#but like now I think it's not so much that. it's just that it's almost a universal way to show love

[poisonf0rest]

Intertidal Zone

♱⋅── rafayel x reader

♱⋅── about: Nightly Rendezvous card, but now we finally understand why rafayel was so desperate when he came back to the hotel room.

♱⋅── word count: 6.7k

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, porn with some plot, the belt scene, slight exhibisionism, sooo much kissing, slight oral fixation, Lemurian mating bond, needy raf

art credit to @/khouxy on instagram

You swear Rafayel is doing this on purpose. 

The first time it happens is right after your flight, the two of you only just managing to check into your hotel and change for dinner.

It's a fancy restaurant overlooking the vast desert, and the outdoor patio offered a clear view to gorgeous sunset. Furious spirals of orange and vermillion cast their light across the sand, making it appear to glow as winds kick up waves of golden dust along the horizon.

It’s beautiful, almost as much so as the man across you, who is still staring longingly into the distance as though committing every color to memory. As if repainting it entirely in his mind. 

Not hues of warmth, but those of the deep sea. Blues and purples and colors so dark they’d only come to life in the night. 

“How’s your drawing?” 

Rafayel sighs at your voice, tossing his pen across the dinner table with a huff before leaning back against the sofa. A stack of crumpled sketches litter your table among half-finished plates of food. He insisted on traveling here to relax, and yet he seems to be doing everything but. 

“If a few lines count as a drawing, then wonderfully.” Sassy as ever.

He sighs again, but this one sounds more pained, and you notice the red tinge highlighting his ears and neck as he leans against your shoulder. 

“You still don’t feel good?” You ask, voice hushed as you place a kiss against his temple, the skin burning beneath your lips. Raising a hand, Rafayel immediately nuzzles into your palm as you pull his chin up towards you, feeling the rising temperature along his cheek and forehead. “We can head back if you’d like. Take a bath, or shower?” 

You hoped the together was implicit by now.

But Rafayel only nods, placing a chaste kiss against your exposed shoulder. “What about the sunset? I saw you admiring it, and squandering a beautiful view is unacceptable for an artist. It’s one of the greatest offenses.”

Rafayel’s breath is minty and dry against your ear, and when you turn to look at him, his face is doused in the fiery hues of the sunset, each one casting deep purple shadows that only make his features all the sharper, half his face veiled in darkness. 

Some days you wish you were an artist as well, if only to capture moments like this—to show Rafayel just how gorgeous he was. 

Perhaps it’s only natural for a god. After all, no mortal could ever need beauty so violently arresting, so worthy of worship. 

You’re leaning in despite yourself. 

Rafayel meets you halfway, one hand on your waist as the other traces your jaw and bottom lip. But as soon as you feel the brush of his lips across yours, he pulls away. 

You open your eyes in confusion. Rafayel’s never denied you before. 

When you look at him in question, he only gives you a tired smile and pulls you to your feet with a chaste kiss on your cheek. “Sorry. I’ll feel better as long as I’m close to you like this.”

The second time it happens is when the hotel reception mixes up your and Rafayel’s rooms, leaving you to deliver some sort of formal invitation to him. 

But the letter is soon forgotten; you can’t be bothered thinking about it, not when Rafayel still looks so absent.

He’s right next to you, knees brushing yours as you sit side by side on the couch, and yet he seems to be miles away, gazing out the window as the dunes shift and rise like waves under the moonlight.  

"I used to really enjoy scenic spots before," Rafayel says, voice barely rising above the hum of the heater. "Catching sights of subtle things that might be easily overlooked used to feel like enough. More satisfying than finishing a painting, even."

A laugh. Dry, humorless. 

His fingers grazed the edge of his glass, tracing the condensation absentmindedly. A droplet trails down his wrist. "But now, sometimes, I forget why I even decided to travel in the first place.” 

You watch him, waiting. He doesn’t meet your gaze.

"I think," Rafayel continues, "somewhere along the way, I stopped just... noticing things. And I started needing them. Like the world wasn’t worth looking at unless I could turn it into something. Capture it, hold it in my hands, and call it mine." He shakes his head, a shadow of a smile crossing his lips. "It’s not a very generous way to live, is it?"

"You don’t need to be generous with everything," you say carefully. "Some things are just... for you to enjoy."

"Enjoy," he repeats, like the word doesn’t quite fit in his mouth. A pout. "It doesn’t feel like enjoyment anymore. It feels more like... hunger.” 

Like he’s always fucking starving.

Rafayel finally turns to look at you, eyes eclipsed in the dark. Nearly dilated black. 

“Sometimes I’m afraid that if I feed it, it’ll only grow worse.”

You turn to face him on the couch, sliding your leg between his thighs before perching yourself on Rafayel’s lap. It’s not lost on you how his heartbeat picks up, chest rising and falling rapidly as each shallow breath hits your lips. Perhaps it’s cruel, but you can’t help but touch him again, fingers tracing his full lips, up his jaw, fluttering against his eyelashes and into his hair.

“You think hunger gets worse when you feed it?" You finally ask, voice quiet, slow, daring to push back. "Doesn't it stop when you're full?"

Rafayel’s mouth quirks, a sharp, fleeting twist of a smile. "Not always. Sometimes it makes you realize just how much more you want. Or how much more you could take."

You frown. “You’re not demanding anything. Not from the world, not from me."

"Maybe not yet. But, if one day, I become someone who only takes… If I were like that, would you leave me?"

The confession hangs for a moment, the truth of it hidden. Something about the way his shoulders tense under your touch— like he's bracing for something, but it hasn’t yet arrived. A phantom pain from centuries ago, and a pain to come for a thousand years more. 

“Silly fishie, I’d never leave you.” 

Rafayel smiles in a way you know all too well, lopsided and teasing and empty.

“Thank you…” he hums, finally pulling you closer as his lips skim alongside the curve of your neck. “for accepting me the way I am.”

His breaths come out in desperate huffs against your skin, and he inhales sharply, freezing, before finally placing a kiss against the crook of your neck. And then another, and another. 

“You’re just anxious,” you whisper, sucking a mark into Rafayel’s neck as he moans so sweetly against your ear. “I can help you relax.”

You wiggle your hips to better balance yourself on his lap and Rafayel looks almost near tears, one hand forcing you still while the other grabs your wrist, trailing kisses from your fingertips back up to your neck.

More. You need more. Rushing, your hands fly up into his hair, about to tug Rafayel to lay down on the couch when a crack echoes behind you. 

The glass lays shattered against the floor. 

Panting, Rafayel stares at the spilled water for a long moment before pulling away. You feel his erection digging into your thigh, the warmth of his fever spiking yet again as his skin burns against yours, yet he still refuses. 

“As you said, I’m anxious…” Still panting, Rafayel picks you up, gently lifting you up as he stands from the couch. “Or, more like restless. In every sense of the word.” 

The need in his eyes almost makes your knees buckle. He looks at you like you’re the only thing he could ever crave, like a bite would both be salvation and leave him hungry forever. 

“But see, now I can’t stand the idea of letting you go again, and you don’t want me to either.” He sets you down just a little farther than necessary, but his hands don’t leave your waist, trembling, waiting. “What should we do?”

“Rafayel…” You want him. You want him so badly it hurts. 

“Fuck.” 

You nearly jump at that. Rafayel curses again, his head falling onto your shoulder as his breath hitches. “I can feel your concern. That and…” another convulsion, his body burning up. “Fuck. You have to leave.”

You don’t even have time to retort before you’re pushed out of his hotel room, and the door slams shut behind you. 

By the third time, you know something is wrong. 

It’s not that you and Rafayel haven’t kissed yet. Hell, you’ve had sex before. The last time was quite literally on the night before you were supposed to leave for this trip. Obviously, Rafayel suggested that you stay at his place for the night—insisting he was closer to the airport and getting an Uber would be quicker this way—and one thing led to another, as is what happens nearly every time Rafayel and you are left alone for too long. 

But now it’s been nearly a week and Rafayel has barely touched you, let alone picked up on your not-so-subtle clues. 

So yes, it's safe to say you’ve become rather pent up. 

You’ve fallen asleep in the off-roader the two of you rented out for the day, bobbing up and down the dunes like waves flecked white not with seafoam but snow. There’s a chill as you drift off, but your dreams are anything but, plagued with memories of Rafayel. 

His hands, deft and talented with a brush, are even more so when teasing your skin, knowing exactly how to trace delicate circles against your thighs before roughly curling into your cunt. His tongue, every smartass comment and teasing grin now silenced as he licks and sucks against your clit. His body, the warmth of it, bearing down on you with every thrust, or perhaps writhing beneath you as you take him again and again and again— 

It’s the cold that wakes you up. 

Your eyes flutter open, first noticing the dim light of the hotel parking lot, and second, the burning desire still aching between your legs. 

“Rafayel?”

A shuffle makes you turn, and you find said man still seated in the driver’s seat, unbuckled as he sits with his head resting on his hand. 

“Yes, cutie?” Rafayel’s tone is teasing, but the way he stares down at you feels like anything but. The hunger is back. 

Sitting up, you clear your throat. “How long have I been asleep? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You seemed like you were having such a nice dream, I didn’t want to disturb you.” 

You inhale sharply. Glaring, you try and see if he’s teasing again or being serious, but Rafayel doesn’t let you read him for long, already leaning over the middle console. 

He places his lips gently on your temple, brushing over the skin, and then moves down to your cheek, his breath warm against your neck. He whispers your name, so softly you almost think it was a trick of your imagination.

Your mind goes blank when he kisses your jaw, a small noise escaping the back of your throat as you feel his hair tickle your skin.

"Raf," you mumble under your breath, but you know he hears it because he exhales sharply against you.

Rafayel trails a series of kisses up your neck, "I know, I know. I'm sorry, cutie." His body temperature is rising again, and the air in the van feels dangerously thin as he sways in your grasp. "I'm trying."

The hunger is back, all-consuming and hot as you genuinely fear you might burn up. A wave of dizziness washes over you, and you finally cup Rafayel's jaw, leading him towards your lips.

Yet again, he stops you halfway.

“Do you want to go back to your room first?”

At first you think he’s suggesting moving there before continuing, but you know better at this point. 

“You’re not coming with me?” 

Rafayel pulls out the invitation from before, waving it between the two of you as if all this was the letter’s fault. “I still have to attend my friend’s salon thing.”

“But you’re still burning up! Forget this, I can’t let you go out to who knows where when you’re still acting strange. Maybe we can see a doctor—”

“Cutie…”

“—No, no. Or maybe I can come with you.”

Rafayel says your name this time. Firmer. Cutting off your rambling as he places his forehead against yours. 

“Do you want me to turn into a sea creature that’s beached on the sand after the ocean recedes? Leaving me to suffocate when I come out of the water?” 

You don’t quite know how to respond to that, feeling his desperation in every word even as you struggle to make sense of it.

Rafayel continues, pulling away from you again. “Don’t you trust me? How about we make a promise?”

“What kind of promise?”

A smile. “I promise… I’ll be okay without you tonight.”

There’s no joke, no hidden meaning, just Rafayel who so violently hopes that this promise will hold true. 

So you relent. “Okay, just take care of yourself.”

Finally, Rafayel opens the car door, letting the desert night winds sweep in with a biting chill as he leans back against the driver’s seat. He lets out an almost inaudible sigh. “You can head back. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Rafayel promised he’d be okay without you tonight, but you don’t think the opposite could hold true. 

Not when the dizziness Rafayel caused remained. Not when you still feel the phantom touch of his lips and hands all over your body, burning you up, leaving you cold and empty and aching. 

You’ve been burning for the better part of a week now.  

Something stuck between a laugh and a cry of pure frustration leaves you as you fall onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “This is pathetic.”

Even the damned sheets smell like Rafayel, pillows deeply laced with his shampoo and the smell of his cologne—amber, yuzu, and something salty like the ocean—surrounding you as though this were his hotel room and not yours.

Desert nights were cold, but even the room's chill could do nothing to quell your desire, arms shaking with it as you quickly stripped yourself of your shirt and bra. The room spins as you stumble around, leaving your clothes on the floor, another delirious whimper seizing you as you sprawl against the silk sheets. 

You need him. 

Fuck, you need him, and you hate him for leaving you while the growing ache between your thighs threatens to swallow you whole.

The sheets are deliciously cool against your flushed skin, and you turn your head to rest your cheek in the cool embrace of the pillow. But it only needs a second to heat from your desire. 

And then the room is all too hot once again. 

Kicking off your pants, your hand snakes down your bare torso, leaving half-hearted squeezes to your breasts and hips, failing to replicate the touch Rafayel already has you addicted to. The memory only makes you more frustrated. 

A hand slips beneath your soaked underwear, and fuck, you’re dripping enough to ease your fingers in already. You force yourself to slow down, rubbing slow circles around your entrance, the mere friction enough to have your hips bucking up against nothing. 

Inhaling sharply, you slide a finger into your weeping cunt, a moan pushing from your lungs as you do. Not enough. It’s not enough.

You force yourself to draw each movement out, the curl of your wrist accompanied by your muffled cries and the slick, obscene sounds echoing alongside your ragged breath. Withdrawing your finger nearly to the fingertip, two plunge back in this time, and your back arches off the bed with violent tremors as you imagine it was Rafayel's hand instead.

How he’d tease you in the early mornings to wake you up, how he’d take special care of every sensitive spot on your body, how he’d draw his fingers along your clit just the way that will make you come undone.

And as your fingers find that sensitive bundle of nerves, the way you cry his name into the empty room is no different.

Your head is spinning, falling, your thighs shake, and it's not long before you're gasping out, "Rafayel, please.”

Still not enough. Every rough thrust of your fingers brings you higher and higher, but without the pressure of Rafayel's chest pressed to yours, or his hot breath ghosting across your ear, his voice, his lips, his touch—

Without him.

A sob rips from your throat, your hips bucking uselessly against the air as you fuck yourself harder, deeper. But your fingers are only so long, and your free hand, fisting the sheets, is unable to make up the difference. "No, no please," a whine, and your free hand rushes to circle your clit, the other picking up pace.

You're close, so close, sobbing his name when the dizziness from the car returns tenfold, overtaking your body in waves as your eyes roll back. "Please, ah! Rafayel, m’cumming-"

The world goes silent as pleasure surges through you, muscles convulsing, a choked, garbled sound escaping as you come. Collapsing back against the sheets, you struggle to catch your breath, the stickiness of both the heat and your orgasm coating your thighs. 

There’s another tug, a violent pull against your chest, but the dizziness remains. 

You know you should change the sheets or at least move them aside, but you can’t manage to do either as you rush to shower before Rafayel returns from his friend’s exhibition. 

It’s only when you stumble into the bathroom that you notice it. 

Shit. This is Rafayel’s room. 

You must be trying to kill him.

Surely, this is the gods' cruelest trial—a final test of his resolve—to see if he’d bow once more, forsaking divinity and succumbing to the temptation of you.

Because it’s been barely an hour, and Rafayel has already resigned himself from the party, passing blank smiles and empty compliments as he quietly counts down the minutes until he can return to the hotel, when suddenly he feels it.

The tug of your bond flashes through his body as his dick aches.

Rafayel freezes mid-sentence, the polite smile he'd been wearing slipping from his face. The conversation at the bar around him, something about chiaroscuro in the artist’s latest piece, become muffled static as the chains tighten, digging into his heart. 

It’s unmistakable now. The rhythm, the rising intensity, the waves of pleasure that don’t belong to him but still manage to spark delirious heat up his veins.

Rafayel’s breaths quicken, body temperature rising as his Evol flickers out of his control. He glances around the room, feigning interest in the conversation, the glittering glasses of champagne, the faint hum of the crowd. It doesn’t work. The only thing he can focus on is you.

He should leave. Go outside, breathe in the night air, and let the tether between you both loosen, just to regain control. Just to prove to himself it’s not too late.

But the bond tightens, as invasive as it is intoxicating, demanding Rafayel’s attention like a leash coiled around his neck. It’s not gentle. It’s not kind. It’s primal, every nerve in his body pulled taut like you’re screaming his name over and over into the depths of his soul. 

It’s not fair.

No god can deny the prayer of a worshipper.

Your pleasure becomes his, and when Rafayel closes his eyes, he swears he can feel your phantom hands on him, dick already heavy and throbbing, leaking through his expensive trousers.

Are you in bed, thighs trembling as you grind against your own palm? Or maybe the shower, steam curling around you as you chase release? Or worse—are you riding something of his? His shirt? His pillow? Is this vengeance a cruel punishment meant to shatter what little resolve he has left? 

Shit. He’s hard.

“Hey man, what’s wrong? You good?” 

The slam of a glass brings him back. Gods, he hates these rich socialites. 

The champagne glass Rafayel was holding is now covered in cracks, blood trickling down his ring finger. He’s unraveling, composure fracturing with every pulse of your pleasure surging in and out as violently as a full moon’s tide. 

Rafayel looks up, smiling. “Stress. And apparently a very needy pet.”

The man laughs at what he assumed was a joke, but Rafayel sees his hesitation, the type animals give when they pick up rustling in the bush. Fear. 

Rafayel’s grin only widens, all teeth. “I should probably go check on her. Wonderful party,” he adds, lifting his glass in a half-hearted toast before setting it down with a sharp clink.

As he steps outside, the desert air does nothing to soothe him. If anything, the dryness makes it worse as the pull becomes sharper, like you’re reaching for him, your need coiling tighter around his chest.

A growl, almost feral, rumbles low in his throat as he staggers down the cobblestone streets. He doesn’t need directions. He doesn’t even need to think. His body moves instinctively, guided by the bond, by you. 

Rafayel swears he can feel you all across his body, your heartbeat picking up as you get closer, the smell of your skin and arousal, the cries of his name that only become more and more desperate as you fail to bring yourself over the edge without him. 

You’re begging for him in a way his bond mistakes for worship, because Rafayel’s body feels like it’s burning. Like blood spilled on his altar, an offering of yourself to your god, your husband.

The thought that you might be doing so unintentionally only drives him further into madness.

But, beneath the frustration, there’s something else. A glimmer of something Rafayel hates to name but knows all too well: relief.

Because as much as he might deny it, Rafayel could never leave you. And now that you’ve reciprocated, now that you’ve begged for him oh so sweetly, he would gladly submit to his bond and become chained to you once again, forever at your mercy, unable to escape the inevitability of his fate.

He doesn’t even knock when he reaches the hotel room door. It swings open under the force of his hand, and the sight of you standing there—wide-eyed, startled, only in a bath towel—hits him like a blow to the chest.

There's a soft click as Rafayel locks the door. A hurried shuffle of shoes as he all but stumbles toward you, closing the distance between you in one hurried, unstoppable motion. A startled gasp as he grabs your face in his hands.

It's the last breath you take.

An arm wraps around your waist, blocked by only a flimsy hotel towel as Rafayel violently spins you around. Your surprise is swallowed by his lips as you’re pinned against the window, the chill of the desert snow, frosted against the glass, a harsh contrast to the burn of his touch. His hand pins yours at the wrist as he stares down at your fingers.

“Rafayel? What are you doing here?” 

The question barely gets out, not before he rushes forward to claim you in a kiss, if it was even that. A desperate, consuming need overtakes him, Rafayel pushing you back so insistently that your head hits the window with a thud, pain immediately distracted as his clothed knee grinds up between your bare thighs. 

Holy fuck, just a towel. Right.

You try to push him back, one hand pressing against his chest as the other flies back to tighten the towel. “Wait–”

Rafayel kisses you again. And again. And again. 

You can feel the cloth slipping.

But Rafayel makes it very hard to care. His hand traces your throat, your heartbeat, then drags you closer by your hips as he thrusts forward in time, still caging you against the window. He’s relentless, every kiss only broken with a ragged breath or gasp as though he’s given up on breathing entirely, content to consume you instead, his tongue sweeping against your lip before it coaxes yours to meet it halfway, licking and sucking into your mouth.

It’s obscene, animalistic, and you swear that there has to be something wrong with you because the dizziness is back, and this time it’s enough to make your knees buckle, the two of you blindly stumbling across the hotel room.

So you bite him. 

“Why–” Breathe. Remember how to breathe. “Why are you here?”

Rafayel almost looks offended, thumbing his bitten lip before licking away the smudge of blood with a lopsided smile. 

Fuck, he’s hard. You feel the heat of his cock jolt against your thigh, pressing into you as he surges forward again, kissing you as his hands squeeze and cup your waist, lifting you up.

"Why?" Rafayel laughs, roughly grinding up against you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his hips. "This is my room, remember? You’re the one who decided to come in here." He growls the last part, licking, biting, sucking at your throat. 

“Or was that intentional?”

The look in his eyes is feral. 

There’s no hesitation left, no half-riddled questions, no sweet praises, no semblance of your devoted lover. Just hunger. He’s rushing, pushing forward even with nowhere to go, almost in revenge. In punishment. Your teeth click together, foreheads bumping, unable to talk because when you try to open your mouth his tongue only slides in deeper. 

The wet sounds echo against your ears alongside your racing heartbeat, only causing you to grind harder, rougher, before Rafayel ungracefully drops you onto the bed. 

Your body bounces on the mattress, but it gives you a moment, and you scramble to cover Rafayel’s lips with your palm before he can begin devouring you again. 

“What I meant was, shouldn’t you still be at that art salon?”

He all but collapses into your touch. Lips parted, he grabs your wrist, tongue darting out as he licks up your middle and ring fingers, moaning against your skin. 

“I tried. I tried going, leaving.” He's panting, breathing in your scent before biting your palm. “But you called me back, you cruel, selfish human. And now I’ll never leave again.”

Your words come out between moans, unable to look away. “I called? I didn’t do—” You’re cut off as Rafayel licks up your skin, sucking lightly at your fingertips as his eyes, half-lidded and blown out stare down into yours. 

Oh.

A hot flush of embarrassment seizes you and Rafayel must sense it because his eyes flutter closed. His hips snap forward, grinding his erection into the side of the bed, and he lets out a low whine.

Gods, the taste of your cum lingers in Rafayel’s mouth. Every dry swallow, every inhale, every damn breath tastes like you, and it makes him want to submit to every horrid urge and simply consume until—

“You don't think I know? Don't think I can’t tell?” Rafayel goes back to kissing your wrist, needing something more, something stronger. His hand ventures to the edge of your towel. ”Can feel everything you do, no matter how far away I go. Gods, I feel it, feel everything, and it drives me insane. Need you so bad, need to hear you, feel you, taste you..."

A shudder runs up Rafayel’s spine at the mere thought, and he can't stop himself anymore, leaning down to suck your fingers into his mouth, tongue curling around the digits, saliva coating your fingertips. He rips the towel from your body.

"Say you need me too," He’s begging, sinking down to your knees. "Say you need me just as badly. I–ah fuck—I can smell how much you want me."

Throwing the towel to the floor, Rafayel runs his hands down your chest, rougher, long fingers cupping and massaging your breasts as his mouth trails wet kisses down your stomach, his tongue dragging against the smooth skin, a clear goal in mind as he settles between your thighs, looking up at you as though you were a thing worthy of worship. His Goddess. 

He’d offer himself to your alter time and time again. So long as he was the only one who got to bleed for you. 

“Yes.” You’re already soaked, the sight of Rafayel panting between your thighs enough to have you babbling, ”Yes, Rafayel. I needed you so, so badly all week. Couldn’t help m’self, please.”

He freezes at that, pouting. “Right, you already came, didn’t you. So mean, cutie. Leaving me out.”

Before you can argue, Rafayel dips his head, dragging his tongue up your cunt before sucking roughly at your clit. 

Your legs thrash above his shoulders. “Ah– wait, not so!” It’s too much too soon. Still sensitive from your prior orgasm, your back arches violently off the mattress, but Rafayel pays it no heed, deaf to your cries as he sloppily makes out with your pussy, drool and slick connecting his lips to you in sticky strands even as he pulls away just far enough to talk. 

“She’s already so sensitive, s’not fair,” he pouts, mouthing against your thigh as he flicks your throbbing bundle of nerves. You jolt, gasping at the sharp jolt of pain. At the same time, Rafayel fucks his tongue into your cunt, just barely dipping in before he moves back to rub nonsensical patterns on your clit. “But this is mine. I don’t want you touching it without permission anymore.”

Fuck, if you had any semblance of a coherent thought you would have argued, maybe even laughed at the sheer audacity of the man.

Instead, all you can manage is a pathetic whine of his name, because the strange swirls and harsh lines he’s licking into your clit aren’t patterns at all but letters, spelling something over and over and over again. 

R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y—

The ring of the hotel phone buzzes from the nightstand. It’s the artist whose party Rafayel left only minutes ago.

“Tch,” Rafayel scoffs in annoyance, whipping his chin as he goes to decline the call.

But this gives you a moment to breathe, and all you can think of is getting revenge. Especially on the bastard you tried to take Rafayel from you tonight. 

“Wait,” you grab his wrist. “You’re just going to hang up? What if it was something important?”

Rafayel turns to you with narrowed eyes, knowing there’s no good intent behind your wicked smile. It turns you on more than you can admit, the sight of his glare, mad at both the call and you interrupting his feast. But Rafayel can't deny you anything and does as he’s told, pressing accept. 

“The guest of this room is unable to answer. Please leave a message.”

Instantly, you have Rafayel on his back. 

His neck looks far too bare, and you climb onto his lap, enjoying the way his pulse kicks up under your palm. Ripping his shirt’s buttons off you begin biting dark spots down the pale expanse of his chest and neck. You’re about to aim right for the glowing mark on his chest when the phone beeps again, playing a voice recording of a clearly very drunk man. 

“Why did you leave, bro? Come back here r’now. One more round of drinks a—” Incoherent laughter and sounds of clinking glasses. 

No. No, Rafayel’s not allowed to leave you, not again. 

You don’t know where the fear comes from, but you force yourself closer on top of him, breasts pressing into his abs as Rafayel shivers beneath you. Leaning down, you kiss the glowing mark atop his heart, admiring the way it flickers and glows when Rafayel bucks into your touch, moaning as you begin to nip and suck in earnest. 

And then you’re flipped onto the mattress once more. 

Rafayel’s heaving, arms trembling to keep himself up. Away. “...Are you sure?”

“If I don’t, then you might actually leave. What will you say if you’re asked why you didn’t go back?”

Rafayel smirks, and you catch a glimpse of fangs as he sits back on his knees. There’s a click, the rough sound of metal on metal as he undoes his belt, unzipping his trousers with one hand as the other cups the inside of your thigh, yanking it over his shoulder as he drags you down the bed. “I’m busy.”

And then he’s kissing you. 

You’re lost, so hopelessly lost in each other that you fail to notice the phone beep once again, the monotone voice of the machine saying, “Please leave a message at the tone,” before flashing twice, still running. 

Again, Rafayel seems to forget the concept of breathing, gasping into your lips as he ruts his hips into yours. “You’re not leaving me, right?” Fuck, he’s leaking all over his stomach, pre-cum splattering across your thighs.

“Never. I’ll never leave you, Rafayel.”

“Then tell me you’re mine. Tell me, please, please—hah—tell me and I’ll do anything, promise cutie, promise.” He’s all but gasping between kisses, cock trapped between his body and yours as he grinds forward, voice a pitch or so higher than it usually would be. “Say it, say you're mine, tell me, I need to hear it again."

He's talking in circles, rambling, the desperation in his voice palpable. Grasping the base of his cock, he sloppily fisting himself once, twice, before thumping against your entrance.

“I’m yours, Rafayel.” You writhe, grinding yourself up against him in hopes that he’s just hurry the fuck up.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, yours Rafayel.”

“Again, ah—again,” he’s nuzzling into your neck, lifting your leg higher and higher, pinning it to your head as he folds you into a matting press. Still, he refuses to press in, cock throbbing against your clit as he hugs you tight, every muscle in your body screaming in protest and pleasure. “Again, please, please.”

“I’m-” You’re either gasping or crying, words flooding out, ”Rafayel’s, I’m Rafayel’s.”

At that, Rafayel’s entire body convulses. He sobs, finally thrusting forward, bullying up into you bit by bit, forcing you to count every inch as the entirety of his weight bares down onto you. 

You can feel the way his muscles shift, the way his arms bulge and contract as he holds himself above you, hips flush against yours. The desert air must be infecting him, because Rafayel is dripping sweat, flushed from his ears to his chest as he begins to pull out and slowly grind himself back in. 

His voice is wrecked, breathless as he tries to kiss you, missing slightly as he sucks against your bottom lip, drooling. "I'm yours too, I'm yours." At the same time, his cock jerks in you, burying deeper with every filthy roll of his hips, throbbing against your sweet spots. 

Then something snaps, Rafayel’s lips sealed back on yours, and the rhythm he sets is brutal.

Rafayel's cock drags over your walls, molding you in ways you never thought possible. Each thrust is hard, deep, and leaves you gasping, eyes rolling back into your head as you arch off the mattress, nowhere to go as his body folds yours damn near in half, weight bearing down on you.

It's all you can do to wrap your arms around him, nails scratching into his back, drawing thin lines of blood across his shoulder blades as you try to stay grounded, keep your mind from being swept away as the dizziness returns.

But the pressure building up in the pit of your stomach makes it hard.

Harder still as Rafayel begins mumbling into your lips, the filth pouring from his mouth making you clench, cunt fluttering around his cock as he pounds into you.

He can see and feel everything like this. Unable to look away from your face only inches away, watching every expression with love-drunk eyes, hugging you closer, fucking you harder.

"Can feel you, can feel you getting tighter. You're close right? Say you're close, please, mhm fuck." he's panting, and if you focus hard enough you can hear the sloppy noises of him sliding in and out, wet and obscene, the harsh slap of his balls against the curve of your ass.

But then Rafayel’s pushing himself lower, your legs dangling uselessly in the air as his chest is pressed so tight against yours you can barely take a breath.

"You're mine, only I can touch you like this, feel this. My wife. Say it, say you're mine, wanna hear it, please. Please, ah, I’ll do anything, say it."

He's barely pulling out anymore, resigning to quick, deep grinds as though he can’t bear to part.

Too uncoordinated to kiss you, Rafayel's head falls to your neck, sobbing into your marked-up skin before messily kissing atop the bruises.

"Yours. Yours. I'm yours, your wife," the words spill from your lips before you can even think, and Rafayel nearly passes out trying to stop himself from cumming then and there. 

It’s like you’re trying to milk him, hugging him closer and ankles wrapped around his neck as he’s lifting your hips right off the bed. But now he needs to see it.

Needs to know the way you'll cry out his name, how your eyes will glaze over and roll back into your head, the way your chest will heave, the sweat that will pool at the valley between your breasts, the way the skin will flush from a soft pink to a burning red as you lose yourself in the feeling. To him.

It's the only thing he's able to concentrate on, the only thing he's able to think of. The feeling of your body beneath him, the sound of his name on your lips. 

And that alone is enough.

