#but it seemed like such a good idea at the time

[cheapshrimpysheep]

True Feelings Chocolate - OB Students

SUMMARY: It is normal on Valentine's Day for friends or schoolmates to exchange chocolates with each other. However, the quality of the chocolate reveals how the person really sees you. And homemade chocolate is the greatest message of love that someone can receive on this day.

CHARACTERS: Overblot Students (Riddle Rosehearts / Leona Kingscholar / Azul Ashengrotto / Jamil Viper / Vil Schoenheit / Idia Shroud / Malleus Draconia) x Yuu (Reader)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Kiss

WORD COUNT: An average of 1.280 words per character.

COMMENTS: The number of words varies depending on how much the character is the type to hide his true feelings.

I also would like to be able to write more eloquent lines for characters like Malleus, but as English is not my first language this becomes a bit difficult sometimes.

(and yes, I'm thinking about doing this with other characters, maybe the freshmen, if a lot of people like and reblog this post.)

I hope you enjoy and Happy Valentine's Day 💝

REAL WORLD CONTEXT: You may already know this, but Valentine's Day in Japan is different than in Western countries. In Japan (from what I know and have researched) this day is not exclusively related to romantic love but also to friendship or simple connections between schoolmates or work colleagues.

Just like in the West, it is marked by the gifting of chocolate, but the quality of the chocolate differs: If it's a boss or colleague you're not friends with, they're usually cheaper, more common chocolates. The quality and even price of the chocolate increases according to the relationship with the person to whom it is offered. And a chocolate made by the person themselves is the most valuable of all and is usually, from what I understand, almost like a confession of love.

On Valentine's Day, it is women who offer chocolates to men, but in this case I just kept the logic of chocolates and excluded the gender thing.

Another thing is that since it is normal to give chocolates to friends as well, it becomes more discreet to give more special chocolates to a certain person and it doesn't draw attention to simply give chocolate to someone.

NOTE: Thaumarks would be the equivalent of US dollars.

The rules are clear: the quality of the chocolate represents the quality and importance of the relationship between the giver and the person to whom it is given. And a chocolate made by the giver is the most valuable of all. Which meant he could buy chocolates for his schoolmates, but not for you!

According to the rules and analyzing what he felt for you, your chocolate MUST be made by him and it had to be perfect! Or as close to perfection as he could get.

He has no shame, nor does he think twice before asking Trey for help. He had that smile of someone who wants to mess with him a little the entire time, but knows that wouldn't be a good idea... Okay, maybe just a little comment to see how he would react.

“So... homemade chocolate for (Y/N).” He said as they waited for the chocolate to melt and Riddle prepared the molds.

Riddle continued with what he was doing, but he had blushed a little.

“Those are the rules.” he replies. "The quality of the chocolate should represent how the giver sees the person to whom it is given.”

“I know. I just never thought I'd see you making this kind of chocolate so soon.”

Riddle did not respond, probably because he thought the same thing.

What Riddle didn't know, because it was supposed to be a surprise too, was that you were also making chocolates for him. You made chocolate dipped strawberries. Knowing that Strawberry Tarts are his favorite food, this seemed like the best choice for Valentine's Day chocolates. Once they were ready, you placed them in a red box that you had bought at Sam's Mystery Shop and finished by tying the box with a bow.

The next day, Valentine's Day, you are preparing the boxes of chocolates to give to the Heartslabyul boys when there is a knock on your door. You open it and find Riddle with his hands behind his back.

“Good morning, (Y/N). I believe you know what day it is today.”

You confirm and say that you were just preparing the chocolates to take to his dorm.

“Oh, that's a coincidence. Because I came here to offer you mine too.” He takes his hand from behind his back revealing a beautiful heart-shaped box with golden designs. “And...” in the other, a small bouquet of roses. He's blushing just a little bit

You take the box and the bouquet, and Riddle smiles when he sees your reaction. But before you open it, you remember and go to the bag where your chocolates were and take out his box and offer it to him. He wasn't surprised that you gave him chocolates, but he was a little when he saw that the box wasn't from any brand. You also take the opportunity to place the roses on the entrance table so you can open the box.

When you take the lid off you see several heart shaped chocolates with your favorite toppings, however, some of the hearts were a little bit crooked and some of the designs on the hearts seemed to have gone slightly wrong. You ask if he made them, unable to contain a small chuckle.

“Y-yes.” he sulks a little seeing you laugh. “I picked the ones that looked best... the first ones burned.”

You taste one of them and feel your favorite filling on your tongue. You say it's very good and Riddle can't contain that sweet smile of his.

“Truly? I... I am so glad!”

And then he remembers the box you gave him. He opens it and sees the chocolate covered strawberries. You say that since he liked strawberry tart so much you thought he would like them. He looks at the strawberries with a sparkle in his eyes, picks one up and tastes it before giving you a cute smile again.

“It's incredible how something so simple can taste so good.” he tells you “So... were they made by you too?” You confirm, but then he asks: “You... did you also make chocolates for the others?” he seemed ashamed to ask that.

You say no, that those were the only ones you made, all the others were bought.

“Really?!” he says smiling, but then immediately clears his throat to assume his usual posture again.

However, he realized what it means, that you felt the same way about him as he felt about you, and it made him chuckle. He holds your free hand, while the other still holds the box of chocolates, gets closer to you and kisses your cheek gently.

“You said you were preparing to go to Heartslabyul.” He tells you with a tender look, as if he can finally look at you the way he wants and you deserve. “Allow me to escort you there then. And I insist on helping you carry the boxes.”

He will take you to Heartslabyul with your arm intertwined with his like a gentleman, while his other arm carries the bag with the chocolates that you will offer to your friends.

Ace and Deuce will argue and compete because they both bought you the exact same box of chocolates that were your favorite. Cater bought you the cutest chocolates he could find and wanted to take a picture of the two boxes together, the one you gave him and the one he gave you. Trey says he wished he had made the chocolates himself but, you know, rules and possible misunderstandings to be avoided, so he ended up buying some chocolates that he also liked as a sort of sharing of favorites.

Regardless of whether you would get chocolates back or not, you bought chocolates for Jack and Ruggie, and you wanted to follow the "rules" and make the chocolates for Leona yourself. But what chocolate would he like? He loves meat, but this doesn't help much. Or maybe it does... you search on the internet for chocolates for meat lovers and see what you can find.

But you didn't find anything, or at least nothing that didn't also involve wine. However, you noticed that dark chocolate was the most used, if not the only one, so you decided to use it and make the famous, perhaps even cliché, heart-shaped chocolates. Once they're done, you put them in the yellow box you bought at the Mystery Shop.

On Valentine's Day, you prepare everything to go deliver the chocolates to Savanaclaw.

Of course Jack also bought you chocolates, your favorite ones by the way. He struggled to keep his tail still when he saw how happy you were and the chocolates you gave him.

Ruggie seemed... struggling to give you the chocolates he had bought for you. He would have liked to have bought the cheaper chocolate, but he didn't want to give you a chocolate that meant you were nothing to him. So he had to spend a little more money and that was what was hurting him. However, his pain was eased by your chocolates.

Leona wasn't with them, so he could only be in his room. You go there and knock on the door.

“What?” You hear Leona's voice on the other side.

You open the door and enter his room. It's no surprise to see him lying in bed as if he had just woken up from a nap. He looks at you with his hands behind his head and smirks.

“Oh, yeah, did you come here to deliver your friendship sweets?” he says mockingly.

“Actually, yes.” you answer, walk towards him and stretch out your arm, handing him the yellow box. “This one is for you.”

He glances sideways at the box for a second, but then lifts his torso and sits up on the bed. He picks up the box and opens it to find dark chocolate hearts. You tell him that you tried to find some kind of recipe with meat but didn't find much. However it seemed like dark chocolate was the best one to pair with meat so that's why you chose it.

“So, you're saying that you did these little things?” Leona picks up one of the chocolates with a smug grin on his face. “Let's see how you did then. I must remind you that my palate is quite delicate.” He takes a bite and seems to enjoy the chocolate, but doesn't say anything.

Instead, he puts the box on the bed, gets up and seems to walk away from you. But then you notice that he's walking over to a chair in the corner of the room covered in clothes. He lazily removes one of the pieces of clothing from the seat and reaches for the white box that was hidden underneath. He comes back and hands you the box.

“Good enough. Here's your prize.”

You take the box and look at it. It’s white with gold details, texture and embossing. It's also relatively heavy for a box of chocolate, and thick. You don't even recognize that brand. Leona laugh at your reaction.

“You've definitely never seen one of these.”

You can't open the box with only one hand, you had to put it on Leona's bed to be able to open it with both hands. He complained like you expected him to, but then he just sat there watching you open the box and see what was inside, while eating more of your chocolates like they were snacks.

You open it, and inside the white box there is a wooden box. You remove the wooden box and see another wooden thing, like a square plate, with a kind of small wooden tongs. Leona is amused by your reaction. You took this out of the white box too, underneath is a booklet, and underneath that, there's a brochure. And after that there finally seems to be nothing left to take out.

“If you're wondering which one is the chocolate, it's the wooden box.” He points to the first thing you took out of the box and take another chocolate of yours to eat.

You pick up the wooden box with a little golden square on the lid and opens it. You pick up a large square wrapped in gold paper. At the bottom of the box, in a smaller diamond-shaped hole with a single cocoa bean.

“That is chocolate.” Leona casually pointed to the large square wrapped in gold paper.

You decide to see what that wooden thing with the tongs was before that. You pick it up, take the tongs off the top and remove the paper it was holding, revealing a gold square with engravings and what looks like a wooden frame around it. You read the title on the sheet of paper: “Testing utensil and plate.” And realizes that these are basically instructions on how to taste the chocolate using tongs and putting it on the golden plate.

You finally decide to search for those chocolates on the internet and you only had to type the name of the brand to see that the first result was: ‘The most expensive chocolate in Twisted Wonderland’. You found that same box and discovered that it cost almost 500 thaumarks. Leona just laughs at your shocked face.

Before you could say anything, maybe even say that you couldn't accept a chocolate like that, Leona takes the golden square and unwraps it, revealing the chocolate, which by the color seems to be your favorite. He breaks one of the triangles that formed the square and places it in front of your lips.

“Go on.” He smirks. “Open your mouth and say what you wanted to say.”

You open your mouth, but instead of talking you take a bite of the chocolate, as he wanted you to do. And it's incredible! He puts the rest of that piece of chocolate on top of the golden plate.

Knowing that the handmade chocolates were an “I love you” message, Leona felt completely confident in doing what he did next. As you were standing, he also stood up, put one of his hands on your waist and pulled you against him to kiss you.

You already kind of knew that it was possible to receive some kind of chocolate from Azul. This tradition can also be seen as a way of strengthening ties or showing respect for colleagues. He would not miss the opportunity to be “generous” to certain people whom he may or may not have selected as people of interest.

But no matter what kind of chocolate he would give you, you wanted to follow the rules and make yourself his chocolate.

You weren't sure which type of chocolate he would like best, so you decided to make a few of each, some dark chocolate, some milk chocolate, and some white chocolate. ‘By chance’, Sam had some molds for sale that you could use to make chocolates in sea-themed shapes like shells, seahorses, starfish, crabs, etc. One of the molds was even of a cute little octopus. You also bought a beautiful lavender box to put the chocolates in.

