#black man with stis

[twilit-tragedy]

Sometimes I wish I kept the habit of writing down my dreams. I usually let them gently float away from my recollection because I don't want to get frustrated trying to remember every detail in the morning instead of going about my day. But sometimes I wake up and think "damn, that's the whole setting of a fantasy book if I ever wanted to write one".

Today I managed to play out a action movie running from and sabotaging nobles during the French revolution AND witness a vaguely Love Never Dies love story where everyone and everything looked straight out of a palace-museum AND after a vague wedding / LND-inspired necklace gifting, I shit you not, a servant announces to "the court" (???) that Senator Aaron Burr is visiting. After which Leslie Odom Jr. walks in in full anachronistic regalia except "are those sneakers?" - I actually thought, mid-dream. Bro, what the actual fuck 😂.

[fumiliar]

CAN WE PLS GET OLDER BF TOJI HEADCANNONS PLS PRETTY PLS 🙏

(LOVE YOUR WORK BTW!!!)

TYSMM! i hope you like it!😵‍💫

✎...toji is in his late 30s (he lives!) and reader is in her early 20s. megumi is a toddler and he keeps him.

you were the one who chased older bf!toji, you manifested this man. ever since you met him in your apartment gym, you've been trying to get close with him. you started to gym when he went to the gym, asking him for help to carry the weight because you were inexperienced. slowly but surely, you started to develop a relationship with toji, talking to him when it was unrelated to exercise.

older bf!toji who was scared to ask you out on a date. you were so young! he on the other hand, was a widow, a single father and 15+ years older than you. he could've been your father! all these thoughts subsided when he saw you waiting in front of the gym for him. "hi toj-" "date?" he blurted out, leaving you blushing and shocked. "sure toji." that night, he couldn't stop gushing over you to his toddler megumi.

older bf!toji who told you upfront that he was a single father, a widow and looking for a serious relationships on your first date. not wanting to cause any other misunderstandings, he's old, he doesn't have time to play games. he doesn't have the time to fool around, he wants a serious relationship, someone he can lean on, importantly someone who megumi can lean on.

older bf!toji who did not understand why such a youthful person would want him. the stress of his job and raising a child alone has manifested on his appearance. while you, were the epitome of youth in his eyes. the days where you could've been partying in clubs, you spent playing with megumi. he could not wrap his head around your actions.

older bf!toji who barely uses social media. not due to his age, but he's too busy with his life. his only socials are his facebook(good 4 u). you had to teach him how to make an instagram account, and to this day he still doesn't understand how it works. his insta only follows you, with one post, which is also a picture of you.

older bf!toji who's always 'reluctantly' accompanying you, reluctantly watching chick flicks with you, reluctantly accompanying you shopping and holding your shopping bags, reluctantly holding your purse. he's always reluctantly doing stuff, but he ends up doing it anyways. why? cause he loves you. there's a certain joy inside him he hasn't felt since his wife's passing. he secretly enjoys doing girly things with you, just to see the happiness on your face.

older bf!toji who never wants you to feel like megumi is your responsibility. though he wants you to be there for megumi, he doesn't want to burden you with his own struggles.

older bf!toji who stumbles over his feet when he first saw you with megumi. for the first time in his life, he saw megumi like someone from the first meeting. megumi was constantly giggling, smiling ear to ear. without toji realising, his expressions had mirrored his son, like father like son.

older bf!toji who's scared of his future. he's always on the brink of death, with the risky nature of his job. he wants to grow old together, but hesitation takes over him when he realised that in the end, it would just be him growing old.

older bf!toji who has the worst taste in clothing. literally horrendous, when you see his wardrobe, it's just multiples of his tight black shirt, his weird poofy pants and some workout clothes. his other clothing was horrible, some shirts having holes as big as your fist. ever since you've seen that, you've decided to go on a shopping spree for him, along with getting him and megumi some matching clothes.

older bf!toji who hasn't had the time to take care of himself properly. taking care of megumi was such a hassle making him forgot about himself. when you pamper him with skincare nights and face masks, he literally gets addicted. every time you offer to do a face mask or to do his skincare, he dashes to lay his head on your lap. he's still too shy to ask for it, but you can tell how much he likes it. his wrinkles slowly going away with every touch of your hand, as if he's finally let his guard down.

[dragonsfictavern]

Sweet Release

Astarion x afab!Reader

a/n: I admittedly went a little feral over this one. I’m dangerous when I don’t black out when I write lol. So I understand if it’s a bit much, but this idea, though definitely done so many times, was too good to not do.

summary: During another one of Astarion’s feedings, you both decide to take it futher. But things go much further than you expect and you end up almost losing your life. Though Astarion has always got you and will take care of you.

warning: MDNI 18+, also TW for these things: blood, biting, overstimulation, p in v, and uhhh almost dying :)

word count: 1.5k

Astarion knew you. By now, after how much you two have been through— how much you two have taken the time to dissect and explore what makes you tick and twitch, you knew for absolute certain Astarion knew you better than anyone else. And despite his intricacies, being a vampire spawn and all that came with it, he was still only a man. A man who can lose control.

Before tonight, you never would’ve thought it possible. Astarion didn’t lose control, he didn’t go too far. Not with you. At least not any further than you told yourself you could handle. What you were willing to handle to be his. But something slipped within Astarion tonight; allowing him fuck you, overstimulate you, as he suckles at the blood pooling out of your neck has him unable to stop. Needing more of you than you’ve ever given before.

Astarion’s aware, he’s always aware of you and especially of your body. He can feel your form twitch from your last orgasm, even as he thrusts inside you, building you to another one. He can feel your cunt spasm around him as if simultaneously pushing him out and pulling him back in. He can also feel the way your body grows more and more limp the longer the wound on your neck from his piercing bite bleeds. Every suck of your achingly addictive blood drains you further while it revives him, bringing his body to life and making his cock throb inside you.

Even with the risk, even with what was happening now, you wouldn’t have decided against doing this and you won’t decide against it in the future. Something in you craves this, adores this. A connection that you have with him alone that’s unlike any other. A deeper understanding of what it means to take care of each other and your needs. You’ll fall into it every time and no matter how long it takes to recover, whether you have a scroll, have Shadowheart heal you, or simply deal with it, you’ll come crawling right back no matter what.

Your body arches down, back against his chest as you ride him steadily. Head thrown back on his shoulder, allowing him the perfect position to draw blood from your neck. His girth stuffs you so fully you can barely draw in breath with every buck of your hips, choking on a cry as he moves to ignite all your nerves.

You feel that familiar and overbearing pressure in the bottom of your belly that now twinges with pain. Yet your hands still weakly scramble to Astarion’s thighs, digging your fingers in his soft skin to ground yourself in order to better lift your hips before falling with a wet smack.

“Please, Astarion,” you beg as you climb closer and closer to your inevitable climax. Your mouth falls open, eyes grow heavy as you’re entirely reduced to your movements. Thoughts flying out of your mind completely as you eagerly move Astarion’s cock back inside your walls with every thrust. Astarion angles his hips, ensuring he hits right where you need him but besides that, he lets you take control, focusing on the sweet taste of your blood.

Though caught up in your taste, Astarion never stops keeping track of you. Desperately not wanting to stop, wanting to push you to your absolute limit of pleasure and pain, but not completely mindless to you. Accounting for your pace and stamina after going so many rounds, Astarion starts sucking your blood every time his length pumps back inside you. Your body jerks as the buzz of his thrust meets the sting of his bite, merging on the canvas of your sensitive skin.

“What are you asking for exactly, my heart? You wish for me to stop or beg me to keep on going?” He asks, even as tiny whimpers escape past your lips all on their own. He leans back only slightly to watch as your blood beads up over the wound and onto the surface. Meticulously watching as it grows into a beautiful dark red before falling and staining your perfect skin. That single trail only making your beauty that much more defined. The sight added with the tight friction sliding up and down his length has him reaching for his own peek.

“I don’t— please!” Your body shakes as you feel his lips leave your body, serving to heighten the anticipation that makes you wild with need. You pick up your pace, bouncing on his dick. Needing to feel the push and pull, the pulsing, in some way if you could not get it from your neck.

“That’s what I thought, darling. No need to hide,” Astarion says teasingly, a smirk on his face as he watches you writhe along his body as you try and take every inch of him. You had never felt so desperate, not knowing what was possessing you but deciding to follow it instead of fighting against this thing within you that Astarion’s expectedly unlocked.

Astarion’s eyes darken while he watches your body twist and warp as you try to take from him every ounce of pleasure he has to offer. Every ounce he finds himself actually wanting to give you. So, in a decision disguised as mercy, Astarion moves back toward you. His fingers press and pull your skin taut as one hand lands between your breasts, pulling you tight against his body while the other reaches down to your clit, finding it with ease as he starts to rub it slowly. He holds you firmly in place as he uses his hold to jackhammer inside you, feeling every jerk of your body against his. Then just as you’re about to moan, his lips fall back to his bite and he swallows even more of your blood, turning your moan into a fierce shriek.

“Just a little more, I know you can do it for me,” Astarion hisses and you aren’t sure if he means giving him your blood or giving him another orgasm. Either way you seem to give him both as with a sharp rub of his long fingers over your clit, the deep thrust of his cock, and another long pull of blood, you explode. Your orgasm floods through you so fast you can hardly catch your breath.

Your scream is silent as your body convulses in his firm hold, eyes squeezing shut and body tensing through the electrify crackling through you. Astarion sinks his teeth further into your skin, blood coating his mouth just as a gasp from you breaks through. Your hips jump away from his, instinctively trying to escape the overwhelming sensations coursing through you violently.

But Astarion lets out a muffled growl and uses his grip on you to slam you back down on his cock until he’s buried inside you entirely. Only then does he groan, teeth still latched on as he spills himself in you. You exhale shakily, feeling his seed coat your walls. Each spurt has your hips twitching as you rock into him, prolonging both of your climaxes.

Your head spins, vision blurring and for a moment you think it’s just another side effect of your release. But then your eyes begin fluttering shut and as the heat of the moment dies down, you realize how cold your body’s grown. Red alarms start firing through your mind as your survival instincts try to kick in. But then Astarion is right there, tightening his hands on your body as he feels your stuttering heartbeat. His lips brush along the shell of your ear as he shushes you gently.

“I’ve got you, darling. Don’t you worry a bit. Just let yourself go, you’ll be fine. Cross my heart and all that,” he murmurs teasingly, breath blazing on your cold skin. But his words still soothe you and the last thing you see before your world goes dark is Astarion’s face drenched in your blood.

Astarion’s movements are gentle as he slides you off him before carrying your body to his bed. He leaves you alone shortly, coming back with the proper potion and a wet washcloth. His eyes bare into your neck as he uses the cloth to carefully wipe away all the leftover blood. His lips twitch seeing the mark that’s left before tilting your head back and letting the potion flow down your throat. His fingers trail down the bruises sure to form by tomorrow before reaching the mess between your thighs.

He cleans that up as well, not wanting you to wake up and feel like a mess. By now he knows how to take care of you and enjoys doing so. His eyes glisten with absolute adoration as they track up and down your body. Then as soon as he’s finished he climbs into the bed on instinct and pulls you into his arms, your limp body falling over his chest. He looks forward to the moment you wake up, every time hearing the way your pulse picks up when you realize he’s still there with you. He actually finds himself wanting to be there with you, wanting to hold you. But the idea of expressing it all isn’t something he wants to attempt to figure out now. Content to simply lay with you in his arms.

[innistable]

Talk talk (snippet) [Full fic coming 10/07/2024] [1/4]

jason todd x reader

summary: the sequence of events that led you and your neighbor, Jason Todd, to fall in love. For better of for worse.

a/n: I'm new to tumblr and I'm still getting the hang of this. English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. Please, like and reblog if you are interested in reading the full fic, any comment is highly appreciated.

word count: 2k

Your grandmother had always been a superstitious woman, constantly talking about those omens lying everywhere, praying to be seen, both as a warning sign or as a blissful encounter. However, you have never been the one to pay attention to that, not caring about cats, stairs, corners, clover and everything in between, especially in a city like Gotham, where you don’t need an auspice to know that danger is close. 

For all of its sketchiness, Gotham City is a pretty straightforward place, there is always something happening, you may not see it, but it is there, an uneasiness that you can’t quite shake, hiding in a blind spot, a shadow in the corner of your eye. Still, in this precise moment, you wish that you had paid attention to something, omen or not, maybe the gray sky had been a good pointer that it was going to rain, maybe for once you could have listened to weather forecast, and maybe, just maybe, you should have just stayed at home after you saw that black cat licking one of its wounds on the fire escape. 

The point of all this is that it is raining, pouring, it’s one of those rainfalls that’s so loud and strong that it makes you think that the sky is being torn apart. Now you are on your knees, blue jeans now wet and grayish against the cold pavement, trying to retrieve your scattered groceries. 

It went like this: a few harmless droplets when you were cornering Monolith Square to take the bus after spending the evening seeing the Wayne Botanical Garden; on the bus, you were reading a book, something short and too pretentious for its own good, suddenly, the driver was using the windshield wiper and you noticed that the window view was then translucent, being barely able to make out the street silhouettes, it all became a blurry heap of buildings, street lamps and ill-defined legs, torsos and heads; then, you recognized the “C” Building, your stop, so you pressed the button, the bus slowed down and opened its door, outside a storm awaited. 

It’s a two hundred meter walk to your apartment, but what normally was easy, it turned into a midday odyssey, strong winds and warm water made the route unbearable, your tote bag felt heavier by every passing second and just when you were in front of your building, keys in hand, your bag tore by the seams, and all of its contents fell to the ground. 

It’s frustrating and you feel like screaming, it’s not the worst thing to ever happen to you, but it does feel like it is, probably because Gotham is some kind of cruel mistress, no matter how hard you try to play by its rules, it always ends up having a way to humble you, you might try to avoid trouble, but it ends up finding you, one way or another. You have this kind of overwhelming sentiment that makes your eyes sting when you see the damp sugar on the floor, just next to the trinkets you got from the Wayne Botanical Garden and your favorite brand of cookies. 

The rain seems to feel your distress and it starts pouring even more. Great. 

“Need help?” a voice asks. 

You have never been a very religious person, but when you hear those words dripped in that thick gothamite accent that sometimes makes your stomach churn, you think that perhaps there is something out there that has decided to glance your way for once, and that for once, it felt pity for you. 

“Yes.” you say. 

You look up and see a tall man, gruff, huge. He has dry blood on his upper lip, a thin scab, dark maroon, recent but not too fresh. His hair is black, tousled, with a white streak on the front, and it seems a little bit damp, locks sticking to his forehead. His skin seems thick, probably because it is littered with scars, white dents on his skin, some big and some small, you don’t think too much about it, it’s Gotham, everyone has some scars around here, from gunshots to safety accidents on the swings of Robinson Park. His eyes are blue, almost icy, and his pupil is enveloped by vibrant green hues, his gaze seems curious and fixated, he is analyzing you, the same way you are analyzing him, ‘fair’ you think. He wears a worn out hoodie, overused, with grease spots and frayed holes, he is wearing also a pair of black shorts, the ones you use for running or going to the gym, and he’s also using trainers, the label says Numa instead of Puma, they are probably from the street markets that you can find around in every corner of Gotham. 

He is alluring, you concede, even handsome. But that doesn’t matter, because he is kind. Gotham is isolating, people keep to themselves, they look the other way, not because they are necessarily assholes, but because they have clear boundaries, they distinguish your business from their business, and unless those two spheres intersect, they don’t see a reason to cross the line, it’s easier that way. Therefore, unapologetic kindness is not something easy to come across; in fact, you would be wary of it, if it wasn’t for the fact that he has a plastic bag and is taking your milk carton from the ground. Thank you, that’s what your eyes say. 

For Jason it goes like this. 

He is in his apartment, for the first time in days. It’s Wednesday and on Saturday he had a complicated patrol with Nightwing, the kind of complicated that leaves your face scarlet and body mauve, the type of convoluted patrol that leaves you aching for days, movements limited and a sore spot under your sixth rib. 

He was kept in the Manor until yesterday evening, not because he wanted to, but because he was forced to. I can take care of myself he grumbled, but then Afred got this look in his eyes, not the one that says I am disappointed, he doesn’t care about that, he is used to disappointing, to failed expectations and lists of unspoken requirements he will never meet, it’s fine, what’s not fine is the other look, the one that softly whispers You are breaking my heart, master Jason, and Jason doesn’t want to do that, not to Alfred, who seems the only one ready to accept him for what he is now and not clinging to an old memory of what could have been. So, he stayed, receiving medical care from Leslie and Alfred, but he left as soon as he could. 

Alfred had asked if he was staying for dinner, even though at this point it’s more of a silent plea, some sort of want for him to stay for once, to really be part of the family, to act like one, but Jason never agrees. The thing is, Jason never stays, he flees, he doesn’t do goodbyes or excuses, he is not a Wayne, perhaps he was at some point, when he was loud and excitable, full of wonder, but that part of him died, and no magic or god can bring that back, some things stay dead and maybe it’s better off that way. 

The point is that he was finally back at his apartment. The closest thing he had to a proper home. It was small, he could afford bigger, he had bigger, but it began being just a plain safehouse, some impersonal storage unit to keep ammo, League weapons, gear, etc. However, at some point, he started spending nights there, probably because it was in a nice part of Gotham, Midtown, without the constant chaos from Uptown, where he mostly operated, but still far away from the haughtiness ever so characteristic of Downtown Gotham. It was a perfect balance, not too much, not too little, and Jason likes evenness, equilibrium, perhaps because most days he tethers the line between sanity and insanity so he appreciates any resemblance of stability he can grasp onto. 

He arrived yesterday at 20:30, ordered delivery from the mexican restaurant a few blocks away, and fell asleep watching reruns from an old, mildly successful tv show. He likes the background noise, when everything is too quiet, he starts imagining things: footsteps, the sound of a crowbar against his flat’s parquet, screams and wails, the sound of a ticking bomb, etc. He likes everything that makes his subconscious believe that he is not alone. 

