach between your bodies, your skirt ridden up again to fully expose your dripping core, where you finally guide him to your entrance. His head falls into your shoulder as you take him in, moaning noisily as you adjust to his size and girth. 

“Shit,” you pant, overwhelmed on all fronts between his groans nuzzling into your neck, his strong hands grabbing at your hips, and his delicious length stuffing you so completely. 

“Baby. Oh, angel,” he chokes, equally impaired with pleasure. 

You shift your hips tentatively, gasping. He throws his head back in bliss, his hands tightening on your hips. 

“You feel so good around me. You feel so good,” Azriel chants. 

His eyes squeeze shut as he rides the waves of euphoria from you swiveling in his lap. As absorbed as he is with his own pleasure, he’s still acutely aware of your body’s every response. Your breathy whines and moans, your clenching walls, your stuttering hips. You find a rhythm rocking against him, not so much thrusting as grinding, but your choking walls and the spectacle of your chest bouncing in his line of sight are doing it for him just fine. 

“That’s it. Use me, baby,” he urges, moaning filthy encouragements as you ride him.

When your hips start to falter, he coos in sympathy, seeing your frustrated need. He uses his hands to guide your hips over him, leaning back so he can angle thrusts to meet each motion. 

Your body feels like it’s fully alive, awakened by his actions. He meets your urgency with an unrelenting pace. His concentration is dead set on where your bodies join, watching his cock disappearing into you over and over. He loves this feeling, of giving himself over to you, using his body to create pleasure instead of pain. 

“Let me hear you. Is this what you needed, huh, baby?” he coaxes. 

The familiar burning sensation builds in your abdomen. When he hears your cries pitch higher, your restraint spent, he knows you’re close. It takes all your concentration to meet his blistering kiss as he fucks into you at a frenzied pace. You cry into his mouth as one of his hands comes to circle your clit, sending waves of pleasure deep into your core. There isn’t an inch of your body unaffected by his assault. You feel the pull of pleasure even in your teeth as it burns in your thighs and licks up your spine. 

The pressure in your core builds until one particularly hard thrust has you seeing stars behind your eyelids, bringing your release crashing over you. 

He fucks you through it, concentration moving to your face, to see every stage of your satisfaction play out. The severity of his gaze only heightens your sensitivity as you ride out your second orgasm of the night. You might have to give him an award or something if he keeps this up. You’re still shaking when his hands release your hips to rest on your thighs, stroking them in reassurance while you catch your breath. You feel him still hard inside you. You’re not sure what else you’re in for tonight, but you know your tenure on top is just about over, your stamina exhausted. He must see it written on your face because a lazy grin spreads over his stupidly charming face, his thriving male ego on full display.

“Don’t start,” you blush. 

“What? I didn’t say anything,” he laughs, looking at you playfully from under his eyelids. You see a shadow slipping away from his ear. The fuckers! Have they been informing him on your feelings all night, telling him exactly what will drive you crazy?

“Okay, big boy,” you drawl. “How about using that endless stamina for a good cause,” you suggest wolfishly, signalling that you’re not waving a white flag just because you got a little winded. 

“Is this arrangement contingent on the boots staying on, or…?” he searches, quirking a brow, still stroking your thighs that rest atop his. Your heart leaps, you totally had forgotten that you were still half dressed. You’re still wearing your skirt– well, you suppose wearing would be a generous description, seeing how it had scrunched into a thin band at your waist– but your boots were decidedly still on your feet. You’re surprised that your aggressive physical activities hadn’t dislodged them. 

“Yeah, sorry. Boots stay on,” you shrug, swallowing a laugh. “Why? Aren’t you into them?”

Azriel laughs at that, and the sound and its vibration remind you that he’s still very much buried inside you. You clench around him and he groans, capturing your hip with a hand as he twitches.

“I’m very much into them,” he sits up fully to murmur into your cheek, humor muted by his evident desire. “You look dead sexy. I just wonder if they might hinder our joint agility,” he begins tactfully. 

You laugh at his diplomatic words, and he chuckles along. 

“I can’t believe they didn’t come off!” you admit. 

He laughs at that, and soon the two of you are reduced to howling tears at how long you’ve managed to keep your shoes on. He wipes his eyes, shaking his head and mumbling about what an inappropriate yet compelling endorsement you could make for the responsible cobbler, sending you into another fit as he lifts you off of him, perching you on the edge of the cushions. 

He stands to pull the laces of your stomper boots, delicately slipping them from your feet, your socks following, his hands rubbing soothing patterns along your calves. His actions are innocent, yet the look in his eye is anything but. He looks ravenous, but he’s giving you a moment. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy this bit as much as what came next. Azriel just made you come twice and then belly laugh in quick succession. You know he’s fully employed too. He is turning out to be a man of many useful talents. This is dangerous territory. 

“I am a little sad to see them go,” he sighs, jokingly, once your shoes were finally sitting on the floor next to him.

“You know, if you want me to wear them in your bed, you could just fly me all around the city so they never get dirty,” you joke from your position laid on the cushions. He rolls his eyes, but he’s beaming at you as he comes to stand between your thighs, and you can’t help but grin back. It’s been a while since you’ve had this much fun with someone. Nor is it lost on either of you that you’d just implied you might end up in his bed again. You don’t mind the admission, even as it hangs in the air. He’s a spymaster anyways, one way or another he’d figure out what you’re thinking. 

“Noted,” is all he replies to that. “Lift your hips for me, angel.” 

You feel your breathing hitch, affected in unladylike ways by his respectful words. You lift up slightly so he can slip your skirt down from your waist. 

The simple movement dissolves the momentary limbo of your activities, and all the passion of the evening returns to you in full effect as you lay nude before him. He leans over you from where he stands, his hulking form and silhouetted wings imposing. His appetite is apparent, his massive length waiting and ready at his abdomen, angry at having been abused without satisfaction. Azriel has been fighting all night, you realize, and now he’s poised to claim his rightful glory. 

You reach out to pull him towards you. As he crawls over you, his wings flutter shut, as if he means to tuck them safely behind his form for the rest of the night. 

“Don’t you dare put those away!” you huff in frantic offense. 

“What?”

“Your wings!” you exclaim. 

“My wings?” he repeats. 

“I’d like to look at them,” you request, quite nicely, you think, as he settles between your legs. 

Azriel isn’t fooled by your innocent expression. He captures your lips in a bruising kiss, jaw working to claim every inch of fleshy territory. Without warning, his wings flare out, fanning your face with a rush. Your eyes shoot open to see your spoils, the leathery panes blocking the dim light from reaching your entwined forms. Heat rushes through you as you examine them, the thin veins and small scars whispering of stories he has yet to tell. His mouth works along your jaw as you revel in his illustrious form above you, fully claiming you into his world of shadows. He pauses by your ear, scraping his teeth along the sensitive shell before speaking lowly.

“You think wings and murder are sexy, you keep your boots on while you’re getting fucked… My girl is a freak.” Your heart soars at his words. 

“Your girl?” you question. He freezes in his next kiss, ego vanishing, as if he’s not sure if he should be bashful. “I like it,” you declare. He pulls back to see the honesty of it in your eyes, and you know your face is sporting a twin banner of blush. 

“Of course you do, you freak,” he says affectionately. 

Your resounding grin fades into a groan as he runs a scarred hand up the inside of your thigh. He looks at you expectantly, the question in his eyes.  

“I do think your wings are sexy,” you admit. He snorts, and you know that’s not the answer he was looking for. 

 “Are you planning to just lie there, perfect and naked on my bed all night, or are you going to let me fuck you properly?” he huffs out in desperation, not one to be outdone. 

His hips grind against your thigh in emphasis. He is well and done with your larking. 

“Well, gods, let me think about it, at least!” you shoot back mischievously. 

You’re just toying with him now, but in your defense, he makes it so fun. 

Azriel’s head falls to your shoulder, growling. But his gnarled hand vanishes from your thigh and his hips pause their motions. You feel a rush knowing that if you decided you were done, he would stop everything, despite his evident need. All night, he’s been so generous with his energy, from defending you back at the bar, to helping you get off as you struggled to ride him. Your pussy throbs at the power he’s offering up to your pleasure, freely and without expectation. You don’t quite know why you’re being mean, he certainly hasn’t earned it. 

He looks up at you, his cheeks ruddy, his shining eyes searching, and you find your answer. It was simply empowering to see Azriel, a male usually so meticulous in his presentation, fall entirely apart for you. Everything about him was tantalizing, but watching him wield his historic power for your pleasure was the most grievous indulgence.

“Tell me,” he urges, seeing the whirl of emotions on your face. 

“I need you inside me,” you relent. 

His growl is the only warning you get before he sheathes himself inside you in one swift movement, relieved to obey your command. Groans fall from both your lips at the feeling of him pressed into you so spectacularly. 

“Oh, oh , Az,” you revel in the feeling.

“That’s it, baby,” Azriel coaxes. 

He eases you into it with gentle thrusts, placing kisses down your chest. His pace is slow, languid, like he wants to take his time with you, tearing you apart with precision, thrust by thrust. His hands clutch your hips in an attempt to still your thrashing. 

“You’re doing so good for me,” he coos. 

Your hands are all over, his hair, his shoulders, his arms, urging him to move, move, move. He blows a hot exhale across your breasts where he’s been occupied, steadying himself mentally before looking into your face. What you see only fuels you further. In his gaze is raw desire, desire that he’s keeping carefully controlled as he gives you what he thinks you need. Even buried inside you, he reigns himself in, commanding his passion in preservation of your comfort. His mind is screaming at him to drive faster, so much so that it drowns out your sounds of agreement in his ears. His slow strokes are a torment to you both, a needless sacrifice on his end. 

Typically, you might appreciate how considerate he was being. But also, typically, you didn’t have a male buried inside you while you claw at whatever part of his largeness you can reach. What you need right now isn’t his courtesy, what you need is the full force of his passion, unchecked, to do battle with your own. You aren’t used to settling for less than what you want, so everything in you feels confident when you pull his face up to yours, noses brushing as he gasps into your open mouth.

“Az. I need more,” you state clearly. His hooded eyes flare as he finally sees the enormity of your fervor, how it matches perfectly blow for blow with his own. 

“Hold on,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to your mouth in acknowledgement. 

You don’t know if he means it literally or not, but you’re taking no chances as you cling to him. He pulls out slightly more, just enough to give him room to angle your leg up, his muscled arm holding your bent knee, allowing his hips unfettered access to your center. The shift has you whining against him, writhing as he gives you exactly what you asked for. You’ve never felt anyone so deep inside you, kindling that burn so deliciously. 

And then he’s pounding into you at full charge. 

“Come on, baby, give it to me,” he gasps. 

In the throes of your pleasure, you note how his chest heaves, though the steadily punishing pace of his hips never falters. Your legs are numb in some places where you had feeling earlier. You chase your high together in an uphill battle, both worn and equally dedicated to seeing this through to its fateful conclusion. 

“Doing so good for me, angel,” he encourages, and you mumble curses at his tender tone while he sets a brutal rhythm on your cunt. Your hot breath mingles, his forehead pressed to yours, like he needs every part of you to be connected, like when he draws out of you, he’s acutely pained for that moment it takes before he’s enveloped by you again. Watching him is intoxicating. Raw, starved agony tightens the elegant planes of his face as your leg scrapes lightly against the edge of his wing over his shoulder, and he shudders. 

The contact evidently rouses something deep within him, his shadows writhing impishly along his wings. They slip invisibly over his shoulders, under the canopy of his wings to trace infuriatingly over your torso. One ravishes your breast, phantom pleasure coursing down to meet the brimming well of your desire. Their delight at your convulsing form under their ghostly caress is only matched by Azriel’s own fixation. His stare borders on obsessed, eyes blown out. He blinks, failing to clear his carnal fixation, pressing a maddening kiss to your mouth in drunken bliss, muttering your name like a prayer. 

“That feel good, baby?” he grunts. 

“Yes, Azriel, please,” you cry, not even sure what you’re asking for. 

His pace is ruthless, and, far from quieting your own ache, it's successfully unpinning your every inhibition. It's as if his shadows are scouting every crevice of your being to shake out a thrill from any and every forgotten corner. Something shakes loose deep inside your chest as his brutal magnetism pulls pleasure from you. You set it aside to focus on the ecstasy being painstakingly, greedily delivered to your drenched core. You moan his name at the heat pulsing through you. 

Azriel looks fucked out, his brows slick with tension and his mouth gaping as he absorbs you with equal adoration. You see your own need reflected in his face, and you feel like you’ve taken a hand mirror into a reflecting pool for how endlessly your bliss echoes between you. It’s mind bending, how it drives you crazy knowing he’s crazy for how he drives you crazy– you could almost laugh at the absurdity of it if you had any remaining breath. And if it didn’t feel so riveting, the symmetry of your hunger.  

“I’m close,” you hiccup, body heavy with expectation, the smoldering heat growing to a fever pitch as he pummels you. 

“I’m with you, baby. I’m right here with you,” he gasps. 

One of his hands snakes down to encourage your clit with tight, fast circles. His attention, though, is on your face, watching the way elation plays across your features. The added sensation sends you over the edge, your third release blowing through you in scalding waves.

You cry out as your orgasm staggers you, hands blindly tugging his hair, holding him to you as you shatter. The pulsing grip of your cunt pulls him along the edge as he works you with quick thrusts. 

At the sharp scrape of your nails on his scalp, his own pleasure snaps, waves of bliss cresting over you both in lock step, smoothing twin grooves of delight in your souls. He fucks you through it, his face buried in the side of your neck, his kiss biting with teeth as he tries messily to stifle his groans. The guttural noise of his cries shakes the room, your own heartbeat barely perceptible in its wake. When the quaking stops, he slumps down over you, totally spent. 

You lay there in a daze for gods know how long, struggling for air together. He presses kisses into your shoulder until your cries quiet down and your breathing comes more easily. Azriel has definitely fucked before, so he doesn’t know why his heart is beating so wildly at this encounter, why he’s still greedily tasting your skin, why he’s so reluctant to pull out of you. When he feels like he has it under control, he peeks his head out from your neck. A grin is plastered on his gorgeous face, his hair sticking up in a stupidly charming fashion, his eyes shining with frightening levels of energy and mirth despite his limp form atop you. 

“I can’t believe I found you in a gay bar,” he states. You flick his ear, nose scrunching at his audacity. 

“You are ridiculous. Is that really all you have to say?” you accuse breathlessly, still gone soft in a delicious haze. 

Azriel chuckles, shifting over you, so that his head hovers over yours again. 

“No,” he says carefully. He slides his hand to move yours from his hair, bringing it to rest on the cushions above your head, his fingers twining with yours. Your brows furrow at the delicate gesture, you’d blush if he wasn’t literally inside you still. 

“I just thought ‘holy fuck, please marry me?’ might be a little intense to lead with,” he offers, and what you see dancing in his eyes holds too much gravity to be mistaken for pure humor.

Your insides flutter again at his words, dumbfounded. 

He means it as a joke, but there’s something in his eyes you wouldn’t mind waking up to every day for the rest of your life that feels dangerous. This was a fun, sexy adventure with a fun, oversized Illyrian, you rationalize. You’d reassess that flicker in your chest again after you were fed, rested, and bathed.  

Azriel has similar ideas it seems. He slips out of you, your body protesting at the loss. He must sense this because he places a mollifying kiss to your stomach as he gets up from the bed. He returns shortly to find you still splayed out in total content, and hands you a tall glass of cool water. You didn’t realize how parched you were until you drank half the glass in several gulps, refreshing your dry throat. Azriel appears again with some towels. 

He takes the glass when you offer it back, but instead of setting it aside he brings it to his own lips, finishing it off in one long drink. Your mouth goes dry again at the sight. You’re well and truly fucked if the sight of him finishing your water gets you excited. It’s not like you hadn’t just swapped spit with him in more exciting ways. You’re certain he notices you staring, but he doesn’t comment. 

“Can I clean you up? Or do you want to…” he gently motions with the damp towel once he’s done torturing you with his pornographic drinking. You allow him to wipe you down, his gentle motions confident and efficient. It makes your body hum in a new way, how he handles you with casual reverence, hands skimming your flesh to check for tender spots before he cleanses there. You see your own glow reflected in him, one of utter contentment. 