The next day, Valentine's Day, you were preparing the chocolates to give to the Octavinelle boys when someone knocked on your door.

“Good morning, (Y/N).” Azul greets you with his charming smile and his hands behind his back. “Were you getting ready to go out? I hope I'm not taking up too much of your time. I'm sure you have a lot of chocolates to deliver today, knowing how many acquaintances you've made at this school. But let me be the first to present you.” He takes his hands from behind his back revealing a beautiful lavender box with the Mostro Lounge logo in silver.

He must have prepared several boxes of that for his... acquaintances (clients) as well. But you accept the box anyway and take the opportunity to give him yours. Azul doesn't seem too surprised that you give him chocolates too, but he is when he sees that there is no brand on the box. You open your boxes at the same time to see... the same chocolates, the exact same shapes.

“Have you also-” You two start saying at the same time and then stop when you realize you're talking over each other.

“The molds in Sam's mystery shop.” Azul continued with a sweet tone. “You bought them too. So... that means...”

“These chocolates.” You say. “Were they made by you?”

“Yes, they were!” He smiles proudly. “Please, go ahead to taste them. Tell me what you think.”

You can see he used your favorite type of chocolate. You pick up one of the chocolates, take a bite and discover that it has your favorite filling. He can see that you loved it by your face, but he wants to hear your words and you only increase his pride with them.

You then ask him to try your chocolates. You confess that you didn't really know which one would be his favorite so you made some of each type. This makes him chuckle.

“Don't worry, they all look delicious. Let's see if the same applies to the taste, shall we?” He smirks before taking one of the chocolates to his mouth and biting into it.

He looked surprisingly intrigued and you didn't know what that meant. So you ask him if there's something wrong with the chocolates.

“No, that's not it. Your chocolates are very simple, without any special filling or anything that improves the original flavor of the ready-made chocolate. So why...? Why does it taste so good if it's nothing special? Did you use something that my taste buds aren't detecting?”

It was wierd, Azul almost seemed insulted, like you were tricking him somehow. Or like he wanted to figure out the logical explanation for that flavor. You say you only followed a recipe and seeing that he seemed dissatisfied with this explanation you say that people say that something made with love tastes better.

“Don't be ridiculous." He says despite starting to blush a little. “Feelings do not change a well-made recipe or a cook's skills. It might make them lazier and less willing to do things properly." he says, clearly thinking of a certain someone. "But it doesn't suddenly make someone an extraordinary cook. That's not how it works. It doesn't make sense."

And then his subtle indignation gives way to a quite seductive smile.

“Maybe I should see how you do them to find out your secret. And in return, I can teach you how to make the fillings and stuff them. What do you think? Cooking together and teaching each other.” He gets closer to you and tilts your head with a gentle finger on your chin. “Doesn't that sound like a good deal, my dear?”

After this you tell him that you were preparing to go to Octavinelle to offer him, Jade and Floyd the chocolates. There was still the boxes to be delivered to the twins.

“Oh, I wonder what you got for them.”

You say that for Jade you found some mushroom-shaped chocolates and for Floyd you bought some that said they all had different flavors but didn't say which ones, you realized that it was one of those sweets that you only find out if you were lucky or not with the flavor after tasting it.

Azul's mood seemed to improve when you said you had bought the chocolates and not made them. He also highlighted your excellent ability to choose gifts and added that you could be an excellent... business colleague. He liked the idea of a special personal assistant. He will accompany you to Octavinelle and insist on carrying him your gifts.

Jade loved the chocolates you chose for him, although it's hard to be sure even with all those smooth talking praises. For you, he asked his parents to send him some special Coral Sea chocolates. Azul asks you to examine that box and doesn't even hide his distrust towards Jade, who appears theatrically sad. He recognizes those chocolates with the box still sealed and knows that there is nothing wrong with those, so he returns them to you with more peace of mind.

Floyd was a little put off at first because the chocolates looked boring, but he soon became interested when you told him about the surprise flavors. He tried one that he said tasted like octopus and started laughing with great amusement. For you he bought shrimp-shaped chocolates and commented something about finding it funny to see it as a kind of cannibalism.

Kalim would definitely give you chocolates, but you had no way of knowing if Jamil would do the same. You already know how reluctant he is to call someone a friend, let alone give someone chocolates, that is not out of pure politeness, on a day like Valentine's. But either way you wanted to follow the rules and offer him chocolates made by you.

You weren't sure which type of chocolate he would like best, so you decided to make a few of each, some dark chocolate, some milk chocolate, and some white chocolate. But you didn't want to make just boring chocolate hearts. However, you didn't know if there was any filling he liked with the chocolates, so at Sam's Mystery Shop you try to find at least pretty molds. And you found heart molds with beautiful line art. That, and a pretty dark red box with a golden bow.

The next day, Valentine's Day, you were preparing the boxes of chocolates to take to the Scarabia boys, but they were faster than you.

“GOOD MORNING (Y/N)!” Kalim greets you enthusiastically when you open the door after hearing the knock on it. “Happy Valentine's Day!” He stretches out his arms with a huge smile and a huge basket of chocolates. It even had a heart-shaped balloon tied to it.

You need both hands to pick up the basket. You try to tell him that he didn't need to offer you so much, in fact he didn't need to offer you anything, but all that...

“Don't worry. I love giving gifts to my friends! And it's okay if you can't eat them all before the expiration date, I'm sure Grim can help you with that. There's enough for both of you in there. Hahaha.”

“Or at least we hope it's enough for both of you.” Jamil comments behind him. “Be careful Grim doesn't steal them all from you. And I'm sure Kalim would love to spend a little more time with you, but he has to go deliver the rest chocolates.” He frowns wearily and helplessly.

You can only imagine how many chocolates someone who treats practically everyone as a friend has to give away. But you ask them to wait just one more minute. You put the basket on the table in the hallway, take the one of the chocolate boxes you were preparing to take with you and hand it to Kalim.

Just like the chocolates he gave you, yours were also bought, except the brand you bought was much cheaper. But none of that mattered to Kalim, he was thrilled just because you gave him chocolate at all. But then he remembers and looks back at Jamil.

“We’ll open them in the dorm.” Jamil says. “I'll just try one and you can eat the rest. I know (Y/N) is trustworthy.”

Kalim celebrates and thanks him for allowing him to eat the chocolates. You wait for them to turn their backs to call Jamil in a whisper that you knew he would hear and Kalim wouldn't. He turns as Kalim walks to the gate and you hand him the dark red box with the golden bow. He looks at the box in surprise, glances at Kalim and thought quickly. He takes the box and says: “I'll text you.” before he turns and walks towards Kalim with your box in his hands.

If you had given him that box while Kalim was looking, he would have been super curious and happy for Jamil, maybe even started saying that he should offer you a box too and ask about it. And you knew how much Jamil liked to be discreet and not draw Kalim's attention to his affairs.

You had time to go to all the other dorms and deliver your friendship chocolates before he sent you the messages:

“I'm sorry I didn't thank you for the chocolates when you gave them to me. We only just finished delivering Kalim's chocolates, and he went to the Pop Music Club. I wanted to ask you if there would be a possibility of you passing through Scarabia today? I would like to thank you properly.”

You say you can and he asks if it can be in an hour. You don't ask him why, even though you're asking that to yourself, but you say yes and the meeting is set.

At the agreed time you go to Scarabia and you don't even need to tell Jamil that you have arrived, he is already at the doors of the main building waiting for you. And as if that wasn't enough of a surprise, when you approach him he holds out his hand for you to place yours on top and he kisses the back of your hand. He has a charmingly confident smile on his face. He leads you like a gentleman through the dorm hallways.

“I apologize again for being so curt with you when you gave me the box.” He says as you walk with one of your arms intertwined with his. “You truly caught me off guard. I wanted to thank you at that moment, but I was so much more focused on being quick so that Kalim wouldn't... you know... intrude.” That was the least rude way of saying what he really wanted to say.

You ask him what happened after you gave him the chocolates. The box wasn't small, he wouldn't have been able to hide it from Kalim.

“What I expected.” he sighed. “Kalim started making questions right away. But don't worry, you made the right decision by handing me the box when he wasn't looking. I hope he didn't bother you about it though.”

No, Kalim didn't text or call you after that. Jamil discreetly whispered a "excellent" with a somewhat sinister smile. You ask him if he liked the chocolates and tell him that, since you didn't know which was his favorite chocolate, you decided to use them all. He gives you a slight smile.

“I can appreciate them all. When they're done well.” he smirked. “The shape was nice, probably because of the molds you used. The taste... was good enough.”

You look at him a little sadly, or maybe a little sullenly. He laughs.

“They were good.” he says more gently. “But I think you can do better.” The smug smile returns. “Maybe if I teach you a few things? Or if we cook together? I wouldn't mind that. I bet it would be... interesting to be your tutor.” He seems to like the idea, probably because of the hierarchy you would have (in addition to the one you already have).

You arrive at his room and he invites you to come in and sit on his bed.

“My roommate is also at a club meeting.” He explains, as he picks up a box, that didn't look like anything special, from his desk. “Here.” he gives you the box and sits next to you. “I thought about making you chocolates too.” He can't look you in the eyes and tries to hide the blush that was starting to appear on his cheeks. “But... I didn't want to give them to you without knowing... I made these when I got back to Scarabia, after Kalim had gone to the club meeting.” he points to the box on your lap. “I didn't have much time to get a nicer box, sorry.”

You open the box to find several heart-shaped chocolates made with your favorite type of chocolate. But the ones in the middle had letters that, the way they were arranged, formed the phrase “I love you too”.

“You bought the ones you gave to Kalim.” Jamil says, still reluctant to look you in the eyes. “And made the ones you gave me. That's what it means, isn't it? ...Try it.”

You do so and take one of the chocolate hearts, bite into it and discover that it has your favorite filling. As you expected, the flavor is divine and you say this to Jamil when he asks you what you thought of them.

“I haven't tried them yet after they're done. Can I steal one from you?”

You say yes, but instead of his hand going towards the box, it goes towards your face, holds your chin to turn your head towards him and he kisses you.

You knew you were screwed. Vil is demanding about everything and anything. But you also know he can still appreciate someone’s effort and dedication. Even if your chocolates don’t turn out perfectly, which is most likely the case, you know he’ll still be happy with your hard work and thoughtfulness.

Your real problems lie elsewhere: nutrition and healthy ingredients. Your best bet was dark chocolate, it’s the healthiest of all. But you couldn't just make boring plain chocolates, and making them in the shape of a heart wasn't enough. You search for healthy chocolate recipes for Valentine's Day and you find a recipe for dark chocolate with fruits and nuts.

It was a lot of work to remove the seeds from the kumquats, chop the almonds, dry the cherries and do everything as the recipe said, but eventually your heart-shaped chocolates with fruits and nuts were ready on time. You just had to buy the prettiest purple box you could find at Sam's Mystery Shop and a good red bow.

The next day, Valentine's Day, you took your chocolates to Pomefiore to deliver them.

Rook would be happy with any type of chocolate you give him. The simple fact that you give him a box or even just a bag on such a special day makes him beam with joy. And of course he also bought you a box of chocolates, your favorites, by the way. (Regardless of whether you told him which ones they were or not)

The best chocolates you can give Epel are the ones you know he likes but that Vil wouldn't let him eat. Even if Vil found out, it would be rude not to accept such a kind gift, so according to etiquette he would have to accept your gift. The two of you smile mischievously at each other. And yes, of course he also bought you chocolates. He asked his family to send special chocolates typical of Harveston just for you.