His morning wasn’t different from any other mornings and that was fine. Jason enjoys routines, the predictable. He enjoys his usual morning channel; the black cat that visits him every morning to silently ask for food; the cadence of his neighbors footsteps as they run around their flat trying to get the kids ready for school and Roy’s texts. There is no sign that today is going to be different, and he likes that. He hits the gym, as always. He prepares lunch, nothing fancy. He reads, today it is The Master and Margarita, he is one hundred pages in, he marks words, phrases, writes thoughts on the margins and slowly makes his way through. He journals, he is not much of a poet, not that he wants to; he might be tortured, but he is not an artist, words more times than not get stuck on his throat, scratching like barbed wire against his larynx, drawing blood; however, Dinah, also known as Black Canary, who acts as his psychologist via Roy, advised him to write, she told him that it could help, sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t, he keeps doing it anyway. 

When the clock marks 17:23, he gets bored, so he goes to his balcony. It’s sad, but he lives his days anticipating the nights; he likes patrolling, he savors the adrenaline, he basks on the rush, he thrives under the light of traffic and streetlights; daylight stuns him, he doesn’t really know how to navigate the world once the sun has risen, it’s disorientating. Therefore, he just rots, he decays around his apartment, and now he feels like festering on his balcony. Suddenly, it starts to rain. It begins as a drizzle, so he doesn’t really care, he takes a cigarette, he lights it up and takes a puff. 

He started to smoke when he came back to life, his dad used to do it, his mom too, everyone in Crime Alley did it, since it helped you to stay warm. When he was younger, he didn’t like it, back then when he was the bright-eyed Robin and he treated his body like a temple because Batman told him to do so, back when the only thing he wanted was to prove himself worthy, something he never was. His body as Robin was a temple; his body as the Red Hood are the ruins of a long forgotten empire that lived its own demise, and no one cares about ruins, why should he? 

His first cigarette was given to him by Egon, one of the first mercenaries who trained him after his resurrection; then, the habit sticked, after all the life he chose, the life he lives, happens on dimly lit bars and dingy hideouts where a thick layer of smoke covers everything, it’s only normal that he smokes. Furthermore, he admits, there is some kind of masochist element to it, at first, the smell of smoke was enough to send him to a panic attack, since it reminded him of bombs, collapsed buildings, screeching manic laughs and charred skin; smoke was what filled his lungs when he gave his last breath, so if he was able to control the panic that the smell evoked, that meant that he won, in some way, in any form, it may be a consolation prize, but a prize nevertheless. 

So he smokes and the rain starts falling with more force, but he doesn’t bother going inside, he likes the feeling of the droplets against his skin, it’s nice, it feels real. He looks down and he sees you, hunched over picking things from the floor and, after a few heartbeats laced with smoke, he decided to go down and help. 

He sees you up close, eyes fixed in your face, taking in every detail, engraving them on his memory as he does with everyone. Right now, the world doesn’t tilt on his axis, there are no sweaty palms or rushed breaths, nothing has stopped, it doesn’t feel like something monumental, but it is. 

He helps you and accompanies you to your apartment, it’s on the second floor - his is on the fourth - and he feels content about knowing someone new after Roy has been nagging him about needing to be friendlier and meet other people. He doesn’t talk much, he never does, he tells you his name and his apartment number, it’s enough for such a small talk. You thank him and it feels nice. He leaves and you close the door, it’s enough for today. 

Like and reblog for the full fic

[bootyful-seventeen]

Hello. Saw your post and wanted to make a svt request. How would they react to their s/o asking them to go raw for the first time? Thanks.

I think Seungcheol would be the type who would freeze and blush up to his ears cuz omg you want him to go raw?? He’s rolling up his shirt sleeves at the thought of filling you up but at the same time will also ask you if you’re sure, and would have a small convo about it and staying safe (birth control for the ones that weren’t planning on kids anytime soon but also sti testings cuz you could still get those even in closed relationships) But when you give that man the greenest of lights, he’s gonna pounce on you so fast it’ll leave your head spinning.

Jeonghan on the other hand that would probably either start giggling from getting a bit shy or being a bit cocky like “awwwe I knew you couldn’t get enough of me” and would 100% boop your nose and call you a cutie when you get shy and try to hide your face from him. Following up with crawling over to you and running his hands up your hips and waist asking if you wanted to start right now. If you start getting flustered, he’ll fall back on his advances, but if you’re welcoming them then he will give you what you wanted.

Joshua tho, I can see him lagging a bit when you ask before snapping out of it all “wait right now?” You’d shove him a bit like no not now cuz my guy we are in the middle of a lord of the rings marathon like who has time to focus on a raw dogging at a time like this lmao. He’d pick up the conversation again at another time to go through all the works and be sure that you’re both on the same page about it. And I think that Joshua would let the image of you leaking his cum overtake his brain until he’s got you pinned under him and isn’t too far away from making his little daydream come to life. 

Now Jun is someone I can see not fully registering your question especially if he’s hungry and has food on the mind. Would be thinking of hitting up a sashimi place with you for dinner when he’s realizing that what you asked for wasn't quite fitting in with his dinner plans lmao. But Jun would ask you just to be sure and then ask if you wanted to go out for sashimi or stay in for a raw doggin lol. 

I can see Soonyoung start laughing cuz he thought it was a joke at first but when you tell him you’re serious he’d get so red that you could probably see steam coming from his ears lmao. Poor guy would immediately get launched into his little breeding kink so hard that he’d black out a little bit. But once he comes back to earth, he is on you in the blink of an eye and is begging you to let him fuck you right there. On the floor, against the wall, bent over furniture, it didn’t matter he just wanted to sink right into you and blow his load. 

Wonwoo would be quite nonchalant about it tho if you did catch him off guard, he’d raise his brows and ask you to repeat yourself. Just in case he thought he misheard you the first time. Would sit down with you and talk about it like if you wanted him to pull out, cum inside and whatever else came to mind to get everything out of the way so things are smooth. He’d even go ahead and get one of those waterproof bed sheets/blankets to throw on top of things so when things get messy you’d just have to pull it off and voila! A clean, cum free bed to sleep in.

Jihoon’s another member I think would be more nonchalant about it. He seems like he’d be straightforward about it and would voice his feelings about it. Like how he had thought about it a few times before but was possibly still a bit nervous and would ask if you’d want him to finish in or on you and ask if pulling out was what you wanted instead. He’d be extra gentle handling you during clean up and would ask if you liked it. 

Mingyu’s the man that’ll get shy and flustered. He’d fumble on his words and he’d start stuttering when you move to sit on his lap and trace your finger along his chest. Man would be a stuttering mess but would welcome your advances when your hands are slipping under his shirt to take the fabric off so you could touch him. But with Mingyu, maybe it’s just me being me but I think Mingyu would lick off/eat his cum out of you

Another flustered mess is Seokmin but he’d also have the cutest smile on his face asking if you just said what he thinks you just said. Would also be the hand holding type so you’ll 100% get distracted with how cute he is and momentarily forget about what you were talking about before he’s giggling a bit while asking if he could call you his little creampuff from now on lmaoooo. But it wouldn’t even take long until he’s on top of you and he’s feeling you bare for the first time. 

Minghao seems like he’d pick up on you wanting to ask him before you’ve even asked if he could go raw. I think he’d set up a pot of tea for you if you were looking a bit jittery leading up to it. His calm demeanor would help you calm down enough to talk to him about it. I feel like he’d let you talk about it for as long as you needed to while also putting other things you or him may have wanted to try out on the table. At least just to get the conversation about new things rolling to see what you both would be interested in. Also would be another member heavy on staying safe while hitting it raw. 

Poor Seungkwan wasn’t even ready to get asked that question lmaoo. His eyes would go so big and he’d stutter a bit with a breathy laugh but would choke it down to ask if you were serious. He’d probably need to sit down cuz I feel like that is one of the last things he’d think you’d ask him especially if you’d ask him all kinds of non nsfw questions when you get bored like “honey should I try getting into the shoe making business?” or “I found an abandoned baby raccoon outside my place, can we keep him if he can’t be released back to the wild?” etc, etc. Probably was expecting the will you still love me if I was a worm question instead of would you mind fucking me raw babe question

Hansol’s reaction would be like o.o “oh wow, you want me to,,”  followed by some of his cute little giggles cuz my guy wasn’t expecting you to ask him to hit it raw. Like he’d be so flustered that he’d barely be able to get out much more than that. And he’d also start giggling a bit if you straddle him while assuring him it’s what you want. Very cute, very flustered, and very very adorable

Chan tho I can see him being a bit stiff when you say you wanna ask him something but would relax when you ask if he can hit it raw cuz he was worried it was a bad question. But he actually was thinking about asking you that but wasn’t sure how he should bring it up to you. His idea was probably bringing it up when the conversation was in the bedroom instead of just spitting it out cuz he didn’t want to ask at the wrong place or time.

[ghostgardn]

no plot needed

synopsis: porn without plot guys idk. stiles stilinski x reader, very horny, established relationship ig. enjoy

a/n: I am FEEDING y'all today jesus christ. thank me later (>ᴗ•)

“Kiss me again.” You whisper. Stiles smiles brightly, pulling you onto his lap. Your knees and shins press into his mattress. Legs separated as you straddle him. Your arms drape across his shoulders, and your hands connect behind his neck. His hands settle on your waist.

Stiles pulls you impossibly close and his mouth meets yours once again. Your fingers thread through his soft black hair. His tongue dancing with yours, and every tug of his hair had him groaning into your mouth. You settle into his lap more grinding softly into him. Pulling back briefly he looks into your eyes.

“If you keep doing that I’m going to have to lock my door.” Stiles mutters into your mouth. Giving you a quick peck.

“Then lock your door,” He raised a brow, which led you to start leaving wet kisses along his jaw. Which was enough convincing he needed. He nods quickly and lets you get up and move further onto his bed. A knock causes him to open the door and peek his head out. Stiles holds a quick conversation with his father before locking and shutting the door again.

“He’s gonna be out for the rest of the night.” Stiles said, approaching you on the bed and slotting himself between your legs. You smiled brightly and brought his lips to yours once again.

Stiles worked your shirt over your head, and pulled his own off. As he worked your bra off your hands grazed along his chest, pressing down against his stomach. Once he took it off his hands replaced their material. Holding them, two fingers rolled your nipple. Causing your back to arch.

Stiles’ mouth latched onto the other, giving attention to both. He soon started sucking love-bites onto your boobs, blooming purple marks across the expanse of your chest. Stiles dragged his arms down your body, his fingers hooking on the waistband of your sweatpants. Pulling them down with the help of your lifted hips. Leaving you in just your plain white panties.

Stiles stands up and sheds his own pants and is left in his boxer briefs, a large bulge straining against his underwear. He pushed his hair back with his hand and settled on top of you again. He kissed your neck, sucking at your pulse point and making you moan.

Stiles wasted no more time, sliding your underwear down your legs and dropping them to the floor. He lying on his stomach and placing gentle kisses on your chest, working down to your thighs. Eventually lifting them up to rest on his shoulders.

Stiles placed gentle kisses to the inside of your thighs, his hot breath spread against your cunt. Eyes fluttering closed, you felt him kiss your clit. Dispersing soft kisses before upgrading to lapping at your cunt like a man starved. Stiles sucked your clit and teased your hole with his tongue. You felt his arm reach up towards your face, two fingers right in front of your mouth.

“Y’wanna do me a favor?” He asked, you nodded lightly and opened your mouth. Letting him stick his fingers inside. You swirled your tongue around him, and sucked before he pulled them back out again. Stiles then pushed one finger into you, curling it up and thrusting it in and out.

Soon enough a second finger was added. He curled it up just right so he’d hit that sweet spot. That, paired with Stiles sucking your clit, caused your orgasm to rush in. You felt a thick wave of euphoria rush over your body, your legs shook around his head and a loud moan of his name echoed within his room.

Stiles worked you down from your high until you were able to look him in the eye. Your entire body felt on fire. He smirked knowingly, his face glistening with your cum. Stiles kissed you, your cum mixing with his saliva and yours. After a long and deep kiss he pulled back.

“Wanna take my dick, or d’you wanna rest?” Stiles asked seriously, his worry for your wellbeing never fading.

“Mmm-mmm. Want your cock Sti, please. Want your cock.” You whined pulling him in for another kiss, to show him you were fine. He smiled against your lips and nodded. Standing up before sliding his underwear off. Your eyes widened at how large his cock was. You always seemed to forget how thick Stiles’ 7 inch long dick is.

“Think you can take it?” Stiles asked, concern lacing his voice. You nodded very enthusiastically.

“I can take it Sti, please let me try.” You whimpered. “Can I ride you?” You asked, puppy eyes fixed onto his.

“Of course you can ride me baby.” Stiles responded, you very excitedly watched him move to lay on his back. A pillow supporting his lower back so he could look at you.

You took his semi-hard dick, that was laying on his soft tummy, and started pumping it. You spat into your hand and continued to rub him, thumb briefly swiping over the tip. Precum coating your finger. You watched as Stiles’ cock became harder with each pump.

You reached over to his side drawer, pulling out a condom. You ripped the foil open and shrugged the condom over his cock. Stiles watched you lift yourself over him, teasing your folds with his tip. His hips bucked in impatience and you took that as a sign to sink yourself onto his dick.

You moaned the whole way down. Stiles filled the entirety of you, you sank until your thighs met his hips and your clit rubbed against the spot above his shaft. Your hands rested on his abdomen. Still trying to adjust to his girth. Stiles watched you slowly start rising and falling. Rocking your hips back and forth. He started snapping his hips up to meet yours.

You leaned back and used his legs as stability, rolling your hips and bringing yourself up and down. Stiles filled every part of you, his long cock kissing your hilt every time. And with every roll of your hips his thick dick greeted your sweet spot with ease.

Stiles’ moans and groans filled your ears. His hands gripped your hips tightly. Holding you up and pulling you down. His dull fingernails dug into you, hands hot and heavy against your skin. You felt your orgasm approaching, speeding up and bouncing quickly you tried to bring it closer.

“I’m gonna cum Sti,” You whined, pushing yourself up and down harder and harder. Legs shaking with the pressure of staying upright.

“Cum for me babe.” Stiles says, voice hoarse. You let yourself going quickly losing your pace and squeezing him like a vice. He would’ve doubled over in pleasure if he wasn’t already lying down. He thrusted very briefly before coming himself. You lied on top of him, sweaty and still a little shaky.

Stiles pressed a brief kiss to your forehead, lying his head against yours. Soon enough he stopped relishing in your post-sex glow and grabbed a soft washcloth to clean you and him both up. Stiles pushed you into the bathroom to pee while he got you some pajamas ready.

After you finished he presented one of his oversized graphic-tees, and your underwear. You took them gratefully and put each on. Hugging Stiles soon after, he smelled like sweet cologne, fresh laundry, and home. He settled down into his bed and offered you the spot next to him. You cuddled up under his arm and smiled up at him.

“Love you Stiles.” You hummed, nuzzling into his neck.

“I love you too baby.”

copyright © 2023 ghostgardn.tumblr

taglist: @starsval

[frannyzooey]

Middle of the Night

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: He comes to you for comfort.

A/N: Thank you to my loves @mourningbirds1 @the-ginger-hedge-witch and @krissology looking this over for me ❤️

—

Tucked onto his side with his broad back facing you, you crawl into bed and press your nose into the curls that cover the nape of his neck, breathing him in. Your hand maps his firm shoulder, running a well worn path over the curve of his side and his calloused hand grasps yours, pulling it close. 

You sleep, because you’re exhausted, and so does he. 

It’s the middle of the night when he finds you. 

When his guard is down – not all the way, it’s never down all the way – but when the fog of sleep dulls his brain and his heart and he’s reduced to nothing but a man seeking out your warmth in the dusky black of the room, that’s when he finds you. His hands pulling you close, his mouth seeking yours.

Those hands that deliver brutality when needed, that curl into fists or mold around his rifle - a semblance of their old tenderness comes out in his touch when he guides your sleep limp limbs around him; the wet heat of his mouth felt against your skin when he tucks his face into the crook of your neck and inhales.

His strong arm winds around your side, holding you tight and he pulls you from sleep when you feel the drag of his lips as they pepper light kisses along the curve of your jaw. You shift your face down to his and he looks up, his mouth meeting yours.

It’s a languid kiss, a sleepy one laced with a low simmering need. His tongue dips into your mouth, opening you up for him and your fingers brush against the wiry hair of his gray streaked beard, pulling him closer. You shift to face him fully, fitting your body along his and he reaches down, impatiently tugging away the blanket you’ve wrapped yourself in. He needs that barrier to you gone and when it is, his thigh finds the space between your own and he rolls you onto your back, deepening the kiss with a low sound at the back of his throat. 

If you had met before all this happened, there might have been a time where you did this sort of thing with affectionate smiles on your faces, kissing each other breathless through teasing words. There might have been open delight in the act as you had fun with it, laughing quietly into the dark room as you peeled off each other’s clothes in a playful, clumsy fumble. 

But you met now, and so you still peel the clothes off, but there is no laughing. No silly words, no teasing. There is only raw hunger for each other as you find every inch of his firm, bare skin as it’s revealed and he does the same for you. 

“Joel,” you breathe into his kiss when you’re naked and pressed against each other tight, his cock a stiff heft against the curve of your ass as you wind your legs around his waist. He’s a heavy weight on top of you, forcing you into the mattress and you relish the security in his warm drape; tuck it away for later, when you’ll need to recall it. His beard scrapes the palms of your hands, your hold shifting up to thread into his hair. 

Pulling back just enough, he brings his fingers up to his mouth with a suck, wetting them. Your eyes watch the lewd gesture before he reaches down between your bodies and finding the pearl of your clit, he rubs it with a firm, practiced, slick glide, pressing his mouth back against yours. 

Arching into his touch, you keen underneath him and your thighs open wider, your hips rolling lightly against his hand. 

“Fuck,” you exhale, a blooming heat building. “Keep touching it like that. Keep –”

“I know what you need, pretty girl. I know.” The lilt of his accent slips deeper, pairing with the husk of his low voice.

He does know. Keeps doing it until you start to force your hips against the swift circle of his touch, keeps doing it until you tell him that you need him and that’s when he slips himself inside: when your achingly empty cunt flutters around the snug fit before pulling him deep. His hand, still damp with your slick, finds your own and with a strength you’ve seen him display in so many situations, he circles your wrist, forcing it into the bed above your head. You wiggle it free, lacing your fingers with his.

He fucks rough. Bruising strokes, harsh snaps of his hips, ones that betray his need for you. You take everything he gives, his hand tightening its hold on yours while the other one cups your cheek, making sure your mouth stays on his. 