Rafayel’s orgasm is sudden, a jolt of pleasure that surges up his spine with enough intensity to have him collapse, pinning your body beneath him. You can feel it, the way his cum splatters against the walls of your womb, painting your insides, filling you up until the excess squirts out around his cock and your intertwined thighs. He can't stop his hips, can't stop the way he grinds his pelvis against yours, trying to get deeper and deeper still. 

"Mine, mine, mine," is all he can say, eyes wide and pupils blown out as he watches the way your body twitches, a mixture of sweat and cum painting your body as you nearly pass out in exhaustion. "Gonna- gonna fill you up, fuck, so pretty, my pretty girl, pretty wife, gonna make sure it sticks, so I’ll never leave. So you’ll never leave me again."

You're cumming.

He can feel the way your cunt spasms, the way your walls lure him back in, the way you tremble and shake as you throw your head back with tears. 

Rafayel can't stop himself from leaning down and biting, teeth sinking into the crook of your neck, his hands grabbing at any bit of flesh he can find. All the while he fucks you through your orgasm, the mess of fluids creating the most obscene noises as they squish and bubble out, pooling out from between your bodies. 

As you’re swaying in and out of reality, you think you see it. A field of red flame lilies, a poison so sweet that when you drink it, you lick your lips and thank the gods. 

God. Just one, the one of the sea and the flaming sun. 

The one who's still kneeling before you. 

The one who you love. 

"Maximum voicemail length reached, recording sent."

♱⋅── a/n: Uber now canonically exists in the lnds universe, thanks. Also, I would have included the absolutely gut-wrenching aftercare included in the card with MC asking Rafayel to sing for her, but honestly I would not change that scene in the slightest and am content to believe that is exactly what happened next.

Oh the things I’d give to hear Raf sing~

[gospelica]

"i don't think you know just what you do to me."

stepdad!kento's hands on your body are searing hot and desperate,, to say the least. he has you on the dining table, your half eaten dinner pushed aside to make room for you to sit back and accommodate your stepfathers large frame between your thighs. he's so hard it hurts, but you only have so long before your mother finishes up in the shower and comes down to join the both of you for desert.

little does she know, her sweethearted kento is having his fill of desert early. he gropes you with large hands, tweaks at your nipples as he kisses down whatever exposed skin he can find until he's face-to-face with your pretty pussy: his favourite sight. but you're needy and impatient and despite having been licked and worshipped by your stepdad for weeks now he still hasn't stretched you out on his cock.

"you could just fuck me," you whisper, as if your mother could somehow hear you over the running water of her shower upstairs. "im already wet for you..."

he shakes his head, blond hair messing a little as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh. you reach down and take his glasses off to avoid any obstacles between your sensitive clit and his eager mouth.

"you know i won't fuck you, sweet thing."

"why-" you gasp as he licks a stripe through your folds up to your clit- "why not? i want it."

"i'm your step-father. it's wrong," he presses a kiss to your clit. "improper," kiss, "an abuse of power."

"you're literally eating me out right now," you whine. "it's wrong anyways. you want it too, i know you do."

"more than anything," he hums against your pussy. "bet you feel as sweet as you taste, but it's not happening. you need to start respecting the ground rules i lay down, so shut up and let me make you cum before your mother comes back down."

you groan, but lean back on your elbows and let your legs drape over his broad shoulders. kento eats you like he hasn't just indulged himself on your mothers cooking; with needy moans pressed against your clit and lots of spit and tongue and enough kisses to tell you this isn't just sex to him. he digs his fingers into your thighs to pull you impossibly closer to his greedy tongue, but you gasp when the cold of his wedding band presses against your heated skin.

of course, he moves to take it off, mostly out of guilt, but you manage to catch his wrist in your hand before he can. you can feel his sharp exhale against your pussy as you shake your head, something filthy playing behind your eyes. "don't take it off."

your stepdad frowns and you slowly guide his hand to your heat. you mould hiring and middle finger out and press the rest against his palm and tease your own entrance with his hand as if he were only a toy. his wedding band glistens with your sweet nectar, and he can't manage to pull his hand away like he should. "you're cruel," he whispers.

"i know," you sigh and lean back, letting go of his wrist and trusting him to know what you want. "stop if you want to. go join mom in the shower, maybe you could get off with your—"

"don't." kento pistons his fingers into you with a pace that makes you dizzy! your head is falling back and he's reattaching his lips to your clit and showing off that added experience that being so much older than you gives. your fingers drag through his hair, messing up the delicate blond strands in a way you almost hope he doesn't remember to fix before facing your mother again.

and before you know it, he's bring you to the edge of your climax and pushing you over into ecstasy with an ease that makes it feel like you're the one who he should be claiming with jewellery instead! you cum hard around his fingers and greedy kento nanami laps up every last drop of your release like a thirsty dog.

he rests his forehead against your knee and closes his pretty eyes tight. he's trying to will his erection down.

"i can fix that," you offer, already knowing he'll shake his head and tell you that this is for your pleasure, not his. though you know if you had the time for a second round that your taste alone could make the man cum in his pants: it's happened before.

but before he can protest and you can push any further, the sound of running water from upstairs halts and you hear the shower door opening and shutting as your mother finishes up. it's an almost comical race to get your clothes back on and your appearances tidied up, but by the time she's dressed and rejoining you both in the dining room, you're sat in soft chatter about... the economy.

that's okay, though! because your mom quickly gives you a new subject to discuss when she tells you she's going to spend the summer abroad on a business exchange! she hates to leave you two alone like this but it's the opportunity of a lifetime.

and you'll be damned if you get a whole summer alone with your stepdad and don't get him to fuck you properly within the first week :)

pt 2 soooooooon

[velarisdusk]

The Hand That Holds

Azriel x Reader

word count: 5k content: [ explicit sexual content, explicit language, insinuated past domestic abuse, reader has a pos ex, physical fight, blood ] summary: You and Azriel visit a bakery in Velaris, but tension rises when your ex-boyfriend tries to provoke him. author's note: WOOOOOO FINALLY got around to this!!! i got this request a while back and im so sad it took me this long because i LOVED this one and i think yall will too :D as always, thank you lyla for the beta MWAH <333 ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The chill of the winter morning nipped at your cheeks as you leaned into Azriel’s side, your hands tucked deep into your pockets for warmth. Velaris was still waking up, the streets quiet save for the soft crunch of snow beneath your boots and the occasional hum of conversation from the city’s early risers. 

Azriel walked beside you, his wings tucked in tight against his back, his scarf pulled up over his nose to block the cold. He looked uncharacteristically cozy, wrapped in layers of dark wool and leather—a far cry from his usual battle leathers. You smirked at the sight, biting back the urge to tease him. 

“Stop staring,” he muttered, though his hazel eyes were bright with amusement. 

“I’m not,” you said, feigning innocence. “I’m just admiring how approachable you look. Someone might mistake you for friendly.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, his gloved hand brushing yours as he reached for the door of a new bakery. The scent of sugar and cinnamon spilled out as he held it open for you, and you stepped inside with a shiver of relief. 

The line wasn’t long, but the buzz of excitement was palpable—Velaris had been abuzz about this place for weeks, and you were curious to see if it lived up to the hype. Azriel stepped in behind you, the singular shadow that didn’t shy from the sun curling lazily around his shoulders as he scanned the small shop with practiced ease.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” you teased, nudging him gently.

“Old habits,” he said with a shrug. But his gaze softened as he looked down at you, his voice dipping low enough for only you to hear. “Regardless, it’s always good to–”

“Check your exits—I know,” you rolled your eyes playfully. But the soft, warm smile on his face made warmth blossom in your chest. Before you could tease him about how he always looked like he was plotting your rescue, the door chimed again behind you. 

The voice that followed froze you in place.

“Well, well. Isn’t this a surprise?”

It was like ice had slid down your spine. You turned slowly, already knowing who you’d find, and there he was: your ex, Adrian.

He looked almost exactly as you remembered him—tall, lean, with the same self-assured smirk that used to make your stomach twist. Now it only made your skin crawl. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. 

Adrian’s smirk didn’t falter as he spread his arms in mock surprise. “Same as you, I imagine. Grabbing breakfast on this fine, frigid morning. You’ve got good taste though—this bakery’s supposed to be the best in town.” His eyes, dark with amusement, stayed locked on you, deliberately ignoring the male at your side. 

Azriel shifted, a subtle movement that you felt more than saw, and the warmth of his arm across your back steadied you. You cleared your throat, gesturing between the two males. “Adrian, this is Azriel, my boyfriend.”

At that, Adrian finally acknowledged Azriel, his gaze sweeping over him with exaggerated disinterest. “Ah, the High Lord’s lapdog,” he drawled, a cruel glint in his eye as he let the words hang in the air. “I should’ve guessed.”

Azriel didn’t so much as blink, his expression unreadable, though the subtle tightening of his jaw betrayed his irritation. The shadow that had once draped itself lazily across his shoulders now twisted and writhed, mirroring the tension he refused to show. 

You stiffened, the familiar twinge of frustration rising in your chest. You shot Adrian a sharp look. “Watch your mouth. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Adrian sneered. “Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve always craved proximity to power, but I never thought you’d stoop so low for the High Lord’s lackey.” He looked at Azriel now. “You know, she used to–”

Before he could finish, a soft but firm throat-clearing interrupted the tension. You met the gaze of a female fae with skin the color of a summer sky, delicate silver patterns swirling faintly across her arms. Her green eyes flickered with mild annoyance, looking pointedly behind you. You blinked, realizing with a start that the line had moved up. 

You turned, giving a tight, awkward smile to her. The momentary distraction was enough to snap the edge off the conversation, but you could still feel Azriel’s muscles taut beneath his shirt, his posture subtly bristling with tension. You cleared your throat and turned back to face Adrian, forcing a calmness to your voice. “Adrian, I’m not interested in rehashing old memories. It’s over. I’ve moved on.”

He let out a low chuckle, clearly unfazed by your attempt to diffuse the situation. “Oh, I know. But it’s hard not to wonder if…” His eyes flickered over to Azriel again, a smirk tugging at his lips. “She always liked a good challenge. Always liked playing the game.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his gaze cool and unflinching as he stared back at Adrian. There was no hint of anger in his eyes—only something darker, something more dangerous. The air around him felt charged, and you could feel the subtle pressure of his presence wrapping around you. He’d let Adrian speak, but it was clear he was no longer willing to let this slide. 

Your ex, clearly oblivious to the things Azriel could do to him, leaned in closer, his voice dropping low, as if speaking just to you. “You know, I always had a thing for your little… habits.”

“Adrian–” you started, but Azriel’s fingers tightened around your waist, as if to say, No, let him dig his own grave. 

He only glanced at you with that same arrogant smirk, spoke in that same smug tone. “You always did like the idea of playing the perfect little girlfriend, didn’t you? Pretending to be someone you’re not just to fit in. I’m certain the High Lord and his court see straight through you. How this one doesn’t is beyond me. Maybe he’s too caught up in your little act to notice.”

You stiffened, anger flashing through you. You met Adrian’s eyes head-on, your voice steady but cold. “You don’t know anything about me, Adrian. You never did. All you cared about was making me bend to your will, acting like you could tell me who I was.”

Adrian snorted, clearly enjoying himself. “Right. That’s exactly why you couldn’t stand up for yourself. Too afraid to rock the boat, too afraid to leave without your damned brother keeping me from you while you emptied out our apartment. That’s the real reason you’re with him now, isn’t it? Because he gives you the approval you crave.”

You felt your breath catch, a sharp sting of frustration and anger at the way Adrian twisted things. But Azriel didn’t intervene, giving you the room to defend yourself the way he knew you could. But his body still radiated that quiet, dangerous presence that was undeniably his. 

“I didn’t stay with you because I needed approval. I stayed because I was hoping you’d change, but it never happened. I was hoping you’d actually care about me, but you never did.” The words tumbled out, raw and real, but with a finality to them. Azriel’s gaze didn’t leave Adrian. 

But Adrian wasn’t done yet. “Sure, keep pretending like you didn’t thrive on being the good little girlfriend. You think you’re some born-again female because you fuck people in high places now?”

Before you could respond, Adrian’s voice rose, becoming louder, enough for the few other patrons in the bakery to glance over curiously. You could feel the heat of their stares on you, the attention making your skin crawl. 

Azriel’s posture shifted then, like a predator slowly unfurling from his calm stance. You were at the front of the line now, the barista eyeing the three of you warily. 

Azriel gave a soft chuckle, breaking the tension just a little. His voice, when it came, was unexpectedly warm—almost too friendly. “Go ahead and order, sweetheart. I’ll just get to know Adrian here a bit more.” His smile was polite, but there was something in his tone, something laced with a quiet, lethal amusement when he faced Adrian and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve been looking forward to it with how much I’ve heard about you.”

You blinked at him, unsure if he was serious, but with a last glance at the two males—Azriel now steering Adrian toward the door, his grim firm but controlled—you turned away and approached the barista to place your order. You could feel Adrian’s eyes still on your back, but you chose to ignore them, focusing instead on the extensive menu.

You’d placed your order, a cappuccino and cinnamon roll for yourself, an espresso and a chocolate croissant for Az. When you turned around, you found Azriel still standing by Adrian, the two of them in an almost eerily calm conversation. But Azriel… Azriel smiled at you as soon as your eyes met, his expression softening in a way that made your heart skip a beat. He waved you away, the motion casual as he gestured toward the tables. “Find us a seat,” you heard his muffled voice through the glass, all smooth charm. “I’ll be right there.”

Something in the way Azriel held himself, with perfect composure, put you on edge as you walked toward the tables, though you could still see them through the large glass windows.

From where you sat, you could only see Adrian’s face, flushed with color, but Azriel’s back was all you could make out. The conversation escalated, Adrian’s voice sharp and biting, though the exact words eluded you. It became painfully clear that whatever advantage Adrian thought he held, Azriel had turned it on its head. 

Your order was brought over by the short green faerie you’d spoken to earlier. With a smile and thanks, you lifted the paper cup to your lips, taking a slow sip. You tried to convince yourself that this wasn’t a situation about to boil over. But just as you brought your cup to your lips again, you saw Azriel—without warning—turn his body and slam his fist into Adrian’s face with a speed and force that made the entire room fall silent.

Your breath hitched as Adrian staggered backward, his nose already swelling, his eyes wide with shock. It wasn’t just the punch itself; it was the sheer precision of it. Azriel’s strike was so clean, so practiced. You knew it was far from the first time he’d thrown a punch, but seeing it land with such brutal efficiency… it was something else entirely. 

You shot up in your seat, stomach twisting at the sight, but a part of you was oddly satisfied with the outcome. Adrian’s shock was clear, but it quickly turned to rage as he wiped at the blood now dripping from his nose. For a moment, it seemed like time froze—Azriel’s stillness, Adrian’s growing anger, the tense air between them. You were frozen too, watching with wide eyes, heart thundering in your chest. 

But then, Adrian lunged forward, swinging his fist toward Azriel. You flinched as you saw it coming, but Azriel didn’t even flinch. He easily dodged the punch, his movements fluid and effortless. His posture was relaxed, almost bored, as he watched Adrian stumble forward, completely outmatched. 

Adrian’s face twisted with fury. He spoke with a sneer on his lips, and whatever he’d spat at Azriel made his fist come crashing into his jaw, sending Adrian flying backward. Adrian stumbled, but he was still standing, glaring up at Azriel with burning hatred. 

But Azriel didn’t let him regain his balance. He closed the distance in seconds, landing blow after blow with calculated precision. Each punch seemed to push Adrian further back, his attempts to retaliate nothing more than desperate swings Azriel easily evaded. 

The bakery fell silent, the only sound the sickening thud of Azriel’s punches landing with brutal accuracy. Adrian’s face was already swollen, blood staining his lips, but the fire in his eyes didn’t die. He staggered, trying to find his footing, but Azriel was relentless.

You couldn’t watch it anymore. Your heart raced, stomach churning with a sick mix of fear and adrenaline. You shot up from your seat, your hands trembling as you rushed toward the door.

“Azriel, stop!” you yelled, your voice shaky but desperate. You hadn’t even made it a step outside before Azriel’s voice cracked like a whip. 

“Enough!” The command was sharp. “You’d do well to watch your fucking mouth.”

You stepped into the cold air, the door swinging shut behind you. Adrian’s back was to you as Azriel loomed over him, towering like a predator who’d cornered its prey. The sight of Adrian’s battered face only made you more frantic. 

You couldn’t stand this. “Azriel, please, this is enough. Let him go,” you said, your voice trembling but insistent. 

Adrian, seething, spat a mouthful of blood onto the white snow with a sickening splat, his eyes not leaving yours. He grinned through the bloodstained mess, his voice dripping with venom. “The way you’re shaking, darling, sounds an awful lot like the noises you’d make when I fucked you.”

The words hit like a slap and anger burned in your chest. Without a second thought, you kicked him hard in the knee, sending Adrian crashing to the ground with a grunt of pain. Azriel took a slow step back, his expression unreadable. He held out his arm, a quiet invitation for you to take it. 

Without hesitation, you slipped your arm through his, feeling the calming presence of his warmth and strength, his shadow dancing around you too now. Together, you walked back into the bakery, your eyes lingering on Adrian as he writhed on the ground, nursing his knee. 

The bakery was quiet when you walked back in, but you ignored the looks from the other patrons, your focus entirely on Azriel. You reached the table where your coffees were still steaming and your pastries still warm. You grabbed your cup, hands trembling slightly, though the anger in your chest was beginning to settle. Azriel gathered the rest and you left the bakery arm in arm. The door swung closed behind you with a soft chime. As you stepped back out into the cold, you noticed that Adrian was gone. 

What remained were the footprints he’d left behind, the snow disturbed in jagged lines, and the dark spots of blood every few feet. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather crept over you as you and Azriel walked the other way. 

When you and Azriel landed at the House of Wind, his hand moved to the small of your back, his touch a silent reassurance. 

He opened the door, and as you stepped inside, the warmth of the House hit you like a wave, the sharpness of the cold outside vanishing. Azriel shut the door behind you, the world outside fading away as he turned to face you. The flickering light of the fire illuminated his sharp features, casting shadows that seemed to dance with his every movement. 

“Do you want to talk about what just happened?” you asked, your voice low, almost hesitant. 

Azriel didn’t answer right away. His eyes flickered to the firelight, his shadows stirring lazily around him as if they reflected the storm brewing in his mind. The weight of his silence settled between you, heavy and charged. 

Your chest tightened. “What did he say to you?” you pressed softly, searching his face. “To make you—”

Before you could finish, Azriel closed the distance in one swift step, backing you against the door as his shadows swept your drinks and pastries into some unseen pocket of shadowed space. The breath hitched in your throat as his hands planted firmly on either side of your head, caging you in. His wings flared slightly though his movements remained measured. 

He was so close now, his dark gaze burning into yours, and when he finally spoke, his voice was a low, rough whisper, with a smirk that never ceased to send a shiver down your spine. “Do you really want to know?”

Your mouth went dry, but you nodded, unable to find your voice. 

Azriel’s eyes swept over you, lingering on your lips for a beat too long. He leaned in, his mouth brushing against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “He told me things about you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with restrained intensity. “Intimate things. Like the sounds you make… when your neck is bitten.”

His teeth scraped lightly against the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, drawing a gasp from your lips. His shadows curled around your ankles, their cool touch a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressed against yours. 

Azriel’s lips hovered there for a moment, his breath fanning over your skin as you shivered. His teeth scraped again, a little harder this time, and when your breath caught, his lips curved faintly. He trailed his mouth down the column of your throat, his tongue flicking over your pulse point as if savoring every reaction he coaxed from you. 

“He said you’d melt,” Azriel murmured, his voice low and rough, the edge of it sending a shiver through you. “That you’d fall apart the moment someone got close enough to really touch you. Do you know how much I hated hearing that from him?”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, half for balance and half to anchor yourself against the tension coiling through your body. “Azriel–” you started, but his name came out more like a sigh than a protest. 

“He thought he knew you.” His hand skimmed up your arm, his touch almost reverent. He paused when he reached your jaw, his thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth, tugging lightly at your bottom lip. “Thought he’d learned all your secrets. But he doesn’t know you like I do, does he?”

His shadows curled tighter, slithering up your calves and around your waist, as if to hold you in place. Azriel tilted your head back with a soft but firm touch, his eyes dark as they locked with yours. 

“Does he know,” he continued, his thumb grazing along your throat now, “how your breath hitches when I do this?” His lips followed the path of his thumb, placing a lingering kiss at the hollow of your throat. 

Your body betrayed you, your chest rising sharply at the sensation. Azriel’s smirk deepened, satisfaction flickering in his gaze as his hands moved to grip your hips. He pulled you flush against him, letting you feel the solid strength of him.

“Does he know the way you tremble,” Azriel murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “when someone takes their time with you? When every touch is intentional?”

His hands slid up your sides, his thumbs tracing teasing patterns along your ribs. You couldn’t stop the small noise that escaped you, half frustration, half need, and Azriel rewarded it with another scrape of his teeth against your skin, this time just beneath your ear.

“He said you liked to be bitten,” Azriel whispered, his tone dark and thick with purpose. “But I don’t think he ever did it quite right, did he? Not the way I do.”

His lips found the curve of your shoulder, his teeth pressing into the tender flesh there—not enough to hurt, but enough to make your knees go weak. A soft sound escaped you, and Azriel growled in approval, pulling back just enough to look at you. 

Your lips were parted, your breath uneven, and his eyes darkened further as they drank in the sight of you. “No,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “He didn’t know you at all.”

Azriel leaned in again, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was utterly consuming. His hands roamed your body now, each touch a promise, each movement pushing you further into the haze of him. 

The kiss broke only when you were gasping for air, your head spinning as his fingers skimmed the curve of your waist. Your fingers curled into his shoulders, your nails digging into the leather of his jacket as he moved lower, his mouth tracing a path down your throat. 

“He told me,” Azriel murmured against your skin, “how your body would arch when someone dragged their hands down your sides. How you’d shiver—yeah, just like that, sweetheart.” His hands followed the line of your body, his thumbs pressing into the curves of your hips. Your breath caught yet again, and his shadows tightened their grip, mirroring his hold on you as they coiled tighter around your legs and waist. 

“Do you know what else he said?” Azriel’s voice was dark now, the edge of it razor-sharp. His mouth hovered just above your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. “He thought he knew every part of you.” He lifted his head to look into your eyes, and his free hand moved to cup your jaw, tilting your face up toward him. “But he never learned how to make you come undone the way I do.”

His thumb brushed over your lips, his darkened gaze fixed on your face as his other hand trailed lower, unzipping your winter coat as it went. Your heart pounded as his cold fingers toyed with the hem of your sweater. “He said,” Azriel leaned in, his nose grazing yours, “the sounds you made when someone’s fingers slid inside of you were unforgettable.”

His fingers slipped beneath your sweater now, brushing the bare skin of your stomach. “As if I don’t already know,” he laughed dryly. “As if I haven’t touched every inch of you, memorized every gasp, every shiver.” Azriel’s other hand splayed over your hip, his touch firm, grounding. 

“I know,” he murmured, “how your body reacts when I press here–” His hand slid lower, his fingers grazing the sensitive curve of your waist before trailing just above the waistband of your pants. “And how your back arches when I fuck my tongue into you just right.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears as he lifted his head. His gaze pinned you in place—already held by the shadows, but his eyes alone could have kept you rooted where you stood. The smirk on his lips was devastating, pulling something deep inside of you.

“And I know,” he said, his voice a seductive growl, “that no one else could ever make you feel like this—not with just words, not without even touching you.” 

His mouth crashed against yours, swallowing the soft sound that escaped your lips, and any thought of Adrian—or the rest of the world—vanished entirely. His hands were everywhere, a firm grip on your waist, pulling you closer, his body radiating through every layer of clothing. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the barely-contained hunger in his touch, and it only made the need in you grow more desperate. His lips moved with slow, consuming pressure, as if savoring the familiarity of you, each kiss deeper than the last. Your breath came in shaky bursts, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him even closer, if that was even possible.

You felt his battle-worn hands slide from your waist, roughened from years of wielding blades, reaching down to grip the hem of your pants. Undoing the buttons, he felt the fabric of the leggings you wore underneath stretch at his touch, the tightness only making him more insistent as he tugged. The chill of Velaris’s winter bit at the air, and though he’d been the one to insist you bundle up, he now cursed every layer between his skin and yours.

Azriel’s breath was a low rasp against your skin as he hovered just inches from you, his fingertips brushing against the curve of your body. The cold stone of the wall pressed into your back, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him.

“Adrian told me…” His voice was thick, barely a whisper as it vibrated through your chest. His fingers traced over you through the thin fabric of your underwear, a silent command that had you arching instinctively toward him. “He told me you make the most beautiful, soft little sound—that you can’t hide the way your whole body shudders—when I press just right.”

He didn’t wait for a response, the air between you thick with something unspoken as his fingers slid beneath the fabric. The quiet scrape of his knuckles against your skin was enough to make your heart pound harder, but it was his words, his quiet murmurings that drove the ache deeper. 

“But I know better. You’re not quiet,” he breathed, his voice dark with something that bordered on satisfaction. “I know how you react—how you cry out and tremble when my fingers move inside of you.”

His thumb circled lightly, teasing, before pressing firmer, a rhythm that had you gasping for more, your hands gripping him for stability. It was almost cruel, how he seemed to know exactly how far to push before he pulled back, watching you with that same unreadable expression, his eyes dark with desire. 

“You let me feel it all,” he said, the words punctuating each movement. Without warning, his fingers plunged deep. A sharp cry tore from your throat, the sound raw and unguarded, echoing in the small space between you. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low, almost reverent growl. “Let me hear you, sweetheart. Let me feel how much you crave it.”

The pace of his fingers quickened, each movement calculated to drive you wild, to unravel you with each press and curl. His thumb brushed against the sensitive spot at the heel of your body, and your entire form trembled under his touch. Your grip on him tightened, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, but it was his control over the rhythm, his ability to play you like an instrument, that had your body surging toward him helplessly. 

Azriel drove his fingers deeper, harder, a steady rhythm that made your body tense, your mind slipping, thoughts scattering. Your breath caught, your chest heaving as you gasped, unable to control the sound that escaped you. “Please, Azriel…” The words barely left your mouth before another cry followed, the pressure building too fast, too much. 

He didn’t slow, didn’t stop. Instead, he bent closer, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured darkly, “I know exactly how you fall apart. How to touch you, how to fuck you, how to make you cry and beg.” His thumb circled before he pressed in harder, a movement that had your knees weak and your head spinning.

“You feel that? Feel how perfect you are for me? How badly you want this, how badly you need me inside you?”

You whimpered, barely able to form words. “I—I need you… please…”

“I know, baby, I know.” A breathless laugh escaped him, his fingers moving with relentless speed, their slick rhythm filling the air. “I know you can’t control how needy you get for me.”

You cried out again, in frustration this time, your body pulling against him. “Azriel… please,” you whined. “Say whatever the hell gets you off, just please don’t stop, don’t leave me like this.”

His lips ghosted over your skin. “I won’t stop,” he breathed. “But you need to tell me what you want.”

Your body was already shaking, your voice trembling with need. “Please, I—I can’t take it anymore. Please, Azriel… make me come.”

He groaned low in his throat, his pace quickening impossibly, matching the frantic rhythm of your breaths. “That’s it,” he muttered. “Beg for me, tell me how much you need it.” His fingers curled again, making you gasp, your back arching as he pushed you toward the edge. 

The tension coiled impossibly tight, and every stroke of his fingers sent a wave of heat coursing through you. His name tumbled from your lips, broken and breathless, as your fingers fisted in his hair. “Az—please, I’m so close—please, please, please–”

“I know,” he murmured, voice like velvet over steel, his forehead pressed against yours as he watched every expression flicker across your face. “I can feel it. The way you start to clench around my fingers–”

His words sent you spiraling, a raw sound breaking from you as the pressure shattered, heat rippling through every nerve so fiercely you thought your legs might give beneath you. He caught you, his free hand gripping your waist, holding you steady as he continued to work you through it, his fingers relentless, dragging out every last tremor until you sagged against him, boneless and breathless. 

“That’s my girl,” he said softly, his tone laced with pride, his lips brushing over your temple. His scent—smoked amber and shadowed pine, edged faintly with steel—enveloped you, his fingers retreating with an excruciating slowness that had your breath hitching one last time. 

When the haze cleared, your head fell to his shoulder, your breaths mingling in the charged silence between you. His hands steadied at your hips, his warmth pressing into you as though he had no intention of letting go. Slowly, his touch shifted, gathering you close, and you knew—without a word exchanged—that the couch would offer no reprieve from the unspoken promises lingering in his heated gaze. 

[youleftmenochoicebut]

NATIONAL ANTHEM.

pairing. — husband!hwang in-ho x wife!reader

summary. — you always cherish the times your husband is home, and not away dozens of miles away from you, overseeing deadly games.

warnings. — smut (eating pussy), fluff, prolly ooc, its bad.

a/n. — yes, i too, caught the squid game brainrot. i try to work on the requests! schools been kicking my ass tho, sorry. this is too short and def not proofread!

you love when he wakes you up like this. his hand wrapping around your waist to pull you into him, lips crashing into yours the second your eyes open and he knows you’re awake.

he hasn’t been sleeping for almost an hour, watching your chest raise and fall with a steady rhythm of your breathing, the expression on your face changing in your sweets dreams.

and so, when you roll onto him, you hook your arms around his neck, pulling away quickly. “morning breath. ew.” you whisper, a sleepy smile forming on your face as you look down at him. he’s always so composed, even around you, and still it’s the softer side of him, the one only you see (and the one his family once saw).

he knows how much you hate the smell, and he nods, getting out of bed with you in his arms without a problem, and the way he’s still so fit in his mid fourties always makes you sigh. you, only in your twenties, could barely go a day without complaining of back pain or leg pain, or generally any pain.

he carries you to the bathroom, letting you drop onto your feet when you’re in front of the sink, and you stare at your reflection in the mirror. the both of you brush your teeth, and then he’s pulling you out to the kitchen. you sit down on the stool while he makes you a coffee first, handing it to you with a low hum before moving to make a cup for himself.

“any work today?” you mutter after you take a sip of your nectar of gods, a content sigh escaping your lips, your eyes set on In-ho. he shakes his head, leaning his hip against the counter, holding his mug.

“only making my wife the happiest person on earth.” cheeky bastard. for a man who tends to be closed off even with you, you have to admit he’s smooth. it makes you smile, how only the corners of his lips raise, and you set your coffee down in front of you.

“where the hell did you learn to be so charming, huh? damn sweet-talker.” you huff, rolling your eyes playfully as he approaches you, settling his coffee next to yours. he puts his hands against the counter, on either sides of your body, trapping you in a close embrace.

“i’m a natural charmer, darling.” his smile widens, and it actually looks like a proper smile now, as he leans in. before you can react, his hands are on your waist, swiftly picking you up for you to be perched up on the edge of the kitchen island, and you rest back on your elbows.

coming back to your thought from earlier, you’re always amazed at how much stamina your man has.