All that was left was to deliver the last box to Vil, but before you turned around to go to his room to see if he was there, he was kind enough to appear in the lounge at that moment. The way he walked towards you with his eyes fixed on you and that beautiful discreet smile made you feel like the most special person in the room.

You say he arrived just in time because you were about to go look for him, and you give him the pretty purple box with a red bow. He smiles in satisfaction and pick up the box.

“Well, I can't say I'm surprised to receive another box of chocolates today. And I see that this box is not of any brand. May I then assume that they were made by you?” His smile softens even more when you confirm, but even so he doesn't miss the opportunity to add a little smugness to it. “Well, let's see how you did then?”

Vil opens the box and is actually surprised by what he sees inside. He picks up one of the chocolate hearts and examines it.

“Dark chocolate.” He says in an approving tone. “I see almonds, dried cherries and... are those candied kumquats?” The fruits were what surprised him the most and he looks at you in such a neutrally curious way that you don't know whether he approved of those chocolates or not.

You tell him that you know how much he values his good nutrition, so you tried to find the healthiest Valentine's chocolate recipe, and that was the recipe you chose. You add that you followed the recipe to the letter as if defending yourself in case he doesn't like it, but at that moment you see his shoulders relax, the smile return and his eyes look at you with affection.

“You aren’t the first one to give me handmade chocolates.” he starts saying and looks at your chocolates in his hands. “But you are the first one who knows me well enough to know what I would actually like to receive. Except for Rook, but he's a strange exception. All the other boxes that arrived were of the sweetest and most caloric chocolates imaginable. I understand and appreciate the gesture but...” He looks back at you and gives you a small smile. “They don't really know me, do they?”

He takes a bite of your chocolate and looks serious about tasting it for seconds that feel like minutes to you. You ask how they are and if they taste good, he looks at you seriously and then starts laughing when he sees your worried face.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to mess with you a little. I would like to say that these chocolates are quite good, but to do so I have to add that they are, for the skills of someone who is not a professional cook. I don't think I've ever tried this kind of sweets before. Could you give me the recipe?” and even eats the rest of the chocolate he has in his hand, with an expression of clear delight.

Your instinct tells you that something is going on behind you. You look over and see Epel slightly uncomfortable with the way Rook is looking at you and Vil as if he was watching the most wonderful and touching romantic play in the history of theater. He doesn't say a word as if a single syllable could ruin the moment, and he looks like he wants to burst into tears with emotion.

You feel a gentle hand on the small of your back, you turn your head again and see that it is Vil pulling you slightly to invite you to go with him.

“I can imagine the work it took you to remove the seeds from these kumquats and candied them. Such thoughtfulness and well done hard work deserves a proper reward. Don't you think?”

His gaze alternates between looking at you sweetly and looking at Rook in a subtly threatening way, as if warning him not to snoop around. The same look could be given to any other student who looked at you with the same nosy curiosity.

Vil invites you to go with him to a place, you follow him and you arrive at the door of his room. He looks haughtily at the corridor and sees that no one followed you, or if they did they would be left behind in that same corridor. He invites you in, saying that he also has something for you. After he closes the door behind him, he goes to his desk and picks up a small, beautiful, heart-shaped golden box to give you.

“Seeing me enjoying your chocolates was a spectacle and proof enough of your value to the public.” he says referring to the other Pomefiore students who were in the lounge. “They don't deserve to witness more.”

He makes a gesture encouraging you to open the box and you do so. There were few chocolates, at least compared to the ones you gave him, but not only were they beautifully decorated, they were also made from your favorite type of chocolate. Even if your favorite is the least healthy of all. You look at him in surprise.

“Don't get used to it.” he warns you, raising a finger. “I did less on purpose so as not to be so detrimental to your nutrition.” he pokes your nose gently “This is a rare exception, you hear?”

Even though you know what his answer would be, you ask if he was the one who made them.

“Yes, they look astonishing professional, don't they?” He smiled with the greatest pride, before returning to his regular speech. “I also thought about preparing something nutritious, until I thought about what you would like to receive and not what I would like to give. If I did what I thought was best for you while neglecting your own tastes, it would not only be wrong but an insult. It would be the same as all those fans who offered me chocolates without knowing what I would like or even wanting to try. Those chocolates would convey the message that I like you but I want to mold you into the person I want you to be and that is both a lie and a blasphemy. I want to help you improve of course, but that doesn't mean I don't like who you are now. So I used your favorite chocolates and fillings regardless, but did it in small quantities. However, if you wake up tomorrow with a stomach ache because you ate them all, don't blame me, understood?”

If you hug him he will tell you to be careful so the chocolates don't fall out of the box, but he will hug you back, maybe just more delicately.

You taste one of the beautiful chocolates and they are delicious. The pride on Vil's face only increases when you tell him this. Catching you off guard, he gently holds your chin with his index finger and thumb and gives you a sweet kiss on the cheek.

“This is my thank you for your gift.” he then puts his face right in front of yours, your noses almost touching “And this is my thank you for you.” and he kisses your lips.

“ARE YOU CRAZY?!” Idia tells Ortho. “Me? Cook? For THEM? Do you want them to hate me for giving them food so poorly prepared that it could poison them? Should I check-up you? Your cause-and-effect conclusions seems to be miscalculating things.”

“I don’t detect any abnormality in my data processing.” Ortho guarantees him. “But that's what the rules of Valentine's Day tradition say. And I can even use quotes from your games and mangas to support my argument.”

“OI! Don't use those things against me, it's a low blow! Besides, like you said, those are games and mangas, or even movies, they're not real. Real life is not a fairy tale where you always conveniently fall in love with the right person who feels the same way about you. There is a much greater chance that you will fall in love with someone you don't deserve and end up preferring Prince Charming.”

“So what?”

“W-WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'SO WHAT'?”

“You don't need to declare yourself to them. You just have to offer them chocolates. If the feeling is not mutual, just leave it at that. But I'm sure that (Y/N) will offer you something. Especially knowing how much you like sweets.”

“Oh yeah, sure, it's so much better to receive a friendzone chocolate than nothing at all. It must be the new trend to replace the bucket of ice cream to eat by the spoonful while crying watching a romcom wrapped in a blanket in the middle of the dark.”

“Come on. You know (Y/N), they would appreciate anything you did simply because you tried. They are the type to appreciate the effort and intention more than the end result. I've heard them tell how happy they were with a mere postcard from Malleus Draconia during the winter break.”

“That’s because he's The Malleus Draconia. Anything coming from someone like him is spectacular. Even a curse would be a source of pride for someone to receive simply because he acknowledged their existence.”

While Ortho was trying to convince Idia to At Least Try to make some kind of chocolate for you, you were looking for molds for your chocolates at Sam's Mystery Shop.

And ‘coincidence of coincidences’ Sam had in stock molds in the shape of items from a mobile game that Idea loves. Funny enough, they were also sweets, items for the cards if you're not mistaken. But the problem arose when you saw the price: 130 thaumarks. Sam approached you when he saw your certainty in wanting to buy that item turn into doubt and consideration.

You told him you wanted to buy that, but it was too expensive for your tight budget. So, knowing that you're a trustworthy little imp, he lets you pay what you can for it and work a day or two at the store until you can pay the rest. But he wouldn't need you anytime soon, he'll tell you when he does. You accept the deal and get the molds in addition to the ingredients and the bright blue box with a black bow.

Knowing that he loves sweets, you decide to use white chocolate and milk chocolate. And you made a lot of them, enough to fill the box almost to its limit.

Meanwhile, the only way Ortho found to convince Idia to get you chocolates was by suggesting that he make some and buy others and wait to see if you would give him chocolates and what kind. If you gave him friendship chocolates, he would give you the box he bought; if you gave him chocolates you made yourself (as if), he would give you the ones he made... and the ones he bought too. “I'm terrible at cooking. It's better to play it safe if they come out inedible.”

The next day, Valentine's Day, you take your gifts to go to Ignihyde to deliver them to the Shroud brothers.

You give Ortho a cute heart-shaped power back. You tell him that you would like to give him chocolates too, but since he doesn't eat you try to find something equivalent. And even if it's not a very good charger, it's still a cute decoration. Ortho completely agrees with you and is very happy that you put so much thought into his gift. He gives you chocolate in return, a box of your favorites.

Idia is nowhere to be seen, but Ortho knows you know where to find him. You go to his bedroom door and knock on it. The door opens for you. As you might expect, he is sitting in front of his computer. He pauses the game he was playing, takes off his headphones and turns his chair to look at you.

“Hey, um, you don't need to give me chocolates out of pity if that's the case. I don't need to get something just because my brother received a gift.”

You assure him that it's not out of pity, it's because you really wanted to give him those chocolates.

“I hope you didn't spend too much. I don't want you to regret it to much.”

"I may have spent a little more than I expected," you admit, handing him the box and placing it on his lap. "But I'll be keeping the molds.”

“Molds?! You didn't actually...” He stops to first check if what he thought you had done was true.

He opens the box and it takes him a few seconds to analyze those shapes well. You are startled to see him jump out of his chair.

“THESE ARE GROOVY SWEETS! Where did you found them? Wait! You said you found molds? I didn't even know there were molds to make them! How much did it cost? This game is quite niche, it must not have been easy to find. Or cheap.”

You say finding them was easy because you simply saw them in Sam's Mystery Shop and recognized the shapes and the game logo. Idia asks you about the price again and you try to change the subject until he says that if you don't tell him he'll look it up online. And you finally tell him the price.

“And isn't that a little tight for you?” He doesn't seem the least bit surprised by the price. “I mean, the money you have comes from the headmage as far as I know, right? And I don't think he gives you much more than the bare minimum.”

You tell him about the deal with Sam.

“WHAT?! Oh, No! You won't get into debt because of me!” He says determined “I'll send Sam all the money you spent and what's left to pay for the molds. And if you don't tell me how much it was, I'll just send him, like, I don't know, a 500 thaumarks or something and you can buy whatever you want with what's left.”

You say he doesn't need to exaggerate so much, you could even accept him paying for the molds for you, but the rest was ridiculous.

“Hey, I may not be a prince but my family is still quite wealthy, you know.” he says with a smug, which then turns into his cute smile. “You must have had so much work making them, let me at least help with the expenses.” the smug returns “You know I'm going to send him the money no matter what you say right?”

You sigh a ‘Fine’ and ask if he could finally taste the chocolates. He takes one of the white chocolates and bites it. You even say that you thought about putting something else in them, but you didn't know what, however it seems that this wasn’t necessary. He was eating the chocolate with such a cute smile, and the ends of his hair started to turn a slightly pink.

“Did you try them after they were done?” he asks.

You say you ate the first one you made to taste test it, but not the ones you gave him. He takes another one and brings it to your lips for you to eat. You open your mouth and grab the chocolate, it was good, but what you liked most was the fact that he fed it to you. After this episode of confidence, he becomes embarrassed again.

“I... um...” he then proceeds to speak in the speed of light. “Ortho made me make chocolates for you because it was like the rules of tradition or whatever but you don't need to eat them they definitely suck. B-b-but I bought better ones for you.” he picks up a relatively large box and returns to speaking at a more intelligible speed. “I bought the biggest box of your favorite chocolates they've ever sold.”