You squeeze his bicep, moaning into his hungry kiss and lift your hips so he can slide in deeper. 

“Goddamn you feel so good,” he groans, breaking the kiss to rest the bridge of his nose against your cheek. He grunts with every deep push forward, the puff of hot air trapped against your skin. “I don’t ever wanna stop.”

“Don’t,” you encourage him, tipping your head back into the pillow and he takes the opportunity to lave his tongue along the hollow of your throat, just before biting down on the juncture of your shoulder. When you hiss, he smiles against your skin. 

“The only good part of my day is this. You, and this pussy right here,” the last words punctuated with a harsh fit of his hips into your own. 

Slipping your hand from his hold, you reach down and follow the dip of his spine to dig your fingers into the meat of his ass, forcing him deeper. His mouth follows the swell of your breasts, his tongue curling over a hardened peak before drawing it into his mouth with a suck. His hand cups the bottom of it, greedily pushing the plump of it up and he opens his mouth wider. His teeth catch, before his tongue soothes. 

“Did you think about this today?” he asks, his hand skating down to curl around the bend of your knee, tugging it higher. “Did you want it?”

“Yes,” you admit, moaning the word. “I always do.”

When he’s away - either physically, or when he withdraws into the depth of pain that haunts his memories - you do miss it. Miss this version of him that allows himself to seek comfort in someone else. To love with his body, even if he’ll never say the words. 

“I wanna be sore tomorrow. I wanna remember. I wanna think about how deep you got, how good you fucked me, Joel. Make me sore, okay?”

A depraved part of his soul, the one that’s grown to cover up the lighter version of him that used to exist, responds instantly to the words and he growls, fucking into you harder. 

“Like this?” he asks, breathless and forceful. His hips snap forward, again, again. “Like this?”

Yes, you cry out for him. Please. 

The old mattress you sleep on rhythmically thudding against the wall, black creeps around the edges of his vision. His gaze fixes on your open mouth, your plush lips, your clenched shut eyes and he fists the worn sheet, using it for leverage. He fucks you like he wants to bury himself inside you and sensing what he needs, you curl your arms around his shoulders, tugging him close. 

I’m right here, I’m right here, you chant in a whisper, right into the shell of his ear. 

“Goddamnit,” he groans loudly, and then again, much lower, almost to himself, like he can’t believe how good you feel. “Goddamn.”

When you come, he groans low when he feels it like a tight fist around him, all the way down to the base of his cock. You’re so wet there’s an audible sound between you as he fucks you through it and he closes his eyes with a frown, trying to last as long as he can. Sweat gathered where your limbs are pressed together, he never wants to leave the flushed heat of your body and waiting until the very last second, he pulls out and spills hot along the inside of your thigh, streaking it with pools of white. 

Then, it’s quiet again.

His body relaxes on top of yours, letting you soothe it. Your nails drag over his back, your fingers kneading into the base of his spine and he melts with a low, content groan. 

This man. The man everyone is afraid of. The one who delivers blunt, efficient violence when it’s needed. The one who is ruthless and hardened, who will stop at nothing to survive and protects what is his: he’s none of those things right now; his arms pushing beneath your body to hold you close. His cheek rests against your thrumming heart and his breathing evens out, slowing into a steady, deep pattern. 

Then, he’s asleep. 

Looking at him in the dark, you wonder how he used to be. Was he funny? Did he joke? Did he have someone to love? Did he have a wife? A family? Did he like movies, or sports, or books, or whatever people did back when they had time for anything else but just surviving? The anger that he bundles up inside of him, the one that pours out in his narrowed gaze and tight jaw and bursts out of his fists - did it always live there? Or did the infection infect him too, only in a different way?

These are questions you’ll never know the answer to. You won’t ask, and you know he wouldn’t tell. It’s a mutual understanding between the two of you: what’s the sense in talking about the past, when it only brings more pain into a world where that’s all there is? 

Better to not think of it. Better to savor the small moments when you get them, like the one you’re having right now. 

He hasn’t moved, his face relaxed in slumber, but his arms are still tight around you as if he’s afraid you might leave him in the night. His unconscious body betrays him — just like his actions, instead of his words. 

The edge of your mouth curls up, your hand brushing back a lock of hair from his forehead and you admire the scarce seen softness in him for a moment, eventually closing your eyes. 

[writingmeraki]

cold enough to chill my bones.

a roronoa zoro drabble !

pairing : zoro x gn!reader, teasing frenemies to ???

genre : fluff, romance, they like each other but aren't dating...yet.

warnings : not any i can think of! if you find anything alarming then lmk :)

author's note : enjoy this quick drabble while you wait for the first chapter of the zoro series!! and also i got the idea to make after i got almost sick last night- maybe zoro is a bit of ooc? idk i just love the idea of him being a menace while flirting but not knowing what to do when someone flirts back at him lololol let me know what you think ! <3

word count : 1k

Despite the sun almost blinding you as it set, the sky turning into shades of deep pink intertwined with light purple and hints of yellowish orange, you felt cold.

Naturally, you'd always been the type to get cold easily, quite literally. Before even the harsh winters used to begin, you'd be getting the chills amid the warm autumn.

Though. it was beneficial when it was the blazing summer and you were always not on the brink of dying due to the immense heat as your cooler hands and feet made you more comfortable. 

But today, it was a bane to your existence as your teeth chattered as you sat down on the lounging chair in the middle of the ship, trying to rub your hands to bring life back to them. 

“Seems like someone can’t even take the fall breeze huh?” 

The familiar voice taunted you and you didn’t even need to look at him to know he was probably smirking as he looked down at you. 

Sighing in annoyance, you faced Zoro and clicked your tongue when you were right about him smirking. 

It was a tad bit distracting though, especially since he looked too…attractive than you’d like to admit.

“If you’re here to taunt me then leave me be.”

“The weather is annoying enough anyways, I don’t need another nuisance.” Not wanting to entertain him today, you turned your back towards him and faced the sunset. 

Too bad it was such a beauty but your body wasn’t allowing you to just simply be in bliss to enjoy it. 

Suddenly you felt a heavy weight on your shoulders, which took you by surprise as you flinched to stand up and yelped loudly. 

“Calm down idiot, it’s just a jacket,” Zoro said as it was his turn to roll his eyes,

“For the record, I didn’t come to ‘annoy’ you as you said which is quite ironic coming from you but I saw you shivering like a drenched cat,”

“So me being the considerate person I am,” You scoffed at his humble attitude which he chose to ignore, “I’ll let you wear my jacket for the time being.” 

Honestly, you were confused. Zoro was a confusing man you‘d concluded. Since the time you’d joined the crew, he’d been confusing you by saying something different, different as in finding every way to taunt you but then he’d be nice as a true gentleman with his actions.

Like right now for example. 

So ultimately, you were confused about how to thank him.

“Uh…thank you?” You’d thought it was best to just say it, figuring it was enough as you pushed your arms throughout the black clothing that was a tad bit larger than you. 

Of course, it was larger near the shoulders, enough to fit almost two of you inside.

“That’s it? That’s how you thank me? You know I almost saved you from I don’t know shivering to death here?” 

You sighed, now in exhaustion at his over-exaggeration, it wasn’t like if he hadn’t helped, you’d have not gotten up yourself and gone into the kitchen since it was usually always warmer as Sanji was always cooking something and the heat was always bubbling there.

He tsked at your sighing and supposedly unappreciative attitude, ready to go on a rant about how people nowadays never appreciated the little things and whatever.

When suddenly you got an idea. 

“-sometimes even if a gesture may be less, you should sti-” You shut him up by leaning forward, on your tiptoes and pulled him by his yellow shirt closer to you, landing your lips on his surprisingly soft ones.

That oughta shut him up. 

You pulled away in about three seconds, eyes shut as you just relished how soft they were and how right you’d been about them being like this from the countless times you’d imagined kissing him.

When you pulled away, you saw something you didn’t think you’d have seen anytime soon. 

Zoro was red, a bit wide-eyed as he stared at you, not speaking another word, his cheeks highlighted with a blush that was familiar to you in a way it was something you’d always experience whenever you’d check him out for too long. 

“Sooo is that enough for a thank you?” You smirked at him tauntingly, thriving in the way he was speechless, happy he could feel how you felt at times when he decided to shamelessly be a menace, a cute one, at that. 

“Now if you excuse me, I have some work to do.” Turning around, you didn’t say anything else as you tried to hide your giggles recalling his comical expression of astonishment.

“YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT!” After a few moments of gathering his thoughts, Zoro was able to form a proper reaction.

“I deserve more than a peck! Kiss me like you mean it-” You burst out into giggles now at the way he was whining as you shook your head abruptly turning around to face him when he began to follow you. 

“For that you have to earn your way to it!” You mocked him, pocking your tongue out as he glared at you, now crossing his arms.

“Are you seriously messing around with the Roronoan Zoro, demon pirate hunter?”

You rolled your eyes at his seemingly serious tone but you knew he was playing into the little thing you’d created as his lips twitched, trying to hide his grin.

You grinned widely at him, now your dimples peaking out, 

“Ohh if you are the pirate hunter, you’ll have to catch me first to get your treasure!”

 As cheesy and cringy as it was, you caught him off guard as you turned around and ran, figuring the place to run to was likely the kitchen in the confined space you had.

“HEY! Now you’re just cheating!” You heard him shout behind to which caused more giggles,which left your cheeks aching from how widely you’d been smiling.

Admittedly, the once cold you’d been feeling was now replaced by the warmth unknowingly yet knowingly caused by the oh-so-famous pirate hunter.

Maybe he did deserve a proper thank you afterall huh?

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri.do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest. I don't own any of the characters from the movie, rightfully belonging to One Piece creators and the Netflix franchise and also this is a fictional work, not relating to any of the cast in real life.

writingmeraki Ⓒ 2023

[whackk-kermitt]

Ain't No Shame in Simping

Warnings: Simping by Derek's emotionally constipated standards. (+ stiles talks about sex stuff briefly.) Summary: Derek is just looking out for the human who insists on throwing himself into danger. That is what he tells himself. OR All the times Derek was a simp for Stiles and the time the pieces fell into place.

NOT PROOFREAD

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

Derek was a prideful man, an ego he'd never admit he had tended to keep him from accepting help from anyone. However, he still knew very well that Sties had exhausted his body keeping him afloat for three hours.

He felt guilt in his gut when he watched Stiles shuffle into his jeep to drive home. Derek wanted to ignore the twist in his chest when he heard the pitiful groan that escaped Stiles as his sore muscles ached in the driver's seat. As much as the human ego in him wanted to move on and ignore the fact that Stiles had in fact saved his life, the wolf growled at the pain and fear it could smell wafting off Stiles. The wolf didn't seem to mind the scent of the human that lingered on his flesh from being held up by him, back to chest, for hours.

He turned and moved away, giving in to the wolf and letting it lead him somewhere, running through the woods and finding himself a few minutes later at the Stilinski house. He was confused as to why his wolf purred at the scent of the human as he climbed up into the window. He chalked it up to gratitude, the wolf recognizing the scent of the man who saved him and choosing to not overthink it.

Stiles was now changed into plaid pajama pants and a Batman t-shirt, he was sitting on the edge of his bed only sparing Derek and curious glance through his drowsy vision.

They said nothing to each other as Derek approached and hesitated, unsure of himself, before reaching his hand out. He placed a firm grip on Stiles's shoulder.

He took note of the confusion and concern in Stile's chemo signals and the increased heart rate in his chest. Other than those things, Stiles seemed calm, too tired to really question anything that was happening.

Derek sucked up his pride and circled his palms into Stiles's shoulder, easing the rigid muscles. His veins turned black up his arm as Stile's pains and stiffness eased off. Derek refused to admit to himself that the satisfied sigh that fell from Stile's lift warmed his chest a bit.

Somewhere in the two hours he spent in Stile's room that night, stiles had laid down on his stomach and allowed Derek to rub and massage the ache from his back and shoulders. His wolf purred at the calm and steady heart rate and the comfortable scent that assaulted his nostrils.

When he was sure Stiles had fallen asleep he placed his warm palm on the bare flesh of Stiles's nape and absorbed more of the ache until there was nothing more to take.

"Thank you." He muttered pitifully, turned, and left.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When the danger made its home in the preserve, in the form of a feral omega, Stiles made his stand against Derek.

"I can help!" The boy franticly flailed his arm at the Alpha who scowled upon his arrival at the base of the trail into the woods.

"The last thing we need is a human in the crossfire." Was all he said as he grabbed onto Stiles's bicep and dragged him back towards the jeep.

"I brought moutine ash!" Stiles protested. "Wouldn't it be safer to corner the guy, and trap him?"

Derek, sighing in frustration, eyeing the human's whisky-brown eyes.

"Unless you're just planning on killing him." Stiles blinked.

Derek ignored the snickering from Erica and Isaac Behind him, not having paid attention to them enough to know what was said between them.

"Chase him out of town, kill him if I have to. What was your plan?"

"Trap him and appeal to his humanity." The human shrugged like it was obvious. "Try to save the guy before you rip his throat out with your teeth."

Derek thought for a moment, ignoring Scott's refusal to kill the man before at least trying to help him. He chose to base his decision on Scott's refusal instead of the hopeful glint in Stile's eyes.

"You stay close, no wandering off. And stay quiet. No talking." Derek scowled. "We'll track it down and I don't your babbling distracting anyone."

Distracting him he means. He doesn't say that.

"Deal," Stiles said, a cocky smirk pulling at his lips. Derek spared them a glance before leading the pack, plus stiles, into the woods.

The plan worked, sort of. Erica got a nasty gash in her side and Stiles tripped over a root and smacked his head on a tree when the omega turned to him in the shuffle. But they managed to herd the wolf into a cave and Derek kept in back by growling and intimidating to stay back. Perks of being an alpha.

Stiles stood at the mouth of the cave drawing the line ash, stopping just before the line was complete. "Derek," He called to the alpha.

Refusing to turn his back to the rabid wolf he slowly stepped back over the line and guarded stile as he finished the line. He pushed Stiles back as the omega, sensing it was trapped, charged. He immediately noticed the limp from Stiles's twisted ankle.

"How do we help him?" Scott asked Derek who shrugged.

"Dude." Stiles groaned.

"I've never seen a feral wolf before." Was Derek's only defense.

They stayed there for a while, talking to the omega before they gave up for the evening. Deciding to take shifts guarding the wolf while they spoke to Deaton about getting him back to humanity. There had to be a way to help.

Leaving the betas to guard Derek headed back to the main road to travel out to Deaton for a quick chat. Stiles, having the only car and refusing to let anyone drive his baby, was the one to give him a ride to the clinic before it closed.

The walk back the the jeep was slow, as Stiles limping and groaning slowed them both down. Derek, without a word of acknowledgment for his actions, turned and scooped the human into his arms.

Derek ignored Stiles's demands to be put down, "I'm not a damsel, I can walk just fine." He couldn't and he knew it.

His wolf purred when Stiles's heartbeat calmed and he laid his arms around Derek's shoulder relaxing in his arms.

Derek tried not to enjoy it, but he took his time getting back to the jeep.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Derek knew for a fact that Stiles wasn't a big fan of Thai food.

Only because he had overheard Stiles mention it when Scott had offered him to go to his for dinner, telling him what his mom was picking up on the way home from work.

So when Erica complained that he dragged them out to his loft for weekly meetings and didn't feed them during the sometimes hours they were there, she demanded he start feeding them. Her Boyd and Isaac voted that he picked up some Thai, and he had little choice but to agree.

On the way back, warm food occupying the passenger seat he made the realization that Stile wouldn't eat it. He's most likely mildly complaining about the choice, saying nobody had good taste.

Now he wasn't a big fan either, but food was food.

But something in him stirred uncomfortably at Stiles going hungry until he was home later that evening. He told himself he just didn't wanna deal with a hangry Stiles complaining about not getting a vote.

So he made a pitstop at the dinner and got some takeout for Stiles. A fat burger, chocolate shake, and some curly fries.

When he entered the loft, Scott and Stiles had already arrived. They were sitting with the others around the coffee table, crowding the couch, nobody dared to sit in Derek's chair. That spot was his and they all knew it well.

He set the bags down, as soon as his hand was off them Ecria was digging the food out, sorting through to get what she wanted onto her paper plate.

Stiles eyed the bag of food but didn't move to get any as all the others did. Isaac observed the single milkshake with a curious stare.

Derek set his own food aside before digging into the other bag, taking out the box with the burger and fries, and handing it to Stiles wordlessly. Putting the milkshake in front of him before taking his seat and eating his food silently.

He did it just so he would have to hear Stile complain about being hungry.

Definitely not the accomplished feeling in his chest when Stiles smiled at the food in the box, moaning as he stuffed his face with the burger and fries from his favorite dinner.

Derek ignored the puzzled look the betas gave him as spared a gaze to Stiles. He allowed himself only a moment to marvel at the happy and comfortable scent coming from Stiles in waves. His wolf hummed at a job well done.

He made a habit of making sure Stiles was fed well when he was at the loft.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Remember when I told you that was Derek's chair.

Not anymore I suppose.

He came into the loft after a jog, taking a moment to look over the pack lounging around and discussing werewolf things. Stiles sat in his chair, leaning over his laptop on the coffee taking notes as he asked hundreds of questions the betas did their best to answer.

It amused Derek that half the things Stiles was asking about were if any of the things in Hollywood were accurate to real werewolves.

Derek went up the stairs and changed.

"Dereks gonna kill him." He heard Isaac chuckle in a whisper to someone.

Derek only thought, 'Oh lord, what did he do know'.

He made a pitstop in the kitchen for a water bottle before mentally preparing for whatever it was Stiles if guilty of now.

Swigging his water, and downing half of it, he made his way to the 'living room'. Sighing at the expecting looks from his three betas.

Derek took a seat on the couch, closest to where Stiles sat and just watched him, waiting for a confession of something stupid. Stiles finished typing out some notes about the differences between wolf and werewolf pack hierarchs.

"Der," Stiles turned to him with a giddy look in his eye. No doubt he was excited about all the info he was getting out of the discussion, always happy for anything to add to his research. Derek short-circled a bit at the new nickname but said nothing. "You're born a wolf, are there differences between born and bitten?"

