#but i am still trying to Write when i can---

[onlymingyus]

Tied to your Body

pairing; kim mingyu x f reader

genre; smut (minors dni), fluff (somehow)

warnings; TA!Mingyu, University Student!Reader, Camboy!Mingyu, Professor Joshua Hong (that's a warning), eating/drinking, alcohol, masturbation (m & f), lots of dirty talk, masturbation on stream, pictures taken and sent of dick/pussy, talk of sexual health, aftercare, Dom!Mingyu, sub!reader, Dom/sub dynamics, color system, subspace, dumbification, praise, pet names, degradation, crying, spitting on pussy, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, cum eating, some light impact play -- I think that is everything.

w/c; 13.3k and some change

a/n; I love camboy love sick Mingyu. thank you to @junkissed for betareading this for me! a huge thank you to @onlyseokmins for making the instagram graphics for me! i am still writing may's fic and need a bit more time. enjoy this older patreon exclusive.

before continuing remember reblogs are incredibly important and please read how to support me here

Running the back of your pen along your bottom lip, you sigh, finally leaning back from your desk. You had been looking at the same page of your physics textbook for an hour. It felt like your brain was beginning to feel like jello. A familiar ding from your cellphone made you bite down on the end of your pen as you reached for the phone, the corners of your lips pulling up into a slight smirk.

ariespic_46 is live

You tried not to waste your money. It was hard enough to be a college student and to share an apartment instead of living in a dorm but sometimes spoiling yourself was important. It was hard enough trying to balance a part-time job and a full-time course work schedule; you rarely found time to go to parties and the relationship pool was limited.

You had dated during your time at the university but it had been brief and no one had ever kept your attention for longer than a month. Over time, classes became more important and you found other ways to find pleasure, even if it cost you a few extra bucks a month to indulge in.

Opening your laptop, you find yourself entranced by the man on your screen as he smiles, leaning back in his chair. He never showed anything above his nose. You wished you could see his entire face. With as handsome as he was from the nose down, you were drooling over this camboy almost daily.

As ariespic_46 lets out a breath, you find yourself doing the same as you lay on your side on your bed in the dark. He was dressed in some tan dress pants, a white button up that was already unbuttoned down to the top of his abs, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He looked like a dream. You couldn’t help but look over every detail that you were privy to. He had the cutest freckle on the end of his nose and sharp canines that he bit down into his bottom lip with when he was especially horny, like now.

“Hi pups. I missed you.”

A small squeak slips from your lips when the man finally talks. He was such a tease. He would sometimes just sit there for minutes while the chat went crazy, asking for things, just his biceps flexing as he stretched out his fingers in clear amusement at how needy the chat was.

“Aw, you missed me too, didn’t you? That’s cute.”

The man leans his head back and you try to move your head so you can see more of him but as usual, it's in vain. He had his camera set up for this. He didn’t want his face fully on the screen and while you could respect it, you were still curious.

“It was a long day. You have no idea. I’m all wound up... Having to be this professional in front of others while I think about doing this later. God…” The man grins, his canines on display, as he lifts his hips, undoing his dress pants. “And then the teasing I put up with on a daily fucking basis. I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it.”

You furrow your brows. He talked about some girl on his streams sometimes. You didn’t mind; no one seemed to. It got him even more excited to think about this girl who teased him during the day. You wondered what it would be like to be her—to be the one on his mind all day and night. The one that made him want to wrap his hand around his thick cock and stroke it until he came so hard. You imagine you are her sometimes; he makes it easy for you to, with how he talks to the stream.

“Wanna put you on your knees in front of me for teasing me like that?"

Watching ariespic_46 closely, your eyes follow as he kicks his pants somewhere off the screen. The man smirked, leaning back in his chair, knowing eyes were on him. He could see the viewer count and it never disappointed him. Your eyes were moving over the bit of his chest that was exposed as his fingers undid the rest of his shirt, leaving him in his dress shirt and briefs as a long, sighing groan slipped from his lips.

“Can’t help but think how pretty you’d look if you were. So fucking pretty every day and acting so innocent like you don’t realize I’m looking at you.”

You sigh, your bottom lip jutting out, as the man talks to the girl through you and the other viewers. You feel a bit of shame as you run your fingers along your stomach and play with the tie of your pajama pants but it’s not enough to stop you.

Glancing at the comments, you can’t help but agree with a few of them, saying they’d never ignore him. You couldn’t imagine ignoring someone like ariespic_46, not on purpose. There was no one who went to your university who came close to looking like him.

When the man wraps his fingers around his cock for the first time, you have to close your eyes to the sound that slips out between his pretty lips. You loved the sounds he made. He never tried to keep them quiet or to himself. He just let them be as erotic as possible and it made you drip around your fingers that were now slowly sliding through your folds.

“Are you being a good girl for me? My pretty little pup? Are you gonna cum for me when I cum tonight?”

Whimpering, you nod even though he can’t see you. You weren’t one who took the time to comment while he touched himself and spoke. You knew he wouldn’t recognize names from chat anyway. He did, however, acknowledge tips and that you did when you let yourself think with your pussy more than your brain.

“Mm, thank you, Nabi.”

Hearing part of your username on ariespic_46’s lips as he moans, pre-cum slipping over his fingers, makes you press your lips together. You hadn’t sent him much—just $30—but for a student, that was more than you should be spending on porn.

Pressing your nose against your arm, you adjust yourself on the bed, watching the man groan louder as he got closer to his climax. You had started to be able to tell when it was going to happen. The way his mouth fell open, the way his groans got more urgent and drawn out, his fingers of his right hand gripping the arm of his chair for dear life as he stroked himself through his climax with his left.

Most nights when you watched his streams, you would end up doing exactly what ariespic_46 wanted and cum soon after he had but other nights, like tonight, you would end up panting as your thighs pressed together out of need. You knew there was always more, even as the man on the screen laughed, stretching his fingers out to show the camera all the cum dripping from him.

"Fuck, that was good. I have to get cleaned up. Bye, baby. See you next time.”

The stream stated it had ended, and you find yourself on your back with your phone in one hand, waiting for what came next. Not only did you tip because it made you feel good to hear even your username on the man’s lips but also for what he would give you. A notification stating you had a direct message from ariespic_46 pop’s up at the top of your screen and you find yourself giggling like a teenager getting a message from a crush.

ariespic_46: have a good night, nabi 🦋 thank you🖤 [picture attached]

Staring at the message for a moment, you bite at your bottom lip before your thumbs move over the keyboard to reply. You knew you didn’t have to, and that he probably didn’t check replies but it felt important to you.

nabi.wings: anytime, thank you for the stream ❣️

Taking a breath, you finally press down on the link for the picture, only to moan at the sight. It was one thing to see his cock and fingers covered in cum on the stream but it was another entirely to see it in a picture like this. Now was when you couldn’t help but let your fingers wander lower. Now you could let yourself let go of any shame you were feeling before and just let yourself pretend for a little while that he had cum this much for just you.

“It’s not fair...  How are we supposed to pay attention when they are teaching the class?”

You listen to the sound of Sumin’s voice as she pouts into the sentence, leaning over the desk. While your attention was down on your almost finished homework, hers was on that of Professor Hong and Mingyu standing at the front of the room.

“Y/N…Are you even listening to me?”

Whining Sumin shakes your arm, making you look up at her as you finish the last of your physics work to meet her desperate eyes.

“I was, yeah. I didn’t finish last night. I had…was I distracted?"

"Well, it’s not like they are collecting it right now. You always get good grades in this class anyway.”

Shrugging, you push your work under your book and sigh, glancing to where Sumin had been looking just a moment earlier, only to see Mingyu looking in your direction. He was breathtaking. Sumin was right between your professor and the teacher’s aid. Physics had quickly become one of your favorite classes to attend.

“You know, unlike Professor Hong...  Mingyu isn’t married.”

You had lost your train of thought when Mingyu smiled at you, looking away a moment later and going back to his conversation with your professor. It wasn’t until Sumin said something ridiculous that you furrowed your brows and looked at her like she had two heads.

“And? He’s out of my league.”

Sumin laughs and leans against you, looking back up towards the front of the class as Mingyu laughs at something Professor Hong says.

“I’m just saying he looks at you a lot, that’s all. I’m observant and a really good friend. He’s not that much older than us and him being out of your league is bullshit."

Rolling your eyes, you push Sumin with your arm, making her laugh again as she is forced to sit back on her side of the desk when Professor Hong moves to start the class. Now you were forcing yourself to keep your eyes down, which only made you want to steal more glances towards the attractive teacher’s aid, who took up his usual spot on a tall stool in the front corner of the room.

Sure, Mingyu looked at you. He looked at the entire class but even as you peeked in his direction, now his eyes were on you, causing your cheeks to burn and your eyes to once again drop to the page that the professor was talking about. Sumin was just getting in your head.

“Mingyu will come through and collect your work and pass out this week's quiz. As always, my office is open for questions and discussion until 6 p.m., except on Fridays. Before we get started today, any questions?”

Tapping your pencil on the desk, you shake your head along with the mummers from your fellow classmates as you watch Mingyu move out of the corner of your eye. With one arm he holds a folder full of quizzes, and with the other he collects course work, stopping to laugh and smile at various people when they offer up excuses for not having it at all or having half filled sheets.

“Professor Hong’s office is open tonight until 6 p.m., Soonyoung. You can talk to him about it. There’s nothing I can do about it now. If you want tutoring, I can help you set that up.”

The younger man groans, throwing his head back dramatically as Mingyu grins at him, sliding a quiz towards him before moving towards your desk. Stopping in front of Sumin, Mingyu smiles at her, kindly taking her sheet and letting her take the quiz with a flirty thank you.

“Mmhm, good luck. Hi, Y/N. Your work?”

You had been trying to avoid his eyes but when your name slips off of Mingyu’s lips, you can’t help but glance up at him as you push your lips together with a nod. Feeling a kick to your leg from Sumin, you grunt, falling forward, causing Mingyu’s brows to furrow out of concern until you laugh softly and lift your finished work towards his hand.

“There ya go.”

“Perfect, good luck on your quiz.”

You wait for Mingyu to put the paper down on your desk but instead he waits for you to take it from his fingers, making you look him in the eye.

“Thank you…”

Grinning, Mingyu lifts his brow, letting his teeth catch his bottom lip briefly as he lets out a soft breath.

“Anytime.”

Your eyes follow Mingyu for a moment until Sumin’s fingers grip your arm and she leans to squeak into your ear, making you come back to reality.

“If that wasn’t flirting, then I am failing at the game of life.”

Once again tugging your arm from your friend, you try to take a breath, shaking your head as you look down at the quiz in front of you, trying to remember how to read much less how to do anything pertaining to physics in the allotted amount of time remaining for your class period.

“I bombed it. Completely. This is the worst I’ve ever done on a quiz.”

Sumin watches you lean into your hands, the quiz on your lap, as you look at the 45 circled at the top in red ink. Even so, she had to admit that something had gone wrong today. Normally, you have no problems with quizzes, even if the class kicked her ass.

"Okay, yeah, it sucks. You didn’t do well but hey, it’s not the end of the world. Maybe go talk to Professor Hong and see if he will let you retake it. It’s literally the first time you’ve fucked up a quiz.”

Groaning into your hand, your legs bouncing, you reach over to look at your phone to see the time. It was already 5:15 and you remembered how many times they had mentioned Professor Hong’s office in class. It was worth the try.

“Yeah…yeah okay.”

Pushing your quiz into your bag, you get to your feet quickly, pulling on the end of your shirt to make sure you don’t look too disheveled. With a huff, you leave Sumin standing in the commons area as you walk quickly towards where you knew your professor’s office to be.  Glancing at the closed door, your brows furrowed, and you felt the knot in your stomach tighten as you reached up to knock on the door, clearing your throat before trying to sound confident.

“Pro–Professor Hong? It’s Y/N. Are you still in?”

Watching the frosted window for a moment longer, you start to take a step back when the door opens inward. You start to smile when you see a face you weren’t expecting. Mingyu smiles at you before it turns apologetic.

“Y/N? Uh, Professor Hong got a call from home about ten minutes ago and had to leave. I was about to put a sign on his door. Is everything okay?”

Of course. Of course, that would happen on the day when your life felt like it was ending. Your professor would have some sort of family emergency or something and leave his office early. Defeat evident on your face, you just sigh before it turns into an unamused laugh, causing Mingyu to furrow his brows in surprise.

“I–no. I mean…yeah. Sure. It’s fine.”

Mingyu wasn’t a rocket scientist but he was pretty sure that everything wasn't, in fact, fine. Taking a step forward to look down the hall in either direction, he sighs before reaching out to take your arm and pulling you towards him into the office.

"Clearly, it isn’t. You were coming to talk to Professor Hong for a reason. What’s wrong? You look like you’ve been crying.”

With his hand falling from your bicep, you listen to the click of the door behind you before you find the courage to look up at Mingyu as his eyes search your face. He looked legitimately concerned and that confused you. You knew he took his position seriously but this wasn’t his job. Sighing, you reach into your bag and take out your quiz, offering it to a confused Mingyu, who takes the paper into his hands, looking it over as his features soften.

You hadn’t had the chance to look at him closely before. Sure, he had stopped in front of your desk many times and you had to approach him to do things but never like this. He was handsome, even more so than you had realized. His hair had been cut in the past month or so and you remembered almost wanting to mourn the moment he had walked into class with the shorter hair until he smiled and you realized he could pull off any hair style.

“Y/N…ok…I get it, but it’s just a quiz. Professor Hong will let you retake it if you really want to. He lets Soonyoung redo his all the time and he isn’t half as dedicated to the class as you are.”

Trying to force yourself to look anywhere but into Mingyu’s eyes you move them lower over his face to his nose as you speak. Your voice wavering as you try to keep yourself from crying. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe him and that you didn’t understand how insignificant a single quiz was but to you it was important.

“I–yeah I know. That’s what I wanted to talk to him about. I don’t want to fuc—mess up my GPA. One quiz could do that, you know what I mean?”

Mingyu watches your brows furrow as you seem to avoid his eyes in place of focusing on his face. He was beginning to wonder if he had something on it. Had something had eaten earlier gotten stuck in his teeth or was something on his nose? Reaching up he taps the end of his nose to check, only drawing your attention to it more directly as he sighs into his words.

“Well, listen…I can just send you home with another quiz. I’ll send Professor Hong a mess –”

Your gasp causes Mingyu’s words to fall silent on his lips as you stare at him in a mixture of horror and surprise. Something about him had felt familiar and up until that moment you hadn’t been sure what it was. The structure of his face was so similar to someone you knew or recognized but then that freckle on the end of his nose, you’d know it anywhere. ariespic_46 had that freckle. It was unique and along with everything else about Mingyu that screamed that he was the same person your heart was in your throat and you felt sick.

“Are you alright? Holy shit you scared me… Did I say something wrong? Why are you looking at me like —”

Your eyes were searching over his face but the moment your eyes met Mingyu’s again your bag fell to the floor leading you down with it. Your hushed apologies caused Mingyu to scoff under his breath. You had never been this nervous around him before, it was almost like you had seen him for the first time.

The thought dawned on Mingyu as he leaned down to help you with your bag picking up your phone seeing the back of it adorned with butterflies. Running his thumb over the pattern he couldn’t help but tilt his head to the side in thought listening to your mutters about how clumsy you were. You had never been clumsy in class before. Maybe you had really seen him for the first time.

“This is cute. Butterflies?” Waiting for you to look at him and your fingers to be on the phone, Mingyu takes his chance to see your reaction as his brow lifts in question, “나비들?”

Tugging your phone free from his grip you swallow hard hearing the word on Mingyu’s lips. You were even more certain now and you were beginning to wonder if you weren’t the only one.

“Yes, I mean….I like them. They’re pretty.”

Smirking a bit, Mingyu lifts his hand to brush over his lips pushing the smirk away as he turns to pick up a blank quiz before offering it to you. Making an appreciative sound, the man nods letting you take the paper from his hand as he sighs, his attitude having shifted almost suddenly into something a bit more dangerous, making you feel like the room was closing in on you. Mingyu watches you back towards the door, your tongue swiping your lips as he leans against the desk, his fingers running over the back of his hand, similar to how you had seen him act on stream when he was thinking about what to do next.

“Leaving?”

Nodding, you reach behind you for the door handle. Finding it takes you two tries without looking to find it. Mingyu’s soft chuckle sends a shiver down your spine but you do your best not to react to it outright; instead, you just smile at him and bow your head before sneaking out and closing the door harder than necessary.

“Oh my god…”

You were whining under your breath as you sped down the hall back towards the commons, where Sumin had waited for you. A smile on her lips until she sees the terrified look on your face, causing her eyes to widen and her hands to find your shaking frame.

“What’s wrong? Did he say no? Are you failing?”

There was no way you could explain this to her so instead, you just shake your head and show her the blank quiz, letting her breathe a breath of relief. With Sumin’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, the girl leads you out of the door towards the chilly outdoors when you feel your cellphone vibrate with a notification.

ariespic_46 says: Special live tonight! You won’t want to miss it. 🦋

It wasn’t a DM but instead a notification to all of his subscribers. Was he calling you out now? Your mouth felt dry but your thighs pressed together as you tried to walk beside Sumin, listening to her talk about her next date.

Mingyu would have never considered that you would have been Nabi but the fact that you were was making him feel a bit feral. Half the reason he even did the streams was because he felt so pent up. The money was nice but being in the job that he held, it was hard to let loose and date, especially when you had your eye on someone in the class you were the TA for.

You were the inspiration for many of his streams, if not all of them lately. He had subtly mentioned how you seemed to be teasing him from afar but seeing that look in your eye today, it was clear to Mingyu that you had no idea. You were the type of girl who didn’t seem to realize when eyes were on her until it was right in her face and if that’s what it took, well, now he had the opportunity.

Sighing, Mingyu leans back in his chair, smirking to himself as the red light signals that he is live. He knew he was ignoring the stream and the chat but he wasn’t really there for them tonight—just one person. He was waiting for a single name to pop up in the ‘watching now.’ Grinning as he sees the user name nabi.wings finally flash up at the bottom of the list, Mingyu bites at his bottom lip and lets out a slow, breathy groan. Now he knew you were watching.

“Good evening, pup.”

You take a breath. Mingyu hadn’t used pups like normal, just a singular pup. Sitting with your legs crisscrossed on your bed, your laptop opened in front of you, and you licked your lips, shifting nervously. He knew you were there. You watch his smile broaden and your stomach flips with how much it affects you now that you know what his entire face looks like. This was completely different. You should turn off the stream, cancel your subscription, and apologize to him as soon as possible… but instead you just let out a soft whimper as Mingyu unbutton’s his shirt.

“Why did you run out on me today? Because you realized?”

The chat was confused but some started to chime in that it must be a roleplay situation and started to play along. Mingyu’s eyes scan the chat for you but he doesn’t expect you to answer. Instead, he just chuckles at some of the responses that make no sense and glances towards his phone at the DMs he has shared with you in the past.

“You have been such a dirty little slut. More of a tease than I had even known. You were making me watch you from the front of the room while you played innocent and yet you were watching me the entire time.”

Your hand moves over your face when you feel warmth radiate down your neck. You felt embarrassed. You had no idea you had teased him even once. It had never been your intention. In your mind, you were so far beneath him that you weren’t even in his line of sight and yet here he was telling you something different.

“Is this what you did last night too, pup? You watched me play with my cock, then showed up and batted your pretty little lashes at me? You made me want to pin you down on that table in front of everyone just because you look so fucking cute."

Mingyu practically growls as he shimmys out of the white button up you had seen him wearing earlier in the day. You watch him lift his hips, his fingers almost angrily undoing his jeans so he can push them down, leaving him in just his briefs.

“You know what made it worse? You showed up later. You were desperate. Of course, not for me, but for something, and I wanted to make it better. I hope I did… I just wanted to see you smile but instead I got something even better, didn’t I, baby?”

Hearing baby on Mingyu’s lips as he palms his cock, twitching and hard under his black briefs, makes you whimper his name under your breath. Sliding your legs apart, you feel your hands tremble as you fight a mental battle with yourself that you quickly lose. The morality of masturbating to your TA talking to you through his camboy stream falls to the wayside as you let your fingers rest between your legs under your pajama pants over your panties.

“Mmm, I did. I got to see you all flustered and panicked because you figured it out and so did I. My smart little pup. Fuck…This feels good but it'd be so much better if it were your mouth. I think about that all the fucking time when I see your lips.”

Starting to look away from the screen as you feel how wet you’ve become through your panties, you stop when Mingyu groans long and slow. You watch as he pushes his briefs down, freeing his obviously painfully hard cock and letting it rest back against his abs.

“If I called you right now, would you let me come over and fuck your little pussy, pup?”

You knew the question was prompted at you once again but the chat was going crazy with yeses and the offer of their numbers, which only caused Mingyu to chuckle. Shaking his head, Mingyu groans, wrapping his thumb and forefinger under his head, gripping himself loosely, feeling the way he was already throbbing with want.

“I want you to know something, baby. Every time I have fucked my hand recently, it’s been while I’ve been thinking about you.”

Shivering at the thought, you bite down at your lip as you finally slide your panties to the side, letting the pads of your fingertips glide between your wet folds. Your eyes follow Mingyu’s hand as he strokes his cock from base to tip a few times, quiet lewd groans slipping from between his perfect lips.

“Each time I’ve come, I’ve pictured it being on different parts of your body. One night I thought about watching it pool in your mouth on your tongue and I came again. I didn't have a single thing left; it was all dry but fuck, it still felt good because I was thinking about you.”

The image of Mingyu cumming twice at the thought of you was enough to cause you to shiver. You had watched him cum multiple times at this point, even unknowingly but putting a face to the image in front of you made your breath quicken. With two fingers knuckle deep inside of yourself, you whimper his name almost as if you beg him for more, only to watch Mingyu lift his hips and groan seemingly in response.

“What I wouldn’t give to feel your pussy around me right now. All I hope is that you are touching yourself for me. Fuck…” You watch Mingyu laugh and lean his head back, a smirk spreading over his lips as he does. “Knowing you’ve been watching and that’s a possibility. Baby? Did you fuck yourself last night to me and then show up today?”

You were embarrassed but not enough to stop what you were doing; instead, it only made you want it more. You just nod in response, pushing your hips down over your fingers, wishing they were longer and thicker like how Mingyu’s looked wrapped around his cock. You could feel your mouth watering, imagining sitting over his lap as he said all the dirty things he was saying now to your face.

“I’m getting close, pup. Look at what you do to me. Oh fuck…”

Eyes trained on Mingyu, you rock your hips against your hand, feeling yourself getting just as close when thick white ropes shoot out to cover his abs and hand. That was a more intense orgasm than you had seen in a long time. There was so much cum that the chat was feral, the amount of tips quickly rising as Mingyu licks his lips, lazily running his hand along his shaft, letting himself soften in his own grip.

Meanwhile, you close your eyes, feeling your own climax overtake you, Mingyu’s name once again slipping from between your lips like a prayer. Your thighs shaking, you fall back against your pillows, carefully sliding your fingers from your sweatpants, before glancing back to the laptop screen to watch Mingyu smile as he comes down from his high.

“I gotta go. Clearly, I have to get cleaned up; I’m a fucking mess. I’ll talk to you soon.”

And with that, the screen went black, leaving you in a quiet room with your racing thoughts. Eyes on your ceiling, your body jerks when your cellphone chimes with the sound of a notification. You weren’t sure what you had expected it to be but seeing a DM from Mingyu on the SVThub app still made you feel anxious.

ariespic_46: did you have fun? [picture attached]

ariespic_46: [picture attached]

The first picture causes you to swallow hard as you look at his still softening cock resting in his palm, cum splattered over what you could see of his abs and his hand. The second picture takes your breath away, making you falter in responding for longer than you intended.

Now if you had any questions or second thoughts about him being ariespic_46, those were thrown out the window as you stared at the half naked selfie you had been graced with.

ariespic_46: are you okay?

nabi.wings: i’m okay. this is just insane…

ariespic_46: ik but if I text you, are you going to freak out?

What kind of question was that? He had your number, yes but he had only sent you texts related to your course. Swallowing hard, you whine and kick your legs at your mattress as if it had offended you as your thumbs move across the screen of your phone.

nabi.wings: no…

ariespic_46: sounds reassuring, but I’ll take it.

A new notification popping up at the top of your screen makes your stomach flip as you see his name and not some username he was hiding behind, just Kim Mingyu.

Kim Mingyu: hey, baby. wait, that’s probably too forward, but maybe not.

You had clearly entered another dimension if Kim Mingyu was texting you things like “hey baby” on a Thursday night. Licking your lips and feeling like they were suddenly too dry, you slide up in bed, trying to keep your wits about you as you clear your throat.

Y/N: honestly, this is so fucking weird at this point. idk what is forward anymore. i feel like i should be apologizing but you did just send me a pic of your dick not 10 mins ago.

Running his palm along the back of his neck, Mingyu grimaces a bit to your message even if he can’t help but laugh at the entire scenario. Surely there was some hilarity to it all, even for you.

Kim Mingyu: you didn’t like it? seemed to like all the ones i had sent before.

Y/N: that was before i knew they were you!

Kim Mingyu: knowing it’s me makes you not like them?

That wasn't what you meant at all. Closing your eyes for a moment, you lean your head back against your headboard, taking in a deep breath and trying to compose yourself.

Y/N: you are who you are…and I’m who I am. isn’t that weird or inappropriate? why the fuck do you have a camboy show to begin with?

Chuckling to himself as he pulls his pajama pants up to his hips, Mingyu reads over your response, trying to imagine what you are doing at that exact moment. He imagines how flustered you might be and how cute you were, flustered, in Joshua’s office earlier that day.

Kim Mingyu: i have the show because it feeds a few of my kinks and helps me unwind. is there a rule that says i can’t have one? i don’t go on there and say my name or current occupation. i’m not a professor, y/n. i’m not your professor.

He had a point. He was just the teacher's aid. He was just out of university himself. That was the entire point. He was interning, learning the ropes from Professor Hong so that one day he could be the professor. Maybe you were looking too deep into this.

Y/N: no, ofc not. you have needs. you should do what you want. 🫣 what sort of kinks is the show feeding you?

Grinning at your text, Mingyu grunts quietly as he lays back on his bed, resting back on his pillows, feeling more relaxed than he had in days.

Kim Mingyu: dirty girl. i didn’t expect you to ask but i like it. i like being watched and praised while i can degrade. the chat, most of them like when i call them dirty dumb sluts. what about you? what is my show feeding you, baby?

Turning on your side, you groan into your pillows at Mingyu’s question. Of course, he was going to turn it back on you. What had you expected?

Y/N: idk, i like watching. it is a good way to end the night after a long day in classes to just watch someone incredibly attractive get off and tell me what to do.

Letting out a breath at your response, Mingyu shifts on his bed, feeling his cock trying to twitch back to life. He had to keep himself in check for now. Licking his lips, Mingyu rolls his neck and takes a moment to plan out his response before finally giving in.

Kim Mingyu: you want me to tell you what to do when you are stressed out, baby girl? (if this is too weird, tell me to shut up but you miss 100% of shots you don’t take or whatever that bullshit is, right?)

Your face was instantly on fire at Mingyu’s response until you read the end, which caused you to laugh. God he was an idiot. How was this the same man writing the beginning of the message and the end?

Y/N: what if I do? you going to keep doing it over a screen? (I like it, you weirdo)

His canines catch his bottom lip, and Mingyu lets out another breath. There was no way in hell he wasn’t going to latch on to your seeming burst of confidence.

Kim Mingyu: not if you let me take you out and bring you home tomorrow? I can only assume you live in shared housing. am I right?

He was asking you out or was this just a booty call? Did it really matter? You could feel your thighs burning at the idea of being with him. Swallowing hard, you glance towards your door as you hear your roommates laughing loudly from the shared living room, almost as if on cue for his question.

Y/N: I share an apartment. would probably look odd to bring the TA back to my apartment and my bedroom. my last class is at 3 tomorrow…

Kim Mingyu: then loan me your afternoon and night and I’ll make it worth your time, baby. I won’t lie... I’ve wanted this for a long time.

You had to be insane to be thinking about saying yes but as you type out your response, you find yourself smiling, your feet kicking into your comforter like a teenager accepting her first date.

Y/N: that’s a big claim but sounds like a date.

A date. Mingyu reads your text a few times before smirking, wondering if you had meant to say it like that. Either way, he was enjoying it. You, on the other hand, were wondering if you should pretend you had meant something else or try to unsend the text but seeing his read status, you knew it was too late.

Kim Mingyu: it’s a date. I’ll see you after class. goodnight 🦋

Pursing your lips around your straw, you take a drink of your coffee, furrowing your brows as you lean back in the chair in the common’s area. Your last class let out a bit early so you weren’t expecting Mingyu to pick you up for at least another twenty minutes and Sumin had left you ten minutes ago, muttering something about a guy named Lee Chan.

You were doing some investigations into Kim Mingyu. Before all of this, you had looked at his personal instagram a few times. He was eye candy after all but you had never followed him. You didn’t know him well enough for that. As for ariespic_46, you had never followed his Instagram purely on the principle that you didn’t want anyone to look at your followers and see a camboy’s Instagram.

Looking at the two Instagrams now, you realize how naive you have been. It wasn’t exactly as if Mingyu was hiding it all that well for anyone who really wanted to go digging. His personal Instagram username was gyu.46 and his camboy Instagram was the same as the one he used on SVThub.

There were many times he took photos in the same place and just blurred his face or added a hat before posting them to one account or another. The thing that hit you the hardest was the fact that he used the photo he had sent you the night before as his current Instagram profile picture and you knew the truth behind it. Perhaps to his friends and followers, he would look like he was just taking a shirtless selfie but you knew better.

Groaning to yourself, you hit the button on the side of your phone to turn off the display, putting away the photos that were starting to drive you insane. In place of them, you find yourself staring at the floor in front of you as you finish off the last of your coffee when a set of feet stop in front of you and you hear the amusement in a man’s breath.

“Zoning out?”

Mingyu. That was the first thought in your mind before you even looked up to see him. You had told him you would come out to meet him but either you had missed a text or he had just chosen on his own to come find you. Glancing back down to your phone, you furrow your brows when you don’t see any missed text before looking back up at him, confused.

“I was walking by and saw you here looking at the floor like it was the Mona Lisa. Ready to go?”

Watching you look around like you are afraid you will get caught, Mingyu laughs, reaching for your hand, causing you to gasp in surprise at the action.

“It’s the last day of classes before a three day weekend, baby. You are literally one of the last people in this building. The rest of the students are out finding something fun to do. Let’s do the same thing.”

Your cheeks were burning as you pulled yourself closer to Mingyu to keep your hand and his hidden from anyone who might be looking. You weren’t sure why it really mattered but it was still making you feel self conscious. You were both adults. You could date one another if you wanted to.

“Where are we going?”

When you finally speak, Mingyu grins, glancing down at you before gesturing towards his car parked near the staff parking lot, which causes you to whine.

“I–Y/N…Where did you expect me to be parked? Two blocks down? Hidden from sight? You act like we are committing some sort of crime.”

Mingyu sighs only to laugh when you pout up at him, feeling bad for putting him in a difficult situation. You watch him unlock his car and pull open the passenger side door before he finally lets go of your hand in place of running in over his short locks.

“You are so fucking cute. Just get in…  We can talk about where we are going once we are on the road.”