He crawls onto the bed with you, pulling back the blankets and cushions around you in a swaddled sort of cocoon before settling on your chest, his arms wrapping around you, wings coming to rest on either side of your form. You brush his wild hair from his forehead, and he hums as he nudges his head more firmly into your palm. He lets loose a long sigh when you brush your hands through his dark locks, eyes closing in contentment. His sore muscles loosen as he curls into you. It’s a powerful image, the hulking Illyrian sprawled lazily atop you in utter calm. 

“Bed time,” he declares, much to your amusement. His nose brushes your sternum, and he sleepily kisses your skin before cracking a yawn. His swirling shadows quiet as he drops his guard for the night. Your eyelids begin to sink, despite your determination to memorize your position tangled with him. You swear you hear a whisper in the dark, a wordless plea in your ear, stay . Not that you have much choice with his bulky form practically trapping you against his bed. 

“Good night, Azriel,” you murmur. 

Sleep must have taken you seamlessly after that because next thing you know, the cool light of dawn is streaming in his open windows, illuminating the peaceful figure still resting on your chest. You wonder what the protocol for this is, if he expects you to slip out before he awakes. On your occasional hook ups, you’d never slept over before. Usually you would have left after, or woken up in the night and skipped. This time, you didn’t have the same avoidant fear marching you out the door. 

In the night, Azriel had shifted, so now he lay with only one leg slotted between yours, his grip on your waist loosened. You try adjusting your back so that your head can lay more comfortably on his pillow– his soft and supple pillow, you note. His grip tightens on your waist at your movements, his brows furrowing in irritation in his sleep. 

A grin blooms on your lips at his unconscious gesture. You relax into his large bed, pride singing in your veins. He was certainly decisive about your spending the night, and now with the prospect of a quiet, intimate morning before you... You know it was an involuntary movement, but all the same. You’re starting to think he might be into you. And you’re definitely into his mattress, you muse, closing your eyes to submit to the allure of his plush bed. Though it’s his pleasant weight resting over you that really lulls you into sleep. 

When you wake up later in the full light of morning, you find Azriel watching you with appreciation. 

“Good morning,” you mumble, feeling your face flush. 

“Good morning,” he agrees, his voice rough with sleep, pulling you into his chest. 

Your muscles protest, still sore, but it's a pleasant sting, you decide as you relax into him. You could spend all morning like this, wrapped in his strong arms. 

“Did you sleep well?” he asks sweetly.

You nod, sleepily praising how comfortable his bed is. He’s shifted to press you against his firm chest, his hand coming to rest on your back. As you shift to nuzzle into his shoulder, you feel his half hard cock digging into your hip. His words from the night before rise to mind amid the heated memories of your shared activities. My girl , he’d called you. You figure you should act like it. If you work this right, this could be the first of many mornings spent in his bed.

You press your hips into his growing erection, and his eyes flash in warning. The sleep fades from his gaze as his hand at your back holds you in place against him. 

You begin meaningfully, “I don’t have any plans today–”

“Thank the Mother!” Azriel growls, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. Warmth flares in your chest at his eagerness. Little do you know how Azriel is plotting similar schemes even as you lose yourselves to the magnetic bliss of your connection. You’d always been a flirt, but it had never earned you such a glorious reward. 

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” you ask teasingly. 

“You know I did.”

“Well don’t push yourself now, I don’t expect you to be able to outdo last night,” you sigh mockingly. 

His expression unnerves you, the challenge registering on his face in a slow, wickedly sensual smile. 

“Oh, but I intend to.” 

_

A/N: THANKS FOR READING!! This is the first fic I’ve ever "published"! I really enjoyed writing Azriel, he’s fun to play with. Also yeah maybe I implied that they were soulmates cause I am a lover and casual isn’t in my vocabulary, baby! Let me know what you think, I meant it to be flirty and then smutty and then it became kinda sweet, so hopefully you enjoyed the ride :) Let me know if you want part 2 ??

[prael]

Day 4: A Two-step Problem

Nmixx Sullyoon & Kiss of Life Belle x male reader smut

words: 9,667 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

"She's coming here? This weekend? To this house?" The concoction of shock and confusion, topped with a little bit of annoyance, is in both Sullyoon's tone and expression. "This house!? This same exact house that I am sitting in!?"

Her outburst quickly settles into a sulk as she slouches in her dining chair. Her father turns to your mother for help that she doesn't offer. He's on his own with this one.

"Look," he starts gently. "She's my daughter too and I want to get to know her. I haven't seen her in years."

"You barely talk about her." Sullyoon counters, arms folded defensively across her chest. Her tone is laced with accusation. "I don't know anything about her."

Your mother shoots Sullyoon a glare, one that causes Sullyoon to step well over the line.

"Why are you okay with this? Another daughter that's not even yours coming into our home?"

You stare at your food, praying for the ordeal to be over.

"Stop being silly," your mother reprimands. "You are my daughter, and I'll treat Belle as my own too."

Sullyoon gives you a side-eye, and while she doesn't say anything else, you can see how desperate she is for you to take issue with it too. While you may not be as opposed as Sullyoon, you do have a reservation. "Where will she sleep?" You finally speak up, looking at your mother.

"Sullyoon, can she stay in your room?" she asks.

"No!" Sullyoon snaps. It's clear that she's still processing her frustration.

"It's fine." You turn to your mother. "She can take my room, I'll take the couch."

Sullyoon goes quiet for a moment, her mouth falling open in shock. She looks almost offended that you're not fighting by her side. Then she asks, "What's wrong with you?" and rolls her eyes when your answer comes in the form of an innocent shrug.

"Thank you," your stepfather says, shooting you an appreciative smile. Sullyoon's chair scrapes the floor as she stands up abruptly.

"I'm done." After a curt announcement of departure, she's already headed to her room.

Her father sighs. "Let her go," your mother advises. "She'll come around."

-

A few hours have passed since the revelation and you're in your room. Soft pillows beneath your lower back and slouched against the wall. The soft tones of music from the speaker across the room fill the air.

"Can you believe that shit?" Sullyoon curses the whole idea. "Belle, my long-lost sister, is coming to live here. What are we, some kind of 90s sitcom?"

"Can we not do this right now?" You respond, struggling to focus on both her and her words at one time.

"I thought you were on my side." She pauses for a moment and lets out a soft sigh. "You didn't even argue it."

"It's not that deep, Sullyoon," you grunt out the words, as her hot breath hits your face.

"Yeah well..." She falters. "...It is to me." You feel her fingers thread through your hair before finding a handful of the short strands at the base of your skull. You hiss, feeling her pull on them lightly, but you don't fight back. "Do you think she'll be annoying? And say loads of weird American things?"

"I don't care," you dismiss, putting your hand on her thigh and holding the flesh tight.

"Oh." She clears her throat and adjusts her position. "Well, I do care."

"You might get along." Your tone lacks commitment. It's almost impossible to focus with the smell of her perfume filling your nostrils. You bury your face into the crook of her neck. "You smell so good."

"I bet she thinks she's better than us."

"Sullyoon!" you snap. "For fuck sake!" You put your hand on her waist and lift her off your lap, letting her naked form fall lazily onto the bed beside you. "Conversation or sex, choose one."

"Hey!" She exclaims, annoyed about being pulled free from your cock.

Your irritation quickly fades away as you turn your head to look at her. Her dark hair spills out beneath her, messy, wavy and soft. Her smile is mischievous while her dark eyes sparkle with humour and intrigue. A million thoughts cross your mind but none of them can beat out the singular reminder that she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen. Her features are uniquely hers and yet, they seem perfectly matched to your taste.

"Okay, I'll stop talking about her then."

There is a shift in the energy of the room. She turns away from you, positioning herself on her knees and resting her cheek against the pillow below. There she lies in wait, ass on display for only you. You bite down on your bottom lip as you clamber behind her.

You reach out and wrap your hands around her hips, squeezing her flesh in between your fingertips. "Sullyoon." The syllables roll off your tongue. "Sometimes, things are hard." You press your cock, still coated in her slick juices, against her waiting cunt. "But you have to just take it."

You push into her pussy from behind. You watch the way the hole expands and stretches around you. The soft, pink walls give in to your intrusion. You hear the little gasp and moan that Sullyoon releases upon feeling you enter her again. You keep going until her round little ass is flush against your hips and the full length of your cock is buried inside her pussy.

From this angle, Sullyoon can do little more than submit. And so she does, allowing you to hold her by the hips, dragging her body back and forth until it moves in line with your rhythm.

"See?" you tease. "Feels better this way, doesn't it?"

"Fuck..." Sullyoon whines. "I hate when you do that."

"What?" You chuckle and spank her across the ass before grabbing a handful of her flesh once again. "When I talk down to you like that or when I make you feel like a little slut?"

"Yes." She squeezes her eyes shut. You listen to every pant and every moan. You feel her thighs shake and tremble against your skin. You know she loves this; there's no other reason why else she would allow you to take over her body and treat her this way. The two of you may bicker and argue and fight, but none of that matters when you're alone together in your bedroom, exploring one another. For all your arguments, you know there isn't another person in the world that feels as perfect wrapped in your arms.

As taboo as it may be.

She looks at you over her shoulder through misty brown eyes with pouted lips, looking all too delicious to touch. "Please," she begs in a small voice that sends a chill up your spine. "Harder. Faster."

"Good girl." The words flow seamlessly from your lips. You hold tighter onto her ass, for fear of the pleasure making her collapse against the bed. You start pounding into her from behind. Each slap of your hips connecting against her ass rings out against the silence of the room.

Sullyoon's hand grips the pillow beneath her head, squeezing it tight as her outlet for her building pleasure. It becomes too much, and she lets out a long moan. You're quick to lean in, take hold of her head and bury her face against the pillow.

"Quiet," you scold. You slide your fingers into her mouth and let them rest against her tongue. She welcomes you in, letting her lips seal around your digits. Her tongue runs laps across the tips of your fingers and the sensation causes an involuntary twitch of your hips.

"There we go," you coo. You can tell by the way she squeezes down on your length that she likes it when you praise her. She might try to play tough and cold, but you've learnt exactly what buttons to push to get her melting at your touch.

You can feel yourself edging closer, and so you reach down further. Sullyoon's clit is sensitive when you press your finger against it, judging by the way she bites down on your fingers. It takes only a few gentle rubs to bring her to the same point as you.

She whimpers softly against your fingers. You can almost feel the muffled cries vibrating against your skin as the knot of pleasure in her tummy begins to unravel. "That's it," you whisper. "Be a good sister and cum with me."

Sullyoon bucks and thrashes in pleasure. She reaches her orgasm at the same time as you and the two of you ride out the waves together. With each throb, you fill her up until she's practically overflowing. Finally, she collapses against the bed and you follow her shortly after. Her chest heaves against the bedsheets, tired and worn, and finally satisfied.

"You can't call me that," she complains, voice strained. "It's not cute, it's gross."

"And yet every time I do, you seem to cum harder," you respond simply. She rolls her eyes and scoffs, before shuffling into your embrace and resting her head against your chest. You both lay in silence, spent bodies wrapped up in each other's warmth. You absent-mindedly draw circles along her bare arm while she draws in deep breaths against your chest.

"I'm serious about this Belle thing." She breaks the quietude, her voice soft. You sigh heavily. "I don't want her here."

-

And yet, Saturday comes around just like clockwork.

The five of you sit awkwardly in the living room. A tray of drinks rests on the coffee table, untouched, and Sullyoon keeps shooting you pointed glares. The situation could be cut with a knife.

"It's such a long journey," Belle explains, talking fast and with a certain chirp in her voice. "We had to leave at five AM for the airport. It was still dark!"

"Oh my!" Your mother gushes. "So you must be tired." Sullyoon rolls her eyes hard.

"A little," Belle admits. "But I slept most of the flight so it's okay."

"Don't worry," you add politely. "It's a quiet area, you'll be able to sleep in tomorrow." She has only been here an hours but it's impossible to deny how charming Belle is. She's got a wide smile and sweet expressions—just a natural aura about her that makes her easy to speak to. It doesn't hurt that she's pretty, with large, dewy brown eyes, and soft hair resting on her shoulders. She wears a pair of jeans that hug her legs tightly and a top that's tied above her belly button.

She gives you this wide smile, that she's already given countless times, and thanks you, adding, "That sounds like heaven." Sullyoon's scoff catches everyone's attention. Four pairs of eyes fall on her and she squirms, hating the spotlight.

"Something wrong, dear?" your mom asks. Sullyoon shakes her head and reaches forward to grab her glass of lemonade. You can't help but let out a tiny laugh. Your mother shoots you both a suspicious glare but doesn't say anything.

You hadn't even noticed that Belle had been looking at you, but when you turn to meet her gaze you feel your stomach flip upside down. It could just be your overactive imagination but something in the look she's giving you has you flustered. Then she laughs too, albeit nervously. Your cheeks warm up and suddenly you have to look away.

"It's almost lunch, how about you help us in the kitchen, Sullyoon." Then your mother looks at you, "and you can show Belle where she'll be sleeping."

"Uh, sure," you reply, your words being met by Sullyoon shooting daggers with her eyes. Once your parents and your stepsister are out of sight, you gesture to Belle and she stands.

"The house is huge," she remarks, following you out of the room. "My old place was basically a box compared to this."

"Well, we live in the suburbs." You shrug. "I can show you around town later if you want." The two of you head up the staircase to where the bedrooms reside.

"You'd do that for me? Really?"

"Of course," you chuckle. Her giggles send goosebumps across your flesh. You pause for a moment and point down the hallway, "Mine is this way."

"This is so cool," Belle whispers. Really? A house is cool? "I always lived in this little studio apartment. My bed was right next to my kitchen."

Her casual remarks about her life, however mundane they are, are captivating. It's nice to meet someone so different from your usual friend group. "What was it like in the city?"

"Different from here," Belle responds. "It's loud all the time and the streets are busy, no matter the time or day." You push open the door to your bedroom and she follows in while she continues, "It was exciting but also way too much, you know? The parties were crazy—like movie-level crazy."

You gently nod as her thoughts trail off and she starts looking around the room. You watch as she takes it all in. Having made at least half an effort to clear some space for her, it looked kind of bare, compared to usual anyway. "Here," you offer, leading her over to your wardrobe. You slide open a couple of doors and explain, "This section is empty and you can hang your clothes up here."

"You didn't have to. I've lived out of my suitcase before when I travelled."

"No bother. You're a guest, make yourself comfortable." You gesture around the room. "I cleared the desk in case you need it and the sheets are fresh." (Which is good, after what you and Sullyoon had been doing the night before.)

"Thank you. This is already better than I could have ever hoped." When Belle smiles again, you feel a little flutter in your tummy. "Sorry about earlier," she adds. "Was your sister mad because of me?"

"She'll come around." You give a half-hearted assurance. Sullyoon's feelings aren't yours to share, but Belle does deserve some peace of mind. "Don't worry about her."

"I always wanted a sister, I hope she likes me." Belle nods gently, a faint expression of disappointment flashing across her face before fading back to neutral. She pauses and purses her lips together for a second. "And...you? Are you happy I'm here?"

"I've had to put up with one annoying step-sister for a long time, a second can't be much worse," you joke. A laugh leaves her lips and the tension dissolves instantly. The two of you stay silent for a few moments before you notice Belle starting to squint. "What's wrong?"

"It's really hot in here." She places her hand on her forehead as if checking her temperature. The thick beams of sunlight that are streaming in through the open curtains highlight her point. Sweat has started to gather on her neck and brow.

"Lemme fix that." You push open a window and draw a blind down. Belle waits patiently behind you as the bright morning sun vanishes into a muted grey. "There we go," you announce, turning around—and coming face-to-face with her. You freeze as if trapped by her intense gaze.

Her cheeks are flushed and her skin is hot. Beads of sweat shimmer in the sunlight. She stares at you, silently saying something that you can't quite decode. She smells sweet, like vanilla.

"Thanks." Her voice is soft, almost as delicate as the moment itself.

"You're welcome..." You say back, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

"Uh, how about the rest of the house?"

"What about it?"

"Aren't you supposed to be showing me around?" She laughs and her soft tone breaks the tension. You shake the daze out of your mind and clear your throat.

"Of course. Let's go."

You point out the rest of the rooms, and then show her the bathroom, explaining, "My parents have their own so this is basically ours." As you head downstairs, you let her know, "Just try not to take the world's longest showers like Sullyoon." Belle laughs, which gives you the chance to admire how cute she looks when she's smiling.

-

It's been a low-key couple of days. Belle spent the whole time fawning over how cool it was to live out in the suburbs and subtly cursing how she had grown tired of the city—though half it felt like a sly brag. You had taken her into town the day before last, and while you're sure she would have been fine going back alone, she's asking you to take her.