"Yes." Is all he said before Stiles silently egged him on for further expiration. His figures were ready to start typing everything that Derek said as soon as he spoke. "Born wolves have naturally better control. Our inner wolves and humanity work as one, being each other equal since birth. When bitten, their humanity will almost always try to overpower the wolf, fighting it even subconsciously. Bitten wolves always, even if the bite was accepted willingly, fight for control instead of working with the wolf for balance."

Stiles hummed excitedly typing it all out with an interested gaze at the computer. Boyd had a brow raised, and Isaac and Erica stared in confusion, Derek believing they took some offense to the explanation.

"Wait so how do you 'balance' the wolf?" Stiles questioned.

"I don't really know; it just comes naturally, like breathing." It amused Derek that Stiles immediately turned to type what he was saying once more. "I guess the trick would be to listen to the wolf and its instincts to satisfy it, even if you don't act on them. You'd get pissed off if someone never listened to you. The wolf is the same. Respect it, acknowledge it, and you'll have no issue keeping human when you need to."

"So it's like a conversation between two halves of you?" Stiles had a glint in his eye that stirred the wolf in him. It likes having Stiles's attention. Derek simply nodded. "Cool. Any other obvious differences?"

Derek thought for a moment and sighed, "Anatomy."

"What does that mean?" Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. "Oh my god, do born wolves have knots?"

The wolf howled in his head, excited for some reason that Stiles was acknowledging his cock. Except he wasn't, Derek reminded himself, it was a broad question.

"What a knot?" Erica asked bewildered.

"It's a-"

"No," Derek jumped in trying to change the subjects away from knots and sex, cause his wolf was growling in delight at the scent of excitement and curiosity on Stiles's flesh. "Stop talking about knots, we don't have-" He stopped himself from repeating the word.

"It's a penis thing real wolfs have," Stiles explained anyways chuckling at the disturbed look on Isaac's face. Erica tilted her head and Stiles offered more explanation. "The base of the penis swells up when they breed so it gets stuck inside and-"

"Enough," It was Derek's turn to look disturbed. Why did Stiles know so much about this? He didn't wanna egg on the wolf in him and think about that. "Just that born Werewolfs shifted anatomy it closer to the anatomy of a wolf."

"Oh," Stiles sighed typing that down. "Boring."

After successfully dropping the subject, he answered some more of Stiles's questions before he left to meet his dad for dinner.

Derek, once he was gone grabbed his book from the counter and returned to the living room, taking his seat and settling in for a good read. He felt eyes on him and looked up to see all three betas staring him down.

"What?"

"You let him sit in your seat?" Erica grinned with a knowing look in her eye.

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Derek was surprised when he came down the stairs, groggy with sleep when he suddenly realized another heartbeat in the loft that didn't belong to him. He drew deep breath and smelled coffee, chestnut, and something sweet he couldn't put into words. Stiles.

He came downstairs for some water after something had woken him from a deep sleep. After fighting off some nasty witches on the outskirts of the woods, everyone had come to the loft and cleaned up, tending to their wounds. When everyone was preparing to leave, Derek excused himself in his state of exhaustion to his room. He had assumed everyone would let themselves out when his head hit the pillow and he fell asleep immediately.

Derek rounded the corner and spied a sleeping figure on the couch. It was stiles, no doubt. His scent and the shape of his body were enough for him to recognize the boy instantly. Even without being a wolf, Derek knew him well.

Derek watched him for a moment. Stiles was curled into the back of the couch, back to him. His breathing was soft and even, calming Derek. Derek took a deeper breath, taking note of his chemo signals.

There was a lingering air of anxiety and a great deal of fear, now overshadowed by a strong sense of comfort and contentment. Derek frowned at the idea of Stiles sticking around in fear of leaving for whatever reason. Was Stiles afraid of going home and being alone for the night while his dad worked the graveyard shift? It itched under his skin that Stiles, despite their victory that evening, was still shaken up and afraid. He approached the boy moving slowly and deliberately without a second of hesitation. He turned the boy and scooped into his arm, trying his best not to wake him. Stepping slowly not to jostle Stiles, started for the stairs. When at the top stiles stored in his arms and sighed contently, face against his chest a small smile forming on his lips.

Derek took a moment to admire him, taking in how much he's grown into himself and matured over the years. Stiles was no longer as lanky, earning a decent muscle mass, and wasn't as awkward in his movements, still as clumsy, however. Derek smiled, continuing to his room.

"Hmm," Stiles moaned not opening his eyes. "Deja vu."

When had he woken up, his heart rate hadn't changed in the slightest. He was still just as calm and relaxed as he was when he was asleep.

"What?" Derek questioned softly.

"You making a habit of carrying me?" Stiles grinned, eyes this closed.

"You make a habit of needing to be carried." Derek defended. Stiles chuckled shaking his head and pressing into Derek more.

"Was fine on the couch." He mumbled feeling Derek lay him down on the bed. Dereks bed.

"Why didn't you go home?" Derek lifted the comforter over the boy as he settled into the mattress.

"Didn't want-" He yawned while continuing to speak. "-alone." Derek couldn't understand half of the sentence but figured from what he got between the yawns that he was right. Stiles was afraid to be alone.

"The witches are gone Stiles, You're safe at home."

"You're always alone though," Stiles mumbled as sleep was taking him. "Didn't want you alone."

Derek found himself smiling at the sleeping boy. A warmth in his chest at the thought of Stiles sticking around and sleeping on a nasty old couch just to stick around for his sake.

His hand was moving on its own, the wolf preening for contact. His fingers stroked through Stiles's hair as he decided against his initial plan to take the couch himself, crawling over Stiles and into bed.

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The very next morning Derek woke up with a weight on his chest, not bothering to open his eyes, he knew what it was. Who it was. And he knew Stiles was awake already, He heard it in his heart rate. The boy was still lying on his chest, either pretending to be asleep or simply basking in the comfort of him. Derek didn't know or care either way.

Derek lifted his hand and stroked Stiles's back, rubbing and massaging the muscles on his shoulder. Stiles's chest rumbled with a quiet chuckle against his side.

"You did this before once too."

Derek hummed pleasantly in response.

"I was starting to think it was all in my head."

"It's not." Derek sighed opening his eyes to look at the boy who lay with his eyes closed pressing higher against his chest with a wide smile and flushed cheeks.

"Good."

"Good." He agreed.

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

•Kermitts Masterlist•

[strawberry-seob]

runaway ✩ hwang intak

🍹 wc: 4.6k

🍹 genre/pairings: fem!reader x intak, one night stand, SMUT, MDNI

🍹 warnings: dubious consent!, mdni!, alcohol consumption, drunk reader, drunk intak, one night stand, groping, sleep groping, reader crying/having an emotional breakdown, hurt/comfort (comfort provided by intak), cuddling, vaginal sex, unsafe sex, creampie

🍹 a/n: my very first intak fic is here! i wrote this as a gift for my bff @leepace (aka essexdogs on ao3) and it is crossposted to my ao3 account here.

note: the sexual practices depicted in this fic are not safe or entirely consensual - please take precautions regarding consent and STI/pregnancy safety in your own real life sexual encounters! :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The sound of the shot glass slamming down on the worn wooden surface of the dimly-lit bar startled the few of the other patrons close to you, but they quickly went back to minding their own business after giving you a brief sideways glance.

You winced as the liquid burned its way down your esophagus: poisonous, warm, and, more than anything, soothing. You’d lost count of how many you’d had already, but the bartender was starting to give you that concerned expression that he probably gave to folks when he was about to cut them off for the night. You didn’t care. You could just drink at home if that happened. You’d never been kicked out of a bar, but there was a first time for everything, right?

After spending a few moments wallowing in your thoughts, you sensed someone pulling out the barstool to your right and taking a seat right next to you. Your inhibitions entirely gone at this point, you brazenly looked over to find that the person was a man: young, probably not over the age of 22, and obnoxiously attractive.

He was tall — but not too tall — and had golden tan skin and dark hair with a slight wave that hung partially in his face. His face was supple, all prominent cheekbones, soft-looking cheeks, full lips, and a nose that you could imagine men showing to a plastic surgeon to beg for the same exact one.

You looked him up and down, and nearly rolled your eyes at his outfit. It was adorable , and part of you hated him for it. How undeniably good he looked. The loose white tee shirt with the gray and black neck-scarf partially covering his defined neck, the bomber jacket that he’d hung on the back of the stool, and a pair of fitted black pants that had you trying your hardest to keep your eyes above his beltline — he was cute . So cute, in fact, that you nearly wanted to get away from him, especially on a day like this. After everything that had happened.

He turned his head and met your eyes with his wide, round, dark ones. He looked like a curious puppy, and you realized he’d caught you staring. Your face flooded with heat.

“Sorry,” you murmured, turning back towards the bar, embarrassed at the way you’d been lost in your own world and had been completely studying this guy from head to toe as if he were public property.

You heard him giggle and it sounded like music. Of course he has an adorable voice too , you groaned inwardly to yourself.

“It’s all good. Can I buy you a drink?” the man asked, and you turned to see him smiling at you, perfect teeth framed by his perfect lips, and you had the sudden urge to punch him as hard as you could, cover your fist in the blood from his mouth, knock his stupid perfect teeth out.

“Sure, if they’ll let you,” you slurred, and he gave you a look of understanding, waving the bartender down and ordering something you couldn’t quite make out.

Not long after, the bartender brought the man what looked like a highball, and in front of you, set down a tall glass of ice water with a couple large lemon slices floating near the top. You rolled your eyes and sighed, gripping the straw in your fist and jamming it down against your thigh to pop it out of the paper wrapping before shoving it into the water. You took a large sip, your vision not quite blurry, but not quite clear either, as you watched the water level in the glass go lower and lower.

“Hey, slow down,” the man said, giggling again and patting your shoulder gently. You scowled at him. “Thanks for the water. Cheapskate.”

He burst out laughing, that same warm, innocent sound, and extended his hand towards you. “I’m Intak. You’re welcome for the water.”

You smiled in spite of yourself, and reached out to grip his hand. It was warm and slightly clammy, which you found oddly charming. “I’m y/n. Are you here all alone, Intak?” you asked.

“Sure am,” he replied, and you weren’t sure if you were just drunk and seeing things, but you thought you noticed a hint of sadness in his expression.

“Pretty little thing like you? Be careful, lots of weirdos in a place like this,” you said with a wink, and he threw his head back again laughing, his cheeks flushing slightly as he calmed down and covered his mouth with his hand bashfully. You found yourself wanting to make him laugh again and again. You also found yourself wondering what he sounded like when he cried.

You scowled at your repugnant thoughts and focused your attention back on your water, taking another big sip, the freezing cold citrusy water nearly giving you a brain freeze.

“You okay?” he asked, eyes suddenly wide with concern, brows furrowed together.

“Yeah,” you began, a reluctant smile forming, “just not at my best right now.”

“Well that makes two of us,” he replied, holding his near-empty glass towards you. You clinked your water glass against it a little too hard, and it made a loud, grating sound. “Shit, sorry,” you said, leaning forward and nearly falling out of your stool. You would have fallen if the man, Intak, hadn’t reached out his hands to steady you, hands going immediately to your arms and holding them until you were upright again.

The scent of his masculine cologne lingered, filling your nose with notes of musk and bergamot. You felt dizzy, despite the fact that you were no longer falling out of your stool. You shivered, trying to shake the feeling.

“Cold?” he asked, reaching behind him to grab at his jacket and hold it out to you.

“No,” you scoffed, finding yourself annoyed with his flawless charm. He was probably out trying to find someone to cheat on his girlfriend with, and your stomach turned sour at the thought.

He nodded politely, returning the jacket to the small back of the stool. You looked over at him and softened a little. “No thank you, I meant.”

“You’re fine,” he said, holding his hands up inoffensively and smiling sweetly.

Intak ordered another highball, and your head, slowly but surely, began to clear a little. You used your newfound clarity to try starting an actual conversation with him, and found out that he and his girlfriend had broken up recently. Well, at least according to what he told you. It sounded like the perfect bullshit story to garner pity from girls to get them to go home with him, but for some reason, you didn’t get the feeling he was lying.

“Yeah, my friends don’t know that I’ve been coming here alone, but I just don’t wanna burden them with my drama. Plus, I feel a little pathetic that I’m still not over it, y’know?” he said, taking the last sip of his second highball before ordering another one, this time with gin instead of whiskey.

You nodded, staring into your second empty glass of ice water. You were starting to feel a little too sober, your thoughts getting a little too coherent and threatening to ruin your night, so you ordered yet another drink, this time a scotch, neat, that you were planning on sipping instead of shooting.

“Bathroom,” you said to Intak after placing your order with the bartender, slipping off of your stool and sauntering off to the dingy, poorly-lit restroom, head feeling like it was floating, your feet barely touching the ground. Once inside, the creaky door locked behind you, your head spun as you sat down to relieve yourself. This wasn’t exactly what you’d expected when you’d come here, but you figured you might as well enjoy it.

After flushing the toilet and walking to the stained sink to wash your hands, you stared at yourself in the mirror, your face looking unfamiliar and ghastly, and felt tears prick at the back of your eyes. You splashed some cold water on your face, dulling the heat that had made its home there for the past hour, and headed back out to the bar.

As you entered the main area again and spotted your new friend hunched over the bar staring at his phone, you paused to watch him. You had to lean against the wall in order to keep your balance steady, but you wanted these few moments to yourself. You noticed he had his feet crossed at the ankle and one of his legs was bouncing nervously. You wondered if he was a fidgety person in general. He seemed like it.

You watched as he ran a hand through his hair. And as he turned his head slightly to look at something, allowing you to catch a glimpse of his side profile, you noticed the bags under his eyes. You also noticed the way the corners of his mouth stayed slightly upturned, despite his melancholy expression. For the first time tonight, you realized… how utterly sad he looked.

It was at that moment that you also realized you wanted to take him home.

“Sorry I took so long,” you said as you hopped up onto the barstool, and he shrugged and shook his head. “None of my business, really. No need to be sorry.”

Your chest tightened a little. Maybe you’d misread the vibes he was putting out before.

“I wasn’t shitting or anything, just so you know,” you added, and he burst out in a fit of laughter yet again, nearly falling out of his stool, hand covering his mouth. He held out his hands as the laughing calmed down, but he could barely contain himself.

“Oh my god, you don’t have to explain yourself, I wasn’t getting any ideas, god,” he said, and started giggling again as he sipped his drink.

“You’re funny, y/n,” he said, and this time he was giving you a look that indicated that you weren’t wrong about the vibes he was putting out before. He’d propped his elbow up on the bar and rested a pink cheek on his hand while he looked at you with a goofy, inebriated smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Thanks,” you responded. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

He blinked a couple times, eyes widening in surprise and he gave you a shocked smile, then looked away for a moment, then back at you. “With you?”

“Who else would I be talking about, you idiot?” you responded while slamming some cash on the bar, grabbing his hand, and pulling him off the stool and towards the door. Intak giggled while being dragged behind you, your chest flooding with warmth as the both of you stepped into the chill autumn air and ordered a ride to your apartment.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Once inside your dark apartment, you and Intak nearly tripped over each other trying to kick off your shoes in the entryway. You grabbed his hand and yanked him down the dark hallway and into the kitchen, giggling, before turning on the light and letting go of him to open the refrigerator door. You bit your lip thoughtfully as the alcohol still running through your body continued to warm you. You looked at the row of cans lining the door of the fridge.

“Rum and coke?” you asked, whipping your head around to look at Intak, who was standing awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen.

“Sounds great,” he said with a sweet smile, and any remaining reservations you’d had about inviting a strange man to your apartment dissipated. Intak seemed nice. You hoped that your intuition had been right, but ultimately, you didn’t really care all that much. You were just glad he didn’t seem like a creep, at least not so far.

You handed him his drink after you’d made one for each of you, and took a long sip of it, glad to have yet more alcohol entering your body. At this point, you weren’t thinking at all about how you’d feel in the morning, because you knew it was too late — you were going to wake up wishing you were dead, anyway. So you figured you’d better enjoy it.

Looking over at Intak, you were shocked at how beautiful he looked, even in the shitty yellowish overhead lighting of your small kitchen. He lifted the glass to his lips and you stared at his Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed the liquid. As he lowered the glass, he caught you staring and walked over to where you were standing, your ass backed up against the counter.

A thick silence descended in the air as he reached over to set his drink on the counter, leaning in close enough that you were once again able to smell his musky cologne. He still had his jacket on. But you didn’t have the chance to think about that much more as he placed his hands on the countertop on either side of you.

And then, he kissed you.

Your head was still slightly spinning, so as you closed your eyes, you had to grab onto the sides of his waist in order to keep yourself steady. His mouth was warm and sweet, and he reeked of alcohol. You slotted your lips against his, and without much warning at all, sucked his lower lip into your mouth. He moaned quietly at the unexpected sensation and brought his large hands up to cup either side of your face. They were warm and soft against your cheeks, and you thought for a brief moment that you wanted them to touch you everywhere.

At that thought, you slipped your hands underneath his shirt and pressed your palms against the smooth skin of his sides, causing him to gasp slightly and smile against your mouth. Lowering your hands to his hips, you pulled him up against you, surprised that he wasn’t already flush against your body, but quickly realized why, feeling the stiff bulge under his jeans press up against you.

Your breath hitched once you felt it and without a further thought, lips still moving against his, you rolled your hips against him while you pulled his hips even harder against yours, eliciting a strangled moan from him. And before you knew it, he was releasing your face to reach down and cup his hands against your ass before lifting you up onto the countertop, shrugging his jacket onto the floor, and untying his scarf, pitching it aside. Your loose pants allowed you to spread your legs easily around his hips as he gripped your waist, deepening the kiss, and starting to become sloppier, his warm tongue licking into your mouth desperately as he started making little noises each time he rolled his hips against your parted legs.

You gasped loudly as he slipped his hand up your shirt to palm at one of your tits, twisting your nipple indelicately before impatiently pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it aside. One hand on your upper back to steady you and the other on your hip, he leaned your body back slightly and bent down to suck wet kisses down the side of your neck before eventually making it to your nipple, tongue lapping against the hardened bud as you whined from the sensation, the pleasure shooting straight to your throbbing pussy.

When you’d started nearly rutting against him, the stimulation nearly overwhelming you, he reached his hands under your ass yet again and picked you up. You immediately hooked your legs around his low back and wrapped your arms around him as he carried you easily into the living room, the only dim lighting coming from whatever was leaking in from the kitchen.