You accept the box, but still ask what he said about making chocolates for you.

“What? How can you still understand what I say at that speed? Don't tell me you're one of those people who puts a video on x2 speed or something.” You look at him disapprovingly, showing that you know he's trying to change the subject again. He sighs. “Listen, I know the rules are that when you... really... like... someone you should make the chocolates yourself, just like... you... did. But what does it matter how or who does them, what matters is whether they taste good or not, right? It all ends in the same place anyway.”

“So... these chocolates,” you point to the box you gave him “or any others would be the same to you?”

“Wait! No! That's not what I meant! T-t-the ones you made n-needed to be made, t-they can't be bought.”

“So, would you prefer if I had bought them? Surely they would be better made by a professional, right?”

“N-n-no! You are distorting what I... No, actually, that's exactly what I said... B-b-but that does NOT apply here, not to you, I just... I SUCK AT COOKING, OKAY!? I didn't want to give you something ugly, poorly made and with horrible taste. But fine! If that's what you want!” He goes to the closet and takes out a pink heart-shaped box to give it to you. “You can have it. Don't say I didn't try to warn you.”

You pick up the box and open it to find cute hearts made with your favorite type of chocolate with sprinkles on top. They didn't look bad, they even looked well made. You pick one up and taste it, and it tastes good to you. You actually liked it and tell him that.

“Y-you actually enjoyed that amateurish attempt at cooking? You feeling okay? Are your taste buds buggy? You don't need to say that just to be nice, you know?”

You assure him that you're not just being nice, that you really liked it. Of course they could be better, just like yours could be too. Maybe you should try doing them together sometime?

“First Ortho makes me cook and now you? Do you really like me or just like to see me suffer?”

He insists that you keep the ones he bought too because they were for you anyway. If you give him a kiss on the cheek to thank him he will get all flustered and the ends of his hair will turn bright pink.

You knew very well what kind of chocolates you wanted to make for Malleus: ice cream! But you didn't want to offer him a bowl of ice cream, so you search the internet to see if there was any type of Valentine's Day chocolate that involves ice cream and you find the ice cream bonbons, which are basically balls of ice cream, covered in chocolate.

The recipe you found was for vanilla and chocolate ice creams, which also seemed like the safest choices. You don't make a lot, but you can still make several of each type of chocolate and decorate them with white sprinkles on the dark and milk chocolate ones and rainbow sprinkles on the white chocolate ones.

Unfortunately, since they are cold sweets, you can't put them in a normal box, so you put them in a container and store them in the fridge.

The next day, Valentine's Day, you wonder how you're going to get those chocolates to Malleus. You don't want to ruin them and you're afraid it could take so long to find him that the chocolates will start to melt even if you use a container designed for cold food. At that moment, someone knocks on your door.

“Good morning, (Y/N).” Malleus greets you when you open the door. “Happy Valentine's Day. I hope you had a good night's sleep. I'm here to fulfill the tradition of offering chocolates to my loved ones.” He snaps his fingers and a beautiful black heart-shaped box with a translucent green bow appears floating.

Malleus takes the box and hands it to you with a slight but sincere smile. As you pick up the box and thank him, you remember that ever since you woke up you were almost certain to hear movement outside Ramshackle Dorm. And that's why you ask Malleus if he was there for a long time.

“I will not hide the fact that I arrived before you woke up, but it has not been that long. Only two or three hours perhaps?”

He tells you it's no problem, for him it's not that long, but you still invite him in since he's been out there for so long to you. The two of you sit on the lounge sofa and Malleus can't take his eyes off you, he's so eager for you to open the box. When you finally do, you find beautiful hearts of your favorite chocolate with detailed and delicate line art. Malleus was so happy with your reaction, especially if you say you feel sorry for eating them because they are so beautiful.

“Im glad you enjoyed the presentation so much.” he says with an amused smile. “But please do not let that stop you from consuming them. Unfortunately, their edibility is ephemeral, so don’t let your desire to appreciate its exterior prevent you from savoring its interior and appreciating it in its entirety. Furthermore, I truly wish to know your opinion about my cooking.”

“You were the one who made them?” you ask.

“Yes, it was I.” he confirms with a proud smile. “That is why I'm rather looking forward to hearing your thoughts.”

You take one of the chocolate hearts and bite into it to taste your favorite filling too. It was delicious and Malleus couldn't have been happier about it. Then you remember your chocolates and get up to get them without telling him what you were going to do in the kitchen. You return with a modest-looking container for cold food in your hands and sit down next to him again.

You apologize for not having a box as pretty as the one he gave you and explain that you didn't know how you were going to get those chocolates to him since they had to be kept cold.

“There is no need to worry about that.” he reassures you with a loving smile. “I completely understand your dilemma. Fortunately, you needn't to think about that anymore for I am already here.”

He gladly accepts the container and opens it.

“They certainly look lovely” he says, smiling. “Am I right in concluding that your container dilemma indicates that you made them?” When he sees you confirm, his smile grows and becomes even more affectionate. “From the looks of it alone you seem to have done an excellent work. I'm looking forward to trying them.”

He carefully picks up one of the chocolates and bites into it, his eyes widen when he realized what the inside was.

“Ice cream...” he mutters to himself with a charming smile and then looks at you lovingly. “Is this why you had trouble figuring out a way to preserve them while transporting them? You focused so much on doing something to my liking that you ended up neglecting the logistical aspect.”

You confirm and he laughs heartily.

“I believe you are as aware of the rules of this tradition as I am.” his smile becomes seductive. “Chocolate made by one's hands should be a declaration of love, shall it not?” He takes your reaction as a confirmation.

He caresses your face before giving you a delicate, loving kiss on the cheek. You look at him and see his lime green eyes shining with the most love there could be.

After that he will offer to accompany you to Diasomnia so you can deliver your chocolates to the others. He will never leave your side again and will find any excuse to get so close to you that he will respectfully put his arm around your shoulder or waist.

Silver is too oblivious to realize what's happening between you and Malleus. As for the chocolates, he doesn't give you your favorites because he doesn't know which they were, but he gives you the ones he genuinely thought and hoped you would like. And even if they weren't your favorites, they were ones you really liked.

Lilia will have that smile every time he looks at you two and will try to mess with you a little. As for the chocolates, he said he would have liked to have made your chocolates himself but, you know, rules and misunderstandings to be avoided. (For a moment you shared Riddle's adoration for rules) So he offers you the most beautiful chocolates of your favorite type that he could find.

Sebek will enter into an internal conflict because he doesn't know whether to be jealous of you or happy for his liege. As for the chocolates, he doesn't give you anything too fancy, the chocolates even seem quite simple and basic, but “coincidentally” they are your favorite type and with your favorite filling too.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

*Sorry for the Cook Leona kinda bait, but let's be real, he would never even try to cook for anyone, not even himself, haha. Also, he is fully aware that he is terrible at cooking and he didn't want to give you poorly made chocolates when he could buy the best ones out there.

Did this get too long? Sorry 😣

[teaboot]

One of the biggest eye-openers for me back when a I went to church was that like…

Oh man how do I explain it.

There’s this prevalent idea I see a lot in Christian circles that if you pray right, if you follow God correctly, if you’re a truly virtuous person, your problems will be solved, right?

If you suffer, if you fall ill, if bad things happen, it’s because you aren’t good enough. You don’t need medicine because if you’re worthy, if you’re faithful enough, God will reward you by healing you. Right?

But like. Discussing this with my mother, and travelling out east with our pastor… Jesus didn’t spend all his time with perfect, virtuous people. Jesus didn’t seek out and heal well-to-do, faithful, perfect Christians. In fact, there’s a specific story in which he straight up doesn’t travel out to heal a believer’s dying daughter, because she’s already “saved”. Her earthy death is okay because she’s going to heaven already.

And like… coming from our Pastor, who is one of the best guys I’ve ever met- there seems to be an ongoing, underlying message of, “Jesus doesn’t care about you if you’re a good Christian”. If you’re a good Christian, if you’re living a virtuous life on earth, then any suffering you experience is only temporary- your ETERNITY is secure. Jesus goes out of his way to meet with sinners and the unfaithful because those are the people whose souls are in danger.

So like. In that perspective, being good doesn’t make your life better, it’s just good for others and good for your soul. Praying and doing good probably won’t cure your cancer, but it may mean you don’t have to worry too much about your death.

And like. I dunno. I wouldn’t call myself a Christian, but I find myself thinking about that concept a lot

Does suffering mean you deserve a reward?

Is suffering proof that you’re unworthy?

Or is suffering just an unfortunate facet of life that doesn’t reflect on your worth, that you still have to deal with as best you can?

Maybe suffering is just suffering.

Maybe the bad things you experienced weren’t about you

And maybe you just gotta try your best and be kind anyways, so you can rest easy when you go

[sooniebby]

an idea; a (bottom) male reader who’s apart of an indie jpop boy group. The members are just you, a childhood friend, and three other people you met through college/random events. Your group was lucky one of the members comes from a rich family that doesn’t mind spending some money to help you guys out—waiting until a company finds interest and asks to manage you.

The first month or so is rough so you all find part time jobs in the mean time. But regular jobs just don’t interest you so it takes you awhile to even apply for any… mostly getting fired after the first week or so because you end up showing late all the time.

You’re left wondering what to do when you come across a website of camboys and camgirls. Some of them show full nudity while others stay dressed for the most part.

It intrigues you enough but you don’t do it without running it through your members. They’re mostly shocked you even want to do that… but other than that, they just tell you to not speak and wear a mask.

Easy peasy. You chose a simple and almost silly name, “Shy Usagi” since your mask resembled a rabbit.

The first stream is awkward, you had to figure out a way to talk. Surprisingly, a few of the people that dropped in were intrigued by your refusal to talk. You had expected them to immediately want you naked but it seemed you attracted people that liked the teasing aspect of camboys.

Though you were 99% sure it was only men watching you. The first few weeks, you only wore skimpy clothing and did anything they requested. The most sexual thing you did was suck a dildo.

Occasionally you’d masturbate on live and that would always garner more attention. But there was always one person who would tip you no matter the stream.

“Hitachikoi”

You were sure he was probably an old man but you didn’t care, money was money. He knew how to flirt so you never felt weirded out with his attention.

Things were going reasonably well until after your group’s performance at a little festival. You had spilt away for a second to look around when you bumped into someone. He had his face covered with a mask and baseball cap.

You were going to apologize and go about your way when you caught that he was holding a poster of your group. He didn’t say anything as he simply held up a marker.

It took a second before you finally realized what he wanted. “Oh! Sure.” You were a bit excited, having never really signed anything before. Your signature was a bit messy but still legible.

“Here you go, thanks for coming to see us!”

“I only came to see you.”

“Hm?” You leaned in closer, wondering if you had heard him right. Only you?

The man let out a laugh as he reached up and pulled down his mask, leaning down so you could get a clear look at his face. “Mhm. Only you… (Name)… or ah,”

His hand reached up and cupped your face, his thumb pressing on your bottom lip. It was only when he pulled off his cap that you got a good look at his face.

He… he wasn’t some random guy. He was a famous actor… a famous actor knew about you?

“Shy Usagi? It’s nice to see your entire face… that mask never hid your lips.”