Much to the annoyance of a certain someone.

"But Sunday is movie night," Sullyoon complains, lying on her bed. You're standing in the doorway, arms folded, telling her about your plan to accompany Belle.

"I'll be back in time and we can watch whatever movie you pick this week," you dismiss, already knowing she isn't going to listen to any attempt of yours to compromise. "Also, you could come with us."

"If I did come, then I would be hanging out with her, and I don't want to hang out with her." Sullyoon states blankly.

A quick glance to your side and you see Belle, standing in the hallway, hearing everything that Sullyoon is saying. There's a small pout that forms on her lips. A glimmer of sadness in her eyes. You feel a pang of sympathy. While Belle tries to smile as if it's nothing, you see right through the facade.

"Don't worry," she says. "I can go on my own." And with that, she heads off downstairs. You turn to your stepsister and shoot her a harsh glare.

"C'mon! Don't give me that look." Sullyoon pouts dramatically. "She's a big girl, she's used to being independent."

"Would it kill you to at least get to know her?"

"You're busy doing that for the both of us." She shoots an accusatory look. "Is one step-sister not enough?" Her words drip with insinuation, and you feel your face flush at what she's implying. You roll your eyes and curse at her, which makes her stand and walk towards you. Before she speaks, she pulls you by the arms and closes her door. "Oh come on! Admit it," she presses. "You think she's cute, huh?"

"So what?" You shrug and avert your gaze, cheeks red.

Sullyoon pauses, processing your answer. "Do you wanna fuck her?"

"Sullyoon!" You snap, feeling the blood rush to your head.

Her grin is devious, "You want her to replace me? Huh?" She teases. "Get a brand new stepsister who sucks your dick extra well?"

"You're sick."

"Oh, please. I've seen the way you two look at each other. Don't be surprised if she offers to top and tail with you tonight." Sullyoon smirks, "The couch must be so uncomfortable." Her voice is laced with sarcasm.

-

She said it was just going to be for essentials. A few shops to pick up items that didn't fit in her bags for the plane trip over. Yet, somehow, you find yourself browsing designer dresses for sale.

"It's my first weekend in a new country," she explains, pulling a silk purple dress free and pressing it up against her body. "Don't I deserve to treat myself?"

"I guess, but dresses like this? When are you planning on wearing them?"

"To dinners. To a club. On a date?" She cocks an eyebrow. "Who knows?"

"Wouldn't it be better to make the plans and then buy the dress?" You suggest with a laugh. Though you hate to admit it, the sleek material would look great on her.

"You hungry?" she asks. "How about dinner?"

"We should wait until we're home. Mum is expecting us both."

"Do you always do what you're told?" Belle pries.

"No...I—" You hesitate. She tilts her head to the side and flashes you a mischievous grin.

"Great. I'll get changed into this, we can dump the bags in the car and find a nice restaurant." She declares decisively. After rummaging around her bag for her wallet, she turns to face you. "Wish me luck, it's probably expensive."

"Wait—"

She's walking away before you can protest. You watch as she goes up to the woman running the place and pays for the dress. After that, Belle disappears behind a dressing screen. All the while, you're standing there, holding bags and looking confused.

There are a few silent moments. Ones where you try to formulate an excuse to turn her down; but just as quickly as they appear, the arguments vanish. In reality, the idea of a nice meal with Belle isn't exactly unappealing.

The curtain is drawn back, and she appears.

Wow.

It takes less than a second for your eyes to land on her waist. How the deep purple fabric hugs her figure so nicely, wrapping tight around her curves and squeezing her form. It's strapless and plunges into a v-neck that shows off so much skin. The hem stops mid-thigh and swishes with the movement of her hips.

"So? How do I look?"

You swallow, clearing a lump in your throat. "Incredible."

"That means you're paying for dinner then."

"Hey!" You start to protest. But it's no use, she's already laughing, slipping on a pair of white heels that pull the outfit together perfectly.

The restaurant she chose is tucked away from the main street. The soft yellow light glows through a window pane, casting a warm haze onto the sidewalk below. She holds your arm as she walks, using you for balance. The smell of her perfume hits you just as hard as her outfit does, sweet like vanilla.

"This place looks pretty fancy, right?" she asks with a cheeky smile. "You won't mind treating me, will you? After all, I have moved halfway around the world."

You roll your eyes and follow her in. A waiter welcomes you both, and seats you at a small booth in the corner of the dining room. A candle flickers in the centre, between glasses and cutlery. Belle scans the menu and occasionally takes sneaky glances across the table.

"So, how often do you take girls on dates?" she pries. "Not counting me."

"It's not that often, really."

"Then I must be special," she remarks playfully. "But don't worry, you're pretty cute too."

"Oh yeah?" You decide to play along. "Enough for a second date?"

"Hmm... maybe." The conversation is light and easy and just seems to flow naturally without needing any prompts or effort from either end.

Once you've ordered, Belle sips on a glass of wine, staring at you intently, her gaze unwavering, "I wish Sullyoon liked me as much as you do." Her statement catches you off-guard.

"I'm sorry for the way she's acting," you apologise. "She's probably fearing being replaced. She has always been a bit of a daddy's girl."

"I guess I can understand where she's coming from," Belle concedes, swirling the drink in her glass, watching as the crimson liquid swirls around gracefully. "I would be hesitant too. Change can suck sometimes, especially when it's unexpected." She takes a sip and then continues, "I was talking to my dad for a while, about coming over. And you know what he would talk to me about, every time?"

"Sullyoon."

Belle chuckles lightly and puts down her drink. "Yeah. He couldn't help himself. Always talking about the things she was doing. The friends she had. All those clubs she took part in. Made me so excited to meet her."

"Oh..." Now you understand.

"When I got here and realised that I wasn't gonna get a warm reception, it kinda hurt."

"Yeah. I know she can be...stubborn. Sometimes." You sigh. "Don't give up though, I know you'll get to know each other eventually."

She looks at you with hopeful eyes. "You really think so?"

"She warmed up to me eventually." You shrug and take a bite from your food.

"And how long did that take?" Belle asks, her tone playful once more.

"A couple of years."

She laughs again. "Ah, shit." She sits back in her seat, and then looks at you, intrigued. "What changed?"

"Maybe we realised we have stuff in common, or that we were more similar than we thought."

Belle tilts her head to the side, seemingly mulling over what you said. She purses her lips and squints her eyes like she's trying to connect invisible dots. She stabs at her pasta and silently returns to her food.

"What was that?" you ask.

"Nothing," she dismisses. "So, I heard you mentioning a movie night."

"Yeah," you reply. "It's kind of a tradition. We pick a shitty movie, order some pizza, and make fun of it."

"Guess I'm ruining that now?" she suggests.

"It's just one time, we've missed it before and I'm sure we'll miss it again."

"Maybe next week I can join you?"

You think about how movie nights usually end. Sullyoon, spread across a bed, with your head between her legs. You remember the feeling of her soft skin and warmth, the sound of her moans filling the air. And now that memory includes Belle sitting beside you both.

You choke on your drink slightly.

"Oh God." Belle gasps. "What did I say?"

"Nothing, drink just went to the wrong place is all." You cough. "Yeah, sure, you can join us."

Time passes so easily. The conversation is nice, and she's such an interesting woman. She talks about her life, the places she has been and the people she has known. And you reciprocate. By the time the check arrives, you feel like you've known each other for much longer than four days.

"You know, my dad talked about helping me find my own place. I can't keep your room forever," she admits as she's finishing up her last drink.

"That's fine, I can survive on the sofa."

Belle chuckles at that. "I feel bad for putting you out like this." Her fingers reach out to brush yours, lingering there momentarily before retracting. The contact sends a shiver up your spine. "How about we share the bed?"

"Excuse me?" you say in shock. She laughs again.

"Not in that way. I mean, we can put pillows between us or something. It wouldn't be weird, just two siblings sleeping in the same room." She pauses and chuckles. "Unless you snore."

"I don't!"

"Well, I guess we'll find out."

-

When you finally return home, the house is eerily quiet. Both your parents' cars are missing and Sullyoon has retired to her room. Belle carries her purchases while you follow close behind.

As you step onto the landing, Sullyoon's bedroom door opens. She's dressed in one of your shirts. The light that floods out highlights how long her legs are, with her toned thighs in full view. She stands and watches Belle walk into your shared bedroom, before turning her attention to you. "So?" She asks, arms folding.

"So, what?" you counter.

"You going to apologise for ruining my weekend?" she huffs, arms crossing defensively. Her pouty expression almost tempts you to bite back.

"You were invited."

Sullyoon scoffs. "Oh yeah. So that I could third-wheel. No thanks."

You pause and chew your bottom lip. "Did you get to watch the movie at least?"

"Yes, alone." Her frown intensifies. You try not to laugh at how adorable she looks. "Goodnight."

She stomps back into her room and closes the door behind herself. You bite back an amused smirk. Sullyoon has the tendency to be petty, but you never seem to realise how far she'll go until she does it. Still, you decide not to dwell on it, knowing that Sullyoon would rather ignore the problem than confront it directly. She'll forgive you when she decides to.

You round the corner into your room, bags in hand, and that's when you see her, pulling down the zipper that runs along her spine. The fabric falls in ripples and reveals her back. From the arch between her shoulders down to the dimples in her lower back, the milky skin is exposed. Your throat dries up instantly.

"How am I supposed to feel about you ogling me like that?" Belle jokes, glancing at you over her shoulder. Her eyes shimmer with intrigue.

"Sorry." You quickly spit and then turn around. She doesn't say anything but you hear her light steps over the carpet as she rounds you and closes the bedroom door.

"I was joking," she says while facing you. Her hair falls over her shoulders and ends right above the cup of her bra. She looks like a model straight out of the pages of some lingerie catalogue. You struggle to stay composed.

"So was I," you reply, pretending to be cool while you turn away again to set the bags down in the corner of the room. Belle laughs under her breath.

"I've gotten used to living alone. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can put something on, but I'm used to sleeping in nothing but the covers." she offers. "But I don't mind, honestly."

The silence settles between you two and becomes deafening. You let out a nervous sigh. "It's okay," you finally state, grabbing shorts and a shirt and heading to the bathroom to change. "Just give me a moment." Once inside, you strip yourself of your clothes and run the water from the tap. You cup your hands together and fill them before splashing the cold water onto your face. You stare at yourself in the mirror.

This isn't a big deal. It doesn't have to be. You're going to be cool about the whole thing. You can handle having another gorgeous stepsister lying beside you in bed. It won't be hard at all.

You put your clothes on and march out of the bathroom. Belle has made herself comfortable in your bed, laying back against the pillow with her phone in hand. Her eyelids are half-open as she scrolls through social media apps lazily. The bedsheets cover her up to her shoulders.

"I've always slept on the left," she states absently, eyes still glued to her phone screen. You gulp. She pats the empty space beside her, invitingly. "That means you're on the right."

She turns off her phone as you enter the bed. As you slide under the covers, she turns and slides away to give you room. Your legs brush against hers by accident. Her smooth calves rub against yours and you freeze up. Then you feel her hand reaching out, touching your arm gently before drawing away again.

"Are you shy?" she asks with a tiny giggle.

"No," you lie, hoping that your cheeks aren't too flushed from embarrassment. The room goes pitch black when she flicks off the lamp. Only the distant glow of a street light shines through the curtains. Your eyes adjust and you make out her silhouette against the bedsheets.

"Just relax." Her voice echoes softly in the dark. She places her hand atop yours and squeezes firmly. She brushes her fingertips up along your forearm, stopping briefly near your elbow before trailing them back down again. Each stroke sends little shivers shooting up and down your spine. The effect of her touch is hypnotising; a powerful yet delicate combination of warmth and tenderness.

The movements continue for a while, in silence, as your eyes grow heavy.

"Sweet dreams," she whispers.

"Night Belle," you manage to mutter. Before you know it, you drift off to sleep.

-

At first, you don't even register the sensation, as if you are in a dream. First, it's the tickling of her hair in your face, followed by the feeling of her soft skin in your hand. Then it's the warmth, all along the front of your body. Belle is pressed against you tightly and your arm is around her. Holding her as the little spoon.

Your eyes flicker open.

You lay there in shock, unsure what to do, but also unwilling to move. The warmth radiates off of her, soothing every inch of you that she touches. Her breathing rises and falls slowly, as though she hasn't stirred yet. Her fragrance surrounds you, intoxicatingly sweet, leaving you lightheaded.

You try to adjust the arm that's trapped under her but she threatens to stir awake, mumbling unintelligibly against the pillow, as she shuffles around to get comfortable against you again. She moves her body against yours and presses harder.

Suddenly, you become very aware of exactly which parts of your bodies are making contact. Her ass grinds up against your crotch and the sensation causes a wave of heat to course throughout your entire core. Panic kicks in as you will your morning wood to retreat as quickly as possible. Yet no amount of willpower can stop the natural reaction to her plush butt cheeks.

You focus your attention elsewhere, trying to distract yourself by thinking of mundane tasks to pass the time—anything to prevent yourself from acknowledging your growing arousal. You count the speckles on the ceiling and list off ingredients of your favourite foods.

It doesn't work.

You have to get out. You start by pulling away your body, minimising the contact and creating separation. But then there's your arm, still stuck under her. Gently, ever so gently, you lift yourself away, trying to drag your limb free.

"Leaving already?" comes Belle's question. Her tone drips with mock offence.

"What? Uhhh.." you stutter. Shit. Not good.

Belle flips around to face you. In the morning glow, she's positively radiant. A beautiful angel bathed in warm sunlight. Her silky hair flows delicately as she turns. She flashes a devilish smile and says, "Look at that, our first night sharing a bed and you're already cuddling with me."

You're speechless. Blood rushes to your cheeks and you feel your heart beat faster in your chest.

"It was nice," she smiles. "Even if you were poking me in the ass."

Your jaw drops. Shame bubbles in the pit of your stomach and causes your skin to prickle. She laughs and pushes the sheets down to your waists. She's fucking topless. Your eyes widen as you catch sight of her breasts, perfect teardrops that hang deliciously against her chest, crowned by erect pink nipples. The sight sends you reeling into total disarray.

"You can't help it, I know." Her voice cuts through your dazed thoughts like a blade slicing through butter. "All guys wake up horny." She shuffles a little closer. "I can help it, though." Her hand snakes down beneath the sheet, into your shorts, and suddenly there's the unmistakable sensation of her fingers wrapped around your cock.

"Belle—" Her name leaves your throat weak and cracked. Heat envelops you and your brain goes into overdrive. No way is this real.

"Shhh," she whispers, leaning in until her lips are hovering close to yours. "I want to help," she says with a mischievous smirk.

She starts slowly stroking your dick. At first, it feels strange and foreign, but gradually melts into pleasure as the friction increases. Belle continues to stare, watching as the corners of your mouth twitch and twist, as if studying her own effect on you. Every time your breath hitches she seems to gain more confidence. She grips tighter and works her wrist faster, building up a steady rhythm.

"See, we can share this room." She keeps moving her hand up and down in perfect strokes, varying the pace every few seconds. Sometimes fast and firm, then slow and gentle. It's enough to drive anyone mad. "Isn't it great?"

"This is so messed up," you manage to groan out as your hips lift involuntarily.

"Is it?" She kisses the corner of your mouth. "Doesn't seem that bad to me."

She's right. It feels incredible. Despite everything, you don't want her to stop. You lean into her, desperate for her to kiss you, but instead, she pulls away, giggling softly. That only serves to frustrate you further, which seems to encourage her even more. She quickens her pace and leans closer to you again, stopping inches away from kissing distance once more.

Your eyes grow heavy again, but this time it's not sleep that overtakes you. Instead, it's bliss.

"Belle, what the fuck..." you whisper. Pleasure is burning hot in the base of your gut. Her wrist rolls as she jerks you off harder. "Why..."

She lets you go, hand slipping out of your shorts as quickly as it entered. "Here." She cups your hand in her own and pulls it towards her chest. "Feel free to touch." You know what happens when you allow temptation to guide your actions. Sullyoon is a case and point.

Despite that, you're unable to resist.

Her breast fits perfectly in your palm. So soft. Your fingers graze over the sensitive nipple. The moans that follow sound heavenly, even more so when accompanied by her coy smile. Without warning, her lips press against yours, sealing off any sort of protest. Her tongue dances across your bottom lip and into your mouth. Soft. Wet. Hot.