As he carried you, you laid your head on his shoulder, face hidden in the crook of his neck, and it began…

The tears.

You knew he must not have noticed it at first. Didn’t notice the way your face was wet against his neck, and probably thought the first sob was simply a drunken hiccup, but once Intak made his way to the couch and sat down with your body still wrapped around his — that was when he seemed to realize something was wrong.

He slid his warm hands soothingly across your bare back and kissed your cheek, trying to get you to look at him, but you stubbornly stayed put, face pressed firmly into the junction where his neck and shoulder met, tears flowing freely, eyes closed.

Once he felt the first sign of resistance, you could sense his muscles tense beneath you.

“Y/n? Hey, are you okay?” he said, voice tense with worry. You didn’t want to answer, but figured you needed to, considering at this point, he was probably worried he’d done something wrong.

“Yeah,” you mumbled wetly into his skin, sniffling loudly before another quiet sob shook your body gently.

“Oh my god, hey, hey,” he said, voice softening and a hand coming up automatically to pet your head gently, which made it even worse, the tears coming faster than ever. “You’re scaring me, was it something I did?” he asked, and you shook your head adamantly.

“Okay, okay,” he said, sounding borderline frantic. “Is there something I can do?”

You shook your head again, persistently keeping your face against him.

“Do you want to stay like this?” he finally asked, and you nodded your head, fresh tears pouring out of your eyes despite the fact that they were closed, quiet sobs sending tremors through your body. The entire time, Intak held you close, one arm wrapped around your lower back while running his other hand through your hair.

Even in your drunken stupor, you were mortified at your behavior. You could feel the way his dick had softened underneath you almost immediately, and you wanted to die. Like, really, truly, die. If he’d snapped your neck right then, you would have haunted him just to be able to come back and thank him.

After your sobs had slowed down and you’d gotten the chance to catch your breath, everything started to come back into focus and you realized, much too late, that maybe, you just weren’t ready for this yet. After everything that had happened… it had been too much too soon.

You peeled your face away from his shoulder and grimaced at the huge damp spot that you’d left, made of tears mixed with snot and probably some saliva as well. You couldn’t make eye contact with Intak, but he reached a hand up to cup your cheek and guide your face to look at him.

Your embarrassment was blunted by what you saw there — his big, deep brown eyes, full of pity, concern, and warmth. He was frowning and looked legitimately concerned. You almost wished that he’d been annoyed, that you could just get rid of him, but…

“Do you want me to go?” he asked, reaching his other hand up to your face in an attempt to wipe off the mess of tears.

“You don’t have to stay. It’s fine,” you said, removing his hands and putting them at his sides, trying to maintain some shred of your dignity.

“That’s not what I asked. I’m staying unless you ask me to leave, okay?” he said and you scoffed, voice still wet, and averted your eyes, wiping your nose with your bare arm.

Your shirt was still off, tits on full display, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at this point. Your pride was already long gone.

“I’m sorry,” you finally said, “this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I brought you home.”

“It’s okay,” Intak responded sincerely, not an ounce of disappointment in his voice, and you found yourself a little angry once again. Why couldn’t he have just been normal and pushed you off of him, then walked out the door, never to be heard from again? That would have been a little more along the lines of what you were used to, anyway. But here he was, his perfect obnoxious self: perfect skin, hair, eyes, teeth, body, and now he was perfectly sweet as well? Fuck off, you thought to yourself.

“What?” Intak replied, a hurt expression coloring his features, and you realized you hadn’t thought it to yourself, but had said it out loud, and for the first time tonight, you felt truly embarrassed, a shameful heat brightening your cheeks.

“Sorry, just talking to myself I think. Still drunk,” you muttered, and leaned forward again to press your body up against his and bury your face in his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he replied quietly. “Do you want me to go grab your shirt?”

“No,” you pouted, “don’t wanna move.”

At that, he pushed you away slightly so that you were sitting up again, and pulled his loose white t-shirt over his head before pulling it down over yours, helping you get your arms through the short sleeves. The shirt was soft and warm from his body heat, and it smelled like him. You found yourself shamelessly looking down to take in his slender but softly sculpted form, his tan skin, the soft swell of his pecs, his nipples dark and slowly hardening against the cool air of your apartment.

“It’s rude to stare,” he teased, snapping you out of your trance with a pinch to your arm, and you laughed, actually laughed, for the first time in a while.

You rested your head on his bare shoulder again, folding your arms in front of you against his chest while he wrapped his arms around your back.

“Sorry. Thanks,” you mumbled.

“You’re welcome, and don’t be sorry. It’s okay. I’m sorry for whatever it is that’s going on.”

You didn’t accept his veiled invitation to open up, and he seemed fine with that, sighing softly against your hair.

“Bed?” he asked quietly after you stayed like this with him for a while, his energetic voice finally starting to sound sleepy.

“Mm,” you affirmed quietly, and he picked you up yet again and started carrying you down the dark hallway before he realized he didn’t know where he was going.

You giggled into his shoulder. “It’s the one on the right.”

He opened the door and shut it gently behind both of you before setting you down on the unmade bed. You took your pants off unceremoniously and crawled under the covers as he turned to walk out.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” you asked, voice coming out a little more desperate than you’d meant.

“Restroom. I’ll be right back,” he said, giving you another one of his sweet smiles before walking out.

You’d almost drifted off to sleep when he came back in and slipped his pants off, the warmth of his body enveloping you as he crawled under the comforter with you and wrapped an arm around your waist.

Before long, sleep took you both.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You woke up at some point in the night, disoriented, with the moon as the only light source, shining eerily through your window.

You were still fairly buzzed, your decisions from the evening starting to take root as a series of aches along your temples. You were just thankful that the nausea hadn’t come yet.

Intak was exactly where he’d been when he fell asleep behind you, bare chest pressed up against you, a single arm wrapped around your waist, but you soon realized why you’d woken up in the middle of the night.

He was beginning to stir subtly, an undeniable firmness pressing up against your ass, and his breathing was coming out shaky, disturbed, and restless.

You responded by arching your back to press your hips up against him, and he reacted by breathing out a strangled sigh, gently rutting his erection against you, and you smiled into the darkness before reaching back to touch him.

You could feel that he was already leaking and so, so needy, and you strained your arm behind you to wrap around his length over his boxer briefs, in an attempt to stroke him.

You heard him take a deep breath in through his nose and then gasp as he started to awaken. He groaned as the arm he'd draped along your waist shifted, his hand traveling downwards to your groin before he started rubbing you over your underwear.

After several moments of rubbing you with his hand, he dragged his middle finger across your middle, the pressure causing your wetness to start soaking through the thin fabric. You whimpered as he pulled away momentarily and shoved his hand underneath the fabric, fingers spreading you apart to find your clit and start rubbing wet circles against it, meanwhile gently thrusting his painfully hard dick into your firm grip.

Before you knew it, amidst a tangle of sleepy limbs, the both of you struggling in the dark under the covers, Intak was hovering over you and lining his leaking dick up against you, swollen head rubbing up and down along the folds of your opening and your sensitive clit, his wetness mixing with yours before he slowly eased himself inside.

Without a word he relaxed his weight onto you — not so much that he was crushing you, but just enough to ground you underneath him — and began a slow, steady pace of gentle thrusts as you reached up to rest your hands on his upper back. You spread your legs to allow him deeper access and eventually opted to hook your legs around his low back.

You were still wearing his shirt, and it started to dampen with sweat from both of you. It was suffocating, the way his naked body pressed against yours, his face resting in the crook of your neck, breath coming out hot against your skin while he fucked you, both of you still enveloped under the safe and comfortable warmth of the blankets. 

It wasn’t amazing, but it certainly wasn’t bad either — his dick was just the right size, big enough to cause a pleasurable stretch, but not so big it hurt. Not short, but not so long he hit your cervix either.

His labored breathing slowly changed to quiet moans, a sound that sent pleasure right to your clit and had you clenching gently around him. A strangled moan left him and he slowed down his movements.

“I’m close,” he whispered into your neck.

“Okay,” you whispered back, and began to roll your hips up into him to help him find his release. And it came even sooner than you expected, the man’s hips stuttering to a halt with a quiet series of desperate whimpers.

He stilled for long enough to soften halfway before pulling out of you, and you could feel his cum leaking out of you. You’d have to pick up a Plan B from the drugstore in the morning.

“There’s rags in the bathroom across the hall,” you said quietly and he kissed your head before getting out of bed and exiting to clean up, coming back after just a few moments with a warm washcloth for you. You cleaned yourself up silently while he put his underwear back on and crawled back into bed.

“Want me to take care of you?” he asked, resting a hand on your stomach and leaning over to kiss the side of your forehead.

“I’m good, thank you though,” you said with a wan smile, and curled up next to him, head against the warm swell of his chest, your arm wrapped around his soft stomach. He wrapped an arm around your back and kissed your head, and the intimacy of it made your stomach turn slightly, but you tried not to resist it.

Sure, you might wake up to a nightmare of a situationship, but for now, this had been everything you needed. So you decided to let tomorrow handle whatever trouble may come, and allowed the relaxing rhythm of Intak’s breathing lull you to sleep.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[starlightsearches]

Sad wet pathetic Hux… or… Sadistic asshole Hux? 🤭

She Is Mine

Thank you so much for this request, Lena! Sorry it took me so long 😬 I was overcome with horny visions that led to no writing, but sad wet pathetic Hux ultimately won the battle!

AN: Guess who's back? Hopefully nobody else is sick of this arranged marriage AU yet because I'm definitely not! This one's mainly hurt/comfort with some very low lows and some new highs! We've got incredibly jealous and pathetic Hux for your enjoyment uwu. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated, my loves!

Armitage tugs at the collar of his dress uniform, restless, wishing he could manage to ignore the crushing emptiness that's threatening to swallow him.

This is hardly the worst slight he's ever experienced. There had been hundreds of embarrassments and affronts to his pride—not even considering the deep aches from his childhood and their lingering stings.

So why is it this one that has him feeling like he's dying?

The answer is there—right in front of him, as it were—but even that is too painful. Armitage can't manage to meet your eyes.

And his hopes had been so high. Only hours ago there had been that singing, almost giddy feeling in his chest as you clung to his arm, walking with him into the glimmering party—the wide-eyed look of wonder and a smile on your face that the sip from his glass of Correlian whiskey only managed to dampen for a moment.

It had been beautiful. Perfect, even. The exact kind of moment he had been waiting for since he first laid eyes on you. The kind of moment that reflected the depth of his feeling.

The kind of moment where he might have the words to express his devotion.

And then there had been that man.

Armitage's vision goes black at the edges, even now, just thinking about the scene—the look on your face when you recognized this old friend, his possessive leering, the mockery in his tone and that sly gaze he'd shared with Armitage just out of your line of sight.

"You wouldn't mind, of course, general, if I stole your wife for just a moment?"

Armitage would mind. He minded very much.

And, still, on the exterior he had remained stoic, gracious even, had watched you walk out those gaping doors into the dim blue of the gardens, another man's hand pressed into the small of your back.

One of the other guests near the bar had called him brave, the mockery in his tone and the snide laughter of the others perfectly communicating that they all, including Armitage, were thinking the exact same thing.

His wife, secluded in the thick, dark branches of drooping trees, sheltered away from prying eyes, her feverish kisses in the darkness and eager, reaching hands.

Your obvious hunger for someone, for anyone, else.

His mouth had bled with the force of his teeth cutting into the meat of his cheek, and he had washed it away with slow, stinging sips of drink after drink.

Off the transport, the heels of your shoes click sharply, echoing in the empty halls and the hollow space behind his eyes, and your hand feels stolid and limp as it clings to his arm, the walls of his hurt and anger keeping you far from him.

The air in his quarters is stifling, and Armitage rips at the fastening of his collar until it snaps, but there's no help, no aid. Just a roiling nausea and the shake in his fingers that can't be quelled.

"Armitage?"

Your hand at his shoulder, voice sweet and ripe with a hurt he can't see. He won't meet your eyes.

"Is something wrong?"

Yes. He drops into a seated position on the plush couch, every line of him weary, every heartbeat a withering ache.

He has to face it. Despite himself, despite the longing and the fierceness and the depth of his need, Armitage knows that he has done you wrong. He has trapped you here, trapped you in this marriage without any real consent and against your will, trapped you in his permanent misery.

And that is something he cannot bear any longer.

Armitage leans heavily on his forearms, propped up by his knees, and rubs the sting from his eyes before meeting your gaze, still stunned, as always, to be in your presence.

"I consider your marital responsibilities to me fulfilled."

Hurt etches every aspect of your features, your steps hesitant before you fall into the space beside him. Your hand reaches for him, fingers trembling, never making contact.

"Armitage, I don't understand."

He swallows, continues, "this union has met the needs of my position and the contract between your father and the First Order, and there is no more I can expect from you. If you wish to find satisfaction for your- your romantic desires elsewhere, with proper discretion, I will not stand in your way."

The hand that had reached for him flashes back, pressed against your lips and there are tears in your eyes, catching the light, shimmering against dark lashes.

Your mouth trembles, unable to form the words you need. Maybe you'll thank him. Maybe you'll never speak to him again.

"Please," you whisper, "I don't- is this about Andres?"

Just hearing the other man's name is like a knife slid into the vulnerable spaces between his ribs, and he reminds himself that this is what he deserves, that it's only a fraction of the pain he must have caused you.

The look in his eyes must be answer enough. You stare at each other in the silence, and he waits for the end.

Your fingers are chill, the feeling unexpected, when they brush against his cheek, smoothing over the the sharp contours of his face. It's a gentle gesture, as if you're wiping away tears he knows are not there.

"Andres is an old friend," you tell him, quiet, kind, and something else he can't puzzle out, "but he is careless with his things, and with people."

That spike of anger returns, for a moment, washing away everything else.

"Was he careless with you?"

Fragments of glitter that dust your skin catch in the light, disappearing and reappearing with each small shake of your head, as if by magic.

"I never let him close enough."

Armitage is close enough, and more aware of it than ever before, tasting the air you breathe, feeling the singing heat of your skin so near to his. But you must know that he is never careless.

You lean into the kiss he presses to your lips, part your mouth and sigh into his deep breaths as he tastes you.

And that same desperation is back, his body pressing yours into the cushions, the solid weight of you here, and for the first time, knowing you want to be.

A hand at your neck, that racing pulse, and your sweet, soft gasps, almost moans at the feeling of him.

Armitage finds himself sinking, once again, beneath that light-headed fear—that shaking, disorienting spark of your touch.

He wants to run from it. And he wants to stay.

"Do you want me to stop now?" He breathes the question against your lips, meets your eyes and finds them burning with your own hidden desires.

"No," you promise with the shake of your head, "never."

Oh.

[honeybeefae]

Behind the Screen (Professor Gale x Female OC)

Summary / College was expensive, living was expensive, and Tessa’s parents had left her ill-prepared for the reality. Part-time jobs were difficult for her to keep with her school schedule, her major was crushing her mentally and spiritually, and with no other place to turn, she found herself profiting from less-than-professional means. However, it paid the bills and she never showed her face so it was foolproof. Never had she encountered anyone who knew what she did after dark…until she met the new Evocation professor. 

This idea floated into my head and will not come out. I would love to turn it into a multi-part series if anyone is interested! I know it isn't my usual ACOTAR work but I wanted to explore this new obsession! This is a kind of “modern” BG3 universe where magic, the absolute almost takeover, etc., are still the same but in a more modern setting! Obviously this will have smut so you have been warned but I will include content warnings at the beginning just in case! I hope you all enjoy! This chapter is a little short but I wanted it to be sort of an introduction to the story! <3

WARNINGS: 18 +, Cam Girl Activities, Paying to watch, Mutual Masturbation

AO3 Link

Chapter One: Lights, Camera, Action!

The music is slow and low in Tessa’s room, the bass thrumming throughout her body as she slowly sways to it. She smirks tauntingly as her fingers dance over the most sensitive parts of her body, covered by flimsy lace that one of her loyal viewers had sent her a week ago. It was a rich purple, matching the intricate masquerade mask that adorned her face and kept her most tempting feature unattainable. 

“Gods,” She moans huskily, sitting in her leather office chair to face the camera before slowly spreading her legs. “This feels so heavenly against my skin, Gale. You positively spoil me….”

Her computer is the only harsh light in her room as the rest of it is filled with soft fairy lights. She watches the screen as he types, knowing it would be a long lengthy response. He had been one of her first customers during the whole endeavor and after a few months, Tessa knew all of his quirks. Well, at least the sexual ones. 

Tonight is another private showing for him. It was like clockwork, Sundays at 8 PM and Fridays at 10 PM. They would last at least an hour, sometimes an hour and a half, and would consist of her teasing him until she turned her taunts to her body. He had sent her so many pieces of lingerie and toys in the few months she had started that it was a little startling. Sometimes he wanted her to take the lead, doing what she liked, while other times it was a specific script for her to follow. 

Either way, she knew he would pay a generous amount of money for these private shows and even more on tips if she did a free live show. A small part of her always wondered what he was like, what he looked like, but she knew entertaining that would only lead to pain. He could be married and hiding this obsession or single and desperate. None were good options for her. 

But she was more than happy to entertain his fantasies for however long he would pay her. 

“You know I am to please, my darling. I knew the purple would look absolutely radiant with your skin. It is all I can do now not to finish too quickly for you, the vision you are. Perhaps we should move on to the main event, yes? I am painfully aching to see all of you again.”

A blush comes over her cheeks at his words, both poetic and yet so vulgar. From the way he typed, she figured he had to have some kind of proper background and be older. No man she had ever met that was her age talked like him. 

“Of course, my love.” She purrs, reaching over to her drawer to fish out a toy. Before the stream, she had debated which one to use as his taste seemed to change with the wind. However, there was one she could always trust would please him. 

It’s a rabbit toy, sleek black with a long and thick vibrator and an additional clit stimulator that sucks and pulses in time with the rest of it. She always has the best orgasms with it and had actually been using it when Gale first found her stream. Ever since it was one of his favorites. 

“A classic, dear. Show me how your pretty cunt can drench it…and keep the lingerie on.”

“Yes, sir…” She almost whimpers as she pushes aside the already soaked material of her panties, biting down on her bottom lip as the toy comes to life in her hands. It was like a Pavlov effect on her pussy as she feels herself clench around nothing, eager to fuck herself for him.