“you know, i don’t think that’s gonna count as a proper meal.” you chuckle, looking down at him as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, sliding them down your legs and you kick them off once they’re at your ankles. he prompts your legs open with a single pat to your thigh and you oblige right away, spreading them just for your husband.

“still, it’s my favorite.” In-ho mutters quietly, taking a deep breath in when he brings his head to your bare pussy, as if the scent is what he’d want to breathe for the rest of his life.

“don’t tease.” you chuckle, and you feel his nose nudge your clit, a shiver running down your spine. you tangle your fingers into his hair, trying to tug him closer, but he lets out a tshk sound. his hands force your legs over his shoulders, and after a moment of silent contentment, he puts his lips on you.

it makes you arch your back the second he does, even if it’s just a kiss over your pussy lips. he backs away slightly, planting more and more soft kisses over the insides of your thighs, his fingers now grazing on your hips in soothing circles.

“shh… shh. you gotta be a good girl for me, remember?” his voice is a murmur against your skin, and soon his lips go back to your cunt. you only nod, your eyes meeting once he starts sucking on your clit. it’s light, the sensation barely there, and you pull at his hair again. a chuckle leaves him, the vibration against your sensitive bud making your pussy clench around nothing. it truly feels degrading, knowing how much power he holds over your body that a feeling like that brings out a reaction like this.

once he finally stops teasing you and really begins to lap at your intimate part, you moan, the sound low and breathy. you know it won’t be nice now. he spits onto his palm, then his finger pushes inside you soon enough. that one finger stretches you out good, almost painfully, from how thick and calloused it is. he has your body and its’ reactions memorized by now, and so he adds a second finger when the first one is soaked in your juices.

“i love that look on you.” In-ho’s fingers speed up the pace, sliding in and out of you faster, crossing over inside you and curling to hit that spongy spot that makes you tremble. you only glance down at him, watching him through half-lidded eyes, moans and whimpers escaping your mouth more regularly. the man works wonders on you, lips focused on your clit, fingers ruthlessly driving into you with a fastened rhythm. it’s not long until you’re seeing stars, your fingers in his hair drawing him in against your cunt even more to stop him from pulling back, and your climax hits you hard. you’re a panting, dazed out mess as your husband helps you ride out your orgasm, only pulling away when the shaking of your legs subsides, licking his fingers clean of your essence. you let out a heavy sigh as you sit up, unable to form a coherent thought.

“i’m not done with you yet.” your man wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close to his chest, rubbing your lower back gently. “we have a new armchair i think needs a proper… trying out.”

[allhopesforlove]

Farewell, my love: part 2

Summary: In the midst of a battle, y/n realizes that their only way to victory would be through her sacrifice. Determined with her decision to lead an army of soldiers to the frontlines, there was nothing that could hold her back. Because she was sure that if she continued living on she wouldn’t survive any more of what was blooming between Elain and Azriel.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader, Azriel x Elain

Word count: 4.2K

Warnings: Angst, panic attacks, jealousy, and just more angst than before I’m sorry (not) :)

part 1

———————

He couldnt breathe. It was too much, too many feelings flooding him at once and it felt like little needles were prickling him all over his skin. It was getting hot and if he hadn’t been leaning on Elain he was sure that he would’ve actually fallen down on his knees. He was breathing faster and the constant flood of emotions and thoughts weren’t making this any better. He was scared. Scared to even think what this meant.

“Azriel, sweetheart, talk to me.. hey, hey look at me.”

But he couldn’t. He, he needed air. He needed space, because this didn’t make any sense. Why now? Why when he finally found the happiness he was looking for, for so many years? Why when he finally settled his heart for another and dared to bare his soul to her? Why now, when his fucking mate decided to take on something that’d cost her her life? Why was he put in a position where he couldn’t decide what and who to choose?

He still heard her heart, how it beat almost the same as his. Warmth spread around him and he looked up again to see the cause of all this turmoil inside of him. There, he saw her. His mate. His. Oh god, he had a mate. He felt tears already rolling down his face, but he didn’t care. Somehow, only looking at her already made him much calmer than before. She still looked at him with wide eyes as if she herself couldn’t believe what had just transpired between them and he couldn’t blame her, because neither did he. There was a sudden urge to just hold her and take away all her pain and-

“Azriel.”

He felt two soft hands cradling his face and turning it to the side to make his golden hazel eyes meet with brown ones. It caused him to break out of this bubble that was forming and he was brought back to reality. Elain, oh Elain. He- oh god- he really forgot about her for a second, because everything, well everything was so sudden and he actually didn’t mean to, because he loved Elain, with all his heart- his heart, he already gave it to her, he was hers as much as she was his- and he already felt another set of tears forming in his eyes.

“Sweetheart, I want to help you, but you have to help me here a bit yeah?” She said while looking at him with soft shiny eyes and a small smile. The smile he fell in love with.

“Try to breathe along with me.” He was still shaking as Elain lead his hand towards her chest- her heart- to make him calm down and follow the same rhythm as hers. He tried to focus, he really did, but the constant flood of emotions really distracted him. So with all his strength he breathed in and out just as Elain did. He brought his forehead towards hers and closed his eyes. In. And out.

“Just like that, you are doing so great.” He felt a kiss on his nose and he had to smile at that. He was calming down a little.

“Thank you ‘lain” he rasped out.

And when he opened his eyes, Elain looked at him with such intensity that he needed a second to think. He really does love her huh. While the heartbeat of another was becoming more silent, it still was there. He took a deep breath and took the hands on his face in his own. Looking her in the eyes, he kissed the inner part of Elain’s hands and mustered up another set of words to reassure her.

“I am feeling better.” Elain smiled at that, however the confusion was still present in her eyes, and- oh god- she didn’t make this easier for him when she looked up at him with that soft gaze.

“Would you mind sharing with me what just happened?” She asked in an almost hushed tone, as if she didn’t want the other’s around them to know.

How was he supposed to explain to her what had just happened, when he himself still hadn’t any time to think. When so many thoughts were whirling around in his head and he couldn’t grasp to control them.

Elain must’ve noticed his confusion and hesitation as she reassured him.

“Its okay you can take your time. But you really got me scared here for a second Azriel and I, I just want to help you and know if you are-“ she choked on her last words and something in him felt so bad for not telling her instantly. For not choosing her instantly. For having thoughts of another in his mind. For feeling what another woman is feeling, for hearing a heartbeat and feeling a connecting string to another and it not being her? How could he tell her that it took all the strength in him to not just turn around and walk towards his mate to hold her in his arms, while on the other hand his mind and heart is yelling at him for forgetting all the promises he made to the woman standing infront of him for a second. A second that is a second too much. Because all the space in his heart is already reserved for Elain, there shouldn’t be any space left for another. But how could he explain to Elain that with every growing second he itches to just follow his instincts.

“I know this is confusing, trust me, I- I am confused but I, I- can’t and-“ he tried to stay calm and took a breath. Elain took his hands in hers again and encouraged him to go on with her eyes whenever he felt ready.

But ready he would never be, because just as he thought that he had everything under control, something inside of him jolted and made his head turn around sharply towards y/n. Alongside that, he felt a disgusting amount of hurt rolling over him that it took his breath away.

There she stood, tears rolling down her eyes while still looking at him. While Cassian was holding her wrist and trying to turn her towards him. He saw that he was saying stuff to her, but all the voices were quieted down by that ringing noise again. Now, if only he understood that she was crying because she saw her mate seeking comfort in another woman and that Cassian, along with his other friends, was only trying to understand the situation, was trying to comfort his friend, he wouldn’t have swatted off Elain’s hand this fast. He wouldn’t have taken charge towards Cassian. No, because this? This was pure male instinct taking over him. A male was touching his mate. She was crying.

His brain screamed at him to think for a moment before he took such rash decisions, but again, the bond had just snapped and all his emotions were running high, thoughts suppressed down by instincts. So he did what every mate would’ve done in his situation. He went to protect his mate.

—————————

The last thing y/n heard was the sound of Mor’s cries and Emerie’s words, because after that everything seemed to go silent and only a ringing was heard. A ringing from her opposite site, right where Azriel was standing. So she looked at him, looked how his eyes widened and how a string was forming to connect them. No. This, this couldn’t be right?

But an overwhelming amount of woody notes hit her nose and she became painfully aware that Azriel was unconsciously sending over his emotions. So much confusion and helplessness. She… she was his mate?

She felt the tears forming in her eyes while she didn’t know how she should feel about this revelation. The shadowsinger, the one person she has loved desperately for decades, the one person whose attention she never fully got, the one standing besides another, holding her hand, that person was his mate? And the bond snapped right before she signed her death warrant? Oh how cruel. How cruel all of this was, hasn’t she suffered enough?

She felt like she couldn’t breathe, this was too much. And then Elain had to cradle her hands around his face. Her mate. She was touching her mate. She was furious, but realized too quickly that she couldn’t do anything about it. Because why did she feel less and less of Azriel’s emotions as he leaned his forehead against hers? This hurt, this hurt so much. Someone should’ve just gotten a knife and pierced it through her chest, because it would’ve promised her a less hurtful death.

This was agony, as she felt her brain carving in this sight in her memory so that she always remembered that even when the bond snapped between them, something so sacred, Azriel still chose another woman over her.

There was no place for jealousy in her when she saw Azriel placing little kisses in Elain’s hands as she only felt an enormous amount of pain and loss and grief, grief for something she didn’t have to begin with.

She felt like she was dying if it was not for Cassian noticing her sudden silence while the others were still arguing.

“Hey.. y/n, hey, what’s wrong? Hey-”

but she couldn’t hear, she couldn’t understand… why was his mate not looking at her? Why was it that another male was seeing her and not him? So she tried to look for something inside of her, she had to try breathing again, she needed to pull, pull on something.

And finally, Azriel turned her way, finally he looked at her. One moment he still had that sad look on his face when it suddenly turned into this eerie and intense gaze that felt like a predator sizing up his prey. She had never seen that look on him, his stare sending shivers down her spine. And suddenly he was moving.

——————���——

His expression was carved in stone, a chilling coldness radiating from his gaze. Fists already clenched and ready to pounce on someone, feet moving with fast precision and his target clear. The bond in him shining brighter and encasing him completely. He was going to protect his mate and make the male pay for hurting her.

“Y/n you are scaring us, what’s going on- oh- Az what are you- YO WHAT THE FU-“ and Cassian felt a scrunch in his nose. But before he could stand up from the ground he felt Azriel already pouncing on him. What. the. fuck.

Azriel didn’t care. Didn’t care if the male in front of him was nearing his death with every punch he threw his way, and when he felt other arms trying to force him away from the male, he growled and felt so much strength course through his body, because no matter what, he was going to make this male pay and no one could prevent him from doing it.

No one; but apparently a strong pull within him. Because he felt his mate again and looked up instantly from the ground where he was just punching Cassian. And from this near he could see her eyes more clearly- a green color with a soft touch of brown and blue. She was ethereal and he was mesmerized by this woman standing in front of him. His mate was gorgeous. Just like that his heart started pounding faster again and for a moment he felt his ears reddening, because how could this beautiful being belong all to him?

“Are you alright?” He almost wheezed out at her, because he lost all his stamine to fight Cassian- wait. CASSIAN. Almost instantly he scrambled up and looked down to see a bloody faced Cassian laying on the ground.

“What has gotten into you Azriel?!” Rhysand screamed at him. And rightly so. The High Lord had struggled to get into his shadowsinger’s mind to yell at him to stop after he couldn’t get him off of Cassian. But he had been met with an iron wall, which is why he couldn’t reach Azriel.

“Brother I don’t know, if you just got possessed by something but damn if you needed to let off some steam, warn a guy beforehand yeah?”

Cassian tried to lighten up the mood a bit, because what had just transpired was far from normal, far from the Azriel they knew. And quite frankly it scared him and made him worry for his friend. From the corner of his eye he saw Nesta rushing out the tent she was in with what looked like some healing supplies. Thank god, he couldn’t feel his face.

Azriel looked frantic. His head was spinning and he couldn’t think clearly. What had he just done? He looked around him and saw his friends attentively staring at him, some worried, some scared of what he might do next.

“What were you even thinking?” He met the cold stare of his mate. Of y/n. God. A mate. She wiped the tears of her face with fast movements and stood tall again. And before he could respond her

“Azriel..?” And there, the voice that made his toes curl whenever he heard it. However, he wasn’t brave enough to turn around and face her. Amongst all, she had seen him do this. She had seen this side of him, but most of all she was probably confused by his actions or maybe she got a clue, he didn’t know. He needed to get out of here, but their situation didn’t really allow him, as he was reminded of their conflicting conversation before the bond snapped. As if nothing happened, as if the bond hadn’t snapped, and as if he hasn’t caused such a big scene mere minutes ago, y/n turned to Rhysand once more.

“Breaking this to the soldiers will be a tough one, I am sure all of them will understand that our charge means nothing but promised death. I just hope they’ll follow along.”

Then a pause. He saw her trembling slightly but whatever it was she snapped out of it and a deathly coldness radiated off of her.

“I will wait for your command Rhysand.” There she stood, like a perfectly trained warrior, someone who was drilled into this role.

“Y/n are you just going to ignore wh-“

“Rhysand.” She really was going to do this?

“We are in the midst of something bigger. Our enemies-” she pointed towards the Northern side, where she knew Hybern soldiers resided.

“-they won’t wait for us to take our sweet time to discuss these matters. We don’t know when they will charge next, but damn it if they get to us before we get to them, all of us will die on this battlefield, I can assure you that! We need to move and we need to do it faster than them.” She heaved out.

Rysand looked at her with an expression that pained her, he looked conflicted, like he was struggling to switch between his role’s of a brother and friend and his role as the High Lord of the Night Court.

Of course he knew that all y/n was saying was true, but damn it, he’s got the feeling that if he doesn’t interfere now, if he doesn’t press on the matter more, he would regret it for the rest of his life. That Azriel may regret it for the rest of his life. He looked at him then, at Azriel’s disheveled and unmoving form, as if he was in a trance. He waited for him to intervene again, but when nothing came out of his brother’s mouth, he made the decision.

But not before talking to his mate. Are you sure of this? She asked in his mind. We’ve got no other choice Feyre he returned sadly but determined. And then he spoke out what he always feared most towards a member of his close circle.

“You may leave whenever you feel ready. Thank you for all of your services soldier.” He had to. he needed to switch to his High Lord tone, because if he didn’t get ahold of himself it would mean their ultimate death. Of everyone.

Y/n just sharply nodded towards him, because they couldn’t do emotional farewells now, not now, when she knew that she and all the others would break down and they wouldn’t actually let her go. And by that she would just endanger the lives of everyone. She didn’t want that. So she and Rhysand had to act their roles. With that, without taking another look at her friends, she turned around and headed towards their military base.

But she was suddenly grasped by another force that turned her around once again.

“You’re insane if you think I’ll just let you go!”

The way her heart started fluttering faster when he hold her hand was almost too pathetic. However, she couldn’t do this with him. Before, this was always what she had wanted, but now… now everything has changed, she couldn’t get herself to be influenced by his sweet words.

She looked him in the eyes then.

“Please let go of me Azriel, you are making this more difficult than it already is.”

And she told him the truth. This was difficult for her. Knowing that her mate stood right before her, that she may have a chance to maybe, she didn’t know but .. but it hurt that only now, only now that he was forced by the bond he started to care for her. This is definitely not what she wanted, not this way. So against everything that the bond demanded of her, she pushed his hand out of the way, but he grabbed for her again.

“Difficult? I am making this difficult? Are you out of your mind? So you want me to stand here as if nothing happened between us? As if we aren’t-“

“Don’t end your sentence shadowsinger.” And he looked pained that y/n almost surrendered to kiss his frown away and take away all the sadness in his eyes. She snapped out of it. She couldn’t do this to him.

“You want to act like I belong to you all of a sudden? Who gives you the right to tell me what or what not to do? I made my decision, end of discussion. So now if you would please kindly let go of my hand.”

But he didn’t. Rather he strengthened his grip around her.

“Y/n, I understand that this is very bad timing, I understand your anger, but we need to talk about this before you make decisions of life and death, don’t you understand!”

He was trying so hard to find the right words, afraid of saying something that may aggravate the situation even more. Afraid of losing his mate before even having a chance at life with her. God, he still couldn’t believe it.

“Okay, then I got a question for you and you have to be honest with me.”

She needed to stop, she needed to stop self sabotaging herself.

“Ask me and I’ll answer truthfully y/n, I swear it to you.”

He didn’t know what came over him, but all he wanted for now was bring his mate back to safety, have more time to think this through more thoroughly.

“You want me to come back with you, but can you actually promise me that you are going to accept this bond with me? Are you actually going to leave Elain for me? Someone you chose out of love rather than obligation? Be truthful shadowsinger.”

Whatever he expected her to ask him, it wasn’t this. He- no he, he couldn’t make that decision now, not now, he needed more time to think, for the past minutes he hasn’t been in his right mind so how .. how could he possibly answer her without giving her false hopes.

“I…” and he looked into her pain filled eyes. He visibly shook as he felt her side of the bond. He was causing this pain?

“Y/n, you need to understand that I can’t- I can’t promise you that now. I don’t want to hurt you, but Elain she-“ he thought of choosing his words carefully “We have been together for a while now, and I can’t lie to you that I suddenly stopped loving her because the bond snapped. I am confused and I need more time-“

she gasped at that and god he wished he could make this easier, could prevent her from getting hurt

“-and I am aware that this is the most selfish I can get. Please, just, please don’t go there-“

her tears were already falling uncontrollably and he couldn’t hold back his own ones. He wished someone just ended him right then and there, so that he hadn’t had to see the agony in her eyes.

“-please allow me to just have more time so that I can sort this all out, I don’t want to hurt any of you, it is the last thing I want-“

“Do you actually hear yourself?” she whispered in a tone that made him want to stab himself for making her sound so helpless.

“Do you hear how selfish you are? I tell you what shadowsinger, if I can’t be your first choice I dont want to be a choice at all. I have loved you for so many years already, I have desperately wanted what you gave other women in your life, but if a bond is what gets you acting all caring towards me, then you can go to hell with that.”

What.

She loved him?

How come he never noticed her, how did he let it get to this point?

“… for how long?” he asked with widened eyes.

He was scared of the answer and judging by her reaction it wasn’t something he was prepared for.

“Too long for me to count.”

She sounded almost resigned, almost like she just wanted to be put out of her misery.

She felt the stares of the others, so she looked behind Azriel and saw how everyone was holding their breaths and waiting for something to happen.

One piece of eyes, however, pierced through her, one pair of hurtful glassy eyes that made y/n happy and sad at the same time. But she couldn’t blame the woman, and to be honest, she couldn’t blame Azriel as well. They chose each other and she was the other woman. She tried to stay calm.

“Azriel… you have to forgive me for my outburst, but try to see it from my perspective. I know our situation isn’t quite fair, but we can’t choose fate. This is where it has brought us. Do yourself and everyone a favor and go back to your woman. She is waiting for you.”

It took everything in her to choose these words, to fight against her will, to fight against her desires, her want to sling her arms around him and claim him for herself, to show everyone that he belonged to her as much as she belonged to him, to love and care for him how she had wanted to for so many years. To look him in the eyes and and declare her love to him and to finally feel that mouth of his on hers to test if it tasted how she had always imagined.

But she couldn’t.

While her words pierced through his soul, his grip on her loosened and she took this as her chance.

“I am sorry, I wish.. I just wish I could have been better, but- but y/n this doesn’t mean that you have to die for this.”

“I’d rather not live when my mate loves and nurtures another, Azriel, so please forgive me for-“

“But you don’t know what the future holds!”

She applauded his resilience and to be frank she didn’t expect this much fight for her from him, but it still wasn’t enough.

“Dont act like you would actually choose me Shadowsinger, you never did.”

And with that she broke the last piece of his soul that was still standing. Because, because she was right. He never chose her so why would she believe him? This beautiful, strong woman in front of him, who has carried so much hurt because of him, was he selfish for asking her to live?

He was numb. And he just wanted this anguish to end. A sudden hand on his shoulder made him jolt, while he heard y/n talk again.

“Let go of me, let go of that little piece of me that has formed in the past minutes. It will be easier this way.” Y/n told him with resignation.

No he- he couldn’t do that, this couldn’t be the end for them. He wanted to step forward but the hand on his shoulder held him back, so he wanted to swat it off, because he had to get to his mate.

But another pair of hands was stopping his way to his mate, so now he got really irritated and tried to fight them off.

“Get your fucking hands off of me-“ and his vision suddenly became blurry as he heard his High Lord’s voice in his mind you need to let her go, she has already made a decision for herself. No, no! He was not letting her walk off to her death, he-

and while he tried to fight off every force trying to hold him back from her, he heard her distant voice Farewell, Azriel.

From the corner of his eyes he saw her blurry form walk off and disappear from his vision.

—————————

A/n: Whewww here is the second part! I never imagined I would go this direction or this far with the story but here we are 😭 First of all I want to thank everyone for your sweet reactions to the first part, this really means a lot to me, because this is my first time writing ever so thank you for your kind words <3 Secondly, I hope this was what you expected for the continuation of the story and that I didn’t leave you hanging. I am also open for any ideas and suggestions, so please don’t shy away from suggesting <3 The third part will probably come out a bit later than this as I have to focus on uni stuff again, but dont worry I wont leave this story as it is!

Again if you have some feedback, I would love to read what you think, and if you want to be added to the taglist just inform me :)

Oh and please tell me if the taglist worked!

Tag list:

@kingshitonly @phoenix666stuff @blackgirlmagicforever @dragonsandrinks @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tele86 @isa1b2h3 @curlyhairkk @jencole214 @willowpains @thestartitaness @romantasyreader28 @highladyofhogwarts @wrenisrad @minaaminaa8 @meritxellao @blepskies

[burymagdalene]

Covetous Cravings - S. Reid x Reader

Spencer finds himself sulking around in jealously for the first time after you regrettably tell him you have plans for the night. When surprising him with your presence later, Spencer realizes just how badly he missed you while he was away.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smuttttt...... (18+ pls pls) tags: Whiny & desperate Spencer, he's just very eager to please. virgin Spencer, munch!spencer, head (fem!receiving), coital takes place on Spencer's pretty Persian rug, jealous Spencer, fingering, heavy make out session, nipple play, handjob, panty sniffing, Spencer's POV! Dirty dirty dirty wc: 5.3k a/n: I've written "Spencer" so many times it doesn't sound like a name anymore. I saw this tweet and was inspired to write something related to the carpet picture. That's all. I don't even think of you that often.

Cold water washes over Spencer's tired eyes and rolls slowly down his wrists to the bottoms of his sleeves (that he rolled up to avoid getting them wet, annoyingly) as he frantically tries to wash away a strange sour feeling in his gut.

Upon looking into his mirror he gazes over the 5 o’clock shadow he’s garnered over the few days spent away in a small town in Delaware. He pulls in his lips and rubs over it with his finger tips. He doesn’t have the energy to shave it right now.

Spencer is currently harbouring a bit of a sourpuss persona, he knows this well. The team had wrapped up the case quicker than expected, leading him to message you as soon as he could about heading back to D.C. and seeing you again.

To his dismay, when he got off the plane and checked his crummy silver Nokia, that you’ve giggled at a fair share of times, the response he receives from you is… that you’re… busy?

Something about a group of friends at a late night cafe/bar getting together, he didn’t read all of it, pouting so much that he just closed his phone. Spencer is aware you had these plans before he asked to see you. Spencer is aware that he’s back from Delaware earlier than expected. Yet he’s still over his sink, face wet and cold, grumbling about your social life.

The two of you have been together for a couple months now, it’s extremely new, he knows you wouldn’t drop everything upon his arrival, but the whole plane ride home he imagined your ideas around hanging out once he got back. He got his hopes up too high.

He begins to reflect a bit, maybe a better word would be spiral, as he wanders back into his bedroom and unpacks his go bag. I shouldn’t be feeling lousy right now, he thinks. We’ve been dating for 2 months and 3 days, he had missed your two month anniversary while he was away. He couldn’t even text you that day because he was too busy. Should he even text about anniversaries like that? He’s so new to this he has no clue. 

Considering your dating timeline now he starts to worry. He’s inexperienced, almost completely… no, yeah, actually completely. He sighs.

You have been over twice, by all the beautiful luck he might have fostered in a past life, he has had the spine-tingling honor to have made out with you those two times as well. After a handful of museum and bookstore dates, even visiting your apartment once, the first time you shared a kiss was when he was showing you Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Cercle Rouge, attesting it was substantial to the gangster film genre. 

When he felt your eyes against the side of his face during the best part of the film, he took a double take at you, seeing an unreadable expression in your eyes. He cringes at the memory of his confusion.

“Th-this part is really good… Pierre’s use of cinematic synecdoche here is perfectly timed compared to–” 

You had leaned in closely and started kissing along his jaw as he fumbled through the rest of his explanation till he tapered off into a whimper that was sealed with a kiss planted on his lips. He even reached to the coffee table in front of him while you were kissing to pause the movie, not wanting you to miss anything.

Spencer groans a bit at the memory, a little embarrassed, he now would recognize the signs you were displaying easier. He’s jealous of his past self, having you to himself so unabashedly. He’s jealous of his past time spent with you and he’s jealous of your friends right now who are hearing your laugh and smelling your perfume all night.

He sighs and flops down on his back to his bed. Spencer does not feel jealous often. He feels completely rotten and out of sorts. He thinks, maybe if he would’ve kissed you more suavely that first time you would’ve dropped your plans now. Maybe if he translated the French into English for you in a more sultry voice you’d skip out on a coffee with your friends. Maybe–

Spencer hears a faint knocking on his front door. He looks over at his alarm clock, 12:12 a.m., hm. He’s hallucinating for sure. Like a lonely old man who hears his late wife’s voice in the dark of his haunted halls–

Another tentative knock. 

He leaps up from his bed and races over to the front door with his legs moving so fast he feels like he’s in Looney Tunes. His heart starts pounding as he looks through his peephole to see a small blurry version of you shifting on your feet. He scrambles to unlock his door and swing it open. 

“Hi!” You smile at him, smelling like strong coffee mixed with whatever lactonic and spicy fragrance you usually wear that curls his toes. You step forward and give him a hug, your arms wrapping around his neck. This springs him into action, wrapping his arms around your waist he mutters out a “wow” against your shoulder. Like he just won a sweepstakes. 

You pull away a bit, but Spencer's arms stay around you. “Is it okay I’m here? You never responded to my texts.” You give him a shy smile and he realizes as he was grovelling he didn’t open his phone again after you said you had plans for the night. 

“Yes! Yes,” he clears his throat… be suave. “Of course. Um. Was just thinking about you, ha. Come over whenever. Yea. Even if I say I’m busy, come over still, haha.” Shit. 

“Ah. Okay, noted. I missed you too, Spencer.” You giggle a little at him and walk into the apartment, leaving him to shut the door behind you. “What were you thinking about?” You muse. 

“Ummmm. Le Cercle Rouge.” Spencer clears his throat again. IQ slashed to 60. 

“The Le Cercle Rouge incident, right.” You laugh again and look over at where he’s standing with a blank face. “Oh. Are you sure it’s okay that I'm here? I know I said I was busy, so I’m sure you’re ready for bed now, especially after the case. Did that go well?” His blank expression has made you nervous, he notices, though he was just considering again the feeling of his neck being kissed for the first time in 24 years. 

“Please stay. A while, too. I’m not tired.” A pause with long eye contact. “The case went surprisingly well, hence the early arrival.” 

The curve of your lip pulls up in a smirk and he sees he’s convinced you fully now. You bend down and unzip the sides of your brown high rise boots, leaving you in your black tank top, skirt, and now kneehigh socks that create a monochromatic wet dream for Spencer. Though this isn’t a dream, he shakes his head from side to side to get rid of the distracting thoughts.

“Good.” You sit down fully on his red carpet now, trying to pull your last boot off. “You know, you were a really short walk from the coffee shop, I’m surprised you’ve never been. As soon as you texted you were back I kept trying to slip away as politely as possible.” You talk while struggling with the shoe.

Spencer takes a deep breath in and meets you on his carpet, sitting on his knees to pull the boot off of you, which was incredibly easy. You were pretending to struggle with it on purpose. Once removed, he sits back against his heels and pushes your knees together by your ankles.

“You walked?” He mumbled back. He would’ve picked you up. He should’ve just checked his phone, told you to have a good night like a proper boyfriend. 

“Mm, like five minutes. No worries.”

“Its midnight- I. I can always pick you up.”

You whined your response, “But you weren’t answering your phoneeee.”

Spencer rubs his face with his hands, covering his smile a bit and feeling his skin heating up. “I’m very glad you showed up anyway. Even if it scares me you walked alone this late,” he glances at you leaning back against your hands, knees still pulled together. “You look very pretty.”

“Really? Thanks. I thought so too. About you, I mean. You’ve got a little 5 o’clock shadow right now, you look really handsome.” You smile and let out an airy laugh. Spencer subconsciously rubs his face again. He’s not sure when these jittery feelings will go away, if they ever will. One compliment from you and he’s feeling a blush coming from inside of him stretch over to his skin. 

He remembers his petulance earlier, his flair for the dramatics. Whining over people other than him seeing you, cursing his past self for awkward conversations, so he leans over onto his hands and knees and kisses your lips. 

You hum against his lips, knees together against one of his sides, happy at Spencer's first time initiating a kiss between you. You sit up off of your hands now  so they can cup his face and pull him firmer against you. Taking one of his wrists from where he’s planted on the floor to the other side of you, you guide him to slowly hover over you. 

Spencer can’t help but let out a tiny noise, a moan, against you as his palms dig uncomfortably into his carpet. He feels you lean back against your elbows and swing one of your legs to the other side of him. Now, you are pressed flat against the carpet, legs on either side of his waist. Spencer slowly moves so he’s on top of your frame, elbows crowning your head.

Both times Spencer has had the pleasure of tasting you like this you have been straddling him on his couch. This is the first time that he’s been able to lay on top of you and feel his hip bones dig into you and your legs around him.

Woah. Your legs are wrapped around him, just like how he’s dreamed of having you in his bed. Legs squeezing helplessly around him as he buries himself in you. Feeling your chest against his as you arch up into him. He lowers one hand to trail it up from your shins covered in your knee highs that make him faint to your hip.

He pushes his crotch down a bit from where it was against yours, making it so the hard-on he’s now sporting is against the floor now. He remembers the visceral feeling of you kissing his neck. Immediately he’s moving down to return the favor. What starts in soft kisses escalates quickly to sucking and laving against your skin, face buried into the source of his wildest dreams, your perfume. 

Your hands are carding through his hair right now, nails scratching at him softly and he has to position himself a bit closer to the ground now to rub off some built up tension his cock is begging for. This is usually where you part.

Face buried in your neck he’s smelling your intoxicating scent and moaning against the skin. He feels like a wild animal smelling a pheromone filled scent gland. Spencer realizes briefly where he is and pulls up from your neck to stare down at your face.