You could stare as he pushed his thumb into your mouth. The only thing you were thinking of was if he was about to ruin your career before it even took off? But why would he care? Why was he even—

“Don’t worry your pretty little head. Someone like you isn’t made to think so hard,” he said, a slight frown on his lips. “I just, well I got tired of watching behind a screen. I wanted to touch you…”

His other hand moved to rest on your hip, pulling you closer as he pressed his lips against your ear.

“To be inside of you instead of that dildo… I mean, I’m paying you so much money, it’s only fair I get to have you, right? Mhm? I can have you, yea? I’ve thought of fucking your mouth for days now.”

“(Name)! Where are you?”

He pulled away, rolling his eyes. You only watched as he slipped back on his mask and cap, pulling your shirt back down. “You’ll stream tonight.” He said, as if he was giving you an order, not asking.

“I’ll see you tonight, baby. Wear something red tonight… that’s my favorite color.”

With that he left you standing there, mouth agape just as one of your members walked over to you.

You… were so fucking screwed.

In more ways than one.

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @secretivemessenger @chill-guy-but-cooler @star-3214 @tehyunnie @remdayz @cherry-blossoms-187 @tomoeroi @mello-life25 @kiiyoooo @ofclyde @smellwell @iwishtobeacrow @euthymiko @rhetorical-conscience @mooncarvers-world @love-kha1 @anchoredphoenix @yuzuukix @bensontrechic

I already made a face claim lol.



[burymagdalene]

Chateau Lobby #4 - S. Reid x Reader

Whilst trying to navigate romantic relationships after prison, Spencer finds himself in love and caught in an all-too-serious non-relationship with reader. Wanting to break this streak, he asks to spend Valentine's Day properly with a real date. Afterward, they find themselves desperate with trying to express their love for each other.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smut (18+ pls pls), fluff, and maybe a bit of angst at the start tags: switch!Spencer, blowjob, fingering, a bit of munch!Spencer, pinv sex, age gap (not explicit, but I was foaming at the mouth thinking about it while writing), praise, riding, creampie, lots of teasing and love… all that jazz. wc: 6.9k ;-) a/n: Happy Valentine's Day! I had to name this one after essentially the best love song ever. I kiss all of you!

Work is grueling as usual, couples flooded the diner you work at for their pre- Valentine’s Day festivities with flowers in hand and shit eating grins plastered to stay.

Yet, you’re off soon and you can taste your freedom just like the stale coffee you’ve been throwing back all day as the bell to the front door jingles with more fervor than usual,

“I want to take you out. Properly. Friday. It’ll be a good, proper, date. Yeah.”

You blink in bewilderment, apron tied around your waist as Spencer proposes your first actual date at the kitschy restaurant you work at. 

After Spencer got out of prison, his perceptions around a genuine connection in a relationship seemed to be as distant a reality as the person who he was before prison. Upon meeting you, a small radiant glow around you at all times as you poured him his coffee during his lunch breaks beckoned him into this altercation he’s in now with you.

The dull incessant nagging on his shoulder at all times whispering his new inadequacies in relationships has steered him into a solitude state he has never experienced before. You couldn’t possibly stoop so low to fall for an ex-convict? Would he even call himself that? Would you? 

Most importantly, he had no idea how to steer a relationship before this complete 180 in his life, and now he’s even more lost to the tenderness he’s craving so deeply it hurts to even give himself a taste of optimism within the relationship he’s developed with you.

Spencer has somehow held himself back from you in all these months in such a critical way that it has resulted in a bond which the concept of he’s priorly abhorred. You only have sex. 

Well, that’s kind of impossible for him. Only sex. But every time he’s seen you, been with you alone, it has led to sweat mingling and his dry whining. You two can’t help but to talk about your lives, your passions, can’t help but give each other sickening support and kindness that makes him nervously chew the skin of his thumbnail. 

Despite how much he thinks about something genuine between you two, in reality, he just gets scared. Simply put. He has seen and been through unimaginable horrors, it scares him to bare that to another person, to someone who brings aid to him. Pushing you away in any sort is not something he can handle, so instead he’s managed to come up with a only slightly agonizing set up for the both of you.

It’s better than confessing completely and inevitably driving you away with his damages. 

Except, this clearly hasn’t worked out. It’s February, he’s been seeing you every weekend for months and Spencer cannot bear the thought of taking all of your time like this and you getting nothing on Valentine’s Day. It sickens him, it strikes him one night. If you told him that some other guy you were seeing had put you in the exact situation he’s put you in, and you’re not even receiving flowers and an all expenses paid dinner on Valentine’s Day, he’d personally show up to his apartment and kill him.

 So he’s finally stepped up.

A sweep of bravery flooded his senses on his lunch break, and he was up on his feet walking to where he knows you are at this time without even thinking.

Your manager, however, was not as excited about this distracting public confession, and grumbled out a prompt for you to leave early before causing a further hindrance, and now you two are sitting next to each other on the curb outside. 

Spencer is staring holes into the side of your smiling face as you pick a loose string from your jeans.

“I can’t believe you asked me out at work,” you giggle and shift your gaze at him for a split second “didn’t really know if you even liked me.”

“What? Of course I like you, you’re the only person I spend time with.”

“Hm. Yeah, it’s just confusing sometimes. I really like you, but usually when guys like you back they want to take you out, ha.”

You end your sentence with a dry laugh that explains to Spencer how you’ve been feeling throughout the time you’ve been sleeping together. 

“I’m so sorry. I just- I thought it would be easier on you. Than for you to actually be with me. Why didn’t you mention anything?”

You sniff, like knowing that what you’re about to say is probably a bit too mean to say to someone who just asked you to be his valentine.

“Why should it be on me to say something, you don’t tell me anything. Nothing about how you feel about me, apparently. I never said anything because I was going to put up with whatever until you dropped me because I care about seeing you too much.”

That makes Spencer shift his gaze to his own knees in front of him.

“Yeah, I’m unfair. I guess I just assumed that because you’re more confrontational than I am.”

“Am I though?”

Spencer sighs, with how many times you’ve dogged on him for certain things he’s said or done, yes. But you’ve never really mentioned how the relationship was impacting you, it’s easier for you to bring up menial topics to him, he guesses. 

“No, you’re not.” He finalizes.

You huff out a laugh and place a kiss on his blazer-clad shoulder– a peace offering. Grabbing his arm, you pull his jacket sleeve up to check the time. 

“I’m gonna drive home before you have to go back to work. I’m sorry I was mean. I’m really excited to go on a date with you friday. I’ve never had a Valentine’s Day date.” 

Standing up, you brush off your concrete imprinted palms on the back of your jeans before tilting up Spencer’s chin (he’s remains utterly still sitting on the curb) to meet your gaze. He looks away slightly to your shoes and rests his forehead against your stomach, a wordless apology as he nods against you. 

Again, you place your palms to his cheeks to look at you, he’s always had a problem with maintaining eye contact for long periods of time.

“And…you mr. gentleman, are you excited to wine and dine me?”

Spencer’s kicked-puppy look dissipates as his love-struck smile takes its place.

“Yes. I actually think it’s going to be the best night I’ve had since… maybe since I’ve met you.”

Smiling, you’re satisfied.

“That’s right. Okay, Spencer. Thank you. I’ll see you Friday.”

You try to suppress your grin as you spin away on your heels, but Spencer catches it before you turn and it heats his frigid body from sitting outside for so long. How has he been so dumb all this time? Somehow it being easy with you, painfully easy to be treated tenderly by you, since the beginning has slipped his mind. Of course, an actual relationship with you would come as naturally as it has since you started. 

He’s never been so sure of it. 

✵

Spencers looking at himself in the bathroom mirror as the bouquet he picked up for you and the personally annotated book he’s giving you sit on his kitchen table, awaiting his arrival to put their still existence into motion. 

He knows you well, he’s intently stored away every single piece of information you have given him. He knows everything you’ve been through, the best day of your life, what turns you on so much you get embarrassed… so on and so forth. Yet, he’s staring at his pre-date reflection right now seeing how his face has drained of all color. 

The restaurant he picked has been mentioned by Rossi a few times as a favorite. Fancy, Italian, expensive, and Spencer was able to get a reservation by the skin of his teeth for Valentine’s Day because he (regrettably) had to pull a “I know David Rossi, yeah..” on the phone a few days ago. 

So he should be rather prepared, he knows where you’re going, he’s been on a date before, sure. Yet…

Spencer flicks off the light in his bathroom to force himself away from the mirror, agonizing over his face isn’t productive in the least. You already know what he looks like. 

He drives in complete silence to your apartment, he’s already anxious as ever and he has to be behind the wheel, which is not his forte. But the thought of seeing you in the passenger seat glowing after a fancy meal appeals to him so greatly his stomach swirls.

Spencer’s early, of course. He couldn’t not be. He was probably ready for the date 3 hours before the time he said he would pick you up at. With this day off he’s been able to sit and pace and freak out for hours. Great. 

When he knocks with the fist holding the book for you he hears frantic scrambling for thirty seconds or so before you swing the door open– 

“Spencer!” You gasp belatedly when you see the flowers, “oh my god! Come in, I need to put my shoes on and I’m good to go.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, so pretty…” Spencer mumbles against the top of your head when you pull him into a greeting hug.

“Mmm. Happy Valentine’s Day. You smell good.”

You can’t help yourself, wrapping your arms around Spencer’s neck and pulling him into a kiss immediately. All too easy, you’re used to your mouths working furiously together. It's like another language for you.

But Spencer is pulling away slightly, speaking against your lips, “I'm trying to take you on a date first.”

Groaning lightly you start kissing him again, resulting in his hands placed on your waist slowly peeling you off him. Spencer's hands and lips have a mind of their own though, his hands are firmly pushing you off as his lips chase yours as you separate.

Laughing, you tilt your head to one side to inspect him, “So after the date you’ll get me home by 8:00 and give me a chaste kiss goodnight?”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head at your toying. 

“If you’ll let me, I’ll fuck you after the date. But, sure I’ll also give you a chaste goodnight kiss, though it’s 7:30 so you can rule out being home by 8:00. Sorry.” He pulls in his lips and raises his eyebrows as if to say, that’s that. 

“If I’ll let you?”

“Right.”

“Mmkay.”

“And… if you like it I can do that again and again,” he chuckles and rubs his forehead with his palm, “and then I’ll take you on a second date.”

You avert your eyes to hide the tell tale signs of you flustered, hating whenever he gets the upper hand in flirting because you can not take it as well as Spencer can when you dish it out.

“Whatever-” whipping your head around trying to locate your shoes Spencer giggles under his breath, your presence has totally eased his nerves. He watches you pick up your heeled boots and he kneels slowly in front of you to place them on your feet.

“You’re sweet,” at your words Spencer smiles to himself and zips up the sides of your boots. “I’m so excited for the rest of the night if this is gonna be my treatment.”

“What? Princess treatment? You should be excited, I’m going to be cutting your food and feeding it to you.”

“Ooh. Waving me with a big leaf and feeding me grapes?”

“Something like that. Yeah.” He smiles and stands up, grasping your hands to help you up. “Very pretty. You look beautiful.”

“You look beautiful too,” you poke his side, “I love this maroon tie. I wish you would let me kiss you.”

Spencer sighs at your dramatics and cups your face for a soft kiss. You sigh into it and he kisses your neck once in finality. 

“Better?”

Smiling bashfully, you nod. 

✵

The looks of the restaurant struck you immediately, and there is a nervous prickling at your spine that happens when you’re in fancier places than you think you deserve– a feeling of being a persona non grata. 