The toy slides with little resistance inside of her as the clit stimulator begins to work its magic immediately, her back arching as she moans. She can feel the urge to close her eyes and blindly find her pleasure rising but she forces them open, eager to see what her client has to say. 

After a few seconds, he begins to type and she can only imagine what causes the delay, her mind flickering to images of a faceless man stroking his cock to her body. 

“So needy, so wet.”

“I can hear that wet cunt over your music, naughty girl. Do I make you this wet?”

“Fuck yourself for me. Call out my name, let everyone around you hear you cry for me.”

“Fuck, Gale!” She whines as she picks up the speed of her thrusts, the movement causing her clit to rub against the nub perfectly. “It’s…it’s so deep and it feels so fucking good…”

Her breasts sway to the rhythm she has become a slave to, almost popping out of the lingerie as the chair underneath her squeaks from her shifting weight. She can feel her mask begin to itch on her face as she starts to sweat, itching to remove it just so it doesn’t distract her. 

Instead, she spreads her legs wider and throws her head back in bliss for him. 

“Oooooh shit, oh fuck me,” She gasps as she hears the computer ping rapidly. “Gale, gods, Gale, fuck me, fuck me!”

The dual stimulation is causing her vision to turn spotty as she hits her Gspot, her entire back coming off the chair as she goes faster and faster. She thankfully has enough sense to raise her head to view his chat, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears.

“That’s it, darling, such a good girl. Look at you squirm for me. Look at you degrade yourself for me.”

“I can tell you are close. I can see your thighs trembling with the effort to keep them spread, to keep that slutty pussy open for me.”

“Gods above, I wish you could see how much I am leaking for you. It is a mess that I would love to cover you in. A devilish, sinful masterpiece.”

“I won’t last much longer. I need you to cum. Now.”

His last message had only been sent a few seconds ago and she took it in stride, changing her position so that she was practically kneeling and fucking herself roughly. Tessa could feel the drool leaking out of her mouth as her whole lower half seemed to throb in need, the tingles starting to spread up her body as she felt her orgasm quickly approaching. 

“I’m gonna cum, oh gods, I’m gonna-” She couldn’t even finish the sentence as she did one final, harsh thrust into her cunt. It sends her over the edge, her hips mindlessly grinding down further into the vibrations as she clenches over and over on the toy. It felt like too much and not enough, her body craving something more. Something real. 

Gale’s name is the only thing she can chant as she rides out her high, one of her hands going up to squeeze and pinch at her breast to extend the pleasure. After a few moments, she starts to come down, switching off the toy with clumsy fingers and letting it slide out of her.

“Show me.”

She knew what he wanted. It was the same every time she finished. Tessa gives the camera a lazy grin as she reaches for the toy and holds it up, showing the shiny and creamy texture before she does the same to her pussy. 

“The things I’d do to taste you, sweet girl. A tempest of my very own. Thank you for the show.”

His words make her look away for a moment in shyness as if she hadn’t just given him a very risque show. She turns back to the camera and blows him a kiss, wishing him a goodnight before she ends the stream and shuts her laptop. 

“Wow…” Tessa murmurs to herself, taking a deep breath as she stands up on shaky legs. She reaches for her phone and turns the music to something more alternative, more her speed, as well as turning the lights back to their lighter color. 

And so begins her nightly ritual after becoming her alter ego, Tilly Tryst. The mask comes off and is safely tucked away along with the rest of her clothes and toys. She fixes her bed and lights her candles, heading to the bathroom to take off her makeup and anything else she wears for her job. It’s like taking off a costume for her, or maybe an actor coming off stage. 

The bath she draws is usually her favorite part as she bathes herself in lighter scents. If she cared to analyze, it would be abundantly clear that it was like she washing away her sins or her actions. However, that would mean moralizing her job and that was a road she did not want to go down right now. 

Her phone pings as her muscles relax under the water, reaching out to see who could be texting her so late. The notification wasn’t a text though but a deposit notification. Gale had left her another very generous tip on top of his private stream payment. 

Tessa wishes she had someone to talk about this with, to see if this was healthy or if she should cut ties with him. This entire cam-girl job wasn’t even something she wanted to be doing. It was forced on her…subject herself to this or drop out of college. She knew others would have done the same in her position. 

Blackstaff Academy is the best wizarding school on the Sword Coast. Plenty of wizards of considerable acclaim had gone here and she was determined to be one of them. Her parents didn’t support her in her endeavors though they had no problem when her brothers had gone here. It was a sexist ideology, a kink in their plans to marry her off to a family friend to strengthen their role in society, and they hated her for it.

Other wizards at the school had a support system, a childhood of magical nurturing that inspired them to become even greater, and money or assistance to pay. Tessa had a childhood of sneaking magical tomes from her father and brothers, a support system of only her grandfather, and no money to her tattered name.

This is her last resort and thankfully, it was supplying more than she needed. It not only paid for her books, supplies, and other needs, but also her food and her rent. She finally felt like she was on the winning coin of fate. The last thing she needed was her only source of income to stop, even if it might be a dangerous game. 

And while Tessa would never admit this to herself, let alone a friend, she got a small thrill from her work. To be anonymous and yet so fully exposed is a different kind of adrenaline, not to mention the attention. Especially from her favorite clients. It fills a void that she desperately tries to hide.

She felt needed, desired, and for someone who went most of her life feeling the opposite it was like a balm for her soul…even if the methods were a little unorthodox. 

The clock in her room chimes, signaling the late hour, and she sighs before hauling herself out of the bath. Her last “first” semester started tomorrow and by the looks of her schedule as well as gossip in the hallways, it was not going to be an easy one. 

Tessa wraps herself in a fuzzy towel and softly pads back into her bedroom, fishing out comfortable pajamas as she finishes her nightly routine. Doors locked, windows shut, curtains drawn, and most importantly her laptop was shut. The bed calls her name as she finally settles in and down for the night, closing her eyes and drifting off into a dreamless slumber. 

[poeticpascal]

Dr. Miller (Doctor!Joel Miller x Reader)

Masterlist | Request here!

Summary: An unexpected visit to the new OB-GYN in town results in a less than professional exam.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MDNI, fingering, oral (f!receiving), allusions to infidelity, porn with (some) plot, gynaecological exam, undefined age gap, very unprofessional doctor!Joel lol, pet names, lots of fluff at the end!!

A/n: Thank you to the very lovely anon who requested this! You can find the request here. The idea is from a wonderful Bridgeton fic by @ao3loveisstrong, which you can read here! Thank you so much again for letting me use your idea ☺️❤️ hope everyone enjoys!

There’s nothing particularly warm about the waiting room. Of course, for all the gynaecology offices you’ve visited, that’s pretty par for the course. Just stone-grey walls, the paint chipping in parts, and posters stuck up that may have once added colour but have faded now into barely-legible antenatal support numbers and information on STIs.

The only noise that fills the space is the mechanical click click click of the receptionist’s typing, the only sound she’s made apart from a grumbled “sit over there” when you first walked in. Anytime you tap on your phone she shoots you a death stare from over her desk, so you instead opt for sitting with your hands on your lap and staring at your feet.

“Ma’am? The Doctor’s ready for you now.”

You look up to find the nurse looking right at you, her friendly smile about the only thing brightening up the room. 

You follow her down the corridor, just as dull and drab as the waiting room, to the final door where a sign reads ‘Dr. Miller, OB-GYN’ in scratched letters.

“Just through here,” she gestures, knocking the door and quickly getting a “come in” in reply. You straighten your top, even the waistband on your skirt and give the nurse a quick smile before slipping into the office.

Dr. Miller’s room is brighter, the walls clearly treated to a fresh lick of paint, with ‘thank you’ cards pinned to a corkboard beside the window. You can tell he’s made an effort to make it more welcoming, more comforting, and it works. It’s still clinical, all-white with tools and sanitising solutions dotted around, but his touches of personality make it almost like a home. There’s a picture frame on his desk, a little too far away for you to see the detail on it, but the black-clad, larger frame holding the smaller white-draped one tells you it’s a wedding photo. It’s sweet.

And sat at the desk, of course, is the man himself, his eyes trained on you from the moment you walked in. 

Doctor Miller stands, tugging on the shirt of his white scrubs. “Ah, hello -”

“Y/N,” you interject, and a small grin tilts his lips upwards. He’s cheeky, confident. He’s hot.

“Right, Y/N,” he pauses. “Your appointment was made quite last-minute today.” 

He makes his way to the exam table as he talks, patting where he wants you to lie down.

You let your eyes wander from his hand, trailing up his arm to his jaw, covered in a soft, greying beard that gives him an irresistible ruggedness. He’s tall, with big broad shoulders that overshadow your own, the structure of his face harsh yet perfectly sculpted.

“Well, it was an emergency, Doctor,” you reply, leaving your coat and bag on a nearby chair before hopping onto the table and trying not to let your gaze linger on his frame. He’s just trying to do his job, after all.

You swing your legs onto the table and lay down, legs bent and knees in the air, exposed. Dr. Miller’s already towering figure hangs over you, his eyes on yours, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up past his elbows.

“Comfy?” He asks, something playful underlaying his tone. Like he’s teasing you.

You shrug, “are these things meant to be comfy?” 

The Doctor laughs and shakes his head, landing a hand on your covered knee. “Unfortunately, I don’t think so. But I’ll make things as comfortable as possible for ‘ya.”

His southern drawl is prominent, but for his rough appearance, it’s soft and gentle. Kind to the ears.

You just nod and smile, satisfying him as he takes a seat on the stool before the table and asks, “what’s the problem then, darlin’?”

Darlin’. A name that drips so easily from his lips, so smoothly, and yet it sets your tummy on fire and it’s all you can do not to squeeze your legs back together right there in front of him. 

You swallow. “I think it’s best if you see for yourself, Doc.”

His gaze falls to your crotch, carefully pushing the mesh of your skirt up over your legs to reveal your underwear, the ones you can feel a puddle of arousal forming in. You know he must see your wetness when he sighs out, his eyes stuck on your crotch for a moment longer before he looks back up to you again.

“You’re married,” he observes, having noticed your wedding band.

You’d be hard-pressed not to notice his hands drifting along your thighs as you answer with a soft “mhm”.

“And how’s your sex life?” 

The question is blunt, direct, genuine. Hopeful, perhaps. “It’s… okay. A little slow,” you answer, biting your lip when you see his brows knit together.

“Slow? You don’t have sex often?”

“No, no,” you answer quickly. “He’s just slow in bed. I think it’s ‘cos he’s so old.” There’s a firmer grip on your thighs now, and you try not to giggle, focussing on the ceiling so as not to give yourself away as he stares up at you.

“Right,” is all he replies, before startling you with how quickly he rips off your underwear and throws them onto the floor. Unprofessional, unsanitary, uncaring.

Desperate.

“How’s it look, Dr. Miller?” You tease. He slowly, painfully, brings a finger to your entrance; his thumb if its thickness is anything to go by.

“You’re wet,” he whispers, almost inaudible. “You always get this wet? For your husband?”

Your heart races, and you don’t realise you haven’t answered the Doctor until he pulls his hand away, tracing it back along your inner thigh. “You seem distracted, (Y/N). Maybe we should reschedule our app-”

“No!” You all but yell, an embarrassed flush quickly joining the heat in your cheeks. You can’t see his face, but you know Dr. Miller’s smirking, and you shuffle awkwardly on the table. “Need you to check up on me, Doctor,” you whine.

“Well in that case, ma’am…” he stalls, though you’re acutely aware of his presence at your core, so much so you can almost feel his breath hit your clit. “I need you to lay extra still for me. Can you do that?”

You nod, not saying anything, and he laughs. “Very well then.”

You jolt as Dr. Miller swipes his thumb over your clit, throbbing and sensitive at his touch, desperate for more. He goes lower, using two fingers to spread your folds apart, his voice noticeably deeper as he groans.

“You’re dripping, sweetheart.” The Doctor’s gentle cadence is gone, pure lust soaking his words.

“That a good sign, Doctor?” You ask, willing yourself to stay calm as you feel the tip of his fingers tease your entrance.

His other hand moves to the top of your knee, holding it in place as he pushes two fingers inside you, so big they stretch out your cunt with ease. “Very good,” he breathes, too occupied with watching his fingers push in and out to even register his own words.

The two of you are silent for a few moments then, the only sound in the room that of your laboured breathing and the wet slick of your cunt tensing around Dr. Miller’s fingers. He’s skilled, moving in all the right ways and finding a rhythm that makes your toes curl, straining against the table at his mercy.

“You need another one. ‘Ta make sure everything’s fine,” Dr. Miller mutters. His words are strained, like he’s resisting his own urge to moan out, to go completely feral on you while nurses and receptionists shuffle around on the other side of the door. You wish he would.

“O-okay, Dr. Miller. Whatever you want, sir, please,” you gasp, a wave of pleasure flooding you as he finally reacts to your words, groaning a “fuck” and quickly spreading you even further with a third finger. Your hands go to grab his hair on instinct, but your position on the exam table makes it impossible, so you grip the sides of the metal frame instead and squeeze as he curls his fingers deep inside you and fucks you with them harder, faster.

You bite your lip, desperate to halt the moans that threaten to break out far too loudly, sure to draw attention from anyone passing by. But the coil in your lower tummy tightens, led by the Doctor’s expert movements inside you, and you whimper “I’m cu- cumming, oh my god, I-” before arching your back off the table and - 

He stops. He removes his fingers, the feeling of emptiness immediate, and you cry out as he goes back to caressing your thighs.

“Sh, shh,” he soothes, placing a gentle kiss to your knee. “I need to see how you taste, baby. Can I do that? Can I fuck you with my tongue?”

You don’t, can’t, even speak, just frantically nod and buck your hips into the air for some sense of relief. You hear the Doctor chuckle against your skin, his kisses trailing back down your leg until his nose is nestled in the crook of your pubic bone, not where you need him but just close enough to bring tears to your eyes.

“Please, Dr. Miller, I need it, please-”

He hears you. He hears you, and you know it gets to him when you call him that, and before you can even register his movements he’s driving his tongue inside you and nudging his nose against your cunt. You yelp, hands once again gripping the metal frame of the exam table, heels digging in to the cushioned mat where you’re lay.

The Doctor moans, the vibrations hitting your clit and making you moan back, the fast pace of his movements making it almost too overwhelming. “So good,” he grunts, flicking his tongue against your clit as he takes a moment to breathe. “So fucking good, baby. Such a gorgeous little pussy. So perfect.”

“It’s yours, Dr. Miller. Oh god, it’s yours. Please just - oh, just make me cum, Doctor, please.”

You sound pathetic, you know you do, but you can’t find it within yourself to care. You  know he loves it because he groans again, still breathless but diving back into your cunt and pushing his tongue even deeper inside you, wet and warm and hitting all the right spots.

You’re getting close, and he must sense it because he releases his bruising grasp on your knee to thumb your clit, fast and needy, losing the rhythm he’s built in his own desperation. 

“Come on, sweetheart, cum for me. Cum on my tongue,” he demands, pushing and pushing until you stutter over the edge and finally reach your release. You clasp a hand over your mouth, ignoring the tears that fall down your cheeks and arching up from the table, seeing stars as Dr. Miller coaxes you through your orgasm and finally begins to slowly, gently, bring you down from your high. 

“Alright baby, alright.” His voice is starkly different to how it was just moments ago; calm, gentle, caring. You lay still for a little while longer, the rising and falling of your chest starting to settle, the pattern on the ceiling more visible where it once whirred with your dizziness. 

And then you sit up, Joel’s face already tracking yours,  a grin playing on his lips.

“Too old, huh?” He recalls, less-than-impressed although you know he’s only being playful. “I may be older than you, sweetheart, but I doubt none of them younger boys could make you squirt in my office.”

“I squirted?” You ask, shocked. You didn’t even realise, too caught up in the pleasure and the way he filled your senses.

Your husband just grins further, and you roll your eyes, though you match his smile. 

“You gotta start warnin’ me when you visit the office, sweetheart. You’re wearing me out,” he laughs, finally standing from his little stool to settle between your legs where they dangle off the exam table.

“Shouldn’t be a problem since you’re so not old,” you quip back, making him roll his eyes. He takes your hands in his larger ones, brushing a messy piece of hair from your eyes and kissing the spot just above your brow, whispering “I love you” against your skin.

You adore when he’s like this; so gentle, so sweet. And you know that no matter how much he complains, he loves it when you come to visit him at work. He’s only moved into this office recently, the both of you still getting used to the new area, and you couldn’t be prouder of how far he’s come.

“I love what you’ve done with the place, baby,” you tell him, nuzzling his bearded jaw and resting a hand on his chest. “I’m so proud of you.” 

Joel only hums, modest as ever, holding you closely. He knows you mean it. You’ve been with him from the start, through everything, making the highs higher and the lows easier; every day he wonders how he’s gotten this lucky, even if you do leave him endlessly flustered with your surprise office visits.

You lean up to press a gentle kiss on his lips, grinning as he moans into you, and ots only then that you notice how hard he still is beneath his scrubs. 

“What time are you home?” You ask, your hands playing with his collar and the scruff of his beard.

“Around 5:30, hopefully,” he replies, though he looks in his own world as his eyes flutter closed at your touch and his head tips into your hand.

“Alright,” you press another kiss against his jaw, “well as soon as you’re back, I’ll fix this.” You gently squeeze his throbbing cock over his pants, making him moan and his hips stutter. 

“Baby, you ruin me,” Joel whines as you remove your hands and jump off the table, collecting your bag and coat before turning to face him with a giggle. You cup his jaw again as he rests his hands on your waist and you kiss him, deeper this time, not wanting to let go. “You love me,” you retort, grinning even wider as he cocks a brow but laughs all the same.

“I do, sweetheart. So much.” 

He stares into your eyes, thumbing your hips, his forehead pressed against yours. It’s such a sweet little moment, intimate, and you wonder why you keep on visiting him at work when it means you can’t stay there all day. He wonders the same. 

“I love you too, Dr. Miller” is your final reply as you head for the door, sending your husband a little wave and giggling as he mutters, “stop calling me that. Drives me crazy.”

Of course, you know he loves that, too. “Whatever you say, Dr. Miller,” you laugh, slipping out of his office and already thinking of how you’ll treat him when he gets home.

─── ･ .✧: .☽ . :✧. ･ ───

Tag list: @vickie5446 @skysmiller @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @letmehavemyfictionalmen

[petrova121]

Leave your worries at the door….please and thank you!