He wanted to kiss you already. You were still pouting a bit and your lips looked so kissable. They looked a bit bitten with the color you had worn today and all Mingyu could imagine was leaving you breathless and your lips swollen from kissing them so much.

Nodding, you take one last look around before dropping your bag into the floorboard and sliding into the passenger seat, only to marvel a bit at how nice the car actually was. You knew what his job was and you knew he couldn’t be getting paid that much but then the thought dawned on you that you saw the amount of tips he was pulling in for his streams and that didn’t cover the money he was probably getting from other avenues.

Sliding behind the wheel with a soft grunt, Mingyu reaches up to pull down his sunglasses from his visor to put them on before glancing over at you with a small cheeky grin. You recognized those too. He had been wearing them in a selfie he had taken on his Instagram; they were Chanel and you could only imagine how much something like that could cost.

“Nice glasses…”

Shrugging, Mingyu backs out of his spot and pulls his car out onto the road, letting his palm rest on the gearshift as his fingers lazily drum a gentle beat onto the stereo display.

“Thank you. They were a gift.”

A gift. Pursing your lips, you glance out the window with a nod, wondering who would be buying him Chanel sunglasses. Mingyu watches as you play with a ring on your index finger, twisting it out of nerves or just lost in thought.

“Do you want to know by who?”

You scoff before even realizing it is coming out of your mouth, causing Mingyu to laugh as he glances over at you once again.

“Wow, jealous? They were a gift from my sister. She works in the fashion industry and sometimes gets things for free. This was one of them. I said I liked them so she told me to keep them.”

Biting your tongue, you feel the heat rising in your face as you glance over to Mingyu, seeing him still smiling at you. He didn’t look mad; he was just amused. You had no reason or excuse to be jealous. You barely knew him, even if it felt like you had known him forever. Watching his shows didn’t mean that you knew the real him.

“Sorry. I really don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

Mingyu shrugs, leaning his head back on the headrest, before offering you another smile. He knew it was going to be awkward at first. There was no way it couldn’t be. It wasn’t like he had made this very easy for you in the first place.

“It’s fine. You can only take what you see at face value and it’s not like I’ve given you probably the best new first impression of me.”

Shaking your head, you turn towards Mingyu, slightly letting out a breath as you really give him a once over. He was handsome—incredibly handsome. You already knew that from your classes but you had never really had the chance to just look at him up close for this long. But now you could tell even more that he and the camboy of your dreams were the same person. From the freckle on the tip of his nose to the curve of his lips.

“But I shouldn’t assume. It’s just…  Your car is really nice and your glasses are nice. I’ve seen the tips you make for your shows so I assumed you had a sugar momma or something.”

Mingyu’s smile makes it impossible for you not to smile in return. Your eyes travel over his jaw, up to his lips and to the tips of his canines that you remember obsessing over in his shows. Tightening his grip on the wheel, Mingyu chuckles quietly and shakes his head.

“No, no sugar mommas for me. The subscriptions, tips, and revenue from a couple of sponsorships bought this car and my apartment. I do alright.”

You had to admit that watching him like this, explaining his cam show like a job, was attractive. The idea of sponsorships blew your mind but then, as you thought back on it, there were a few well placed product names in his shows and the same brands were mentioned more than once. He was smart and that was something that made your stomach tighten with desire and anticipation.

“Mm…Where are we going? You never told me.”

Nodding, Mingyu glances back over to you, letting his eyes follow the length of your body turned slightly sideways in your seat to face him before he takes a breath at your thighs.

“Gonna pick up an early dinner and head over to my apartment. Call me selfish but I’d like to be alone with you.”

Your stomach was doing flips. You knew he had said he wanted to take you back to his apartment the night before but in practice, it was daunting. Biting your lip as you look down, you can only nod, muttering out a meek okay in response. Mingyu grins, shaking his head at how shy you get, his hand tightening on the gearshift to keep him from reaching over and tilting your head back up towards him.

“Cute…”

With bags in either hand and his keys hanging on his fingers, Mingyu grins at you as you watch him with a slight smile on your lips. You had watched him struggle to open his door but he had shooed you away, insisting he could handle it. Shaking your head, you follow him, glancing around his apartment as Mingyu stops to drop the bags onto the counter.

“Make yourself at home.”

Letting out a sigh, you lift your brows, feeling a bit overwhelmed with being in his space. It was a nice place—nothing incredibly fancy—but you could tell he was paying a pretty penny for it. Mingyu watches you wander for a moment as he takes the containers out of the bags, turning to take out a couple plates before clearing his throat.

“So I have water, some juice, uh..." Smiling as you turn back towards the kitchen, watching Mingyu turn suddenly domestic as he moves to his fridge, opening it to look at his drink options before he nods and continues his list. “Milk, protein powder, you know if you are into that sort of thing... or beer.”

Resting your arms on the counter, you laugh softly, meeting Mingyu’s eyes as he takes out a beer for himself, waiting for your answer. He smiles as his eyes drop to your lips as your teeth catch your bottom lip for a brief second, only to let it go with a soft sigh.

“Beer is good, though you tempted me with the protein powder.”

Laughing, Mingyu takes out a second beer, popping the cap open before sliding it to you as you glance at the large container of protein powder you had joked about, making him glance in its direction as you do.

“Who needs that much anyway?”

“I–me. People who work out regularly.”

Lifting your brow, you bring your beer to your lips, taking a sip and noticing how Mingyu’s eyes never leave you. Even as you lick your lips clean, his eyes seem to follow the swipe of your tongue over your lips before he picks up his beer to take a longer sip, his shoulders falling as if he is letting himself relax.

“As many gym selfies as you post, you must work out every day, Mingyu.”

You watch Mingyu’s head tilt, the corner of his lips lifting in a smirk as you peak his curiosity.

“You been looking at my Instagram?”

Shaking your head, you pull the stool out from the island to slide onto it as Mingyu works to plate the food. A shit eating look is on his face as you purse your lips, trying to think of how you would handle his question. There really was no reason to lie.

“Both of them, actually. I looked at them today. I didn’t follow them, so don’t get too excited.”

Mingyu bites at his cheek, sliding a plate towards you but it’s obvious that he is amused. He loved the idea of scrolling through his pictures, which made him think of the pictures he knew he had sent you in the past without even knowing it was you.

“That’s okay, babe. You don’t have to follow me. You can see the real thing anytime you want now.”

Your fork lifted midbite, and you stopped to look at Mingyu, feeling your cheeks burning. You knew you should be turned off by such a fuckboy response but you weren't when you had been watching his show for months at this point. Swallowing your saliva, you look at your plate, opting to take a breath before finally eating the food off the fork as Mingyu watches you with a smile on his face.

He was hungry but nothing on his plate was going to fill him up when you were sitting across his kitchen island from him. Even so, Mingyu kept himself in check, taking large bites of chicken and following it with a swig from his beer as you ate much slower, trying to keep your eyes averted from his watchful gaze.

“Are you that nervous around me? After all we’ve been through together already."

Scoffing against the lip of your beer bottle, you finally meet Mingyu’s eyes but you find that might have been a mistake when he smirks at you and you feel your stomach tighten. He was perfect. You had never had anyone look at you the way he did. Yes, he was looking at you like you were a meal but also like you were the only person on the planet, despite knowing there were thousands of girls in his chat daily watching his show begging for him.

“You didn’t know it was me and I wouldn’t call that going through something together. I’ve seen a lot more of you than you have of me, Gyu.”

Mingyu’s lips pick up at one side when you shorten his name. Leaning down to rest his arms on the counter, the man leans across it slightly towards you, glancing over your face, down to your covered breasts and back up to your eyes.

“Gyu? I like that.” Licking his lips, Mingyu tilts his head, gauging his next words, before smiling at you sweetly. “You’re right. You’ve seen my dick plenty of times but I’ve pictured you naked probably twice as many times. Thought about you on my dick, choking on it. You've heard all the shit I’ve said on my shows.”

He wasn’t wrong; you’d listened to his dirty talk and what he had said to the girl he fantasized about that you wished had been you. It was like a cruel turn of fate that it was you at this point. Furrowing your brows at Mingyu’s words, you shift on the stool, trying to fight the urge to push your thighs together as he recounts his dirty thoughts in front of you.

While you thought your movements were subtle, Mingyu’s eyes dropped immediately to your lap as he took a breath, pushing back from the island to stand at his full height. That was something you were still coming to terms with. You knew the man you were watching on the stream was large and you knew that Mingyu was a big man but seeing him in front of you like he was now was enough to take your breath away.

The way you were looking at Mingyu was making him feel even more feral than he had when you were trying to hide how you were rubbing your thighs together. Now he was fighting the urge to pounce on you where you sat.

“What’s the matter, pup? You are squeezing those thighs a lot. Did I say something you liked? Are you still hungry?”

Putting your fork down, you shift once again onto the stool as Mingyu moves around the kitchen to stand beside you, his hand resting on top of the counter. He was intimidating; not in a way that you thought he was a threat, but  more in a way that you knew you could lose yourself around him.

Swallowing hard, you lift your head, daring to look into his eyes as Mingyu bites down on his bottom lip, his head tilting as he waits for you to speak up. He wasn’t impatient, at least not yet. This is why he has asked for your afternoon. Afternoons could lead into nights and he had plenty of food and water to keep you sustained.

“I–maybe…”

Lifting his free hand to trail his fingers along your arm, Mingyu watches your lips fall open when he reaches your shoulder.

“Maybe? Are you this shy?”

Mingyu listens to a soft whine slip from between your lips when he takes a step towards you, his hand sliding along the side of your neck. His touch was light but he knew he was crowding your space now. But you weren’t running from him. Instead of turning towards him, you were leaning your head back, your back was arching, and his mouth was starting to water.

“Aw, baby… I remember what you told me last night. You want to be told what to do, don’t you? You don’t want to think, do you?”

Your eyes close at Mingyu’s words, your tongue running over your suddenly very dry lips at the idea of what he was saying to you as you felt his thumb pressing against the junction of your jaw and throat. When you nod, Mingyu groans under his breath, his fingers pressing into the back of your neck and pulling you up slightly as he leans down to brush his lips over yours as he speaks.

“Then just do what I tell you to do today. You don’t have to think about anything. I’ve got you.”

Falling back onto Mingyu’s bed, a breath slips from your lips as you look up at him, his knee resting between your legs. Most of your clothes had been discarded in the process of making it from the kitchen to Mingyu’s bedroom. Where you had been filled with apprehension before, all that was left was desire as the man you had been watching for months grinned down at you in appreciation of what he was seeing.

“Even better than I could have imagined. Fuck…I hope you don’t have any plans for tomorrow, pup.”

You laugh quietly, not answering the question outright, as Mingyu leans down to press his lips to the top of your breast as his hand snakes behind your back to unclasp your bra. Feeling the garment give way, you lift your body slightly, letting him help you shimmy out of it, earning you another deep growl from his chest as he sees your breasts fully.

“Please…”

Your soft pleads were like an injection straight into Mingyu’s veins, causing him to get a renewed sense of purpose and energy. He had a feeling that he could feel spent, having fucked you multiple times, but if you said please to him like you just had, he would be hard in no time and have you pinned back on his bed.

“Please what? Do you even know?”

When you shake your head, Mingyu laughs into a groan. You were already so far gone and he had barely touched you. You were perfect. Sliding his hands along your sides, he works his fingers into the elastic of your pants, rocking them along your hips before tugging them down your legs so that you would be naked on his bed, just like he had pictured so many times before.

Taking a step back, Mingyu runs his hand over his mouth at the image in front of him. He was still fully clothed and perhaps that’s what made this even better. He could feel his cock pressing hard against his jeans, twitching every time you squirmed on the bed, begging for him to come back to you.

“I will, baby. Be patient. Shh, let me just—fuck. Let me look at you. I wanna remember this.”

Fingers scratching at the comforter under you and pulling it into your palms, you whimper as you feel your arousal begin to run from between your folds from just the desire to be touched. You didn’t want to wait but you also didn’t want to do anything Mingyu didn’t want you to do. It was almost embarrassing if you let yourself think about it how quickly you let yourself give into the idea of being his.

Shedding his shirt and jeans, Mingyu kicks the clothes from his path before doing the same with his briefs, only to stop short of his bed when he seems to come back to his senses. No matter how much he wanted you, he still had to be sure how he was going about this. He may want to lose himself in the moment but you were too important.

“Baby…Open your eyes. Hey, look at me. I have to ask you a question.”

Pouting, you force your eyes open and look at Mingyu as he leans on the bed with one knee. Leaning into his hand as he brushes his fingers over your hair, you look into Mingyu’s eyes as he searches your face to make sure you are paying attention before he smiles and nods.

“Are you on birth control?” Watching you nod, Mingyu nods along with you before following it up with his second question. “Do you want me to wear a condom?”

That one makes you furrow your brows; you didn’t want to think about it, but Mingyu’s hand on your cheek, keeping your attention on his face, helps you focus as he tilts his head. A small sound of question from his mouth when you pause causes you to blink a few times as you consider it but then you think about his cum in all of his selfies and shake your head.

“No? You want me to come inside of you?”

“Please?”

“Fuck” is all Mingyu can think as his cock twitches, leaking onto his bedding when you basically beg him to cum inside of you. It was what he had wanted but he would have done whatever you wanted. Lowering his head, Mingyu smiles and nods, taking a breath to calm himself. You nudge your cheek into his hand, making Mingyu lift his head and look at you again.

“Okay. I just had to check. I know I said I'd do whatever to you, but if you ever want me to stop, just say red, okay? Think of a stop light, got it? I’ll listen to you.”

You nod and Mingyu feels like he is going to melt at how cute and perfect you look. He wanted to fuck you but he also wanted to keep you forever. He wanted to keep you in this bed and in his life. Shaking his head, Mingyu laughs to push the thought to the side for now as he leans to press his lips to yours, giving you a firm but sweet kiss that seems to help relax your mind right back to where it had been before he made you focus.

Groaning against your lips, Mingyu pulls back to look down at you as you slowly open your eyes, blinking up at him in anticipation. He wanted to ruin you for anyone else. Shaking his head, Mingyu pushes back on the bed, leaning on one arm so he can trail his hand along the length of your side as he just admires your body in full.

He could see you were rubbing your thighs together and it was driving him crazy. He had to see how wet you really were for him. Mingyu could hear the soft moans in your throat every time your hips lifted and your thighs pressed together so when he forced one of your legs to the side, all he could do was scoff.

“You’re making a mess of my bed, pup.”

The words make you whine, your neck and face heating up with embarrassment. Mingyu just grins, running his thumb along your slit and lightly feeling you jerk under his touch as you start to apologize.

“Why are you apologizing? I don’t want that… you’re beautiful. I can change my bed but this is a treat. Just watching you drip for me.”

You wanted him to do more than just watch. You needed more than just his light touch. You wanted all he had promised but your brain felt fuzzy and you were in no position, nor did you want to be, to tell him what to do as Mingyu smiled at you.

“Shit…Just look at you. All of this for me?”

It was phrased like a question but Mingyu knew you weren’t going to answer as he ran his index finger between your folds, collecting a bit of your arousal on his finger. He looks back into your eyes as he brings his finger to his lips, sucking it clean with an approving groan to your taste. He had known you were going to taste good. There was no way in his mind that you wouldn't; he just wasn’t prepared for how good you tasted.

Sliding down the bed, Mingyu wraps his arms around the back of your thighs, using his strength to tug your body closer to him. Looking up at the span of your body, Mingyu smiles, meeting your eyes even as his breath fans over your wet folds. You moan, feeling his fingertips press into your hips as he looks at your pussy so closely, hunger dripping from his eyes.

Without another word, Mingyu runs his tongue from your entrance to the top of your mouth, awarding himself with a drawn out moan from your parted lips. A shiver rolls through Mingyu’s body at the feeling of you against his tongue and the taste of you in his mouth. This had been his fantasy for so long that it was almost overwhelming to have it come true.

“Oh my god, baby..."

Mingyu’s words are a whisper but speaking so closely against your skin causes you to arch against his mouth, urging him to continue what he had started. Not wanting to keep you waiting, Mingyu just smiles against your pussy, then groans as his face relaxes and he runs his tongue from your dripping hole up into your soft folds, collecting your sweet arousal.

Your hands claw at the bedding as you feel the fire starting to burn in your abdomen and thighs. Mingyu’s left hand slides back under your leg to rest under his mouth as his lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently. You whine his name, trying to lift your hips, when you feel his finger press into your entrance, only for your walls to clench around the digit as soon as it’s in.

“Needy… Were you clenching around nothing before?”

You nod and Mingyu laughs, his lips brushing over your sensitive clit, causing you to shift your hips away from him only to be pushed back down by his right hand, still holding you tightly. Slowly and gently, a second finger presses in beside the first before Mingyu pulls his fingers back towards his palm, listening to your breathy moans. You were angelic and he was struggling to not go too fast and fuck his fingers into you at a brutal pace just to watch you gush around them.

“So fucking warm and soft. I could get addicted to this, pup. Imagine if this is what they saw on my stream. My fingers fucking your pussy... God, they’d lose their fucking minds. What if they just got a picture of my fingers buried inside of you?”

When you tighten around his fingers, Mingyu grins, leaning to kiss your thigh, pushing his fingers into you deeper, and turning his hand so that his thumb can rub circles around your swollen clit.

“You like that? You want me to take that picture?”

Glancing around his bed, Mingyu watches you nod out of the corner of his eye before he reaches for his phone with his right hand, only leaning back enough to snap the picture before leaning back down to spit on your pussy and his fingers and repeating the process.

“I don’t know if I want to share them or be greedy as fuck.”

You feel the phone hit the bed but you don’t care to look as you feel Mingyu’s thumb push around his spit and your arousal. Your orgasm was right on the edge and it was clear that he could tell with the intensity that took over him. He wanted your orgasm as much as you did.

His mouth back on your pussy, Mingyu groans your name as he feels your walls tighten around his fingers. He could feel your cum around his fingers and he wanted it on his tongue. He wanted you on his lips. You whine about the loss of his fingers but the feeling of his tongue pressing into you makes up for any loss you once felt as Mingyu’s tongue all but fucks your cum back into you.

Feeling your fingers running through his hair, Mingyu pulls back a dazed look in his eyes to see your chest rising and falling quickly as you come down from your orgasm. Your thighs were twitching and even the lightest touch to your folds would grant him a high pitched whine from your lips.

“So damn sensitive. I could listen to that all day. Are you okay?”

Nodding, you run your fingers along Mingyu’s side and then along his abs as he moves to lean over you. Mingyu’s lips glide over yours in a slow, deep kiss that seems almost too sensual for two people who barely knew each other but neither of you pull away. Instead, Mingyu smiles against your lips first when he feels your fingers running along his skin along his chest a few moments later, your knee resting against his hip and his mind pictures doing this a year from now.

“Come here, pup. I want to see that pretty ass.”

Sliding back on the bed, Mingyu helps you roll over on your stomach, his hand sliding around your stomach as you move to your knees. He watches as you rest your cheek on your arms, keeping your ass up in the air for him. It was a perfect image and his cock was leaking heavily at how perfect you were. Running his hand along your ass, Mingyu lifts it quickly only to bring it down once, rubbing over the spot as you gasp and whine at the feeling of him spanking you.

“Comfortable?”

It was a real question but Mingyu just smirked as you hummed in response instead of actually answering him. You were so far gone; he could do almost anything to you and you would be just fine at this point. Leaning down, Mingyu presses a kiss on your ass before moving to his knee and gripping his cock with his left hand so he can line himself up with you and ease himself in slowly.

Furrowing your brows, you dig your nails into your arm at the feeling of the stretch, even as Mingyu goes slowly. Your mind was blank up until the moment he started to thrust into you and now all you saw were stars. All there was in your mind was Mingyu and his cock. Gasping for a breath, you press your forehead down into the bedding, letting out a moan when Mingyu’s hips rest against your ass, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Shh…I’ll just stay here. You’re doing so good, baby. Holy shit, you feel so good. Let me know if it’s too much.”

The painful stretch fades almost as quickly as it hit you, a euphoric, full feeling taking over and you find yourself wanting him to move. You find yourself wanting to be filled over and over again by him until you are full of his cum. You feel your cheeks burning in embarrassment at your own thoughts, even as Mingyu groans, leaning his head back, feeling your pussy clamping around him as you think about him feeling you up.

“I–I’m gonna move. You’re killing me. Gonna make me cum too fast if I don’t. It’s like you want my cum right now. Is that it, baby? Huh?”

With his hips meeting yours in rhythmic motions, Mingyu runs his left hand along your back soothingly as you whimper his name, almost like a prayer getting drunk off of him. You weren’t answering his questions but he didn’t need the answers when your pussy was talking for you. He could feel you were getting closer, just like you had around his fingers.

Leaning over your back, Mingyu runs his mouth over your shoulder as his hips rut against your ass, pushing his cock deeply inside of you as he listens to your cries, not realizing tears were actually falling over your cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure. It isn’t until Mingyu leans back, pulling your back against his chest so he can rest his cheek against your head, that he realizes that you are crying and it makes him slow only for a moment.

“Color, Y/N?”

Muttering green three times, you wrap your hand around Mingyu's, which rests over your stomach, keeping him close to you. With the assurance that you are okay, Mingyu rests his lips against your temple and rolls his hips up hard and fast against your ass, feeling your cum running down his cock as the coil inside of you snaps.

Watching you orgasm was one of Mingyu’s new favorite things in the world. It ranked up there with eating his favorite foods and watching his favorite movies. Right now, he would put it at the top of the list as his own climax teetered at the edge until you turned your head to look at him and your lips parted, a fucked out look on your face and he knew he did that.

You knew the signs of Mingyu’s climax. The way his voice would change, the way his mouth would part, and now you knew the look in his eyes when it happened. That was your favorite part and it didn’t matter how far gone you were in your own orgasm, you would never forget that look as the warmth of Mingyu’s cum began to fill you up and spill out onto your thighs with each of his thrusts.

“Gyu…”

He couldn’t handle you saying his name like that. Not while he was cumming inside of you this hard. Leaning you back down onto the bed, Mingyu groans into your ear, burying himself deep inside of you with one last thrust. With both of his arms caging you down onto the bed, Mingyu tries to catch his breath as he feels you trying to do the same under his weight.

After another moment of silence, Mingyu listens to your soft whimper when his cock slips from you and he moves to lay beside you. It sounded like you were disappointed to be empty and that was almost devastating. How could he stand this? You were going to be the death of him.

"Baby, fuck, are you okay?”

You smile and Mingyu melts once again. You looked so happy and at peace. You had said you didn’t like to think and he had accomplished that. Running his hand over your back, Mingyu smiles, leaning to press a kiss to your lips, feeling you return the kiss.

Your brows furrow, feeling the bed shift but you can’t find the strength to open your eyes but somehow you know Mingyu’s not in the bed with you anymore. It’s colder and there is a missing weight. You were enjoying his weight. He was like a perfect weighted blanket. A frown quickly takes over your expression as you whine and try to turn over, finding yourself exhausted.

“No, no…shhh. I’m just in the bathroom. I’m starting the shower. I’ll carry you. Then I’ll change the bed and we can get back in bed.”

Who were you to argue with any of that?

Several hours later, you wake up to a warm sheet and a heavy arm covering your body. The smell of bodywash that wasn’t yours fills your nose but then the memories of Mingyu washing your body flood your memories and you can’t help but smile as your cheeks burn. It hadn’t been a dream. None of it had.

You can feel the soreness in your thighs and in between your legs but its a good pain. The pain you won’t regret.

Turning in Mingyu’s arms, you watch him sleep for a moment, unable to stop the way your lips pull up into another smile as he smacks his lips in his sleep as he starts to wake up. You hadn’t meant to wake him up but just the movement was enough.

His eyelids flutter open, and Mingyu’s lips pull up slowly, seeing you awake and more coherent. You had been so out of it during the shower and he had barely gotten you to drink part of a bottle of water but now your eyes were bright and you were smiling at him. That made him feel good.

“Hey…”

Mingyu watches you bury your nose against the pillow and he can’t help but chuckle at how shy you are, even after he had fucked you dumb in his bed just a few hours earlier.

“Stop that. Come here.”

Pulling you towards him, Mingyu presses his lips against yours and feels you melt into the kiss and against his body. He was so warm; you felt safe but a bit out of place and confused about what came next.

“That’s nice.”

You smile and nod in agreement, causing Mingyu to lean his head back and look at you.

“Talk to me. What’s on your mind, babe?"

“What…do I just go home now?”

Laughing, Mingyu shakes his head before rolling on his back and looking up at the ceiling, letting you rest on his arm under your head.

“I don’t want you to. I mean, hell. I took pictures of you during sex and I won’t lie…one of you sleeping. I don’t just take pictures of random girls on my phone. I want to do this again. Not just the sex. The date part. I like you, Y/N.”

Turning on Mingyu’s arm, you smile but try to hide it, only causing Mingyu to feel your warm cheek drawing his attention to you. With another laugh, Mingyu reaches over to push at your warm cheek playfully as he bites at his lip, furrowing his brow questioningly.

“What do you want to do?”

Nudging your cheek against his fingers, you smile and pull your legs up under the covers, feeling a bit smaller at his question. You knew what you wanted but even hearing his confession, it felt silly. It took looking into his eyes and seeing the vulnerable look there to make you do the same.

“I want to stay. I like you too, Gyu.”

Grinning, Mingyu turns back towards you, leaning to kiss you once more and reaching to tilt your face more towards his as you laugh against his lips.

“Then it’s settled.”

He was incorrigible but you liked it. Shaking your head, you sigh against his lips, thinking about the other things he had said.

“It is... also, I want to see the pictures on your phone of me, and maybe you can post one of the pictures to your account.”

His brows lifting, Mingyu feels his cock react to your words. The idea of posting pictures with you was giving him way too many ideas and he wanted to give you time to recharge before he fucked you back into his mattress.

“Fuck…really?”

Laughing, you nod as Mingyu runs his nails along the side of your neck and you feel his body press closer to yours.

"Okay, yeah, I’ll get my phone.”

When Mingyu starts to move, you hold on to him and shake your head, making him laugh this time as he looks into your eyes, letting you kiss him this time before you speak on his lips.

“In a bit, just stay with me for a while longer first.”

Humming against your lips, Mingyu nods and rolls you on your back, deepening the kiss, knowing there was no rush now with you right where he had always pictured you, with him.

© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed

[zaynessbeloved]

Tipsy, hard and needing you

Synopsis: Rafayel doesn’t drink often...but when he does, he drinks to forget how much he misses you. After one too many glasses and one too many thirst-heavy messages, you find yourself in his studio, still in your scratched-up mission uniform. He’s flushed, needy, and harder than he has any right to be. And his drunken mind can conjure one thing, and one thing only: showing you just how much he missed you.

Content warnings: Explicit sexual content, established relationship, rough drunk sex, desperate whiny begging, body worship, bratty dynamics, dominance/submission themes (soft switch energy), marking, fingering, oral sex (receiving), size kink, overstimulation, intense eye contact, dirty talk, alcohol consumption (consensual), rafayel sending a suggestive pic/public teasing (prelude), rough handling, cockwarming mention, possessive behavior, mild obsession, emotional vulnerability, and unprotected sex.

Pairings: Rafayel x reader

Word count: 7k

A/n: i am insane because he has so many 4star memories of him being tipsy (implied) so i had to write a lil something on how i personally see him being tipsy/drunk. this is just my personal take, enjoy! <3

The mission isn’t long, but it’s exhausting. Your arms are still sore from holding your weapon too tight, and there's a smear of Wanderer dust clinging to your boot. You want nothing more than to peel off your jacket, throw your comm onto the charger, and melt into your bed.

Your phone buzzes. And then again. And again. You don’t need to check the name, you already know who it is. The first few texts are nothing new.

Rafayel: i’m dying Rafayel: this canvas is my mortal enemy Rafayel: come eulogize me, cutie. bring wine

Dramatic, as always. But then the tone of his messages shifts.

Rafayel: need you Rafayel: no seriously. i need you Rafayel: i’m not even being poetic this time

You pause mid-step, boots clicking to a halt in the middle of the quiet sidewalk. Another buzz.

Rafayel: come ruin me. please.

Your heart stutters, because the following message is a photo. Your breath catches the second you see it. He’s shirtless, which, fine, isn’t unheard of—Rafayel has never been shy about his body, and he always knows exactly what he’s doing with that silver chain and half-lidded stare.

But this isn’t aesthetic. It’s desperate. His hair’s messy, mussed from his own hands. His chest is flushed, and the angle is a little off, like he tried multiple times and gave up. One arm is stretched above his head, the other lazily gripping the waistband of his sweats. Low, way too low.

There’s a hint of ink from one of his recent tattoos, the glint of chain, the barest shadow of want.And the message underneath the picture?

Rafayel: if you don’t come over i might start painting with my dick. your choice.

You don’t even laugh, you just pick up the pace. You’re half-jogging now, mission forgotten, boots pounding against the pavement. Because Rafayel doesn’t get drunk easily, not unless he’s trying. And he doesn’t beg. Not like this. Not unless he’s completely unraveling.

You fire off a single reply as you duck into a side alley and cut through toward his studio

You: Don’t you dare start without me, Raf

His reply is immediate.

Rafayel: hurryyy. i’m so hard it hurts. also i think i might have tried making soup and almost burnt the kitchen down???”

You don’t know whether to groan, blush, or sprint faster. Probably all three.

You don’t even knock when you come to a halt in front of his door. You’re too far gone for that. Too wired from the rush of his texts, the photo seared into your brain like a brand, the idea of him hard and messy and waiting for you.

The studio door swings open before your knuckles can reach it, and there he is. Rafayel. Shirtless, barefoot, flushed from the chest up, hair a mess of tangled curls, one side of his sweatpants riding dangerously low. There’s a line of color creeping across his collarbones, the telltale shimmer of sweat glistening beneath silver chains. And, oh…he’s hard. Very hard. Painfully obvious under the thin fabric of his pants.

He opens his mouth, but you’re already grabbing him by the front of those pants and yanking him forward into a kiss that shatters whatever clever line he was about to deliver.

He gasps into your mouth, stumbling slightly, both of you nearly crashing into the frame of the door. His hands fumble at your hips, gripping too tight, a little frantic.

“Getting straight…” he pants, voice thick, breath hot, “…to the point, huh?”

You groan against his lips, tugging him deeper inside, one hand already tangled in the damp strands at the back of his neck.

The door slams shut behind you but neither of you cares, really. His mouth tastes like vodka and heat and desperation—like Rafayel, but unfiltered. His tongue licks into yours with messy abandon, too much and not enough. He moans when your teeth scrape his bottom lip, then pulls back just enough to look at you, breathing hard.

“You’re…” His hand brushes the rough fabric of your uniform, and he squints. “You’re still in your hunter gear?”

“Obviously,” you mutter, panting. “You couldn’t wait?”

His brows furrow, soft and tipsy. “Shit. Did I interrupt something? You were on a mission, weren’t you?” His hand ghosts over a dirt-smeared scrape on your arm, slow, almost guilty.

You kiss him again, hard. “Don’t care.”

He makes a sound that’s half whimper, half relief. And then his fingers start tugging at your jacket, clumsy and insistent.

“Well then…” he murmurs, lips brushing yours, breath thick with heat and vodka. “It’s getting hot in here, don’t you think?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Just starts peeling the jacket off your shoulders, dragging it down with exaggerated care, eyes locked on every inch of skin he reveals like it’s the first time he’s ever seen you.