Heat pools between your legs. Her hand returns to its former place around your cock. She's so slow now, achingly deliberate. Your mind spins endlessly; overwhelmed by desire.

When you pull back, she gives a sly wink, "Tell me what you think, hm?"

"It feels so fucking good," you sigh. She responds with another kiss. The room fades to silence beyond your muffled moaning and wet kissing sounds. Time itself seems to grind to a halt.

"I knew you'd enjoy it," she murmurs into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe before continuing, "Now...how about you return the favour?" Her words trail off as she lifts one of your fingers into her mouth. Her tongue twirls around it for a moment and then releases it with a wet pop.

"Sure," you mutter, too distracted to care about anything else. You slip your hand beneath the duvet and then push at her hip, turning her onto her back. You admire her upper body. From her chest to the curve of her hips, to the dip of her waist, she looks divine. Belle lies back and spreads her legs. And when your hand snakes between her thighs, she raises her arms above her head and grips the pillow tight.

"Fuck," she gasps as your fingertips run along her slit gently, enjoying how she bucks upwards to meet your digits.

"You're soaked," you marvel.

Belle grins wickedly and exhales slowly. "Mhm," she agrees. "And who's fault is that?"

"Me," you respond quickly.

You brush up and down her pussy with agonising slowness, revelling in how her slick fluids cling to your fingers, and coat them in their essence. After a few seconds of exploration, you circle her clit slowly with two fingertips. Her eyes snap shut instantly and she whimpers softly under her breath. It's mesmerising. She squirms wildly, biting down hard on her bottom lip to stifle her squeals of ecstasy.

Then she lets out this long drawn-out moan while she squeezes the pillow tight against the back of her head. "Fuck," she curses.

Your finger sinks inside of her effortlessly.

"T-that feels..." she whimpers between staggered breaths. You pump in and out of her, curling upwards against her walls every single time. Her hips sway to meet your thrusts, matching them perfectly. The sight drives you insane.

You withdraw your finger from her depths and circle it across her folds. Her legs tremble in anticipation.

"Please," she begs. Your cock throbs painfully.

She tilts her head backwards, baring the pale skin of her neck to you. An offering. One you take happily.

You press your lips against her soft flesh, savouring her taste. Her scent overwhelms you. You can feel her pulse thrumming frantically just beneath the surface of her skin. There's something intensely primal about being able to feel someone else's heartbeat racing against your own.

Your teeth clamp down on the area between her jaw and collarbone, holding her securely as you explore every inch of her sex with newfound fervour.

It isn't long until she writhes beneath you, panting heavily while clinging desperately to the bedsheets around her. Your movements grow faster, more frantic. Hungry even.

She threatens to get loud, and you know how bad that could be. There's a reason Sullyoon always comes into your room, it's the furthest from your parents, and even then you find yourself putting a palm over her mouth. Now it's just one thin wall. One thin wall separates Belle's moans from Sullyoon's ears.

So you shut her up the best way you know how.

She seems surprised when your mouth crashes against hers, silencing her squeals with your tongue, but the feeling is fleeting. Her arms wrap around the back of your neck, pulling her closer towards you. She tastes like strawberries and smells faintly of vanilla.

You absorb her moans into your mouth as she cums on your hand.

Her thighs tighten around you, locking your fingers deep within her core. She shudders violently as waves of pleasure wrack through her frame. Slowly but surely she relaxes again, letting out contented sighs mixed with tiny giggles of delight. When she opens her eyes again, her pupils are dilated and wide, shining brightly. She stares up at you dreamily. Her cheeks flushed red. Lips plump from kisses.

"Holy shit." Belle exhales hard before speaking again. Her voice still shakes with euphoria. "Good morning indeed."

"Yeah," you chuckle, rolling back to give her space.

"No," she stops you by placing a hand on your stomach. "We haven't finished."

"We haven't?"

"You haven't." She runs a hand down your body until it's back to how all this started. This time, she pushes your shorts clear of your hips and lets your erection spring free. She's climbing up and over you as she speaks, "Let me return the favour. We're family now."

Then she takes you into her mouth. Your thoughts blur together into a haze of lust and arousal, blinding your vision temporarily. Everything else fades away except for this girl who sucks your dick like she needs it to survive. Her tongue swirls around the crown of your tip teasingly while she bobs back and forth steadily. She hums around you, sending vibrations reverberating throughout your entire length, sending tingles shooting up and down your spine.

As her effort rises, so does she. Onto all fours and swinging a leg over yours. She's giving you this look—this hungry stare. You're hers now. Totally at her mercy. She keeps eye contact as she sucks you deeper than before. Then, without warning, her head lifts away from your cock completely, leaving behind a slick trail of spittle dripping down her chin. She wipes it away with her knuckles nonchalantly. Still wearing that predatory expression. Something about the action, the confidence of it, it makes you shiver.

She starts to stroke you, right before she dips her pretty face down to place her lips on your balls. Then it's her tongue, warm and wet against the sensitive skin. She alternates between tender kisses and loving licks all while staring up past your cock to meet your gaze. It's unbelievably hot.

"Don't cum yet," she whispers sweetly before returning her mouth around your length again.

"Can't promise anything," you groan back.

"Cute," she murmurs around your shaft.

Belle works you for a while. Those smokey eyes watch your every involuntary reaction while she worships your cock. Every twitch gets a quiet giggle. Every choked moan is met with a little lick across the tip.

It doesn't take long until the fire in your belly begins to spread.

"Belle," you strain, barely keeping a hold of your composure. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum."

"Not yet," she says with a smirk. "Here."

She shifts ever so slightly again, pushing her chest towards her pumping hand. She presses your tip against the hard nipple and jerks you off, alternating between the stiff buds. All you can do is watch, totally transfixed by what's happening before you. Her movements grow quicker and more frantic. Until it becomes almost too much.

You let it out, right onto her pretty little tits. Thick ropes across her flawless skin, painting her while she smiles. Even after you've been spent, she keeps working your shaft until it becomes painful. Oversensitivity has never felt sweeter.

"Oh god." Belle looks down at the mess you've made on her chest. Her grin is devious. She slips off the bed, taking a spare towel from underneath it and wiping at her chest and your crotch. Once you're both clean, she tucks you back in and crawls onto your torso. With a small bounce, she nestles down and lays on top of you. Her chest presses against yours.

"So," she coos, resting her chin on your sternum. "That happened."

You laugh and she quickly joins you. There's a feeling of shared exhilaration hanging between you both. A giddiness that comes from knowing you have just crossed an invisible boundary together.

"That was so fucking hot." Belle brings her palm up to cradle the side of your head affectionately. Her thumb brushes small circles against your temple, tracing patterns along the outline of your cheekbones. After a few seconds, her smile starts to fade. "Do you hate me?"

"Why would I?" You ask sincerely.

"I don't know. You're my step-brother. And I just..."

Her tone makes your heart ache ever so slightly, causing you to reach out for her face and cup her cheek in your palm. "If you hadn't made a move, I would have anyway," you confess.

"You're as messed up as me, then."

She has no idea.

-

Towel and a change of clothes in hand, you start to open the bathroom door when you hear your name. Sullyoon's distinct voice. You hesitate, halfway through the threshold, and turn back to see her walking down the corridor. "So, what, you don't like me anymore?"

"What are you talking about?" You retort defensively.

She puts on this mocking voice. "'Yes Belle, I'll take you to town.' 'Yes Belle, I'll take you to dinner and stand up the sister I actually know.' You've known her for two minutes! Two!"

You feel shame rising inside your chest. It's a weird feeling that just trying to be a good brother (or a bad one) has driven some divide between you and Sullyoon. You try to explain, "She's flown to a whole new country. It's difficult. We have to welcome her. If I didn't have to do it alone then we could see each other more." You sigh, "She really wants to hang out with you, you know."

Sullyoon crosses her arms, looking smug, "Oh, I bet."

"She does," you insist, trying your best not to appear too frustrated with her. "She was excited about movie night and she wants to join us next week." To this, Sullyoon simply scoffs.

"Yeah, right."

There's a pause where neither of you knows what to say. Eventually, it is broken by your stepsister's words.

"Doesn't change the fact that you left me alone on our night." She pouts dramatically, her bottom lip sticking out adorably. You roll your eyes at her antics. Sometimes, her stubbornness can border upon childishness.

"Sullyoon," you say flatly. "Come on. That's not fair."

She shrugs dismissively, clearly unconvinced. "What's not fair is that we haven't done it in almost a week."

You drop your towel and clothes on the bathroom floor and step out quickly towards her. You quickly hold your palm against her plump lips to silence her. "Not so loud."

She grabs your wrist, pulling her mouth free. "Our parents are out, calm down." But then she uses the leverage to yank you forward, right into her arms. "Maybe you should make it up to me."

"Sullyoon." You chastise. Boundaries exist for a reason, and doing this out here in the hallway is not what you agreed. You pry her away and walk back into the bathroom.

She follows each step, and as soon as you turn back to close the door, she's already slipping through and closing it herself. Before you have a chance to protest, Sullyoon's hands grab your face and bring you into a fierce kiss. She wastes no time sliding her tongue between your lips, demanding entry. You resist for only half a second before giving in fully, allowing yourself to become consumed by her passionate embrace. Her fingers grasp tufts of your hair tightly, tugging at the strands gently enough that it sends pleasant shivers running down your spine instead of hurting.

"The hell are you doing?" You eventually ask when she breaks away from your mouth, albeit reluctantly.

"Making up for lost time," she whispers as she slips down to her knees, grabbing the sides of your shorts.

You panic. "Hey, hey—" you exclaim as you stop her. She looks at you confused as to why you aren't happy with getting blown. She furrows her brows and then forcefully tugs them down. Your soft cock springs free, hanging mere inches from her waiting lips. Sullyoon licks them in anticipation while keeping her eyes trained solely upon yours.

But that's when she notices something.

There's a brief moment where the two of you lock gazes; where there should be nothing but lust swimming amidst those hazel irises, there is concern. She inhales sharply, catching a scent which throws her into alert mode. You can practically see the gears turning within her brain.

She stands up immediately, stares you dead in the eyes and says, "What the fuck is that?"

"What?"

"Don't play dumb with me, dumbass. You smell like sex and there's lipstick on your cock."

Shit.

"Belle!" Sullyoon calls as she marches back down the hall, bursting into your bedroom. You almost stumble over your shorts and rush to pull them back up to your waist. You dash behind her, terrified at what will happen next.

You round the corner into your room and Sullyoon is standing at the foot of your bed. Belle has her phone in hand, still lying in bed, with the covers up to her chest.

"Slut!" Sullyoon snaps.

"Excuse me?" Belle sits up straight, clutching the duvet to cover herself up properly, glaring back at your sister angrily.

"You heard me. Stay the fuck away from him. He's mine. My brother."

You wince in the silence. Belle just stares at the furious Sullyoon while the gears turn in her mind. Glancing back and forth between the two of you, she's clearly piecing it together. She smirks and then chuckles. "Oh my god! You're fucking him!"

"That's none of your business." Sullyoon retorts sharply.

"Now it all makes sense," she says while pointing her finger and waggling it between you and Sullyoon. "Do I threaten you?"

"No." Sullyoon lies, rather poorly.

"That's cute," Belle laughs. "So, what, you're in love with your brother?"

"No!" Sullyoon snaps, more assured of herself that time. "That's gross."

Belle gives you a look. "So it's just about the sex? What's the big deal?" She asks bluntly. "Clearly he has a type." She gestures to you and smirks again. "There's enough of him to share."

Sullyoon scoffs at her proposal. "Share?" she repeats incredulously. She glances back at you and you offer nothing but a shrug in reply. "Absolutely not," Sullyoon responds firmly.

"Why?" Belle questions innocently.

"I don't wanna."

"Come on," Belle whines, letting her frustration show for once. She throws up her hands dramatically as she argues passionately, "Look, I understand wanting to keep him all to yourself, believe me! He's adorable." As she speaks, her eyes rake up and down your body appreciatively, making heat rise to your face rapidly. "I'm not trying to steal him or anything. Actually, we might just have more in common than you think."

Sullyoon rolls her eyes. "Unbelievable," she sighs.

"Just picture it," Belle insists. "The three of us, here, together."

"What are you suggesting, exactly?" Sullyoon crosses her arms. She isn't going anywhere.

"A threesome."

"Belle..." you caution, but it goes unheard.

"You can even go first," Belle offers casually.

This is ridiculous. Completely absurd. You watch the scene unfold in disbelief. Sullyoon appears to mull the proposition over, her foot tapping impatiently against the carpet as she thinks. There's no way she will agree. Not in a million years would she even consider such a thing... Right?

Sullyoon closes her eyes briefly and inhales deeply through her nose before exhaling slowly. She looks between both of you several times until she finally meets your gaze again and nods decisively. "Fine. Let's do this. Right here, right now." Her tone has turned resolute, decisive, confident, and bordering on cocky.

Your mouth falls agape. Is this really happening?

"Wait. Really?" Belle seems equally shocked by this sudden change. Apparently neither one of you expected her acquiescence quite this quickly or easily.

You look between the two girls. Back and forth. They're doing the same. It's this strange triangle of hesitancy and confusion.

"So how do we...?" Sullyoon trails off, obviously unsure as to how things work from this point forward. She's used to your shared normal, your routine; just the two of you having sex. Spontaneity demands creativity.

"I don't know. It's kinda..." You chime in but don't know how to explain it.

Belle rolls her eyes at the two of you. "Oh my god. Come on." She scoots closer toward the edge of the bed, pulling the duvet away. It slides off her shoulders revealing the perfect curve of her bare breasts. It's not like you've forgotten the sight of them not long ago (nothing about Belle is forgettable) but it sure does hit differently under the context of the situation. She gestures to the bed behind her. "If you two want to fuck, just fuck."

Sullyoon shoots daggers at Belle but still decides to approach regardless. When she reaches you, she grabs your hand roughly and drags you onto the mattress with her. It's all so easy, so natural, falling into a tangle of limbs with her. Even if Belle is watching, even if she's sitting right there. None of that matters anymore because once your mouths collide, everything else fades into insignificance.

You taste the sweetness of her saliva. Feel the warmth radiating off her skin. Smell her familiar perfume, lavender and honey. She's all around you, encasing you completely and enveloping you entirely until all that remains is her. The kiss grows more intense, tongues wrestling as she straddles your lap and grinds her crotch down onto yours eagerly. Desperately seeking relief from the throbbing between her legs.

Then her fingers snake beneath your shirt and lift it over your head, breaking contact. She flings the clothing across the room carelessly before returning the attention to your lips once more. As she leans in for another embrace, you remember exactly where you are, who's there with you, and why they're here.

"Belle—" you start, breaking away mid-kiss. You gesture to her awkwardly as Sullyoon starts mouthing at your neck.

"Mmm?" She answers as she crawls towards your outstretched hand.

"Are you okay with this?"

She takes it upon herself to grab hold of your wrist and guide your palm right onto her naked breast, guiding it around with her own grip. She holds you there until you get the memo, massaging it gently between your digits whilst rubbing her fingertip atop your finger delicately, coaxing you to tweak her erect nipple. "Very," she finally replies.

"This is so weird," Sullyoon remarks, lifting away from your shoulder as Belle moves to her side and perches on her knees.

"It was already weird before I got involved," Belle jokes back, giving you a mischievous grin. She brings her free hand up to cup Sullyoon's cheek.

Sullyoon shies away, "I won't kiss you."

"I wouldn't expect it."

They look at each other for a moment, as if silently coming to some kind of understanding that transcends verbal language altogether. After a few more seconds pass by without further incident, you see them exchange conspiratorial smirks, as though they were sharing some hilarious joke at your expense.

Sullyoon pulls her top over her head, while Belle makes a move at your shorts. For the second time this morning, she's pulling your cock free from them, only this time, she's presenting it to Sullyoon. Her hand wraps around the shaft and starts to jerk it up and down, eliciting a low moan out of you which catches their collective attention. Belle smiles slyly.

In her delicate lace bra, Sullyoon lowers her head, opens her mouth and presents her tongue. Belle presses your tip onto her tongue and Sullyoon is quick to lap at it hungrily. She slides her hands up along your thighs, gripping firmly as she takes you deeper.

"That's hot," Belle murmurs softly, still pumping you.