“Be careful”

-Part 1 -Part 2

TW-violence, threats, smut, fights, blood,etc

Song-Back to black by Amy Winehouse

Enemies to lovers

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

- Klaus needs help getting a witch on his side for the purpose of wolfsbane, which was running low. The best idea coming into mind bringing along Elijah as ... .a form of reinforcement.but things do always take there turns

-Hey guys just a btw I’m still new to all this stuff so bear with me!

At least to say she did not sleep well that night, the rain was pounding. Her dressing room walls for a matter of fact weren’t helping. The cheap wooden material the walls were made out of was sure to break sooner or later, she was sure of it. “God damn Mikaelsons” she muttered tired and her eyes fell into a dump slumber.

In the little makeshift club, Klaus played poker with the owner, his old friend Smith. Smith had known Klaus back in the late 30s, after Klaus had turned him, taking pity on the old man in the state he was in. “So back to cause trouble eh?”Smith said putting down his cards to show a full house a full house. Klaus laughed a little, “No, no ... .well maybe but I’ll be forward with you, I am in dire need of more information about your little witch sensation Y/n” Klaus said still acting to consider putting his cards down. Smith smirked, he was sure he had won the game when he saw Klaus hesitate, he did win, Klaus had two cards and lost.

“Well, what about her? She's a show-stopping natural who gets my money flowing in” Smith said shrugging and glancing over to Elijah who was watching the storm outside from the small window but still intently listening.

“How did she end up working here? To what degree is her power as a witch? Most importantly how are we to trust she has a good flow ... .of wolfsbane” Elijah said his voice carrying out through the dimly lit room. Smith scoffed, in his mind, Y/n was nothing more than a girl who had a few connections and could do a couple of tricks with her magic but he did enough a lot about her past.

“Where to start, she left home when she high school finished early and didn't want a part of her father's life anymore even though she loved him, her father was a hunter. hunted vampires, werewolves, and even witches he deemed a threat. Her father had this moral code, or more like a stick up his ass” Smith said, grabbing a couple more hundred and throwing them on the table. “I think you two would get along Elijah,” Klaus said smirking, digging in his wallet for more to gamble on. He could always get more anyway. Elijah internally gave the biggest eye roll. “As for Y/n she had a knack for dancing and singing I let her join. Well for her dear father his moral code got him much respect, you would know a lot about that noble ass but...unlike you, he wasn't immortal. Unfortunately, he met his match. That was for sure the man well ... had a bloody end and I mean that in every way possible.” Smith said, shaking his head, his eyes full of pity. “That young woman, the witch you are currently preying on, was left with a very broken heart, her father was everything to her and he left her with everything. The house, the weapons he left behind, and loads of vervain and wolfsbane. But I suppose you could say she also has a sense of moral code drawn from fear. She stays away from all these things related to the supernatural world afraid she will meet the same end as her father. As for her power, she isn't the most skilled and does know a few things here and there to make sure she's safe ”Smith said and put down another full house beating Klaus again. A wide grin went across the old man's face, he loved winning. “There's more to the story but I wouldn't know she doesn't talk as much as I am making her to be,” Smith said, grabbing the cash he won, and stuffing it into a jar. Klaus didn’t care much about her backstory or the fact he lost about a thousand dollars to this stingy man. he needed to know her weak points and he could later on use her father against her Klaus hoped.

Elijah listened to the revelation, a flicker of pity went across his face for the woman, it outshined his annoyance a bit.Although Elijah knew that his brother would use this against her, he knew it was necessary. “How long since the man’s death?” Elijah asked, turning to look at both of them. Smith thought about it for a second tapping a finger to his chin. “6 years ago” Smith said, getting his cane. Fair enough time for her to process it, but yet again everyone was different Elijah thought. It wasn't enough to truly feel bad for her though, she was just another witch, right?

The next few days Y/n was on edge and didn’t know how she was going to get back home. Her fears were too strong to go alone. She couldn’t do it; she needed someone but everyone she called was picking up so she resorted to asking her boss, Smith. Back years ago he had helped intentionally to pack up some things and he wasn't the best person ever but she could deal with it she told herself. After the performance, she went to his back office. Which smells worse than the place itself. He was sitting counting the money he made from that night putting it in 15 different piles for the 15 different performers. “What” he said, his voice gruff.

“I’m assuming that hybrid tyrant came and spoke with you,” She said. She entered the room fully and closed the door. “He did, what about it?” Smith said, his eyes not once daring to get a glance up. “I need to ask a favor. I need someone to go up with me to my father's old estate, I can't go alone, I was praying that you could,” She said. There was a shear of uncertainty in her voice, she could almost feel the no coming out of his mouth.

“Not a chance,” He said, annoyed. “I don't have time and with you going on leave for a week I need to find someone to replace your ass, you think I'm just up and available just cause a vampire is threatening your life? Get.in.line his presence is threatening everyone” Smith said annoyed and maybe even pissed off. She frowned, she knew he was a rude old man, what more could she expect? “Then who the hell am I to ask?” she said

“Not my problem”

“It is your problem because he isn't just going to kill me he's going to kill you too if he realizes you didn’t help me” She spat back at him.

He finally looked up, he looked lifeless in his eyes. She could tell his jaw was clenching.

“Fine” he gritted out.“Talk to his brother, the noble guy”

An even bigger frown grew on her face. Elijah, she didn’t like him and she sure as hell if she had any other choice was going to spend a total of 7 hours back and forth from her dad's house. Maybe she hated his power, maybe his stupidly attractive face but it didn't matter.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding after a long moment of silence

“Where can I find him?” she asked.

“You familiar with the French Quarter?” he asked, leaning back in his seat. “Great,” she thought to herself. This family was more of a pain in her ass than she could think, from where the club was it was a good 20-minute drive. “Yes,” she said annoyed

“There's a bar right across from it, you’ll catch him there around 7..and if you're lucky, maybe even 6:30!” he said with fake enthusiasm, and then within seconds a huge frown

“Get out!”

She left and slammed his door shut with anger. The next following days she was now packing her bags and getting ready to confront the man who had his head way too far up his ass. “Where are you heading off to?” Rory said. She was leaning on Y/n’s door frame as she caught her packing up.

“What's it to you?” she said

“Well, you seemed mad when you left Smith's office the other day can’t help but think, are you finally fired?” Rory asked, a big smirk plastered on her face. Y/n was annoyed, of course, Rory wanted her fired, and then her competition would be gone. “Never knew you were this greedy Rory, and here I thought you just suck off the audience for more cash and I mean that in every SENSE,” Y/n said getting her last bag and turning around with a neutral face

“Whatever you say, your time is running up and I'm not the only one who knows that,” Rory said, her smirk not flattering. It was clear that Rory knew something that she didn’t. Was Y/n going to get fired? Did she hear the Mikaelsons talking to her? All questions that Y/n quickly kicked out of her head. She had one goal right now, it was not to entertain Rory and her endless shenanigans.

══════════

After basically speeding her way through the streets she made it back to the heart of New Orleans. She quickly parked and got out rushing to make sure she wouldn’t miss the original. Like Smith said he was in a corner drinking some fancy drink. Elijah had seen her before she even walked in. He was curious to see what she wanted. “Well Mr.Mikaelson unfortunately we have to meet again,” She said sitting across from him. “What do I owe for pleasure?” He said putting the drink down, licking his lips slightly from the remains of the liquor. “Your brother is desperate for Wolfsbane right or did I miss it when my life was threatened?” she said, clamping her hands together. She was giving him a pointed look which amused him further.

“Well yes, he is, now why are you here? I am going to make this clear. I am not one for negotiations, miss Y/l/n” Elijah said, his voice firm. Elijah stared right at her. He didn’t like how unreliable she was being at the moment, and it was causing him to think twice about why he even gave her his word. He also couldn't ignore the fact he would talk about bargaining with her for how undeniably gorgeous she looked at the moment. “I’m here to ask if you will come with me to my house,” She said getting to the point. She was already pretty nervous about it but put on a brave face. Elijah smirked, finding his entryway into a little teasing and fun.

“So straight forward” Elijah teased. Y/n realized what he was insinuating and got annoyed, like very annoyed. It was shown all over her face. Of course this man of cocky enough to assume that.

“No, I don't want you 6 feet near me or my bed if I had a choice by “my house ". I mean my dad's old home, that's where the wolfsbane is and I can't go alone. Let's just say my dad had a lot of enemies that didn’t like him and naturally they don't like me.” She explained to him lying through her teeth. Her dad probably killed every single enemy he had before he met his fate.

“Bold of you to assume what's what I meant,” Elijah said, the smirk growing wider.

“But I do have to ask why me? Don’t you have someone else?” Elijah asked, and this time he was sincere about it. He knew she was lying but decided not to tell her yet. He wanted to see how this would play out but from her point of view, it still looked like by his face he was playing with her. She couldn’t decide between smacking him or kissing him, out of anger.

“Because I have no one else I can trust at this moment and let's just say the person I did go to gave me what he says is a wake-up call,” She said and sighed “Will you do it or not?” She asked. Elijah looked at her, in his mind he was thinking of all the ways this little witch could surely stab him in the back, and take advantage of the situation but on the other hand, he could do the same to her. “How far is the drive?” he asked, tapping his finger on the glass.

“7 hours back and forth,” she said. Not too bad” Elijah thought, though the car ride could go two ways. She could be a pain in the ass or just quiet. He was hoping for quiet. “Well, I suppose I can dwell on it, how about this if I decide to go with you I'll be here tomorrow at 6 in the morning waiting outside this very bar. ” He said, leaning in his chair. "What do you mean to dwell on it?" she asked. "I mean think about it, it might not have occurred to you but I have responsibilities waiting for me, and the person that needs my most protection at the moment," Elijah said, he hadn't forgotten about Hayley for a moment. "Ohh, I get it you're looking after that girl who's carrying the miracle baby," Y/n said it all coming together. "Why? she's not your responsibility."She said, now crossing her arms. Elijah's eyes narrowed slightly. "She is, I made it my duty," Elijah said, getting another sip of the drink. "Why are-" she cut herself off. She didn't want to know why, she didn't need to know either. "Fine, think about it if you will," she said, slightly mocking his accent and getting up. He then did the same and straightened his cuffs to the suit. She got up to leave and he grabbed her wrist right before. “Do let me make one thing clear with you, I am being very cooperative at the moment. I wouldn’t see this type of mercy from my brother. I do encourage you not to try playing any games with me when it comes to well-being if I do go on this little trip of yours because it won’t be good for you” Elijah warned stepping closer to her. Her heart was starting to pound. “I can’t even put a scratch on you. How stupid do you think I am?” she asked in a hushed tone. She could see a few eyes from the bar staring at them. “You’d be amazed at how many idiots walk this earth,” Elijah said smugly. He let go of her, letting her get her bag.

“6 AM, I won't be late. I hope you do show up,” she gritted through her teeth. turning around and walking away out of the bar. Elijah got up and followed her. It felt like freedom when she took in the fresh cold air outside. Until she realized he was behind her. “And I am most certain we will meet again” Elijah said behind her and when she turned to look he was gone. She cursed under her breath and walked off.

“Be careful” she could hear whispering as she was walking but no one was there. She knew it wasn’t Elijah, it was those goddamn ancestors

[raiynnah]

Beast

@wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 827

In a world of black and white, starkly split between burning light and voracious darkness, there are only the gods and the god-fearing. With the inescapable tragedy of childhood as his shadow, Remus understands all too well that there are no shades between the sinless and the sin. There is no fall when there is an inherent corruption that ripples through his features, reflecting his soul and physical being. Like two mirrors facing each other in judgement, infinite depictions betray him through his looks.

Remus gazes into the water, which is pure and true and most importantly honest, his eyes cutting over the monstrosity that stains the river reflection like oil, forever separate. 

In a world of monsters and gods, the beast does not notice the deity behind him, caught up in his cage. Instead he sighs, defeated, not snarling at his prison like his nature deems he would.

“Careful,” warns a voice, sweeter than the honey that kings delight in, sweeter even than the ambrosia the gods hoard. “We don't want another Narcissus, do we?” Remus startles, confused at the spoonful of genuine conversation offered to him when he grew up licking any sweetness off knives. He knows the sweetness of pain, of the ache in his muscles and the blood in his mouth when he bites his tongue, and not much more.

“You must be blind if you think that to be currently possible,” Remus answers bitterly. A delighted laugh erupts from the person behind him.

“I see more than you ever will, mortal.” Remus stills, thoughts freezing over, and turns to face the stranger.

There stands the shape of a man, blurry at the edges like light when it fades out, tall, proud and amused. Leaning on one foot, arms crossed, with a smile on his face, he looks human. But it does not distract Remus’ attention from the way that impossibly black strands of hair—the colour of the distance between stars—spill delicately over his shoulders, curving like the familiar blades of enemies or Remus’ hands around water as he scoops it up to drink. His skin glows like the moon; smooth, pale, and as cold-looking as marble. He is beautiful, made up of contrasts of death and life.

“I am no mortal, my lord.” Without a name, Remus treads carefully, relying on a title he’s unsure of. The god tilts his head the way dogs do, yet his stare remains that of a wolf.

“You are no god either.” It’s not said like a question but rings faintly like one anyway.

“I am cursed by one of your own, my lord.” The silver in the god’s eyes as they narrow reminds Remus of his father’s swords, displayed proudly to visitors, and the coins his mother counted after each fight, leaving behind a frustrated opponent that promised to win next time.

“Do you not know who I am? As much as I find it pleasant to be called yours, I have a name like most others.” When he winks, Remus thinks he must have slipped into the realm of dreams unknowingly, because surely this could not be real.

“I…apologise,” he starts, scratching the scar on his skin self-consciously. “I have not been allowed into temples since I was four. My name is Remus Lupin.”

“Sirius, god of souls.” Prince of the Underworld, guide to the dead when he leads them into his father Orion’s domain. It clicks into place in Remus’ mind so easily he wonders if the knowledge comes from him or Sirius. “What did you do wrong at four to be cursed?”

“Be born to a woman who married a man whose hubris had no limits.” It’s not a unique story, a son punished for his father’s mistakes, so he does not go into detail of his father’s strength in battle and weakness in wisdom. “So now I am a monster, inside and out.”

“I know monsters, Remus. I am even fated to marry one, or so they say. Trust me on the fact that they may know appearances but I know souls. They may paint you as a beast but a painting is a reflection of the artist, not the subject.” Remus is quiet for a moment.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his words stolen by the wind. Sirius smiles, somehow still having heard it.

Sirius goes to sit next to Remus, eyes never leaving the river. When their reflections shudder with the current, he wonders what Sirius sees. A monster and a saviour? (Sirius sees a man glowing faintly, animalistic features fading in the warm light, next to empty space, but he will not share that for many years, not until the titles my mortal, love, and soul become a daily blessing. Gods have only appearances and divinity.)

“Your soul is purer than mine could ever be, Remus Lupin.” It sounds like an apology and a promise, it sounds like the rustle of hands as the fates weave two strings together.

[jooheonspinky]

Trivia: Love

Characters: Namjoon x Female Reader

Genre: idol!au, angst, smut

Synopses: A few years ago, Y/N met Namjoon while at a movie theatre. Hitting it off, they come to an agreement wherein Y/N signs a contract that entails helping Namjoon “de-stress” whenever he is in the US, even having Y/N travel to several of BTS’ stops when they are on tour. But then the pandemic hit, and it has now been almost two years since they have seen each other in person. With BTS coming to LA for several concerts and interviews, will they be able to get back to how things were before, or have the two changed too much in that time apart? 

Warnings: set during the COVID pandemic, mentions of mask-wearing and COVID tests, fingering, unprotected sex (both get STI tested before visits, as per contract. Not specified in story, but Y/N takes birth control).

A/N: This story is inspired by a dream I had on August 26, 2018. You can find the dream here on my Kpop Dream Logs. It took me several years to flesh out and finish this story and I'm really excited to finally get this put out there. I really hope you enjoy it. Please feel free to like, reblog, and comment. I really appreciate you taking time out of your day to read my work.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Part 1

Word Count: 4.5K

November 27, 2021

“Hi,” I offer the middle-aged woman behind the front desk as polite a smile as I can convey through my eyes. Trying to be as casual yet discreet as possible, I lower my voice and lean in as I state, “The room for Mr. Moonchild, please.”

The woman’s eyes narrow for just a millisecond before the friendly customer service expression settles back in place. Well, as far as I could tell, due to the navy blue face mask emblazoned with the hotel's logo on the right side covering half of her face.

“Name, please?” she probes, her tone neutral.

“Nabi Bomnal,” I provide the code name he had given me so long ago, my voice slightly muffled with my black medical-style face mask covering the lower half of my face. I resist the urge to tap my fingernails on the shiny granite top of the desk separating us, nervous anxiousness threatening to buckle my knees.

She hums her acknowledgment, and I can feel her eyes judging me as they flick from her computer screen and back to my face a few times as she types. I hold back saying, “We’re just friends,” as a way to justify why I’m here so she can stop searing my soul with her disapproving looks. She knows why I’m here. Yes, this woman knows exactly why I’m here.

“Ok. You are all set, Miss Bomnal.” Her eyes beam, and she seems way too cheerful. “I’ve already paged Mr. Choi. He will meet you at the elevators and direct you to the requested room.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, throwing her an awkward smile, though I know she can’t see it. 

I hope the gesture comes off more amicably through my eyes than it feels before hurrying off to the elevator lobby. This whole interaction would not have bothered me in the past. These were the exact steps I took two to three times a year, and I had been okay with it, ignoring the knowing looks given to me by hotel staff. However, this time, I find myself nervous and feeling ill at ease, my hands clammy as one tugs a suitcase down the marble flooring and the other hangs at my side, fist clenching and unclenching as I walk. It almost feels as if it is my first time all over again.

The elevator doors open just as I approach them, and a large, muscular man fills the space inside. He’s in all black from head to toe. His tucked-in T-shirt, whose sleeves hug his biceps a bit too tightly, also clings to his chest and torso muscles. My eyes continue down to a tapered waist, the shirt disappearing into his jeans. Black sneakers complete his outfit.

“Mr. Choi,” I greet him with a genuine smile and a short bow. “It's good to see you are well.”

He bows back. “I’m glad you are also healthy and well. Come, let me take that.”