Hair haloing around you, you’re feverish and pressed against the Persian rug he spent his first big paycheck on. You have a bit of mascara smudged under your eyes and the lamps scattered around his living room are highlighting you in a way so beautiful he moans out again softly. No friction, no kissing, just by looking at you.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he traces the line of your neck up and down softly with the tips of his fingers. “I almost drowned in my sorrows before you knocked on my door.” He leans back down and chuckles against the skin of your neck.

You don’t have exactly the same romantic thoughts in mind as you gasp out for the first time since he’s laid on you, “You feel so good against me, Spence. Wanted this so bad,” he stops kissing, breathing lightly against your neck as you continue. “Can’t believe I haven’t pulled you on me sooner.” He’s blinking silently hidden in the corner of your neck. He acts on a whim and bites down lightly against where your neck and shoulder meet and you squeal. 

Spencer was not prepared for the blazing eye contact he’d be met with once pulling away to look at you. Your tank top has ridden down, the top of your pink bra showing a bit and your hair is drastically more disheveled than when you arrived. He can feel his heart in his throat. He has to keep making you let out that sound.

You seem to notice his brazen eyeline and you take one hand to pull the neckline of your top down a bit, exposing most of the bra covering your breasts that are only slightly spilling out from all your wiggling. Spencer shuts his eyes like he’s in pain, but he’s actually moving his hips up and away from the floor so he doesn’t come in his pants right then and there.

A completely new and formidable heat spreads over him and into his loins. Never in his life has Spencer trembled with anticipation in this way. His skin is on fire and he’s struck with the overwhelming need to make you the happiest person in this world. He wants to have you shiver and shudder completely against his apartment floor, he wants to hear every moan and grunt until your voice gives out. He wants to fuck you with his mouth.

“Gah-God, baby,” Spencer moves himself away from you so that he’s kneeling between your open thighs, rubbing the outsides of your legs as he looks into your eyes. “My mouth. Um, can I use my mouth?” He lets out a shaky breath at the image.

You bite your lip softly at him, he feels like he just licked the screen on one of those old staticy TVs he used to have. “Use your mouth for what?” You half play coy and half ask in earnest, not wanting to jump to conclusions since you and Spencer have never taken off many layers together.

“I want to use my mouth to make you cum.” His face flushes immediately, your eyes widen in shock. He drags his sight down to where you lay in front of him. Legs spread open and skirt ridden up giving him an obscene upskirt of your underwear for him. Also black. He keeps his eyes there as you reply.

“Yeah. Please, please-” he whips his head up to look at your face again to engrain the image of you unkempt and nodding a desperate yes into his memory. He lightly reaches out between your thighs to briefly feel the bottom of your panties. He’s barely thinking, his first instinct was to gauge how wet you are, to compare it to how you’re going to feel later. You gasp sweetly and he moans in response, untouched, again.  

With this searing hot permission Spencer gets hit with a strong pietistic devotion towards you. There is literally nothing in his life that has mattered more to him right now than how the gusset of your panties stick onto you and that his tongue can finally be given the task he has thought about constantly since knowing you. 

The anxiety Spencer was expecting as a result of his inexperience is completely overthrown by a perfectly instinctual autopilot setting he falls into. The excitement of making you feel good, you letting him touch you in such a profound way completely overshadows the doubt of his expertise. 

Not that he’s completely clueless. Erotica classics hide in his bookshelves, copies of Anaïs Nin’s short stories, the detailed counts of female pleasure derived from biology books, decent sex education stemming from the countless hours he’s poured into literature. He’s fairly in tuned to what generally makes people crumble, he just has to try it out himself. 

Spencer starts at the top again. The push and pull between him and eating you out the way he’s craving will have to drone on a little longer as he starts kissing along the exposed skin of your breasts, not wanting to leave anything unkissed. How rude. 

You outstretch your neck to him and slide the tank top off yourself, leaving just your pink lace bra that's covering little of your nipples. Spencer fingers the straps briefly while taking in the sight of you. He cannot believe the cosmic circumstances that have led him to this moment.

“D’you like?” you mumble while watching him eye-fuck you. He almost feels sorry for how he’s watching your chest rise and fall but the way his dick is pulsing under the confines of his underwear allows for little words.

In fact, his hips kick a twitch forward at the sound of your voice. A siren song as old as time. 

“MmmIwanna,” Okay. Form words. “I wanna-” he pities himself enough to give up on that one and kisses along your chest again.

“Do what you want to. I want to feel you everywhere… I want you to touch me.” You seem to understand his dilemma. A once articulate tongue falls flat in such a frenzied situation. 

Spencer palms your tits through your bra properly now while kissing you sloppily. He feels the friction of the lace against his palm and your hardened nipple receiving the rough friction from it as well. He picks up on your whine against his lips and pulls your bra down by the middle of it, exposing your chest fully. 

You gasp against his lips and move your tongue against his as a thanks. Spencer lets out a tiny “ah” from the back of his throat when your tongues meet. To regain composure he takes the nipple he was palming through lace earlier and rolls it between his middle finger and thumb, it’s your turn to kick your hips up for friction now. 

He decides to lower his hips against yours fully for the first time, desperately searching for that debauching pleasure that he was avoiding earlier. His dick rests nicely under your belly button and you bite his bottom lip when he’s fully settled against you, he feels sort of proud. 

Feeling your body completely pressed against him in this way makes him mourn every second he’s been with you and not made you moan in happiness like he is now. Wishing that the pesky virginity he’s carried with him this long will be taken by this angel underneath him right now. His cock twitches against you at the thought of it.

He stops fiddling with the nipple and instead moves to hold one of your hands with his as his other hand moves to rub your neglected nipple. He subtly grinds a long and slow rhythm against where you two are pressed together and you make a curious noise, a full moan caught before getting let out. Nudged in your throat as you hold it in.

Spencer thinks for a moment and smiles at the realization that it sounds almost exactly like how you hold back a laugh in your throat. A small and choked out “hngh” high pitched before its snuffed out. He thinks of any future endeavors where he gets to hear you hold back a laugh in a quiet museum or library from one of his stupid jokes. With this comparison he’s going to be pathetically hard in so many more inappropriate situations now.

“Please, can you please take my panties off.” You mewl gently, almost as if you’re worried he will refuse, and break him out of his thoughts. Spencer nearly forgot how lost in his head he was while methodically rubbing your sensitive breasts and grinding against you. 

“Pretty girl, I’m sorry.” He really is, he never wants you to feel so desperate you have to beg for him to touch you, but without interference he could probably sit for eight hours straight playing with your tits to see if you could come from it. He whines out loud at the thought. “I will, of course, I will.”

The feeling of him peeling himself off you feels tortuous. However, it is very much a high risk, high reward scenario when he looks down between your thighs again to see a wetter fabric clad to your hips. Spencer leans towards you, pushes your socks down slightly to kiss the tops of each of your knees. You giggle and he nips the inside of your leg slightly. 

It’s dizzying, the experience of pulling your panties down for the first time. Every night where he has sloppily fucked his fist thinking of your smile lines and pretty hands, every evening after you’ve left his apartment well kissed has finally led to this life altering moment.

Your panties have been slid off and he’s got an iron grip on them as he’s staring at you fully exposed, the translucent liquid smudged around your cunt. He’s trying incredibly hard to not push them up to his nose and inhale, he thinks he’s done enough animalistic sniffing and grunting at you tonight. He places them neatly on the couch instead. 

“Baby, Spence, you’re a voyeur.” You laugh at his staring gently, he assumes 25% of this experience for you has been watching him stare bug eyed at every inch of skin you’ve surrendered. He lays down flat on his tummy, sucking in air through his teeth as his dick presses against his carpet through his slacks again. “Feel sensitive, that feels like a lot?” You ask softly down at him. He flushes, embarrassed a little that you notice him the exact same way he notices you. Spencer pinches his eyebrows together and nods.

“Feels.. real good though.” He laughs gently at himself as you groan and rest your head back down on the carpet at how sweet he is.

He wraps his arms tightly underneath your thighs to pull your pussy closer to him, your skirt riding up to your belly in the process. He feels you squirm a little under his arms and kisses the skin above your hip flexors softly.

His heart skips a beat when he’s up close to you, a sliver of doubt creeping up along with the immeasurable need to make you feel good. Spencer takes his tongue out and licks a broad stripe up from right below your opening to above your clit. This is more for himself, actually. He wants to taste every single drop you expelled from him kissing and touching you, it’s what he deserves.

Spencer's arms immediately have to resist against your thighs moving shut, using a bit of his strength to keep you open as he does it again. This time he moves his head slightly side to side. The whine he hears coming from your lips makes him take one arm away without thinking to hold your lips open and wraps his lips around your clit.

The open window you get without one arm suspending your leg allows you to close one thigh to the side of his face while the other is still pried open by him. He continues to suck gently, pulls away and lifts up the skin covering your clit, kisses it softly, you let out a pitiful sobbing noise and Spencer sucks your clit again, rolls it between his lips.

You help him out by taking your other thigh away from his face and holding it up yourself. “Wh-who taught you to do this?” You squeak out giving him a sense of confidence he’s been desperately striving for. Spencer cannot bear to part from your cunt to reply so he just hums lowly against you, hoping that you get his message of I daydream about doing this to you every waking moment through the vibrations he’s emitting.

He feels you rock your hips against his face greedily and he smiles a toothy grin against you. His perfect pliant girl, he couldn’t be happier to have your wetness rubbed against his nose as he dives into you. 

Wanting to escalate the scenario a bit, he’s internally pleading to feel you cum against his face, Spencer begins to suck harshly and suction onto your clit intermittently. The loud “fuck” you whimper out and how your torso isolates to twist to the side as you keep your hips in place is a good indicator that he’s making you feel good. This is a dream.

“Hh- mmmm” you cry out and Spencer flickers his gaze up to your face. You’re scrunching your face like a sweet bunny and have one hand up and posed above his head, waiting to push him away, the pleasure so strong you have to implicitly prepare yourself to shove him away when it gets to be too much. He moans highly against you.

The hand you had defensively propped up begins to lightly push at his face, he smiles at this, suctions your clit through his lips and runs circles over it with his tongue, your hand falls limply to your side.

“Fingers- ah, fingers!” You manage to gasp out one more plea before sucking your lips in and moaning deeply against them.

You seriously do not have to ask him twice. Being able to feel you twitch and grip around his fingers while he sucks on your clit has him pushing himself against the floor. The bordering on painful stimulation he’s getting from using all his body weight to hump his carpet sends tingles up and down his spine. As you said, sensitive. 

Spencer starts by tracing your entrance with his middle finger, he slips in easily just by doing that, your slick and his spit making the intrusion incredibly easy. He wastes no time pulling his finger up against your g-spot and slips in his ring finger alongside it, rubbing slick circles inside of you.

The noises your cunt is making from his incessant sucking and rubbing could probably be heard from any of his neighbors walking by his front door. He gasps hotly at this thought, what are you doing to him? Has he no shame?

You’re riding his face and fingers again, mumbling intelligible sentences. God, his cock hurts. 

“Baby, close, don’t stop-” The angelic words fall from your mouth and his ears perk up like an owner saying her dog's favorite words to it. Spencer continues exactly what he’s doing against you and looks up at you again through your back arching.

He can feel you twitching and senses you’re done for. If only he could talk and eat you out at the same time, he wants to call you pretty until tears come from your eyes. You gasp wetly and come all over his fingers.

Your thighs clamp against his head and he lets you do whatever you need to do to his face to get off. He’s rubbing soft and soothing circles against your hips as you hiccup through your orgasm.

You open your mouth as if you have something to say, and close it again, shuddering out a breath of air. Spencer pulls away, he can talk again.

“My good girl, thank you. I mean, you tasted so good… you’re so pretty, my pretty, oh my god-” He’s got a lot on his mind right now.

Spencer watches and follows your movements as you sluggishly sit up to kiss him, moving your tongue against his in an eager display to taste yourself against his lips, he whines again, feeling your warmth against him. When you palm him through his pants Spencer stutters out a pornographic “hnnn”, the friction from his rubbing against the floor has left him painfully needy.

“Can I take your cock out baby?” You ask against his neck. Spencer is aware of the embarrassing uhhuh uhhuh he releases as he scoots back against his couch. You don’t bother teasing him, taking out his red dripping dick from his pants and underwear and you don’t even giggle when it makes a whip sound as it taps against his skin.

He actually has to close his eyes after watching you whine in overstimulation as you collect your come from yourself to use it as lubrication to jerk him off with it. He’s genuinely going to pass out.

With a mouth open to the shape of an “o”, Spencer has an onslaught of tiny gentle noises that fill up the room alongside the skin slapping sound of you jerking him off. You touch the crown of his dick and one of his arms shoots out to brace himself against the couch. 

He accidentally grabs your panties he placed on the couch earlier.

Not thinking, he grips onto them and you kiss his cheek. “Want em’?” You tease. “My panties are in my top drawer next time you come over and want to snoop around.” You joke further, a red flush of humiliation covers Spencer's neck and chest. He slowly moves his grip on them over to his nose. Too far gone to have the same self-control he had earlier to set them aside, he finally indulges in taking in your scent.

He’s somewhat expecting more prodding and teasing, but you just continue to kiss over his face softly. He’s so thankful.

There’s no surprise to the fact you have him coming especially fast. Spencer feels his legs twitch and he sets down your panties to kiss you properly as he finishes all over your fist. 

As he comes down from this unexplainable high he is struck with such a tender feeling of affection towards you his eyes water. You notice and scoot onto his legs and lap and wrap your arms around him in a hug.

Not letting go until you feel him chuckling against you, you ask him how he feels and he sighs out dramatically. He’s so exhausted now.

You shyly offer to wet-vac his carpet once you guys move to clean yourselves up and he breaks out into a laughter that makes his stomach hurt. You eventually join his contagious laughter at the situation.

Spencer’s suggestion for you to stay a while is accepted with open arms. You spend your first night together wrapped up in each other's embrace. Being back in his own bed with you here settles his mind so gently that within three minutes of his head hitting the pillow he’s out like a light. 

In the morning when he wakes up for work he rubs his nose softly all over your face to wake you up. Spencer offers that you stay in his bed and sleep more or he can drive you back to yours before he heads over to work. He ends up driving you home so you can get ready for work yourself. Once you’re back home he finally opens up his phone again from last night to see a picture of yourself you sent on the walk to his apartment last night with the text under it “Had to come see you anyway, hope the doors unlocked mwahaha”.

He finds himself smiling at his missed message all day at work and once he’s seated back in his car to go home later that day he finally finds the “forgotten” panties you left on his passenger car seat when you left this morning.  

Spencer flushes then pockets them before texting you that he is in fact not a voyeur or a perv and he did not put your panties in his pocket and he is not asking you to come over again tonight so he can cook you a pasta dinner before he lays you out for him again, hopefully on his bed this time.

[bbokicidal]

But What Do I Know? | SKZ [Virgin!OT8]

Just some odd headcanons I've got regarding Virgin!SKZ. Some things I think they're into, how they behave as virgins, etc. But again, what do I know?~

Members are grouped into categories for these headcanons.

Warnings: 18+ Content; Oral sex, fingering, spitting/spit mentioned, dry grinding/humping, cum, makeouts, biting

NSFW Masterlist | SFW Masterlist

Group Number One : The 'I swear I didn't know it would happen!' Boys [The Pants Cummers]

Virgin!Minho swears on his life - to himself, of course - that he WILL NOT come in his pants the first time the two of you have a heavy makeout session - but it happens anyways. And he realizes after that, that he kind of.. likes it? He learns if he grinds on you a little he also gets the friction from his jeans and that helps him come even faster. Forget being put down because he reaches his high in just a few minutes - he's trying to makeout with you as long as possible to see how many times he can come.

Virgin!Jisung is WILDLY embarrassed when it happens, until he realizes you never noticed. Even if he'd gotten all blubbery and started to whimper in nervousness, you'd though he was just enjoying himself and whining into your mouth because he was happy. But then he excused himself to the bathroom to clean up and took nearly half an hour, his ears still beet red when he returned to you. You'd asked what happened and when he was honest, you reassured him it was fine that it happened - and that you thought it was kind of hot. Now, he lets it happen to please you because he knows you like it - which makes him love it even more.

Virgin!Jeongin isn't really sure what happened the first time. He was making out with you, you were on top of him - and then his thighs were trembling and you were sitting up in shock. As soon as he realizes he'd just nutted in his boxers, he's flushed in the neck and chest with embarrassment. How did that happen - WHY did that happen? He's all whiny and whispering about how he's so so sorry that he'd just done that with you on top of him. But when you shush him and whisper that it's okay while kissing his neck and tugging his collar down to mark him up, he'd begun to think maybe it wasn't that bad. And if you kept kissing him like that it was definitely going to happen again.

Group Number Two : The Masters with their Hands

Virgin!Chris doesn't really have full confidence in himself when he slips a hand in your panties for the first time, but he'd done as much research as he possibly could before his date with you earlier that night so he was sure he'd be fine. And his confidence only raised after you let your head tip back and moaned out his name. He'd let out a sigh as he pushed two fingers into your warmth, new to the feeling of being inside of you but enjoying it nonetheless. And your reactions, your whining of how much you loved his hands and how big his knuckles are, how good they feel on your walls - Yeah, he's a bit cocky after that and no longer worried about if he'll be able to please you.

Virgin!Hyunjin knows what he's doing in theory - not in practice. He did no research but it can't be that hard; and for him, it's not. It seems to come to him naturally (after you having to guide his thumb to where your clit actually is), with his middle and ring fingers pushing deep into your pussy until your thighs were quivering against his hips. He's a master at multitasking, able to rub your clit with his thumb and pump his fingers into you almost too quickly too well. And all while hovering above you, biting his lip and looking so good, too? Almost a bit mean of him to be this pretty and talented in bed.

Virgin!Seungmin really only is good at this because he plays games on PC. He's use to clicking the keys quickly, using multiple fingers at once - so you'd best bet he's good at fucking his fingers into you so quick it's got you nearly crying against the sheets. Also another who's good at multitasking - again, because of gaming - but it's with his other hand this time. And his mouth. He'll lean down to suck on your clit, fuck two or three fingers into you, and reach up to grope and tug at your chest with what feels like practiced (even though it's not) ease. Also mean in bed but.. in a different way. ;]

Group Number Three : The 'I can't help it' Boys [The Bed Humpers]

Virgin!Changbin swears that he didn't even realize he was grinding against the mattress while making out with you until he was making a mess on the sheets. Usually it's you he teases about your orgasm hitting early or the way your legs tremble in need when he sucks on your chest during heavier makeout sessions. But this time? This time it was him being teased, plump cheeks rosy pink and eyes darting over the sheets where pre had leaked from his tip and smeared on the mint of your bed. He's pouty, swearing up and down he didn't realize he had done that, before being welcomed back into your waiting arms with a shy smile. He waits until he has your reassurance that it's okay and it's nothing to be embarrassed about before he lets it happen again - and even blushes and gets shy when you ask him a few weeks later why he isn't humping the blankets while he sucks on your neck and chest. You think it's cute - and he's happy to please.

Virgin!Felix is.. kind of shameless about it. He's happy to let you know he's into you by touching and kissing and whatever - but he's a little too shy, and inexperienced, to even think about grinding on you. Your hips? His hips? Not connecting just yet. He's waaaay too shy to do anything like that. But he does want the friction, does crave the touch and grind of it all, so he'll go for the next best thing - laying between your legs while he kisses you all nice and slow in the early morning and rolling his hips down against the mattress. The feeling of his pajama pants rubbing on his cock is perfect, and the stiffness of the mattress... It's enough to satisfy him without getting too touchy with you just yet. And you seem to find it cute, too, that he humps the mattress all shy and sweet. If he notices you looking or watching he'll probably stop but any other time he's happy to keep going. Though there have been a few times he's gotten closer and humped your thigh instead. Not that you were complaining.

Group Number Four : The '*moans while neck deep in pussy*' Boys [The Messy Eaters]

Virgin!Hyunjin looooooves eating pussy. It's his favorite past time actually. Not busy? He's on his knees between your legs while you watch a show. Getting ready for sexy time? He's on his knees at the end of the bed waiting. Getting home from work? He's kissing you in the doorway and pinning you there so he can go down on you right away and relieve any stress. Honestly just a househusband with a nasty mouth who CANNOT keep his spit in it. It's like he's feral, almost. The type of guy who growls when you try to pull away or who bites at your thighs, nipping at your clit when you squirm too much. Again, so inexperienced that he's honestly not super great at eating you out - but does his best and is more than enough to please, at the cost of spit dripping down his chin and your thighs.

Virgin!Jisung. I've said it before, I'm saying it again!! Jisung likes to eat you out but really only when it's something casual and lazy. At first he was SO nervous because he was afraid he'd mess up or be bad at it - but then he realized, you're.. pretty chill about it all. You'll be on your phone and he'll be between your legs, sucking on your clit and dragging his tongue through your folds like you're the sweetest ice cream he's ever tasted. He's sweet when he eats you out and he's really careful about it, but he's.. drooling everywhere. Maybe even builds up the courage to spit on it if he thinks you're not paying attention, only to apologize and giggle when you flinch in surprise.

If y'all want a part two let me know - I have like 4-5 other groups already written in my notes lol.

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek

[hhmnya]

ㅤ 𓈒 𓈒　 WITH EASE, in which hyung line helps you with your kid.

( 형 ) fem ! r ㅤ ◦ ㅤ 1632wc fluff ㅤ──ㅤ w jake's reader has twins, sunghoon is a single dad, set kid names in jay and hoon's.

from anna. for fave @junislqve my biggest fan 💌 she gave me a lot of ideas for this ty

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ REBLOGS ´ ᯅ ` FEEDBACK.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ LEE HEESEUNG.

you walk into your apartment, dropping your keys onto the counter as you slip off your coat. your tired expression is replaced with a bright smile when you see heeseung watching tv on your couch. you sit down next to him, gaining just enough energy to ask if your son is asleep.

“yeah, he actually went to bed pretty early today,” he stands, “do you want something to eat? i saved some food for you, i just need to heat it up.”

you nod, watching him walk away before closing your eyes. the exhaustion of your job has finally caught up to you and you might’ve fallen asleep if not for heeseung’s updates about him and your son’s day.

lee heeseung is your own personal angel, you think. your neighbor turned babysitter turned weird situationship; at least in your perspective. he takes care of you almost as much as he takes care of your three year old son. he’s at your apartment more than he is his own (that’s mainly your fault) and you’ve grown used to coming home to him almost every day.

you hear him say your name and your eyes flutter open to see the sympathetic smile he has on his face and it’s so gorgeous, he might as well break your heart now before you fall for him any deeper.

“it’s okay if you sleep for a bit, you’re tired,” he says oh-so matter-of-factly, because he knows you now, “i’ll wake you up in an hour.”

it’s more than an hour later, when you feel heeseung’s hand on your cheek, rubbing under your eye. he notices you beginning to wake up and pulls his hand away, “you should go eat now, ‘kay? the food is on the counter. i’m gonna go ahead and go home."

you sit up, frowning, “sorry, but can you stay? just until i finish eating, i’m sorry.”

he stares at you, silent for what feels like hours, and it makes you regret opening your mouth. you blame it on your drowsiness—you know that if you were in your right mind you wouldn’t have asked him even if you really did want him to stay. to your surprise, however, he grins.

“yeah, i can stay.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ PARK JONGSEONG.

you send jay a text, apologizing for the fifth time this month for backing out on your date. he’s probably becoming more annoyed with you each time you cancel, but it’s really not your fault.

for the past few days you haven’t been able to find a babysitter for your daughter. her usual one, jaehyun, was out of town, and your back up sitters all had plans or ended up canceling last minute due to personal problems.

you rise from your position on your couch, deciding you should get dinner started for the two of you. before you’re able to, however, you hear a set of soft knocks on your door. you go to open it without bothering to look out the peephole, figuring it was one of your neighbors coming to ask for something.

“hello—oh. jay?” your eyes widen when you process the fact that it’s your boyfriend at the door. he was probably the last person you expected.

“hey,” he gives you that smile that never ceases to make your heart almost stop.

“why’re you here? wait, nevermind. i’m really sorry about canceling last minute, the babysitter couldn’t come,” while you’re talking, you gesture for jay to come inside, shutting the door once he slips off his shoes.

“i’m not mad, these things happen,” he places a kiss on your forehead, lifting up a bag of groceries, “i figured we could still have dinner together, just with an extra person.”

“jay, you didn’t have to. i feel bad.”

and he really didn’t, but he did.

“i was going to buy dinner anyway. a home cooked meal is better, no?” he walks further into your apartment, setting down the bag on the small counter. “where’s gen at?”

“oh, she’s in—”

genevieve cuts you off, all but squealing as she runs out of her room with a toothy grin, “mommy, jj’s here?”

you don’t have time to scold her for running in the house because she immediately throws herself into jay’s arms, the man picking her up with ease, “woah. hey, sweet girl. what are up to, huh?”

you smile as they have a conversation, acting like best friends who haven’t seen each other in months. it melts your heart—genevieve liked jay from the day that she met him all those months ago and you know that jay loves genevieve like she’s his own. he’s definitely someone you want to keep around for as long as possible, if not for you but for your daughter as well.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ SIM JAEYUN.

your two kids run up to your best friend, fighting each other for a spot in his arms. they don’t fight for long because he easily lifts the two children up. he says hi to them and asks them about their day before stepping inside your apartment and kicking the door shut. once his conversation with the kids dies out, he looks at you with a smug smile on his face.

“they like me more than you,” he says instead of a normal greeting.

“that’s because you spoil them every time they see you.”

“they like me because i’m me,” he sticks his tongue out at you, “huh, guys, you love me, don’t you? your mommy’s just jealous.”

“you’re actually annoying,” you reach up, taking advantage of his occupied hands, flicking his forehead and quickly escaping to your kitchen before he can even think to retaliate against you.

he immediately sets the twins down, telling them to go play while he goes to help you with whatever you’re doing. he waits until he hears the faint sound of them pulling out their toys to go towards your makeshift hideout.

he creeps up behind you, being as quiet as possible. you’re popping a bag of popcorn, thankfully too focused on that than him and his whereabouts. he stifles a laugh, poking your side hard enough for you to curl in on yourself.

“oh my fu—jake, what the heck?” you scold him, hitting his shoulder.

he laughs, holding his hands up in surrender, “sorry! i had to get you back. i think you gave me a concussion.”

he assumes you notice the popping slowing down and you turn away from him, taking the bag out of the microwave. he can’t see your face but he knows you’re rolling your eyes when you speak, “please, i barely touched you.”

“that’s what you think.”

you don’t give him the pleasure of the response, ignoring him to instead pour the bag of popcorn into a bowl.

“thank you,” you say suddenly, turning around once more, “i was thinking and, you know, i don’t really say it enough.”

“you don’t–” he starts to say, but you interrupt him by grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together.

“i do. you’ve been really helpful lately. so, thank you.”

“um”, he hesitates, “i love them and i love you. ‘course i’m gonna help.”

you smile, dropping jake’s hand and going back to preparing for your weekly movie night. he misses the warmth of your hand almost instantly, and he has to resist the urge to pull you back against him in a hug.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ PARK SUNGHOON.

he can’t help but think that this is too crazy to be a coincidence. you, the pretty mom he gained a mini-crush on at the park a couple months ago, now at his house with your son who just so happens to be his son’s new best friend. maybe whatever divine being that’s up there finally took pity on him and decided to give his bleak love life some color.

he slides over a glass of cold water to where you’re sitting and the smile of gratitude you give him could probably cause car crashes from how dazzling it is. sunghoon can see your lips moving, but can make out no sound. he’s too dazed from being in your presence to process anything other than the fact that you’re sitting in his house.

“...live with you.”

he comes back to reality, only catching the end of your sentence and blinks, “what? sorry, i spaced out."

obviously, he’s going to need more context because logically he knows you aren’t saying what he thinks you are—you’ve only known each other for a month—but he can’t think of anything else that would make sense.

“theo said he wanted to come live with you and yejun,” you say, amusement dancing across your face.

“oh,” he takes in your words, “really?”

“yeah, he was begging me earlier. so..” you pause to take a drink and he has to look away, “if you’re okay with it, can he spend the night?”

he agrees to it with a little too much enthusiasm. of course, this is mainly for yejun and theo—strengthening their friendship, helping them gain a lasting relationship or whatever—but it gives him an excuse to see you again tomorrow.

around twenty minutes later, sunghoon walks you out, his hands in his pockets. you told the boys about the sleepover, said bye to the both of them, told theo to be good and that you love him.

“i have a spare toothbrush and he can wear some of yejun’s pajamas, so don’t worry about coming back.”

“okay, perfect. um, i’ll see you tomorrow?”

“yeah, tomorrow,” he watches you walk to your car, waving as you drive off.

sunghoon knows for a fact that he’s fucked—he already wants to hear you say that all of the time; that you’ll see him tomorrow and the next day and the next. he feels like a teenager all over again, already thinking about what he’s going to wear and say tomorrow morning.

[manmuncher777]

PASSED AROUND

- when the reader gets passed between Toji and Shiu like a blunt. After all how are they going to thank her for looking after them so well?

- 18+ SMUT, threesome, oral f+m recieving, unprotected sex, spanking, pet names. The tension in this is yummy. THIS ART HAS ME FERAL

a/m - Hi my loves, I worked super hard on this and would really appreciate if you could show some love!!!!! Reblogs, likes and comments are so welcome. I hope you enjoy. p.s MY REQUESTS FORJJK/AOT ARE OPEN <<33333

Three knocks on the door, a sound that has become so familiar to you. Most would be startled to be getting visitors at this sort of time, but you knew every time who it was going to be. You’re lying on the sofa scrolling on your phone, sighing gently as you get up

You glance over at the clock. It’s just past midnight, and the silence of your apartment feels almost deafening. You’re already stretched out on the couch, half-watching the flickering screen of an old movie when you hear it. The knock. The familiar sound that tells you everything you need to know.

Another round of favors, you think with a sigh. You don’t mind, of course. You owe them both, but more importantly, their company has become something you’ve grown… accustomed to.

You don’t bother with much—just a quick glance in the mirror to make sure you don’t look like you’ve rolled out of bed, though you kind of have. You’re wearing your usual sleep shorts, barely covering the top of your thighs, and a baggy t-shirt that hangs loosely off your shoulders. It’s comfortable, and you know it’s exactly what they’ve come to expect.

With a soft groan, you push yourself off the couch and make your way to the door, not rushing. No need to hurry. You swing it open without hesitation.

Toji stands there first, tall and imposing as usual. His eyes are cold, almost too unreadable, but the faintest glimmer of amusement lurks beneath. His gaze sweeps over you like he’s cataloging every detail, his lips curling into a half-smile that speaks volumes. All of a sudden, you were more conscious of how you were dressed as he glanced over you.

Shiu stands just behind him, his posture slightly more relaxed but no less commanding. His eyes are trained on you, intense, sharp, but with a subtle warmth that flickers beneath the cool exterior. You can already tell his attention is on you—his focus unwavering.