You break the kiss as he pushes you backwards, deeper into the studio apartment section of his loft. Canvases and crushed tubes of paint blur in your periphery as your boots stumble over the rug.

“Raf,” you whisper between kisses. “Why are you drunk?”

He presses his forehead to yours, lips brushing lazily at the corner of your mouth, still breathing hard. “Tell me…” his chuckle is low, wicked. “…should I be a good, honest boy? Or should I play hard to get?”

You groan, rolling your eyes so hard your head tilts back, exposing your throat to him. He takes the bait immediately. His lips latch onto your skin, hot and desperate, teeth grazing just enough to make you shudder.

“God, even drunk you’re insufferable,” you mutter.

“And yet,” he pants, “you’re here.”

You drag your hands down his chest, nails leaving faint trails over his flushed skin. He groans again, deeper this time, and it vibrates through his chest like thunder under silk. Drunk Rafayel isn’t loud. He’s needy. Whiny, flustered, and just this side of unhinged. And you haven’t even undressed yet.

Your hands find the hem of his sweatpants as you kiss him again, just barely brushing beneath the waistband, the faintest tease of fingertips over heated skin. He gasps into your mouth, then groans, deep and needy, when your nails scrape softly just under his hips. You pull him with you as you both stumble backward, his footing a little clumsy, until his back hits the edge of the kitchen counter.

The moment jars him, just enough to bite at the fog in his mind. He leans there, flushed and panting, eyes half-lidded and gleaming like molten purple under the dim studio lights. Behind him, a bottle of alcohol, nearly emptied, sits beside a forgotten glass, the rim still coated in a faint pinkish smear from his mouth.

You glance at it, frowning slightly. “Why’d you drink so much?”

He doesn’t answer at first, just breathes, or more like pants, trying to regain some sort of self control because he can still feel your fingers beneath the hem of his sweatpants. And then slowly, softly, his fingers curl at the edge of the counter as his head tilts.

“Miss Bodyguard,” he murmurs, breathless, voice slurring playfully, “touching me wherever is rude.”

You raise a brow, lips quirking. “You’re saying that right now?”

But there’s no bite in your voice because beneath the teasing, you see him. His face is flushed to the ears, hair damp at the temples, sweat slicking down the curve of his neck. And his eyes, god…his eyes are drowning in something deeper than just alcohol.

He swallows slowly, lifting those stormy eyes to yours.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

You blink, heart lurching.

“I know it was just a few days,” he continues, voice hoarse, trembling at the edges. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. All day, every minute.” He lets out a half-laugh, self-deprecating, breathless. “I tried painting. I tried walking. I even tried folding laundry, which—don’t look at me like that—but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop wanting you.”

Your heart squeezes so hard it hurts. You knew Rafayel was intense—loved intensely, wanted fiercely. But this? This is raw, cracked open and so honest.

He’s still leaning against the counter like he’s trying to hold himself upright. You close the distance, fingers still flirting with the band of his sweats, but now it’s softer, less teasing, more grounding. His hands twitch at his sides.

“Raf…” you breathe.

He doesn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he drags you into another kiss, deeper now, hungrier. You press into him, one hand sliding up his bare chest, the other still dancing just under the fabric at his hips.

His head falls back with a ragged gasp as your mouth trails from his lips down the slope of his neck. You taste sweat, vodka, and the edges of desperation, and he shivers under your tongue.

“I think you need to go…” he pants, voice low and wrecked and just a little daring, “…a little lower.”

You smile against his skin, lips ghosting over his collarbone.

“Is that a request?” you whisper.

His hips twitch.

“That’s a warning.” he growls, breathless and already falling apart.

You smile against the curve of his neck. Not sweetly and definitely not innocently. No, you smile like you know exactly what you're doing. Because you do.

Your lips trail down the column of his throat, warm and slow, brushing over the slick heat of his pulse. He tilts his head to the side instinctively, giving you space, almost desperate to feel your lips on his flushed, sensitive skin. His breath catches, shaky and high, when your mouth closes over his collarbone, planting a few kisses, then sucking, just hard enough to bruise.

His hips twitch. You feel it, feel the tension and the desperation. He’s so hard now it must be painful, the heat of his cock burning against your palm where your fingers still tease, just barely dipped under the band of his sweats.

He groans, head knocking back against the cabinet behind him, chains clinking softly against his skin.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me, touching me like this…” he whispers.

But you do. You press another kiss to his clavicle, then a mark just beneath it. “I missed you too,” you murmur against his skin. “Every second.”

His breath leaves him in a sharp exhale, like the words hit harder than he expected. His hands clench at the counter’s edge, knuckles white, body trembling from how close your touch is to what he wants. He needs you to touch him so fucking bad.

But you don’t move your hand, not yet. You pull back instead, just a little, enough to look at him. And fuck, the sight of him like this steals your breath.

Rafayel, flushed and ruined, his lips parted, throat marked red and blooming, hair falling wild across his forehead, eyes barely open, just enough to look at you like you’re the only thing tethering him to this world. His chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths. His sweats are tented so hard it’s almost obscene.

You don't even have to speak. You just watch him, his whole body radiates heat and want, and the look on his face is ruinuos, drunk on vodka and you.

His gaze falters under yours, then lifts again, wild and starving. His voice is wrecked when he speaks, low and teasing, but laced with something darker, more dangerous.

“Do not tease me,” he breathes. “If you keep looking at me like that…” he leans forward, just slightly, a tremble in his frame. “…I won’t show you any mercy.”

You smirk. And that drives him insane. His hips jerk, desperate for contact, but you still don’t move your hand. Your thumb brushes just along his hipbone instead, feather-light. The touch is teasing yet promising underneath.

Makeout sessions with Rafayel are always like this—heady, breathless, intense. Full of moans and shivers and pretty bruises. Because when he touches, he touches with everything he has. And you know that. You know what he’s capable of in bed. You’ve felt it, how he unravels you like a masterpiece he painted himself—slowly, deliberately, with obsession bleeding into every stroke.

Which is why now…you’re not giving him exactly what he wants. You want to keep him tethering on this very edge of madness just a little longer. The thought of what that will make of him makes you so wet, and you mentally hold yourself to the promise of him ruining you later on. As he never fails to do.

You kiss him again, harder this time, deeper, and his whole body reacts. One of your hands slides up, threading into his hair and tugging just enough to make him groan into your mouth. He doesn't grip the counter anymore. Now it’s you he holds onto, the side of your neck, the back of your shoulder, your waist—desperate hands clinging like he's afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn't press you close enough.

His cock grinds against you, hot and aching, and he whines—low in his throat, helpless—when your hand still doesn’t wrap around him.

He’s burning for you, desperate for your touch, and you know it.

Your breaths mingle, thick with alcohol, lust, and the kind of hunger that makes your knees weak. You can taste the vodka on his tongue, sweet and sharp and drowning in need. And you’re drunk on it, on him.

Finally, finally, your fingers dip lower beneath the hem of his sweats, just a little. Your knuckles brush the thick, hot length of him and he moans into your mouth.

“Someone’s intentions,” he pants, voice shaking, playful but desperate, “are as clear as day.”

You smile against his lips and pull back just enough to start trailing kisses down his neck again. His head falls back with a ragged exhale, eyes fluttering shut.

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, “keep going.”

You do. You kiss his throat, his collarbone, the chain that dips between his flushed pecs. His chest is warm and sticky with sweat. His hands grip your hair, but not to guide, just to feel you, to hold onto something.

And then you drop to your knees. The motion is smooth, controlled, and so deliberate. He looks down at you like he’s been struck by lightning. You glance up, hands slow and gentle as they curl at the waistband of his sweats. His breath hitches as you drag them down, kissing along the trail of skin you expose, until finally he’s bare in front of you.

His cock is very hard, leaking, flushed red and aching, begging for attention. Begging to be touched, to find release. But still, you don’t touch.

Your eyes lock on his.

“You’ve been such a good boy,” you murmur, voice soft and sinful. “So honest with me. Now tell me…”

Your nails trace up the inside of his thigh. “…how did it feel? Missing me these past few days?”

His jaw clenches.

“Did you think about me?” you ask, lips ghosting over the crease of his hip. “Did you touch yourself?”

His entire body shudders. His hands tighten in your hair, and his cock twitches in front of your lips, but still, you wait, watching him unravel. Waiting for him to break.

For a second, he just stares down at you silently. You see it in his eyes, the hesitation, the pride, the fragile ribbon of restraint he's always trying to keep from unraveling. But then he exhales, deep and shaky, and lets it go.

“I thought about you,” he admits, voice hoarse, chest rising and falling. “Every night. Every damn time I closed my eyes, I saw you, cutie.”

Your eyes glint, lips hovering right near the base of his cock. His hips twitch forward, subtle, like his body is betraying his mind, again.

You tilt your head, breath teasing against flushed skin. “And?”

He swallows hard.

“I touched myself thinking of your mouth,” he breathes, a flush creeping up his chest. “More than once. I imagined this…you on your knees, looking at me like this.”

Your tongue flicks out in one long, slow lick from base to tip. He gasps, head tilting backwards, and you hum—low, sweet, satisfied.

“You’re such a good boy,” you purr, lips brushing the underside of his cock as you speak.

Another lick, slower now, around the tip, then back down.

He moans, and you can feel his whole body shudder. You lock eyes with him as your tongue moves, again and again. You take your time, tracing him with reverent cruelty, just enough pressure to make him shake.

He grips the edge of the counter behind him, knuckles white.

“Fuck…” he pants, voice cracking, “…cutie, I—I—”

You lick again, this time with more pressure, swirling your tongue just beneath the head. His breath punches out of him. His eyes flutter and his head falls back in pure pleasure.

“Oh my god—” he groans, the sound full of broken want, “please…”

That’s when you finally wrap your lips around him. Just the tip, but it’s enough to make him go insane. He gasps so hard it’s almost a whimper.

Your mouth slides down—slow, sweet, maddening. You feel his hips buck slightly, chasing the heat, desperate to be deeper, and you let him. Because you love him like this. Messy. Needy. Yours.

Your mouth moves, pace steady and deep, tongue tracing the vein underneath as he throbs in your mouth. He moans again, long and low and wrecked, every sound of it tinged with alcohol and craving and utter devotion. His hands find your hair again, not guiding, just anchoring, because he’s barely standing.

And you don’t stop. Not when his hips start rolling. Not when he starts panting your name like a prayer. Not even when he chokes out something that sounds dangerously close to “I love you” under his breath, breathless and soaked in want.

Your mouth works him steadily, slowly—deeper with each glide, wetter with every moan that slips from his kiss-swollen mouth. You feel him twitch on your tongue, hear the desperate curse that falls from his lips when you hollow your cheeks just enough to make his knees buckle.

And still, you don’t stop. You relax into it, hands firm at his hips, your tongue tracing every inch you can reach, your throat swallowing every groan he offers you. Without words, you tell him exactly what you want. Lose control. Take what you need.

You feel it when he finally gives in. His hips begin to roll, rhythmic and frantic, the hand in your hair tightening. Not to force, never to force, just to anchor. Like he needs to hold onto something to keep from falling apart.

His head tips back. A low, broken moan escapes him, raw and breathless.

“Fuck—fuck, you feel so good,” he gasps, voice wrecked, thick with desperation. “I want you like this every damn day…”

Your tongue slides along the underside of his cock, and he chokes on a moan.

“I missed you so much—fuck…don’t ever make me miss you again,” he pleads, frantic now. “It’s not fair…you make me feel like this and then you’re just gone…”

You moan softly around him, the vibration making him stutter a thrust. His hips twitch forward, messy and aching.

“I can’t…I can’t, cutie, please…let me—fuck, let me finish—”

His head drops forward like the strength’s been pulled from his spine, his glassy eyes locking onto yours below him and that is what breaks him. The sight of you, kneeling before him, lips stretched around him, cheeks hollowed, eyes shining and so willing.

He lets out a sound that’s halfway between a sob and a curse. And then he thrusts forward one last time—deep, desperate—and comes. His whole body convulses, every muscle tensing as heat pours from him, his groan long and shattered, his fingers trembling in your hair.

You keep eye contact the entire time and you take all of it, every last drop. And when it’s over, when his body slumps against the counter behind him and his legs are still shaking, his chest heaving, he whispers something soft, breathless, stunned.

“…I think I just died.”

You smile and lick your lips as you rise slowly, warm palms tracing up the curve of his waist. His hand finds your jaw, the grip gentle but sure, and he pulls you up into a kiss that’s messy and hot and absolutely drunk with need.

He tastes himself on your lips and doesn’t care—if anything, it makes him groan louder, deeper, kissing you harder as his hands slide lower to your hips, clutching them like he’s starving for more, like the high of release wasn’t enough to dull the ache you left behind.

Somewhere between kisses and panting and hands roaming skin, he wiggles awkwardly out of his sweats the rest of the way, nearly stumbling. You catch him by the waist, laughing against his mouth, but he uses the momentum and spins you, backing you up until your spine hits the edge of the counter with a soft thud.

Now you’re cornered. Now he’s the one in control again. His mouth is on your neck before you can say anything—wet, open kisses trailing down your throat as his fingers tug at the buttons of your uniform shirt, clumsy but determined.

“You see, cutie…” he murmurs, voice breathless against your pulse. “You already made my life a beautiful, chaotic mess.”

The last button gives way, and he pushes the fabric off your shoulders, kissing down the center of your chest until he reaches your bra. He groans softly, brushing his nose against your skin as he mouths your breast through the fabric, fingers digging into your waist like he can’t get close enough.

You pant, fingers tangling in his hair again, head tipping back as your hips roll forward, brushing against his now half-hard cock resting heavy against your thigh.

Rafayel growls.

“I barely touched this,” he whispers, warm mouth brushing against your bra as he speaks, “and you’re already flushed.”

He kisses over the soft breast, slowly dragging his teeth along the edge, and you whimper. You are flushed, breathless now, and he knows it. He drinks in every gasp, every twitch of your body like it’s paint running down canvas.

“I missed you,” you gasp between pants, threading your fingers tighter through his damp hair. “God…I missed you so much, Raf. I would’ve come sooner, I swear, but—”

“Don’t care,” he cuts in, groaning into your skin. “You’re here now. You’re mine now.”

His kisses get rougher, hungrier, as his hands slide up your spine, finally touching you properly, and his mouth finds your collarbone, your throat, your shoulder, all the places he needs to mark.

His mouth never leaves your skin. Not when he slides his hands up your back. Not when his fingers fumble with the clasp of your bra—frantic, trembling, almost too clumsy with how drunk he is. But then it gives way, and he lets the straps fall, kissing down your throat, nipping the slope of your shoulder, like he needs to devour every inch of you.

Your bra drops somewhere on the floor, but his hands don’t stop. They hook under your thighs, gripping you tight and then he lifts. You gasp as he picks you up and plants you on the edge of the counter, the cool marble pressing against your bare thighs, shocking in contrast to the molten heat in his mouth.

He is still kissing your skin, still biting your neck and leaving matching marks for his own. He doesn’t even pause to catch his breath, just pants into your neck like he’ll drown if he stops.

And yet, he slows. He shifts the angle, presses soft bites just under your ear, kisses the same spot until your spine arches on instinct, begging for more. But he doesn’t move his hands, doesn’t touch you where you need him most. Just keeps teasing.

You whimper, arching your back again—an invitation, a demand—but all he does is hum against your skin, warm breath fanning over your throat like a confession.

“Silly girl,” he murmurs, chuckling against your pulse, his voice ragged and low.

You groan, rolling your hips forward. “Rafayel…”

Still, he doesn't move, he just sucks harder at your neck, his teeth scraping the shell of your ear.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you whisper, breath breaking between frustration and arousal.

He laughs again, breathless, dazed, drunk on you.

“Yeah…” he pants, voice soft and cocky. “I am doing this on purpose.”

His hands finally slide up your ribs, palms hot and greedy, and then at last, he leans down and wraps his lips around your nipple. You moan, back arching hard, your fingers threading through his hair and holding him there as his tongue swirls, slow and sinful. His free hand drags down and slips beneath the edge of your uniform skirt.

But still, he doesn’t go where you want him. His hands only grasp at your thighs, caressing the soft skin just above your knees, then sliding upward in slow, possessive sweeps, fingers curling tight enough to bruise.

You shudder under his mouth, under his hands, under the weight of his teasing control. And he hums against your chest, smug and starved all at once. You arch harder into him, the curve of your back deepening as you press your chest to his mouth, your thighs tightening around his waist. Your hands stay tangled in his hair, desperate and pleading without words, because god…he’s still teasing.

His tongue swirls around your nipple in slow, wet circles, just barely flicking when he knows you want more. His hands are gripping your thighs, hard, sliding up to the edge of your panties beneath your skirt and then stopping.

“Rafayel,” you gasp, half-laughing, half-moan, the frustration laced through every syllable. “You said you missed me so fucking much…and now you’re bullying me?”

He groans against your chest, hips twitching where they press between your thighs. Sweat clings to his skin, flushed and shining in the low studio light. His silver chains stick to his neck and chest, tangling slightly as he lifts his face, breathless.

Then he bites lightly at the swell of your breast before meeting your eyes, voice wrecked and fond and maddening all at once.

“But you’re very, very cute right now,” he says, lips dragging against your skin as he speaks. “And I’m allowed to admire what I missed.”

You whimper. He moans again, this time into your mouth as he surges up to kiss you, devouring, hungry, his teeth scraping yours in a kiss that’s too messy to be sweet and too honest to be anything less than worship.

And then finally—finally, his hand slides under the edge of your panties and pushes them aside. You don’t even get to breathe. Two fingers slide into you, deep and unrelenting, and you moan into his mouth, the sound punched straight from your lungs as your body clenches around him.

He swallows it all—every sound, every gasp, every trembling exhale—kissing you deeper as his fingers start to move, slow at first, then harder. Slick. Hot. So fucking good.

You grip his shoulders now, your back arched against the counter, head tipping back as he pumps into you, his breath ragged against your jaw, his mouth dragging down your neck again. Your hips start moving without thought, chasing every curl of his fingers.

The world blurs around the heat building in your core, and Rafayel? He’s already drunk, already ruined, but he wants to see you break before he even thinks about stopping.

Your hips roll into his hand instinctively, chasing the rhythm of his fingers as they pump into you, slick and deep. You whimper as he curls them just right, and your legs spread wider on instinct, thighs trembling around his waist.

“Rafayel—ahh, fuck…”

He groans into your neck, mouth hot against your skin. His free hand clutches your hip now, grounding you, anchoring you to the counter as he fucks you with just his fingers, but it’s so much more than that.

He moves like an artist. Like he’s sculpting pleasure from the very deep center of you. And his mouth doesn’t stop—biting, sucking, trailing heat down your throat, over your collarbone, back to your chest.

“You always break so beautifully,” he whispers against your skin, voice rough with lust, soaked in alcohol and longing. “So flushed, so desperate…”

You moan, louder now, as his fingers hit that perfect spot inside you again. Your hands grip his shoulders tight, fingers digging into the sweat-slick muscle. Your thighs shake.

“Please,” you breathe, “don’t stop—don’t you dare…”

He laughs, low and breathless, and his pace quickens. The slick sound of his fingers inside you is obscene, wet and filthy and so fucking hot you feel your face burn with it. Your moans turn higher, sharper, punched out with every curl of his fingers, and he loves it. Loves you like this.

“Say it again,” he whispers in your ear, breath hot and desperate. “Say you missed me. Say you want me.”

“Mhm, missed you…oh, fuck, I want you—Rafayel, please…”

His teeth sink lightly into your neck and he growls against it. “Good girl.”

You fall apart around his fingers, whimpering, clutching at his arms like he’s the only thing holding you together. The heat’s building too fast—white and burning—coiling in your gut like it’s about to snap. And still, his fingers move. Still, his mouth wrecks you.

And still, he whispers, “Come on, cutie. Show me how much you missed this.”

The pressure inside you spikes—sharp, hot, unbearable. Every drag of Rafayel’s fingers feels like it’s made of fire, and you can’t take your eyes off him. His flushed face, sweat-slicked chest, dark hair sticking to his forehead. The way he looks at you while he ruins you, like nothing else exists.

Your body is trembling. Your hips are bucking into every thrust of his hand now. And he’s whispering filth in your ear, low and unrelenting, the kind of voice that makes your stomach flip.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he murmurs, licking up the side of your neck. “I can feel it…you’re clenching around me so tight—god, it’s perfect.”

“Raf—” You gasp his name like a prayer, your voice breaking.

He fucks his fingers into you harder, deeper, faster now. Every stroke grazing just right. Your thighs squeeze around his waist, your spine arches off the counter, and your head tips back as the wave inside you crests—sharp and wet and blinding.

“Let go for me,” he growls, voice breathless and wrecked. “Come, cutie.”

And you do. You cry out, thighs shaking violently around his hips, your hands clutching him, clawing at his back. Your walls spasm around his fingers as your orgasm slams into you, hard and messy and endless.

He doesn’t stop. He watches it all—eyes wild, jaw slack, drinking in the way your body falls apart for him. His fingers keep moving even as you whimper and twitch, overwhelmed and shaking.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he pants, voice full of reverence and lust. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come. Look at you…look at you.”

You moan, half-broken, half-pleading, and finally he slows. But only just. His mouth is everywhere now—pressing kisses over your jaw, your cheeks, your shoulder. His hand stays buried between your thighs, still feeling every twitch and aftershock.

“You’re mine,” he whispers raggedly, soft and deadly against your skin. “You know that, right?”

You nod, barely able to breathe, much less speak. You’re still catching your breath, body trembling, chest rising in frantic waves when his mouth crashes into yours again—a kiss more desperate than any before it. His hand hasn’t moved from between your thighs, and when his fingers stroke your oversensitive clit, your entire body jolts in his grasp.

“Rafayel—!” you gasp against his mouth.

He moans, muffled and low, as if he’s the one being undone, not you. But that’s always been the truth of it—every time he touches you, every time he brings you to the edge, he breaks with you. Falls apart in tandem. Wants you in a way that’s feral and emotional and frighteningly deep.

You know this rhythm. You know what he likes. And you know what’s coming. He lives to drag it out. To keep you trembling on the edge again and again, his control laced with adoration and hunger until you’re begging him to stop and begging him not to in the same breath.

But tonight… tonight he’s drunk. He’s missed you badly. He’s hard and flushed and not even pretending to be composed anymore. And you feel all of it.

His cock is pressed hot and firm against your thigh, twitching each time you grind closer. The thin fabric of your panties is soaked, pushed to the side, clinging to nothing. Every breath is a moan, every kiss tastes like vodka and sin.

You clutch his hair and gasp against his lips, trembling from the overstimulation, the heat, the need building all over again.

“I need you,” you whisper. “I need you, Raf. I need my lover. Please…I need you inside.”

He growls. That’s all it takes. Something inside him snaps. He grabs you hard, almost rough, pulling you into his arms. One hand still clutching your ass, the other around your back, dragging your mouth to his over and over again as he stumbles blindly through the apartment.

You giggle against his mouth as he stumbles into the wall, swears, and then keeps going.

“Where—?” you start to ask.

“Shut up,” he pants. “I’m taking you.”

You don’t argue, not when he makes it to the edge of the bed. Your bodies stay tangled in the heat of that kiss, standing at the edge of his bed, tongues dancing, mouths open and hungry. His hand stays locked around your waist, his cock pressed hard against your thigh, twitching with every pulse of your moans.

You gasp against his lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to reach down between your thighs. Your fingers hook into the edge of your ruined panties, dragging them down quickly, wet and wrinkled from everything he’s already done to you. They fall to your ankles, kicked away without thought. Your skirt follows, bunched and rumpled, shoved down and off. You’re flushed and shaking and so, so exposed.

Rafayel groans as he takes you in, still in your half-open uniform shirt, still breathless, trembling, and flushed from your last orgasm, and now bare from the waist down.

“Fuck,” he pants, dragging you back into a kiss, deeper this time, desperate. “Not fair. You’re gonna kill me, cutie”

You giggle into his mouth and he turns you, suddenly, his hands warm and firm on your hips. He presses his chest to your back, caging you in, his breath hot at your ear.

“I’m going to show you,” he murmurs darkly, “exactly how deep this goes. How fucking much it hurt to be without you.”

His hand slides up your spine, slow and deliberate, until it settles between your shoulder blades, and then he pushes you towards the bed.

“Bend over.”

You do—panting, moaning, letting him guide you forward until your hands brace on the edge of the mattress, fingers curling into the blanket. Your back arches, instinctively, your ass tilted perfectly for him.

He stands behind you, groaning like he’s lost his mind. And maybe he has. Because from this angle, you’re all flushed skin and damp thighs and trembling anticipation.

“God,” he growls, voice ragged. “You’re so perfect.” he palms your ass, carresing it. “My perfect girl.”

You shudder at the praise, moaning softly as your hips roll back once, begging. And of course—of course—he teases you more, because he can’t help himself. You feel his fingers ghost over your inner thigh, then pause, just before they touch where you need it so desperately.

“I guess Miss Bodyguard is still wet…” he drawls, voice lilting with mock surprise, smug and dark and hungry. “Tsk.”

He chuckles low in his throat as his fingers circle your clit once. You jolt, gasping, legs nearly buckling. And then he pushes in, all the way. You cry out, body arching hard, hands gripping the bed as his cock stretches you deep and fast, no warning, no patience.

It’s just him, just Rafayel, hungry and raw, claiming you, filling you, like he never stopped needing you. He groans behind you, loud and ruined, hips grinding against yours as he bottoms out. His hand stays pressed firm on your back, holding you there, keeping you open for him.

He doesn’t move at first. Just stays there, buried so deep inside you it feels like he’s part of your heartbeat, your breath, your very bones. His palm is still pressed to the curve of your back, keeping you arched just right, keeping you his.

And behind you, you hear it. That breathless, broken sound—half a moan, half a laugh.

“Fuck, cutie,” he murmurs, the words slurred with want. “You feel like home.”

Your hands tremble where they grip the bed, legs already shaking just from the stretch of him, from the pressure of being filled so full. You roll your hips back just slightly, and that’s all it takes.

He groans, and then he starts to move. Slow, at first. Deep, dragging thrusts that pull almost all the way out before he pushes back in again with force that makes the whole bedframe creak under your grip.

You cry out, mouth open, head falling forward as he sets the pace—not gentle, not tentative. Raw. He thrusts harder, faster now, the sound of skin on skin echoing around the room, wet and filthy and perfect.

“God,” he pants behind you, his voice deeper now, more serious than it ever is, even when sober. “I missed this…I missed you…”

His hand slides up from your back, wrapping around your waist, pulling you tighter into each thrust. You can hear how wet you are with every slap of his hips, can feel his body curl over yours, sweat slick, chest against your back.

“Every fucking night,” he groans into your shoulder, still fucking you, harder with every word. “I kept thinking about this…about you, ah…about your body… this pussy…”

You whimper, his words sending fire straight to your core, making your walls flutter around him.

He gasps. “Shit, cutie…do that again.”

You rock back, meeting his thrusts, and moan his name this time. He loses it. He slams into you once, twice, hard, his fingers digging into your hips.

“You drive me insane,” he breathes. “You fucking ruin me, cutie.”

“Rafayel…” your voice cracks, moaning, barely coherent. “Please…don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. He pounds into you, frantic now, hips relentless, every thrust angled to make you feel every inch of what you do to him.

The room is nothing but sweat and moans and the scent of sex and the low, breathless rasp of his voice murmuring, “Mine, mine, mine…”

Your moans fill the room like music—high, wet, breathless. Each time his hips slam into you, you gasp, and his name pours from your lips like a spell. You can’t even think. You can’t breathe without feeling him, every inch of him buried so deep, stretching you wide and perfectly.

He leans closer, his body pressing to your back, his breath hot against your neck, lips brushing your shoulder in desperate, half-mouthed kisses. Sweat slicks his chest, gluing it to your spine, and you feel how much he’s shaking.

And then his voice—hoarse and frantic, trembling with emotion he never hides well when it comes to you.

“Do you want me to go faster?” he pants, thrusting deep and slow for just a moment. “Huh, cutie? Tell me…tell me how you want me.”

Your head lolls back, the tension coiling hot in your belly, your arms shaking where they grip the bed.

“Yes,” you gasp, voice thin and wrecked. “Yes, Rafayel, faster—fuck, please…don’t stop—”

He groans, a full-bodied sound that tears from his throat like he’s breaking apart.

“You want me to ruin you again?” he rasps, speeding up his pace, each thrust now wild and relentless. “Wanna feel it for days?”

“Please—yes…oh my god…”

His fingers slide around your front, finding your clit with practiced ease. He circles it once and you wail, your body locking tight around his cock.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” he whispers, desperate now, breathless. “I can feel you… fluttering, gasping—mine.”

“Yours,” you cry, broken, gone. “Always yours—fuck, I can’t—”

“You can,” he snarls, drunk and feral now, hips slamming faster, deeper, perfectly brutal. “And you will. I’m not stopping until I feel you come again. I need it…I need you to feel me everywhere.”

You’re past words. Past thought. Every muscle in your body tightens as the edge hits again, full force, harder than before, shaking you from the inside out.

And he doesn't stop. Not when you start to tremble. Not when your voice breaks. Not when you scream his name and come hard all over his cock, body collapsing, arching, lost. He fucks you through it, breathless, moaning, yours.

“That’s it,” he gasps, eyes wild, lips parted. “That’s my girl—god, you’re so perfect.”

You clutch the edge of the bed like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Your body is trembling, your skin burning, your mouth wide open as helpless moans spill out between every brutal, perfect thrust.

He’s still moving. Still buried deep inside you, cock twitching with every pulse of your orgasm. Still holding your hips like they’re sacred. Still panting like he might fall apart if he doesn’t keep feeling you.

“Fuck—fuck, Rafayel—” you cry, voice broken. “I can’t…I can’t, I’m so—”

But you don’t tell him to stop. Even through the overstimulation, even through the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes from how good it still feels—you don’t tell him to stop.

You whimper, loud and high and wrecked, hips jerking with each thrust, and through the haze, you reach back, grabbing his wrist, holding him to you.

“Show me,” you moan, desperate, breathless, trembling. “Show me how much you love me… ah, how much you missed this pussy…how much you need me.”

He breaks. Completely. With a shattered groan, he slams into you harder, losing his rhythm, his hips stuttering with frantic, messy thrusts. His head drops forward, lips parted against your back, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your shoulder.

“Fuck…fuck, cutie—I’m gonna…” he pants, voice rough and wild, “I’m gonna come—oh my god…I missed you, I love you…I need you—”

And then he comes. Your name is the only thing he says as he unravels—half-moan, half-grunt, worship on his tongue—his cock buried to the hilt as he pulses hard inside you. Hot. Wet. All of him.

He thrusts through it, whining against your skin, chasing every last wave of it until he finally collapses—chest to your back, arms wrapping around your waist, his weight holding you both together.

Silence falls. Heavy, warm, trembling silence. Your knees give out first. He catches you, barely, pulling you down with him to the floor, tangled in limbs and sweat and ragged, open-mouthed breaths.

You both just breathe. There are no words yet. Only the echo of his moans still ringing in your ears. Only the slick warmth between your thighs, the tremble in your legs, the whisper of his lips on your neck as he presses kiss after kiss to your skin like an apology and a vow.

“Mine,” he murmurs again. “Never letting you go, cutie.”

And you don’t argue, because why would you? Because you are his, and you always have been.