It was fruitless to protest. For several years, this has been precisely the way our meetings started. I long ago gave up fighting him about lugging my suitcase around. Mr. Choi may look menacing, but he was a sweetheart underneath all that height and muscle.

“It’s been a while, huh?” I make small talk as the elevator doors close behind me.

“Almost two years,” he hums behind his black face mask. 

“Two years,” I parrot quietly in wonderment. 

We’re quiet after that, each of us left to our thoughts. It’s not for long, though. Soon, the elevator pings, the doors slide open quietly, and we step out onto a plush crimson carpet. Suddenly, the black skinny jeans, purple long-sleeve shirt, and black flats I wear make me feel underdressed.

Not that it would matter. It’s not like I would have them on for too much longer.

“Here we are,” Mr. Choi interrupts my thoughts. He swipes the key card over the black reader beneath the door handle, and there is an audible click as the lock disengages. Ever the gentleman, he holds the door open for me, and I walk into the large room. “You know the drill,” he starts after leaving my luggage by the door. “Here’s the key card. Make sure to leave it here at the end of your stay.” He hands me the card even as he continues his usual spiel. “Your negative COVID test results came through, as did your medical assessment. All is well, as usual.” I press my lips together, my cheeks warming up. Shouldn’t I be used to this by now? “I have reviewed his information also, and all came back negative. Here is a copy for your peace of mind, but for privacy reasons and the conservation of his reputation, the company has remitted his name, date of birth, and demographics. Since you are here, am I to understand you are still in agreement with the contract and arrangement made four years ago? I can provide another copy if you need it.”

Oh, I understand, I think dispiritedly. I understand that this is still just business between us.

“No need,” I let out a short chuckle, waving my hand as if that would brush away the brooding thoughts in my mind. “Yes, I still agree to all the terms. I understand.”

“Ok,” he nods, passing me the medical and COVID documents. “He left you something in the bedroom. Food, snacks, and drinks are in the fridge if you get hungry. My number is still the same. Call me if you need anything or if there is an emergency. They are due to arrive sometime after midnight, so you still have a few hours to yourself.”

“Thanks, Mr. Choi.”

“Have a good night.”

I wish him the same as I walk him to the door. Once he’s gone, I slip out of my shoes, leaving them by the door, and I grab my suitcase to head towards the bedroom. The hotel room was pretty much an apartment. There was a small bathroom to the left and a coat closet to the right in the foyer. The full kitchen had a stove, microwave, counter space, sink, and full-size fridge. Everything is stainless steel. The kitchen was on the right once you exited the foyer. Ahead from the entryway is a large living room area with a television, a couch, a loveseat, a chair, and a coffee table to the left. The TV sits in a shelving unit that takes up most of the wall, and many books of different colors and sizes fill the shelves. A sitting area on the opposite end of the room is arranged in front of a fireplace. Off-center to the living room and sitting area is a sleek black dining table with eight chairs, the chair cushions white, just like the couches and seats around the room. Beyond the dining room is a set of sliding glass doors leading to a roomy balcony with outdoor seating matching the decor inside the living space and a fire pit.

Turning left past the dining table, I finally reach the bedroom. Opening it up, I find a spacious room with a California King-sized bed. The covering atop the bed is fluffy and thick, hinting at the comfort it will provide. A set of French doors leads out to the balcony, a settee invitingly sitting near them, offering the person who sat there a nice view of the space outside.

Reaching the closet on the opposite side of the room, I unpack. I don’t have much, but I hang my clothing on the available hangers to avoid too many wrinkles. As usual, I leave everything else in the suitcase but take out my toiletries. In the bathroom, I can’t help but smile. It was a beautiful area with marble, the palest of pinks surrounding the Jack and Jill sinks. The walls were white marble tiles with light grey streaks, while the marble on the floor was also white, the grey whisps a darker shade. The same tiles continue into the shower, which is right across from the sinks, a luxurious area with several showerheads that I could not wait to use. At the end of the room, there was a grande deep tub. I was quite certain Namjoon and I could both soak in there together. At the opposite end, nearer to where I had entered, a quick stroll over has me confirming it was the toilet, separated from the rest of the bathroom.

Glancing down at my watch, I see it’s already 10:35 p.m., so I opt for taking a shower before it gets too late or I get too tired. Namjoon wasn’t due until after midnight, so I could have a leisurely shower and then lounge around while waiting for him.

But first, I want to see what’s in the bag Namjoon set at the end of the bed. Back in the bedroom, I quickly pull out the lilac tissue paper until a card and the present are revealed at the bottom. I can’t help but smile as I read the note.

Nabi,

I saw this and thought of you. I know you will wear it well. I also got you a little something for those days when you miss the moon. It will keep you company until you can see it again.

See you soon,

Moonchild

Grabbing the box the card had been lying on, my fingers brushed against a soft material. I chuckle to myself, already imagining what it could be. First, though, I wanted to see what was in the black box. Opening it, I can’t help but smile fondly as the contents are revealed. A full moon hangs from a silver chain, a small silver butterfly dangling a few links up. I waste no time clasping it around my neck, the moon charm falling just above my cleavage. 

Clutching it in my hand lovingly, I can’t help but wonder if his message had a double meaning. Yes, he gave me a little moon, something we both loved to look at. But he knows I associate him with it, not just because of his song ‘Moonchild,’ but because he loves to walk beneath the moon to release his creativity. So when his note says I can look at the necklace when I miss the moon, and it can keep me company until I see it again, was he talking about the literal moon, or was he talking about himself? 

Aloud, I can’t help but frown and say, “Nah.”

Namjoon has not indicated this whole time that there is more between us than a hook-up a few times a year. We do keep in touch by talking and texting over the phone when we are apart, even with his busy schedule, but I never get the sense that there is any romantic interest on his part whatsoever. Anyway, as Mr. Choi pointed out earlier, this was nothing but a business transaction, and I would be a fool if I let myself think anything more could ever come from this.

Not wanting to overthink the gift anymore, I moved on to the other item I had felt when I had gone to grab the box. Smiling, I lift the lingerie, trying to figure out exactly what it was besides purple lace and thin satin ribbon. I guess I would find out better once I put it on. With that thought in mind, I head back into the bathroom to shower.

Feeling refreshed after my shower, I sit comfortably on the bed, a near-empty glass of wine in my hand as I watch a movie to pass the time. Repositioning myself, I feel the lingerie shift beneath the robe I’d tied over it. As the material grazes across my skin, I’m reminded that Namjoon has yet to arrive to see me in the one-piece bodysuit he’d bought me. It barely covers anything, the deep-plunging V-neck stopping short of my navel. The material leaves nothing to the imagination, but the color compliments my skin well and accentuates my curves. The lace in the back only covers half of my ass, and the satin adjustable criss-cross straps leave most of my skin bare as it comes to a neat bow at my lower back. It certainly could leave anyone who wore it feeling sexy, and despite some insecurities, even I cannot deny that I could not wait to see Namjoon’s reaction to me wearing it.

The evening seems to be crawling by. The anticipation of seeing him after all this time has my nerves somewhere between frayed with anxiety and horny as hell. Either way, I feel like I’m on the verge of screaming. 

Downing the last bit of wine, I make my way to the kitchen, cleaning up my mess from earlier and leaving the dishes to dry on the counter before slipping out of the robe and sliding in under the bed covers.

Though I am so nervous, the combination of the flight and my jittery nerves has worn me out. I had wanted to stay awake to greet him, but the evening was going too slowly. So, I decided to kill time with sleep. Letting out a shaky breath, I feel myself slowly relaxing. The wine helps, and my eyes slip shut a short time later.

A door closing in the distance wakes me from a restless sleep. I had left the bathroom light on with the door just a smidge open to push back some of the darkness. I scramble off the bed, anticipating finally seeing him in front of me after so long driving away any remnants of sleep left behind.

As I step towards it, the bedroom door flies open, and I gasp. There he is. Kim Namjoon in an off-white suit, the suit jacket unbuttoned. The vest beneath has nothing underneath it, and my eyes are drawn to the deep V of the vest that shows a bit of bare flesh. He wears a thick black choker around his neck with silver spikes poking out randomly all around it. He looks devilishly handsome with his dark chocolate locks, shorter than I was used to, shaved at the sides, and spiked up at the front.

“There’s my beautiful Nabi,” he nearly growls as his eyes lock on me. Even through the thin slip of lace, he has tied across his eyes, I can see the stare is so intense, almost predatory-like, that I feel my heart rate kick up a few notches just because of it. “Come here,” he demands, even as his long legs quickly close the space between us.

Before I can even react, his mouth is slashing hungrily across mine. Inhaling sharply through my nose, I don’t resist. Instead, the fierceness of the kiss mixed with the scent that is his and his alone has my core clenching involuntarily around nothing. It’s like his smell is a key that triggers the memories of our past encounters to come flooding through to the forefront, and it’s the kindle to the fire he always knows how to ignite in me. 

He presses his body into mine, and we stumble back until we are met with the resistance of the wall.

“Namjoon,” I breathe as his hands dig into my hips, holding me to him.

Coaxing my lips apart greedily, he drags his tongue along mine, and I moan into his mouth. The bitterness of the beer he must have been drinking before mixed with mint tingles along my taste buds, and I can’t seem to get enough as my hands help him remove the blazer without breaking the kiss.

His mouth, so warm and soft, is not shy about exploring anywhere he wants to. Namjoon slides away from my lips to kiss my jawline before nipping at the pulse at my neck. His hips roll into mine, and we both groan.

“I missed your taste,” he growls as he hoists me up. “Missed this ass,” he smirks while he palms my bare cheeks and gives them a firm squeeze. I wrap my legs around his waist and smile at him. We are face to face like this, and he is such a magnificent sight to behold. He is like an incubus decked in all white and trimmed in lace, ready to devour me body and soul. His saccharine voice is a dangerous addiction that threatens to shatter my heart into a trillion little pieces at any moment if I don’t do better to guard and protect that much too-sensitive organ. With lips ruddy and swollen from the passionate kisses, face flushed, and eyes dark with pure need, he looks like sex personified. He walks us to the bed and drops me down. I shift to the middle, and he crawls on hands and knees towards me, saying, “Missed the way your tight wet pussy takes me so well...”

“Namjoon!” I gasp, feeling myself grow wetter with the filth coming out of those sinful lips of his. 

“What?” he chuckles huskily as he drops a kiss on my mound. “You look absolutely delicious in that,” he compliments as his hands graze up my thighs. There is a conflicting sensation, and I look down to see he is wearing white lace half gloves, the material stopping just past his knuckles. My eyes close, soaking up the feeling of a rough scratch mixed with the soft flesh of his fingertips ghosting their way up my body. “I knew it would suit you well.”

I can’t even answer anything he says, my body humming with sensations I have been deprived of for so so long. It’s as if I’ve forgotten how to speak anything other than his name. It wasn’t that I had withheld myself of relief while we were apart. Still, there is just a different feeling altogether when you have all these overwhelming sensations being coaxed out of you by someone else rather than a toy or your own self—especially someone as passionate as Namjoon. 

His lips have made their way up to my breasts. The tips press firmly against the thin purple lace, and he wastes no time snatching one between his lips. I let out a loud gasp as his hand slipped between my legs, palming me roughly. 

“Baby, you are so wet,” he growls against my breasts. Then, leaning back, he lifts his gaze to meet mine. “I don’t think I’ll be able to wait much longer. I need to be inside you.”

Mesmerized by his flushed cheeks and pleading eyes, I nod, “Yes. Please.”

He licks his lips hungrily, his mouth quickly returning to my breast. I’m groaning when I feel a finger slip inside me. Namjoon’s curse is muffled as he slides in and out, prepping me for what is to come and warming my body up even more. He slides in another digit, and my hips begin to roll upwards, wanting more friction. He’s pulling away, and I whimper, my entire body throbbing with the impending release I am so needing. Namjoon quickly removes the rest of his clothes, leaving on his gloves and the lace he had tied over his eyes.

He is crawling over me in no time, his naked form warm against me. Namjoon does not even give me the time to take off the lingerie. Instead, he pulls the material away from my center and brings his cock to dip into my juices. Biting down on my lip, my hands fist the sheets as he drags the head of his dick up my seam, the tip rubbing my clit sweetly. My hips arch up, and he chuckles.

“Greedy, girl,” he tsks but doesn’t delay the torture any longer.

Namjoon slides in slowly, groaning once he’s bottomed out. His hand kneads my breast as he leans forward to capture my lips in a deep kiss, allowing me to adjust to him. He tastes so good; I could kiss him forever. He gives his hips a hesitant roll, and when he gets a moan from me, he starts a slow pace. My walls begin to tighten around him, and he lifts himself onto his knees, his hands on my thighs, keeping them open wide. 

He looks incredible, with his tanned skin glistening in the glow of the bathroom light. His nipples are taut, his abs constricting as he chases his high. I can feel myself getting so close, finding it hard to keep my eyes open.

“Don’t stop,” I keen. 

Namjoon obliges, his hips picking up more speed. He feels so good scraping against my walls, touching that spot that he knows precisely how to hit. I bite down on my lip, and Namjoon smacks my inner thigh, and the shock of the sting has me spilling over the edge on a long moan, my hips rolling to meet his thrusts as I ride out my high.

“Fuck, you look so hot,” he pants as he yanks the lace from his eyes. “I need to see you,” he growls as his cock throbs desperately inside me. I know he’s close when his thrusts grow sloppier, and I rake my nails over his abdomen. “Oh, shit!” he curses as his abs constrict just before I feel him burst inside me. Though I’m already oversensitive, I lock my legs around his waist and buck into him as thick streams of his warm cum fill me up.

“Ok, ok, ok,” he shivers as he tries to unravel my legs from around his waist moments later.

I grant him mercy and release him, laughing as I roll out of bed and head to the bathroom. Using the toilet and cleaning myself, I bring a warm, wet hand towel back into the room. I can’t help giggling when I see him collapse back onto the bed after leaning over to toss his spiked collar and lace gloves onto the bedside table, his arms thrown out on either side of him as if that took the rest of the energy he had left.

“You good?” I ask sweetly as I clean him up.

“Come here,” he growls. I yelp, tossing the towel over the edge of the bed, when Namjoon snatches me up and tucks me into his side. He tenderly kisses my forehead as his arm cradles me to him, one of his legs nudging its way between mine. “I really did…miss you, Y/N,” he murmurs before his breathing goes steady.

“Namjoon?” I whisper.

But there is no response. Instead, he pulls me tighter against his sleeping and warm form. I try not to read too much into the gesture. Steadying my breathing, not wanting to wake him, I can’t help but let my mind wander.

How had I gotten here?

I smile fondly, remembering the day we met as if it was just yesterday. 

It had been a cool Spring night in 2017. I went to the movie theater by myself. Leaving the theater room after the movie finished, I looked up and became frozen in my spot. Right near the door to exit the building, I swore I had seen Kim Namjoon!

I blinked a few times. Looking around, I wondered how no one else had noticed. Granted, he had been wearing a face mask, sure, but those eyes and his stance? It was undeniable to me.

  He was scrolling through his phone and must have sensed my staring because he looked up. His gaze fell directly on me. My heart skipped a beat as he threw a wink my way and then brought a finger to where his mouth would have been. I nodded, respecting his wishes. That didn’t mean my heart wasn’t racing a mile a minute as I made my way to the exit and avoided any further eye contact.

As I walked to my car, my mind was reeling. I had been in the same space as Namjoon! I couldn’t even believe it myself. Lost in my thoughts, I had nearly let out a scream when a finger tapped on my shoulder.

“Jesus!” I gasped as I whirled around. “You scared me!”

A tall, muscular man in black jeans and a black t-shirt bowed. 

“죄송합니다. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s ok,” I laughed nervously. I still eyed him warily. He was quite fearsome; the bulging muscles that his clothing did little to hide spoke of how easily he could snap me like a twig if he truly wanted to. “Can I help you?”

“My client, he wants to meet you.” I cocked an eyebrow at him in question. “Namjoon-씨,” he clarified.

I could not help but laugh in disbelief.

“Really?” I scoffed. “Namjoon? Of BTS? He wants to meet me?”

I laughed again. The man, most likely a bodyguard if those muscles had anything to say about it, pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number. When the line was picked up, he spoke in Korean and then passed me the cell phone.

Now, my stomach fluttered as I accepted the device. 

“Hello?” I said hesitantly, then tried to backtrack with a “Uhm, I mean, 여보세요?”

I mentally face-palmed myself, instantly feeling my ears burn with embarrassment. A soft chuckle greeted me.

“Hi. I see you didn’t believe my bodyguard.”

I instantly recognized the voice. 

With my knees trembling, I was honest when I answered, “I didn’t. I mean, I’m not sure I do, still.”

He laughed again.

“I just wanted to thank you for not revealing my identity inside.”

Holy crap! It really was him!!

“Yeah. Sure,” I tried to sound nonchalant. “It’s nothing.”

“But for me, it is, so what do you say? Will you go with my bodyguard?”

“I don’t know….” I looked up at the intimidating man before me.

“I promise you’ll be safe.”

But my heart sure hadn’t been.

I should have known that very first night that I would not have been able to keep my heart guarded. I tried to be indifferent as I accepted his proposition, to not catch feelings. I did all I could to focus on the fact that this was all basically a business transaction. He would help me pay my way through school while I helped him “relieve some tension” whenever he came to the US. The more legal way of saying we were “fuck buddies.”

Simple. 

Yet the more time we spent together, the more we spoke, the more he chiseled his way in. The lines were getting too blurred for me. The two years we were unable to be with each other made me realize it. I thought maybe this time apart would dampen things, reminding me that there really is nothing between us but this contract. It hadn’t been so. Seeing him again, I knew I had missed him so much. He is so good to me and respectful despite the circumstances. And that only makes me adore him more.

I push all thoughts out of my mind as I feel tears threatening my lash line. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, praying they don’t spill over. Breathing in and out slowly, combined with the warmth of Namjoon’s embrace, helps me to settle down, and soon I’m relaxed enough to fall asleep. The sleep is so deep I don’t even feel him leave the bed a few hours later.

Credits:

Text Divider by @xxbimbobunnyxx

Moodboard by me.

For moodboard, used:

InCollage for layout, title, butterfly and photos.

Except Namjoon’s photo. Credit to RM x GQ Korea, Vogue Korea 2021

Motionleap was used for the movement within the moodboard.

Thanks for reading. Part 2 is out now.

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