All you can do is bite your lip and watch as your stepsisters service your length together, competing for its pleasure and attention. They swap turns, passing you back and forth while occasionally meeting in the middle, sucking along either side. It's a little awkward, the way they get in each other's way, but somehow that makes it hotter. Seeing their cheeks squish together, heads bump and lips brush accidentally while fighting for dominance over your dick.

At one point, when Sullyoon has sucked you all the way to the hilt, you notice Belle burying her fingers into Sullyoon's hair. Then the hand slides further, until it cups the back of your sister's head. Then she pushes, holding her in place while she swallows your entire length. Sullyoon panics at first, spluttering slightly against your shaft before she relaxes, settling into the gag, taking it for a bit longer before Belle releases her.

"Fuck!" Sullyoon gasps once she has the freedom to breathe. Strings of spittle connecting her open mouth to the tip of your cock. "Why?"

"Because it's hot," Belle shrugs.

"She's right," you manage to groan out. "Very hot."

"See?" Belle states triumphantly. She places her hand behind your sister's head again, "So do it again."

Sullyoon doesn't put up any resistance. Belle pushes her down, holding her down again as you enter deep into the wet confines of her throat. Sullyoon grips tightly at the flesh of your thighs and tries to relax her body. Despite the initial discomfort, there's no denying that having someone else dictate the terms of her oral servitude adds another layer of eroticism to the whole affair. Belle lets her resurface with a deep gasp for air, spit smeared across her chin, a thin strand dangling precariously between the underside of your erection and the tip of her tongue.

"Look at how pretty you are like that," Belle coos condescendingly while stroking Sullyoon's hair affectionately, almost lovingly even. In spite of everything else, the humiliation of being reduced to such an object, you catch Sullyoon blushing at the praise. Even more shocking, Sullyoon seems to lean into her caresses willingly.

"You've made her blush, Belle." You joke lightly, breaking some tension. It earns a glare from Sullyoon. The humour is short-lived.

After another couple of rounds, during which you have to fight every instinct within yourself not to cum in either of their mouths, Belle asks, "Can I see you ride him?"

One thing is becoming clear: Belle loves to watch.

Sullyoon sits up and wipes the excess saliva from her jawline with the back of her wrist, still panting slightly from being choked so thoroughly. After regaining some composure, she merely nods her consent. There's an underlying tension, however subtle, woven throughout their interaction now but a hint of mutual respect borne from seeing the other's ability to please you so well.

As Sullyoon stands, Belle seems to ponder. On her knees, staring at her sister's body, as if admiring every aspect of her figure; slender legs, tight waist, and cute ass. You get it. You've been there. Gawking at Sullyoon from afar, stealing glances while nobody notices, fantasising about those very curves. And yet it's surreal seeing somebody else experiencing it in front of you.

When Belle speaks up, she points to Sullyoon's shorts. "May I?"

"Go ahead," Sullyoon mutters nonchalantly, almost absentmindedly. Her full focus seems to revolve around climbing onto your lap. Meanwhile, Belle carefully peels away the fabric that clings to Sullyoon's lower body, easing her out of them until her legs come free. In a series of graceful motions, Belle has exposed Sullyoon down to nothing—helped because Sullyoon never wears underwear in the house.

As Sullyoon settles over your hips, resting on her knees, Belle crawls up next to you, positioning herself comfortably alongside your body. She props herself upright, leaning sideways against your torso for support. With a finger, she traces shapes across your chest, drawing abstract patterns into your skin idly while keeping her eyes locked exclusively forward, entranced by Sullyoon above you.

She takes hold of your dick at its base. Taking her time to drag both it and herself against each other, exchanging spit and slick fluids that coat them. There's a little sway and rotation to her hips, teasing incessantly until the anticipation threatens to drive you mad. The soft skin of her tummy looks so tasty from here, rising and falling slowly as she breathes and moving as she rolls her body.

There comes a point where enough is enough.

Just as you reach to grab yourself and guide it inside of her, Belle stretches her hand down between Sullyoon's legs and takes hold of your cock instead. She slaps your tip against your sister's swollen clit. Up and down, hitting the sensitive button repeatedly. All it takes is one errant flick downwards, however accidental (or not), and now your cockhead is nestled snugly into Sullyoon's entrance.

Belle draws her palm back up over your body. "Sorry, my bad," she giggles. Except you know better, seeing the smug twinkle that sparkles behind her irises. Before you can say anything more, Sullyoon succumbs to gravity and the pleasure it brings. Her hips sink down. Accepting inch after inch of you inside of her welcoming pussy until every last bit fits snuggly within her walls. She groans quietly.

It's all so familiar—the sensation of being enveloped by her velvety folds—but still wonderful nonetheless.

The shift of pressure when she begins to grind on top of you reminds you of those many times in the evening darkness, those instances when all that mattered was staying silent. Now you have an audience. Somebody watching intently from your side.

Belle watches the action unfold, a gasp here and giggle there. Sullyoon's body arches back subtly whilst she rocks her pelvis back and forth rhythmically atop yours. Her eyelids droop heavily as ecstasy surges through her veins, causing goosebumps to prickle over her smooth flesh as she rides.

"You like riding your brother's dick?"

"Y-Yes," Sullyoon stutters out, too preoccupied to register fully what she said. This sets off the deviant in Belle. You sense her growing bolder, more confident with her lecherous remarks knowing they'll be met with little to no resistance.

"You gonna cum on it?"

"Yes!" Sullyoon cries. Every downward motion presses her clit against your pubic bone, sending waves rippling through her petite frame. You grip her waist firmly, helping her. Her ass collides loudly against your thighs when she bottoms out each time. There's hardly any need for you to buck your hips and meet her.

"Yeah, you love fucking your stepbrother, don't you?"

Sullyoon only whimpers. Whatever argument or shame she might muster has fallen prey to her own desires. Now that she's been given permission—to indulge these fantasies openly with others—it appears as though she'll never go back. How can anyone turn away from such bliss?

And to your own amazement, neither of you seems fazed by the fact Belle bears witness to everything transpiring before her eyes.

"So dirty. Such a bad girl." Belle's tone is sultry sweet like honey dripping off a spoon. She leans closer and plants her lips against yours softly. It takes a second, a single heartbeat passing in silence where your tongue darts forward to greet hers. Suddenly the kiss has become something fierce and passionate—an exchange filled entirely with unbridled hunger that knows nothing besides passion itself. Nothing exists beyond its carnal needs right now except for maybe one thing...

An explosion erupts deep within Sullyoon; an eruption so violent that it causes her entire form to shake uncontrollably atop you. Her moans fill your bedroom, and her whole body draws tense before collapsing limply upon you like a marionette whose strings had just been cut loose by some unseen force. She quivers and writhes atop your throbbing shaft.

"Must be one hell of a ride," Belle comments through laboured breaths.

"Find out for yourself," you respond, matching her energy.

"Mmmm," she purrs thoughtfully whilst absentmindedly tracing circles across Sullyoon's exposed backside. "Let's switch, 'kay?"

You're quick to respond. Grabbing onto Sullyoon's ass cheeks, digging your fingertips firmly into each supple mound as you hoist her upwards. Your cock slips effortlessly free, causing a shudder to run through you both simultaneously before pulling apart completely. A mixture of sexual fluids oozes messily down her thighs when you set her aside on the mattress.

Now it's Belle's turn.

The atmosphere shifts drastically as she straddles you. Where previously things had taken on this languid dreamlike state—with Sullyoon's gentle undulations atop your cock, punctuated by moans echoing throughout the room—now the urgency returns anew.

Once Belle has mounted you correctly, sinking down until she reaches hilt-deep within herself, then she starts gyrating wildly. Hips rolling furiously fast and grinding her sex hard against yours, driving you deeper than ever before.

Her tits bounce deliciously from the impacts and her lips purse prettily with exertion. From nothing to everything in the blink of an eye. She's leaning over you, pressing her forehead against yours and staring right into your soul as she rides your cock mercilessly. And those eyes—those beautifully smokey eyes—are burning with lustful fervour.

Belle's hot breath mingles sweetly together amidst the haze surrounding you two. Then her lips crash against yours in a searing kiss that steals away whatever remaining oxygen you have left within your lungs. Tongues dance between teeth, entwining passionately against one another until you're forced apart by necessity.

"How is he?" Sullyoon speaks up. She sounds remarkably coherent despite appearing like a spent mess lying sprawled out beside you two.

"Fucking huge," Belle gasps in response without breaking stride. Her pace doesn't slow at all, if anything she speeds up even more in defiance to accommodate your size better. Her voice wavers slightly when she speaks again. "He feels so good," she murmurs softly against your earlobe.

"Give me his face," Sullyoon demands, crawling closer to you, propping her body upright next to your head. Once her hands cup your cheeks and tilt your face up, she swings a leg over your head and positions her snatch directly above your mouth. Then she descends downwards gently, pressing herself flush against your lips.

As soon as contact occurs between tongue and slit, Sullyoon jolts upright suddenly as bolts shoot straight towards her core. Eagerly lapping away at her glistening cunt causes a ripple effect throughout her whole physique, making her hips gyrate involuntarily against your open mouth.

Belle continues slamming herself down hard atop you, rocking your entire foundation relentlessly. She throws her head backwards as the momentum builds steadily higher and higher. Unrestrained groans spill freely from her throat unchecked as pleasure overwhelms every other rational thought inside her brain. Meanwhile, you feast on the nectar that flows forth copiously from your step-sister's pussy, savouring the ambrosia coating thickly around your tongue as you slurp it greedily down.

Time loses meaning while submerged beneath the sea of sensations cascading over you ceaselessly—nothing existing beyond the confines of flesh pounding against flesh nor the taste saturating every inch of your being.

You claw for some sort of respite, finding your fingers digging into Sullyoon's ass as a makeshift warning of the feeling in your body. You're close but they won't stop, in fact, Belle works harder.

Everything escalates tenfold. Everything gets faster; harder; wilder.

It drives you absolutely insane.

Your cock spasms violently inside of Belle's convulsing sex. Simultaneously, she's screaming something incomprehensible—not quite words necessarily but definitely conveying something meaningful nonetheless. The surge of euphoria crashes through you like waves crashing upon the shore during a stormy night—ferociously crashing through every fibre of your being with unrestrained vigour. Cum floods her depths in hot thick spurts and her body tenses rigidly, shaking fiercely whilst gripping tightly onto you for stability. Sullyoon trembles too, twitching sporadically and squealing loudly through clenched teeth before eventually slumping forward once again, collapsing heavily upon your face while riding out her orgasmic peak alongside yours.

Seconds feel like minutes, minutes seem like hours.

Eventually, the intensity fades, replaced instead by gentle numbness which fills the void afterwards. You lay there, breathing raggedly—heart hammering heavily within ribcage and sweat trickling down skin dampened thoroughly, amongst bodily fluids staining sheets soaked in evidence of prior debauchery. Eventually, your sisters roll off of you.

Silence prevails for several long moments afterwards. No sound penetrates beyond shallow breaths. Nobody says anything; no words need be uttered aloud to express emotions present right now anyway.

***

Three days later, you wake up in bed, sandwiched between your sisters. Legs intertwined, warm skin brushing against one another and soft chests pillowing against your sides. Asleep.

This isn't unusual—not anymore. How quickly it has all become routine to sleep squished between them.

It's also not weird or uncomfortable. At least, you try to convince yourself of that. Because otherwise...well...

You decide not to finish the thought. Instead, you opt to focus solely on enjoying the sensation of having both beautiful girls wrapped snugly around you. Revel in their warmth and breathe deeply their scent. Cherish this dirty, taboo arrangement for all it's worth. There will surely come a day when everything falls apart; when reality inevitably comes knocking at the door. But until then, why not indulge? 

[httpknjoon]

have you ever tried this one? | myg

plot | that time popstar!yn and bassist!yoongi had a very *intense* staring contest throughout the whole concert.

w.c | 1581

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader

genre | fluff (?), enemies to lovers

note | it's juno so.... 🥵

main masterlist

DAY 53 of Love Is... On Tour

Another day, another reason to fight over something.

Cute. For someone who looks tiny in their oversized sweatshirt, you sure do hold a lot of power over a lot of people, Yoongi thought. Just a lift of your finger while you were singing could mean something. Maybe you want to change the tempo or you want to improve something. He can see gears working in your head while you sing the lyrics of your songs. It's crazy how your mind and body coordinate well while focusing on different things. Your fingers rhythmically tap on your thigh, following the beats. Yoongi strummed on his guitar while watching you sing in front of the band, waiting for any signal.

"And I heard you're- Wait, wait, wait. Let's pause."

Just three songs left during the rehearsals, you raised your right hand, making the band stop from playing. Instantly when the music stopped, your eyes directly met Yoongi's.

"Can you please quit staring at me," you said, annoyed.

Yoongi looked around to make sure that you were talking to him. But he was met with his bandmates looking back at him, confirming that yes, you were talking to him.

His eyebrows raised, "Me?"

"Yes, you are literally throwing daggers on my way ever since I stood here." you confronted him.

"I am not." he denied. Was he looking at you? Yes. But is he throwing daggers? Definitely not.

You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him. You swore you could feel his intense eyes on you in every movement you make. Every time your eyes land in his direction, you immediately find him looking back at your fingers, your thighs, or just you. Sometimes you would notice a small quirk in his lips while staring at you. But most times, he has this blank space on his face, making you want to shrink in your comfy sweatshirt.

"You do it every rehearsal! It's weird." you insisted.

The people around you— Art, Cal, the other band members, and a few of your dancers— simply looked at each other. It's been weeks of you two working together and bickering over things. Everyone knows you hate each other's guts. At this point, you are just kids with these "fights".

You see Yoongi chuckled, putting a hand on his hip, "I'm just paying attention, waiting for your hand cues. It's something musicians usually do when rehearsing with the band."

Okay, that's reasonable— But still! You felt blood rushing to your cheeks but your jaw clenched. Because of course, the sarcasm in Yoongi's defense didn't go over your head. You were about to refute when Art clapped his hands together, signaling a time-out.

"Okay, please stop with this. We only have a few songs left and everyone deserves to rest before the show." he reminded you and your bassist. "Yoongi, please avoid looking at YN. YN just be clear with your signals. Raise your hand or something. Are we cool with that? YN? Yoongi?"

Yoongi sighed but nodded his head. Before nodding your head, you still caught that smirk that formed on his lips. The rehearsals continued as planned. Yoongi barely looked at you anymore and looked down at his red guitar instead, giving all of his attention to it. You don't know if he's being sarcastic. But you kept on biting your cheeks when you found him in the same position every time you looked at him again. Fuck, he's really not looking, huh?

You continued singing for a few more minutes, sipping water in between. You never raised your hand again for any cues.

"Okay, please enjoy your break. Thank you, everyone." Art said before letting everyone go.

You were walking behind Cal, on the way to your dressing room, when you felt someone following behind you.

"I didn't know you were a diva like that," Yoongi whispered.

His warm breath fanned your ear in that quick sentence, making you ignore the shiver you felt by his warmth and surprise appearance. He didn't even wait for you to look back and reply. Instead, he walked passed you and caught up with his band members outside the arena.

Now, someone's throwing daggers.

Minutes before the show, in the crowded backstage, Yoongi can feel your eyes drilling holes at him while Paul fixes his shirt for him. You were already dressed up and someone is just fixing your in-ear for you. You stood six feet away from each other but managed to have a quiet, petty argument. He stared back at you, raising an eyebrow. You squinted your eyes before rolling it.

I hate you, you mouthed.

He mouthed back, Diva.

Although you find one of the people on stage annoying, you don't let it affect your performance for the night. But you're petty and so is your bassist. At every chance you two get, you look at Yoongi and you always find him staring back at you even while strumming his guitar.

Some fans noticed it and began posting about it online, noting the chemistry between your eyes. Even the crew members felt awkward with how you and Yoongi always caught each other's strong gaze.

"What the fuck is happening between you two?!" a voice in your in-ear asked while you were hurriedly changing your clothes for your next song.

You didn't have time to reply with that one and just continued the show with a new plan in your head.

"Don't have to tell your hot ass a thing. Oh yeah, you just get it..."

After arresting one of your cute audience members and tossing them their fuzzy pink handcuffs, you began singing one of your hit songs. You are now in your sparkling, red bodysuit that goes with a mini skirt at its ends. It used to have a longer skirt but it got shorter after the bit earlier. You also have your matching boots with you that make you taller than ever.

"Whole package, babe, I like the way you fit. God bless your dad's genetics..."

Your staring contest with your bassist is still going on. And if you stop to do one of your choreographed dances, your eyes occasionally focus on Yoongi.

"Wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs? Oh, I hear you knockin', baby..."

The fans cheered when the screen showed him, who was trying to stop himself from smiling while looking at you.

"I know you want my touch for life. If you love me right, then who knows? I might let you make me Juno..."

At the end of the chorus, you still manage to continue your starting battle with Yoongi since you are walking around the stage. The only time you looked away was when another voice spoke,

"YN, if you want to continue your staring competition with Yoongi, can you just stand next to him? It's hard for the camera to catch you when you keep turning your head in his direction." the voice said, obviously giving up on telling you to stop whatever you and Yoongi are doing.

"You make me wanna make you fall in love. Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah, ah, ah..."

You followed what you were told and stood next to him as you two looked at each other's eyes. You were pointing your finger at him as if you were singing those words to him.

"Wanna try out some freaky positions?"

A line before the infamous part of the performance, you stood in front of your bassist. Your back is to the audience, who is already losing their mind on what they are witnessing. You kept eye contact with him as you felt excitement fluttering in your chest.

"Have you ever tried this one?"

A smirk forms on your lips before squatting down and bouncing up and down, like you were riding an imaginary dick. The fans are livid, the rest of the band is laughing, and Yoongi is lost for a second, unconsciously biting his lower lip while still exchanging intense eye contact with you. You winked coyly before getting up and turning around to resume.

"I know you want my touch for life. If you love me right, then who knows?..."

Although dumbfounded for what felt like a minute, Yoongi still played his bass guitar perfectly. As soon as the chorus was done, you reached for Yoongi's chin and made him look at you.

"Adore me, hold me, and explore me. Mark your territory. Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one..."

With your angelic voice and pretty face in front of you, Yoongi just lost the game. He studied your eyes, then your nose, down to your lips that's saying those words to him. He is like under control by your angelic appearance. Suddenly, you don't mind him staring intensely and closely at you. Closer than the rehearsals earlier.

"Adore me, hold me, and explore me, I'm so fucking horny. Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one..."

If you hadn't gently pinched his chin during that line, Yoongi would have just lost it and forgotten that you two are in front of 35,000 thousand people.

Just before the last chorus, you let go of him and ran back to the center stage and danced while he played the riff. He watched behind you, and stared for a few more seconds, before shaking his head, enjoying the music the same way you do.

"You make me wanna make you fall in love!"

note | haha petty people

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21

[romirola]

For the first time since February 2020, I am sick. 🤒 As a distraction, I thought I'd share a bit of my current WIP. Under a cut because the full fic will be rated E for my typical brand of soft-smut. 18+ only, please!

I'm thinking this fic will be multiple chapters, and I always take the opportunity to remind people that I'm a SLOW writer. I don't start posting on AO3 until the story is drafted in full. It'll be awhile before this one gets to that stage, but oh, it has been a lot of fun to imagine so far.

“You’ve got a hypno-kink,” Milo repeated, giving a thoughtful nod. “So, what do we do about that?”

When Sweetheart had volunteered that information about themselves, Milo was shocked, to say the least. But he knew he needed to be strategic. One wrong move could make them retreat back into their defensive shell.

“I…” Sweetheart grimaced, feeling woefully unprepared for the conversation. “I don’t know,” they answered. “I thought you would think it was weird or something. I didn’t tell you to pressure you into it or anything like that. I’d never, ever want that.” Their hand found Milo’s under the covers and squeezed, the pulse matching the beat of the subtle song their core always sang when they were together. “I just thought you should know. Because I want you to know all of me, and that’s something about me.”

But Milo wanted more than just understanding. Much more. Understanding was a great start, but nowhere near the finish line he had in mind.

He eventually convinced Sweetheart to tell him all about their fantasies involving hypnosis that the stealth had spent far too long pretending were nonexistent or, at the very least, irrelevant. As they delved more into the topic, Milo began to connect the dots. It certainly was in character with Sweetheart. After all, time had shown that Sweetheart was something of a soft dom, which was a preference Milo knew quite well, being one himself. Still, the pair had never gotten caught up with rigid labels or limiting roles. They were way more focused on each other, frankly, and the love between them, to be concerned with trivial things like that. When their nights did veer more towards defined dynamics, however, both Milo and Sweetheart were content to trust each other to discover how to let things play out. It was a system that worked very, very well.

(some other stuff)

Slowly, and with constant prompting from Milo, Sweetheart had revealed more details about what drew them towards hypnotism.

“I like the idea of giving that kind of deep relaxation and guidance, to make you feel good. Accessing that control in a way that helps take away whatever might be holding you back— anxiety, insecurity, worry, whatever. And being in a position to do that for you…” Sweetheart’s thick eyebrows bounced twice. “I like the thought of that a lot. A lot a lot.”

In his quest to understand, Milo continued to press them for more details.

“Me being in the hypnotist's role,” Sweetheart declared with certainty when Milo asked them for more explanation. “And just to be clear, no, not in like a ‘I'll make you do things you don't want to do because I like power and control.’ Like a supervillain or something. Not at all like that.” Sweetheart swiped their flat palm across the air to emphasize their point. “For me, it's more about supporting you so you can do what you want to do and experience it in a really clear, pure way. Giving you that opportunity to just listen, to just be, to not even have to think, only feel. Maybe it’d take shape as me giving you cues that heighten your sensation or let you focus on pleasure,” Sweetheart explained. “Or…” They swallowed. “Maybe I’d have you on your knees, hot and begging and ready to obey any command I gave you.”

[purgemarchlockdown]

...the more I think about it the more I actually do get bothered with the Amane voting discourse on the end of the guilty voters.

Not even cause their voting guilty. Like- I don't care too much about that really, vote how you want and stuff, but how...accusatory a lot of them can get.

Not to heavily generalize a group of people, but one of the reasons why I didn't talk about it too much was cause I'd go into the tag and see another complaint about Inno Amane voters being on their moral high horse and being unnecessarily aggressive.

It's why I try my best whenever I talk about it to be clear I don't think guilty voters are bad people or anything. I'm not going to base someone's sense of morality on what they vote on the interactive anime mv series, I just won't.

However...I am starting to get bothered about how defensive and even hypocritical a lot of the discourse can get on the guilty voters side.

Firstly: A big argument I tend to see get thrown around is that "she can actually hurt people stop treating her like she's harmless" which...yes, from what I've seen a lot of inno voters (Including me!) agree with that and just find that:

1. There's an exaggeration of the actual danger and the security of a guilty verdict.

and 2. Find that there's a double standard here, where Amane is being treated as more dangerous even though other characters are equally, if not more so, than her.

(A Lot of these people point out that she killed an adult and I'd like to point that it's Highly Likely she used the Taser, or uh stun gun actually and that the attack had the element of surprise, two things that are not present in T2.)

Second thing: Positioning yourself as more reasonable than inno voters because unlike them your looking at the issue objectively and without attacking people...is a moral high horse! That's literally the definition of a moral high horse!

If I'm on a moral high horse for pointing out that her situation with the audience uncomfortably parallels with her abusive situation then guilty voters Should Also Be Considered To Be on a moral high house for believing that I'm downplaying the amount of danger I'm putting the prisoner in by doing so!

It's not like both points are bad anyway! If someone presented me with information that Amane could genuinely hurt someone in a way much worse than I anticipated then I'll accept that. I'm voting her inno Knowing about the possible danger. Not blindly believing she's harmless (which a lot of these guilty voters say inno voters are doing!)

Third thing: Sorry I will actually be Really pretentious here. Throw tomatoes at me now- How come when we reach the 12 year old abused child that's when people start acting like Milgram ISNT commentating on social issues?

I swear this is a thing- when we reach Amane people start talking about how the inno voters are taking it too seriously or are being too aggressive or again, are on their moral high horse when half the time its...engaging with the themes. Yamanaka said in an interview he wanted to make the audience be apart of the story and everything!

The Interview in Question:

Yamanaka: That's a difficult question... I'm always conscious of emotional control in my work, but in “MILGRAM”, the content has more live feeling to it. So the story progresses realistically based on the presence of the audience. I think I used a different brain than I have been using to create works up until now, I see it as necessary to think very three-dimensionally. I'm currently trying to turn the audience into characters in my work.

It's like pointing out the uncomfortable themes in her story when your an inno voter is the same as calling yourself "smarter" than guilty voters. Which is Weird when those themes Are such a big part of her story.

Or, alternatively, somehow, pointing out those themes means your disrespecting Amane since she didn't want to be treated like a child even though, again, those themes are such a major part of her story!

I was really trying to engage with this in good faith and now I'm fucking pissed that I spent a month worrying about being too aggressive and mean without realizing that a lot of the guilty voters I was hearing this from were doing the Same Fucking Thing!

[squuote]

We know so very little about Mariella, but I think her existence as an entity similar enough to Stanley to be narrated in the same structure is very interesting. A lot of people take a lot of liberties with her when they include her in fanfics/other fanworks, often making her somewhat of a straightman, a force of sensibility and stability (and often emotional intelligence)-- which is great!! I love seeing people have fun with her, and it's often good to have foils to Utter Disaster characterizations of Stanley and Narrator-- but personally I see her as... well, as more of a parallel to Stanley, especially with both of them occupying a "protagonist"/"office worker" role when seen.

TSP/TSPUD is constantly operating on at least five levels of meta simultaneously, so it's hard to discern exactly how reliable any information is, or what level of meta it should be read on. Mariella's described presence is her witnessing the destruction of Stanley in "the real world" and simply being glad that it isn't her before moving on. I think this actually speaks to a distinct LACK of emotional intelligence, or at least self-awareness, perhaps to outright denial/willful ignorance-- within the narrative put forth by the Narrator, Mariella appears to be self-conscious, perhaps even defensive, her first instinct self-protective and self-assuring-- "that isn't me. I'm sane. How fortunate that I am sane. How fortunate that isn't me." The irony of Mariella is, of course, that she is ALSO simply a vessel narrated and controlled by the Narrator, not in the real world but within a story, exactly as Stanley is/was (in this narrative put forth by the Narrator) before he apparently 'realized the inconsistencies of his reality' and spontaneously died.

The interesting contrast to THAT is then that Mariella is outside the control of the player, so she ISNT identical to Stanley, and whether she is within the influence of the Mind Control Facility or not within the Narrative is not entirely clear. She is a character, she is framed like a protagonist by the Narrator, but she is outside the player's reach, and largely outside the visible narrative. Does she have her own player? Does she exist in her own form, or like Stanley (at least Stanley per the Real Person Ending) is she reliant on being puppeted to make choices, somewhere beyond the player's perception? How real is she?

Personally, I think Mariella is a very similar presence to Stanley, but without the influence of a Player/the repetition of the Parable, she has shut out the hints of her nature to survive. She is a foil to Stanley (Stanley-the-Narrator's-character, anyway) because Stanley recognizes his reality and is destroyed by it, and Mariella sees that conclusion and refuses to reckon with her reality honestly.

Conceptualizing her outside of the Parable-as-Game metanarrative, I think of her as someone who was Weird growing up, who was made to feel small and stupid and Incorrect for that weirdness, and learned to self-protect by strongly and determinedly identifying as Just Perfectly Normal, obedient to social norms and a careful expert at navigating her position and role. Someone who learned to be bland, to laugh at people failing to fit in in order to fit in herself, to turn her face from their suffering because she was Normal, she WAS. She is normal, and everyone knows that Weird people get made fun of, because they're Weird. She hasn't grown past that and she fights questioning things around her because she is petrified of being Weird and outcast again. I think as a character she deserves internal torment too (/affectionate) and the opportunity to grow from shitty coping mechanisms, instead of always being the Perfectly Balanced Background Supportive Lesbian. (She IS a lesbian tho. To be clear.) Yes this is a HIGHLY autistic reading of Mariella but that's because I am too autistic to perceive a character as neurotypical.

Ideal fanwork narrative, for me, is her reluctantly befriending Stanley (and/or Timekeeper/Employee 432) where they all work at the Office Where Nothing is Wrong I Promise-- reluctant because she knows they're Weird but befriending because they are genuinely nice to her and despite her best efforts she isn't actually friends with/fully accepted by/comfortable with people who ARENT a little Weird-- and starting out a little shitty and judgemental and then slowly growing out of that and coming to recognize that it's Okay To Be Weird and that she is, and she's been hurting others and herself trying to suppress it for approval she has never and will never truly get. Partially brought about because there is Definitely Something Wrong In This Office and she has to embrace seeming crazy, defiant, and bizarre in order to solve the mystery with Stanley/TK and break free of the office's trap.

*waves hand* obviously that narrative concept also involves a lot of other characters growing too, and is based on how I perceive them, but you were asking about Mariella.

ANON I NEED TO THANK YOU PERSONALLY FOR THIS ASK I have literally been rotating it in my mind since you sent it holy fuck. Everything about this has given me an entire new outlook on how I perceive Mariella and I mean that so genuinely. I love the concept of Mariella forcing away the possible reality of being another vessel for the Narrator to project stories onto. Her need for herself to be normal, for her to be in control in such a contrasting and different way than how Stanley wishes to be in control.

Stanley fully knowing that he has no control over himself vs Mariella who insists that she has control, that she knows what is and isn't real. IT'S SO FUCKING GOOD ANON. SO, SO GOOD. I literally am framing this on my wall, I fucking love this so goddamn much

[iantimony]

I didn't post last week's on dreamwidth or tumblr so I'm gonna combine this week's with last week's for crossposting! still in FL hell but things are moving along. look at neocities if you want it more granular by week.

2/25 - who would win: one 103-year-old or one palette of 60 water bottles ... had to jet down to old people land again to act as support and it is mega sucking. I didn't get the chance to make this post yesterday so I am actually typing this from the ER while we wait for her scans to come back hahahaha..... (scans came back while I was working on this: she has a fuuuuuucking spinal fracture. i am going to kill the ortho she saw last week.)

listening

a lot of just king things

never the muse (madilyn mei)

splendor & misery (clipping.) - duuuuuuude this album rules. rec from a discord server I'm in after a convo about how weird and racist tumblr is about rap music. jaw literally dropped at the second track.

relistened to montero lil nas x. still a good album.

reading

started haunting of hill house. first paragraph was so good that I had to put the book down for a second after reading it.

mirror life by kamran javadizadeh

born to (gen) and stress position (M) by friend B, see watching section. yayyyy fic

DeepSeek and the AI Murder Cult: rats strike again

in defense of pretension (Ayan Artan): read most of this, agreed with some of it in the vein of how intellectualism is very much out of 'style' right now, hit the line "you will never come across a well-read zionist", closed the tab in exasperation. while being well-read is good for a lot of things it does not inherently make you more moral, or vice versa. there are plenty of well-read zionists, right-wingers, liberatarians, [insert political ideology you disagree with here]. being exposed to a lot of viewpoints and art etc can influence your politics and ideology, sure, but like. I don't think equating intellectualism with morality is the move. bizarre take imo.

shamefully: I am reading homestuck, the beyond canon stuff. a friend recommended it and so I was like. sure. why not. I'm in rot zone.

watching

severance!!! it happened I finally watched s1. I have gone in knowing many of the major spoilers but it's a good enough show that it doesn't matter. halfway thru the s1 finale, was watching it with B but had to stop for Grandma Assistance and then it got too late to finish lol

creating a digital garden to end my doomscrolling (Anna Howard): where I got the first entry of 'reading'! this led me to:

Obsidian: The King of Learning Tools (Odysseas): okay this is what finally got me to download obsidian. I have been in notion land for many moons now but it just isn't cutting it for me for some of the things I want. I still think my dnd stuff and some other things will live in notion but I needed a brainstorming space and I think this will be it for me. we'll see! I've always liked the idea of commonplace books etc but I know myself and I know they won't be organized or legible and I will literally never look at them again which defeats the whole purpose imo so this is a digital and eaiser to reference version of that.

understimulating my overstimulated brain for a week (Michelle Gia): the counting rice killed me but also, tru as hell. third eye opened. etc. also really funny that she managed to choose the UHC assassination week to do this

Algorithms are breaking how we think (Technology Connections): you may be noticing a trend lol. this one made me go through and clear out my youtube subscription list of the channels that don't update/I'm not interested in any more and I plan on using that as my youtube home page instead going forward.