© zaynessbeloved 2025

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!

taglist: @syluslittlecrows, @asiaticapple

[crunchymunchymonkey]

They should not have drawn me from the rubble.

The House of Varn fell in fire, its towers twisted inward like a beast clenching on itself. I had stood within its highest spire when the charm broke. It was not the earth that struck me down, nor flame, nor iron, but silence. A void. The unweaving of the world around me.

They say my skull had split. That one eye was gone, and with it half the mind behind it. That I was dead, though the body would not lie still.

But the magic would not let me go.

It crept into the hollow place - into the broken vault of my head - like water into stone, filling, swelling, shaping. It does not heal. It remembers what was, and makes again, after its own image.

They called it a blessing. A wonder. They saw the wound sealed without scar, the eye returned, the flesh unburned. But they did not see how I trembled when I spoke. How the words were not always mine.

I cannot sleep now. When my eyes close, I do not dream, but fall into glyphs - vast shapes of meaning carved in light, turning through darkness. I fall endlessly. I hear voices - quiet, measured voices - speaking in names not made for mouths.

They do not stop. They speak through me now. They use my tongue.

I am afraid.

Listen, please. You must understand. I do not ask to be saved. I ask only that someone remember what I was. Before. Before the runes bloomed like fungus behind my ribs. Before the spells cast themselves from my hands while I wept and begged them to stop. Before the wind bent toward me like a hound to its master, unbidden.

I do not know the name of what lives in me.

But it is learning.

Each day it builds more. I find things I do not remember writing. Circles drawn in soot on the floor. Words burned into the underside of my skin. And always the mirror - always that false reflection, smiling when I do not.

I try to fight it. To hold on. But there are moments, long moments, when I cannot tell where I end.

And it begins.

Once, in a fit of fear, I carved my own name backward in the air, trying to bind myself. But my fingers moved without me. They completed the sigil in silence. And for a moment, just for one,I saw something through my eye. Something vast. Something empty. Something watching me from inside.

It wore my face.

Please, listen. I speak now while I still can. While there is something left that remembers the sky, and birdsong, and the name of my mother. I do not know how long I will remain.

The hollow in me deepens. The sea rises in it. And the wind that moves across it does not know mercy.

I am not a man who carries magic.

I am a wound that magic wears.

And it walks.

When a mage is badly injured, magic sometimes "fills in the gaps"—growing an arcane hand or leg. You suffered brain damage that would have killed most. Magic filled in your mind.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Writing Polls Notes #3

This is a long one!

So there were a couple moments where I saw commentary and this meme was my first concern 😅. I say this because I realized that what I thought I was communicating, and what people were understanding, as the question were different.

The original question I asked was "Is [Black Character] well written?" And I provided a rubric of examples to consider, figuring that respecting their narrative and depiction while Black was a given. It seemed like people were struggling with the idea that "well-written" included respecting the character's Blackness (and thus, their Black audience) without having to center that Blackness. I'm like okay, that's on me for assuming, and so the question itself needed to be changed.

And so, the question then became "Did the writers treat [Black character]'s narrative with respect?" Interestingly, I never changed the screenshot of the rubric!

Since her poll was poppin, I decided to use Vivienne's character to see what happened, and-

Now. And this is for everyone! Imma ask you this:

If the character wasn't written with care, how is the character still being written well? What are we defining as "well"?

I'm sure there are happy accidents of characters written well despite their author not giving a shit. This is not me saying that you can write with care and never write poorly. This is also not me saying that you cannot like the character or their potential anyway! I certainly don't think these two ramshackle Tumblr polls are the end all be all determination on this character. But I am asking you to think about it, regardless.

If a Black character's Blackness is unironically used as a joke or bludgeon, or out-of-game important social context is completely dismissed or has to be projected onto the character's narrative by fanon, then I personally take that into consideration when determining the author-ial intent in how a character was written (e.g. was a character's story meant to be a 'freedom fighting' narrative or did you have to say 'well if we take it from the authors-').

Idk guys, I just think this matters a lot lmao, and seeing this difference spooked me. The concept of a character might be great, but if the delivery is only great if you have to allow yourself to be antiblack about it (or ignore that factor altogether), maybe it wasn't created with the experience of a Black audience in mind 😅 We can like anything we want, but we ain't gotta lie about it!

Moving on!

Repeating another point from earlier: "It seemed like people were struggling with the idea that "well-written" included respecting the character's Blackness (and their Black audience) without having to center that Blackness."

There were a decent amount of "well the story doesn't mention their Blackness so I guess not/this question is hard". This is a big one to think about, period. When designing and writing your Black characters, and when trying to dodge stereotypes. When we say "be normal about Black people", that's kind of what we mean. You don't have to go "Black, Black, it's a Black!" for us to know the creator gave a damn, given how we are treated in media and life. You can write a downright horrid person of a Black villain and it still be written with care!

But yeah, I don't have to write a narrative where the Blackness is centered to consider the way Blackness itself is treated with my character. For example, as low hanging fruit, Wyll and Mizora.

Blackness- as we know it- doesn't exist in BG3, and yet the visual of a predatory white woman owning a Black man is a very real thing. Doesn't matter that racism- as we know it- doesn't exist in game and is therefore irrelevant, it exists to the real Black people playing it.

So to treat it crassly (as it seems to have been done) suggests a level of unconcern, and thus the effect it will have on those Black viewers who can see how everyone else's narrative is being treated with care. I'm always telling y'all, it's not the prompt, it's the writer- that could have been one hell of a concept, if the people who wrote it knew (or cared about) what they had and followed through!

Now, if your mindset is "well then this game isn't for those viewers" that's true, but keep in mind that's overtly saying that Black players aren't welcome to consume your content with a character that looks like them without settling for racism (which is part of "did they think about their Black audience").

Lastly, as a reminder, we gotta rise above "see there's a Black character!" as a judgment of a piece of media's inclusiveness. Okay, but did they play a role that had interiority or did they just serve as a device for the nonblack main characters and their stories? I don't believe in giving credit for the bare minimum of "being present" anymore lol. It's okay to have standards, it's okay that everything you like won't reach them, but you don't have to lower your standards for good Black characters to "just having them"!

[mmmilkweed]

There's no winning with these people. I'm sorry you're going through this. You're getting dogpiled and don't have the brain capacity to write a full apology yourself, so you get a friend to help so you can address it quicker. People take this as insincerity. But if you'd taken enough time to gather yourself you'd be accused of trying to brush it off.

This is what I mean when I say they will never be satisfied. First it's a nothing burger white lily comic. Then it's the discord. You take steps to fix it. But people don't think you've groveled enough or in the right way, so now it's a nothing burger au about having an unrequited crush on your teacher. You apologize. You didn't grovel hard enough. Now they accuse your first two apologies of being fake. You write one yourself. You didn't grovel hard enough.

Humans are social, and rejection hits harder than acceptance. We're not really meant to be able to process this level of interaction. And getting brigaded by what feels like the entire fandom (it isn't. I know it feels like it is, but these are VERY online people) is gonna send your animal brain into panic mode. This will pass. Both the accusations and the feeling.

You'll get through this.

the first one WAS written by me, and then made to look 'professional' by my friends. The second, I kept stressing how I'm afraid of my words coming apart, like they have many times before, I'm sorry im using your kind message to talk about this, but i think i'll break again if i don't tell at least someone.

i was scared and i felt alone

i just woke up

is it so wrong that i took the help form a native english speaker?

I saw it only as a template, a structure to keep my wandering words at bay.

had i not taken the template and made it my own? I can't explain enough how i could not trust myself to find the words i needed, or the thoughts to express myself. The agony from a day before bleeding directly into the morning. Funny thing about that - today i woke up weeping, dreaming my apology hurt even more people. I'm already dreading going to bed tonight, knowing i'll wake up in the same state tomorrow. And here, have the notes of the first apology. The thoughts, the feelings are ALL MINE! I simply no longer trust myself to type them. Paranoia has me in its clutches, I'm looking over every word i type, even now, trying to see if there's a second meaning behind it.

Oh Anon, I'm sorry I'm using you as an excuse to vent about this, I really am.

I thought a lot, and i mean a lot about your message. I've cried several times about it now. ''and rejection hits harder than acceptance.''

Even though my discord was flooded with kindness, with messages that truly did help a little.. I still feel so utterly alone. I can't even look at my wife without feeling guilty. I can't look at my contemporaries without feeling like a wolf in sheeps clothing, even when so many of them told me they see i had no ill intentions. I went to church today - I could not stand before God, I stayed in my pew holding back tears. I begged for his forgiveness too, even when I know he knows my intentions were never to hurt anyone, even when I know he stood beside me through all of this. I feel like one of his lambs, left behind by the herd. No, not left behind. I am willingly staying behind because I'm afraid of hurting people again. There's only a small resemblance of peace within me, knowing He'll stay behind with me. I'm sorry, I know listening to religious people can be a trigger to some

i hope you can forgive the rant. I thought I could do well isolated, but i still find myself panicked and.. alone.

[leriexoxo]

Angry Boys - Seungmin

Lessons In Obedience

Tags: Degrading praise, dom!Seungmin, punishment, forced counting, spitting, orgasm denial, spitplay, slight dumbification, tutor kink, sarcastic dirty talk, no aftercare, smut MDNI.

Word count: 3k

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

ANGRY BOYS MASTERLIST

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You didn’t think tutoring would feel like detention.

But that’s exactly what it felt like under Seungmin’s eyes—sharp behind his wire frames, arms crossed, sitting so upright and composed it made your back ache just trying to mimic him.

“Third mistake,” he said flatly. “Do it again.”

You blinked at the page.

“But—”

“Don’t speak. Write.”

You bit your lip. The pen trembled in your hand as you tried to redo the equation, brain fogged from more than just math. It was the way he said it. The way he always said it.

Low and cold, like he already knew you were going to fail him. Like he enjoyed watching you try.

And maybe… maybe he did.

He never touched you. Never even raised his voice. But Seungmin didn’t have to. His control came in the pauses, in the rules, in the way he could make you feel utterly pathetic just by arching an eyebrow.

“I told you not to wear skirts this short when we study.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice how distracted you are today?”

“If you want to keep this arrangement, you need to prove you’re worthy of my time.”

It was never overt.

But it made you squirm.

And you never broke the rules—because deep down, you knew the moment you did, Seungmin wouldn’t just scold you. He’d ruin you.

—-

You were already five minutes late.

Not enough to seem completely careless—but enough to make him notice. And of course, he did. He always did.

Seungmin didn’t say a word as you walked into the study room, textbook clutched to your chest like a shield. He just glanced at the clock on the wall, then down at his own perfectly written notes. His jaw flexed once. Disapproval. Barely visible—but you knew it was there.

You closed the door quietly, heart pounding.

“Sit.” One word. Sharp.

You obeyed instantly, dropping into the seat across from him. He didn’t look at you, not even once, just pushed your worksheet forward and tapped his pen against the header. “You left three questions incomplete. Again.”

“I got stuck on the second one,” you mumbled.

“I didn’t ask for an excuse.” His eyes flicked up now, dark and unreadable. “You had time.”

You flushed, lips pressing together.

Seungmin reached forward, dragging the worksheet toward him and circling the mistakes with methodical precision. Then he folded his arms, leaned back, and stared at you for a beat too long.

“You’re wasting my time.”

The air left your lungs.

“I—I’m sorry, I—”

“You think this is a favor? I don’t give out favors.”

His tone was still calm. Controlled. But that only made it worse. Made you shift in your seat, thighs clenching on instinct. He noticed that too—his gaze dipped for half a second, then returned to your face like it never left.

“You know what your problem is?” he said, voice almost thoughtful. “You come in here hoping I’ll go easy on you because you bat your lashes and say sorry with that little pout.”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Your breath caught.

“You like playing dumb,” he said, standing up now, coming around the table slowly. “But you’re not dumb, are you? You just want attention. You want mine.”

He was behind you before you could respond, hand gripping the back of your chair.

“You’ve been slipping for weeks,” he murmured by your ear. “Sloppy, unfocused, distracted… I think it’s time you learned how serious I am about rules.”

You froze.

“I’m going to give you a choice.”

His hand slid down to your shoulder, squeezing once, before moving away again—like he was holding himself back.

“You can leave now. Pretend this session didn’t happen. And I won’t waste another second on you for the rest of the semester.”

You turned your head slightly, eyes wide.

“Or…”

He leaned closer, lips just ghosting your ear.

“You stay. And learn the hard way what it means to disappoint me.”

Your mouth was dry.

You didn’t move, didn’t blink. Seungmin hadn’t touched you in any real way—just words, tone, the shift of energy so potent it made your spine straighten like he’d commanded it to.

But you didn’t leave.

He waited, watching your breath stutter in your chest, and when you didn’t move, he clicked his tongue once.

“Figures,” he muttered. “Of course you’d stay.”

He walked back in front of you, sliding his chair closer, so the distance was just enough to make you squirm. You could smell his cologne now. Clean and sharp, just like him. His eyes raked over your face.

“Let’s test your obedience then.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Hands on your thighs. Back straight. Eyes on mine.”

You did it. Immediately. Like muscle memory.

“Good,” he said—flat, clinical. “Now. Don’t break eye contact.”

He waited, silence stretching heavy between you. Your pulse raced. The way he stared, without blinking, without softening—it made your skin itch. Made your thighs tense under your skirt.

Seconds passed. Then a full minute.

You shifted.

He raised a brow. “Problem?”

You swallowed. “N-No, sunbaenim.”

“Speak up.”

“No, sunbaenim.”

He smirked. “Then stop fidgeting.”

You tried. God, you tried. But when he rolled his sleeves up exposing his veiny arms and smooth skin—and fixed his glasses with that same meticulous flick—you bit your lip, and your gaze flickered down.

“Ah.”

Your head snapped back up—but it was too late.

Seungmin sat back with a sharp breath. “I see.”

“I didn’t—”

“Shut up.”

Your mouth slammed shut.

“You want to act like a dumb little brat in heat? Then I’ll treat you like one.”

He stood again, shoving the chair back with a scrape against the floor. You flinched.

“Up. Bend over the desk.”

You stared at him.

“Now.”

Your legs wobbled as you stood. The desk dug into your hips as you bent forward, hands flat on the surface. The position was humiliating, your skirt riding up, your breath hitching in anticipation you didn’t dare name.

He stepped behind you. You could feel the heat of him, the weight of his gaze.

“No noise unless I say so. No moving unless I allow it. And if you dare break another rule…”

His hand pressed against your lower back, firm.

“I’ll remind you exactly who’s in charge here.”

Your cheek was pressed to the desk, breath fogging the wood as you braced for whatever Seungmin had planned. He hadn’t spoken in nearly a minute—and that was the worst part. The silence. The cold, calculating way he seemed to study you like a specimen beneath him.

“You really thought you could flinch at my rules and still have me?”

His voice sliced through the air like a blade. You shuddered.

“You’re not even worth the time it takes to correct you.”

The sting of those words made your stomach drop—but your thighs clenched tighter.

“Say it,” he said.

You blinked. “W-What?”

His hand curled around your neck—not choking, just grounding. Holding.

“Say you’re not worth it.”

Your throat bobbed as you whimpered. “I’m… not worth it, sunbaenim.”

“That’s right. You’re just a pathetic little distraction. A dumb girl who can’t even keep her grades up without making a show of herself.”

His hand slid down, lifting your skirt with casual, cold fingers. You gasped when he exposed you fully, no shame in the sound.

“No panties?” he scoffed. “You wanted this.”

You bit back a whine.

“Don’t make a sound.”

Then came the first sharp slap—right between your thighs. You jolted, a quiet cry slipping out anyway.

“I said no noise.” Another slap, harder this time.

“You’re failing at every command. Do you even want to learn?”

“Y-Yes—!”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sunbaenim—!”

He leaned in close again, hand gripping your hip now with bruising pressure.

“Then prove it. Make yourself cum. Right here. Right now. While I watch.”

You froze.

“If you can do it without making a single noise, maybe—maybe—I’ll let you keep coming to our sessions. If not?”

His fingers trailed the curve of your ass.

“You can go beg another tutor to put up with your pathetic neediness.”

You trembled. Your hand slid between your legs slowly, fingers hesitant—but you did it.

And Seungmin watched.

Watched as you touched yourself under his cruel gaze. Silent. Shaking. Desperate.

He crouched beside you, whispering poison in your ear as your body started to shake.

“Look at you. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Not tutoring. Not grades. Just me. Standing over you. Making you feel small.”

You whined, dangerously close, your hand a blur.

“Pathetic. You’re not even doing it right—”

He shoved your hand away and slid his fingers over you in one brutal swipe, just enough to feel how wet you were.

“Disgusting. You got this wet from nothing.”

“Please—” you gasped, voice finally breaking.

“You don’t even deserve release.”

He stood again, pulling away completely. Cold. Dismissive.

“Fix your clothes. And rewrite the entire worksheet before tomorrow.”

You blinked up at him, eyes wide, breathing wrecked.

He looked down at you like you were beneath him.

“Earn the privilege of being beneath me again.”

—

You were early.

Of course you were. You hadn’t stopped thinking about the last session for a full week. It played on a loop in your mind—the burn of his words, the feel of his hand, the way he made you touch yourself like you were nothing. And then the way he left you with a cold stare and an impossible assignment.

But you turned that worksheet in flawless.

Because maybe, just maybe, he’d see it. A silent plea buried in the margins. A desperate request for more.

You waited at your desk like a schoolgirl with a secret.

When he finally walked in, tall and calm, every part of you tensed in anticipation. He barely looked at you. No smirk. No flicker of memory from last week. Just cold professionalism.

“So,” Seungmin said, adjusting his glasses, “today we’re reviewing your syntax from chapter six.”

You stared at him. Nothing?

He set your worksheet down between you. “Better than last time. Barely,” he added, eyes scanning the page. Still no recognition of how you’d fallen apart in front of him. Like you hadn’t begged for release, like he hadn’t humiliated you in the most addictive way.

Something snapped.

You reached beneath the desk.

He noticed the movement but didn’t look up.

Until you spread your legs.

His eyes flicked to you sharply. You could see it—something shifting behind the frames of his glasses. Still, he said nothing.

So you took it further.

You slid your hand beneath your skirt, fingers brushing right over your bare heat.

“I didn’t wear panties again,” you whispered, voice breathy.

Still, nothing.

So you moaned—quiet but intentional.

“Are you going to punish me again, sunbaenim?”

That did it.

The pen in his hand stopped. He placed it gently on the desk like it offended him.

Then, without a word, he stood and locked the door.

Your heart leapt.

He walked back, slower this time. Measured. Like a man approaching something he already owned.

“You think this is a joke?” His voice was low, clipped.

You smiled sweetly. “I think you liked it last time.”

He yanked your chair back from the desk and you gasped as he pulled you up by the arm, dragging you toward the professor’s table at the front of the room. He bent you over it in one swift move, your cheek hitting the cool surface.

“You want me to punish you again?”

You nodded, breathing hard.

“Say it.”

“I want you to punish me, sunbaenim.”

“Then don’t move.”

You heard the metallic sound of his belt unbuckling.

“I gave you one chance,” he murmured, dragging the leather slow between his hands, “to walk out with dignity.”

You clenched around nothing, already throbbing.

“You chose this instead.”

He pulled your skirt up—no hesitation this time—and let the belt fall on your ass, sharp and sudden.

You cried out.

“Quiet.”

Another strike.

You whimpered.

“You don’t even know what you’ve invited.”

His hand slid between your thighs again, two fingers swiping through the mess you’d already made of yourself.

“Disgusting.”

He pressed the wetness to your lips.

“Lick it.”

You obeyed instantly, licking his fingers like a starved girl.

He finally growled low, something snapping in his tone.

“You want to act like a slut in my sessions? Then you’ll learn what it costs.”

Your cheek was pressed to the desk, the wood grain imprinted on your skin, your breath coming shallow and shaky.

Seungmin stood behind you, cold and precise. He hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“You came in here thinking I’d fuck you just for spreading your legs like a desperate little bitch?” he asked flatly.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged gently—just enough to make you listen. “I asked you a question.”

“I—no, sunbaenim,” you choked, thighs trembling.

“No?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Then what the fuck is this?”

You gasped as he slapped your ass again, the sting landing perfectly where his belt had already reddened your skin.

“Maybe I need to remind you what you’re here for. Education first. Pussy second.”

You bit your lip, nodding quickly.

“Good girl,” he said. “Now, let’s start simple. Spell ‘embarrassed.’”

Your eyes widened.

“E–M–B–A–R…” you paused, blinking, trying to remember.

Wrong.

The belt cracked again.

“Start over,” he ordered.

You whimpered. “E–M–B–A–R–R–A–S–S–E–D…”

“Mm.” He hummed approvingly. “Next. Define ‘submissive.’ Use it in a sentence.”

Your mouth went dry.

“Submissive,” you breathed, “is… someone who gives up control willingly. Um. Example… ‘She was so submissive, she let her tutor bend her over the desk and—’”

Another slap, harsher.

“I said educational sentence, not slut monologue.”

You sobbed, back arching, wrists gripping the edge of the desk. Your thighs were soaked. His voice alone had you dripping.

“And what’s the formula for passive voice in English grammar?”

You were shaking. “Object… verb… subject…”

“Louder.”

“Object, verb, subject, sunbaenim—!”

“Wrong tone.”

He leaned forward, voice a razor’s edge beside your ear.

“You can’t even obey basic instruction. What makes you think you’re worth my time?”

That broke something in you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, trembling.

“I don’t want your sorry.”

He grabbed your hips roughly, yanked you back into place.

“I want your obedience.”

And then—without warning—he slid inside you in one brutal thrust.

You cried out, knees buckling, hands scrabbling for purchase on the desk.

“You wanted this, right? Wanted to see what happens when you fuck with your class president?”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

He snapped his hips forward, every thrust sending a filthy sound echoing through the classroom.

“You’ll answer every question next time. Even if I have to beat it into you.”

You moaned, completely gone.

“I’ll make you smarter,” he grunted, “if it’s the last fucking thing I do.”

“Your punishment’s not over,” Seungmin said, voice low and glacial as he gripped your hips tighter, keeping you bent and helpless over the desk.

You were a mess—hair tangled, cheeks wet, lips swollen from biting back moans. The desk under your chest trembled slightly from every hard thrust, each one precise, punishing, and deliberate.

“This isn’t about pleasure,” he snapped, slamming into you again, deep and mean, “so stop moaning like a fucking porn star.”

You tried to stay quiet, biting your lip hard, but the way he stretched you, the pace of his thrusts—slow enough to make you lose your mind but hard enough to bruise your hips—it was impossible to stay composed.

Your body was betraying you. The slick sounds echoing between your thighs were obscene, soaking everything beneath you. And Seungmin knew it.

“Slut,” he muttered, watching the way you clenched around him, “you don’t even deserve to study under me, the way you act.”

You whimpered, shame and arousal twisting in your stomach like fire.

Then he pulled out suddenly, and you gasped at the loss, clenching around nothing. He grabbed your chin and forced you to look up at him from over your shoulder.

“You wanna cum?”

You nodded fast, eyes wide.

“Then earn it.”

He grabbed your arm and dragged you up from the desk, flipping you and pushing you to sit right back on the edge, legs wide, your cunt glistening in the dim light of the classroom. His cock, hard and flushed, slapped against your inner thigh as he stepped in.

But instead of fucking you again, he handed you the little stack of flashcards from your previous session.

Your breath hitched.

“Read them,” he said flatly.

“W–What?” you blinked.

“You have sixty seconds. Get them all right, or I walk out and leave you like this.”

You stared at him, flushed and trembling, desperate to be filled again, to cum. And he just stood there—arms crossed, cock twitching, jaw clenched—watching you suffer.

You grabbed the cards with shaky fingers.

“Define ‘syntax,’” he ordered, tone icy.

You stammered, “The arrangement of words and phrases—into sentences—”

“Wrong. Full definition, you know better.”

You started over, voice desperate, your thighs trembling from the ache of being left empty. Seungmin didn’t blink. He just watched you squirm, eyes dark, hungry, and hard.

When you finally got through five definitions without messing up, he stepped forward, gripped your throat gently, and whispered, “Say ‘thank you, sunbaenim.’”

“Thank you, sunbaenim,” you breathed, eyes glassy.

“Now,” he growled, lining himself up again, “extra credit.”

He thrust back in with no warning, one hand on your throat, the other pressed to your stomach as he fucked up into you with teeth-gritted restraint. No mercy. No breaks.

Just raw, primal dominance.

Your head lolled back as you cried out, finally allowed to fall apart. He didn’t slow down.

“You’re going to cum for me like a good little student,” he whispered into your ear, “and when I’m done with you, you’ll be studying everything I give you. No hesitation. No mistakes.”

You came with a sob, body arching, unable to hold it in.

And only then did Seungmin stop—pulling out, breathing hard, not even spilling inside. Instead, he dragged his hand across your thigh and smeared your own mess back between your folds.

“Clean yourself up,” he said, tucking himself back into his pants. “You’ve got three chapters to read before next session.”

And with that, he walked out—leaving you trembling, soaked, and breathless on the desk you used to call a study table.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Authors note: 😈 i know you liked it 😂 so just drop me that like and comment! And stay tuned!!!!!! Other members on the series are coming up

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @sagestarlight @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @imagine-all-the-imagines

[daylightmidnights]

Okayyyyyy I'm finally freeeee. Now I can rant about this masterpiece as much as I want.

First late me start with...... NIALL AND PHOEBE ??? Fuck yes! I'd have loved Niall to cause Harry some trouble but since Harry seems to trust him enough to appoint him as the main guard, he's not a threat. Plus I've come to the conclusion that I kinda like him so I wouldn't want him to suffer from anymore jealousy right now (not saying I wouldn't love for him to be jealous in future tho 👀). Anyway I am happy for Phoebe, she's the sweetest and deserves everything she wants. She and Niall would get married and have 10 kids and they'd play with Harry and yn's kids and then two of them would fall in love with each other and then you can write a story about that (excuse me...got carried away).

And I want to see Niall being goofy with her infront of yn. I want them three to be friends aaahhhhh I'm such a whore for good unlikely friendships. Like it's so mind boggling when you think about it. Yn being lower class and Phoebe and Niall technically being upper class than her but she's gonna be the queen and both of them gives her so much respect without a question about her social position. But now she's above everyone else and yn's just trying to exist with that fact. She's still the same at her core though so it must be so hard for her to adjust in this setting. All of this must be so fascinating to her in a way. Yeah I just want her to say 'fuck it' and be best buddies with Phoebe and Niall and like play chess with them or something on the bedroom floor lmao

And her first kiss was Lane? Bloody LANE? Eeesshhh I'd have wanted someone from their slum or something who had a crush on her and someone she kind of liked to be her first kiss. But Lane does seem perfect. Because not only is he her closest friend but Harry also kinda doesn't like him? So when he learns that his royal smug ass wasn't her first kiss he's gonna lose his shit and when he learns that stupid LANE was her first kiss he might have to take 10 days long cold bath to cool himself down. Hope we get to see his reaction to this information. Pretty please?

But as much as I want king Harry to suffer I'm starting to like him. I loved him in this chapter. Loved hiw sincere he was with that whole situation. He went and brought them back to the castle himself. And kinda felt guilty? That she and her family had to go through that despite it being his responsibility to take care of her and her family. And I have to admit that even I didn't like the disrespect towards him by Lord Mayor. What was that guy thinking? Harry is THE KING. Do you have no fear for your life Mr Mayor? Your stupidity made me go "Yes Harry go and behead him and I will hand you the sword" and I don't like being violent Mr Mayor. Leave my girl alone. She doesn't deserve all this shit. You people don't like her she knows that but she is still trying to be nice and fit in. She's taking those fucking etiquette class even though Harry gave her choice not to. She's trying okay? Leave her be. Hate that guy hate him hate him hate him

And god forbid if he does something with the brooch I'm gonna kill him myself (and I don't like violence so this is serious to me). Because that's Harry's mother's brooch that he gave to his wife-to-be, someone who he selected just to mess with his people? HELLO? IT'S HIS MOTHER'S!!! This is a big deal. Why isn't she freaking out more? Does she not understand the gravity of this? He's giving you his mother's things, his mother, probably the only person he truly loved and cherished. It's gotta be a big, huge deal.

Poor Harry lost his mother so young. Seems like his father mistreated her. No wonder he is like this. He probably hated his father. I'm sure of one thing though, he won't be like his father. He won't use yn as he pleases, won't neglect her or mistreat her. He already cares for her very much and even though the purpose of bringing her into this was not so great he's still looking out for her, protecting her and sees her as his queen. I'm pretty sure once he actually falls in love with her, he's gonna be a soft warm cuddly whiney mess when they're together alone. And I can't wait for that day. He's gonna cherish her.

The bath scene was very sexy and I loved that he was commanding but not forcing her to do anything. Even when he teaches her things or challenges her beliefs regarding God or her fear, he doesn't push his opinion on her. He tells her things and lets her decide for herself. Which I think is very wise and thoughtful. And it works too. She makes her own decision about what she wants. It's a progress. He is so keen on enlightening her about various things. I hope he teaches her more about other things too. About their kingdom and politics and other stuff. He also said he's gonna take her with him next time. She's probably never travelled anywhere before. So maybe they can explore place together when they go somewhere.

And last but NOT FUCKING THE LEAST.....they finally KISSED. Yessssssss!!!! Bet Harry was all drunk on her lips afterwards. Couldn't think straight, only wanting to kiss her again. Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh I'm dizzy thinking about it. And they're gonna share his bed from now on. Can't wait to see what happens when they're sleeping next to each other. I don't think I can wait for the next chapter. Give me now! Gimme gimme gimme!!!!!!

I wish I could get inside your brain and see what's gonna happen next. This world you created has sucked me in and now I can't get out of it and don't want to. I don't want this to end. I'd love 100 chapters of this. Thank you so much Guru. This is so so good. Your writing is so good I can't even explain. Waiting for it gets tough but it's always worth it. Every chapter so far has been incredible 🤌

I love this so much. I love you so much more. Thank you for all you do. You're absolutely amazing! ❤️

[3] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 3 Word Count: 8,749

Ch. 3 Warning: Harsh physical treatment, descriptions of extreme poverty, discrimination, humiliation, some light petting, inspection kink (light), corruption kink, mention of parental death (let me know if I missed any!)

It's Good to Be King Masterlist

. .

Y/n had learned that the king had been called away to tend to a minor land ownership dispute in a village that was a day's ride away. He'd be gone for five days as long as there were no unexpected postponements.

When Phoebe told her, Y/n couldn't pinpoint exactly why she felt so wistful. She knew he was a cold, bad-mannered person, so she shouldn't have expected him to speak to her about his departure beforehand. But to feel the tight stretch in her chest that he didn't tell her himself… that was perplexing.

Their interactions over the last few weeks she'd been at the castle had been not more than fleeting. They'd had dinner together a few times, and one evening he went to her room with a gift for her. He didn't let her open it while he was present, but before he left, he placed his hand on her hip when she was wearing only her chemise and said, "This, I much prefer. I shall have another fig tart sent to you this evening."

He squeezed at her skin, his fingers indenting into her newly very slightly softer hip. She understood him to mean the small bit of weight she'd put on was what he preferred.

The gift he left her was a beautiful gold brooch bearing the kingdom's royal coat of arms carved into the center, adorned with sparkling purple, red, and amber jewels. On the back, it was engraved with the name of Harry's deceased mother, the late Queen.