To hide your insecurity, you grasp Spencer’s hand as he tells the hostess the reservation name and whistle lowly below your breath at the long draping lace curtains around the room and the barely-there candlelight illuminating the entirety of the restaurant. 

Sitting down, you immediately start the date with a joke that falls flat, “So, do you take all your ladies here on the first date?”

Either Spencer thought the joke was distasteful or he didn’t get it, either way he furrowed his brows and shifted his eyes to the side for a moment like he’s looking around for a translation from a bystander.

“No?”

“I’m just- yeah, I’m kidding. Sorry. I’m nervous.”

“I was really nervous before getting you tonight, my hair… I don’t know.”

“Ha, seriously?” Unbelievable you think, his hair is slightly wind ruffled and his curls look ringlet-y, you never could wrap your head around the tales of the plain mean teasing over his looks he’s lived through. “You’re extremely handsome, I tell you that.”

“You do. I wanted to impress you.”

“You do.” 

The whole dinner fills your stomach with butterflies that mixes extraordinarily well with whatever red wine Spencer ordered for the two of you. It has you leaning forward when you laugh, has you running your foot up and down the inside of his calf, causing his voice to spike up two octaves whenever you trail up slowly.

Spencer halts your movements quickly though, grabbing lightly at your ankle to stop its ministrations, making you hum around your fork and him roll his eyes light heartedly. 

The night was going very well once your romantic jitters melted away into a comfortability you felt you could only possess when around Spencer, something nobody else has given you before. 

It was utterly ridiculous, feeling so lovey dovey, you can see how the holiday has some emotional merit to it and isn’t just a capitalist money grab to drain the pockets of couples and make single women feel unworthy. Though maybe you’re just feeling that because you’re not on the victims end of the money grab, regardless…

On the other side of the booth, Spencer has been spiralling into a clusterfuck of thoughts around how much more deeply invested he is in you than he thought. You’re here though, you didn’t turn down his proposal and you kept mentioning how excited you are.

Still, every exhale out of his lungs is a shudder in fear of a looming rejection of an inquisition he’s not even sure he’s going to ask, or if it’s already set in place. Are you dating? 

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Um, ahh, um, are we dating?’

What an idiot!

You burst out laughing. Jesus, he must’ve been sick mulling over the aftermath of the date going back to your former dynamic of who even knows what. You couldn’t possibly live with the idea either, but are probably more keen on living in the moment than Spencer.

“You wanna date me? Be my boyfriend?” Your laughter is trailing off, but you have a smile as you say it from giddiness rather than mocking.

A gust of air then, “More than anything.”

The chilly air outside that was previously cooling both of your anxieties upon entering the restaurant meets the same warm cheeks for an opposing reason now. Hand in hand, you walk with full bellies back to Spencer’s car.

Filled with the first secure sense of trust and vulnerability in your life, hand in hand you swing your arms together like a lovesick teenager. 

All hesitation around what you could do or say to drive Spencer away flies out into the abrasive February air and off with the wind, so you ask, 

“When, if you know, did you first realize that you.. like-liked me?”

“Like-like huh? Haven’t heard that one in a while.” Spencer opens the passenger side door for you and guides you in with a palm on your lower back. He watches you buckle yourself in and leans his arms against the top of the car, looking down at where you’re seated he contemplates his answer seriously.

“I knew I like-liked you once I first saw you brushing your teeth in my bathroom the first night you stayed over. Hm. Yeah, I was watching from the doorway in awe, and seeing you do something so… banal, and it tearing me open. I wanted to see it every night.” He shuts the door and walks to his side as you sit staring out the window where he once was.

Spencer turns his car key, putting on your seat warmer before his own, and rubs your cheek with his thumb. “I really enjoyed myself tonight.”

“I first knew I loved you when you picked me up from work when it was raining. I’m not even sure what, but seeing your wet hair and maybe that getting your suit wet didn’t matter at all to you… I just felt so… I went home and stared at my hands all wet for like an hour. Then I woke up the next day with a cold, ha. I’m… so, yeah.”

You know what you said, you’re not shocked it came out and you didn’t want to really avoid it anymore with frivolous watered-down terms. 

Spencer laughs and places his forehead against the wheel at a stoplight. “You’re perfect. I can’t believe it, I’m so lucky and you’re so perfect and I realized I love you now in the same way I realized I did when you were in my bathroom. It feels the same.”

✵

Now you’re back at Spencer’s apartment. Head tilted up and pressed against his front door as he’s fumbling with taking off your coat while simultaneously kissing away your lipstick, it rubbing on his chin in a smudged crimson streak.

Your thumbs are looped through the belt hoops in his trousers as you’re pulling his hips against your own.

Spencer always has a way of kissing you that feels all consuming, and you think you cannot possibly kiss anyone else in your life without implementing everything you’ve learned about kissing Spencer. Every kiss in your future would be executed to roll Spencer Reid’s eyes back, you can’t possibly kiss anyone ever again.

Sucking on your top lip, he flings your coat to the ground and wraps his greedy arms around your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer to him. 

It’s almost a grounding exercise within itself to make out with Spencer, you can’t possibly hear, feel, see or taste anything other than him when he’s this way. The universe exists solely between your lips and the way your overactive brains become a fuzzy-soft blend of peace when you’re passing your tongues between mouths is placating.

Still puppeteering Spencer through his belt hoops, you move him towards his worn leather couch you’ve associated his scent with. Spencer is sat with his legs spread open in a lazy manspread as you stand and look down at him.

“Should I sit?” You poke teasingly, knowing by the dick print shining through his trousers that he could beg for it pretty easily. Spencer nods slowly, pulling his hands from his sides to grab onto your hips to pull you down.

You stop him though, arm placed firmly on his shoulder, halting yourself from falling onto him. You would like to hear how badly he wants it. 

“Woah, tiger. I think I asked you something, no?” you’re laughing plainly at the grovelling face he makes that you know he doesn’t realize he’s making. Ever the overreaction. 

“Yes. You should sit.” He grumbles.

“Why?”

“Because I know how much you like to feel yourself against me when you’re needy like this, and…I want to do everything for you. Because if I don’t have you against me soon I’m going to fall apart.”

Sounds good enough.

Humming happily you straddle Spencer’s lap and reattach your lips onto his, welcoming the inevitable swollen look with no complaint. Without hesitation, you wiggle your hips contentedly against his crotch. Spencer's sharp inhale of pleasure never gets old. 

 Cupping your jaw into his warm hands he whispers against your lips, “This a good enough reason, or should I give you one more?”

Gasping lightly against the friction you’re creating you respond, “Sounds like you want to give me another reason anyway.”

“I can always feel the way you tighten your legs around my hips. It happens almost instantly every time… like you have to brace yourself to feel me against you. I can always tell how badly you want it.”

He’s mumbling against your neck as he says it, partly because he can feel your pulse race against his lips and partly to hide how red he gets when he feels brave enough to talk this dirty to you.

Once he starts sucking a mark onto the sensitive part of your neck, every nerve in your body is on high alert to each move he makes and you need to part, if only briefly, to regain your composure, you’re all too frazzled, a live wire.

“Spence, can I suck you off?”

The pained half-groan half-laugh Spencer lets out is exactly what you expected to hear as you crawl down on the floor between his legs, rubbing his thighs up and down with open palms. 

“Y-yeah. Um. Why should you, I mean, why should I let you?”

He’s failing miserably at trying to make a call back to your prior teasing, too impacted by the visual of you between his thighs to make a coherent, taunting remark. 

“Because I’m supposed to be getting the princess treatment.” You unzip his pants slowly while looking into his half-lidded eyes.

Your heart always flutters at this part. Before you find your usual rhythm you always assume that you’re going to forget everything you’ve learned about sucking dick and ruin the atmosphere, the pressure of caring is almost always crushing.

Still, you find yourself eagerly pulling his dick out of his underwear, and shuffling towards him more till your arms are overtop his upper thighs and the top of your head is brushing his lower stomach, which curls inward when you place kisses up his length.

“Woah-” Spencer whispers out as you continue to kiss him lightly. Instead of crudely grabbing your hair or face, his hands find themselves behind his head as he lengthens his body out like a cat sunbathing. 

Running the tip of your tongue across his frenulum, Spencer twists his hips to the side, trying to run away from the pleasure and as a result his cock wipes against your cheek. You grab the base now, keeping it steady so it’s not like you’re working on a moving canvas and take the tip into your mouth.

You place your tongue out, covering your bottom teeth enough so you’re comforted in knowing you’re not going to scrape him, and suck lightly while moving your tongue that's against the bottom of his tip in circles. 

“That’s! That’s enough, okay. Jesus.” Spencer says a bit too loud and jolts your system, which was just falling into a methodological pace.

Pulling back, you lick your lips and pull them into your mouth, tasting him even when he’s not in your mouth anymore and look at him expectantly.

“S-sorry. I didn’t mean that. I was going to cum. You can keep going… only if you want.” He tries to save his little oversensitive outburst from mere seconds ago. 

Wordless, you move back to what you were doing. You want to listen to him a bit though, as a treat, so you take more of him into your mouth instead of focusing all of your energy on the most sensitive part of him. Spencer hums in content and his head falls back against the couch. 

A small trickle of your spit is slipping out and running down his cock, you always feel so embarrassed when it gets messy, you don’t know why, you don’t feel awkward at all when Spencer is going down on you so enthusiastically that you can feel his saliva running down your inner legs. 

Now you’re thinking about how good it feels when he’s going down on you. You whine softly around him and put a hand that was resting on his thigh to rub over your tights and underwear from where you reach under your dress.

Spencer was already close earlier, watching you try to touch yourself as you give him head is simply too much again. 

“Angel, d-done, I’m…okay-”

You pull off of him with a pop and the trail of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his dick stretches and breaks as you talk.

“Can we go to your bedroom please?” it's hoarse and rough but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“Come ‘ere.” Spencer stretches out his hands to you so he can pull you up from his carpet. Tucking himself back into his underwear for some semblance of modesty, you two walk the short trip to his bedroom as you hold onto his arm.

Like it's your own, you jump and land on your back onto his comforter which all but swallows you whole as you relax against it, excitement thrumming through your veins as if your cells are chanting “my turn, my turn!”

Spencer lithely crawls on top of you, sitting on his knees as his thighs cage yours in. 

“You looked so pretty tonight, I’m almost mourning having to take all this off.”

“Almost, though.”

“Yeah, I know I’ll probably cheer up pretty quickly when I do, huh?”

You laugh and cover your face with your hands, it’s so stupid but he always makes you feel like you're melting all over when he’s being corny. 

Soon enough, Spencer is peeling your tights down with your underwear, and you’re squirming along with him while trying to help and shimmy out of your dress and bra. For a small second, Spencer pulls away to take off his blazer and roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

Leaning down on one forearm by your head, he begins kissing you again. Your mouths work together as his other hand trails his fingertips incredibly light against your inner thigh. Biting down softly on his bottom lip, a plea. Spencer uses his middle and ring finger to gather your wetness up to your clit.

The circles he’s rubbing against you leave you moaning and whining against his open mouth as he kisses you through it, maybe throwing in a few “aw’s” or hums in approval as he continues to work his fingers against you.

You both know exactly where this is leading to, and he always has to thoroughly prep you so that you can painlessly take all of him. Those same fingers move against your opening now, Spencer places the middle finger against you and is met with little resistence, so he begins fucking you slowly with it.