“Late night?” Toji’s voice is rough, casual, as if he hasn’t just barged into your life with that smirk of his.

You lean against the doorframe, keeping your arms crossed, the corner of your lips curling up in a smile. “You two really know how to pick your timing.” You glance at the clock over your shoulder. “Another job gone south?”

��Toji’s always getting himself into trouble,” Shiu drawls, his eyes narrowing with a glint of amusement. He takes a step closer, his eyes flicking over your outfit, lingering a little too long on the way your shirt clings to your body.

You arch an eyebrow, not missing the subtle shift in his gaze. “What, no ‘thank you’ this time for saving your asses?” you tease, though there’s a slight edge to your tone.

Toji grins, a dark, knowing look in his eyes. “Maybe we’re just here for the company this time.” His gaze slides over you once more, and there’s a lingering heat that makes your breath hitch. “And for the treatment, of course. We wouldn’t want you to think we only come around when we’re hurt.”

You can’t help the slight smirk that tugs at your lips. “Of course not. You two have been here enough times, I’m starting to think you have a permanent spot in my fridge.”

Shiu chuckles lowly, glancing over at Toji. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know we have our place here. I think we’re entitled to that fridge space by now.” His voice is smooth, almost possessive, as if he’s been here a hundred times before. And, well… maybe he has.

“Got a spot just for your beers, huh?” you reply, sarcasm laced with the faintest hint of something else, something more charged that you can’t quite put your finger on.

This whole thing started a while ago. You needed some help feeling with some unsavoury people, just the business the men were well versed in. You went to them seeking out their assistance, and of course they obliged when you told them you didn’t care how much.

And at first, thats all it was, business. But when you were discussing… business with both the men, you let slip you’re a nurse, a healer. Luckily for Toji and Shiu, they were in need of a new one.

So they offered you a deal, a discounted price for your services.

So each time after a mission, they would come to you, get patched up and be on their way.

At least thats how it started, business, then acquaintances, their 1 hour patch ups turning into hour long nights spent with chatter as you sipped on a beer, then movies and drinks when they needed to unwind

Then it formed into this, some kind of friendship. You now kept mens shower gel in your bathroom for the first time incase they were staying, you had a few small items of spare clothes they keep at yours, even a toothbrush each. Some nights they just needed to lay low, and you had a spare mattress and a pull out bed. It suited you. It actually was nice for your apartment not to feel so lonely. Sometimes you found yourself making extra serving of your dinner, anticipating the hungry mens arrival.

Toji steps forward, pushing the door open wider without a word, his large frame blocking the hallway as he moves past you, his shoulder brushing against yours in a way that’s deliberate, yet casual. You try to ignore the way the contact makes your skin heat up. You tried to ignore hoe his muscles looked in that black shirt. You tried to ignore how he towered over you. You tried to ignore how the cuts on his face and knuckles made him looks so sexy.

Shiu follows behind, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. He walks with a quiet, steady confidence that makes it clear this is his territory too. You tried to ignore the way his suit clung to his board back. You tried to ignore the way he looked so good with that toothpick in his mouth. You tried to ignore how intoxicating you found that aftershave he wears is, loving when it lingers in your apartment after they leave. The apartment’s small and cozy, the kind of place they’ve come to know better than some of their own living spaces. Shiu makes a beeline for the fridge without a second thought, pulling it open and reaching for the beer—his beer.

“Toji’s right,” Shiu says, his voice smooth and steady, though there’s an undercurrent of something darker there. “You’re getting comfortable with us. We might start expecting dinner, too.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fed you both,” you respond dryly, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning against the counter. Your eyes flick over to Toji, who’s now making himself at home on your couch, his long legs stretched out lazily. The way he sprawls on the furniture makes it clear that this isn’t just a place for occasional medical attention—it’s theirs now.

You watch Shiu twist the cap off a bottle, his eyes flicking to you briefly before he takes a swig. “We’ve gotten used to it.” His voice lowers slightly, the words heavier than before. “Used to you, too.”

The air in the room shifts as Toji turns his head slightly, glancing at you with that familiar, dangerous smirk. “Yeah. We like it here. So, you think you can patch us up, or are we just gonna relax tonight?” He shrugs, but the look in his eyes tells you he’s not just talking about bandages.

Shiu takes another long sip from his bottle, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’ve been a good little host to us. We’ll return the favor one of these days.” His words are laced with something that makes your pulse quicken, a promise that’s too heavy to ignore. You were convinced they both knew what they were doing, blurring lines. A small blushed danced over your cheeks as the men shared smirks.

You swallow, suddenly aware of the thick tension in the room. You should be getting to work, tending to their injuries—but instead, your body betrays you, heat pooling low in your stomach at the way they both watch you. You can feel the pull between you all, the simmering chemistry that’s only getting harder to deny.

You clear your throat, trying to sound unaffected. “You two are going to get too comfortable if I don’t set some boundaries.”

Shiu leans in, placing his beer down on the counter, his gaze intent on you as his lips curl into a slow smile. “Maybe we already have.”

Toji smirks, leaning back on the couch, his eyes scanning you lazily. “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it. We both know you’re not here for just the drinks, either.”

The air feels heavier now, thicker, the unspoken words hanging between you like a taut wire waiting to snap. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep pretending like nothing’s happening.

But for now, you settle in, because you know this game—they know it too. And it’s only just beginning.

The atmosphere was almost suffocating. As much as you tried to busy yourself, to focus on your usual routine, the presence of Toji and Shiu in your apartment made it near impossible to think straight. Every glance they threw your way, every subtle brush of their hands as they moved past you, sent your heart racing.

You grabbed the first-aid kit, clutching it like a lifeline as you approached the couch where Toji was sprawled out. His broad frame took up most of the cushions, his legs lazily stretched out, one arm draped along the backrest. He looked up at you with an amused smirk, his sharp eyes gleaming with something almost predatory.

“Come to patch me up, sweetheart?” he drawled, holding up his hand where a shallow but jagged cut ran across his knuckles. The injury didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest; if anything, he looked far too entertained by your flustered demeanor.

You sat down beside him, keeping your focus on the first-aid kit as you opened it. “It’s nothing serious,” you muttered, your voice betraying the flutter of nerves in your chest. “You’ve had worse.”

Toji chuckled low, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “And you’ve been there for every one of them. Gotta say, I’m starting to like having my own personal nurse.”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks burned at the way his gaze lingered on you. “Stay still,” you said, dabbing antiseptic onto a cotton pad. His hand dwarfed yours as you took it gently, the heat of his skin almost searing against your palm.

Shiu wandered over from the kitchen, beer in hand, his sharp gaze landing on the two of you. “Getting the royal treatment, huh?” he remarked, his tone light but laced with amusement. He leaned casually against the armrest of the couch, his proximity making you even more aware of how outnumbered you were.

“Someone’s gotta take care of him,” you replied, trying to sound unaffected as you began cleaning Toji’s wound.

Toji chuckled again, his voice a low hum. “Yeah? What about him?” He jerked his head toward Shiu, who raised an eyebrow in mock offense.

“Don’t drag me into your mess,” Shiu said smoothly, though he was already rolling up his sleeve to reveal a shallow scrape along his forearm. “But since you’re offering…”

You sighed, trying to keep your composure as Toji’s laughter filled the room. “You two are hopeless,” you muttered, finishing up with Toji’s hand and reaching for another antiseptic pad.

“I think she likes it,” Toji teased, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse skip. “She likes taking care of us. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Your hand froze for a split second before you quickly resumed cleaning Shiu’s arm. “You’re delusional,” you shot back, though your voice lacked conviction.

Shiu smirked, watching you intently as you worked. “Delusional, huh? You keep letting us crash here, patching us up, stocking your fridge with our beers… Sure doesn’t seem like it.”

His words hung in the air, the teasing lilt of his tone making your stomach flip. You refused to look up, focusing instead on the scrape you were treating. But the heat of their gazes was impossible to ignore.

“Careful, Shiu,” Toji chimed in, his grin widening. “You’ll scare her off.”

“Scare her?” Shiu replied smoothly, his eyes flicking to Toji before returning to you. Twirling the toothpick that sat prettily between his lips. “She’s not scared. Look at her—she’s used to it by now. Aren’t you, doll?”

You tried to muster a sharp response, but the endearment made your breath catch. Instead, you busied yourself with wrapping Shiu’s arm, your fingers trembling just slightly as you secured the bandage.

“There,” you said, a little too quickly. “All done.”

Shiu caught your wrist as you moved to pull away, his grip firm but not unkind. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the teasing faded, replaced by something deeper, heavier.

“You’re good at this,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “Taking care of people.”

Your throat felt dry, your words catching before you could respond. Toji leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched the exchange with an amused smirk.

“She’s a natural,” Toji said, his tone teasing but his gaze sharp. “Like our own little housewife.”

Your cheeks burned, and you yanked your hand back from Shiu, glaring at them both. “You two are impossible,” you muttered, standing up abruptly.

Shiu chuckled, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he leaned back against the couch. “What? We’re just saying what we see.”

Toji leaned back as well, his grin downright wicked. “Yeah. Don’t get all shy on us now.”

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut, their words lingering in the air long after they were spoken. You turned away, trying to steady your breathing as you put the first-aid kit back in its place. But even with your back to them, you could feel their eyes on you, the weight of their attention pressing against you like a physical force.

It was infuriating. It was intoxicating.

And you knew, deep down, that you didn’t want it to stop

You busied yourself with the first-aid kit, shoving bandages and cotton pads back into place with more force than necessary. The heat of their gazes lingered on your back, and no amount of focus on the task in front of you could chase away the pounding of your heart.

“Something wrong?” Toji’s voice was a low drawl, laced with amusement. You could hear the smirk in his tone.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you replied quickly, your voice tighter than you intended.

“Really?” Shiu’s voice joined in, smooth and teasing. “Because you’re looking a little flustered there, doll.”

You snapped the lid of the first-aid kit shut, spinning around to face them. “I’m not flustered,” you shot back, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed you.

Toji was leaning forward now, his elbows on his knees, watching you with a lazy smirk that made your stomach twist. Shiu was still reclining, one arm draped casually over the back of the couch, but his sharp gaze was locked on you, studying your every move.

“You sure about that?” Toji asked, his grin widening. “Because you’re looking pretty red right now.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could say anything, Toji stood up. His sheer presence was overwhelming, towering over you as he closed the distance between you with slow, deliberate steps.

“You’ve been so good to us, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. “Taking care of us, letting us stay… It’s cute how you think you can hide how much you like it.”

You took a step back, only to bump into something solid. Shiu had moved behind you, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned down slightly, his lips close to your ear.

“He’s right, you know,” Shiu said, his tone soft but no less commanding. “You’re always so sweet to us. Always so ready to help. Makes us wonder what else you’d do for us.”

Your breath hitched, your pulse pounding as they effectively caged you in. Toji in front of you, his intense gaze pinning you in place, and Shiu behind you, his presence warm and unyielding.

“I-I don’t…” you stammered, but the words wouldn’t come.

Toji chuckled, low and deep, as he reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered just a second too long, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. “See? Flustered,” he teased, his smirk turning almost predatory.

“Maybe she likes it,” Shiu murmured from behind you, his voice a smooth hum that made your knees feel weak. “Likes us.”

The words sent a jolt through you, and you turned your head slightly to glance at him. His eyes were sharp, yet there was something softer flickering beneath the surface, something that made your heart skip.

“I don’t—” you started, but your voice faltered as Toji leaned in closer, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Don’t what?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual. “Don’t want this?” His gaze flicked to your lips, and your breath caught in your throat.

You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t think. The space between the three of you was charged, every inch of it humming with tension.

And then, Toji closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was surprisingly gentle, almost testing. It didn’t stay that way for long. The heat built quickly, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing closer until there was no space left between you.

When he finally pulled back, your chest was heaving, your mind spinning. You barely had a second to recover before Shiu’s hand was on your shoulder, turning you slightly to face him. His gaze was darker, more focused, but there was a softness to the way he cradled your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

“Don’t think I’m letting him have all the fun,” he murmured before his lips captured yours. Shiu kissed with the same control he carried in everything he did—slow, deliberate, but no less consuming. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he took his time, savoring every second.

When he pulled away, you were left breathless, your head spinning as you looked between the two of them. Toji was smirking again, his arms crossed over his broad chest, while Shiu’s lips curled into a satisfied smile.

“Looks like you’re not so confident now,” Toji teased, his voice low and gravelly.

Shiu leaned in closer, his gaze locked onto yours. “That’s okay,” he murmured, his tone softer now, though no less intense. “We like you like this.”

The air between you was thick, heavy with the promise of something more, something inevitable. And as you stood there, caught between them, you knew you were done pretending.

They repeated their actions, sharing you in a heated kiss once again.

Toji’s lips brushed against yours first, slow and deliberate, as if daring you to pull away. His hand cupped your jaw, holding you in place, his rough palm warm against your skin. The kiss was confident, a little rough around the edges, just like him. You barely had time to catch your breath before Shiu’s presence at your side shifted, his fingers gently turning your face toward him.

Shiu’s kiss was different—softer, slower, yet no less consuming. His lips moved against yours with a deliberate patience that made your knees weak, his hand firm at the small of your back, grounding you in the moment. When he pulled away, his gaze met yours, dark and heavy with unspoken words.

“Well,” Toji said, his voice rough and teasing as he glanced between you and Shiu. “Didn’t think she’d give in so easily.” His hand slid down to your waist, tugging you closer as if to prove his point. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Shiu smirked, his thumb brushing your lower lip as if to trace the remnants of the kiss. “Maybe she’s been waiting for this as much as we have.” His tone was calm, but the way his eyes lingered on you made your stomach flip.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words got caught in your throat as Toji leaned down again, his lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth. “You’re not pulling away,” he murmured, the amusement in his voice barely masking the heat beneath it. “Guess that means you don’t want us to stop.”

Your hands, trembling slightly, found their way to Toji’s chest, the hard muscle beneath his shirt grounding you. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your palm, a stark contrast to the chaos of your own.

“I…” you started, your voice faltering as Shiu leaned in closer, his hand sliding up to cradle the side of your neck.

“You can say it,” Shiu murmured, his lips brushing against your ear in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “Or we can just keep going. Your choice.”

The tension was unbearable, the weight of their combined attention leaving you breathless. Your hands curled into Toji’s shirt, your body leaning into Shiu’s warmth at your back. Every touch, every look, seemed to echo the unspoken promise hanging in the air between you all.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you finally admitted, the words barely audible but carrying enough weight to shift the atmosphere entirely.

Toji grinned, his teeth catching his lower lip for a brief moment as if savoring your confession. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Shiu’s chuckle was low and rich, his hand sliding down to rest lightly on your hip. “Smart choice,” he said, his voice laced with a possessive edge that made your pulse race.

Toji leaned in, his lips capturing yours again with more urgency this time, as if your words had broken whatever restraint he’d been holding onto. His kiss was all-consuming, his hand gripping your waist to anchor you to him. Shiu’s fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns against your hip, his presence at your back steady and sure.

When Toji finally pulled away, his eyes met yours, dark and intense. “You taste good,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Knew you would.”

Shiu’s hand tightened slightly on your hip, his lips brushing against the curve of your jaw as he spoke. “Toji’s right,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “You’re everything we thought you’d be.”

Your breath hitched, your body caught between the two of them, their touches and words weaving a web you couldn’t escape from—not that you wanted to. The heat between you all was undeniable, every moment building on the last, the tension a live wire ready to snap.

You let out a shaky exhale, your head tilting back against Shiu’s chest as Toji’s hand trailed lower, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “What are you two doing to me?” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“Exactly what you want us to,” Shiu replied, his voice a low murmur against your skin.

Toji’s laugh was rough, a little breathless. “And we’re just getting started.”

The air was thick as Toji’s freshly bandaged hand danced along the hem of your shirt before tugging it up over your head. You were without a bra this evening, your nippled perking as the cold air brushed against them. You felt utterly submitted to the men caging you in, their gazes predatory, hungry.

Ship’s hands moved next gently cupping your breast, letting a gentle groan out at the feeling of your soft skin. The men moved in turn, practised. It was kind of freaky how well they took turns with you, sharing you so well. “So beautiful sweetheart, cant believe you were hiding all this from us.”

A small gasp escaping your lips at the contact, Shiu’s fingers moving to tweak your hard nipples, rolling them gently between his fingers, pinching them as your skin prickled with goosebumps.

His nose dragging up your exposed neck as your head lolled onto his shoulder. Your pouting lips now caught between your teeth as you tried not to squeal.

Toji’s hugs hands had grip on your waist, caressing gently up an down your sides as he watched your face, smirking at your expressions as Shiu played with you. His hands trailing lower… and lower. Teasingly slow until they reached your waistband of your shorts. dragging them along with your panties down your legs, allowing you to kick them off into the distance

There you stood completely bare and these two men had their way with you. You didn’t have a chance to feel self conscious before Toji was lowering himself to his knees, hiking one of your legs over his shoulder. You were glad you had Shiu behind you to hold you up because that first lick from Toji had your knees buckling.

Shiu's hands gripped your hips with a possessive steadiness, pulling you back against his solid frame. His body was warm, his breath tickling the shell of your ear as he leaned in. “You’re trembling,” he murmured, the edge of amusement in his voice unmistakable.

Your response was swallowed by a soft gasp as Toji was just getting started,his movements deliberate, his focus razor-sharp. The intensity of his attention left your mind spinning, your body caught between the steady push and pull of their combined presence. Toji’s tongue was flicking up on down on your clit eagerly, slurping all the juices you were giving him.

“You taste fucking heavenly doll” he practically moans into your already soaking pussy. His comment making you release a whimper.

“Can’t handle both of us, can you?” Shiu teased, his lips brushing the sensitive curve of your neck. His voice was a low, molten drawl, carrying a note of wicked satisfaction that sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

Your hands gripped the fabric of Toji’s shirt, knuckles whitening as you tried to ground yourself against the overwhelming sensations. Shiu chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Sweet little thing,” he murmured, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the base of your throat. “So responsive.”

Toji’s muffled laugh rumbled below you, the sound dark and teasing. “You should see her face, Shiu. She’s not sure whether to fight it or give in.” His hands tightened their hold on your thighs, a silent encouragement that only added fuel to the fire. His tongue now travelling deeper, diving into your core. His nose bumping against your clit making you jolt. You couldn’t even try to hide your moans anymore, your eyes fluttering shut as your mouth hangs open in pleasure.

Shiu’s lips parted against your neck, and the sharp nip of his teeth made your breath hitch. His tongue followed, soothing the sting before he latched on, sucking at the delicate skin just below your jawline. His movements were deliberate, each pull of his lips a silent declaration of possession.

“You like this, don’t you?” Shiu murmured against your skin, his tone shifting into something darker, something that felt like a promise. His hands slid up your sides, his fingers brushing just under the hem of your shirt. “Having us both like this. Makes you feel wanted, doesn’t it?”

Your head tilted instinctively, giving him better access as his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot. His chuckle was soft, almost smug, as he worked the skin, leaving no doubt that his mark would linger long after this moment was over.

“Look at her,” Shiu said, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Already melting for us. You’re enjoying this a little too much, sweetheart.”

Toji’s hand slid up your side, his fingers splayed possessively over your ribs. “She’s not complaining,” he pointed out, his tone dripping with amusement. “Think she likes being the center of attention.” Every time he spoke from between your legs you couldn’t help but squeal from the vibrations of his deep voice. You couldn’t believe a man like Toji was on his knees in front of you, eating you out like you were his last meal. His hands on your hips managing the rolls of your hips against his face. He was basically making out with you cunt, leaving sloppy kisses all over, sucking on you clit.

You tried to form a response, but the words caught in your throat as Shiu’s lips moved lower, his tongue trailing along your collarbone before his teeth found another sensitive spot. The sharp sensation sent a jolt through you, and he chuckled again, his grip tightening on your hips.

“You’ll look good with my mark,” Shiu murmured, his voice laced with quiet satisfaction. “And his,” he added, his tone dropping further as he nodded toward Toji. “You’re ours tonight.”

The heat between the three of you was suffocating, the air thick with tension and unspoken promises. Shiu’s hands slid back down to your waist, holding you steady as his lips worked against your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Toji’s low growl of approval only added to the pressure building inside you. “Don’t go too easy on her,” he said, his smirk audible in his tone. “She can take it. She’s already dripping for me and I’m only warming up.”

Shiu pulled back just enough to catch your eyes, his smirk matching Toji’s. “Oh, I know,” he said softly, his thumb brushing the edge of the mark he’d left. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

You could barely breathe, the weight of their attention leaving you lightheaded and completely at their mercy. The tension between you all was thick enough to cut, the unspoken connection weaving tighter with every passing moment.

Your Hand now moving to Toji’s hair, needing something to grip onto with the pleasure he was giving you right now You were close and both on the men could tell, Shiu’s hand speedily returning to your nipples, giving them a squeeze causing your back to arch off his strong frame. You were dripping down Toji’s chin, his tongue eagerly lapping up every drop he could.

“Think she might be close” Shiu spoke, his deep voice flowing through your mind, Toji only humming at him in response, licking thick stripes up your whole cunt.

You couldn’t hold yourself back any longer, Cumming all over his face. That band in your core snapping. You moaned out loudly, unable to control the bucking of your hips as both men rode you through your high, Shiu gently talking you through your orgasm

“That’s it sweet girl, Cum for us.” he kissed against your ear as you shook against him “feels good yeah?”

You did your best to nod in response, trying to focus on catching your breath. Toji finally making his way up, kissing up your body before he rose to his full height, kissing you hard on the lips. You could taste yourself on his tongue. The erotic nature of the kiss had you whining. Finally he lets you out for breath

Your head is spinning, and your body feels like it's still humming from the intensity of what just happened. You're not sure when you lost control, but now, standing between Toji and Shiu, you're completely at their mercy. Every breath you take seems to send a wave of heat rushing through you, your skin still tingling from the aftermath.

Toji watches you with that damn smirk of his, his eyes glinting with something dangerous and amused. "Look at you," he drawls, his voice slow and steady, the words dripping with a mix of satisfaction and something darker. "Completely out of your element, aren’t you?"

Your face burns, and you can barely meet his gaze. You're standing between them, completely vulnerable, and the way they look at you now sends a shiver down your spine. It's as if they're seeing something no one else ever has, something they've claimed and marked.

You swallow, your throat dry. Every word feels like it’s pulling you deeper under their spell. "I..." Your voice falters, and you feel ridiculous, like you’re failing to hold onto whatever little bit of dignity you have left.

Shiu tilts his head, his fingers lingering on the curve of your neck as he watches you closely. "You’re so cute when you’re flustered," he whispers, leaning in just enough that you can feel the heat of his breath on your skin. "Like you can't decide whether to hate us or beg for more."

Toji’s gaze flicks from you to Shiu, a dark smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I think she likes it," he mutters, his voice teasing but with an edge of possessiveness. "Doesn't she, sweetheart?"

Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, and you're trapped between them—neither of them needing to say anything more. You can feel how tightly the tension holds between the three of you, and they both seem to be drinking in your reactions like a cocktail they can’t get enough of.

"You're not fooling anyone," Shiu says, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "We both know how much you like it. Especially after that little show you just gave us” You can hear thr grin on his face. Toji wiping your orgasm from his face with the back of his arm. You gulp

Your lips part as if you were going to protest, but the words get stuck in your throat. They’re right—there’s no denying it anymore. You’ve given yourself to them, and they know it. It’s almost humiliating how easy you were to break, but the thing is... you don’t mind.

Toji steps forward, his hand coming to rest on your lower back, pulling you closer, his large frame looming over you as he leans down to murmur in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "You’re not in control anymore, sweetheart. And you love it."

Shiu steps in, his hand coming to rest on your side, his touch firm but not forceful, just enough to remind you that you’re completely surrounded. His voice is smooth as he speaks, his lips brushing against your neck. "You’re ours now. We’ve claimed you, haven’t we?"

You don’t answer, because you know it’s true. Every inch of you is burning, still aching from what just happened, and you can’t deny the way your body reacts to them, how desperately you crave their touch, their attention.

They don’t need your answer—they already have it, and that’s all they care about. Toji gives a soft, mocking chuckle as he looks down at you. "You can’t hide it," he murmurs. "You’ve been ours for a while now. We just had to make sure you knew it." He’s slowly removing his shirt, revealing his huge muscular form. You can hear shuffling from behind you also, Shiu removing his suit jacket, then his tie. Soon fingers stating on his dress shirt

Your breath catches in your throat as you try to pull yourself together, but the air around you is so thick, so saturated with their presence that it’s impossible to ignore. Every part of you is trembling under their gaze, and there’s no escaping them now.

Shiu’s lips find your neck once more, his mouth hot against your skin as he sucks lightly, marking you again, making sure you remember who you belong to. His voice comes out muffled against your skin. "No one else is ever going to touch you like we do."

Toji steps back slightly, his eyes never leaving yours, enjoying the flush that’s spread across your face and neck. "And you wouldn’t want anyone else," he says with a smirk. "Not after we’ve had our way with you."

The realization hits you all at once—you’re utterly, completely theirs, and in that moment, all you can do is surrender to it.

You don’t even think about fighting when Shiu pushes you onto the couch. manhandling you until your on all fours. Part of you is upset you can’t see him anymore. He’s disappeared behind you. You could’ve sat there and just stared at both the shirtless men in awe, but you resisted.

Your heart jumps when you hear the clinking of a belt buckle, Toji chuckling at your reaction. You were waiting patiently, feeling the couch shift behind you as Shiu aligns himself with you. You could feel his hard tip poking at your entrance. The suspense making you squirm

“Stop teasing the poor thing Shiu, she looks like she’s about to cry” Toji says, hes sat down on your armchair now, watching the both of you. His grey sweats doing nothing to hide the bulge in his pants. He’s palming himself shamelessly as he watches intently.

“Awh you poor thing” Shiu coos teasingly, not giving you a chance before sheathing himself inside you completely. “Is that what you wanted doll?” he chuckles.

You jolt forward, not expecting to feel so full so quickly. Jesus christ he was big. Your poor arms already wobbling, you let out a sob. He slid right in, you were absolutely soaked. Your walls welcoming him greedily.

“Holy fuck! Shiu oh my god-“ You sobbed out pathetically. He hadn’t even started moving yet, but you hadn’t been this full in a while. he felt amazing wrapped in your walls. One of his hands grabbing at the fat of your ass as he finally starts thrusting inside of you. It’s like you were seeing stars, the sounds of your skin slapping together echoing through the room as he fucked you. Small grunts escaping him each time he bottomed out inside of your greedy pussy.

“Shit sweetheart, you’ve got a perfect little pushy. so pretty-“ he grunts from above you. God he sounded so good, that voice dripping in sex as he tried to control himself. Shiu was struggling to keep His composure as he watched the way you arched so nicely for him, giving him deeper access. The way your ass recoiled with each slam of his hips. And those delicious little noises you made when he hit a paticularly deep spot.

You were slowly pushing him to the brink. He was doing all he could to resist the anamalistic urge of just fucking you hard and fast, finishing in mere minutes. But he wanted to take his time with you, to savour how beautiful you looked at her mercy. Lord only knows how long he’d wanted to do this. “Shit baby, sucking the life out of me.” Moaning as he slams back into you. Your pussy gripping him so well you could feeleach vein on his cock.

You had never felt so perfectly full before, Shiu was hitting you at such a good angle you were almost voiceless. Running out of breath to cry out for him anymore. In the corner of your eye you watch Toji raise from the arm chair. He was sat the jerking off while watching you both, but now he was joining in again.

He’s in front of you now, both men at either end of you “I know that pussy of yours is perfect doll, how about that mouth?” He grips your face with his huge hand as he talks to you. It’s like he knows your fucked out and can hardly speak by the fact hes speaking so gently to you. His other hand was jerking off his thick cock. He had already rid himself or his grey sweats.

You were on fire. You felt like you were feeling everything at one Shiu fucking you so good, your orgasm nearing once more, and seeing Toji in front of you right now had you squirming.

You couldnt even process words to speak in that moment so you just opened your mouth up pathetically.

Toji groaned at the sight of you welcoming mouth, slipping his leaking tip in eagerly, hissing at the feeling of your tongue sliding over his slit. He gripped your hair gently, guiding you down his cock further and further until he was hitting the back of your throat before letting you back up again, he knew he wouldn’t last as long as he hoped. Not with the way you sweet little moans were vibrating against his cock. He was painfully hard from eating you out already.

You couldn’t quite believe your circumstances, sandwiched between the two men as they fucked both your holes. Shiu’s hands slapping at your ass now as he cursed to himself. Every thrust he gave you sending you further down Toji’s length. His considerable size leaving you gagging around him so sweetly. You moaned at the taste of his salty precum, drooling over his cock.

The men couldn’t believe it themselves to be honest. They had spoken about this moment many times, after all those nights spent staking out targets can lead to some interesting conversations. They were just shocked it was happening now. Not that either of them were complaining. Seeing you so vulnerable in front of them, god it was a dream come true.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t imagined this before, on lonely nights. Nights where the men were sleeping just down the hall from your bedroom door, when the beers you drank had gone to your head and thoughts filled your mind. First it was just innocent imagining, I mean they basically lived with you, but then it turned heated. Your fingers getting you off to the thought of them having their way with you.

You could feel your impending orgasm, squeezing around Shiu’s length. Your legs shaking pathetically as his movements, if toji wasn’t basically holding you up by your hair you were sure you’d be crying into he cushions on your couch.

“Shit you close already sweetheart?” Shiu chuckles, but you can hear the strained pleasure in his cocky voice. He was close as well.

You moan on Toji’s cock as Shiu’s pace increases to an impossible speed. Your moan turning into a pathetic cry. Hot tears streaming down your flushed face, drool trailing down your chin.

“Shhhh, come on doll. let go for us.” Toji groans, he removed his cock from your mouth, giving a chance for you to catch your breath. You previously muffled noises now sinfulling ringing clearly in the room.

“So f-fucking good.” your body gleams as you writhe between the two men

“I know, I know sweetheart.” Toji speaks now, softer than before. The hand that was gripping your hair gentle caressing it instead, lulling you smoothly into your orgasm.

You cum over Shiu’s cock, juices gushing over the moan who moans in awe above you. You were fucking shaking as waves racked over you. Your orgasm more intense than the first one. Shiu didnt stop, fucking you through it as his tip hit that sponges spot inside of you.

“Holy fuck..” He couldn’t stop himself either, that sight alone has him cumming deep inside you, hips not stopping until he’s sure hes fucked his seed deep in you belly. He pulls out, watching as you clench around nothing, Hi cum leaking out of your used hole. Before you can move, the men have switched. Toji’s positioning himself behind you and Shiu is in front, assuming Toji’s post of stroking your head.

Toji slowly pushes inside you, muttering to himself about needing to finsh in you. He’s already close from the head you’ve just given him, but he cant resist dumping his load in your sweet little cunt.