Drawing And Talking About Fairies (Stanilka): in a different vein, deeply charmed by these little guys.

playing

dnd....the one-shot turned 4? 5?-shot I made Vesper for is allllmost done, I think next game is the final battle so I will finally have to figure out how monk combat works after an insane amount of espionage-style play. there have been many moments where I had the thought "this would have been better in a non-dnd system" but this is the terminally dnd-brained group so...

fallow though I think I will start playing/reading miseriechord this afternoon or tomorrow.

making

back to pottery! made some new bowls:

the majolica on my fish plate and fern sake cups came out great thank god! I was a little heavy-handed on the underglaze for the fish so I tapped some clear on top and sent it back to the kiln but I think it should turn out great.

did not get pictures of this but: I have been trying to paint a dino fossil on the inside of a large decorative bowl for a while and realized that it might be easier to get the level of detail I want if I carve it in relief first and then flood that with white undergalze...I'm about halfway through scraping it into the bone-dry clay so lol we'll see how long that takes

fallow as all hell. some brainstorming for short stories I suppose

eating

fallow

oh EXTREMELY fallow. a lot of chinese takeout. publix rotisserie chicken.

moving

I think I'm removing this section actually. I might just keep a spreadsheet for myself because that means I can track numbers more easily :3

[doctorruby]

okay putting my real and comprehensive opinion on bvddie here even though no asked just because i feel like i dont make it very clear

i ship bvddie but i do not think its happening, i lost hope for it around season 5 when i dropped the show because i felt like we were constantly being baited and tbh i couldn't stand what the fandom was. thats mostly why i dont post bvddie a lot because ultimately i don't want to interact with the loudest portion of that fandom. after buck came out as bisexual, i stopped caring about it even more even though i still enjoy the idea of it because instead of just thinking about buck being queer, he actually was. first and foremost, i like canon queer representation so bucktommy obviously takes precedent because eddie isn't canonically queer (yet, idk, maybe tim minear will pull a fast one on us). i care way more about hen and karen than i do about taylor/lucy, even though i like both ships. i'm okay with criticism of it, especially of the fandom because to be honest, i do think it's fair to call bvddie theories ridiculous and out there because they kind of are, BUT i don't think it hurts anyone to think that or hold out hope, and it's nice to see speculation and theories bc thats what fandom is all about. that couch theory still has a hold on me even though i dont think it's intentional lol. i don't think it's okay to directly make fun of any bvddie for having crazy theories because we've all had ships that make us crazy and thats okay. the exception here is if that particular bvddie is making fun of bvcktommys for their theories n stuff because at that point its hypocrisy. this goes both ways. if you're gonna come up with a crazy theory, you can't look at other people's crazy theories and claim any high ground there, which is unfortunately something i see a lot in both fandoms.

although one thing i will not do is say "well both sides are equally bad" because objectively bvddies have been around a lot longer and done much worse things. that doesn't mean bts are all innocent either however, one ship clearly has dominance over this fandom and has a large, extensive track record of harassing actresses/generally being aggressive about their ship before bt ever even happened. so there are many, many more cases of those shippers feeling threatened and lashing out unfairly while the others are often just acting out of defense. if there's a bully on the playground picking on someone else, and that person kicks them in the shin, i'm obviously going to hold the bully much more accountable for their behavior than i am for the kid defending themself. while that's obviously not always the case, (i've blocked my fair share of bvcktommy girlies for being weird about female love interests) when it comes to the "both sides" argument, we literally just know that's not true. also most of the shit said about tommy by antis is deeply homophobic so jot that down.

tbh i think being anti bt is much more egregious than being anti bvddie because that's actual queer rep that you're bashing and hoping dies. but there's a difference between being "anti" anything and just not liking it and thinking its annoying.

at first i think i understood it because i think bvddie kind of was the underdog when it first started bc it's was non canon queer ship between two canonically straight characters but thats obviously not true anymore and hasn't been for a while. bvddie has the attention of the actors, has the positive acknowledgement of journalists that get to directly interview those actors, and has the popularity within the fandom. so it's kind of just punching down at other ships at this point, especially ones including female characters who already don't get a lot of development.

that being said, again, I STILL LIKE BVDDIE, and have plenty of bvddie mutuals that i love so i try to avoid the generalization of "ALL bvddie shippers are like this 🙄" because obviously thats not true and there's nothing wrong with shipping bvddie obviously lol it's just a ship and a cute one at that. i think its ridiculous to care that much about hating a ship you just don't like that much, which is fine but like i think many ppl in this fandom need to take several steps back and realize it's not that fucking deep, just like the things you like and leave everyone else alone.

tldr: i like bvddie but im not gonna avoid criticizing a big part of that fandom. ultimately i think ship wars are silly and i don't really understand them. i like queer representation and i like queer headcanons but im not gonna hold out hope for anything. im very ship and let ship until you start to be a dick about other people shipping and then i think you deserve to be called out, especially if you're actively being homophobic/misogynistic/racist. also i think bvddietommy should be endgame lol, let chris has THREE dads and then everyone's happy :D

edit: oh and obviously i like bvcktommy if that wasn't abundantly clear lol

[jellybeanium124]

I am growing more certain by the hour this is the worst kind of smear campaign. I've linked a few posts here that explain things and include transcripts of the podcast. Be aware the third one is a direct transcript of what was said and does go into detail. But this is very far from a cut and dried case of rape, assault, or even grooming.

https://www.tumblr.com/procrastiel/755074839055859712

https://www.tumblr.com/procrastiel/755102212391337985/agreed

https://www.tumblr.com/portraitofalonelydyke/755098475081908224/i-have-edited-this-post-to-add-more-of-the

One relationship was, per the lady involved, entirely and enthusiastically consensual and mutually enjoyed. The other relationship, also per the lady involved, has one incident of blurry/retracted consent or regret about consenting. One lady was also, in the past, horrified by allegations against Neil made in her name and said at the time her words were being taken out of context and blown out of proportion. No other ex of Neil's this podcast contacted had any negative things to say.

This is not defense, but clarity. Circumstances are not black and white here, everything is incredibly blurry and messy. The source is heavily biased if not outright corrupt and wearing those biases on its sleeve. Both ladies contradict themselves and their own texts, emails, and statements throughout the podcast. If it's not a case of someone's words being twisted in service of an agenda, then it's true and he will be dealt with. But right now? Nothing about this is that clear or simple, especially when the apparent victims themselves state repeatedly in this very podcast that their relationships were consensual.

It is best to either listen to it yourself or read the transcripts linked. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty and this podcast is not doing a good job of that. Final judgement should be withheld until a real investigation is done. It would not be the first time terfs have smeared the reputation of those who stand in opposition to them, if that is what's going on here.

I feel like I've been pretty open to not having a fixed and final opinion yet. my opinion is neither fixed nor final. any legitimate news articles I've read have literally all just been "this is what tortoise whatever reported" with no actual investigation. I mean it is weird of him to immediately start making out and cuddling with his nanny as per his official statement. and imo if you're an author/showrunner, your fans are like your children. in that they will blame all their emotional problems on you and you shouldn't have sex with them. but as a 22yo who is part of old-man-fuckers-not-so-anonymous who finds 50+ men attractive in some asexual sort of way, like... they were old enough to know what they were doing and I think calling what happened "grooming" based on the story so far is so off base and reeks of "adult minors" or some shit.

here's what I think the best and worse case scenarios are atm:

best case scenario: both these women regret giving their consent, tortoise people are blowing shit up to smear him, neil is being entirely honest on his part. conclusion: dude you should not have done that c'mon man that was weird and taking advantage of your position of power but like don't need to fully cancel him.

worst case scenario: he raped those women. if this is the case he's worse than jk rowling imo. she is a hateful, mean, destructive little viper who is ruining people's lives but she's never raped anyone afaik. conclusion: destroy him.

[alwida10]

When Covid hit and some deeply problematic people started attacking Asian restaurant owners in New York for “the Chinese virus” I was glad to see people call them out. I was glad people mentioned how weird and nonsensical it was to accuse Asians who lived their whole life in the states of conspiracy. When a crowd gathered around a falafel restaurant in New York and demanded the owners to come out, I did not see people stepping up to their defense. In fact, I didn’t even see anyone here mentioning it happened.

U consider this stuff equal? Babies are murdered but it ok since no restaurant close down. Also why expect ppl condemn hamasall time when a person said free palestin but it ok if they say israelve right to be exist which mostly said after asking them if theyre ok w all this murders? Cs it look like israelsupporters are ok w murders bombings tortures if victim is not white or israelins

Just to make my position on the conflict clear before I address the rest: I am not ok with the bombing of civilians in Gaza. It’s a crime and a horror what is happening there. Killing children is not ok, and neither is killing women or men. I condemn the widespread bombing and destruction the Israeli government is doing in Gaza. My heart bleeds for the people who suffer there. Also, I don’t think it’s a good military tactic, since people who get hurt repeatedly will not grow into a mindset of “oh, guess it was wrong to hate the people who killed just another child/relative/friend of mine”. Imo it’s dumb, cruel and absolutely worthy of condemnation. Additionally, I have absolutely no problem with criticism of the israelian government, the actions of their army or my other person/institution actively involved in the conflict. I love it when people point out lies on social media. But I draw a hard line at antisemitism.

To your ask:

I consider defending Asians against “you (the restaurant owner, taxi driver etc) are part of the conspiracy that invented Covid to attack the western world” and defending jewish restaurant owners against “you (the restaurant owner) are committing genocide” when both of them lived in the states for years equal. As long as I don’t have any knowledge on that specific person being part of an underground virus lab or an underground anti-Palestinian terror organization I consider them not part of the events aside from them being victims of people who feel like it’s ok to attack bystanders. You cannot control in which family you get born, and condemning people for something they cannot control is bad.

Also why expect ppl condemn hamasall time when a person said free palestin but it ok if they say israelve right to be exist which mostly said after asking them if theyre ok w all this murders?

A) I recommend stating your (addressing everyone, not just you specifically) how you think about the massacre on 07.10 because “free Palestine” is a short version of “from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free”. It implies that the whole area between the Jordan river and the Mediterranean Sea (which is basically all of Israel) will be “free”. You may wonder why this could be considered confrontational, since “free” is something good. The point is that -while Israel’s population consists of ~21% Arabs, and ~18% Muslims which have equal rights their own party and fill several office functions- there is not one Jew living in Gaza. This is an overview over the Jewish population in some of the Middle East countries, which btw is not exclusively white:

Combined with the Hamas leader’s words that October 7th was only a rehearsal, there is a lot off evidence this “free” does not mean “living in freedom”, but “free of Jews”. This equals the statement “let’s destroy Israel”. Some people say it outright, too, calling for all Jews to leave the Middle East entirely and Israel being disbanded. Hamas targeted everyone in Israel, including people of color (including the Thai workers that had been taken hostage into Gaza) and Arabs. Claiming all Israelis would be white/jewish/of european descendant and all Palestinian people would be people of color or brown who originated from that area is a lie to justify antisemitism.

So, as long you don’t clarify your position, it’s not clear if or if not you want to see Israel gone and all Jews either dead or displaced. If you want to make your point clear, I recommend saying where you stand. People cannot read minds.

Some people have adopted the phrase “from the river to the sea, Palestine will be equal”. I love this because it clearly states the support for Palestine but makes it clear it does not call for displacement or genocide.

I don’t think Gaza should be destroyed because of the actions of their leaders, the Hamas. People are not their leaders/government and they should NOT be punished for their leaders’ actions. Equally, Israelis are not their government and should not be punished for the government’s actions.

Imo, the moment you decide that one child is worthy of life and another one deserves to die, you have been made a tool of extremism.

[merps]

Note: some changes were made for screen readers to properly parse words. The original style generally is all lowercase and uses shorthand like "abt" instead of "about", "w" for "with", and "ik" instead of "I know"

[ID 1: A reddit post titled, "AlTAH for 'training' a guy 'like a dog'?" that reads:

I (23F) have recently started seeing this guy (26M). he's super pretty, but he's kind of emotionally unavailable and he's alluded to an unstable/unhealthy childhood.

for context, i also work with socializing abused and neglected dogs at a local shelter and i think how much time i spend with the dogs is impacting the way i interact with ppl.

when we were on a date i started subconsciously making mental notes about him like the notes id make abt a dog. for example, i noticed when we went out to dinner i noticed he ate really quickly and was very anti-sharing (resource guarding) but when i offered to pay and suggested dessert it seemed to make him really happy and a little calmer (food-motivated); he's really particular about his car (territorial/crate aggression); he likes when i pick where we go/ what we do (eager to please), etc. so, ive started using the tactics id use on a dog with similar problems.

recently a friend (22F) pointed out that it's weird that i keep peanut M&Ms on me w the specific purpose of offering the guy one when i see him, and offering them again whenever i can tell he feels vulnerable. she said that im being an asshole bc he's a person, not a dog so i shouldn't be "training him like one."

i don't think that's fair, im not trying to control him or anything, i just want him to feel comfortable w me the same way i need the animals im helping to be comfortable with me. humans and animals aren't THAT diff after all, we all just want to feel safe and cared for. the guy hasn't noticed yet as far as i can tell. the problem is, my "technique" is yielding really positive results.

AITAH? should i stop?

/End ID 1]

[ID 2: Screenshot of an edit to the previous post that reads:

[start all caps] Updates / Clarifications [end caps]

for everyone asking me if i've seen the big bang theory episode with this plotline: i have not

for everyone saying they think i am autistic: probably, yeah. i haven't been tested but maybe i should

i do not have loose m&ms in my pocket bc then they'd get all melty and gross - i keep them in a bag in my purse

I know the title was clickbait-y so i want to make some things clear. i didn't think of it as "training" til my friend said it was like i was training him, and that made me feel weird (and it's why i made the post)

i am not and never have been trying to "modify" behavior. what i noticed in him and what i notice in animals were stress responses. we only get aggressive over our food if we believe someone's gonna take it away. we get defensive over our spaces if we reasonably feel like they'll be violated. applies to both animals and ppl. i was trying to establish trust the way i best know how to lol

if he never shared fries and never wanted to park next to a car with wide doors again, that'd be fine w me tbh. i know he's not a dog, so he's not at risk of being euthanized or something

/End ID 2]

[ID 3: Continuation of the above edit:

[start all caps] On to the update proper yay! [end all caps]

so, to all the ppl who told me i should tell him what im doing - you were right and that's what i did. turns out i was [start all caps] very wrong [end all caps] about him not noticing what i was doing - he apparently put two and two together pretty quickly after i started doing it. he didn't tell me he was on to me tho, because he liked it and was worried id get embarrassed and stop if i knew that he knew. so we talked it out and it ended up not being a very big deal at all and im probably gonna keep having m&ms because they're good. that's all i got for yall lol

/End ID 3]

sickens me to my stomach. how dare this guy get to live my dream.

[gamingavickreyauction]

The one meritorious argument I've heard against playing devil's advocate is that possible beliefs about the world underspecify the data, so it's always going to be possible to come up with weird beliefs that are nonetheless internally consistent, that can't be disproven and can't be proven highly unlikely.

This is particularly bad with ethical beliefs, where there is no data to go off. I'm thinking about that ethical system someone made a joke about that's relativity-adjusted hedonic utilitarianism, so you should try to go as fast as possible to reduce suffering by time dilation. It's simultaneously obviously absurd and impossible to devise a watertight argument against, because most ethical systems are impossible to devise a watertight argument against.

This is also very easy to do with factual claim about poorly understood things, like maybe all non-human animals are conscious except for dogs, specifically. Sounds stupid, but perhaps there is a natural selective pressure for consciousness, and humans unwittingly selected against consciousness by trying to breed more docile pets and dogs, being the most intensively domesticated animals, are the only ones to lose consciousness as a result of this effect. All these claims are highly dubious and have no evidence against them but none, so far as I'm aware, can be proven wrong. And if even deliberately silly sounding ideas like this can be defensible, think what you could do when you try to devise defensible ideas instead of silly ones.

The upshot of this is that it's not feasible to engage with every defensible idea, and only engaging with ideas that serious people actually hold is a good filter for what it's worth spending your finite time on earth on. You can't afford to get bogged down engaging with endless possible perspectives when you have an actual decision to make. Whilst in principle engaging with them could help you toss out bad ideas and make a better decision, in practice many ideas will be defensible, and you won't be able to toss many out, and you'll just lose confidence that you really know anything about what you're dealing with. Maybe radical uncertainty is actually the most correct position, but it's not a luxury you have when faced with a practical problem, even if the problem is something like 'what avenue should I pursue in my research'. Pure reason will never take you as far as you like, and at the end you have no choice but to make a leap of faith. If there are people you're working with who legitimately hold opposing beliefs, you have no choice but to engage with them, because you need to be able to agree on a course of action. But if an idea has no supporters that's probably as good a reason as you'll ever practically have to disregard it.