She forced a smile as Phoebe poured hot, fragrant Ceylon into her teacup. "He'll be gone five days? The wedding ceremony is in two weeks. Let's hope nothing delays their return."

"Two weeks already is it?" Phoebe said, lifting the porcelain lid from her breakfast platter. "Are you scared?"

She nodded. "Yes. But I've no choice. My family finally has everything they've ever wanted here. My sister, Dell, cried last week when she tasted the citrus soufflé we all had for dessert. I can't do anything to ruin this. Even if he is the devil."

A dashing devil.

"I believe he's fond of you. He's a cad, but I've seen him look at you when you're not paying attention. Everyone has."

Y/n smiled down at her plate. She only pretended not to be paying attention, but she knew his gaze on the curve of her neck and brushing at her lips when she'd look the other direction. Crude, maybe, but he did show her something about her body she'd not soon forget.

In fact, it had come quite in handy once her bedroom was quiet and she was settled into her down blankets with a book full of wanton stories in her lap. The guilt she'd felt the first few times she'd reenacted what he'd shown her soon turned into a craving she daydreamed of at the most inappropriate times.

Just as then, while Phoebe stood by watching as she ate her breakfast.

"Have you eaten?" Y/n asked.

"Not yet."

"Would you like a biscuit with butter?" Y/n placed a biscuit on a small dish and gestured at the chair across from her for Phoebe to sit.

"It's meant for you, Y/n."

"Of course it's meant for me, but I'd like you to have some. You're my friend. Please, sit with me."

Phoebe offered a gentle smile and pulled the chair out to sit. "Thank you."

Y/n had begun offering some of her food to Phoebe during the mornings when no one else was around. Her friend always denied the initial offer but eventually wound up giving in. In fact, it seemed to be easier to get her to sit with Y/n by the day.

She'd also begun taking etiquette classes twice each week in preparation for the wedding and being seen in public with the king. The council advised that she needed the extra work. Harry left it up to Y/n whether or not she'd like to go. She decided to take the classes but quickly regretted that choice. The governess was harsh and easily angered.

Y/n had the feeling that her teacher didn't like her one bit, despite her best efforts to charm her. In fact, she got the idea that not many appreciated her presence in the castle at all. So she often preferred to stay in her room or her sisters'.

"Have you ever kissed a boy before?" Phoebe asked as she dotted the edge of her lip with her napkin.

"I have. But it was just with a friend because I was curious. And only once."

"Was it Lane? The one you told me about who likes his drink?"

She nodded. "Yes. But I'm sure he liked it more than I did. What about you?"

Phoebe smiled shyly and looked behind herself toward the door, as if anyone could hear them through the heavy, solid wood. "I might have last night…"

Y/n sat her fork down and leaned forward. "What do you mean? With whom?"

"You swear to not tell anyone?"

"Phoebe, you know I would never tell anyone your secrets. Was it Niall? It was Niall, wasn't it?"

The look on her friend's face when she spoke the name of the guard told Y/n everything she needed to know. She'd had a suspicion about the pair a couple of weeks prior when she spotted Niall winking at the girl, and the way her face shaded in pink was a clue as to how she felt about it.

A sudden knock on the door had both girls looking at one another in surprise. Phoebe quickly stood and walked toward the door with Y/n right behind. When she pulled the door open, there, standing in her doorway, was the Lord Mayor, and two men with him.

"Miss Y/n Y/l/n, you will come with us at once," he said, looking behind Phoebe at the queen-to-be.

"What is this about? Is the king okay?" Y/n asked, placing her hand over the broach he'd given her.

"You and your family are not welcome here in the castle any longer."

"What? I don't understand! Is there not—"

One of the men stepped in, pushing Phoebe to the side, and grabbed Y/n roughly by her arm. "Come!"

As she was pulled away from her room, the new guard, Niall, stopped the procession before they got too far. "Halt!"

"Move out of my way at once, guard!"

"My loyalty lies with the king and his orders. Unhand Her Majesty at once!"

"The King's duties fall on me when he's away. This is my command. Move to the side."

"Then you leave me no choice but to send word to King Styles to notify him of your trespass."

Y/n felt her arm yanked as she was dragged down the stairs. She screamed when another set of hands was on her middle, pushing, and then she spotted her sisters, parents, and grandmother already near the entrance, surrounded by men.

"Let me go! You needn't grab at me!" The men didn't listen. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, she was pushed until her knees and hands hit the stone floor just off the carpet. But she had barely a moment to take a breath when she was again being grabbed and hauled upward until she was standing next to her mother.

The Lord Mayor stepped in front of her and reached forward. Y/n gasped when she felt him yank at her dress and then realized he'd pulled the brooch off. "Take them away."

Niall called out before Y/n and her family were directed to load into the horse cart that had been waiting for them at the front of the castle. "King Styles will receive word tomorrow. Do not fear, madam."

Two guards hung on the sides of the cart, and a driver at the front controlled the two horses pulling it, as Y/n and her family clung to the wooden benches inside so they didn't fall. People stood and watched as the cart was pulled out of the castle gates and toward the slums of their overcrowded rookery.

"What's happened, Y/n? What did you do?" Her mother bellowed dramatically.

"I don't know what happened. This wasn't the king's orders."

"Those men were atrocious. Grabbed my toast right from my hand!"

The townsfolk were staring, laughing, and some spat as they passed them by. She was far less worried about her family's reputation than she was about the rude behavior of the middle and noble classes. Y/n may never hold influence or power, but she was a human, and she deserved fundamental decency. She'd always believed everyone did.

Until then. Those people mocking her were the lowest of the low.

Being carted out of the castle in a buggy meant for livestock had been done on purpose. It was meant to be a spectacle. It was meant to humiliate. But it only made her angry. For the first time since she'd met the king, she understood him, in part. Understood his need to cause a stir and disrupt the comfortably spoiled bourgeoisie. Now she understood why he didn't like any of them.

. .

"Your Majesty, I have an urgent message from the main castle guard. Y/n Y/l/n and her family have been removed from the castle without your permission. The Lord Mayor took it upon himself to act as regent in your stead and made the decision to banish them from the castle grounds. Your presence is requested at once to deal with the matter."

Harry had never been so furious in all his life. He'd led an army in war and dealt with enemy soldiers who spat in his face, and had never been treated with such a lack of respect as this. He'd only been gone for two days, and already he had his own men conspiring behind his back. It was in direct defiance of Harry, and that just would not do.

He had no choice but to abandon his purpose and return right away. The land dispute matter could wait. Taking care of the Lord Mayor and everyone involved could not. He bid farewell to his company and left the moment he mounted his steed with his men in tow.

A day's ride across the expanse of Thornekeep and the surrounding villages was tiresome. Harry had been looking forward to more rest before he was to return, but now he had to forgo the gin and the hearty meal that was being prepared for him so he could deal with the unruly cast of characters he'd left in charge of the castle in his stead.

If he'd been a hair more cruel than he was, he would have forced the horses to push through until exhaustion. But he relied on the steeds to safely give him transport, and rest was necessary for the animals, just as it was for him and his men.

And as upset as he was about being disrespected, he was more concerned about Y/n than anything. She was his responsibility, and it was no secret that she and her family were not happily welcomed into their new roles. But he certainly hadn't expected this.

The following day, when he arrived to town just outside the castle, it felt as though everyone suddenly retreated back into their homes. As if even the townspeople knew they'd done something wrong. The vendors and workers averted their gazes.

Pointing in the direction of the town square near where the Lord Mayor lived, Harry looked at two of his men who were riding with him. "The Lord Mayor, go and collect him. Bring him to the private chambers closet off the long gallery. Make him stay there and wait for me. You," he said as he looked at Fred, "Get the covered stagecoach and have Alfred drive it directly to Y/n's home. We will be bringing them back to the castle at once."

Harry and the guard traveling with him rode deeper into the town, where the slums sprawled with wet, muddy roads, buckets filled with slop, decrepit living quarters, and street drunkards. There, the people stared intently. They stopped in their tracks and watched as the king rode by on his healthy, strong steed, with his armoured guard behind him. It was the first time he'd ever gone into the rookeries, where the poor lived and worked (if they could find work).

"You, sir!" Harry shouted at a man carrying what looked to be a heavy sack over his shoulder. The man stopped and narrowed his eyes at the king. "Can you tell me in which direction Y/n Y/l/n lives?"

"Oy…" The man dropped the sack at his feet and looked around himself. "I know 'o no such name."

"She's a woman of 20. Has a father called Peter and her mother Lettice."

"Peter and Lettice… Peter Y/l/n…" He rubbed at his chin and chewed the inside of his cheek. "I might know it."

Harry sighed. He knew the spiel. The man was expecting some kind of payment for information. Directing his horse to step closer to the man, Harry looked down at him with a frown and could smell the stench coming from him. "If you know it, tell me then. If you do, I'll let you continue on your journey unharmed."

The man shrugged. It was worth a shot. "Across from the mill. There's a graveyard at the top o'the lane. Four or five tenements down. B'be careful o'the pigs. They've not eaten."

The smell, as Harry traveled deeper into the overcrowded and filthy streets, was almost unbearable. Every five or ten yards was a bucket overflowing with excrement. He'd always known these places existed, but to see it with his own eyes (and to smell it)… he was appalled. The kind of squalor the destitutes lived in was barbarous.

When they arrived at the rundown tenement across from the mill, Harry jumped from the horse and gave the lead to his guard before sloshing through the filth to step up onto the rotted boards of the platform. He knocked on the door with the loose frame and stepped back as someone opened it up right away.

"Who's that?" The old woman stumbled back a couple of steps and clutched her hand over her heart. "The king! The king is here!"

"M'lady, I'm looking for the Y/l/n family. Are they here in this tenement?" Harry held the door open and stepped inside. The main room was dingy and damp and smelled of stale food and unwashed bodies.

"By god!" The woman sat down on the benchtop and inhaled deeply like she'd been given the scare of her life. "The king is here!"

A young man came down the stairs and looked from Harry to the old woman. "We can 'ear ya! Enough!" The man removed his floppy hat and lowered his head. "Your Highness. To what do we owen'ya th'honor?"

"I'm looking for the Y/l/n family. I've heard they live here."

"Right y'are. Lemme find 'em."

Harry scraped his eyes around the space, and while it wasn't as filthy as things appeared from outside, it was unfit for any human. The woman gasped as she pushed herself to stand and mumbled something he couldn't hear, nor did he care much. She seemed to be half out of it, gin drunk perhaps.

The ceiling was caved in at the side of the common area, where it appeared there was some kind of unworking, rusted stove. The wooden floors were soft under his feet, and the walls stained with moisture.

"King Harry?"

He turned quickly when he heard Y/n's voice. She made her way down the stairs, followed by her three younger sisters. "Y/n. I've come for you and your family. I received word about the situation and came as quickly as I could."

She clasped her hands behind her back and nodded. "Yes. It was humiliating. But we're used to being treated as such."

"You and your family are to gather your things quickly. A carriage will be around soon to bring you back to the castle."

"We were told we were not welcome there."

"The Lord Mayor will be dealt with forthwith. But what he says is irrelevant. My word is final. You will come back to the castle, and we are to proceed as before."

Y/n nodded slowly and motioned for her sisters to go back up to their quarters. "That is fine. Would you like to come up?"

She could see it in his posture and the expression on his face that he was not well in that room. The stench could get to anyone, but at least in the small space where they lived, it was tidy and much less foul. So he followed behind her up to their floor, and she let him into their room.

And it was indeed just a room. Pallets of cloth and feather, and straw were strewn over the floor where he assumed they slept. In the corner was a bench piled with random things: cups, bowls, sacks, a couple of books, a lantern, a tin of fish. In another corner, there was a tin bucket full of charred things, the wall behind it black from soot. He imagined it was their source of heat, like a fireplace.

Lettice and Peter were already standing in wait, their faces like those of young children awaiting permission to play with their new things. They bowed their heads. "Your Majesty," Peter said.

"Nan," Y/n said softly as she bent down to put her hand on her grandmother's shoulder. She'd been sitting in a chair, asleep. The old woman startled and looked at Y/n like she was some kind of horrible intruder.

"Nan, look…" Y/n motioned toward Harry, and the old woman blinked her eyes slowly.

"We're saved? He's come for us. Thank heavens!"

There weren't many things to gather. Harry hadn't imagined their living space as such. He figured a multi-room flat, nothing extravagant, but at least a home with space to cook and use the WC. But there was none of that. No running water, no private space, and no comfortable things to lie upon at night. How could anyone live like that? And that there were seven people all crammed into that room? He couldn't imagine it.

There was a double knock on the door before it was opened. Everyone turned to look as a young man stepped inside. "What's this then? It's true!" He grinned at Y/n and then lowered his head. "Your Majesty."

Y/n stepped in next to the man and put her hand on his arm. "This is my good friend Lane. He was there with me, the day you came to me."

Harry looked the dirty fellow up and down. "Yes, I remember Lane."

He watched his wife-to-be whisper something to the young man, and then Lane turned to look at her with a brief nod as he ran his hand over her wrist. There was no time to challenge what had just happened or to ask what was said and why someone else was touching her like that when Alfred had finally arrived with the covered carriage.

Once Y/n and her family were loaded into the carriage, Harry and his guard led the way back to the castle. He'd seen a lot of things in his life, but he had not been prepared to see the rookeries up close like that. He'd seen the outskirts of impoverished neighborhoods in other kingdoms and towns and but never in his own. Shock might be too heavy of a word for the way it made him feel, but it was close.

He ordered three footmen to take Y/n's family to their quarters and give them whatever they would like to eat (as well as draw each of them a bath) while he went with Y/n and Phoebe to bring her to his chambers. "You'll stay in my room from here on. Your room will still be open for you, but I'm not satisfied for you to be there all night alone."

Y/n was still struggling to wrap her mind around the events of the last few days. Niall had told her to expect the king to come and get her, but she doubted that he really would. She imagined it was easier for the king to take a more suitable wife. A woman used to that life with a higher status. Someone the proletariat would prefer.

She was thankful that he did, though. She'd gotten used to some of the small luxuries (and big) that the royal castle afforded them all. Mostly, she missed her privacy and the comfy bed.

"Have her wardrobe brought over, a warm bath drawn, and whatever she'd like to eat," Harry said to Phoebe, who quickly got to work.

Y/n kept quiet as she watched the king open up his balcony and drape the lace curtains to the side before he poured two glasses of gin and handed her one.

He gulped his portion in one go as she sniffed her glass. "Go on. Drink it. You need it more than I do. Feel free to have as much as you like."

"Thank you."

"You should not have to thank me. This should never have happened. I will deal with the Lord Mayor and see what kind of punishment the council allows. I just ask that if you leave this room, have Phoebe and Niall with you."

She nodded. "Of course."

"I've made arrangements for a formal announcement of our engagement. Day after tomorrow, we will have a public appearance to announce to the whole of the kingdom that you will be the Queen Consort. No one can then deny that I've selected my wife, as it seems they've all done."

He paced toward the open balcony and put his hands on his hips. "I will be gone til late. I have much to do. Please use my room as if it were your own."

Y/n eyed the bed and then shifted her gaze back to the king as he stepped toward his door. "I'm grateful that you came to get us. I'm indebted to you, My Lord."

He sniffed and looked down at his feet, hand on the knob the door. "Yes. You are."

. .

Y/n woke up to the sound of pouring water. Slowly opening her eyes, she found Harry sitting next to the fire, sipping hot tea and reading something intently as a man stood over the large tub in the king's room. She couldn't remember when she'd fallen asleep, but it wasn't long after her warm bath and the big meal she'd eaten.

She wasn't sure what to think exactly. The last few days had been quite dramatic and unusual, then with the king barging into their meager home to bring them back to the castle... He'd returned for her when he didn't need to. He had no allegiance to her or her family, so it was a bit of a surprise that he seemed so insistent that she come back with him.

"My Lord. Your bath is ready."

The king looked toward the man and pushed himself up from his chair. "You are dismissed."

Y/n blinked and watched as the man left the room, and Harry stepped toward the bath to touch the water. He looked tired. She wondered what time he'd returned to the room. When he began to remove his clothes, she thought to look away, imagining he didn't realize she was already awake.

But she remained still and kept her eyes on his frame until he was stark naked, despite her internal scolding to look away. The urge to keep watching was much stronger than her polite reasoning to avert her eyes. His body appeared to be that of a hard worker, with solid muscle and a sturdy build. It had never been a doubt in her mind that he was well-formed, and now she had proof as she watched flexing, dense muscles as he stepped into his tub.

"You may join me, if you like."

His voice startled her. She hadn't realized he was aware that she was awake, watching him. Pushing herself to sit up, she pulled the blanket to cover her state of undress. He'd seen her before in just a chemise, but she still had the sense that it was wrong to bare herself to any man like that.

"Don't be shy with me. I've already tasted and smelled the juice of your quim and you've just seen me naked. Come."

Y/n gulped at the memory of Harry's hands on her body as she let out uncontrollable noises when he'd touched her. Then the aftermath of the forbidden shame as she watched him taste her offering. The lingering thought of the way he'd jutted his pink tongue out to lick at his fingers had her surging with heat.

"My King… It's improper—"

"Now don't start with that again. I say what's proper and what's not, and you disobeying me is improper."

Slowly, she moved the cover from herself and slid her legs to the edge of the bed. Harry had not yet looked in her direction, which she was thankful for as she wrapped her arms over the thin material that clung to her breasts and stepped closer until she was just next to the tub.

He looked up at her. His eyes were bloodshot, and the fatigue in them was evident. "Well, if you're not going to join me, at least sit." He patted the wide stone ledge of the tub as he kept his eyes on her.

Trying her best not to stare into the water, she shifted her gaze toward the fire and sat down where the king had told her. His broad chest rose and fell tiredly as he stretched his strong arms along the top of the tub. She looked down at his fingers, the distance of only 7 or 8 barleycorns away from her thigh. So close he could touch if he stretched his middle finger toward her.

"I didn't foresee the kind of difficulty I'd encounter in keeping you. I knew some would disagree with my choice, but to have been interrupted in my work and so blatantly disrespected… We will not be making that mistake again."

"I'm sorry, it was—"

"Stop." He spoke loudly, his voice carrying a harsh edge. "Do not apologize for concerns you did not create. I have chosen you, and that's final. The Lord Mayor will have to come to terms with his punishment, just as I will have to come to terms with my lapse in judgment. I take responsibility for that egregious failure. But I'm not happy about it."

Y/n kept quiet. She'd seen the king raging mad the moment he stepped into the castle the evening prior, and while that anger had not been directed at her, she felt it as if it were. So part of her still felt like she'd done something wrong. And it was becoming clear to her now that her place as queen was not going to be an easy one. She was not beloved by the kingdom. She was a disgrace to the monarch and tradition.

"Next time I have to take leave, you'll come with me. I don't believe we have any choice in the matter. You're my responsibility."

She gently placed her palm down on the cool stone and watched as he dragged a cloth over his chest. "When do you leave next?"

"Not until after we're wed. And once you become pregnant, all of my duties away from the castle must be delegated to someone I trust. We can't risk anyone trying to hurt you again."

As he wetted his skin and wrung out the damp cloth, she glanced over his shoulder and up his neck to his structured jawline. She imagined his babies would be very pretty. The out-of-place thought surprised her.

"I wish I weren't such a burden, My King."

He dipped the rag into the water and looked up at her as he leaned forward. "You're my burden. I chose it. I bear it. It's what I want. I could very well pick another who's more suitable. Easier. More docile. But I don't want that. I want you."

It wasn't romantic. Not at all. So why did her heart skip a beat when he'd said it? He'd admitted she was a burden. She was not easy, and she was not docile.

"I'm trying to be more docile. I'll learn."

He waved his arm as water dripped from his skin. "No. My mother tried to be compliant and docile, and look where it got her. The moment she surrendered her will was the moment she was sentenced to death."

Shaking her head in confusion, Y/n leaned forward and dipped a finger into the warm water. "What do you mean? The queen died from consumption. That was what we were all told."

"And she would still be alive today if she had kept a grip on her spirit. But she allowed my father to take it from her. He took her charm, her wit, and her will. Consumption took her because she allowed herself to surrender. It was her death sentence."

She had wanted to run her hand over his back in a soothing gesture, but she thought better of it. It was possible he was no longer mourning the loss of his mother and that he wouldn't want her touch even if he was. The queen had been gone for many years.

"I loathe to bring this up right now, but I feel it's important to say. I'm worried that the brooch you gave me, the one that belonged to the queen, is gone. The Lord Mayor took it from me when he removed me from the castle."

Harry's face darkened as he turned to look toward the door. "Did he now? If it's gone, he will pay a heavy price in the form of losing his title. That's theft and punishable by law. But I have a feeling it's still in his possession. I will have it back to you by tomorrow, and if not, I will buy you a new one."

"I'm very grateful to you, My King. You returned so quickly. My sisters are very happy here."

He looked at her face, and his irises burned a trail down the front of her chemise. "And you? Are you happy here?"

She looked down at her lack of clothes and shifted forward so that her breasts were less visible under the thin fabric. "I am. We all are. My family and I."

"Here…" He held his hand toward her, the wet cloth in his palm. She took the rag from him, and he repositioned himself so his back was facing her. Y/n understood that he was requesting her to take the cloth to his back to help him wash.

She hesitantly moved her hand toward his back, as if touching him would set her to flame. But once the damp rag was pressed into his shoulder, he sighed, and she realized that touching him wouldn't hurt her at all. It had been silly to think it would. Running it across his back, she noted the smooth skin and firm muscle that defined his sturdy figure. Plunging the cloth down into the water along his spine, she allowed herself to take him in. The backs of his arms and neck, the curve of his shoulder, and the breadth of his frame…

"If you joined me in the tub, this would be much easier."

It was true. If she were sitting behind him in the water, she'd have easier access to him, but that would require her to remove her garment. When she didn't answer, Harry turned to look at her as he leaned back into the tub until his shoulder was pressed into her thigh. "Keep going."

"Your back is hidden. I can't reach—"

"Then here." He took her hand with the cloth and pulled it over his chest. The new angle of him, his back to her as she leaned forward and slowly ran the rag along the solid muscle of his pectorals, felt quite salacious. But she continued wiping and cleaning him. When he leaned his head back against her thigh, she gasped and paused her motions.

He laughed, his eyes closed. "Oh, mouse… Calm yourself."

She slowly began to rub over the skin of his chest as she looked down at his face. His features were tranquil as he moaned, the lower she dipped the rag. She had no intentions of dragging it too low, but he seemed to be enjoying it as she ran it over his stomach.

Glancing down further, she could make out something dark between his legs, and then the member attached to him as it swayed with the water's movement. It was indecent of her to be looking, but her curiosity was acute. And besides, she'd seen it before already. She knew what he looked like, and right then, it seemed so harmless as it was distorted beneath the surface of the water.

"Lower."

Y/n blinked, casting her sight back to his face. She hesitated to bring the cloth lower against him, but figured she didn't need to go that low. There were other areas she could clean, other spots she could run the rag against. So she leaned in further and wiped down to his hip and the top of his thigh.

He let out a breathy groan and spread his legs the slightest. "Good."

She smiled at the praise. She was doing something right for once. Trailing the cloth to his other hip and down to the top of his thigh, he rocked his hips upward and moaned. When he turned his head, rolling it over her thigh, she felt his warm breath sneaking under the cloth of her chemise.

The moment was entirely too intimate. Harry was quite amenable in that moment, and the way he had used her thigh as a pillow felt sweet. Something about how tired he seemed and the way his eyelids were closed as he puffed out shallow breaths made her body heat. She didn't understand why she was responding to him that way.

But then he lifted an arm out of the water and reached behind himself, his hand pressed over her thigh, and then he squeezed as he moved his palm up to her hip. Her light colored chemise wetted under his touch, and she could see her skin coming through the damp material. She watched as his thumb gently ran along the bend of her thigh.

"My Lord…" She didn't know what she was to say, but she knew she had to say something. Anything… "You're getting my clothes wet."

"Then take them off."

She swallowed and lifted the rag away from him. "That's—"

"Improper? Is that what you were going to say?" Harry pushed himself from his spot in the tub and turned to look at her directly.

He pulled at her hip and grinned as she dropped the rag into the tub and gasped. She loved how it felt to have his hands on her, but she was too embarrassed to admit it as she writhed away from him and stood from the tub to step away.

The King leaned forward against the tub, his elbows on the spot she'd been sitting. "Where are you going?"

"I'm… You're the devil!" She said as her body thrummed with wanton heat.

He let out a loud laugh and felt something slick under his palm. Looking down to the stone, he stitched his brows together and drew a finger through the moisture before he brought it up to sniff. He dropped his mouth open in surprise as he looked at her. "Little mouse… This is not water. Come here at once and let me see."

"No." She looked away from him as she clutched the back of her chemise. She knew very well what it was, she just hadn't expected it to seep through the linen down to the stone. She'd only recently begun to understand the mechanics of how her body reacted to being aroused ever since Harry showed her the way she could make herself feel.

"Yes." He spoke firmly, his green eyes boring into her body as her chest heaved. "Come here and we'll take care of this for you. Now I see why you're so pent up. You need a release, don't you? It's been a hard few days for you."

She shook her head and looked down at her bare feet. She was doing everything she could to be a good girl, to do the right thing by God. But the king, whom she was certain was the devil himself, tempting her, made it unimaginably hard to keep righteous.

"Have you been taking good care of your little leaky spout like I showed you?"

She let out a wobbly noise and closed her eyes to pretend that question had never been uttered.

"I think you have. You very much enjoyed it when I showed you how to touch your little coo. Has it been good? I'm sure you were unable to whilst back at your tenement, but certainly you know well the kind of joy it brings when you have privacy."

She swallowed, the sound clicking loudly in the room. "No."

"Yes. Come here."

Opening her eyes, she let her sight trail over his arms and his face as he leaned into the tub so casually. Like what he was saying wasn't unscrupulous. He was so well-favored in looks that it almost wasn't fair. How was she to remain a proper lady?

"Was it me you thought of when you touched yourself?"

Shaking her head, she quickly glanced away. It was hard to maintain eye contact when she was lying.

"No? Then Lane? Your friend? You thought of him?"

Setting her eyes back on his, she shook her head. "No! Of course not!"

He smiled. "You don't fancy him then?"

"Never. Not like that."

"What about me? Do you fancy me, Y/n? Be honest. I can already tell when you're not being forthright. You can't even look me in the eye when you answer falsely."

Her skin felt like she'd fallen into a patch of stinging nettles as he kept his eyes on her. He'd figured out her little signal. She was no good at lying. But she didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing how he made her feel deep down.

"I want you here now. Come sit or I'll get out and force you to."

Still clutching the back of her chemise, she stepped forward slowly until she was next to the tub. Harry reached up for her hip and pulled. "Sit."

Y/n placed her hands down on the ledge and sat, but Harry pulled at her again until her legs were in the water and the bottom of her chemise was wet. Her heart was galloping in her chest as he placed his hands on her thighs. "You're going to be my wife. Yes?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"That's right. You're mine. So when I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it for me. I don't ask much of you, Y/n," he spoke as he ran his hands up and down her thighs, then hooked his thumbs under the hem of the material and brought it upward to her mid-thigh. "You needn't worry much about anyone else asking you to do something. Just me. Yes?"

She nodded again and watched as his thumbs pushed upward under the chemise over her skin and she thought she would faint.

"What did you eat last night?"

"Uhh… roasted potatoes and cream, salted fish, bread and butter, apples."

He smiled at her as he paused his hands at the top of her thigh, and she felt her whole body flush in embarrassment. If he lowered his sight and peeked, he'd see her full quim she was sure.

"Good. You're eating well. And you slept well too, I presume?"

She nodded, trying to keep still so he didn't conclude how much she was affected by his hands on her.

"You like this."

Blinking, she turned her sight to the table with the water pitcher without answering.

He laughed softly and ran his thumbs along the curve of her thigh where it met her hip. "That's a yes. And what about this?"

She felt his fingers press into the flesh at the inside of her thigh as he pulled and spread her legs. She looked down quickly and sucked in a sharp inhale at the sight. It was lewd for him to see her like that. And yet… She was curious.

"Keep going?" He looked up at her, an eyebrow raised.

"I don't know…" She gulped.

"You don't know? Then, how about I just keep going until you say stop? Yes?"

She nodded. "Okay."

He shifted his gaze further down to her privy parts, and she closed her eyes when she felt his thumb slide against her crease. He hissed, gripping her thigh harshly as he inspected her bits and moved in closer to get a better look.

"Very pretty, little mouse." She felt his thumb slip down further and softly massage until there was a little intrusion. She opened her eyes and watched as the tip of his thumb disappeared into her hole.

Snapping her thighs closed, Harry shot his eyes back up to her and removed his fingers. "Stop?"

It hadn't hurt her, but it was the embarrassment that had her shying from his touch. "I… I don't know. It's… not right."

"What's not right? The way a man and woman enjoy one another? Is that what's not right? Why would God go through the trouble of making humans with parts that can find pleasure in touch?"

"I think it's just meant for the sacrament of marriage."

"So, stop, then?"

She looked down at her legs dangling into the water and wished she were more bold like the girls she'd read about in her stories. The ones who'd found their lovers before they were wed and allowed themselves the indulgence of pleasure.

Harry gently wrapped his fingers around the space just above her ankle. "Look at me, mouse."

She looked into his green eyes and felt like she was being torn apart by her conscience. She'd never wanted to give in to her carnal pleasure as much as she did with Harry. And she never imagined that a man like him would defend her honor more than once. He was crude and undisciplined, but there was something tender, just for her, underneath the cold and pompous performance.

"Do you know why your little coo gets all wet like this, if not for the enjoyment of the act? It's human nature. It's how we were made. You do not need to be shy with me. If you want it, you can have it. As you've seen before, God will not smite you for such a thing as this."

The skin on her ankle where his hand was gripped felt warm, and it sent a wave of wicked craving through her insides. She wanted to reach toward him and push the curl from his forehead and slide her finger down his prominent nose over his plush pink lips just to see what he'd feel like under her fingertips. She wished she were brave enough to slip into the tub with him and fall into the temptuous ways of a dauntless woman.

He released her ankle and stood from the water, his strong, denuded body wet and dripping before her. She glanced only briefly at the organ hung heavy at her eye level before tilting her head back to look up at him. He bent as he took her chin in his hand. "What is it that you want? Tell me now."

She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm confused."

He puffed out a laugh and let go of her chin before he stepped from the tub. "Aren't we all, Y/n? No one really has the answers. Everyone is confused. You just have to learn to speak up for what you want most and hope that it wasn't the bad choice. No one can guide you but yourself."

She turned to watch as he pulled a robe over his body and walked toward his balcony. What did she want most? What if it was the bad choice?

Pulling her legs from the water, she stepped from the tub and guardedly followed behind him, the bottom half of her chemise soaked, which sent a chill over her heated skin. She stopped at the balcony door and coasted her eyes over the view of the castle garden with its fountains and tall trees. In the late spring, it would be a lovely place to stroll through, she thought. Harry was leaned into the stone railing, the tips of his curls in his damp hair already drying from the cool air whisping through it.

He was the sort of man who women whispered about. Both because he had such a rakishly handsome face (and form) and because he had the most brutish devil-may-care attitude. It made him quite a fascinating attraction. But the current of care he had for her underneath his thoughtless exterior was what drew Y/n's curiosity the most.

"You may do with me as you please. Make the decision for me. I won't say no." It took everything in her to spit the words out.