Back arching up so your chests brush against each other, Spencer take’s your opportunity of bliss to slip in another finger, scissoring you open as wet sounds emanate between your thighs. 

With two of his fingers in you now, his efforts to kiss your lips have become harder than ever as you become more and more nonverbal and increasingly whiny. 

“Where’d all your teasing go? What happened to calling the shots?” Murmured at your chin as your jaw opens with a whimper. You shake your head, you can’t entertain this, he’s kicking you while you’re down and it’s not right!

Looking down, Spencer see’s your toes curling in and slowly pulls his fingers out of you, a loud suction-y noise following his absence. You blink your eyes open blearily, trying to refocus yourself and reorient yourself into this living plane.

Spencer has stealthily moved down to where your legs are spread open and he’s looking at you exposed with so much adoration in his eyes that even though you’re blinking away tears, you can see it clearly. He’s in love with you.

“Oh, please.” You gasp out, trying to cut to the chase before Spencer asks if he can eat you out. He smiles, and asks anyway to frustrate you good naturedly. 

“Do you want me to return the favor, my valentine?” he swoons.

“Yeah, uhhuh, please.”

“I saw you touching yourself when you were using your mouth on me earlier,” he moves his head between its rightful home in between your thighs, “were you thinking about how good it feels to be in that position?”

“Mm. Yeah.”

“Lucky you then, huh?”

“M-mhm!”

He’s tired of hearing himself talking now, he just wants to be nestled into your pussy and let his tongue work you up in a more productive way than pitiful teasing.

With the palm of his hand flat against your very lower belly, Spencer simultaneously pushes down and up, exposing more of your clit to him and adding pressure to your stomach. He kisses your clit and pokes his tongue out as you lightly circle it as your hips squirm.

Intermittently, Spencer suctions your clit, pulls away completely, and goes back in to repeat the pattern. You’re smeared over his lips and chin and half convinced that he keeps pulling back to see your strings of come stick to his lips.

He changes methods, using his tongue to lick and suck at the source of your slick, nose prodding at your clit. You take it into your own hands to increase the stimulation on your clit as you rock your hips against his nose, Spencer muffles a moan into you.

Recognizing this, Spencer pulls back up to attach his lips back to your needy clit. Through his lips he’s running his tongue against you and the pleasure is unrelenting and intense. The exact stuff that makes you come.

“P-please stay there.” You manage to whimper out, the thought of him changing positions or rhythm is too scary for you to stay silent when you’re this close to finishing. You can feel him smile against you as he stays where you want him to.

Your hands reach for his hair as you thread it between your fingers, the silky stands grounding you to the bed before you prepare to come and fly out to wherever in the space-time-continuum Spencer takes you whenever he goes down on you.

Eventually, the pleasure gets to be too much for you to stifle and savor off much longer, you’re too greedy to ask him to edge you too. You don’t have enough willpower to put this off, you can ask him to eat you out for hours and hours some other day.

With one last suction, stars dance behind your eyelids as Spencer holds your hips down to suck off every last bit of come you have for him, trying his best to lick you clean when you finish all over his face. 

There’s nothing to do but take a slow deep breath in and a long deep breath out as you put the pieces of your brain back together. Once you do, Spencer is up by your face again as he was earlier while fingering you, and he’s palming himself over his underwear.

“Okay?” He asks through pleasure filled furrowed brows.

Nodding, you laugh, you can still feel yourself throbbing for Christ’s sake. Spencer nuzzles his nose against your cheek and kisses your jaw. You let your eyes close again, the feeling of his lips against your skin calming down your racing heart.

It’s a completely silent and peaceful atmosphere of Spencer kissing where he can as you come down until you feel his curious fingers swipe at your clit again. Immediately, your eyes snap open.

“I can’t- I can’t.” You bargain like your life is on the line.

Spencer pulls his fingers away for a moment, looking into your eyes and rubbing it once more as you gasp so hard a strand of hair in Spencer’s face blows to the side, he leaves you alone then.

You cannot fathom how Spencer is almost fully clothed right now. With shaky, malleable limbs, you pull him a bit closer to you and slowly pop each button of his top open. He’s watching your fingers work against his shirt as he continues to rub himself over his underwear gently.

Laying flat beside you know, Spencer lifts his hips up to pull his underwear down finally. Like a moth to a flame, you sit up and take him into your hand again, missing the feel of him hard against you, you note that you want to ride him more than anything. 

“Spencer, darling, can I ride you?”

For a moment he has an unreadable face, but you know that gears are turning in his head at such a rate that he can’t compute them into a response yet.

“Tonight was supposed to be about you.”

You roll your eyes.

“Spencer, darling, can I ride you for a bit?”

“Yes.” 

He responds just as you finish your sentence, eagerly pulling your wrist so you can straddle him again for the second time tonight.

Sitting right below where is cock is hard, you wrap your hands around him and place him up to your stomach, displaying how deep he’s going to be inside of you once you’re fully settled on him, at his dazed face you tease, “deep, huh?”

Spencer shuts his eyes in embarrassment, but his dick twitches and you smile down at it like it’s giving you Spencer’s insider secrets that he can’t say out loud. 

Lifting yourself up, you shakily rub him over your entrance a few times before sitting down slowly on his head. You both whine as you start, Spencer's hand on your hip rubbing circles while his eyes are still closed.

You want him to watch so badly. You sink down further, almost all the way with a small squeal that has Spencer’s eyes opening and his stomach tightening, checking to see if you’re in any pain. 

“M’ okay. Fucking big, can’t get used to it.” You trail off.

A light pink blush appears on his cheeks like your compliment had come from a sweeter, more innocent place in your heart. You place your palms on his chest as you take a deep breath in and sink down all the way. 

“Fuck- perfect. You okay?” Spencer speaks through his teeth at your whining as you accommodate him.

Again you laugh to take the fiery attention completely off of you, “So much dick.”

“Stopp.” Spencer whines. He feels so much like a dude when you compliment him like this, his ego doesn’t even know what to do with these extremely filthy compliments. He assumes you feel the same way when he’s fingering you and won’t shut up about how you feel and sound. 

Starting with small circles, it feels like Spencer is churning you as deliciously as humanly possible. The more small movements you give the deeper the need to actually ride him is, you stop holding back and start picking up your hips against his as your nails dig indents into his chest. 

Spencer’s singing out soft uh’s with each pass of your hips and you’re (unfortunately) not able to match his sweet pleads as you’re holding back full and embodied moans that slip out when you angle him perfectly inside you. 

You want to swindle it so that Spencer forgets about your prior compromise and lets you ride him till he’s coming inside of you, but when your hips stutter briefly with exhaustion, he notices immediately.

“Flip over.”

Pretending to be mad, you roll your eyes and lay flat on your back, the stretch of removing yourself from him making you suck in air between your teeth.

“Felt so good, did so good for me, please let me do that for you.” Spencer whispers into your ear as he positions you onto your side.

One of his arms from behind you is holding up your thigh closest to him, inadvertently spreading you open for him to be inside you once again. With one of his hands on your thigh and the other propping himself up for a good angle, you take matters into your own hands, lining him up with yourself again.

As easy as ever, Spencer pushes his hips slowly as he enters you from the side and your head falls to the pillow, allowing Spencer access to your ear and side of your neck.

When he finds his rhythm, he gets more confident, gaining his voice to mutter praises and filth into your ear as he fucks you.

“What’d I say? Told you I was gonna fuck you, jus’ had to be patient. Jesus, always so patient for me, with me. I’m sorry…”

You can tell he’s not exactly referring to his act of fucking you right now, moreso the push and pull he’s put you through for months. But it feels good to hear, Spencer's emotions are spilling out since he’s put out everything he’s felt for you on the table.

“Mmf. Would wa-wait forever-” You’re trying to be comforting, you’re getting your brains fucked out. The angle on your side has Spencer’s cock dragging along the front of your vagina, every single toe-curling spot is being rubbed relentlessly.

“Perfect. Perfect.”

The open mouthed kisses Spencer’s leaving on your cheek are wet and sloppy, but wholeheartedly welcome. With his face so close to yours his stubble is rubbing against you, making you whine.

Picking up on the way Spencer’s breathing becomes more shallow, you assume he’s pretty close. All night he’s been starving himself of this and you almost get excited for him, you’re too in deep.

Realizing he’s close after you have realized it, Spencer moves his hand from your inner thigh and starts rubbing your tender clit with his fingers again. Moaning loudly through a closed mouth, you let him this time.

You have to trust him to put you back together to your normal self after this though, you’re expecting a hard second orgasm and after how much the first one took you out, you have to brace yourself as you feel it brewing in the bottom of your belly.

Noticing how you’ve buried your face a bit more into the pillow and are trying to work on steadying your breathing, Spencer picks up quickly how you’re feeling. 

“I got you, you’re okay, you’re okay. I know…” He kisses along your cheek and with a squeak that makes Spencer’s own orgasm arrive, you throb around him and twitch in his arms as you come. 

He’s pressing his body into you as though he’s a weighted blanket, soothing the aftershocks that are thrumming through your entire body with his own. Spencer places his hand against your heart to gauge how you’re doing and begins peppering your skin with kisses.

“Do you feel good?” Spencer’s begun massaging your side and back softly, preventing any sore muscles from developing there before tomorrow hits you.

You come to yourself, before you had panicked, not sure how to trust Spencer completely with the vulnerability you were about to experience, but you’re fine. You’re happy. Coming harder than you have before is not scary because that’s exactly what Spencer wanted from you.

“Yes. I could cry.”

“Baby…”

Slowly you flip over to face him, a little teary but nothing streaming down your face as you plant a kiss on his lips. And then again.

There’s still a small lipstick stain on his jaw from when you were sitting above him on the couch earlier. You trace over it with your finger.

“You’re going to be finding hidden lipstick marks all over your body for weeks…” you smile and close your eyes.

“I hope,” he replies softly and earnestly, “I really like them. I really like you.”

✵

You’re both clean now. Showered and fresh as a daisy, you smell like all the products in Spencer’s shower and you’re standing behind him, arms wrapped around his waist as he dries off his hair in front of the mirror.

You can see his skin is tinged pink from the hot water, creating a sweet blush over his back and shoulders where you press your cheek against. With your skin soft and warm now, you think about the small snow flurries falling outside, how they mean nothing to the warmth coming off you and from inside you.

Spencer moves away from the mirror, allowing you your turn to get fully ready for bed. Taking out the “spare” toothbrush he has that’s essentially yours, you begin brushing your teeth. Feeling eyes looking at you from your side you turn to where Spencer is leaning against the wall and watching you.

Suddenly, you remember what he said earlier in the car, how he realized he loved you. You slow your brushing down and meet his gaze, sure that if someone else were in here to describe your looks it would be a cheesy “eyes shaped like hearts” moment. 

Your heart fills, the toothbrush clatters in his sink as you drop it and run over into his arms, placing kisses all over his lips and face, leaving small streaks of toothpaste behind. 

Through similar frantic kisses Spencer speaks in giggles,

“I still want to see this every night. I need to.”

[moonlightwritingf1]

At His Mercy | LN4

🌸 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/N try handcuffs and blindfolds in the bedroom.

🌸 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

🌸 word count ━━━━━━━ 6.5k

🌸 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, teasing, handcuffs, blindfolded

Based on this request.