To be clear, this isn't just about time-sensitive decisions. Even given years of scholarly debate there will commonly be many possible ideas that fit the available data, and even after years of study there will still be work to do to better understand the perspectives of actual people who disagree with you, without worrying about ideas no one actually holds.

I don't attach a huge amount of weight to this idea. Ironically, to a large extent I am playing devil's advocate here.

I find the idea that we can never find our way through to murk of possible world views deeply disturbing, and I like to collect different perspectives on the world, and try to understand them. I think that doing this has been of benefit to me, and whilst it has to a great extent produced the deep uncertainty I have described, I can selectively ignore that to still hold beliefs about the world that I am convinced of, which leaves me no worse off than if I didn't much understand the perspectives of those that disagree with me, and it helps me to understand and communicate with those people. It also sometimes does change my views, in a way that I think is genuine progress rather than a lateral move through impenetrable fog. And I think it is genuinely helpful to have more ways of seeing the world.

So I mostly do not agree with the conclusion of the argument I have outlined, but I think it contains some truths and is a useful idea to keep in the back of my head for when it is enlightening.

[ultrvmonogamy]

just some bs drama venting i had to get off my chest that's not worth anyone else's time but this year has been so fucked on so many levels that i need to spew in some form or another n hey this is my blog so..

i am no longer finding compassion for the ppl who lied to, lied abt, and/or mischaracterized me to others n thereby interfered w or destroyed connections n relationships i had here.

whether due to ur own defense mechanisms or delusions or misguided senses of self-preservation, i wish u all the caricatured version of karma befitting the kind of people that actively work to slander n isolate someone who consistently strives to be good to others where reasonable, to treat others w integrity, to be authentic, to own his personal mistakes/misjudgments/missteps along the way, n to grow in the capacity to do so.

all of u r the worst kinds of hypocrites who i know firsthand have engaged in revolting shit ranging from catfishing to profiting off of racial fetishism while endlessly virtue signaling the opposite attitude to stealing content to repeatedly violating v clearly declared boundaries to retaliating for unrequited obsession and more. i wonder if, while u seem to revel in ur popularity here, some part of u feels empty inside knowing that the support n positivity u receive is not for u at all but rather is intended for a person who u only purport to be but r unwilling or unable to actually embody. i would like to say that i hope it tortures u w the kind of fire that serves to purify, but the truth is that rn i just fucking want it to burn.

one of u i thought was my friend. i sure as hell tried to be urs. i'm a fool for actually feeling deeply concerned for u n focusing on the good in u n wanting to encourage u in ur positive efforts. but to be fair u were struggling profoundly w depression, and u know damn well u made me feel like no one else believed in u. even after u confessed ur lie. i was taken aback by our most recent exchange, n for idk how many weeks after i'd been kicking myself for a far less self-aware younger me not handling that differently when the truth came out way back then. but now? now i'm just angry. how fucking dare u put me in that position n then come at me like i sought it out or asked for it? and how many others too? fucking hell, the things i won't even say bc of the legal ramifications of ur actions.. to u, i mean, not me. bc databases don't forget. how many lives did u put at risk? w YOUR actions. YOU did that. i have to wonder if perhaps u finally catching a glimpse of the weight of that made it all too much for u to own. or maybe it's some weird clout or relevance thing like when kids who grow up in cushy homes feel compelled to prove they're all hard n tough. i don't can't n won't know n shouldn't even bother to speculate. one of u i bought into ur bullshit until i saw ur true colors. n so then ur gonna slander me behind my back w some curated out of context messages or smth? fuck that. and fuck anyone who's gonna pretend they've never been mean when angry n disappointed in someone who's trying to pull the wool over their eyes. ur fucking gross gross gross gross gross. one of u i did all i could to be clear n soft w u bc ur fucking unhinged. but boy oh boy did u help me better understand what women r talking abt when they say they fear retaliation for rejecting guys, tho ofc this was me as a guy receiving it from a woman but it turns out it's plenty terrible enough even without the horrendous weight of societal misogyny behind it. whatever. ur a sad bully who can't handle rejection even when delivered w the utmost sensitivity. i doubt i'll ever see one of ur posts without feeling at least slightly nauseated, n i'm confident plenty of the ppl i know here who reblog them would feel the same way if they knew what a disingenuous, toxic, petty excuse for a sentient being u rly r.

moving on now. again. i can't think of anyone i'd rly want to have read this, but i'm posting it so i must want someone to read it ig. hi, i hope u didn't read this and r having a lovely day.

[celestialmantdonna]

In other circumstances, Quill would've tuned out, possibly inadvertently or possibly deliberately, after Raminas apologized to him. But after what happened, he needed to find out how many connections Vossler had.

In any case, there was clearly a history of turning a blind eye to Vossler's behavior. Star-Lord wasn't Dalmascan, but he had actually listened when Basch and Soryn discussed this matter back at the tavern. These people knew Vossler, not him. Was anyone really surprised that he thought he could get away with more and more until he saw himself as practically untouchable? The King was taking action now that Vossler's actions threatened to bring Dalmasca down with him.

He frowned slightly when Raminas appeared to blame Basch for the actions of Vossler. While it was true that at present Quill didn't trust Basch as much as he initially did, that didn't make him guilty. He wanted to open his mouth to speak in defense of Basch, but Caelen beat him to it. Apparently the King feared the might of the Kingdom of Missouri, and Quill's eyebrows shot up before he blinked. Sure, the weather in Missouri was crazy, at least from what he recalled, but–

His head lowered when Prince Caelen stated what Vossler had tried to do to the Princess. Raminas' reaction was positively infuriating. Impure? Quill wasn't a father. He wasn't even sure he was an adult personality-wise, but if he had a child (preferably with Gamora) he would do anything to keep them safe. Yet the King was worried about... bullshit. All of it.

This was a weird-ass planet.

When Raminas stripped Basch of his title, prompting Soryn and Caelen to protest, Quill's jaw dropped as he tried to comprehend the King's twisted 'logic'. Dismissing the reports of the guilty and punishing the innocent was a choice. Maybe it made sense according to Dalmasca's law, but if that were the case, Caelen and Soryn wouldn't look as unhappy as they did. Raminas couldn't risk a public trial? Are you shitting me right now? How much shit had been swept under the rug all these years?

Peter Quill's life had always been intertwined with the light. The colorful lights of the music performances he used to watch on TV. The dim lights of the hospital's waiting room. The blinding light of Yondu's M-Ship, right before Quill was abducted as a child. The purple glow of the Power Stone before he grabbed it with his bare hands, before the Guardians taught him how to share pain. The celestial light he had inherited from Ego. The light of the explosions as the Guardians obliterated Ego's planet, the lights of Yondu's funeral. The soft light of the stars the Guardians often gazed at. The light they saw earlier right before they landed. And now, the white light that flooded the throne room as the creature that saved Mantis revealed themselves.

Quill suspected that they were real the second Basch said he didn't think the Prince was crazy, but he didn't expect Munoh to show themselves to the King like that. He couldn't help but agree with everything Munoh said, and once they were done speaking, he cleared his throat.

"Munoh," he said as politely as he could. "I want to personally thank you for helping my friend and teammate. We won't forget what you did for her. If we can repay you in any way, we will." Quill stepped closer to the being, unafraid. "But for now, I am trying to find out how many people are willing to work for sir Azelas. People like him usually have connections, 'cause they're major cowards who can't stand on their own, and... if any of you suspect anything, now's the time to tell me."

This isn't over, he thought apprehensively.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

This is far from over, Gamora told herself as she carefully refrained from pacing, picking at her nails, cracking her knuckles or engaging in any habit that could betray her worry in front of the Princess. She blinked when the girl explained that she was about to get married in just a few days. Ashelia didn't seem happy... nor in love. An arrangement, Gamora thought with sad sympathy, though not without detachment.

Mantis smiled when Ashelia showed interest in makeup, and she ushered her to the dressing table. She helped Ashelia sit before picking some eyeshadow – soft colors worked best on pale skin, so Mantis chose a lovely rose gold hue for Ashelia.

"Close your eyes," she told Ashelia before starting to gently apply the eyeshadow. She idly started to hum Surrender by Cheap Trick for a moment. "This will make your eyes stand out more. This color is soft, less intense than other hues, in case you do not want to draw excessive attention to yourself. It is a good start before you try out more vibrant colors. You can open your eyes now," she said with a smile.

Offering Ashelia the mascara, Mantis picked up another to apply it to her own eyes and show the Princess how to do it. "This is for your lashes. You might want to open your mouth slightly, because doing so will stretch our skin, making it easier to apply... Like this." Her lips parted slightly and Mantis applied mascara to her already long, thick lashes, letting Ashelia do it herself so she would actually learn. "It will make your lashes appear darker!"

Gamora watched from a side with her arms crossed. Maybe Ashelia could be trusted – she was endearing, but Gamora remained wary.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

The Benatar was quiet. Awfully quiet. The Guardians had taken the Zune, and the noises of Rocket raging and destroying everything in sight had died down. With visible exhaustion, he sat down and glanced at the havoc. He wanted to tire himself out so he wouldn't have the energy to attack anyone else. Because Basch asked him to 'calm down' as if that were possible. As if someone trying to take out your friend was a minor nuisance that could be handled calmly.

He hated this place. He hated the people in it. He hated Vossler and pathetic fucks like him, and he hated the way Basch had been clueless. Basch didn't know his own 'friends'. Rocket found it rather laughable.

He hated the way Mantis only responded to his anger with more acceptance and affection. He hated the way the Guardians didn't let him push them all away. He hated how much he cared about them. He hated how scared he was, not of them, but for them. He hated how they loved him even when he fucked up, especially when he fucked up.

He hated feeling so forlorn. So helpless. So powerless. Maybe he was laughable in a way as well. He hated that, too. Rocket hated many things. He hated most things. But above everything else, he hated that he couldn't hate the Guardians. No matter what they did, no matter what they said, he couldn't bring himself to hate them.

They seemed to understand Rocket even when he couldn't understand himself. He wasn't like that to be a jerk, he was like that to protect himself. They knew he was volatile, and rude, and angry... and they stuck around. Like idiots. Of course Rocket would feel the urge to kill anyone who tried to hurt them.

Eventually, he got up from his seat and stretched both arms over his head. He had shit to do and even more shit to fix.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

The lizards were nice, but Groot was starting to get bored. Drax was quiet. Drax was always quiet whenever bad things happened to Mantis. The Kylosian warrior stared into space stoically, and Groot didn't understand why. He approached Drax, climbing onto his shoulder and placing his tiny hands on Drax's cheek.

"Sleep!" Groot exclaimed. He frowned when he realized it didn't work – if Mantis could do that, surely he could do it as well, right? "Sleep! Now! Sleep, Drax," he insisted, but it was futile.

Drax's booming laughter erupted from his throat, and Groot made an angry face.

"Don't laugh!"

"What are you doing, child?"

"I'm bored. Help me catch a lizard!"

"You need to learn how to hunt by yourself," Drax said solemnly.

Groot blinked.

"Hunt?"

"Yes."

"I don't wanna hunt them! I wanna play with them." The young Guardian stilled, then thought for a moment. Maybe he should learn how to hunt. A mischievous smile appeared on his face as he hopped down from Drax's shoulder. "Don't move, I'll be right back. I have to pee!"

Groot was tiny, small enough to make others look like giants, but he was brave and he loved his friends. And so the young Flora colossus started to wander, looking for the dungeons.

Another Time, Another Place (A Hollow Universe In Space) || closed with tarnishedxknight

@tarnishedxknight continued from here

The Guardians stood there, letting Captain Basch formally introduce them to King Raminas. They all then bowed respectfully except for Rocket, who only did so because Gamora pushed his head down. They trusted Basch for the most part, as he assured them no one would hurt them after telling them to leave their weapons at the ship. Quill and Gamora were the first ones to leave theirs; Drax didn't want to leave his knives, but did so after Mantis looked at him, while Rocket pulled a comical amount of retractable weapons from his pockets.

As they followed Basch, Mantis had stayed behind for a moment to approach Vossler. She felt much better after Munoh sent her some calm energy, and she smirked at the man. Suddenly, her hand was on his cheek, her antennae aglow. "Whenever you open your mouth to say something unkind, you will wail like a baby. Honestly, it might be more coherent than anything else you have said," she whispered. She patted his cheek twice as if to seal her whimsical behest, and hurried to follow the Guardians as Basch guided them through the palace of Rabanastre.

Quill straightened and cleared his throat to speak to the King. Mantis took his hand; Quill was a little confused, but he allowed it since he knew she wasn't feeling great.

"Your Majesty," he said, once again lowering his voice in an attempt to mirror Basch's formal tone and presence, hoping it would make the King like him more. "We come in peace. We thank you for your time, and we apologize for occupying one of your docks. I think I have–" He stopped talking rather suddenly, and swallowed. "Uh... I think... I have..."

What was happening was that Mantis was frantically reading his thoughts as he spoke, using her powers to interrupt him because he was going to say he had the perfect stuff to make up for it, wanting to show the King some Terran music with the Zune. While Terran music was excellent, Mantis knew not everyone would like it, nor find it an acceptable form of apology.

"I have no excuse," Quill said instead. "And I have to... shut up... now."

[antiwhores]

hihi! remember the perv bakugou post? that but with denki (i love your writing btw)

Pervert!Denki x Reader

——

Just some headcannons about Kaminari being a big ass pervert to you

unedited, masturbation, peeping, non con pictures, stealing, etc.

I am not proof reading this 😣. Hope you enjoy! I’ve never written about him before but hope this satisfies!

Pervert Denki is WAY less ashamed than the regular guy.

He feeds into his own excuses by saying that this is normal for him. That its okay because he’s not doing any real harm.

He’ll still try to keep it a secret from you.

He doesn’t want you finding out about how weird he is. He’s liked other girls before and when they find out about his perverted ways they always steer clear of him.

THATS when he starts feeling ashamed in himself. And its only gotten worse after the last time he got caught.

He really liked this girl a couple years back. He would just catch himself sneaking glances from… unusual positions… in usual places. Nothing serious in his opinion.

The girl found out and shunned him. Rumors spread about him being a pervert and for a good year he couldn’t get any play.

He ended apologizing to that girl later on. He genuinely felt bad after some shaming from Kirishima.

He went back to his old ways AS SOON as his heart started to explode from a single touch from you.

He did almost every pervy thing in the book when he met you.

He would gawk at your chest and thighs whenever he could. And sneak peaks at your underwear.

He would look for opportunities to destroy your clothes on “accident” during spars. Like he’d just happen to zap you enough to burn past your clothes. Or maybe he’d accidentally push you into the water just to see your figure and that cute matching underwear set.

He would take pictures at very unusual angles. Sometimes he would just play it off as funny photos. That angle thats supposed to be funny, the one that goes down from your forehead. He would take those on purpose just to get a close up og your tits.

He would find out about your exes and become friends with them just to ask how you were in bed. The details he would ask would be insane. Does she swallow or spit? What color is her pussy? What did it feel like? How deep is her arch? What does she taste like? What shape and size are her titties? How does she take dick? And with all this information, he’d create his own fantasy and jerk to his hearts content.

Although, he would do most of his pervy shit at your house when you finally let him over as your bestfriend.

It always went down for him when you took a shower or just left for a while.

He’d start to go through your stuff, everything. Your panty draw, journal, trash can, every single drawer, your sheets, laundry, computer, etc.

Occasionally, he’d stuff some of your clothes and underwear in his bag. He’d smell the shirt as he fucked into the panties or vice versa. Then he’d wash them, go back to your house, and plant them back where he found them.

If you kept your toys anywhere in that house, god help you. I will not elaborate.

If you’re in the shower, he’d try to find a blindspot to watch you. Not a lot of luck on his part. He’s gonna just have to settle with smelling your body wash and conditioner.

And when you sleep, he’d smell you and excuse himself to your bathroom to jack off. Nothing more. He was scared to do more. He was overpowered by his fear of loosing you over his lust.

And if you so happen to find out about him, he’d be devastated. He couldn’t even avoid it with jokes. He would apologize as soon as he could muster the courage.

But he can’t look you in the eye without laughing as a defense mechanism so he’d have to write you a note. You need to know that he’s serious. Even if he does joke and laugh about it. He doesn’t mean to! He just doesn’t know what to do!