He turned and placed an elbow over the stone to lean into as he looked at her, his head cocked to the side as if she were a peculiar creature. "That does not please me. Indeed, I do not like being told no, but even worse is when I'm told yes and it's a lie."

"Then yes. I want to know. I may as well learn. Not just to please you but to discover my own pleasure."

Pushing himself from the stone, he blinked in surprise, a ghost of a smile turning the edge of his lip upward. "Then tell me what it is you want. Speak plainly."

She glanced behind her at the bed and then back at the king. "I'll… I could lie on the bed, and you could touch me again. Maybe…" She looked down and felt every atom of her being light up with scorching embers. "I'd like to feel your kiss."

She hadn't even noticed that he'd stepped in front of her until she saw his bare feet standing before her. Lifting her head upward to meet his gaze, she could have melted from the warmth on his face. "I haven't kissed you yet, have I?"

Harry placed his wide palm on her frozen cheek, and she closed her eyes. He hadn't kissed her, but the tender touch had her skin sizzling and her heart racing. "You haven't yet kissed me. No."

Blinking her eyes open to look at him again, she watched his irises smooth across her features and drag over her lips slowly as his thumb slid down her cheekbone. "Then we must remedy that mistake."

She'd been kissed before. Lane had been drunk, and she gave in to his persistent bickering to shut him up and to sate her own curiosity. It was hard and dry and smelled of gin and ale and sweat. It hadn't been what she imagined a kiss should be.

So, when Harry nudged his nose against hers, and she felt his hand soft on her hip, she knew it before he'd even closed the gap between their lips, that this would be the kind of kiss she'd always daydreamed of.

She felt his breath over her lips, and his fingers squeezed her skin as his thumb dragged gently at her temple before he pressed his smooth mouth to hers, and the noise of her doubt was silenced. She hadn't even realized that her hands were clutched over the fabric of his robe at his chest, like he would drift away as if in a dream if she didn't hang on tight.

He opened and closed his lips around hers in soft, careful motions, and she stepped closer, beckoned by the pull of his hand at her side. She parted her lips to mimic how he was kissing her, and he moaned into her mouth. She had no time to be startled by the moan and that it signified his delectation, when she felt the wet tip of his tongue lave over her bottom lip before he pulled it into his mouth gently.

Oh god! She was wrong about everything! He didn't need to confess an undying love or obsession that was not there. He only needed to kiss her for her body and her mind to relent to him. It was delicate and confident, prurient and genteel… it was bewitching.

Did one truly not need the magical bounds of love to bloom in rapture from a kiss? Her skin and her blood and the nails on her fingers and toes were all vibrating with the kind of sensation that she always assumed only happened when a soul had found the one it was predestined to.

His hand slowly pushed away from her face and wound to the back of her head as his other reached across her lower back until she was flush against his chest. Her heart fluttered so rapidly at her brazen reach, her hands moving upward of their own accord until she'd pushed her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

Even with the chilled wind whipping over her thinly clothed frame, her blood burned hot. If he took her then and laid her in his bed and claimed her virginity, she thought she'd not say no. Because what was this? Why was the subtle unanchoring of her morals and her posture on right and wrong suddenly categorized as a lie and a truth? The thick veil of deception was quickly trampled by just a kiss. What else would she soon uncover?

When he parted from her, he did not remove his hands, but he set his gaze against hers with a soft wonder that carried over to his features. Slowly, she pulled her fingers from his hair and placed her palms on his shoulders, all in silence. Was he in awe just as she was? Surely not.

But his delicate touch at the back of her neck was an homage to something profoundly affectionate. It had all been unexpected. Perhaps even for him.

"I have much to do today, else I'd remain here with you. It's nearly ten, breakfast will be served promptly. We'll call for Phoebe to help you dress and begin your day."

He stepped away, and it was then that Y/n could feel the harsh wind cutting through the linen to her flesh. She stood, confounded, as she watched the king walk back into his room to dress himself. Frozen in her spot, she let her mind wander to her childhood when she used to play pretend that her prince had found her. He'd sweep her up, take her away, and they'd fall madly in love and rule the kingdom together. Was it something she'd somehow foreseen, or was it just the silly imagination of every young girl who wished for something better?

Confounded, maybe, but Y/n was armed with a new awareness, a definite truth that she hadn't been privy to before. That even those who mean well can tell a lie, and truth can be found in the most unexpected ways. It was an awakening for her to see the way her heart could soar, as if God himself had elicited it. And right then, her heart was in flight like a bird that knew the way it must go with an instinct that directed its path. It was not God that guided the way. It was her.

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[alinathinkstoomuch]

LAP IT UP

18+ MDNI

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: tweezing your boyfriend’s eyebrows is a totally valid excuse to make him come in his pants, right? warnings | an: dry-humping, power play, dom-ish reader / sub-ish hotch, hotch jizzes in his pants, hotch is a munch and a simp because it’s simply not possible for me to write anything else other than hotchypoo worshipping the ground u walk on!!!established relationship, mentions of sugar baby/daddy dynamic word count: 2.2k

✧ masterlist

“Can I do yours?” you asked, not bothering to shift the mirror as you cleaned up the stray hairs around your left brow.

There was a pause of silence, followed by the rustle of paperwork. Not nearly a sufficient response, so you gently kicked Aaron’s thigh in protest.

“Do my what?”

“Your eyebrows,” you answered, tilting your head as you inspected your reflection, trying to catch the last bit of sunlight streaming through the window. One brow was cooperating. The other looked like it had wandered off and joined a different face entirely.

“They’re not twins,” you muttered. “Barely sisters. Maybe even distant, resentful cousins.”

He made a quiet sound that might’ve been a laugh. “And what exactly are you implying about mine?”

“They could use a little TLC,” you argued lightly, leaning back to look at him over the mirror in your hand. “When was the last time you did them?”

He looked up from his files, one brow lifting—ironically. “I don’t make a habit of grooming my eyebrows.”

“Yeah…I can tell.”

That earned you the famous Hotchner scowl, though it had stopped working on you several scowls ago—right around the time you realised he was all bark and no bite. Or, at least, never with you.

Without another word, you dropped the mirror onto the coffee table and swung one leg over his, settling into his lap like it was your favourite seat…because it was. He stilled beneath you, body going just a little tense, like he wasn’t entirely sure where this was heading, but had no intention of stopping it.

“You’re not serious.”

“Deadly,” you replied, fingers already threading through the front of his hair. You tugged just enough to guide, making sure his head tipped back against the couch cushion. “Oof. Would you look at that, Hotchner, I think you’re starting to grow a monobrow.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“She needs to go. Quickly.” You leaned in, squinting like you were about to perform life-saving surgery and plucked a hair right from the middle of his brow before he had a chance to respond.

He flinched.

“Baby,” you teased, barely bothering to hide the laugh building in your throat. “You’re fine.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Obviously. I’m in your lap, holding tweezers, and making you nervous. This is my peak.” Just as you plucked another hair, you felt his hands tighten slightly at your hips.

“Just be quick,” he muttered.

Yeah. There was just one small problem with that. Quick wasn’t in your plans tonight. Aaron might be the boss at work, but at home, it was you who got your way. Always had. And truthfully? You didn’t care all that much about his eyebrows. Or yours, for that matter.

You just really, really wanted to be in his lap.

You let the tweezers hover his face again as you pretended to search for another target.

“Hm…nope, that one’s got character. Can’t lose it.”

He huffed. “You’re not even trying anymore.”

“I am,” you insisted, all sickly-sweet innocence as you adjusted your grip on his shoulders, letting your fingers toy with the collar of his polo. “Just want to make sure they’re perfect.”

He cracked one eye open. “Mh-hm.”

“What? You want me to do a half-assed job? You want uneven arches, Aaron?”

“You’ve got two minutes left.”

Silly man. As if you were on his clock.

You said nothing, just hummed like the consummate professional you clearly were, smoothing out his right brow with the pad of your finger. And then—because comfort was key, obviously—you shifted. Absolutely not intentionally aligning yourself with the zipper of his jeans.

You caught the half-shaky exhale he tried to hide and decided it still didn’t feel quite right.

Goldilocks might’ve had a point.

So you adjusted again, this time with a little more pressure. For once, you were grateful for the humidity that made you choose a dress—and the skimpiest, thinnest pair of underwear you owned.

All, of course, in the name of practicality.

His hands twitched at your waist, fingers flexing like he was stuck between wanting to grip you tighter or stay neutral. (Spoiler: he was failing at staying neutral.)

“This all part of the grooming experience?”

“Me taking my time? Absolutely. You know I give a hundred percent to everything I do, baby.”

"I know, honey," he drawled. "You've called me baby twice in the last three minutes. That's usually when you want something."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

He smiled—subtle, smug, and, annoyingly, entirely correct. Because, yes, okay, you did want something. Just... nothing that came with a price tag. This time.

"What is it?" he asked, utterly unbothered because he was synced up to you in that way that meant nothing you said, did, or asked of him could really surprise him anymore. "Vacation days? Shoes? I told you, you don't have to ask. The wallet's in the drawer."

You gave his hair another tug, guiding his head back to the couch cushions like you were placing something delicate. “You know there’s actually a government term for what you’re implying right now.”

“Yeah?”

His eyes drifted closed again, and he looked so… soft. Almost unarmoured. Breakable in the gentlest way. The tension that usually lived in his jaw, his brow, his posture—gone. Off choosing a different victim for the day.

Lit by the delicate setting sun, he looked—

Angelic.

Almost too pure for what you had planned.

Because while he was just trying to finish a stack of paperwork, you were trying to survive the throb between your legs. And your dress, as helpful as it was in theory, wasn’t offering enough friction to solve anything. So you decided to do what any self-respecting sinner would.

You were going to drag him down a little closer to your level.

Make him less divine, and a little more yours.

“Sugar baby,” you blurted, remembering you were mid-conversation and should probably at least pretend you were behaving. “That’s the term. Is that what you’re implying I am?”

He grinned.

And then he was the one to adjust—lifting his hips just as his hands pressed you down harder against him, guiding you into him.

You clamped your mouth shut, eyes fluttering as the pressure hit exactly where you needed it.

He opened his eyes then, and you did your best to keep a straight face. (Spoiler: you were the one failing this time.)

“You think I’d reduce you to that?”

You reached for the tweezers again, if only for something to do, dragging a lazy finger across his brow like you were still pretending to care about symmetry. “You did say the wallet’s in the drawer.”

“I did.” His grip tightened just enough at your waist to make your thighs instinctively clench around him, something you knew he felt. “But that’s because I’d give you anything you ever wanted without expecting anything in return.”

You pouted, feeling the buttons of his polo brush against your nipples, because, yes, humidity had also declared it a no-bra day, and yes, you were prepared to weaponize it. “So you don’t want my sugar?”

“I want all of you,” he corrected.  “Every part.”

Of course he was still angelic about it—still saying all the right things, still making it a priority to remind you of your worth, even while you were actively plotting how to make him finish in his jeans.

Rude.

But also righteous.

And still better than you deserved…which will only make this all the more satisfying.

You blinked down at him, lips parted, a slow breath pulling into your lungs as the weight of his words landed somewhere deep between your legs.

“You’re really not going to let me be shallow for five minutes, huh?” Your fingers slipped from his brow to his throat, thumb brushing his pulse just to feel how not calm he actually was.

“No,” he said simply, shaking his head. “You’re not shallow. Just a little needy.”

You hummed like that wasn’t already obvious, like the need hadn’t soaked straight through your panties and probably left a trail somewhere along your thigh by now. Still, for the sake of appearances you brought the tweezers to his brow again.

“Hold still,” you murmured, right as you bucked your hips into him.

You felt his hands slip beneath your dress, rough and warm against bare skin as they roamed—up your thigh, your lower back, your spine.

“I said hold still,” you repeated, the smile in your voice completely ruining the authority you hoped to fake.

He did the opposite.

His hands kept traveling up your back, and you dropped the tweezers altogether, your hands settling on his shoulders as you forced yourself to grind against him, feeling not just the zipper, but the outline of his hard cock, straining like a sin he hadn’t meant to commit.

“Fuck,” you breathed, the word breaking apart in your throat like glass.

Your lips latched onto the skin beneath his jaw, feeling his skittish pulse beneath your tongue as you sucked and smoothed over the sting. Aaron’s grip on your neck tightened—a weak, almost pathetic attempt to tame you, to reel you back in, just so he could reclaim a fraction of the control you had stolen.

“This was never about my eyebrows, was it?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t care to. Instead, your teeth scraped lightly over the hickey you were hoping would linger, hips working against him like the truth being unveiled—not the sweet thing he thought you were, but a wicked woman who knew exactly how to get what she wanted.

“You’re not even listening,” he said again, a breathless laugh ghosting across your temple, cut off by the groan that followed when your hips met his just right. “Too busy getting yourself off.”

“Pretty and smart,” you mumbled lazily, the friction turning sharper, your clit throbbing now with every slow drag over the rough fabric of his pants.

His hands slipped under the neckline of your dress, tugging the top down with the sort of confidence that didn’t match his frantic breathing or the way his hips were stuttering into yours.

You pulled back from the crook of his neck, only because now it was his turn.

Aaron’s eyes dropped, and for a moment, he just stared like he couldn’t decide where to put his hands. Then he leaned in, mouth closing around your nipple, lips warm, tongue flicking once, then again, until you gasped and arched into him.

You were close. So close. Though truthfully, most of the build-up hadn’t been physical—it was all mental. The way he looked at you, like you were something delicate, something good. In the way he still hadn’t figured it out, even when you’d pranced past him with the tweezers and the mirror, settling beside him on the couch, legs draped up, spreading just enough to make sure he saw exactly what was on offer.

You could’ve asked. Told him exactly what you wanted and he would’ve done it in a heartbeat. You knew that. He loved to take care of you. He always had.

But where was the thrill in asking, when it was so much sweeter to watch him give in?

And you began to pick up on just that.

The way his breath caught against your nipple, the scrape of his teeth getting less careful.

The way his hands clutched tighter at every piece of skin he could reach. The way he started meeting your hips with his own. Slow at first, then harder, like this had been his idea to begin with.

You kept moving and so did he, the friction messy and desperate between you. His head dropped forward, breath stuttering out against your collarbone, his hands squeezing your waist.

Then his hips jerked up into yours, your name falling from his lips in a voice he almost never used. His body tensed one last time, and then you felt it—the heat flooding between you, a groan torn from his throat as he came.

Your greed had been satisfied.

And with one more roll of your hips—feeling his release spread beneath you, mixing with your own slickness—that was all it took to tip you over the edge. Your body locked down, fingers digging into his shoulders as your orgasm hit, splintering and all-consuming.

You didn’t move from him immediately, hands now toying with the collar of his polo as you caught your breath.

“Happy?” he mumbled against your skin, voice still rough around the edges.

You lifted your head, the curve of your smile slow and smug. “Very.”

You expected him to stay soft beneath you—to let you linger, revel in the mess you’d made of him.

But instead, his hands slid to your hips again, and before you could react, he was lifting you off his lap in one fluid motion, placing you down in his seat as he stood over you.

Your legs dangled off the edge, dress still bunched around your waist, thighs glistening with wetness. You pushed yourself up slightly, elbows braced behind you for balance, about to ask what he was doing, pausing just long enough to admire the wet patch on his jeans.

But your confusion melted into a shit-eating grin as you watched him lower himself to his knees in front of you. Though something told you that whatever he was about to do wouldn’t be for your sake, but for his.

And that control you were so desperate to keep?

It was practically nonexistent now—crumbling at a breathtaking pace, resting in the same hands that were sliding your soaked panties down your thighs.

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley

[royal-wtr]

Step-dad!Price x Reader

Price x fem!reader Description: Price and reader try to take advantage of a quiet morning. Genre/Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, CW: Stepcest, stepdad!Price x stepdaughter!reader, fem!reader, stepcast!141, Taboo, smut, fingering, dark romance, daddy kink, reader and Price are interrupted WC: 876

My Masterlist

**AN This is part one of a new series I am working on and my first time writing something more… socially unacceptable? Anyway, let me know if I’m missing any tags. Enjoy! 🤓 P.S. Not that I should have to say this but, I do not condone or encourage these acts. This is purely fiction and intended as entertainment only.

It was early morning. The sun had started peaking over the horizon and a blue glow crept through your blinds.

The smell of fresh coffee being brewed wafted up the stairs. It must have been John, your stepfather, getting ready for the day.

Despite it being the summer the wooden floorboards were cold beneath your feet. You pad down the steps wearing an old pair of shorts and a tee shirt. The shorts were a bit shorter on you now than they had been when you first bought them a few years ago.

As you rounded the corner entering the kitchen you could see your stepdad, Price leaning forward on the sink, his back to you looking out the window as he waits patiently for his coffee.

You lean over the counter on the other side of the island with a smirk.

"Mornin."

Your voice cuts through the silence. Prices head whips around. He smiles when he sees you.

"Good morning sweetheart."

Price greets pushing off the edge of the sink and turning to you.

"Sleep well?"

You shrug in response.

"The boys still asleep?"

Price nods.

"And mom?"

You ask stepping around the counter so he can see you fully.

"Gone for the weekend."

His voice is low, almost amused. His eyes roam over your body knowingly. You only hum in response and use your upper body strength to pull your backside up on the granite countertop.

"That's a nice little outfit you've got on."

His gruff accent came out breathier than intended.

"You like it?"

Price runs a hand over the stubble on his chin eyeing your bare legs.

"Very much."

He replies, stepping in between your legs. He had his usual cheeky smile plastered on his face as his hands moved to rest on your outer thighs.

You leaned in, your breath tickling his ear sending a slight shiver through his neck as you spoke.

"I've got nothing on underneath."

You whisper. Price's brow raises in surprise

"Really... Nothing at all?"

You shake your head with a smirk.

"Naughty girl."

Price mutters his eyes darkening.

"I'm sorry Daddy... It’s just been so long."

You whine jutting out your bottom lip in a pout.

"I know baby."

Price inhales sharply, pressing His body flush to yours. His arms wrap around you and pull you forward. It had been quite a while since you were this close to him. You missed the way his muscles tensed, and the warmth of his body radiating off of him.

"You've been so patient for me."

One of his large hands slip between the two of you. Momentarily gripping the fat of your thigh before moving to push under the bottom hem of your shorts.

"Be a good girl and keep quiet for me. Yeah?"

His words hit you like a spark. The nerves change to arousal and there is a pulse between your legs. You nod your head eagerly.

Prices thumb finds the entrance, gliding your slick upward to circle your clit. You bite back your whimper, leaning back on your palms against the cool countertop. Subconsciously, you spread your knees further apart.

"So needy sweetheart."

Price chuckles leaning into your neck. He lightly trails kisses down to your collar bone leaving a couple of soft bites. A sharp gasp escapes your lips. Price presses his calloused hand over your mouth. A moan vibrates across his palm. Two thick digits press into the tight walls of your soaked entrance.

The wetness creates a soft squelching sound. You let out a shaky breath rocking your hips forward. Price chuckles, his gaze falling between the two of you watching you ride his fingers. The bulge in his pajama pants only grew harder at the sight.

"You're so damn beautiful like this."

His hungry gaze came up to meet yours. You reach a soft hand forward, hooking your fingertips lightly in his waistband and tugging his hips forward.

His eyes brighten with lust and a surprised grunt escapes him melting into an amused chuckle.

"Oh? You want more do you, sweetheart?"

He asks. He drops his hand from your mouth and pulls you forward by the back of your neck, capturing your pretty lips in a sweet kiss.

"So desperate. Don't worry baby, daddy will take good care of you."

The pace of his fingers picks up and Price lets out a low growl as your fingers grab his waistband again. You can feel the heat vibrating through you and the tightening of your core as you get closer to your climax.

"You've been so good, so patient, sweetheart."

Price whispers sucking on your neck. But before he can say another word you both hear footsteps stomping down the staircase. Price pulls back immediately.

"Dammit."

He hissed. Turning away to pour himself a cup of Coffee. You sit up straighter crossing your legs as Gaz rounds the corner oblivious to the prior events.

"Oh! Good morning."

He says with a hint of surprise not having expected anyone to be up yet.

You let out a sigh eyeing the back of Price's head. The ache between your thighs is still present. You knew it was too late now and that you'd have to wait for another time to finish what you'd begun.

PART 2 >>

[thehoneybeestings]

𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢

𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐚 𝐱 𝐦𝐞𝐥’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

୨ৎ pt. i

Word Count: 3k

Synopsis: A reflection on the events that led you to your current predicament, in which you've been caught sneaking out of your best friend's mother's room... by your best friend... oops!

Content/Warnings: major canon divergence (see author's note), nsfw, reader is referred to w fem pronouns/has fem anatomy, top!ambessa, bottom!reader, age gap, oral (r receiving), sneaky library sex fuckkkk

A/N: fair warning! i am fully aware of the creative liberty i had to take here to craft a story in which mel and ambessa have a solid enough relationship that this was not a major betrayal on reader's behalf. i'm trying to strengthen my angst writing skills, but unfortunately, it just won't be at mel's expense lol. i'm sorry if you all were hoping for something angstier, but i just can't do nhe yet, so i hope you enjoy what i did write!

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

It’d been about three months since you’d met your best friend’s mother. “She can be a bit… frosty,” Mel had warned, “but don’t mind it. She isn’t as scary as she likes people to think she is.”

That much, you would come to learn in the following months. 

At first, Ambessa refused to entertain the idea of having you; refused it in the daylight, at least. She couldn’t help where her mind wandered when her only company was the moonlight streaming in through her windows and a candle's flame dancing on her nightstand. 

Even then-even after knowing full well that she’d coaxed herself to sleep with images of you flickering behind her closed eyes and a hand in between her legs to accompany them-she refused to act on her attraction.

Ambessa was an esteemed Noxian general. Feared and respected by elites across the world. A grown ass woman. She did not “sneak around.”

And especially not with the girl seated next to her daughter at tonight’s progress day gala, who was giggling about something superficial, something childish, she automatically assumed. No- if Ambessa was going to share her precious time and affections with someone, they would need to match her wits and wisdom. They would need to be able to keep up with her. 

So, she brushes off how beautiful the young lady's berry-colored smile is, and scans the room for the nearest table of champagne flutes. 

She’d never been one for these events. There was always something better to do than stand around and make idle chit-chat, she thought. If there weren’t soldiers to command or negotiations to be made, there was at least a book that she was dying to get home to. In fact, that reminded her of the cliffhanger she left off on before she- “Not one for galas, I presume?” Annoyingly so, the sudden inquiry pulls her from the solace of her trailing thoughts. 

Her agitation is quickly extinguished when a berry-colored smile comes into view. 

Not that you can tell. She still looks as disinterested as ever.

“What makes you say that?” She deadpans, her rich voice smooth and steady. You thank the Gods that you’d chosen a long-sleeved gown to wear tonight, for if not, she’d surely see the goosebumps traveling down your arms.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, feigning a casual confidence. “The brooding, perhaps.”

She cocks her head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly at your boldness. 

You don’t miss the corner of her mouth pulling up into an amused smirk. 

“I’m only kidding,” you smile back. “I just have a knack for spotting fellow introverts.” “You seem to be enjoying yourself well enough,” she muses, gesturing to where Mel spearheads the table’s conversion. 

“I enjoy Mel,” you correct, “and when your best friend asks you to play wingwoman for the night because the object of her affections is on the guestlist, you don’t say no.”

A low chuckle escapes the general. 

“Talis?”

“How did you know?” 

“How could I not? The girl is obsessed.”

This time, a chuckle of your own.

“She’s… insistent. Decides she wants something, and won't relent until she has it. But, she utilizes her ambition to fight for what’s right,” you continue, a warm smile now seated on your lips, “and for that, I have boundless respect and admiration for her.”

Ambessa feels her heart wrench.

Guilt.

If there was anyone who deserved someone as supportive as you in their corner, it was Mel. She would not get in between that. 

Not that she had begun to humor the idea of having you, anyway.

“She’s a wonderful girl,” Ambessa remarks softly.

You look over just in time to catch the somber expression with which Ambessa watches her daughter light up the room. She’s quick to school it when she sees you turn, taking a sip of her champagne.

Your words are soft, spoken with an undercurrent of understanding.

“She speaks highly of you.”

The muscle of Ambessa’s jaw tightens for a split second.

“She does?” she asks with a raised brow, trying her best to feign indifference, but you aren’t ignorant of the tumultuous path that has led the two women to their relationship today. They had both worked hard for the bond they now shared, and Ambessa treasures that bond more than she’s ever treasured anything else. 

“She does,” you affirm. “You’ve raised an excellent girl. You’ve also raised a literature fiend, who I can assure you is currently raving about all three of the books she plans to finish by the end of the month.”

Ambessa punches out a laugh. That’s when Mel’s head snaps in her mother’s direction; when she finds that you were the source of her mother’s laughter; when she’s thrust into the crisis that would plague her for months:

“Oh Gods… why do I like them together?!”

She wouldn’t dare speak of this revelation. 

You wouldn’t dare speak of being pressed against a library door with her mother’s lips trailing down your neck.

You’d both taken to roaming the halls of whoever’s estate this was after deciding that reprieve from the crowd would be more than welcome.

The library’s doors had been wide open, its walls of books luring you in. 

“Ooh,” you’d murmured mischievously, “shall we pop in and judge someone’s taste?”

Ambessa rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but follows closely behind anyway. 

“And what is your taste, dear?” she asks. 

With bright eyes and excited words spoken a bit too fast, you go on to share your favorite books and why they'd earned the distinction. She rears her head back, brows raised. 

“I must say… I’m impressed,” she admits. “You’ve mentioned some of my favorites as well.”

“Go on then,” you urge, taking a seat in a wingbacked chair, “I know you’ve got a thesis just waiting for an audience.”

She chortles, leaning against the desk in front of you. “Do you have a knack for spotting fellow bookworms, too?” 

You shrug with a smirk. “What can I say? I’m perceptive.” 

A smirk graces her lips as she scans you, but the look in her eyes is unreadable. It’s abandoned, anyway, when she begins discussing her interpretation of one of her favorite works; and when you interject with a counter thesis that truly has her stumped, she knows she’s screwed. 

She wanted someone who could keep up with her, didn’t she?

So now, here you are, lips swollen from where they were just pressed against her own until you couldn’t breathe. Her grip is firm around your waist as she cages you against the library's tall wooden door and trails open-mouthed kisses down your throat. Her hand snakes up your figure to tangle into your hair and tugs to expose more of your neck. She leaves a nip over your pulse, slides a muscled thigh in between your legs, and when you gasp as she presses in, she finally pulls away to lock eyes with you.

Her composure sends a chill down your spine.

“My daughter comes first,” she asserts. “Always. If at any point either of us believes that this arrangement could bring her harm, we cease immediately.”

Her words are sobering. You think of what this could mean for your friendship if Mel ever found out; of how on earth she’d possibly feel, of what on earth she’d possibly say. 

You’d cross that bridge when you got there, you finally resign, because you’re already soaked through your underwear.

“Of course,” you breathe with a nod. “I understand completely.”

A wicked smirk spreads across her face. She takes your chin between her thumb and forefinger. 

“Good girl,” she croons; and when your jaw goes slack, she takes the opportunity to thumb at your bottom lip before the digit slides over its plush to rest on your tongue. 

Without thinking, you suck. 

“Very good.”

She pulls her thumb from your mouth with a pop, smearing a bit of your dark red lipstick on your chin in the process. 

“Your gown is lovely,” she muses innocently, as if she isn’t sinking to her knees and rucking up the dark red fabric. 

You stare down at her with wide, desperate eyes, your hand darting out to grab at her shoulder for support. 

“I apologize,” she suddenly chimes, slowly pulling your thin garment of lace and cotton down and out of her way, “we’ve already established a mutual disinterest in small talk, haven’t we?”

And then, she disappears underneath the gathered material of your dress. You brace yourself, hoping to the Gods you don’t come embarrassingly fast, but considering the way your legs twitch as soon as she brushes against your arousal, the odds are not in your favor. 

You feel your face heat up when she speaks up to confirm what a mess you are for her. 

“So wet for me already, darling. Do discussions on literature always turn you on this much?”

Your breathless chuckle is cut off by a whine when she presses her nose against your clit, her mouth hovering just over the slick pooling at your entrance. 

“You’re being mean,” you fuss, bucking your hips forward. 

She places a kiss upon the bud of nerves aching for attention, and a chuckle rumbles deep in her chest, sending vibrations through your core that have you clenching around nothing. 

“Oh, child,” she coos, tossing one of your legs over her strong shoulder, “You have no clue what mean is.”

You inhale sharply through gritted teeth as she finally licks a stripe up from your entrance to your clit. Her mouth never leaves you, immediately closing around your pearl to suck; hard. 

You let out a squeak, earning yourself a quick pinch on the plush of your hip where she rests her hand.

“Make another noise and I’ll stop. You need to learn to be quiet if this arrangement is what you want.” 

You nod fervently. “Okay,” you exhale, tapping her shoulder in a desperate plea for her to continue, “okay, I’m sorry.”

She drags her tongue through your slick again, draws a circle around your clit with the muscle, dips into the nectar now dripping down your thighs.

“Such a messy girl,” she mocks, mouth still pressed against you. You bite down hard on your lip as she returns to her ministrations. Her tongue laps at your clit steadily now, only stopping every few moments or so to lap at the sweet taste of your arousal. 

Your chest heaves with labored breaths, and your legs are starting to shake. You're nearly delirious on her mouth, her languid strokes coaxing you closer and closer to the edge. 

She brings a thick finger to your entrance, but doesn’t even get the chance to press into you before you gasp, urgently whispering, 

“I’m so close- I’m gonna come.”

She chuckles knowingly. That much was obvious. Her finger slides up to part you like flower petals, and when her mouth latches onto your clit once more, you throw your head back against the door, hand flying over your mouth to conceal the whimper that escapes you. 

Your breath is jagged as you come down; that is, until she stands up and splays a hand across your stomach.

“Breathe, child.” It’s a command, leaving no room for disobedience. 

You take a deep breath in, eyes fluttering open on exhale. She stares down at you with something like pride. Approval. 

“How do you feel?” She asks, gently pulling your underwear back into place. With the handkerchief previously folded up in her back pocket, she first wipes at the smudge of berry-red lipstick adorning your chin, wipes your slick from her own mouth, and then folds it over to dab at the slick on your thighs before tucking it into her bra this time. She gingerly adjusts your dress, straightens your necklace, smooths out your hair. 

“Good,” you smile. “Really good.”

“Do you need a moment before we rejoin the party?” 

“I’m okay,” you shake your head. 

Her eyes narrow as if to ask if you’re sure. 

“Really. I’m fine. Unless I still look… you know…”

“Ravished?”

You chuckle shyly. “Y-yes…that.”

For the first time that you’ve ever seen, her eyes are warm. She tucks a tendril of hair behind your ear. 

“You look beautiful, darling.”

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

Another three months had passed since. Months of stealing glances across extravagant dining room tables, or staying up all hours of the night in her study to discuss the books you were currently reading, or sneaking off to her bed chambers to let her devour you like a woman starved. 

You spare one last glance over your shoulder at the sleeping woman. You both knew the drill; you’d spend your nights together, accompanied only by the high moon and candlelight, but by day, Mel came first. 

Mel, who is now staring at you with a slack jaw, wondering why in the Gods’ names you’re tiptoeing out of her mother’s bedroom.