He doesn’t go easy on you, as soon as he’s fully in you, he starts a brutal pace. Hips snapping into yours. Both hands gripping your ass, giving it a few slaps before grabbing the skin once more. His eyes trained on the ring of white forming around the base of his cock, his eyes not leaving where he enters you. Like he’s entranced.

You’re whining from the overstimulation, Toji was slightly thicker than Shiu, and you could feel him stretching you. “Still so tight baby, youre fucking perfect.” he grunts out between thrusts.

All you can do is take it while Shiu coos at. you sweetly, muttering about how well your doing, how beautiful you look.

Toji didn’t last too long, soon finishing in you as well. A guttural groan leaving him as he empties his balls. He doesn’t still until he thighs are shaking, ensuring he’s all in you. Pulling out, just to finger the cum back inside of you. God he was filthy. You loved it.

For a moment you all just lay there, squashed on the sofa, strewn across the giant men while their cum leaked from you. When your breathing finally slowed and you stopped shaking, they carried you into your bathroom. You couldn’t stop the giggle and Toji sweeping you up bridal style and Shiu opened the door to your bathroom. Both of them cleaning you up oh so gently with a washcloth, kissing your head gently, before taking you to your bedroom.

For the first time (but certainly not the last) you big bed didn’t feel so lonely when they both joined you. Cuddling against them both as you had some of the best sleep of your life.

A/n: YALL IM BEGGING YOU LIKE A REPOST!!!! PLEASE!!! this is probably one of my favourite works yet and I really hope it gets the love it deserves, I slaved over this, it is my baby.

AND THANKS SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE ON MY RECENT FICS

MY REQUESTS FOR JJK/AOT ARE OPEN!!! I esp love writing small drabbles so please any cute ideas just let me know, it doesn’t have to be smut 💜

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

juno - spencer reid x afab!reader

reader finds out how good spencer is with kids and can't keep the thoughts from pouring in

requested!

genre: fluff, smut wc: 2179 warnings: established relationship, daydreamer!reader, talk of pregnancy, p in v, unprotected sex(duh), brief breeding kink, i love yous, reader has hair?

my first time ever writing smut!!! keep your pitchforks to yourself please!!!

You've known for a long while of your boyfriend's affinity for the young souls out there. Perhaps he was one of them. Perhaps he was just an overgrown one of them. It was something spoken about early on, his love for kids. He mentioned that he's the godfather of his coworker's little boy and how he's always wanted one of his own. A boy or girl, it doesn't matter. As long as he got to raise one with the fatherly love he never quite received.

That was all fine and well to know until you actually got to see Spencer with a child. Babysitting Henry was supposed to be a way of letting JJ and Will have some fun for once. It turned out to be much more confusing. He was sweet, gentle, and spoke in a soft tone that drove you oddly insane. When he started doing card tricks, you thought your heart would explode.

That's why right now you're sitting in the car completely silent. You've never been one to shut up so it's no surprise that he knows something is off. It's not your fault that you're suddenly lost in an alternate reality in which you're in a large house with a small baby. Maybe two. It's not like you wanted to get started right away. Nonetheless, something about the idea was appealing.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asks softly, eyes narrowed.

Technically, yes, you're fine. Too many thoughts but fine.

"Yeah, of course," you hum. "You were really good with Henry today."

A bright smile breaks out on his lips as he lets out a breath that's just barely a laugh. "You think?" his brows furrow, glancing over at you almost nervously.

You nod, shoulders loosening. "I do." While fiddling with your necklace, you add, possibly with too much meaning, "you'll be a really good dad."

His face turns red and he focuses on the road. Before long, the thoughts swarming in that head of his refuse to stay inside and he speaks gently, "is that what you're thinking about?"

A topic you've talked about—your tendency to daydream. It's not a thing you've kept hidden. In fact, it's your favourite pastime. However, it's a little awkward to tell your boyfriend that you're imagining him getting you pregnant.

But you were never a good liar.

"Yeah," you admit, fingers still at the pendant on your chest, eyes watching the passing scenery and streetlights.

"And?"

To that, you're not sure there's any response that doesn't seem insane.

"And what?" you ask cautiously.

After a quick glance in your direction as if he's testing the waters, he clarifies, "are you opposed?"

"To what?"

"Kids."

Oh. Well, no, not in the least. The idea of raising a family with Spencer is thrilling and you believe it's something you do want. You've always liked kids and kids have always liked you but the thought of seriously settling down has never truly crossed your mind. Until now, you suppose.

You shake your head, eyes lingering on his jawline. "No. You know that," you mutter softly.

"I do... but we've never talked about it. Just because you like children doesn't mean you necessarily want them," Spencer says like it's the most simple thing.

"True." The singular word is almost impossible to hear. You add gently, "but, I do."

He nods, turning his head to look at you in a way slightly different than all the other times. You can't quite place it, though. What you do know is that it definitely caused some major butterflies in your stomach. Then again, that happens a lot. But when his right hand moves from the steering wheel to your thigh, you're sure that look meant something. Something good, you think.

You're even more sure when, the moment you get to his apartment, he kisses you deep, lips parting to make way for his tongue. It's not rough at all. Loving, mostly. Like he's ensuring that you know you're cared for. You smile wide, unable to stop the giggle from leaving. Pulling back with an equally lovesick smile, he laughs, "what?"

Hardly a second later, you place another peck to his still grinning lips before answering with a bright, "what's going on?"

His eyebrows raise. "Nothing... I don't know what you mean," he says in easily a whole octave higher than usual. Your eyes narrow as you search his eyes.

You beg dramatically, "tell me."

He sighs then runs his fingers through his hair, unsure if he wants to bring it up. "About what you said... in the car... you meant it?"

"What I said...? About kids?"

Spencer nods. "Yes."

"I meant it, yes." It's spoken hesitantly. You're not positive where this conversation is heading.

"I just... like the thought," he shrugs, leaving you to walk towards the bedroom.

Really confused and a little intrigued, you follow, watching him start to unbutton his cardigan. "The thought?" you hum, crossing your arms in an attempt at nonchalance.

"Of you... pregnant," he mumbles like he doesn't want you to hear, letting the piece of clothing fall to the ground before picking it up to put it in his laundry bin.

He didn't need to say it like that. He could've said the thought of starting a family, of having a child. You're not a profiler but the way he decided to word the sentence makes you think something bigger has been revealed. Freudian slip or intentional, he's not telling you everything that's on his mind.

"Pregnant. Really?" You picture it and, perhaps it's because you'll be the one carrying it, but all you seem to be able to picture is chubby ankles, morning sickness, and mood swings.

Simply, Spencer nods, eyes finally meeting yours. You smile up at him sweetly as his hands come to cup your face. "There's just—I don't know... something appealing about it. About being the one to..."

Now, you get it.

"Oh. Like—oh! So, that's what...?" you babble purely out of shock.

Who knew Spencer Reid had the fantasy of impregnating you floating around in his brain?

His hands drop to your shoulders, squeezing gently. "Does that make you uncomfortable? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—just forget—"

To his surprise, you cut off the soon-to-be-ramble with your lips on his. It takes a second for him to understand what's happening but he does, mouth moving against yours eagerly, his hands sliding up to your face. While smiling, you drag your hand down his neck and to his tie, tugging it loose. Once he clues in to where you want this to go, his fingers slip under your shirt, gripping your waist firmly. The tie comes off, dropping to the floor and, soon enough, your shirt's gone, too.

He takes a few steps to the bed before lowering you onto it carefully. As if handling glass, he glides his hand down your stomach, to the button of your jeans.

"Can these come off?" he pants against your lips.

Nodding desperately, you whisper, "yeah."

With a nod back, Spencer unbuttons the jeans and pulls them down your legs. His palms slide up your thighs as he presses another kiss to your mouth. "Go lay down?" he suggests softly.

You comply immediately, moving up on the bed and laying your head on the pillows to watch him undo his shirt one button at a time. Next, his belt comes off. And then his pants. When he's left in only boxers, he positions himself above you before kissing down your neck. Your back arches and he uses the opportunity to move his fingers to the clasp of your bra.

You aren't at all unfamiliar with his skill but, every time, it continues to catch you off guard how, in a few minutes, you're at his mercy, willing to do anything he asks of you. Then again, when are you not?

He tosses the bra aside to join the rest of the discarded clothes on his bedroom floor. His attention is, of course, then drawn to your chest, one of his hands grabbing at you while the other suddenly starts small circles over your underwear.

"Spencer, I don't need that," you mutter breathily. You don't really want his hand at the moment.

His head lifts from your neck, placing a sweet kiss to your cheek. Spencer asks quietly, "are you sure?"

There isn't much you're capable of doing at the moment so you nod. He takes the answer and hooks both index fingers into the waistband of your panties. His eyes fall directly to the newly revealed area the same way they always do, adoration spilling out of him at the sight of the collecting wetness. A small smile on your face, your hands drift down to take off his boxers.

With the last barriers removed, your lips connect again and his hand moves to line himself up with you. The kiss breaks when he looks down to watch himself push into you, a whimper leaving you and a shaky breath leaving him. He quickly bottoms out and you whine.

Softly, he murmurs, "you okay?"

"Yeah, just," you laugh, "...full."

Spencer breathily chuckles with you, nodding like he's trying to get himself together. "Right."

After a deep breath, his hips start slowly, letting both of you adjust to the feeling of each other again. No matter how many times you do this, you still always need a minute to get used to him. Your breaths come out in gentle pants and occasional whimpers until he speeds up and you can't contain yourself. Desperate moans of pleasure spill from your lips as he moves.

"Doing so good—feels so good," he mumbles, eyes now screwed shut.

"Really, really good," you nod eagerly, voice soft. Your hands paw at his back in search of anything to hold on to.

The sensation is almost too much you think you might burst. Although, when he starts to whimper, that's when you really lose it. The way he sounds and the way his face scrunches up, it's intoxicating. You need more of it.

You cry with want, "harder... please."

Like always, he attempts to give you everything you need and desire. He nods, hips quickening and lewd sounds coming from your bodies. A small gasp leaves you. Your legs wrap around his waist, allowing him to hit your deepest point. It's a feeling you'll never quite get used to. The moment he reaches that spot, it's never long after that it's over.

Letting out a gasp, you clench around him, causing his movements to falter and become more frantic. A breath quickly leaves him before he's asking, "inside, right?"

You whine, "mhm," dangerously close to slipping off that ledge. Your mind brings you to images of you pregnant, his baby growing inside you. This time not so scary. You imagine this moment in a very different time, when his release will signal a new start and not just an end.

His mouth finds your shoulder, pressing careful kisses to the skin. The hand not holding his body weight finds the sensitive point between your legs, eliciting a loud moan from you. Desperately, you cling to him, arms wrapping around him for any more contact. That familiar feeling builds deep in your gut and you whine, finding your eyes rolling back.

It happens quickly, the finish line getting closer and closer until it's gone and you're in another universe of pleasure. Your hips try to escape but Spencer doesn't let that happen. His hand moves from your center to your hip, holding you down with little force. The fog clears just in time to watch him reach that very same ecstasy. Lips parted against your shoulder, he whimpers, movements becoming even sloppier until they slow.

The odd warmth spills from you. His breaths come heavy as he relaxes against you and pats your head—an interesting choice of affection after sex but somehow suitable. When he pulls out, you sigh shakily, watching him go to the bathroom. Before long, he's back with a damp cloth. He opens your legs again, running the fabric over you with a tenderness you couldn't possibly describe.

He joins you after discarding the cloth. An elbow holds him up so he can look at you, looking so perfect, lips swelled and hair splayed delicately over the plush pillows. He's staring. Mind wandering, he pictures a world in which you're rounder and perhaps with a ring on your finger. You're deep into pregnancy, probably grumpy with him but he doesn't care because you're his. Only his, forever.

Again, not today, not now, but someday. When the funds are appropriate and you know it's the right choice. Not that he ever doubted.

Just above a whisper, he says, "so... that doesn't mean I want—"

"I know. I'm glad," you grin, still quite dazed but completely content.

A kiss is pressed to your forehead and he sighs. "I love you."

"I love you," you mutter back.

As previously stated, Spencer Reid is a man that's good with kids. You presume he's even better with you, though.

[evilmenenjoyer]

City of Love

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!Reader

Summary: Months after winning the Squid Games, you receive an unwanted visit from the man who's been haunting you since the very beginning.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), drinking, sex in a public place, some murderous thoughts. Don't be fooled by the title, it's very much not a fluffy romantic fic lol.

*

The City of Love.

At least, that's what everyone calls it. It felt like the place to be after all the horrors you had endured in the past year – horrors you don't dare to say a word about to another soul. Friends and acquaintances have told you about how great it is, how beautiful, how magical. About how just a few days here will heal any woes in your heart.

Of course, it didn't work. Now you're just depressed in Paris.

It's not all bad. The Eiffel tower looks just as pretty as it does in pictures, especially late at night when it lights up and sparkles. The historic architecture and cobblestone streets are a nice break from the modern buildings you're used to from Seoul, so different it almost erases the memories sometimes. Never for too long. Just when you think you're slipping back into something resembling normalcy, they return in your nightmares in the shape of blood, pink jumpsuits and children’s games.

This afternoon, it takes the shape of a ghost – a tall, handsome man, whose face you’ve only ever seen in dreams and in the subway lines of Seoul.

All color drains from your face in a matter of seconds, all that pink winter flush.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He smiles, like you're an old friend. It nearly throws you off your balance by how natural it looks, like he's not forcing it.

“Beautiful city, isn't it? Especially at this time of the year.”

This can't be happening. The whole reason you left South Korea was to put distance between yourself and those horrific games, and all the people associated with them. To just run into one right here, in a different continent, mere months after your victory; it makes you feel like you're about to pass out.

You stand up from your seat and walk right out of the patisserie, leaving your ridiculously overpriced hot chocolate nearly untouched on the table.

You knew, somehow, that he would follow you, but you still prayed he wouldn’t. That it had been your imagination, or the PTSD, or anything other than the Salesman himself crossing paths with you in Paris.

“I expected a warmer welcome,” a voice behind you says, making you pause your stroll down the street. Fortunately – or maybe unfortunately – you still haven’t completely lost track of what's real and what's not, and you can tell that voice is real, clear as day. He’s real and here and that terrifies you to your very core.

Turning around to face him, you hate how he still looks every bit as infuriatingly handsome as he did the first time you saw him.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, your voice shaky and not nearly as incisive ad you’d like it to be.

“Visiting,” he replies. He turns to gaze at the scenery around you. In your hurry to get away from him, you didn't even realize you ended up at the Pont Neuf, the old bridge crossing the Seine River. Dusk settles around the two of you, the purple-ish color of the sky reflected on the river, almost too pretty for this situation. “Like I said, France is quite nice during the winter.”

You scoff. “You expect me to believe it's just a big coincidence that you and I ended up in the same place, five thousand miles away from home, at the same time?”

“Small world, isn't it?”

“I’m serious. I did everything you people wanted. I beat the games, I took the money and I kept my mouth shut. You were supposed to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Did what we wanted?” Something in his smile changes, shifts from warmth to something more sinister. “We never forced you to do anything. Remember that. You brought whatever happened on yourself.”

Cold air rushes over you, drawing a shiver out of you. It's not snowing yet, but it start might soon. It's hard to remember you were once excited for it.

He reaches out, ignoring the warnings in your eyes as he runs a finger over the smooth fabric of your scarf, then wraps it around your neck one more time. It’s almost a tender gesture, if he was someone else entirely. It should have you flinching, or slapping his hand away. Instead, it only makes you freeze in your spot.

“Yves Saint Laurent,” he notes. “I see you’ve been making good use of that money.”

It doesn't sound accusatory, but it feels like it anyway. Even after months, it still feels wrong to use the money, despite all the literal blood, sweat and tears it took to get it. Like you should be gathering it all in a pile and setting fire to it in protest. But what would that change? Why shouldn't you be allowed to use it to build a new life for yourself?

So you stayed in five star hotels. So you bought a few more pairs of Louboutin shoes than necessary. Therapy was out of the question, so this was the next best thing you could come up with for the time being. Best-case scenario, a therapist would think you're a nutcase. Worst case, they’d turn you in to the authorities for confessing to multiple murders you had committed at the Squid Games. You didn’t want to take the risk.

“I thought that was the idea,” you say. The Salesman’s hands are still on the fabric, merely touching it, but that doesn't stop your mind from picturing him gripping it, pulling on it until you suffocate in the garment you bought as some empty, mediocre sign of victory.

“It suits you.” He lets his hands fall with no damage to your throat or to your respiratory system. “Much better than those knock-offs you used to wear.”

It disturbs you that he even remembers that. As far as you know, you were only one of the hundreds of people who had played ddakji with him at the subway station. You remembered every second of it, replayed it in your mind over and over again, but there was nothing particularly memorable about you back then. You lost most rounds. You hoped against hope that he would ask you out, even after your cheek was red and stinging.

That was a different version of you. One that smiled more, even with all the hardships in your life. One that was too naive to realize she was selling her soul to the devil from that very first game of ddakji.

“Since the city brought us together,” the Salesman says, “I’d like to buy you a drink.”

It would be impossible to keep the surprise from your face if you’d tried. Those are words you would've loved to hear all those months ago, and now that he says them, you can barely draw enough air into your lungs to tell him to fuck off.

“Why? So you can kill me the second we’re off the street?”

He chuckles, like he finds your confusion amusing. “Why would I do that?”

“Isn't that why you're here?” Why else would it be, after all? Maybe it's part of their sick games; to give one person the illusion of victory, let them enjoy the money for a few months, then go after them and kill them. Or worse, pull them back in.

“If I wanted to kill you, I could do it anywhere.”

You suppose there's no arguing with that, but you're not sure if it makes you feel better. Good news: you're still breathing. Bad news: you're still breathing only until he allows you to.

“You still didn't tell me why you came after me, then,” you point out.

“Let's have a drink, and I’ll tell you.”

You must be insane for even considering this. The naive girl that had first seen him in the subway, coming home late at night from work, would be enthusiastically urging you to go. You’re supposed to know better than her.

“One drink,” you say. “Then you go home and never contact me again.”

His smile widens. “I know a nice place.”

*

He brings you to a piano bar just a few blocks away from the bridge. It's a fancy place, the kind that makes you feel underdressed even in your designer clothes. He blends right in – not only because of the sleek, tailored suit, but because of his demeanor, the natural elegance with which he carries himself.

Not for the first time, you wonder if he was born into wealth, or if he was ever like you. Someone who had to claw his way out of poverty. You can't picture it, but there's so much you don't know about him. It's what makes him so scary and confusing to you, but also so damn intriguing.

He orders for you before you have the chance to open your mouth. Dom Pérignon, two glasses. You raise your eyebrows once the waiter walks away.

“Are we celebrating something?”

“Your victory.”

The response makes your stomach drop. “I don't want to celebrate that.” Not with anyone, but especially not with him.

He gives a small shrug. “Just a special occasion, then.”

The dimmed, warm lights of the bar make the place feel so intimate, almost romantic in a sense. You don't know what to make of it, so you force yourself to look away from him, even when you can still feel his stare unflinching on you. Luckily, the waiter shows up just in time, pouring you both glasses of the bubbly drink and leaving the bottle in a bucket on the table.

You turn back to the Salesman, glaring at him. “I said one drink, not one bottle.”

“You never specified,” he replies, fake innocence in his eyes. “Gives us more time to catch up. Maybe even play a game, for old time’s sake.”

The mere mention of a game makes you want to run away, to lock yourself in the restroom and refuse to come out. It has to be intentional; he has to know what kinds of things would be running through your head, after everything you’d gone through. You take a long gulp of the champagne, nearly done with the entire glass in one go. You can't let him get to you like this. You do your best to look unbothered.

“Do you walk around with ddakji tiles everywhere?” you ask. “Just in case you find someone who wants to play?”

That earns a soft laugh out of him. “No, not ddakji.”

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out what looks like a standard deck of cards.

“Have you ever played blackjack?”

You have, but hesitation is written all over your features. “What if I don't want to play?”

“Do you think I’d force you?” he asks, like you're a fool for even thinking so. “Like I said, you were never forced to do anything. It's your choice.” He sips his own champagne in a much classier, more contained way than you. Like he's happy to draw this out for hours, rather than wanting this night to be over as soon as possible. “But you’ve beaten much harder games before. This should be nothing for our big victor, right?”

There's a challenge in his voice, in his eyes. You should know better than to fall for it. So why is there a part of you that still feels like you have a point to prove? That feels like, with a little bit of luck and skill, you can finally beat this man at his own game?

“Fine.” You cross your arms over the table. “Let’s do this.”

Pleased with your answer, he shuffles the cards in his hands. You watch him, almost as mesmerized as you’d been watching him play ddakji at the subway station. It's so hard not to get lost in it, but you refuse to look away in shyness and hesitation again, keeping your eyes on him as you sip the rest of the champagne in your glass.

He refills it before placing four cards on the table: two facing upwards for you, one face-down and one face-up for himself, the dealer.

The rules are simple: your cards all together need to get as close to 21 without going over. Whichever one of you gets the closest wins the round. You have a nine and a four, totaling thirteen. The Salesman has a five, and a card that's invisible for you. 

“Hit me,” you say, figuring your odds can't be too bad.

He places one more card to your pile: a seven. Twenty in total. Your heart speeds up inside your chest, already triumphant even before the end.

He reveals all his cards to you: the five you’ve already seen, a nine, and a three. Seventeen. Your smile widens, relief washing over you like you’d just escaped a near-death experience. You don't think beating a game, no matter the kind, will ever not feel like this again.

“Not bad,” he compliments. He reaches into another pocket for his wallet, drawing a hundred euro note and pushing it towards you on the table.

You just stare at it with an eyebrow raised, baffled and, frankly, a bit offended. With the tip of your index finger, you push the bill back to him.

“Do you really think I still need your money?”

“It's just symbolic,” he argues, but still tucks the money back into his wallet. “Of course, we can bet on other things too, if you’d prefer.”

“What kind of things?”

“Whatever you want. You won.”

“Whatever I want?” A grin stretches across your lips as you lean forward on the table. “Like a dare?”

He leans forward as well, like he wants to meet you in the middle. His eyes never leave yours. “Like a dare.”

You wonder just how far he’d take this game, if he would do something outrageous or serious just because you told him to. Maybe not. But even this is the kind of power that you never, ever imagined you would have over this man.

“Okay. Let me see your wallet.”

He hands it over without a fight. You rummage through all of it, ignoring all the cash and instead looking for something else, anything personal. But there's nothing. No family photos, no old receipts, not even a condom tucked inside one of the pockets. At last you find his ID license, the name Park Ha-Joon listed beside a smiling picture of him that looks so normal you almost want to laugh.

“It's not your real name, is it?”

He smiles. “Smart girl.”

“It was worth a shot.” You close the wallet and hand it back to him.

He shuffles the cards, hands them over again. Seven and six. You tap the cards in a sign for him to hit you with one more.

“Do you really want to know why I came to see you?”

Your eyes snap in his direction, not even looking at the new card that’s placed in front of you. 

“I thought you’d be one of the first to die in a place like that.” He looks focused on the game as he talks, “When I found out you were the winner, I wanted to see it for myself.”

Your throat tightens, making it hard to draw in my next breath. You look around yourself, as if trying to make sure you're really here and not at that disturbing colorful scenario, or at the bunk beds in the dorm. Still the piano bar. Warm lights, soft chatter of conversation, piano notes ringing through the air. The mental image of that place still doesn't vanish from your mind.

“See what, exactly?” you ask, even though you know it would be better not to.  

“If you truly earned it, or if you’re just one more piece of trash who got lucky, like all the others before you.”

Your hand must twitch, an involuntary movement you're not even aware of, and the Salesman places another card to your pile. You look down at it in horror, realizing all the cards together total to twenty-three.

“I didn't say hit me,” you protest.

“You tapped. You know that's the sign.” He looks over the cards again, as if just noticing the source of your distress instead of directly causing it. “Too bad.”

It's not fair, and you both know it, but you doubt pointing it out will make a difference. You bite your tongue around any words as well as the lump that's formed in your throat, tears trying to rush to the surface. Your gaze meets his and holds it.

“Are you going to slap me?”

He’s still for a moment, considering it. It's one thing to hit you in the face in a mostly-empty subway station late at night, and another entirely to do it in this sophisticated bar, with all these people around as witnesses. Still, you don't doubt that he would do it. You hold yourself back from flinching when his hand comes out, bracing yourself for the impact.

It never comes. Instead, his hands merely cup your cheeks, tilting your face to face him fully. He looks at you like he's studying you, his expression unreadable.

“Not now. I want something else,” he says. “A round of shots.”

His grip on your face is firm, but he runs the pad of his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone, like wiping away a teardrop that never fell. A gesture that can only be described as affectionate, and it's messing with your head way more than the slaps on the face did.

You nod.

He holds on for just a second too long before he lets you go. He orders the shots to the waiter – you pay no attention to the brand, or even the type of booze –, and you don't say another word until after they're placed in front of you on the table, small glasses so clean they gleam under the light.

“I crawled my way out of that hell,” you tell him. “You have no idea what I had to do to survive. You don't get to sit here and tell me I didn't fucking earn it.”

He looks more amused than anything. “To kill for necessity, anyone can do. It doesn't make you as special as you think it does.” He nods towards the shot on the table, reaching for his own. “Drink.”

You count one, two, three in your head before throwing the shot back, unable to suppress a grimace when the drink comes down your throat like liquid fire.

“Why do you wanna get me drunk so bad?”

He empties his shot glass as well. “Drinking together ensures none of us has an advantage.” He picks up the deck of cards again, before you ever have the chance to tell him you’ve had enough of this game. The words die down in your throat.

One more round. Your cards add up to seventeen.

It’s too risky to ask for one more card; anything higher than four would mean an instant loss. Only then you notice the sweat under your palms, the rush in your ears overpowering the piano music in the background. You force yourself to take a deep breath, to remember that your life is not on the line anymore and losing doesn't mean certain death, even though it feels like it.

He reveals his cards. Eighteen.

“Fuck.”

He seems pleased with himself, accessing you as you brace yourself for whatever he has in mind for you now.

“Come a little closer,” he orders.

You frown, but you find yourself obeying without much questioning, getting up from your chair to slide to the seat next to him on the booth.

He pours you both more Dom Pérignon, and this time he doesn't have to tell you to drink. You focus on the way the bubbles dance inside your mouth, if only to have something to distract yourself from his proximity, from the faint smell of his cologne or from the fact he still hasn't told you what he wants from you for losing this round

His hand lands on your thigh.

You jump in surprise, and his hand tightens its grip there, digging into your skin and keeping you in your seat. Your eyes widen and search for his, a question clear in them.

With his free hand, the Salesman pushes the cards in your direction. “You’ll be the dealer now,” he says, “and for each time you lose, I get to keep my hands on you for one more round.”

Say no, you tell yourself. Say something. A better, stronger woman would throw the champagne in the glass on his face and walk right out of this bar. Instead, you find yourself still as a statue, a sudden rush of warmth overflowing your senses – first, it rises to your face, coloring your cheeks red, then it travels lower to the pit of your stomach and down right into the space between your legs.

You can’t even tell if it’s the alcohol, spreading through your bloodstream and bringing a buzzing sensation to your head that’s not all unpleasant, or the fact you haven’t been touched like this in what feels like forever, or simply the man sitting next to you. How many times had you fantasized about this, until you realized that he was the catalyst of your ruin?

Maybe even a few times after that.

You take the deck of cards. He grins like he knew you would, like a master pleased with a dog following his command. You want to wipe that look off his face, but you can barely concentrate enough to properly shuffle the cards.

If you felt like you were fighting for your life before, it’s nothing compared to right now. The hand doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as twitch until the very final moments of the round, when you realize the two of you are tied. A fingertip slides up the fabric of your stockings until it stops at your knee, your skin erupting in goosebumps following the movement. Your heart beats so hard inside your chest you can barely hear the chatter of people around you as the bar fills in with people.

You lose the next round, and the next, and the one after that. You can’t even tell if you’re doing it on purpose anymore.

With each passing minute that you don’t push him away, that you allow him to test and cross your boundaries, he gets more daring, drawing shapes in the perimeter of your leg and curling into your inner thigh. Your chest rises with a breath that comes tumbling out, the sound of it way too close to a whimper for your liking.

You can tell he notices it instantly, observant and apparently fluent in your body language like he’s spent years of his life studying it. He takes the opportunity to let his hand wander under your skirt, to the spots it hadn’t covered yet.

That’s enough. You need to win this next round.

It’s like, for once, God listens to your prayers. Your cards add up to an even, perfect twenty-one to his nineteen.

He retrieves his hand as if on cue. You thought you would be gasping in relief, but what comes out instead is a pitiful, almost desperate don’t.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t as in stop?” he asks. “Or as in don’t stop?”

Your body answers the question for him before your mind can even process what happened, grabbing his hand and pulling it to the spot where it was. Your skin comes ablaze the second he touches you again, like his touch is charged with electricity.

“Did you know,” you can feel his breath so close to you when he speaks, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “that you were the first person who ever challenged me to play ddakji at the subway? Usually it’s the other way around. Nobody but you ever made the first move.”

It’s hard to concentrate on his words like this, with his body leaning into yours and his hand that still touches you under the table and– whoa, that is not your thigh. The solid press against your core makes your whole body twitch, but you don’t jerk away. You try to focus on the memory.

“I didn’t give a fuck about the game,” you reveal. “I just wanted you to notice me.”

“I know.” He draws small, precise circles over you. “Do you ever think about how I would’ve left you alone otherwise?”

Of course you do, more than you would ever admit. But having him confirm it hurts. It’s bad enough to know you’re the one who caused all the trauma you’ve been through since meeting him, that you could’ve just carried on with your life, shitty as it as, if only you weren’t a foolish girl with a crush on a stranger. But to be in his arms right now, your head falling over his shoulder and your lips releasing a tiny whimper; it just makes it all the more fucked up.

“Was it worth it?”

The smile on your lips is devoid of any humor. “Never.”

“Let me prove to you that it was.”

Just like that, everything stops. He scoots away from you in the booth and stands up, bringing all the heat with him aside from the faint lingering warmth on your face. He leaves a few bills over the table, enough for the entire tab, and walks away.

He doesn’t head towards the front door, instead making his way to the opposite direction. You watch him, confused, for a few moments before you trail after him, past the kitchen and the restrooms until you see the red glow of an exit sign.

A chilly breeze rushes over you the second you step outside, and you expect to see him walking into the dark narrow street. But he’s waiting for you, leaning against the brick wall behind him. He raises his eyebrows in that same condescending way he’s done all night, daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate for even a second longer. You grab a fistful of his impeccable suit jacket and pull him closer, crashing your lips together.

From the start, it’s not sweet or gentle. He digs his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise, wasting no time before he lifts you up into the air and pins you against the wall. You gasp into his mouth, parting your lips and practically begging his tongue inside. Your legs part almost in unison, allowing him to settle between them and effectively trap you, his larger frame blocking any exit.