You were usually more careful, sneaking back down to Mel’s room where she thought you’d been all night before the sun even had the chance to break the horizon. You’d been less disciplined this morning, far less inclined to leave Ambessa with empty arms after she’d officially declared that she wanted you to be hers. Still, you'd be able to play it off perfectly well, you thought. You’d just pretend to have gotten up to use the bathroom or to fetch a glass of water. Neither of which necessitated being in Ambessa Medarda’s room. This unfortunate fact hits you like a train when you lock eyes with Mel. 

Your jaw goes slack, the color drains from your face, and your stomach drops.

As much as you try-as much as you want to- you can’t say anything. You’re not sure whether to be relieved or terrified when Mel speaks first instead.

“I’ll just… right… I’ll be in the kitchen. Having breakfast. You know. As one does.” 

You watch in horror as she awkwardly scrambles away, and tears prick your eyes as soon as she’s out of sight.

“My daughter comes first,” Ambessa had said. “If at any point either of us believes that this arrangement could bring her harm, we cease immediately.”

Your mind is racing. You wonder at what point this went too far, at what point you should have called it; and then, eventually, you figure that all this wondering will get you nowhere. 

Nothing would change the fact that you’ve been sneaking around with your best friend’s mother, and nothing would change the fact that now, she knows.

There was only one thing to do: be a big girl and face the music. 

You pad down the stairs, stomach twisting in knots when you begin making your way down the hall leading to the kitchen. You swear you’re about to hurl when you round the corner to find Mel and Jayce seated on barstools at the marble island, speaking in urgent, hushed voices. 

As much as you would have rather disappeared completely in this moment, you clear your throat instead, making your presence known. 

Jayce shoots up, running a hand through his hair. 

Damn it, you think, he only does that when he’s nervous. 

“I’ll, uh, leave you girls to it...” 

Your lips press into a thin line as he walks past you, leaving you alone with Mel. You take a step forward, wrapping your arms around you. 

“Mel…” you begin, voice already breaking, “I don’t… I don’t know where to begin.”

She rises from her seat, steeling herself for the conversation with a deep breath and a clenched jaw. Her green eyes bore into you. 

“Very well, then,” she begins, crossing her arms in front of her. “You can start by telling me how long this has been going on.” 

“Um…” 

You chew your lip, brows furrowing in an anxious concentration as you parse through the past few months for the beginning of your escapades with Ambessa. 

“It’s been about-”

Mel’s hand flies up to cover her mouth. 

A confused look appears on your face. Bit of an early reaction, you think…

And then, she snorts. 

She’s laughing. 

“Oh Gods, I can’t possibly keep this up; darling, you look like you’re about to faint.”

“What?” You whisper, eyes darting across her features as you try to make sense of what on Earth is going on. 

“Y/n,” Mel begins, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I know you’ve been seeing her.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head. 

“What?! How?”

“Oh, please. I know a woman in love when I see one.”

Your jaw is slack, eyes narrowing in disbelief until, finally, you exhale. Your hand flies to your racing heart, relief washing over you. 

She isn’t angry. 

“In fact,” she continues, handing you a glass of orange juice, “I’ve been harboring a bit of a secret myself.”

You raise a brow, urging her to continue as you sit down on one of the stools.

“I'm quite positive that the two of you are a great match.”

You choke mid-sip. 

“What?” You cough, clumsily wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“It’s true,” she muses. “I’ve thought so since seeing her laugh with you at the progress day ball a few months ago. My mother doesn’t laugh.”

You chuckle at the assertion, though she’s completely serious.

“Then why try setting me up with all of those different people?” You wonder outwardly. 

“Tell me you wouldn’t have gotten suspicious if I’d suddenly stopped utilizing my impeccable matchmaking abilities,” she begins. “You would have started wondering if there was something wrong, and you know I can’t lie to you, so then I would have had to admit that the person I really thought you should be set up with was my mother.”

You giggle at the thought of that conversation, and Mel takes a seat beside you, resting her chin in her palm. 

“I do wish you’d told me,” she says softly. “I don’t like this secret-keeping business.”

A pang of guilt pierces you. 

“I know,” you sigh. “I’m sorry, Mel. It really wasn’t ever supposed to go this far, but…”

“Here you are,” she states with a shrug and a knowing grin. 

“Here I am,” you repeat.

Mel shoots you a wink. “I know a woman in love when I see one.”

𝐄𝐍𝐃 ୨ৎ

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

Taglist: @ya-boi-v

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

First time between virgin reader and viktor??🫢

how to lose your virginity like a pretentious poet

word count: 1,8k

this turned out rather vague, but still explicit enough to... titillate, so to speak. virgin!viktor, virgin!fem!reader, protected sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk. this was supposed to have a different ending, but i figured why write about a perfect first time when i can do a more realistic scenario where it doesn't exactly work out? plus, i'm known for edging my readers, so... there you go.

and i'm sorry for how... strangely this is written. i read too much anaïs nin and it shows.

—

His fist swallows him, bottomless, in a dry toe-arching vortex of his climax—a conflux of cum and spit shriveling in the oblique of a lean hip. Vortex climax conflux. A lewd stanza that he croaks at, snicker-like, thinking of its triple-X ending waning alongside his own—perplex, postsex, unorthodox. The poetry of touching oneself to sleep. 

His mind is all thighs and ankles. A shy affinity inching on a fetish. Every night, he yearns for it in a fist-fight with his cock. All but twists his nipple out of the aureole and wishes it were yours instead, dotting his skin a hot, sticky white of sheer hunger. 

In person, it’s much tamer. He’s almost through with the conduit: of groping uphill, from knees to chests to necks, of name-whimpering litanies waiting to become fleshed-out moans, of artifices in friction not yet daring to evolve into orgasms. You know he yearns for resumption. He knows you yearn twice as fierce. The ouroboros of awareness has been choking on its tail for a while. And you envy it. You’d like to choke on a certain appendage, too. 

The night he caves, you lose the nylon and let him topple inside: a thousand taste buds flat against your thigh like a tickle. A hundred tiny spit-flicks fumbling with the peach fuzz. Which then diminishes into a dozen meek bites and, finally, mere units of thrusts—airtight, approbatory, avid. It’s a poem. It has been one, all along. Now, clumsy stanzas are licking through: Viktor simply added some alliteration. Ah. Ah. Ah. Right here. Right there. Ri—mhm! 

“You taste… acidic,” Viktor says. Looks up from beneath your skirt and pushes the linen out of your fist—his fingers are rather selfish. Still damp from whatever had preceded this mouth-to-mound endeavour, they claw at your palm and pin it down—a sparring of digits bending into loops. 

And it’s such a silly thing. You, prying your hand free and squeezing his chin in a way that’s both commanding and inept—tugging his tongue out to assess the slight swell. Him, almost slipping off the bed on a numb knee. The regrouping that follows—a tangle of legs and elbows. A kick here, a tackle there. Splicing until the rhythm is back and the poem becomes sloppy—a vers libre, shirtless and blouseless. The underwear hasn’t slid to its ‘less’ yet. It billows around your ankle—with a frilly twist, baby pink all over. A sinful stain still wet on the very gusset he’d licked before pushing the thing aside. 

“Acidic?” You push a finger into his mouth and gasp when the muscle bends under your touch—pliant, sheepish tongue swirling around your thumb like sleazy sin. And then it gnaws at you—the playful force of his teeth, aiming at your phalanx in a tender strike. Drawing an offended ‘ouch’ and lining into a grin—about thirty whites beaming at you mockingly. 

“Mhm,” he finally answers. Sexily. Perhaps just a little conceited. 

“Acidic?!”

“Er, savoury might be a better word.” 

“Might it really?” 

“Why the frown? I like savoury.” 

“Can’t you just talk dirty to me like a normal person?”

“I can certainly try. Just be mindful of my… non-existent experience. I’m a debutant, after all.”

“So am I, but you don’t see me telling you that you taste weird.”

He laughs, undismayed. Prowls to your mouth with a smile so quivering that yours falters along and tumbles under this Klimt-esque endeavour. It tinges you tart. Licks stolen sour right back into you. Peels your bra off one flushed nipple after a strained ‘May I?’ and bites down, harshly soft. Breaks a moan into toothy half-whimpers and dribbles, treacly, down your ribs in a stream of besotted spit—a clumsy glaze of startled gooseflesh reaching a bumpy aureole. 

“You taste—“ Viktor rasps, slick-jawed, “s-so good.” Throws your thigh over a shaky forearm and pulls you close, lisping an earnest ‘sorry’ when your nipple gets caught in his brace. “I want you to— I want to–“ he gulps, “Oh, if I had it my way, I’d devour you until you burn a hole through my tongue. Yes, render me physically speechless. I doubt I’ll be doing much talking from now on. My mouth has found its purpose between your legs.” 

That disarms you. Languishes your mouth in a way that leaves it agape and rolls some breathy praise into his throat—and he swallows it, chokes on it, spits it back into you. “How did I do?” mumbles toothily. Like he doesn’t already know the answer. 

“Good. For a pretentious poet, that is.” 

“A pretentious poet?” He snickers, humbled. Grabs you by the calf—reverently, with an obsessive humm—and tugs you upright, chest to flushed chest, wondering what strained sound to pick for your next remark. His repertoire is scarce. A chuckle, for something cheeky. A moan, for something obscene. 

And, sure enough, you’re licking into his ear. “Mhm. Are you fucking me or serenading me?” 

Ah. A moaning chuckle, in that case. “Can’t it be both? Clearly, it’s efficient.”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“There’s no need for that. The evidence—“ he reaches under your skirt and plows a finger over slickened folds, “is overwhelming.” 

The silence, aside from the audacious moan he draws from you, lingers. By convention, it evolves into a kiss, then into a teeth-clattering sparring. It stains everything bloody—more clumsy than malicious, yet bloody nonetheless—and this time he doesn’t come out unscathed: there’s rouge saliva shining on his chin, no doubt thick and tasting of intermingled iron. Viktor licks it up, too—the ever intrepid gourmand—and stares at you with the splendour of, well, a victor. 

“Condom,” you gasp—an order, “I want to fuck that attitude out of you.”

His eyes turn glassy—voidy pupils bursting out of ivory apples. “A-Are you certain?” A stumble, that’s nice for a change. “I’ve never done this before—“

“Neither have I.”

“Precisely. Are you—“ He clears his throat, then retaliates with a gentler, “Are we certain we can go all the way tonight?”

“Do you want that attitude ridden out of you or not?” 

His gaze snaps back to its usual almondy shrewdness. “I do. If you’re up for the task.” 

And you reach for his nape, whispering a promising, “Take your pants off.”

The filthy poem reads on.

He fumbles with the rubber with contrived effort, wiping puzzled perspiration off his flushed forehead—a man ungracious, fatigued with his want. You crawl from behind his shoulder—a cautious succession over each bony slope—a pendulum of strike and stroke swinging between each sweet option. Then a comfort, sibilant, is tongued into his hair—a deliciously inane plea that wraps around his cock in a supportive squeeze: keeping it upright so the slick cover slides right on in a satisfying roll. 

“It’s funny,” he says, leaning back. Bucks against your shoulder in a delirious shove and moans, half-undone, at the loving bob of your hand. “I was touching myself to the thought of this just this morning.” 

Your laughter pinpricks his neck. An aspiration—hasty, homely, husky. “The thought of what, exactly? Struggling with condoms?”

He twitches—internally, with a transient cramp. Peels your wrist off of him in a confluence of plea and order and turns around, excitedly, to help you onto his lap: hands on hips-on haunches-on heel spurs. The fetish had finally inched to its utmost. 

Your world comes propping down onto his shoulder—a descent conferred. It’s a staunch thing—breathy, crude, a little undirected. He offers his skin for the lancing of five prickly nails and waits, politely impatient, for you to take the staking. A delicious one, he hopes. But it’s a fit tight enough to strangle. Now, which head is a question of your aim. 

The tip scorches its way inside through a curse. You wince, then leave his worried pout behind blurry eyelids, stilling mid-downward slope. A cautious kiss upon your jaw tips your gut out of the spasm and soothes it, darlingly, to a mushy, liquid feeling somewhere between tense legs. When you open your eyes again, a pair of huge, pensive ones looks back into you. 

“I’m fine.” A promise, strangely coherent. You lean him against the headboard, weaving shaky fingers into his hair just in time to muffle the thump. And he whines for it, gratefully, and rushes to pet the cramp out of your calf. The smile that follows prompts an attempt to take another inch. 

“Do you need me to—“ Viktor swallows his words and looks at the impressive stretch of you around him. Pulls you into another kiss and chokes on cloying saliva, easing you into the friction of excited taste buds. 

It ends with a wet plop. Bumps sweaty foreheads together and has you gulping as you assess the sensation. “No. It’s…” Immense? Wet? Sultry? “Good. Feels good. Just a little intense. Er… prickly.” 

“Ah.” He chuckles, relieved. “Certainly. I, eh, could touch you, if you like?”

And you like. Of course you do. You plunge downward, and squeeze him to the hilt, and pull him, graspingly, by the strap of his brace into a halation of glowing eyes and spitslick mouths contorted in none other than a drawn out ‘Please’, which arcs into a ‘Fuck’ when his fingers come down in a tender onslaught on your clit, schlicking along the very first clumsy thrust. 

Then comes the comatose. Of insides, taut and startled, burning in a pervasive pooling of ‘way too much’. Painting you a pained rouge and causing a rasp that you all but spew into his shoulder, crestfallen. And he seeks you, shakily, from beneath the tousle of his hair—bleeds disjointed confirmations, incidentally, in a language you don’t understand, having caught but an isolated ‘Lásko?ʼ

“I.. I think I—“ It comes out of you gutturally, with a spasmodic writhe. “I think my… eagerness got the best of me.” 

He nods, mouth agape, with his tongue arched under his palate. “Would you like to stop?” Asks piously, swiping a careful peck across your knuckles. 

You cower, arching off of him—a clumsy hesitation between retreat and resumption. And, surely, the former prevails, easing you from around him with a guilty gasp. “Yes. I would.” Then, an addendum, meek and muffled, “I’m sorry.”

Viktor frowns and hurtles you into a tangle of arms—moulds your face into his in a fleeting touch of lips, and smoothes a palm over your shaky thigh. “None of that, please. Come hold me. I’ll get this, er—“ He winces, poking the shrivelled condom, “thing off.”

You laugh—bubbly, perhaps just a little hoarse. Stumbling over a purr-like sound, you curl into the sheets as he pushes his limbs under yours—a beauty, dishevelled, and staring at you, awestruck. You nose his clavicle, contemplating a playful suck.

“Could we—” you offer, sheepishly, “reschedule this? For later tonight. I promise I won’t rush this time.” 

The chin above you comes to rest on your head. “Only if I get to carry on with my pretentious obscenities.”

And you smile at him, wanly, for the umpteenth endearing time. 

“Of course. Serenade me all you please.”

[theskywithin]

There’s More to the Houses Than You Think

Twelve Doors Into the Soul’s Memory

✨ Author’s Note: In my first book, I explored the birth chart through a classic, psychological lens, grounded in human experience and practical meaning. But the more I worked with astrology, the more I began to hear the voice of the soul beneath the structure. This post is a glimpse into the second book I’m now writing, one that deeply explores the chart from a soul-centered perspective. Together, both books offer two sides of the same truth: one helps you understand your human path, the other guides you through your soul’s remembering. I hope you like it ✨ Stay Tuned! 🪐

✦ First House

The 1st House is the starting line of the soul, the moment your essence chose to return. It’s the place where you re-entered the world and agreed, once again, to exist in form. This house shows both where and how you began this life, where you landed, and how you chose to appear. The sign on the cusp describes the energetic style you needed to embody in that first breath, not just physically, but spiritually. It holds the imprint of your earliest instinct: the moment your soul said, “I am here.” But this isn’t necessarily your truest self. It’s the version of you that could survive the landing. The shape you had to take. The armor you wore before you were safe enough to soften. The way you moved before you were ready to feel. From a soul perspective, the 1st House is not just a mask, it’s a memory. A memory of separation. Of stepping out of the infinite and into a single identity. Of agreeing to be seen even when you didn’t yet remember who you were. This house carries the imprint of your karmic threshold. The edge you crossed when you said: “I’ll try again. But this time, I’ll begin like this.”

✦ Second House

If the 1st House is the moment the soul says “I am,” then the 2nd is where it asks, “Can I stay?” This house is the soul’s relationship with presence, permission, and permanence. Permission to take up space. Permission to trust the body. Permission to receive without proving you’ve earned it. From a soul perspective, the 2nd House carries the imprint of embodiment, not just living in a body, but belonging to it. Feeling your feet on the ground. Knowing you are allowed to have needs. Choosing to build something slow even after lifetimes of instability or survival. The sign on the cusp and the planets in it show the test your soul willingly walked into. The environment it chose to re-enter in order to unlearn what it once believed was true. Perhaps that safety must be earned. That stillness is dangerous. That having too much leads to loss. That value comes from sacrifice. This house becomes the field where you rewire those beliefs, slowly, gently, in real time. Not to become better. But to come back to yourself. The 2nd House is about what you slowly allow yourself to trust. It asks you to come back into the body not just as a vessel, but as a place worth living in. And to remember that you don’t have to earn what’s already yours.

✦ Third House

This is where the soul wakes up to thought, perception and meaning. The 3rd House holds the soul’s first real conversation with contrast. This is where the world begins to contradict itself, where things stop being simple, and start being interpreted. Here, the soul is surrounded by complexity: early voices, rapid thoughts, competing beliefs. A fast-moving environment of influences that don’t always align. And from that confusion, something begins to form: a personal narrative. A structure. A system of thought, not always true, but deeply familiar. This house holds the tone of your inner voice, the one that speaks when no one is listening. The one that loops. The one that learned early how to make sense of noise. From a soul perspective, the 3rd House is about mental awakening through contradiction. The environment the soul chose to sharpen perception, to question the obvious, to learn how to separate pattern from truth. And the sign on the cusp shows how you process complexity: whether you organize it, absorb it, filter it, challenge it, or whether you’re still learning how to quiet the echo of thoughts that were never fully yours. This isn’t about speaking clearly. It’s about thinking clearly in a world that taught you to do the opposite.

✦ Fourth House

The 4th House is the energetic basement, the root system of the chart. From a soul perspective, it’s about what you carried in with you. This is where the soul stores emotional memory, the deep, quiet kind. Not memory in words, memory in feeling. A kind of energetic USB, holding all the data your body doesn’t remember, but your nervous system never forgot. Here lives the imprint of lifetimes: The ache of having been abandoned. The fear of being invisible. The longing to be held or the decision to never need holding again. This house tells you what still lives inside you from where you’ve been. It holds the climate of your inner world, your unconscious reflex to retreat, to protect, to collapse inward. And the sign on the cusp shows how you manage that emotional archive: whether you wall it off, wrap it in softness, bury it deep, or try to clean it until it disappears. The 4th House isn’t about the home you have. It’s about the home you are. And whether your soul feels safe enough to return to it.

✦ Fifth House

The 5th House is where your soul came to feel light again. This is the part of you that remembers life isn’t just a test. It’s a vacation for the soul. A rare chance to taste strawberries. To dance in sunlight. To kiss someone and not overthink it. To create something beautiful that doesn’t need to prove its worth. From a soul perspective, this house isn’t about performance. It’s not about winning, competing, or collecting praise. It’s about returning to the childlike part of you that once knew how to love boldly, express honestly, and play without wondering who was watching. It’s about presence. About sensation. Because the soul didn’t just come here to evolve, it also came here to experience. The body you live in is a suitcase you brought along to feel everything this life has to offer. The five senses are how your spirit stays grounded in the beauty of being here. This house resists the noise of modern life, the comparison, the urgency, the pressure to always be doing. Here, your soul detoxes from all that. It remembers that joy is not a reward. It’s a right. The sign on the cusp shows how you reclaim that joy: with music, with movement, with curiosity, with warmth. This is about being alive. Present. Sensing. Free. The 5th House is where your soul says: “This is what you came for. Don’t forget to enjoy it.”

✦ Sixth House

The 6th House is where the soul learns how to stay in the body, in the moment, in the motion of daily life. This is not the house of fixing. It’s the house of tending. Of showing up not to perfect yourself, but to care for yourself and the world around you, bit by bit, breath by breath. From a soul perspective, this is where devotion becomes embodied in the way you pour your tea. In the way you care for your nervous system. In how you meet your own needs without shame. This is also where the soul learns how to cooperate with other souls. To walk beside people, not ahead of them, not behind them. To contribute, to support, to serve out of remembrance that you came here together. It’s not about sacrifice. It’s about shared rhythm. About learning how to move in harmony with life, with others, with the version of yourself that needs patience, not pressure. The sign on the cusp shows how you offer your presence: with structure, with softness, with discernment, with sensitivity. The 6th House doesn’t ask you to do something grand. It asks you to do something real. To tend. To stay. And to remember that even the smallest acts, done with care, can become a form of light.

✦ Seventh House

The 7th House is where the soul meets its mirror. Not to find a missing piece but to realize it was never missing at all. This house holds the space where “I” becomes “we.” But from a soul perspective, it’s not about finding the one. It’s about seeing what gets reflected when you stand close to another. What you admire. What you fear. What you hand over without realizing it was yours to begin with. The 7th House is not about romantic endings. It’s about recognition. A place where the soul enters into relationship not for comfort, but for integration. To reclaim the parts of itself it once projected onto someone else. This is where connection becomes a kind of soul work. Where love becomes the mirror that shows you your strength, your shadow, your softness, your patterns. Where you learn that intimacy doesn’t mean merging. It means choosing, again and again, to stay present with another soul while still staying whole. The sign on the cusp reveals how you relate and what you’re still learning to own within yourself. It may show the kind of energy you look for in others because you haven’t yet allowed it to live fully in you. From a soul lens, this house isn’t about losing yourself in someone else. It’s about finding yourself through the act of meeting them. And it asks only one thing in return: Let the mirror soften you, not define you.

✦ Eighth House

The 8th House is where the soul goes to burn. Not in punishment, in purification. This is not the house of endings. It’s the house of unraveling. Of shedding what no longer fits. Of releasing what was never truly yours. From a soul perspective, the 8th House holds the energy of karmic entanglement. The bonds that don’t make sense, but feel ancient. The grief that shows up without a story. The power dynamics you didn’t choose but somehow repeat. You don’t need to understand them. Your soul remembers. And it came here to transmute. This is where the deepest work happens, where silence becomes a language and what’s hidden begins to rise. Shame, obsession, longing, control, all surface here, not to hurt you, but to free you. The 8th House is also where the soul learns to merge without disappearing. Where intimacy becomes ritual. Where sex becomes more than flesh, it becomes a form of soul-speak. A way for two beings to share memory through the body. To move energy. To say, “I see you,” without needing words. To feel truth move between skin and spirit. And the sign on the cusp reveals how you enter this transformation, with intensity, fear, silence, trust, hunger, or resistance. But no one leaves this house the same. Not because something is taken but because something false is burned away. The 8th House is not about death. It’s about what survives it. It’s where your soul walks into the fire, and walks out whole.

✦ Ninth House

The 9th House is where the soul looks up. After everything it’s lost. After everything it’s survived. This is where the soul wants to understand. From a soul perspective, this house holds the pull between escape and awakening. It’s the restless urge to go elsewhere and the deeper invitation to see more clearly right here. This is the soul’s classroom. Not one with walls, but with windows. Here, it learns through instruments: through books and myths, rituals and ruins, distant lands and quiet teachers. Through every story that feels strangely familiar. Every culture that reminds you how similar we all are even when we speak in different tongues. Because in this house, truth isn’t singular. It’s layered. It speaks in symbols. It repeats itself across continents, scriptures, centuries. The soul doesn’t want one belief, it wants a constellation of meaning. A high enough view to see the thread connecting everything it’s been through. The 9th House is the soul’s desire to stretch. To grow through experience, not theory. To learn that every story you encounter, every road you walk, every truth you translate, is just another version of the lesson you came here to live. And the sign on the cusp shows how you seek that wisdom: with fire, with humility, with openness, with doubt. This isn’t about certainty. It’s about faith without finality. Wonder without walls. It’s where your soul remembers: There are many names for the divine but the lesson is always the same.

✦ Tenth House

The 10th House is where the soul emerges from the quiet. From all the internal work, the shedding, the seeking. This is where it asks, “What am I here to give back?” Not for applause. Not for recognition. But because the truth it holds has ripened and it’s time to offer it. From a soul perspective, this house is not just about legacy. It’s about alignment. The moment when your outer life begins to reflect your inner wisdom. When what you’ve carried for lifetimes finally meets the moment it can be received. This is the house of sacred visibility. Where your presence teaches. Where your lived truth becomes a light for others. It’s not about being above them, it’s about speaking from where you’ve been, so those still on the path can hear something familiar and remember their own strength. Imagine this house as a conference room of souls. You are the speaker now. Not because you’re better but because you’ve lived the lesson. And others came here to learn what you now hold effortlessly. You’re not here to perform. You’re here to pass it on. And the sign on the cusp reveals how you lead, with quiet authority, creative truth, steady devotion, visionary insight. The 10th House doesn’t ask you to become something you’re not. It asks you to embody what you already are and trust that when you do, the world will feel it. Because your greatest impact isn’t what you build. It’s what you leave behind in others once you’ve spoken your truth.

✦ Eleventh House

The 11th House is the house of resonance. Not popularity. Not fitting in. But finding the ones who recognize your frequency and say, “I remember you.” This is where the soul steps beyond the self into the field of shared vision, collective growth, and cosmic collaboration. From a soul perspective, the 11th House is where you meet the people you’ve been carrying in your field for lifetimes. The ones you made promises to before you got here. The ones who arrive not to mirror you, but to build with you. It’s the space of soul contracts, both old and new. Where energy introduces itself before names do. Where something inside you softens because, finally, you’re not dreaming the future alone. The 11th House is also the place of the next horizon. Where you stretch toward something bigger than yourself. A vision. A mission. A frequency you can only hold fully when you're surrounded by others who feel it too. It’s not about belonging to the crowd. It’s about finding the current you belong to. And choosing to move with it. The sign on the cusp reveals how your soul connects: with rebellion, with devotion, with innovation, with care. And how you magnetize the ones who are meant to walk beside you, not because you try to be like them, but because you finally dared to be fully yourself. This is the house where the future begins in soulful company.

✦ Twelfth House

The 12th House is not where things end. It’s where they unravel. Where names fall away. Where roles dissolve. Where you remember: You are soul, not skin and bones. This is the soul’s secret room, its sanctuary, its silence, its soft return. From a soul perspective, this house is a spiritual echo chamber where your truth speaks, not in words, but in symbols, dreams, and knowing. A language not made for logic, only for those who remember how to feel without needing proof. Here, solitude becomes communion with the unseen. Stillness becomes prayer. Surrender becomes the softest kind of power. You don’t always know what’s healing here but something is. Quietly. Behind the curtain of the conscious mind. The 12th House holds the energies you carry without knowing. The karmic threads, the ancestral dreams, the emotions that don’t seem to belong to this life, but live inside you all the same. And the sign on the cusp shows how you listen. How you retreat. How you dream, dissolve, and disappear. This is not a house of isolation. It is a place of return. A whispered reminder that before you were anyone, you were everything.

🔍 Decode your chart from the inside out. My first book is a deep dive into how your mind, identity, and behavior are written in the stars.

[reidscherrygirl]

೯⁺ 𖥻 𝓨𝗢𝗨 𝗖𝗔𝗡 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥 𝗜𝗧 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 ! ᰋ

ꨄ︎ 𝒫 airing : : 𝒮pencer reid x female!bau!nonverbal!reader

ꨄ︎ 𝒮 ynopsis : : being nonverbal has it's difficulties. you speak with your hands━━SPENCER REID learned them by heart.

ꨄ︎ 𝓒ontents : : nonverbal!reader. reader knows sign language. asl. spencer learns asl. fluff. mutual pining. rossi knows sign language. the reason why reader is nonverbal,, past trauma( the team knows but won't be talked about ). light smut. reader being the one rambling( using sign language ) and spencer focusing on you and your hands alone. teasing from the team. the team didn't know about your relationship for a while(aside from rossi). grammatical errors. ooc.

ꨄ︎ 𝓦ord count : : 1.7k

ꨄ︎ 𝓒ase file shelf.

ꨄ︎ 𝒲hispers of viana : : OKAY. i made this a week ago. also,, this idea popped up after reading,, this by @/mggslover !,, gained the motivation to write it because of a boy my age who is nonverbal !! met him at the hospital && he was sososo sweet. i couldn't understand what he was trying to tell me😭😭 i made him type on my notes,, he didn't seem bothered by it,, so it's okay... ishm I FORGOT TO ASK FOR HIS SOCIALS IM GONNA KMS. also! i mentioned i met the guy at the hospital ,, yeah,, still haven't recovered.. SO THIS WON'T BE GOOD-GOOD I'M SORRY💔 also i still don't know sign language so indented = sign language. i made rossi know asl,, bc yay why not,,, contains too many breaks because i acc do nawt know anything ab sign language but,, wanted to write thistgisthis. and for the last time . I AM MINORLYATFAULT DAMMIT

the first time SPENCER REID laid eyes on you, you were signing with rossi. it was quick, neat, rehearsed. the others were slightly confused, derek arching a brow, jj tilting her head, emily sort of just standing there with a strangely amused expression. but reid? reid was focused. like laser beam concentrated. he was already trying to recall what you had just signed.

rossi had patted your shoulder and left, but you remained standing in the center of the briefing room, notebook held in front of you like a shield.

"she's nonverbal," garcia had whispered afterward, when she added, "not mute, though. trauma-related, i believe. i overheard that from strauss once. she can talk, just. doesn't. or won't."

it didn't make him pity you. he just considered how you spoke. how calculated it was. how careful you had to be, how you hacked out understanding in silence. he thought that was sort of beautiful. he thought it was absolutely beautiful.

so naturally he began learning asl. and not the watered down kind. complete, perfect grammar, complete complications, practiced every night( he read eight different asl books and read each of them three times). he didn't want to ask you to adjust for him. he wanted to be able to meet you where you were.

he began small.

hi.

and your eyes had widened a bit, guarded. but you signed back,

hi, spencer.

and that was the start.

over time, your conversations increased. it became kinda a secret language between you two( if you take rossi out of the picture ). sometimes in the car on stakeouts, he'd ask you questions just to see the way you signed. like the way you'd talk about the stars or the way the wind blew that day. usually it's him who rambles. but he can't help it. and you'd always get a little smile when you saw him staring at your hands like they were the most fascinating thing in the universe.

the team saw something, but not everything. you always signed to them, usually to rossi, but gradually more and more to spencer. and yeah, reid signed back, but they just thought he was being nice. helpful. because he was like that. always happy to learn a new language. especially so he could converse with a friend. and don't take it the wrong way, they're learning. trying. but they aren't spencer reid who could finish reading 20,000 words per minute.

rossi was the one who glanced at you both with that knowing look.

"pretty sure he's in love with you, kid" he told you one morning, dryly, as he was making coffee. you blinked at him. signed,,

how do you know?

he smiled. "because he stares at you the same way emily stares at tequila."

... don't you mean you? you wanted to state, but restrained yourself.

the teasing came later.

morgan began it all. "pretty boy's got himself a signing buddy,"( more like you got yourself a signing buddy. ) he teased one morning. "y'all look like you're passing notes in class."

reid blushed so red it was really alarming.

you just rolled your eyes and waved your fingers:

jealous you can't keep up?

"i━━ okay, okay, she got me. i'm out."

everyone laughed( he couldn't even understand half of what you signed ). except rossi, who sipped his coffee like he was privy to some information they were not.

reid was quiet that entire day. and the next.

of course, he'd eventually snap.

he saw you in the break room, empty. where you typically retreated to escape the commotion. he seemed nervous. restless. hands quivering slightly as if he couldn't help but keep them moving.

can i talk to you?

you nodded, clearing a space beside you. he sat down across from you. deep breath.

i like you. i like you a lot. i think about you constantly and not just in a friendly way. in a.more-than-that way.

he winced a little, as if preparing himself for rejection.

you blinked. heart pounding. giddy. and then slowly, you signed,

me too. i like you, spencer. but. let's keep it private? work is still work.

his entire face beamed. "yes! yes, of course. absolutely. private. secret. top secret. agent-level secret."

you smiled. just a little gasp. no sound, but he could see it in your eyes.

he was already lovesick-looking.

oh, and dating spencer reid was like falling into poetry. he signed you good mornings, good afternoons, and good evenings. he annotated books for you with both little notes and signs he wanted to show you. he kissed your hands sometimes like they were the whole language he adored.

no one knew. or at least, they didn't know know. you were always signing regardless. sometimes you'd touch your fingers against his wrist and jj would just smile, thinking nothing of it. morgan was too busy making noise. hotch, well.. hotch. garcia kept shipping you with literally everyone( mostly spencer ).

the one and only rossi raised an eyebrow whenever reid would look at you for just a fraction too long.

"still think i was wrong?" he whispered one afternoon, walking past you in the corridor.

no. definitely not. but you didn't sign.

"so," rossi asked a week later at the round table, not even glancing up from his file. "you two finished sneaking around yet?"

you and spencer both stiffened.

morgan choked on his coffee. "wait, what?"

"they've been dating. for weeks now. maybe months. i don't know. you all are blind."

emily looked at you with big eyes. "what?"

you just signed,

hi.

spencer coughed. blushed. again.

"man," derek complained. "i knew something was up."

"no, you didn't," garcia chastised. "rossi knew. he always knows."

rossi just smiled, smug. "i read fast."

it was raining the night it happened. spencer had volunteered to drive you home from the jet. everyone else had already separated.

he came up with some reason to come in. books he borrowed? something along those lines( silly of him, you both just left the jet, what books ?).

the moment the door closed after him, he turned to you.

"can i kiss you?"

you nodded. a little too quickly. too eagerly.

and it was soft. soft. but also desperate. like he'd been waiting for years. your hands in his hair, and his arms tight around your waist like he couldn't believe you were real.

you took him to the couch. didn't need to utter a word. he trailed, kissing you once more like a habit. his fingers traced your jaw, your neck, down your back. your hands signed between kisses,

you're so warm.

he grinned against your mouth. "you're perfect."

it became hotter. clothes were not completely vanished but they were. relocated. his lips on your neck. your legs. your belly. and you ━━ you couldn't keep it in.

the moaned. escaped before you could shut them up. breathy, soft, but oh so there.

spencer stopped. eyes wide open. he stared up at you. you freaked out.

i'm sorry.

you signed, panicking.

"don't be," he breathed. "god, don't be. that was the most gorgeous sound i've ever heard."

and then he kissed you again, slow and once again, desperate.

you allowed him to hold you afterward. his hand beneath your shirt was warm but never inched any lower, as if he was scared of rushing you. and perhaps that's why your body trusted him.

perhaps that's why when he asked ━━ with a gentle brush of his lips against your jaw, eyes asking permission more than anything ━━ if he could kiss you again, you let him.

and it was messier this time. not the hesitant type, not the uncertain type. it was desperate, much longed for. his fingers buried in your hair, and yours gripping the nape of his neck, thumb tracing behind his ear. and the way he kissed, god, he kissed as if he was committing every curve your lips held to memory.

his glasses misted, but he didn't mind. you smiled during the kiss, teeth clashing once as he attempted to smile in return. you signed against his chest ━━ adorable. ( adorable. adorable. adorable. ) he only smiled harder.

"you're unfair," he whispered, thumb tracing the edge of your mouth. "you know what you do to me?"

tell me.

he leaned in to kiss you again. slower, softer.

"you ruin me."

in a good way?

"the best way."

somehow, you found yourself lying back on the couch. your fingers intertwined in his shirt and his weight resting carefully over you. you buried your face in his neck and kissed there. slow, soft.

he grunted ━━ not even ━━ but you felt it more than you heard it. you kissed beneath his jaw. again. again. again. you did not say a word but you were loud in other ways. he let you feel safe enough to be loud.

he whispered something akin to "jesus, you're perfect" against your cheek, and it curled your toes. his hand remained at your waist, and your leg touched his. you moved ━━ wanting more, not all, just more.

he drew back only to ask, "are you sure?"

you nodded. signed ,

yes. please.

his lips slammed against yours again.

it was still soft, but different now. a little deeper. teeth brushing, tongue dancing. he didn't force. he let you welcome him. and you did. you drew him in again and again. he kissed you like a man who'd waited months ━━ because he had.

he kissed you until your chest was heaving and your body was warmer than ever.

and when you moved again, thighs touching more, his hand crept up to cradle your cheek.

"we can stop whenever," he vowed. breathless. hopeful.

i don't want to.

he kissed your fingertips for that. soft, reverent. then your knuckles. your wrist. your pulse.

when he finally drew back, both of you were flushed and swollen-lipped. you let out a soft giggle.

so. dating?

he blinked. then laughed. his laugh is also adorable. head thrown back, nose scrunched.

"yes. very, very much dating."

cool.

you attempted to look and act cool, too, but your smile was way too wide.

"cool," he repeated.

the following week at the office, nothing changed ━━ to everyone else.

to rossi, you noticed the smirk you received from him across the conference room table.

to reid, you signed,

missed you.

while getting coffee.

he clenched his lip to keep from grinning. signed back,

me more.

morgan cocked an eyebrow from the hallway. "you two ever gonna share the inside joke or what?"

"nope," reid replied, taking a swallow and not looking at anyone.

never.

but when he strode past your desk, he touched your hand. and you looked at him like he hung the stars.

and yeah, you were still quiet.

but with him, you never had to be quiet.

© reidscherrygirl

[pyrodolls]

MORTAL KOMBAT 1 BOYS JEALOUSY HCS

WARNINGS: almost every male character on the main mk1 roster is included, a little bit of angst here and there, established relationships, some mentions of harassment and assholes not taking no for an answer, gender neutral reader, lowercase intended, you can clearly tell havik is the author's favorite, reader condones havik's actions in his part but author doesn't it's just for story purposes, characters may be ooc idk, not proofread we die like sindel

A/N: i got this idea while i was in the shower this morning blasting what is love by twice cuz i finally got around to the khaos reigns dlc yesterday and my interest in mk1 has been revived. also this took me 10 hours to write for some odd reason. also i've never written this many characters before in one part... please like and reblog i really am proud of this and hope you guys like it too <3 also you can tell the more i was writing the longer the paragraphs were getting

doesn't get jealous (he trusts you):

LIU KANG has full faith in your loyalty. he doesn't take it personally when someone flirts with you. he'll gladly step in if the person flirting with you isn't taking a hint, but overall, he isn't bothered. in fact, he's more concerned about your well-being than his. he'll comfort you after the encounter and ask if there's anything he can do to put your mind at ease.

KUAI LIANG would silently watch the interaction from a distance, waiting for the person to leave you alone. similar to liu kang, he trusts you and gives you the chance to defend yourself before he does. he's confident that you wouldn't leave him, but he still stays nearby in case you need his help. in the event that you do need his assistance in getting rid of the person, he wouldn't hesitate to teach them a quick lesson then evacuate the scene with you.

GERAS couldn't care less. in fact, he isn't surprised you would be hit on. you're physically and socially attractive, it makes sense that other people would attempt to court you. he trusts that you won't let the interaction go any farther. if the person persists or is disrespectful, he'll walk up to you two and bluntly state that you're taken, then leave immediately. he won't waste his time with assholes and perverts.

RAIDEN would feel a little awkward. he trusts you, so it's not that he's unhappy with you, but he feels uncomfortable for you. he's a very calm and civil man, so he usually tries to avoid confrontation. but when it comes to you? especially when the person is making you uncomfortable? he has no problem politely telling that person off and walking away with you. he'll later reassure you by reminding you that assholes and creeps will always be around, but so will he.

doesn't get jealous (because he gives you scary dog privileges):

KENSHI TAKAHASHI wouldn't feel jealous at all if someone were to hit on you. he knows his partner is wonderful, so of course other people are going to approach you. besides, he knows he looks a bit intimidating with his tattoos, muscles, and confident aura. weirdos that flirt with you will back off when they see kenshi casually put his arm around you as you talk to the person, as if he's daring them to try something. his years involved with the yakuza have made him fearless. he has witnessed the wrath of man many times, so he has no issue teaching another one a lesson if he must.

BARAKA is like a guard dog. with his physique and face? yeah, nobody is messing with you or even approaching you. he usually feels very guilty about this, advising you to leave him due to the embarrassment of being associated with him. but sometimes, his curse can be a blessing to ward off perverts. it fills him with a very rare sense of pride, being able to protect you just by standing by you.

GENERAL SHAO definitely gives you scary dog privileges. he's well-respected in outworld, so everyone usually respects you, his partner, as well. this can be a double-edged sword, however. while outworlders often avoid you out of respect, it is also out of fear of the general's wrath. it's hard for you to walk around anywhere without stares or people trembling in fear, afraid to upset you. not because they're intimidated by you, but because the general has made it very clear that if anyone (especially his soldiers) were to treat you with anything but respect, they'll get an axe to the head.

he's instilled this fear into everyone's head, so you aren't harassed when you are alone. the general is often busy with his own endeavors, so he likely won't be there to defend you instantly. that's why he is very strict with his soldiers when it comes to you. you won't need his immediate protection as long as he makes sure everyone follows his rigid commands.

REIKO, similar to the general, has earned respect among outworlders for his strength and tenacity. while you aren't as feared as you would be with the general, reiko still has his ways of making sure you aren't bothered. because unlike the general, he has slightly more time on his hands to accompany you in your free time. when strolling around outworld, it is not uncommon to get a few stares, but reiko is brave enough to stare back at people with the fury of a true warrior. he has the scars on his back and calluses on his hands to prove his fighting spirit that nobody is reckless enough to challenge.

QUAN CHI is either hated, feared, or respected by everyone. nobody is going to mess with you as long as he is around. with his sorcery, he'll have no problem cleaning up the rodents that attempt to flirt with you. you won't even get the chance to reject anyone, since he's always ready to harm anyone that even dares to look at what is his.

BI-HAN, similar to the general, has already warned everyone in the lin kuei of the consequences that come with disrespecting you. he laid out many rules on how they should interact with you. if anyone among the clan dares to break these terms he drilled into their heads, they will be met with a harsh punishment. he won't tolerate rulebreakers.

and that's what he did on the day someone broke his rules and drunkenly flirted with you. the problem is, he would also be angry at you. bi-han firmly believes that you should be strong enough to protect yourself when he isn't there. if the person that was hitting on you starts to go a bit too far, and you are unable to stop them, bi-han ends up blaming you for their actions. despite having a myriad of punishment methods in his mind, he still wants you to fend for yourself anyway. he is upset for weeks after the incident. it is unclear whether bi-han is angry at himself and taking it out on you, or if he is truly delusional enough to blame you for an incident you never asked for.

gets jealous, but handles it rationally:

JOHNNY CAGE is used to people hitting on him. he's sexy, and an actor, which is a dangerous combo to date. he's made it very clear in private that he would never leave or cheat on you for someone else, and he ignores the numerous amounts of supermodels and fellow actors that attempt to date or sleep with him. you've gotten used to it overtime, as you already discussed your boundaries with him. but you two have never discussed what to do if you are the one being hit on.

if someone were to flirt with you in front of him, he'd butt into the conversation, putting his arm around you and saying: "yeah, my partner's smokin' hot, aren't they?"

he'd start to brag about you and the person would probably get annoyed and walk away. you can't tell if johnny was jealous and purposefully drove them away, or if he just wanted to use the opportunity to talk about you at length. perhaps it was both. you'll never know.

KUNG LAO is infamous for being cocky and prideful. some find his confidence charming, others dislike him and read his personality as arrogant rather than confident. so how could kung lao possibly be jealous? well, the answer is: he isn't. or at least that's how he appears.

he's the type of guy to love showing you off. he's protective, but proud. he'll walk around with his arm wrapped around your waist, with his head held high knowing you only belong to him and nobody else. which is why his ego is so hurt when someone has the audacity to hit on you. did they not clearly see that you're together? kung lao is more personally offended than possessive over you. he won't visibly get angry or anything, just mildly annoyed. he'll become touchier, giving you more kisses and compliments than usual. if you questioned his behavior, he'd respond with a playful: "what? am i not allowed to love my partner?" emphasizing the latter end of the sentence for everyone in the room to hear.

gets jealous, and does not handle it rationally:

SHANG TSUNG, similar to kung lao, is prideful enough to enjoy showing you off. but shang tsung tends to be sassier and hold grudges. while he lets you express yourself and wear/do whatever you want, he didn't expect it to backfire when someone ends up being attracted to you and attempting to court you. but he doesn't do anything about it. he stands from afar and waits for your conversation to be over.

you reject the person and go back to him, but shang tsung would spitefully ignore you. he even started responding to you with sassy quips after you were hit on. you could attempt to make amends with him by trying to initiate a conversation, until this little shit rolls his eyes and says something along the lines of: "why don't you go have fun with your partner?"

you'll never know if he's simply overdramatizing his jealousy to hide it, or if he's just being his usual petty self to get a reaction out of you.

TAKEDA TAKAHASHI is a young man focused on his endeavors. it's not that he doesn't care about you, but he (unfortunately) must keep his distance from you sometimes. your relationship is secret for the sake of your safety. nobody knows that you two are together, so it doesn't surprise him that you are flirted with every now and then. takeda does, in fact, feel jealous. he's not just jealous that they get to openly show their affection towards you, but he's also a bit insecure at times. he knows you won't leave him so easily, but there's still the nasty thought that creeps in the back of his head every now and then, telling him that you deserve better and he can't give you the love you deserve.

TOMAS VRBADA is usually a confident man. he may be kind and generous, but that doesn't make him weak. he's been a hardworking fighter since childhood. he's garnered an impressive amount of experience and intelligence regarding the battlefield over time. but romantically? he doesn't have as much experience. you're probably one of, if not the first relationship he's ever been in.

so, when you're hit on, he isn't quite sure what to do. he understands that the person flirting with you probably just doesn't know you're not single. tomas would speak up and calmly mention that you're already taken. the person that was flirting with you would scoff after seeing tomas, telling you something along the lines of: "him? really? you could do better." instead of causing a scene, tomas ignores the person and leaves with you.

but hours later, it still bothers him, even though he pretends it doesn't. he thinks about your relationship and wonders if you really could do better. he tries his best to be as loving as possible towards you, despite his inexperience in romantic relationships. but with his cluelessness, conflict with the lin kuei, and trying to build up the shirai ryu? he doesn't have a lot of time for you, so he understands if you wanted to leave him. it's a thought that will haunt him for days if you don't notice his behavior and ask him about it.

SYZOTH has always been secretly insecure during your relationship. he fears that you may leave him due to his zaterran blood. plus, after his family was killed by shang tsung, he has been afraid of losing you like he lost them. sometimes he fears he is too clingy, and other times he fears he isn't attentive enough. it makes him feel as if he isn't enough for you. these fears are only enabled by someone flirting with you. his mood would immediately turn sour after witnessing that interaction, until you reject that person and put them in their place. as appreciative as he is for your loyalty, (and flustered to hear how much you care about him) he still can't shake his anxieties away.

you'll likely have to comfort him and reassure him that you will always stay with him, not bothered by his struggles. you must be the one to bring it up though, because syzoth is too afraid to admit that he is jealous. he'll keep it bottled up until you notice his behavior.

ZEFFEERO's pride gets in the way of admitting his true feelings most of the time. you've helped make him more comfortable being vulnerable, but it's only natural that the high mage refuses to admit when he's jealous. it was hard enough to court you; even harder to watch as someone attempts to court you for themselves. it annoys him to watch someone think they can just flirt with you. it enrages him even more when they refuse to take no for an answer and persist in their catcalling. with his blood boiling, he struggles to contain his emotions and stop himself from resorting to violence.

after the incident is over and you dealt with it on your own, he refuses to leave your side in public ever again. whatever gathering or meeting you must attend, he'll be there too. that way, it'll ease his anxieties and make sure you are safe and comfortable. even though you've shown you're capable of taking care of yourself and staying loyal to him, his jealousy drives him to believe that you need him.

a secret fifth worse thing:

HAVIK... yeah you probably guessed he'd have an entire category to himself. it is very difficult to tell how havik feels when someone else flirts with you. is he angry at them for trying to take you? not quite. his beliefs are bent on freedom, so it isn't like you're tied down to him in any way. but at the same time, he can't help but feel a bit hurt, maybe even a bit betrayed at the thought of you leaving him. he doesn't have anyone else. he's been forced to fight for himself after a painful past in seido, then seeking retribution ever since. nobody has condoned his acts since drowning its capital. anyone that isn't on his side is considered his enemy. you're the last person he considers an ally.

you're also the only person that sees his vulnerable, traumatized side that he often disguises with anger. his wrath has tormented him for years, driving him to insanity and believing it is okay to kill anyone that opposes him. it was a miracle that you were able to see through his mask of anger and show love and support towards him, which are two things he isn't used to. that's why he can't help but feel irked by someone attempting to court you. you're the only person that has genuinely loved and cared for him, even after the things he has done. now that he's had a taste of what love and affection is like, he's not going to let you leave him that easily.

he tells himself that he doesn't need an ally, and he can help bless millions with anarchy and chaos by himself, but deep down, he still selfishly wants you for himself. he would feel more comfortable in his rebellion with you staying at his side rather than leaving him for someone else. so yes, he does feel jealousy, (and fear that you'll leave him) but he refuses to admit it and conjures up a lie that you need each other, convincing himself of a false idea rather than facing the truth that his strong desires of "freedom" magically go out the window when it comes to you.

[httpsdana]

Hi girl! Idk if i already send this request but even if i did i'm requesting again :) . Can you do one that Kenan always watch reader doing her skin care so one day he ask her to do in him and she proudly do it . Very fuffly w a lot of kisses plss

Teenage Skin~Kenan Yildiz

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

・❥・a/n: I did get the previous request and I was already working on it!! enjoy <33

Kenan was used to watching her. While her nighttime routine was doing her skincare, his was sitting by her side and watching her enjoy how her skin glowed. At first he said it as a joke (kinda)

“Can you put that on my face?” he asked, trying to act casual, when all he wanted was to feel her smooth hands rub the cold products on his face.

“Huh?” she raised her eyebrows, her fingers stopping their motion on her face. She turned to look at him, as he stepped inside the bathroom.

“Those things…” he pointed to the several things on the bathroom counter, “Can you use them on me?” he asked, almost shy.

“You want me to put my skincare products on your face?” she asked again, trying to bite back a smile.

He nodded shyly, reaching to hold her moisturiser in his hand.

“I mean yeah” he shrugged. “Have you seen my face? I’m pretty sure my skin thinks I’m still 15 or something”

She giggled at his words, quickly washing her hands and turning to him.

“I’ve been wanting to make a skincare routine just for you for a while now but I didn’t think you’d down for it,” she said, opening her drawer and pulling out a headband.

She placed it in hands, while he looked at the fluffy two-eared headband in his hand. When he looked up at her and saw the excited smile on her face, he let out a sigh.

“Am I gonna regret this?” he asked, his lips twitching up in a small smile.

She put her finger on her chin, as if thinking, before she hummed.

“Probably. But not after your skin starts glowing,” she grinned, leaning up and pecking his lips quickly before pushing him down to sit on the closed toilet lid.

She helped him put his headband on, pushing his hair away from his face then she tied her hair in a ponytail and pulled the sleeves of her hoodie up to her elbows.

First off, she grabbed the cleanser, applying some on a cotton pad then wiping it across his face.

“Oh this is cold,” he hummed, letting out a sigh in satisfaction.

“And it's definitely removing all the dirt from your face,” she pulled a face, showing him the cotton pad that had darkened a bit.

“I showered in the morning!” he said, chuckling slightly.

“mhm this is normal. These things get stuck on your face without being visible,” she said, throwing the cotton in hand.

“wash your face love,” she instructed, before grabbing the next thing.

Kenan washed his face, and dried it with the soft towel that hung next to the mirror.

Next step: toner.

She placed a few drops on her hands, rubbing them together before patting it gently on his face.

“I might fall asleep like this,” Kenan murmured, opening his eyes to look at her.

He couldn't help but smile at the way her tongue poked out of her mouth, her eyes focused on his face.

He quickly reached up, pecking her lips quickly, making her squeal.

“you're gonna get this all over me!” she protested, but her smile proved that she didn't mind it.

“sorry you just look so cute,” he mumbled, his lips tugging up in a bigger smile when her cheeks turned into the brightest shade of red.

Then, she opened the next drawer this time pulling some…stickers?

“what're those?” Kenan asked, his eyebrows raising.

“pimple patches,” she stated, “you've got some pretty nasty pimples baby”

Kenan looked at his face in the mirror, noticing the big juicy pimples in his face, which made him wince.

“tell me about it,” he muttered to himself, turning to see her holding the first star patch.

Kenan sighed, but let her put it on his face. His forehead, below his lips, on his cheek. At the end, he had four yellow stars on his face, and he looked adorable as hell.

“Oh you look so cute,” she squished his cheeks with her hands, kissing the tip of his nose lightly.

Kenan giggled, his nose scrunching up. He wrapped his arms around her thighs, as she stood between his legs and grabbed the pink serum he loved.

“I love this one,” he pointed out, making her chuckle.

“I know you do, because it's pink,” she said, putting a few drops on his cheeks.

She patted them slowly on his face, careful to avoid the pimple patches she had put previously.

Then she noticed the way Kenan was looking at her, his eyes half open, full of adoration making her heart melt.

“What?” she mumbled, tilting her head to the side.

“I love you so much,” he said, his eyes widening as he processed what he just said.

It wasn't the first time he said it, but it was the first time he said it so randomly, so casually but still sincerely.

She felt her cheeks heat up, eyes looking away to avoid his. Then she hummed.

“are you trying to get some kisses?” she teased, putting the serum back in its place and grabbing her moisturiser.

“maybe” he shrugged, “is it working?”

She turned to him, her seriousness melting away at the pout on his face.

“maybe” she muttered, leaning down to press a few kisses on his lips, then on the top of his head.

Kenan grinned widely, tightening his arms around her.

“okay last thing. moisturiser. you'll be getting a free massage today sweetheart,” she joked, applying some of the stuff on his forehead, cheeks, chin and nose.

Then she started to gently message it, with upward and downward movements until his skin absorbed it all. Then she moved to his neck a bit, making sure some of the product reached it too.

Kenan sighed, his eyes fluttering closed as her hands did their magic.

A few moments later, her hands left his face and his eyes opened.

“okay! all done. you're glowing Kenan,” she cooed, moving so he can see himself in the mirror.

Kenan stood up, stepping closer to the mirror to admire his now shiny skin.

She grabbed her lip balm off the counter, twisting the cap off, swiping it across her bottom lip slowly, then the top. Then, with a playful smile, she turned toward him and held it out.

"Want some?" she offered.

But before she could even lift her hand, he leaned in without a word and kissed her, firm and confident, stealing the taste right off her lips.

When he pulled back, a faint shine of balm smudged at the corner of his mouth.

"Got it," he said with a smug little grin, wiping the corner of his mouth with his finger.

She blinked, heat rushing to her cheeks immediately.

"i hate you."

"thank you," he murmured, brushing his thumb across her warm cheek, "i love you too baby."

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty @n0vazsq @joaosnovia @ilovebarcaaaa @f1lover55 @jajajhaahaha @universefcb @mariejuli (lmk if you want to be added!!)

[thatnightlamp]

You tell us to feed you our brain rot? Well then (: would you consider writing more of your Dorn one shot? Cause I need him to be a manace more in my life.

DORN AND HIS HAND HEHEHE

The war room was dim, lit only by the flickering holographs of tactical maps long since rendered irrelevant. The campaign was over, the world secured. For once, silence reigned over strategy.

You shouldn’t have been here, this was a space meant for high command, not downtime. But Rogal Dorn had not dismissed you. He had merely looked up from his reports when you entered, eyes sharpening slightly, as if assessing a new terrain. Then, with a single wordless nod, he had allowed you to stay.

Now, you sat in one of the reinforced chairs lining the edge of the chamber, your body loose with exhaustion. Victory always brought this bone-deep tiredness. And yet... it was not rest that your body anticipated. Not with Dorn so near. Not with the way he was watching you.

He hadn’t spoken in minutes, but you could feel him still, standing, unmoving, tall and broad in his golden armor. The air around him always carried weight. It pressed into your skin, into your lungs. And tonight, there was something different in it. Not command. Not the cold discipline he wielded so effortlessly.

Tonight, it was intent.

He stepped closer without warning, silent as a shadow despite the weight of his war-plate. You lifted your head, pulse already rising. He was looking down at you, expression unreadable. Not angry. Not soft, either. Just… measured. Like he was still considering something. Calculating.

Your voice broke the tension. "You're staring again."

"I am." His reply was clipped, deliberate.

A moment passed. Then another. You leaned back slightly in your chair, attempting something casual, something not completely undone by the heat prickling under your skin. "Are you going to tell me why?"

His gaze swept over you slowly, then returned to your face. "I am trying to understand something," he said, voice deep and utterly calm. "About you. About this."

You blinked. "This?"

His gauntlet hissed softly as he disengaged it. One by one, the locking mechanisms released until his bare hand emerged, callused, large, dusted with faint scars. That hand came to rest on the arm of your chair, close, so very close. His other hand remained behind his back, as if he were standing at ease. But there was nothing at ease about him now.

"You are resilient," he continued. "You endure discomfort. Pain. Harsh conditions. You have served without complaint."

You raised an eyebrow. “That sounds dangerously like a compliment.”

“It is an observation.” His tone didn’t change. But then… his fingers moved. Just barely. The back of them brushed your arm, a featherlight graze. Controlled. Intentional.

Your breath hitched.

“Yet,” he went on, as if lecturing on fortifications and not your nerve endings, “you react to small stimuli in… disproportionate ways.”

His hand shifted again. This time, his fingers traced the inside of your wrist. Just a touch. Not even firm pressure. But it was enough. A line of heat zipped up your arm, making your whole body tense.

You gave a sharp breath through your nose. "Dorn—"

He tilted his head slightly, eyes unblinking. “Interesting.”

“Interesting,” you echoed flatly, but your voice was already thickening. Damn him.

"Most weaknesses," he murmured, his fingers brushing up to your elbow now, "are structural. Predictable. Obvious."

His hand slid further, knuckles ghosting along your upper arm. “But not this.”

You could feel it now, what he was doing. He wasn’t touching you so much as studying you. Testing points of vulnerability. Measuring your reactions like he was preparing to redraw a battle plan. It was maddening.

And he was enjoying it.

"You really can't turn it off, can you?" you bit out. "Even now, you're still strategizing."

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he reached your shoulder, and stopped. His thumb pressed, slowly, into the muscle there. The tension, the pressure, it was sudden and deliberate. Painful, but good, twisting low in your stomach.

You hissed softly, gripping the arms of the chair.

"You tense here often," Dorn said, like a physician diagnosing a wound. "Likely stress. Poor posture during field work."

Then his thumb rolled deeper, kneading with a precision that felt too exact to be innocent. It wasn’t a massage. It was manipulation. Your body, his blueprint. Every response cataloged.

“Stop doing that,” you muttered. “Like I’m one of your damn siege maps.”

"Why?" he asked simply. "You’re responding."

His hand moved again, sliding up along the curve of your neck. His fingers splayed gently at your nape, firm but not forceful. The heat of him soaked into your skin. You were still clothed, still technically untouched in any indecent way, and yet your heart was thundering.

“Rogal—”

“Silence,” he said, almost softly. His fingers tightened just slightly. “Let me finish.”

Your mouth snapped shut.

He took his time now. Every motion of his hand was slow, excruciatingly so. Down your throat, just the edge of his knuckles brushing your collarbone. His other hand came forward at last, sliding behind your back to anchor you. You realized, too late, that you couldn’t move. He wasn’t holding you hard, but the placement was exact, inescapable.

“Fascinating,” he said, voice nearly a purr now. Not sensual, strategic. “Your heartbeat has increased. Pupils dilated. Breathing shallow.”

“You’re—” You tried to speak, but your mouth was dry. “You’re using me like a training exercise.”

That earned a faint sound. A hum. His thumb slid along the base of your throat, the pressure just enough to remind you how large his hand was, how easily he could grip, how easily he could...

Your knees pressed together instinctively.

He saw it. Of course he did.

“Touch,” he said slowly, “is not a weapon I have employed often. It is… inefficient in most contexts.”

You swallowed.

“But in this one?” His head dipped lower. You felt his breath against your jaw. “Highly effective.”

You were trembling now, not from fear, never from fear, but from anticipation. From the slow, building tension that coiled tighter and tighter inside you like a drawn bowstring. And Dorn, your cold, stoic, beautiful bastard of a Primarch, wasn’t relenting. If anything, he was only just beginning.

His hand left your throat, and you almost whined at the loss, but then it returned, lower, splaying across your abdomen. Just through fabric. No skin-to-skin. And yet, it was worse, more intimate. His palm was heavy with the promise of pressure. He didn’t squeeze. He didn’t grope.

He just held.

And it wrecked you.

Your head fell back against the chair, a breath shuddering from your lips. He watched you, like always, unflinching. Composed. Tactical.

And then, finally, he spoke again.

“You are soft,” he murmured, his thumb dragging in slow circles over your covered stomach. “Unarmored. Exposed.”

You gasped, both from the words and the gentle roll of his touch.

"And yet you let me do this."

A pause. His hand slid down just a few inches. Not indecent. Not yet. But it could be. So easily.

You were aching now. Throbbing.

“And why,” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, “would you allow such exposure… unless you wanted it exploited?”

You turned your head sharply toward him, breathless and wild. “You’re such a bastard.”

A glint sparked in his eye. “Yes.”

Then, without warning, both hands moved.

One braced the back of your neck again, possessive. The other slipped around your waist, tugging you forward in the chair just enough that your legs parted slightly, just enough to make you realize how defenseless you truly were beneath his gaze, his grasp.

Your pulse roared in your ears.

“I have found your weakness,” Dorn said, calm as ever. “It is not in your skin. It is not in your armor. It is in your submission.”

You opened your mouth, to argue, to deny, to challenge him, but then he leaned closer. His lips just barely brushed the shell of your ear, and the words he breathed into you nearly undid you entirely:

“And now that I know it… I will use it.”

Your vision blurred.

Before you could even respond, he pulled away, stepping back as if the entire moment had been nothing. Just another exercise. Another test of materials under pressure.

You were left panting, ruined in your chair, your body burning and empty without his hands.

Dorn merely turned away, reaching for his gauntlet. “We will revisit this,” he said, voice crisp.

“Revisit?” you echoed, voice cracking.

He glanced at you over his shoulder. “There is more to learn.”

Then he sealed the gauntlet shut with a hiss.

And just before he turned back to his command console, you saw it—the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile.

A smirk.