As if you would dream to get away.

In one swift movement, he reaches between your legs and rips at the fabric of your stockings, the sound echoing through the empty street. You’re already making quick work of his belt; or trying to, frustrated by your lack of mobility from his position. He doesn’t seem willing to let you go, so he does it himself instead, pulling his pants down just enough to free himself from the confines of his underwear.

You’ve soaked through your panties in whatever time it took to play all those rounds of blackjack. It felt like it was drawn-out for hours, but you know it couldn’t have been more than just a few minutes. He moans when he feels it, before he even pushes into you – a heavenly, otherworldly sound, one you want to hear again and again. You push your hips towards him, feeling yourself throb when he rubs his length over you, burning hot where skin meets even though everything around you is cold. He rewards you with another sound that you drink right in as you deepen the kiss, happy to never have your lips separate from each other ever again.

He pushes the fabric of your panties to the side and thrusts into you without a warning, drawing a strangled, sharp gasp from you. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the invasion, setting up a punishing pace that pushes you against the wall hard with every thrust. You claw at his back, losing the ability to form coherent thoughts, helpless to stop it as he all but consumes you like this is his last chance to.

“Ah– fuck,” you have to break away from his lips to attempt to draw in some air, your breaths and sounds interrupted by the rhythmic, vicious snaps of his hips into yours. He takes the opportunity to tilt his head and follow the line of your jaw with his lips, to mouth kisses and graze his teeth over your throat.

Hands find their way under pieces of clothing, trying to cling to as much bare skin as they can. He does most of the work, still holding you up in the air with the help of the wall (you curl your toes just to test the waters, the ones on the foot closest to the ground, and they barely touch the pavement), bouncing you on his cock however he sees fit, and it’s embarrassing how close you are already just from this.

“Fuck, baby, that’s so good.”

It’s intoxicating how vocal he is, all the grunts and moans he breathes into your neck, how it rips more sounds out of you than you would usually make. The street is completely silent save for the two of you, not another soul in sight. You could kill him right here and he would never see it coming. Gut him with the knife tucked away in your purse, leave him on the pavement gasping for his last breath. Who would catch you? You have enough money to run to yet another country, to give yourself a new identity and reinvent yourself as many times as you want.

The purse is on the floor where you’d carelessly let it fall, out of reach. Still you run your hands down over his bottom, feeling for any guns or weapons he may have tucked into the back of his waistband, or hidden in his pockets. There’s nothing, but you don’t have a lot of time to be disappointed about it before you’re coming with a high-pitched, broken shout, like your orgasm has taken you by surprise. He holds you up, squeezing you against the wall for support, the only thing stopping you from falling straight to the floor.

The Salesman follows right after, a stream of goods and fucks and your name falling from his lips as he spills deep into you. You wish you had it in you to be offended, to tell him off for it. But all you can think about is how much you wish you knew his name so you could shout it, gasp it, whisper it, for as long as he keeps holding you this tight.

[souljahwwitch]

TATTOO ⊹₊⟡⋆

⊹₊⟡⋆ tattoo artist! thanos x angelic reader (because you all are angelic <3)

⊹₊⟡⋆ you’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo for a while—on your lower back specifically, it looked so alluring, and your whole instagram and brand had the angel vibe to it, so why not

⊹₊⟡⋆ you spent days looking for pictures on what to do, and you found it—great, now you just need to find a tattoo artist, it’s easy with your best friend being almost wholly tattoed, so she sent you thanos’s profile, telling you to book an appointment

@angely/n

hiya! my friend sent me your profile so i was wondering if i can book an appointment :)?

@thanosss

sure thing, just give me your number so i can message you about the appointment since this week is fully booked.

⊹₊⟡⋆ you gave him your number and soon enough he sent you messages about the appointment, next week thursday 6pm, great.

⊹₊⟡⋆ the day came and you couldn’t help but be nervous, he was pretty chill through texts—even sending you memes randomly, but you couldn’t help but sit quietly as you watched him finish up his other client before you.

“okayyy—all done, angel, you ready?” you heard him say, you just gave him a nod, trying to play cool

he chuckled at your demeanor “this is your first time getting a tattoo, right? lemme see what you want again-“

you give him your phone, showing him the cute tramp stamp, he looks at it with a smirk

“gonna be real pretty, just like you, yeah?” he mumbled and out embarrassment you just squeaked out suddenly

“yeah! yeaah-totally..mhm.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ he got you situated so you can be comfortable, he had a cigarette in his mouth—but he could aee that you’re nervous, you were practically shaking, eyes shut and he didn’t even start.

“angel if you wanna do this you gotta relax f’me” he mumbled

“is it gonna hurt?” you asked, he almost wanted to coo—you were so pretty.

“a bit, but look see my shoulder, everytime it hurts you squeeze it and i stop, no questions asked.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ he was staying true to his word, making sure you were comfortable and that it didn’t hurt too much, the more he looked at you the more infatuated he was and he could see it in your eyes too.

⊹₊⟡⋆ when you finally got done, you gave him the money, looking up prettily with that smile of yours, he melted on the spot.

“soo, whatcha think about italian food sweetheart?” he asked—and you knew where it was going, but you didn’t mind at all, you wanted to see where this could go with him

[hvnlygrl]

hello! may u please take my request? :) ♡

rafe cameron and reader are at a party and she starts acting bratty and telling him to go away and shoving him off and then he leans down and whispers in her ear to tell her to meet him in the bathroom for a spanking as punishment but she tells him no and that they should just do jt at home and then he smirks and leans down again saying that if they do it at home he'll make it 10x rougher, then he leaves, giving reader no choice as he watches her from afar with a smirk as she nervously chips on her nail and bouncing her leg. also can u write the smut punishment (edging)

brat.

pairing — rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count — 2.4k

warnings — smut minors dni — raw sex (wrap it up y’all), rafe edges the fuck out of reader, crying due to edging, p in v, oral (f rec), creampie 🫣, uhhh, dirty talk, little bit of after care.

synopsis — at a party on figure 8, you begin testing rafe’s patience with your attitude. he’s not the type to let shit slide, and you’re in for a long night.

notes — HOT HOT HOT woah now i ate with this i think��� thanks for the request anon! sorry it took so long i hope this makes up for it tho 💌

the first time, rafe had to admit, it was cute. but by the third and fourth, he knew you were doing it on purpose. consistently teasing him by letting your ass glide against the thin fabric of his shorts as you passed in front of him, or the winks you shot his way over the rim of your cup. he wasn’t mad, per se, just frustrated.

rafe knew you were riling him up, and he knew that it was working. however, he wasn’t ready to leave, the two of you had only been at the party for a total of an hour.

rafe also knew that the more alcohol went into your system, the more you would tease him. and he was right, the longer it took for you to get your way with him, the more horny you felt and the more you pushed.

you finally found a moment where he was away from his friends, using that as your opportunity to whisper into his ear, “baby, when are we leaving?”

“not now,” he cuts a semi-menacing glare at you, “i’m not ready yet.”

you groan, making a face at him, “but babe!”

“no,” he affirms again, “not leaving now. you’re just gonna have to keep it in your pants for a little longer sweetheart.”

now you were frustrated, brows furrowed and eyes squinted at him. “seriously?”

“yeah,” he huffs back at you, “now stop teasing me.”

“or what? what are you gonna do about it?”

rafe looks at you like his next meal, “oh no, no, i’m not playing this game with you right now.”

“ugh, you’re no fun,” you roll your eyes.

you knew you were getting to him, but you also were fully aware that rafe would never let you be in control, especially not when you were acting like such a brat.

he leans down to give you a kiss, face hardening when you weave away from it at the last second, a mischievous grin plastered across your face. he takes a deep breath and tries again; this time grabbing your face as he does so. you wrench your chin from his grasp, dodging his kiss yet again.

“you being forreal right now?” he’s not hurt, that much is obvious, but you can see the mild anger building behind his gaze. “give me a kiss.”

“you can get a kiss when we leave,” you cross your arms childishly, turning your face away from him as you begin to walk away.

he grasps your bicep firmly, pulling you back and into his chest, “meet me in the bathroom.”

“nope, i’ll wait till we get home,” you raise a brow at him, almost as if you were challenging him.

“oh, baby, you won’t like it if you wait till we get home, it’ll be a hell of a lot worse.”

he grips your chin again, this time using his grasp to place a sweet kiss on your forehead before he leans down to the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin, lighting up each and every nerve in the area.

“meet me in the bathroom. now.”

you watch, wetness pooling in your panties as you watch him flash a grin over his shoulder while he makes his way up the stairs. you debate internally whether or not you should follow him, but you’ve dealt with rafe’s punishments before, and the last time was fairly recently, you weren’t sure if you could handle another severe one again just yet.

you quickly scurried up the stairs and down the hallway, eyes scanning back and forth until you find the bathroom.

you take a deep breath, ruffle your hair, and pull your hand from your mouth; a nervous tick you’d picked up as a child, constantly watching your dad mimic the same motion when he was nervous. you knew it was bad, that biting at your cuticles and nails was a big no-no at your age, especially being in a relationship with the king of the kooks. but you couldn’t help it, it was one of those seemingly unbreakable habits that was instilled in you at such an early age. and you figured there could be worse habits to have, so you didn’t do much to quit.

you let your knuckles rap against the hollow core door two sharp times, a signal to rafe to open the door, which he does almost immediately.

he beckons you in wordlessly, watching you squirm in place as you lean up against the bathroom counter. “hiya, rafey,” you huff out in a nervous laugh.

“hiya, baby,” he shoots a wolfish grin at you as he moves toward you, removing his rings and watch, setting the gold items inside of his hat atop the counter. “take your panties off and flip, angel.”

you follow the instructions, lip pinched between your teeth as you do so. you watch him in the mirror, his tight shirt making his muscles pop in the dim lighting. he looks down the neckline of your low-cut dress, his cock growing hard at the sight of your tits dangling against the soft fabric.

rafe drags his hands up the insides of your thighs as he uses his foot to spread them, a quiet gasp flying from your lips at the sudden movement.

“gotta stay quiet, baby, can you do that for me?”

you nod at him quickly, your pussy clenching and dripping just at the sound of his voice, much less everything else he was doing at the moment.

he flips the bottom of your dress up onto your back, leaving your mostly-bare ass out in the open for him to admire. rafe drags his hands across it slowly, fingers tracing the roundness of your cheeks. “you’re so pretty, sweetheart, every part of you is just fuckin’ gorgeous.”

you can’t help but blush at his words, dropping your head for a moment before picking it back up to watch him in the mirror.

“i hope you wore your good mascara tonight,” he laughs lowly, watching as you gulp at the implication.

rafe pulls your panties down and out from around your ankles, placing them along with his jewelry inside of his hat. he uses one hand to pull you a couple steps backward, your legs still spread as he angles you just how he wants you; pussy on full view for him to do whatever he wants.

he begins by slowly trailing his fingertips through your wetness, letting them glide through your folds and around your clit ever so lightly. the gentle sensation already has you breathing heavily, your hands clasped in front of you, gripping each other tightly.

rafe continues that motion for a few more moments before really focusing in on your clit, rubbing it in the way he knows you love the most. he builds up your climax, almost to the point of bursting, and then pulls away quickly, watching the realization flow over your face.

he was going to edge you to the point of tears, that was your punishment for acting like a brat all night, you finally understood, part of you kicking yourself with anticipated frustration while the other part of you felt nothing but excitement.

he flips you over, allowing you to sit atop the counter while he kneels between your open legs, your knees hooked over his shoulders. he starts by kissing long, slow kisses beginning at your knees and eventually trailing their way up to your sensitive area, his lips pressing up against everything except for where you want them the most. where you need them the most.

you were already horny before you even entered the bathroom, hence all the teasing and games you’d been playing all night, but now you were on a whole other level of horniness.

rafe waits until you're far past the point of squirming in your seat before giving your pussy a quick lick, letting his tongue swirl around your clit for a moment before pulling away, his eyes watching the look on your face fall back into a deep level of frustration.

“rafe,” you whine softly, brows furrowed desperately. “please, baby.”

“please, what? you get to tease me for over an hour and i don’t even get five minutes? that’s pathetic, baby.”

you groan at his words, knowing he’s nowhere near giving into your needs.

“you did this to yourself, just keep that in mind, angel.”

you huff softly, the sound caught in your throat when he latches back onto your sopping wet cunt, practically making out with it as you throw your head back in relief. he grips your thighs, letting the tips of his fingers dig into the flesh as he alternates between open mouthed kisses and intricate licks, waiting for the signs of an incoming climax.

you wonder if he’s going to let you cum, or if you can let one slip past him before he notices, but he knows your body better than you do, pulling away as soon as he knows you’re mere seconds away from hitting that point.

he repeats that process a few more times, bringing you to the brink of cumming four more times before standing between your legs, his lips coated in your juices as he grips the back of your hair, gripping it while he pulls you in for a kiss. “you taste yourself, baby? taste so fucking sweet, i just can’t get enough.” he’s almost breathless now, his eyes glossy with lust and his hair unkempt from your hands gripping and tugging on the golden strands.

he notices the tears that have welled up on your waterline, your chest heaving and your expression full of pure desperation.

rafe unzips and unbuttons his shorts, letting them fall around his ankles as he pulls you a little closer to the edge of the counter. he releases his cock from his boxers. he’s big, his dick full of veins and his tip leaking precum. he lets the tip glide through your folds gently, lets it swirl around your clit while he kisses you, his cock throbbing in his hand at the desperate sounds you breathe into his mouth.

your hips jolt forward when you feel his tip barely breach your hole, hoping that the movement would be enough to feel him inside of you, a whine falling from your lips when rafe pulls back, giving you a look. “you want me to keep going?”

a tear glides down your cheeks at his words, “no, no, please, rafey, i need it.”

“what? what do you need, baby?”

“i need you, i need you inside me,” you whimper, praying it's enough for him.

“what, like this?” he sticks two fingers inside of you, pumping them in and out quickly, curling them at the ends so his finger tips brush against your g-spot. your eyelids flutter at the feeling, a frown washing over your lips when he pulls them away. he sucks the juices off of his pointer finger before putting his other finger in your mouth. “speak up, sweetheart, tell me what you need.”

“i need to feel you, feel you fuck me,” you’re truly on the verge of real tears here, “please, rafe, please fuck me, i can’t take it anymore.”

he flashes that tell-tale grin at you, one hand gripping your hip roughly as the other guides his cock back into your hole, “whatever you want, baby.”

you gasp when he finally bottoms out inside of you, the tip of his dick brushing up against the deepest part inside of you. one hand grips the edge of the counter, the other one grasps the back of his neck as you pull him closer. the hand he used to guide himself into you moves to hold one of your legs up to his hip, the other gripping your ass tightly. he thrusts in and out harshly, breathing heavily as he feels you clench tightly around him.

“feels so fucking good inside this pussy, baby,” he groans softly into your ear, “this is my fucking pussy.”

“yea,” you moan quietly, “it's all yours baby, just for you.”

he continues thrusting, knowing that your climax will come crashing down at any moment after all the edging he put you through, and he can’t wait for it. he moves the hand that was gripping your ass to your clit, letting his fingers drag over the sensitive nub gently but quickly.

you grip the back of his neck even tighter, pulling him as close as possible. you can feel a scream building in the back of your throat at the upcoming climax, knowing that you can’t let it escape. so the only logical thing you can think of at that moment, your brain practically fried from the mixture of his endless edging from earlier and now amazingly good sex, is that the only way to keep quiet is to sink your teeth into his shoulder. he’s wearing a black shirt, so you know it won’t show, but even if it would you didn’t really have another backup plan.

rafe fucks you like a wild animal until you cum, his fingers still gliding over your clit as your body tenses, teeth digging into his shoulder. he throws his head back at the combination of your pussy practically swallowing him whole, clenching around him so tightly he’s sure his poor dick has suffocated inside of you, and the harsh feeling of your teeth. the cluster of feelings sends him spiralling into his own climax, hips stuttering as he fills you up, cum spurting deep into you.

the two of you rest for a moment, holding each other as you both breathe heavily. he plants a gentle kiss to your forehead before pulling out and grabbing a handful of toilet paper to wipe up the mixture of cum that begins leaking from your hole almost immediately. he gives you your panties back and pulls his own boxers and shorts back up, adjusting his appearance in the mirror next to you. “i love you, baby,” he whispers softly as he watches you go through similar motions, taking a different piece of toilet paper, wetting it as you wipe at your face, c;eaning up the places your mascara ran from the tears.

“i love you,” you smile at him, turning to plant a sweet kiss against his cheek, “that was fun.”

“yea, it was,” he laughs quietly, “you feel better now?”

“oh yea,” you nod, heart fluttering as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you in for a tight hug.

he holds you for a moment, hand rubbing your back softly before leaning back to look at you once more. “now, let’s get back to that party and get fucked up, what do you say?”

“i’m so down, babe,” you smile, fingers interlocked with his as he leads you out of the bathroom after checking to make sure the coast is clear in the hallway.

-> back to masterlist

taglist — @lanasb0ngwater @sarahsangelicdoll

[murderofravens]

DUSK TILL DAWN

pairing: hwang inho/young-il/frontman x fem reader.

warnings: age gap (reader is 20, inho is in his late 40s) slowburn. oral fixation. thigh riding. plot with porn. yearning. sexual tension. canon compliant. slight infantilization. no y/n used.

summary: he promised that you will make it out alive. he will make sure of it, no matter what it takes.

word count: 6.5k

please ignore any mistakes.

as you wipe the blood from your face, the reality of your situation sets in. you never thought you'd get used to the smell of blood— much less the sight of it. or the texture. and now you're covered in it. the white of your uniform splattered with crimson, the metallic smell of it almost overwhelming. in a situation like the one you're in, you can only laugh. the mere sight of blood used to make you feel faint; make you want to throw up because you're squeamish. now you're covered in it from head to toe.

it's not yours. it's of the people they shot dead during the second game.

you barely remember how you made it out alive. the second one was all thanks to your team— thanos and nam-gyu were the closest to your age, and teaming up with them worked in your favour. your age and gender was a liability to the others, but they were kind enough to take you in. or perhaps they were thinking with their dicks. would it really matter either way?

but with the way they act, you're not sure if you want to continue being in a team with them. especially since thanos keeps trying to woo you with his poor rapping skills. they're way too loud and reckless for you, and you're scared they might get you killed. they're not willing to give up the game anytime soon, either.

then there's the first game— you're alive, because of 456. that crazy man who supposedly had played the games before. if it wasn't for him pulling you behind his back, you would've left the premises in a cardboard box. especially because you fucking sneezed as soon as the doll turned back.

since then, you've decided you don't want to play this game anymore. 456 has been desperately trying to change the other's mind— but they're greedy and insistent. you pressed the cross for his sake, and for the others, and for yourself. hell, you can live in debt, but what use is that money if you die trying? you're not that much of a hard worker. you value your life above anything else.

you walk over to their team— 456, and his two loud team members. another man is sitting there— player 001. the one who ruined your chance of going home on the first vote. he seems ordinary, but you know of him because you saw him beat the shit out of thanos. that was another reason you decided to abandon that team— you could not be seen with a bully, or a loser. as you approach him, you give him a slight nod of acknowledgement, which he returns. you turn your attention to 456, and thank him profusely for what he did for you. he's kind, you'll give him that. you like kind people.

"if you don't mind me asking—" a voice interrupts, and you look over your shoulder. it's player 001. he looks at you curiously. "how old are you?"

"old enough." you retort cheekily. he doesn't look amused as he cocks his head to the side.

"i'm curious as to why a little kid like you would compromise herself for money."

that shuts you up. you're offended, to say the least. who is he to call you a little kid? the entire team also looks on, seemingly baffled. the question makes sense. you're sure you're the youngest out of all players. and people can tell because you look it too. you don't really know how to respond, so you just look on with a frown, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"forgive me—" he lets out an awkward chuckle, "i didn't mean it the wrong way. i'm just worried."

you give him an uneasy smile, rubbing the back of your neck. the others go back to their conversations, and you shrug. he shoots a glance towards gi-hun before sitting back down and shifting slightly, as if making room for you. you take a seat beside him. there's silence before he glances at the symbol on your jacket— the cross.

"i'm sorry." he says with a small smile, looking straight ahead, "you wanted to go home but you had to continue because of me. i put a kid in danger."

"i'm not a kid," you huff softly, straightening up, "i'm twenty. but yeah, you should be sorry."

you give him a small smile to ensure he knows that the last line is lighthearted. he seems to understand and returns it.

"dont worry about it," you sigh, fiddling with the zip of your jacket, "im sure you had your reasons. just like i have mine for coming here."

"and your parents?" he asks. he's so polite, it warms your heart. polite and soft spoken. and visibly tough. probably some officer, you think, judging by his skills you preciously saw.

"that's what i need the money for." you sigh, leaning back against the bunker. "i need enough money to establish myself. continue my studies. bring my mom and my sister to come live with me. settle off my father's debts because he's a coward who decided to pass down his sins onto his daughter."

he raises his eyebrows, and you take a sharp breath. there's a moment of silence between you two— you think for a moment, and feel your eyes get slightly glassy. you're not going to cry in front of a stranger. you put on a brave face. "if i die here, my mother—"

he stares at you silently, before putting a comforting hand on your shoulder, interrupting your cursed sentence. "you'll make it out alive."

the doors open, and the staff comes in again. they reveal the number of players left, showcase the money that each person would get, and then the voting starts again.

this time, player 001 doesn't disappoint you. he goes first, and clicks on the cross. the hope it gives you eventually shatters as more and more players begin to vote in favour of continuing the game. you see 456 get increasingly agitated as he begins to make his way towards the front of the crowd. before he can speak, he's interrupted.

001's voice rings out loud and authoritative, and worried. he reprimands the voters in favour, calls them out on their selfishness.

"we'll all die if we keep playing!" he chastises the crowd urgently. "you have to survive first, or there won't be a next step—"

"there's no next step for us!" he's interrupted by player 100. a stout old man who had been at odds against 456 since the start— you remember him having 10 billion won in debt. it makes you snicker. he eggs on the crowd. "with that money, we won't be able to pay our debts. we need to play one more game, then the money will increase to 240 million. with that we can pay atleast a little of our debts! isn't that right!?"

"you're going to die trying!" you snap, making your way to the front of the crowd. you glare at player 100, at all his little supporters cheering at the back. "your greed is going to get you killed. how can you be so confident to say that you'll survive the next game? what if you die?"

"you shut up, young lady!" he hisses, mouth scrunching bitterly. "is that how you speak to your elders? your brain is too small to comprehend real life problems. we can't continue with our lives with that little money!"

"continue your lives?" a laugh bubbles out of your throat. "look at that greying head of yours, you barely have a life ahead of you! why don't you let us live ours?!"

that seems to have ticked him off, because he quite literally turns red as he takes a threatening step towards you.

"what did you just say?"

"i said—" you step forward, shooting him a challenging glare, "you're too old to be playing children's games. vote wisely and let us go home."

he lets out a snarl before trying to lunge at you, but you're pulled back as player 001 steps between the two of you. like a wall. he looks at the old man, eyes cold, his voice low. "that's enough."

since the incident with thanos, nobody has really tried anything with 001. it's obvious enough they're intimidated by him, and they don't want to be on the receiving end of his wrath. 100 doesn't either, with the way he collects himself and steps back, embarrassed. you look over 001's shoulder, make eye contact with the old man and shoot him a taunting smile. you know it's childish, but you've resented him from the start.

before the old man can say anything, player 001 drags you to the side where you can't argue with people anymore. and the voting continues.

"you can't talk to people like this," he says lowly, gaze focused on the crowd. staring at something that you can't figure out. "you never know what they might do."

you huff bitterly. you know what he means.

"i don't care. i fucking hate bullies."

"potty mouth." he chastises, but theres a smirk on his face. he's teasing. you chuckle.

"remember you need to get out of here alive." he repeats, looking at you with an intensity that is almost terrifying. "you can't do that if you keep this up."

"jeez, okay dad." you joke, rolling your eyes. your words make him smile lightly.

"thanks for having my back there." you tell him sincerely. he looks at you for a bit before nodding in acknowledgement.

the voting ends, and they announce that the games will continue tomorrow. it makes your heart drop.

that night, you feel uneasy when you try to sleep. your clothes stick to your skin, and the side of your face keeps itching. with an irritated grumble, you get off the bunker and walk over to your new friend's side. you squint your eyes before looking for 001— and when you find him, you gently shake him.

"are you sleeping?" you whisper.

he opens his eyes, wincing slightly before sitting up. his voice is hushed as he responds, "not anymore. what is it?"

you bite your lower lip nervously before reluctantly asking, "will you go to the restroom with me? i'm kinda scared to go alone."

he blinks at you, confused. you continue out of sheer desperation.

"those guards just stare weirdly with their weird little masks and it makes me nervous." you hope your voice doesn't shake as you speak. "last time one of them kept knocking on the door while i was in the washroom and it just— scared the shit out of me. and my face is itching and i really need to go. please?"

he listens patiently. for a moment you think he'd decline but he just sighs and nods, and you cheer just a little as he steps out and follows you to the door. you bang on it, loudly telling the guards that you need to go. one of them opens the sliding window, and then immediately opens the door. it makes you feel strange, because usually it takes a lot more effort to convince them. either way, you're grateful.

you know your better option would've been to take one of the girls with you, but the sad fact is you haven't had the chance to get friendly with any of the female players yet. and for some reason, player 001 makes you feel a sense of safety and security that is almost strange— you feel at ease around him.

"i'll be in the men's room," he tells you, and you nod. he shoots a glance to the guard standing outside the women's restroom before walking away. you quickly go inside, and the first thing you do is splash water on your face.

you quickly clean the blood off your skin, holding back the urge to cry. you scrub at your cheeks till you're sure you can scratch the itch away for good. your nails dig a little too deep, and a little blood oozes out of the scratches on the side of your face. you clean that too, and then try to scrub the splatters of blood off your t-shirt. it's white, and you have no soap— so the stains remain. a faint reminder. you take your time, and anticipate the knocking— but it never comes.

you look in the mirror, at your tired face and sunken eyes, before giving yourself a nod and stepping out. 001 is waiting for you outside, looking to the side. he gives you an odd look as you step out, before walking alongside you.

"are you alright?" he asks gently, concerned. kind as ever.

you look at him again, give him a nod. "thank you."

when you two reach the room, he returns the smile with one of his own.

as you make your way to the bunker, he grabs your shoulder, "why don't you start sleeping on our side?" he says quietly, "join the team. there's a bed near mine. you won't feel so scared that way."

you blink, trying to see his face in the darkness. the offer is enticing— and most of all, it warms your heart.

"really?" you ask hopefully.

"really." he says kindly.

you follow him to the bunker, and he covers the railing with his hand to avoid you getting hurt as you bend down to get into the bed. he looks at the slightly wet patches on your shirt— blinks before getting a bedsheet and putting it over you. "get some sleep. we got a game to play tomorrow."

you smile softly at him. as he turns to get into his own bed, you grab his hand. it's warm against yours— big and rough. you don't allow your mind to drift that way. it's not right. he looks at you, gaze questioning.

"thanks again," you say softly, "it means a lot to me."

he leans down a little to ruffle your hair before going back to his bed and laying down. you close your eyes and drift to sleep— unaware that he stays up, thinking.

breakfast is boring— bread and milk. you sit on the bed, scowling. player 456 is surprised as he sees you there, before you two share understanding smiles. you bow a little and he bows back before going along with his friend. 001 comes to sit by you then, munching on his own breakfast.

"i miss home," you mumble, "how am i supposed to survive on just this? it's not even chocolate milk."

001 laughs, "don't worry, you can have whatever you want once you get out of here."

"will i?"

he looks at you, raising his eyebrows. you take his silence as a cue to continue, "im scared i'll die in here."

he looks down, before shifting to be closer to you. "you made it this far, didn't you?"

you look at him, voice getting shaky. "and what if i dont make it till the end? what if i die here and my family thinks i abandoned them? i don't want to die. i haven't even lived my life yet."

his expression is hard to read. "you'll make it out of here alive," he tells you with conviction, "ill make sure of it."

your lips wobble as you stare at him, and he smiles before poking you in the nose. "finish your food. you need the energy for the next game. we'll make it out alive, then we'll try to get the voters on our side and go home. sound good?"

you snort, rolling your eyes before nodding. "sounds good."

he gives you his bread then, tells you to eat more. when you protest, he sends a warning glare your way— the one with a quirked eyebrow and a knowing gaze. you roll your eyes, and happily eat it.

you were hungry. perhaps he can tell things like that. you're just grateful.

today, you decided to be a little rebellious. when you first joined the games, you used to spend a long time in the bathrooms— analyzing, looking for a way out. during that time, you'd discovered that one of the screws in the ceiling vent was loose. you hadn't really bothered checking it before, but since it's daytime and you have some time before the next game, you decide to explore.

your hairclip works— the screws were not tightly fixed, so it unscrewed easily. you'd contemplated checking it out last night, but you didn't want to take any risks, especially since player 001 was with you. so now whatever you do, the responsibility will be yours.

when the bathroom gets empty and all the women leave, you pull it down and try climbing up. it's moments like these that you can pride yourself on your agility— work that usually required two people, you could do alone. with one leg on the flush and the other on the top of the cubicle, you climbed up, scratching the side of your arm slightly before finally getting in the vents. you groaned to yourself, and then started crawling inside. there were two ways to go— you chose the left one. you looked down, trying to understand the layout of the place where you were practically held hostage. you keep crawling, making sure not to make too much noise before finally seeing a place through the gaps that you hadn't seen before— you carefully remove the screws and pull it apart.

the place looks empty. the walls are all sorts of pink and green. you put your head down and look both ways, seeing a door at the end of the hallway. carefully, you climb down and lower yourself to the ground with a thump. your shoulder hurts a little. you stand up, and aim for the door. as soon as you begin walking, you hear footsteps. it's as if someone splashed cold water on you— you realize the grave mistake you just made. guards walk here with guns, and you made the impulsive decision to explore a dangerous place like this by yourself?

you look around, running towards the other end of the hallway. the footsteps get louder, and as you look over your shoulder, something grabs you. out of reflex, you go to scream, but a hand clamps down on your mouth, and your back collides with a hard chest.

"shh, it's me." the voice hisses. your wide eyes look up, scared, before realizing who it is.

player 001.

your chest heaves as you break out into a sweat, a tear rolling down your cheek. he keeps you in a tight hold, looking to the side, your breath dampening his hand. the footsteps suddenly become faint, as if walking away. your breaths sync together, and after a moment, he relaxes.

he takes his hand off your mouth before harshly twisting you to face him. his voice is hushed but angry, "what were you thinking?!"

"what are you doing here?" you whisper shakily at the same time.

"everyone was back in the room except you. i came to find you!" he chides, eyes hard. he shakes you slightly, "do you really plan to get killed like this? is this how you want to die? can you go one moment without being a reckless brat—"

his words make you want to cower in on yourself.

"i wanted to find a way out." you try to sound assertive, but your voice betrays you. your words come out panicked, "I wanted to help and— fuck— i got you in trouble too— you shouldn't have come looking for me! fuck— how are we gonna make it out of here?"

he sighs, squeezing his eyes shut before looking at you tiredly. "the game is about to start. we'll mix in with the crowd when they leave, i doubt they'll notice."

"are you sure it'll work?" you ask. you hear a faint announcement. the game is about to start.

he looks up at the speakers, alert. he grabs you tightly and drags you away with an air of confidence. "let's go."

you don't encounter any guards on the way back. it's strange, but you figure it's because they're all preparing for the next game. player 001's plan worked, because you two mixed in with the crowd, and the guards didn't notice. one of them turned back to look at you, and you panted, staring back at him. your heart raced, but you felt the presence of 001 next to you, and you felt at ease again. the guard looked away.

"i told you to stop being reckless." he says quietly, looking at 456 and 390, before looking back at you. your legs hurt from climbing so many stairs. "what would you have done if they found you?"

you swallow the lump in your throat, staring up at him intensely, eyes glassy. he saved your life. "i guess you stopped that from happening."

he clenches his jaw, his gaze flickering up and down your face before looking away. "i won't always be there to save you."

you look away, heart dropping. "thank you, 001."

"call me young-il."

you look up at him, blinking back tears, quirking an eyebrow as you two walk. "only if you allow me to add 'sir' at the end of it."

he chuckles, eyes crinkling. he has such a nice laugh. "why's that? respect?"

you nod, giving a little bow. "respect is very important in my culture as well. so thank you for saving my life, young-il sir."

he grins a little and pats your head. you thank him again, and decide you like him enough. so you tell him your name.

he tests it on his tongue, and you quite like the way he says it.

the next game had to be the most terrifying so far.

it was called mingle, and you had to run to the rooms in groups according to the number announced. things like these were where you got scared— where you had to group with people. in dangerous situations, you know people usually only look out for two types of people— themselves, and the ones dearest to them.

you were not dear to anyone here. you really should've interacted with more people.

the platform rotates, before the number is announced. six. your eyes widen and you frantically look around, but young-il is faster. he grabs you and drags you to the room with the rest of the team. you pant as the 30 seconds pass, and then look out the window in the door to see how many people were left— quite a few. your eyes widen as the red guards move forward with their guns raised.

young-il leaps forward and covers your eyes with his hand before pulling you into himself as the gunshots ring out— you flinch and shudder at every single one, breathing sharp and your entire frame trembling violently. when there is silence and the doors open, you look up. young-il gently lets go of you, looking around. he's panting too, and you look at him with the most crushed look on your face before he meets your gaze. he can tell what you want to know— why would you do that?

"you shouldn't have to see all this." he says quietly, adjusting his jacket and putting a little distance between you too. 456 pats your shoulder and makes sure people are okay before moving out. you just look at young-il for a while, but he simply looks around, seemingly lost in thought. as if fighting a war within himself. you wish you knew how to reassure him like he did with you, but you realize you barely know anything about him.

the entire floor is painted with blood. the sight makes you want to vomit. you walk carefully, but your foot slips in someone's blood and you begin to fall over. 456 catches you. "are you alright?"

instinctively, your gaze tries to find young-il but he's standing away. his head is lowered.

"yes, thank you." you give 456 a smile, before assuming your place on the platform again.

you play a few more rounds. you're lucky enough to have someone to team with each time— young-il and 456 don't let go of you even once. but then the voice runs out again, and they announce the number 3. this time, 456 is dragged along with the old woman and her son. you look around frantically, and meet young-il's panicked gaze with your own. you begin to run towards him, but two people grab you and drag you towards one of the rooms.

thanos and nam-gyu. you shriek at them, clawing at their arms and trying to run back out. what if young-il doesn't make it? what if something bad happens?

this time, you have no one to cover your eyes or ears. thanos and nam-gyu talk shit within themselves, and you look outside the little window, flinching with every gunshot ringing out, trying to pinpoint if it's young-il's body falling to the ground. you can't help the light sob erupting from your throat, and thanos chooses the wrong moment to come bother you.

"watcha looking for, señorita?" he laughs, poking your side, "is it your old man? did he finally—"

you turn to him and punch him in the face. he falls back and groans dramatically, rubbing the blood running down his nose. nam-gyu rushes to his rescue, giggling. they're both high as a kite. the doors open, and you rush out before they can bother you further.

you look around. 456 is with the rest of the team, but you can't find young-il. frantically, you look towards the dead bodies, heart pounding against your chest and head throbbing. suddenly, there's cheers from your team, and you look up to see young-il walking over with a bright grin on his face.

you don't know what compelled you to do it. you were acting on your emotions— overwhelmed by the relief you felt on the sight of his face. before you can even stop, you're dashing towards him and crashing into his body, wrapping your arms tightly around him.

he's shocked, that much is obvious by the way he tenses slightly. but then he returns the hug, wrapping his arms around you and placing one hand on your head, gently patting. "i told you we'd make it."

you choke on a soft sob, nodding, burying your head further into his chest, as if ready to climb inside him, "i thought you—"

he shushes you softly, voice gentle as he runs a hand through your hair. you can feel his heart racing against his chest too. you wonder if it's for the same reasons as you. "i'm okay."

you wish the game ended there. but there was one more round to go. as you rotated on the platform— the moment you were dreading finally happened as young-il predicted it. the number announced was two.

you were ready to die there. things seemed to happen in slow motion— 456 took his best friend 390, 149 was dragged by her son. you didn't get the chance to see who took who next, because young-il had grabbed your hand and was dragging you towards one of the rooms. there were only fifty rooms— the first one you two got to was taken. he dragged you to another with a mere ten seconds left.

you sighed in relief as you got in, before seeing another man was already there. he was shaking in fear, and you jumped at the harshness of young-il's voice when he ordered him to get out. when the other player refused, young-il lunged at him and put him in a headlock.

your eyes widened and you stepped forward, panic stricken but he looked right at you and called your name, "close your eyes!"

you flinched. you looked at the man, then at young-il, before squeezing your eyes shut. you slid to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest as soon as you heard a 'crack' before opening your eyes.

the player was dead. young-il cracked his neck.

the timer finished at that exact moment, and young-il crawled over to you before pulling you into his chest. the gunshots rang out, and you flinched, sobbing.

young-il killed someone.

"i had to do it," he whispered against your hair, holding your head against his chest, "we both have to make it out alive. i had to do it. you know that right?"

you wanted to believe him, you really did. but in that moment, you felt scared of him for the first time.

the doors opened, and the game finished.

while you wanted to revel in your victory, the incident during mingle had rattled you to your core. the others checked up on you, especially 388 and 456. young-il maintained some distance. you could feel like he thought it's what you wanted. but you could really use his comfort. you just don't know how to talk to him again without being nervous. you force yourself to relive your previous interactions with him— he's still the same young-il who has saved you and comforted you countless times.

he did what he had to do to ensure your survival. that wasn't something you could hold against him. not when both of your lives were on the line.

the voting this time was just as challenging. you made your way to the front of the crowd, praying that they'd choose wisely this time. you need to go home.

one of the players in the old man's team showed you the finger before clicking the 'o' button. the action made your eye twitch, and you grit your teeth before straightening up to attack that guy and scratch his face off, but a hand to your chest held you back.

if looks could kill, young-il's glare could've sent that guy home in a body bag. as the votes in favour of continuing the game increased, you pushed his hand off you and addressed the crowd, "have you all lost your fucking minds?!"

their chitter chatter stopped and they looked at you. you clench your jaw, "after losing so many people out there you still want to play? what the fuck is wrong with you people? are human lives that invaluable to you?"

player 100 steps forward, insufferable as always. "don't you see how much money we're getting for each person? it could settle our debt! we can't give up after how far we've come."

"you're gonna die!" you snap, pointing at him, "you could take this money and go home and be happy instead of risking your life for something that is not assured to you! why won't you listen?! i want to go home!"

the others in favour of terminating the game start chanting with you, a string of 'i want to go home' echoing across the room.

player 100 glares, urging his own team to chant against you. he looks towards young-il, yells something along the lines of, "look after your fucking kid!" before the barell of a gun presses against the back of your head. the whole room freezes, and so do you.

"disruptions against a democratic vote will not be excused." the robotic voice calls out. for a second you think this is it. you look at young-il. if you die here, you'd prefer the man who saved your life to be the last person you see. he glares at the guard, his jaw clenching. the guard lowers the gun and steps back and you let out a breath of relief.

you immediately saunter over to him, gritting your teeth. the vote is a tie— and they announce the next voting to be held tomorrow.

456 says there's about to be a fight. the rest of the team got busy setting up a barricade— and you didn't get the chance to talk to your player. you knew his concern though, when he made sure to especially hide your side of the bed with two mattresses.

you play with the hem of your shirt as you sit in your bed by your lonesome. your food sits by you, untouched. you dont feel like eating. the weight on the bed shifts, and young-il appears into view.

"you're not eating."

you swallow the lump in your throat. "i don't feel like it."

he comtemplates, eyes lowered before he looks at you again. "im sorry you had to witness that. I don't want you to be scared of me."

you want to cry. "im not." you whisper, "you.. you had to do what you had to do. to save us."

he blinks, nodding.

"back there, i thought that was it. it's over." you chuckle bitterly. "but you saved me again. you acted on impulse. i could never resent you for it."

your eyes are bloodshot as you look at him again. fat tears roll down your cheeks, and he frowns. he sighs before leaning closer, brushing the tears away. "why are you crying?"

"i wouldn't have survived this far if it wasn't for you." you whisper, voice cracking. "promise me you wouldn't abandon me. promise me you won't die."

his gaze softens. he's silent for a bit, his hand coming to rest on your knee, "i promise."

you sniffle, wiping your tears away. a small smile appears on your face, "i punched thanos."

"thanos?" he frowns, confused before raising his eyebrows in recognition, "ah, the loud kid with the purple hair?"

you nod proudly. "he said something like 'did 001 finally die?' so i punched him."

he laughs heartily— face scrunching cutely, eyes crinkling. he shakes his head fondly before ruffling your hair again. "attagirl."

it makes you blush slightly and you smile, looking down at your lap. he grabs your dinner— the roll sitting next to you and unwraps it, taking out a piece before holding it out, "eat."

you snort before leaning forward and taking a bite. he looks at you for a while with that faraway look in his eyes, before wordlessly continuing to feed you the rest. the words go unsaid. 'what are we doing? why are we so comfortable with each other?'

some sauce sticks to the corner of your mouth. he raises his hand to hold your chin, his thumb gently wiping it off. your breath hitches.

neither of you protest when his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, gaze focused on it like he's hypnotized. he's thinking, mindlessly feeling the plush texture of it.

you've always been impulsive. especially in situations where you shouldn't be. it happens so naturally— how your lips part just slightly. and maybe he's impulsive too, because his thumb slips inside, and his breath hitches as soon as your lips wrap around his thumb.

his gaze raises to meet yours— and you blink almost dazedly. his thumb presses down on your tongue, and he calls out your name in the softest voice.

"i'm too old for you." he whispers, shaking his head in disapproval.

your eyes flutter, and you lean forward, grabbing hold of his wrist. he pulls his thumb out, and you almost whine in protest. to your utter delight, he replaces it with two of his fingers, and your eyes almost roll back as you crawl forward till you're situated on his lap, mouth stuffed with his index and middle finger. you suck on them enthusiastically. they're long and thick and perfect and you don't want them out of your mouth ever again. it elicits a soft moan out of him— and if you could put that sound on repeat for the rest of your life, you'd be happy.

he pulls his fingers out and grabs the back of your head, pulling you close till your foreheads press together. you try to lean forward, to capture his lips with your own. he chuckles slightly, eyes closed, playfully rubbing his nose against yours. you whine.

"so impatient." he whispers, and then his lips are colliding with yours. it would be embarrassing if someone were to catch you two like this— more so for him than for you. thankfully, the others are busy strategizing for the night, and are not looking for either of you.

you moan softly and he bites down on your bottom lip, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth. it's desperate and reckless and so full of spit— it makes you whimper into his mouth and he pulls you further into himself, as if telling you to shut up. his experience is obvious in the way he kisses, and you follow his lead. unknowingly, your hips start gently grinding against his thigh, and he lets out a soft hiss. he pulls away slightly, strings of saliva connecting your mouths. he licks it away.

"come on, sweetheart," he whispers, one hand coming down to help your hips grind against his thigh, "make yourself feel good— that's it, that's my good girl."

you moan softly, and his free hand clamps your mouth shut. he speeds his movement, clenching and unclenching the muscle of his thigh, guiding your hips to move faster against his lap. it's been so long since you've masturbated— and this is unarguably the hottest situation you've ever been with, with the hottest man you've ever seen. so you're already close. you cry out into his hand, your voice muffled. he understands what you mean and lets you move on your own speed then, pulling your head into the crook of his neck as he whispers soft words of praise into your ear.

the moment he calls you his good girl again, you cum. he muffles the sound with his hand, squeezing his eyes shut before he looks at you intensely. you collapse against him, slightly sweaty, your hands holding onto his shoulders as you cling to him. he runs his hand through your hair, breathing sharply. it's a small moment of bliss in the hell you've found yourself in.

soon, the lights go out, and dread settles in your stomach once you feel his body tensing. player 388 pulls one of the mattresses back slightly, hisses a quick "get under the bed!"

and the next game begins.

A/N: this was incredibly fun to write. i love writing him a little soft and fatherly, so deal with it. i might write a part 2 for this, if anyone wants that. this idea has been in my head for a while. i love him so, so much. this fic is my baby and i truly hope you guys like reading it as much as i liked writing it.

tags! @carolinevoight @lovers-roq @wildtigerlili @menabuser16 @deadlyobsessivfennec @watasinekoru @hanakokunzz @cowuies

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ no one has to know what we do ]❜

ft. cho sang-woo x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you lay in bed with your dad’s best friend after a night of passion┊1.3k words

contains: slight smut!! dom sang-woo & sub reader┊age gap (reader is early 20s & sang-woo’s early 40s), (adopted) dad’s best friend trope, purposeful seduction, one-night stands, unprotected piv (don’t do anything the reader does, this is fiction & unrealistic, stay safe), creampie, biting, smoking, 

➤ author's note: i was thinking about this man all night, i’m not kidding, i’m doing it again tongiht too because he’s so fine idc if he’s evil, i wanna fuck him not fix him

it’s nearly four in the morning on another cold winter’s night with nothing but a yellow-tinted bedside lamp illuminating the room, completely silent aside from the rustling of the blanket from your movement. you sigh softly and nestle closer to the man lying flat on his back for more of the addicting warmth radiating off his body, your face nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder and your legs entangling with his. he doesn’t pull away like you expected him to, just takes another drag on his cigarette and ignores you for the most part with the weight of the past few hours— the weight of the sins he committed tonight— pressing into his mind.

you, on the other hand, were all soft smiles and feeling content as if you just crossed off an accomplishment on the top of your bucket list. for a situation that could ruin both of your lives if discovered, it certainly feels blissful and freeing to finally fuck the man you’ve been dreaming about almost religiously ever since you came back home from university for the holidays a week ago. you have no idea how you’ve never met him until now when you’ve heard so much about him, but perhaps it was better that way when your thoughts were less than innocent. 

despite being middle-aged, he was still very handsome with intelligent albeit weary eyes which seemed to hide some sort of darkness to them. you found yourself studying him from afar, noticing him not wearing a wedding ring and making no mention of a family other than his mother, so you quickly made up your mind that you were going to fuck him before going back to school. it’s not like you had anything better to do anyway.

it actually didn’t take much to seduce him surprisingly: accidental eye contact filled with longing, lingering touches when you handed him his chilled cheap beer, careful actions and words to play up your sex appeal— it reminded you that most men are the same even if the stoic cho sang-woo was older and prided himself in his cunning mind, starved for affection with wandering eyes that frequently followed beneath the hem of your skirt. he looked at you behind his glasses with distrust and tried to act indifferent towards you in front of gi-hun, probably already suspicious about your intentions, but you could already see him drinking up your appearance in your cute little outfit as he downed another bottle. this little game was one you knew well and you always won in the end, there has yet to be anyone you wanted who couldn’t resist you and he certainly wasn’t going to be the first.

he stayed the night in the guest bedroom because it was already dark out, your former room which was converted after you moved out (sometimes it was rented out for extra cash), and at the strike of midnight, you knocked on the door and presented yourself to him seeking his comfort for an unspecified reason with slightly teary doe eyes. it was clear that you didn’t disturb him from his slumber and that he was already awake, visibly restless, and maybe even stressed. it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what was bothering him so much. he was hesitant to let you in at first, as any good man would, but his resolve crumbled after seeing how beautiful you looked in the dim light (not like it wasn’t already a breeze away from collapsing after the alcohol). it’s surprising what a little silk nightgown can do with the thin straps threatening to slip off your shoulders, the short hem revealing your soft thighs, your perk nipples straining through the thin fabric, and how small and vulnerable you looked shivering in your lack of clothes.

“you shouldn’t be here at this time.”

“are you going to turn me away?”

still, even if it all went according to plan, he’s not in love with you. you don’t think he is anyway. you don’t expect him to be. would you like him to be in love with you? it might put the aching loneliness at ease even if it won’t make it disappear entirely. he’s a man old enough to be your father after all, he’s a man who grew up with your father and considered him to be a close friend. is this how you thank your father for taking you in and sharing what little he had with you? by seducing and sleeping with his best friend? 

in all honestly, though, he certainly fucked like he was in love with you— like you two were the last two souls on this earth. he was a lot more pent up than you anticipated, or a lot more lonely, trusting into you so deeply one would think he was trying to reach your empty heart as you clawed at his back leaving red rivers of scratched skin. you barely even needed any prep for his size with how soaked you were, evident with a wet patch on your underwear which he teased before throwing it to be forgotten on the floor along with all your other clothes. 

it was difficult to keep the sinful sounds of sex to a minimum, skin against skin with moans slipping from your mouth and groans from his. he had to resort to covering your mouth with his large palm to shut you up and bit into your collarbone leaving his mark on you, finally finishing inside of you in his haze before using his fingers to help you reach your orgasm and embarrassing you for once by staring intently at how the mix of your arousals dripped all over his hand.

“when are you leaving for university?”

“why, are you going to miss me when i’m gone?”

“we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“no one has to know what we do,” you giggled, placing a kiss against the corner of his mouth and inhaling the smoke. “i’m old enough to keep a secret.”

those last words made him pause for a second. this was immoral and forbidden. if seong gi-hun were ever to find out, their relationship would be ruined forever and you would be disowned, and he could only imagine the look of betrayal on his face. yet you didn’t seem to care in the least bit about what he would think, gingerly rubbing your thighs together at the feeling of him leaking out of you and touching the area where he bit you. it drew his attention, finally turning to you and admiring the mark sunken into your skin, looking almost proud of it like art on a clean canvas. 

“i don’t want you sleeping with some other stupid boys when you go back.”

“hm, only if you promise that this won’t be the last time and that you also don’t fuck anyone else while i’m gone.”

“you know, i can’t promise that. we were lucky to not get caught this time, but who’s to say there will be a next time?”

“well, then i’ll go back to university and have sex with whoever i want, then you can do the same—”

“oh, shut up,” he scolded, pinching your cheeks to pull you towards him and kissing you possessively as if he could consume you whole by it. you were glad to reciprocate, allowing him to climb back on top of you while your arms wrapped around his neck. “fine, as long as you keep your word.”

he said it like he didn’t really want to continue this, like he was conceding to your demands and was merely tolerating you with better things to do, but the thinly veiled desperate need in his words and actions was clearer than glass to you. not that you minded, it was all working out just how you wanted it to.

[covenofagatha]

heyyy, could you maybe write an agatha x reader piece where reader is innocent and agatha takes advantage of that? praising her, showing her new things, etc. Maybe from school or doctor environment. Thanks!

I've been really into manipulative Professor Agatha lately

Sex Ed

During a make-up exam for Professor Harkness's Sexual Education class, she helps you out when you don't know a few answers

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: virgin/naive reader, praise kink, manipulative Agatha, dub-con, fingering, oral

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn

This is possibly the worst time you could’ve gotten a cold. 

Three weeks into your first semester of college, classes had just begun picking up in terms of workload, most of your professors were giving the first exam, and you had forgotten to bring a jacket the one day it poured during a cold spell and you had to walk almost a mile in it back to your house, where you lived with your mom. Her house was so close to campus that most of the time you didn’t bother driving. 

You had walked through the front door that day, shivering and shaking and soaked and your mom had taken one good look at you and said, “You’re going to get sick.” 

And she sure was right. The next day, you woke up and felt like you were clinging to life by a thread: your throat ached, your head felt full, and your lungs hurt. Your fever made you bury under three blankets and then strip down to practically nothing the next minute. It was hell. 

Not to mention, you missed four days of classes. In most of them, you just needed to get notes from a classmate, but in Sexual Education, you had missed a test. 

Sexual Education, taught by Professor Agatha Harkness, is your least favorite class. You hadn’t taken it in middle or high school as your mom hadn’t let you, so you had to take it in college. There was something about the subject that made you squirm, and the way Professor Harkness talked about sex, so blatantly and forward, that made your stomach get a weird feeling. 

You had emailed her and told her that you wouldn’t be able to take the exam because you were sick, attaching the doctor’s note and everything, and she had replied almost immediately, telling you to just see her during office hours whenever you could to make it up. She ended it with Feel better, honey ;) and for some reason, that made you get the same sensation in your gut as you did in her class. 

The following Monday was when you decided to make it up. You had replied to her email and asked, and she told you that day was perfect. 

You did feel better, and you had tried to study. The test is on anatomy and sexual intercourse, and although you kept having to take breaks because it kept making you uncomfortable, you had gotten through all the material. 

But now, as you trudge across campus, a cough still tickling your throat every now and then, you wonder if there’s any way to postpone the make-up even more. Nerves have settled into your body and you’re worried your mind is going to go blank. Test anxiety has always been something you’ve struggled with, and you think that with the sensitive nature of the test, you might be especially prone to it now. 

The blinds are drawn on Professor Harkness’s door to her office when you get there, so you knock as to not catch her unaware. You hear a faint “Come in!” and you push open the door and step inside. 

Your professor is sitting at her desk, a pair of big, black glasses resting on her nose, and she looks up at you from a paper she’s been writing on. 

“Feeling better, sweetheart?” She asks. 

You nod. “Much better, thank you. I’m here to take the exam that I missed?” 

A smile slowly spreads across her face and she waves you forward. Your shoes pad lightly on the carpeted floor, one step for three beats of your heart. You wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt and you sit down in the chair facing her. 

She reaches into a drawer and pulls out a packet of paper, handing it to you over the desk. You swallow roughly when you feel how many pages there are. It makes your heart sink when you see lines on the first page, meaning that it’s not multiple choice either. It already has your name on it, like she made it just for you. 

“I have to write a harder test for the make-ups,” she explains, seeing your troubled look. Is that supposed to make you feel better? “It’s to discourage people from skipping the exam the first time and getting answers from friends or anything.” 

It makes sense, it really does. But you had a legit excuse as to why you couldn’t take it. There’s no use arguing though, so you give her a tight smile and look down at the paper.

How does the body respond to sexual arousal, and what are the physiological changes that occur? 

You rack your brain, searching for anything you remember about this, but there’s nothing. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself down, you skip and move onto the next one.

2. What happens during an orgasm?

You look at the next one.

3. What is the role of lubrication?

You don’t remember reading anything about that or even Professor Harkness saying anything about that. 

Skip. 

There’s nothing in your brain about the next question either. Visibly getting flustered now, you frantically flip through the pages of the exam to find a question that you do know, ignoring the stinging sensation in your eyes. 

Finally, at the bottom of the third page, you find one. Incidentally, the last question of the test.

7. How does the sperm fertilize an egg? 

You breathe a sigh of relief and scribble down the answer, and with renowned confidence, you find at least a few things you’re able to write for the three questions in the middle. 

Feeling pretty good now, you go back to the start, and then you realize you just have the first three left, but they’re worth the most amount of points. The sinking feeling starts to come back. The other questions are worth ten points each. These are worth twenty. If you don’t answer, you are going to fail. 

“Professor?” You rasp, having no other option to ask for help. “I’m having some trouble on a few of these questions. I don’t remember you saying anything about some of this stuff.”

Professor Harkness frowns and leans over to look at your paper. “Which ones?” 

“Um, the ones about arousal, and lubrication, and orgasms,” you say, voice dropping to a whisper like it’s too embarrassing to say any louder. “You never said anything about it in class, unless I missed it while I was sick.” Even then, you poured over the slideshows she posted, and you swear you didn’t see anything about those terms. 

Professor Harkness lounges back in her chair and fixes you with a certain look. “I didn’t necessarily say anything about those, but you should be able to infer based on your own experiences.” 

And that makes your cheeks heat up. “Well, I, um–” You stutter, completely flustered. 

“Ah,” she says, like she’s had a realization, and your eyes flit to hers. “Are you a virgin, honey?” 

You nod hesitantly, feeling shame burn through you. Now you’re going to fail the test because of your lack of experience. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

“Oh, sweetie,” Professor Harkness coos and reaches her arms out across the desk, palms outstretched. You blink back tears and take her hands and she squeezes in reassurance. “Don’t ever apologize for that. I shouldn’t have assumed. Here, why don’t I give you a quick lesson to make it more fair for you, hm?” 

“That would be so great, thank you so much!” You exclaim gratefully. 

Professor Harkness smiles, although there’s something dangerous behind it, and she gets up out of her chair. “Why don’t you come over here and sit on my desk?”

It’s a bit of a weird request, but she’s already helping you out so much that you don’t argue. You sit on her desk and she places her hands on your knees to gently spread your legs apart so she can stand in-between them. 

“Have you ever touched yourself before?” She asks gently and you shake your head, upset. She tilts your chin up and then strokes a piece of hair behind your ears. “Hey, it’s okay. It can be hard to figure these things out by yourself. And I’m sure the slideshows and text, books and my lectures aren’t helping much either,” she jokes and you giggle. “Why don’t I give you more of a hands-on lesson? Some people learn a lot better that way.” 

Your brows furrow. “What about the exam?” 

Professor Harkness nods. “Don’t worry. Let me teach you some things and this should be able to answer those questions you were having. Now, I just need you to be a good girl and relax for me, okay?” 

“Okay, Professor,” you agree, but stiffen when her hands start to slide up your thighs. She pauses and moves them back down and repeats, each time getting a little higher up. 

Something is happening in your stomach, a heat is growing, a little like what happens when you’re in her class, but stronger than it ever has been. You suddenly feel like you’re running hot. Has the fever come back? 

Your professor is watching you carefully, a slight smile on her lips. “The first step in the physiological process of an orgasm is excitement. During this stage, arousal builds. Pupils dilate. Heart rate and breathing rate increase. Your blood pressure rises, making you feel warm.” 

“I think that’s happening to me, Professor,” you say faintly and she chuckles. 

“I would say so, honey. And you can call me Agatha,” she tells you and the feeling inside you only gets worse. “Lubrication should be starting right about now.” 

You gasp when she finally cups you over your underwear and your hips instinctively buck. You’ve never had anyone’s hand there, not even your own, and the sensation is indescribable. 

Agatha is fully smirking now, rubbing up and down the fabric. You can feel how sticky it is, just from her light touches. “You’re doing so well for me, pretty girl. You’re almost in the plateau phase. Your vagina is getting swollen, your clitoris is becoming sensitive–” She rubs at a small circle towards the top of your vagina, you remember seeing a diagram of it, and it makes you keen. “–and you’re going to just keep getting wetter.” 

There’s a fire inside you now, flames licking up your stomach into your ribs and spreading throughout your whole body. It feels like there’s an ache inside you and you just need more. “Agatha,” you gasp. “I need–” You don’t even have the words to explain it.

But she knows. She slides your panties to the side and swipes through your folds and then holds her glistening fingers up to the light so you can see. It takes your breath away. 

“The role of lubrication,” she references the question you didn’t know, her hand dropping back down between your legs and toying at your entrance. “is simply to reduce friction, discomfort, and pain during sex.” 

And then she pushes a finger into you and you make a strangled sound. She feels so good and when she curls her finger up and rubs against something, you clench around her and make another explicit noise. 

She chuckles and presses on it again, enjoying the way you jump. “That’s your G-spot right there. Extra credit if you mention that on your exam,” she says with a grin and you’d make a note of that if there were any thoughts left in your head. 

Agatha pauses for a second after she pulls out of you and you whine, before it quickly turns into a gasp when she slides two fingers in. It burns and you whimper, your hands scrambling to grab on her shoulders and cling to her while she gently works to stretch you out with shallow thrusts. 

“You’re doing so well, baby,” she purrs. “Such a good girl for me, my best student. Look at how well you’re taking this lesson. So perfect.” 

You preen and when she rubs her thumb against your clit, she’s slowly able to slide her two fingers into you. The feeling of fullness is just what you need right now, and even though you’re incredibly tight around her, it still feels so much better than anything you’ve ever felt. 

Agatha starts lazily dragging her fingers against your walls, in and out, occasionally twisting and making your hips roll. You’re holding onto her body, panting into her neck, and the tension inside you is building. 

“If only you knew how pretty you look right now,” she mutters, now picking up to a faster pace. Each thrust leaves you breathless and you can hardly comprehend what she’s saying. She circles your clit and you cry out with pleasure. “You’re so innocent, I see you squirming in your seat every time I talk about sex.” That makes you flush with heat even more. “Look at you now, honey. Taking my fingers like a good girl.” 

You gasp out something incoherent and she starts to pump her fingers harder. You’re throbbing and pulsing around her, pleasure starting to spread from your stomach to the rest of your body and you don’t know how much more you can take. 

She smiles when you moan her name. “You’re about to be in the orgasm phase. Your pelvic muscles will contract, and your vaginal walls will tighten. There will be an increase in lubrication and your heart rate will get even faster. It will feel euphoric.” 

It’s happening, you can feel it. “Agatha, please,” you groan and she twists her fingers inside you. 

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” she says and the pleasure explodes inside you, the release of the tension overwhelming you and making your mind go completely blank for a minute. You can barely feel Agatha’s fingers still inside you, gently stroking against your inner walls until you come down from your high, and while it still feels amazing, you’re incredibly sensitive now. 

“Agatha,” you groan and she chuckles before pulling her fingers out of you, making you wince. They’re absolutely soaked and she pops them into her mouth to clean them and your jaw drops open. 

She moans at the taste and sits back down in her chair, putting her hands above her head and nodding at your test that’s still sitting there. “You should have no trouble finishing now,” she says and you swallow hard before getting off her desk and going around it to take your seat. 

You pick up your pen and begin writing, trying to ignore how you can still feel Agatha’s fingers inside you. 

And Agatha? Agatha smirks to herself, still tasting you on her tongue, knowing that she got exactly what she wanted just by making a few well picked-out questions worth a few more points.