“Do you trust me?” Lando’s voice was low, almost a whisper, as he leaned closer to her, his breath warm against her ear.

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to read his expression. “What are you up to, Norris?” she asked, her tone laced with both suspicion and amusement.

He smirked, that signature Lando smirk that always seemed to both infuriate and intrigue her. “Come on,” he said, his voice teasing, “just a little something I’ve been thinking about. Nothing too crazy. Unless you’re scared, of course.”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smile despite herself. “Scared? Of you? Don’t flatter yourself.”

Lando chuckled, his fingers lightly grazing her arm as he leaned back, those bright blue eyes of his sparkling with mischief. “Good. Because I was thinking… maybe we could try something new. Blindfold, maybe some handcuffs. You know, just to… spice things up a bit.”

Y/n’s eyes widened slightly, her cheeks flushing as she processed his words. She wasn’t sure if she should laugh, slap him, or kiss him. “Handcuffs? Really, Lando? What’s next, a whip and a chair?”

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, and she couldn’t help but smile. “No whips, I promise,” he said, his tone softening. “Just… trust me. I want to make you feel good. And I think you’d like it. But only if you’re comfortable, of course.”

She hesitated, her mind racing. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him—after a year together, she knew he’d never push her too far. But the idea of being so… vulnerable with him was both thrilling and terrifying. Still, the way he was looking at her, his expression so open and sincere, made her heart flutter.

“Fine,” she said finally, her voice steady despite the nervous excitement bubbling inside her. “But if I don’t like it, we’re never doing it again.”

Lando grinned, his eyes lighting up. “Deal.”

---

The apartment in Monaco was quiet, the soft hum of the air conditioning the only sound breaking the silence. Y/n sat on the couch, her legs curled under her, as Lando poured them both a glass of wine. They had spent the day exploring the city, and while Y/n had initially been nervous about being in such a luxurious setting, Lando’s easy-going nature had quickly put her at ease.

As he handed her the glass, their fingers brushed, and she felt a familiar warmth spread through her. No matter how many times they touched, it always felt electric, like the first time all over again.

“So,” she said, taking a sip of the wine, “handcuffs, huh? Where did that come from?”

Lando shrugged, his smile sheepish. “I don’t know. I just… I want to try new things with you. I want to make sure you’re always happy, always satisfied.”

She raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips. “And you think handcuffs are the way to do that?”

He laughed, setting his glass down on the table. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like the idea of having you all to myself. No distractions, just… us.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed again, and she looked down at her glass, her fingers tracing the rim. “You’re such a romantic,” she teased, though her voice was soft.

“Only for you,” he said, his tone sincere.

---

The air in the bathroom steamed, the scent of her jasmine body wash lingering as Y/N stepped out, towel wrapped snugly around her dripping body. The soft thud of her feet on the tiled floor echoed in the quiet apartment. She ran her fingers through her wet hair, the water droplets cascading down her shoulders and onto the towel. Her reflection in the fogged-up mirror caught her eye, and she felt a twist of nervous excitement in her stomach. Lando was somewhere in the apartment, waiting. She could feel his presence like a current pulling her toward him. She tightened the towel around her, the fabric rough against her damp skin, and padded out of the bathroom, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. Lando was leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, his arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched her. His eyes traveled slowly, deliberately, down the length of her body, stopping where the towel clung to her curves. “Took you long enough,” he teased, his voice low and smooth, like velvet. Y/N rolled her eyes, though her cheeks were already warm. “Shut up, Norris. You’re the one who insisted on showering together but then bailed.” He chuckled, pushing off the doorframe and closing the distance between them. His fingers brushed against her arm, sending a shiver down her spine despite the warmth radiating from her skin. “Trust me, if I’d stayed in there with you, we’d still be in there now.” She shot him a look, though her lips curved into a smile. “You’re impossible.” Lando’s grin widened, his hand moving to tuck a wet strand of hair behind her ear. “And yet, here you are.” She didn’t have a retort for that. Instead, she let herself be led into his bedroom, the air cooler now, the soft sheets beckoning. Lando left her standing there for a moment as he crossed the room to the nightstand, his movements fluid and unhurried. Her heart began to race, the towel suddenly feeling too loose, too revealing, as she watched him pull out a small, unassuming box. “So,” she said, her voice steadier than she expected, “this is the big surprise?” He turned to face her, the box in his hand, his gaze finding hers in the dim light. “Trust me,” he said again, his voice a promise. “You’re gonna love it.”

He opened it, revealing a pair of soft, silk blindfolds and a set of handcuffs. Y/n’s eyes widened as she took them in, her stomach twisting with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

“You’re serious,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando nodded, his expression serious now. “Only if you want to.”

She hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

He smiled, his eyes softening as he reached out to gently take her hand. “Trust me,” he said again, his voice steady.

“I do,” she replied, her heart fluttering.

Lando moved slowly, his movements deliberate as he tied the blindfold around her eyes, the soft silk brushing against her skin. She gasped softly as the world went dark, her other senses immediately heightening.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice close, his breath warm against her neck.

She nodded, her lips curving into a smile. “Yeah. Just… different.”

“Good different?” he teased, his fingers lightly trailing down her arm.

“We’ll see,” she replied, her voice breathless.

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. Then she felt the cool metal of the handcuffs as he gently secured her wrists, the sensation both thrilling and slightly unnerving.

“Lando…” she whispered, her voice tinged with both excitement and uncertainty.

“Trust me,” he murmured again, his lips brushing against her ear. “I’ve got you.”

And then he was kissing her, his lips hot and demanding against hers, and all her worries melted away. She moaned softly into his mouth, her body arching towards him as his hands roamed her body, teasing and exploring.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

She shivered, her body responding to every touch, every word. “Show me,” she breathed, her voice trembling.

Lando didn’t need to be told twice. His hands slid down her arms, fingertips brushing over her damp skin until he reached the edge of the towel. His touch was light, deliberate, teasing as he hooked a finger into the fabric, letting it loosen just enough to make her breath hitch. She felt the cool air of the room against her skin as the towel threatened to slip, her body instinctively arching toward him for warmth—or maybe to close the distance. His lips grazed her neck, his breath warm and uneven against her ear. “You’re fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver through her. His hands moved lower, tracing the curve of her hips, his fingers dipping just beneath the towel’s edge as if testing the boundaries of her resolve. She gasped, her pulse racing under his touch, her body responding with a heat that made her forget everything but him. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling, a mix of need and anticipation. “Trust me,” he repeated, his lips brushing against her jawline, his hands firm yet gentle as they teased her, drawing out every sensation until she was trembling in his arms.

“Lando,” she moaned, her hips bucking instinctively.

“Patience,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “We’re just getting started.”

And as he continued to tease her, drawing out her pleasure with every touch, every kiss, Y/n knew one thing for certain—she was completely and utterly his.

Lando’s hands lingered on her hips for a moment, his fingers digging slightly into the softness of her skin before he gently pushed her back onto the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight, and she let out a soft exhale as her body sank into the plush duvet. Her hands, still cuffed, instinctively moved to her sides, but Lando was quick to intervene. He reached for her wrists, lifting them above her head with a quiet firmness that made her pulse quicken.

“Keep them there,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. His lips brushed against her ear as he leaned in, his breath warm and uneven. “Don’t move them. Not unless I tell you to.”

Y/n swallowed, her heart racing as she nodded. The blindfold was still securely in place, blocking her vision, amplifying her other senses. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, even though she couldn’t see it. His hands began to explore her body, starting with her arms, tracing the delicate lines of her shoulders, down to the curve of her biceps. His touch was deliberate, unhurried, and it sent shivers cascading down her spine.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed, his voice filled with an awe that made her stomach flutter. “Every inch of you.”

His hands moved lower, skimming over her ribs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She tensed, a soft gasp escaping her lips as his touch lingered there, teasing her, drawing out the sensation until she was squirming beneath him.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need.

“Shh,” he hushed her, his lips trailing down her neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses in their wake. “Let me take my time with you.”

His hands continued their exploration, moving lower, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist, dipping into the dip of her hips. His touch was feather-light, almost torturously slow, and she could feel the heat pooling between her legs, her body responding to him in ways that made her head spin.

“You’re so fucking soft,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His hands moved to her thighs, his fingers digging into the supple flesh, his touch firm yet gentle. She could feel the heat of his breath against her skin as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the inside of her thigh. “And you smell so good.”

“Lando—” her voice cracked, her hips bucking involuntarily as his lips pressed against her skin, his kisses growing more insistent, more heated. “Please.”

“Please what?” he teased, his lips curling into a smirk against her thigh. “You have to be specific, love.”

She could hear the amusement in his voice, the playful tone that made her cheeks burn. “Don’t make me beg,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Oh, but I think I will,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, sultry tone. His hands moved to her hips, his fingers gripping her firmly as he positioned himself between her legs. She could feel the heat of his body pressing against her, the hardness of him making her ache with need. “I want to hear you beg for me.”

His lips brushed against her inner thigh again, his kisses trailing higher, closer to where she needed him most. She could feel her breath hitching, her heart pounding in her chest as he teased her, his touch maddeningly slow.

“Lando, please,” she whimpered, her hips lifting off the bed, seeking his touch. “I need you.”

“You need me, huh?” he teased, his lips brushing against her core, his breath hot against her skin. “What do you need, love?”

“You,” she gasped, her back arching as his lips finally made contact with her, his tongue darting out to taste her, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her core. “God, Lando, please.”

“Please what?” he murmured, his tongue teasing her, lapping at her with slow, deliberate strokes that made her moan. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” she sobbed, her hands tugging against the cuffs, desperate to touch him, to pull him closer. “I want you inside me.”

“Good girl,” he purred, his hands gripping her hips, holding her in place as he continued to tease her with his tongue, his movements slow, deliberate, driving her wild. “But not yet.”

She let out a frustrated whine, her hips bucking against him, but he held her firmly, his tongue lapping at her with agonizing slowness. She could feel the pleasure building, her body trembling beneath him, but he wasn’t letting her go, wasn’t letting her fall.

“Lando, please,” she begged, her voice breaking as his tongue circled her clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her. “I can’t—I can’t take it anymore.”

“Yes, you can,” he murmured, his voice filled with dark promise. “You can take it, love. You’re so fucking strong for me.”

His words sent a shiver through her, her body responding to the praise in ways that made her head spin. She could feel the pleasure cresting, her body teetering on the edge, but he wasn’t letting her fall, wasn’t letting her go.

“Lando, please,” she sobbed, her voice trembling with desperation as her hands tugged at the cuffs, her wrists straining against the cold metal. Her hips writhed beneath him, seeking more, needing more. Her thighs quivered, her body taut with tension. “I need it. Please, let me—” “Not yet.” His voice was a low growl, thick with amusement and something darker, hungrier. His tongue dragged against her in a long, searing stroke, dipping between her folds to taste her fully, teasing the sensitive ridge of her clit. She could feel the heat of his breath against her slick flesh, the slow, deliberate rhythm of his movements sending electric shocks of pleasure pulsing through her. He lingered there, his tongue circling her clit with maddening precision, each taunting flick coaxing a whimper from her lips. “I want to hear you beg for it.” Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her body quivered beneath him. The blindfold intensified everything—the way his tongue felt as it lapped at her, slow and deliberate, the way his breath fanned over her sensitive skin, the way his hands gripped her thighs to keep her spread open for him. She could feel every flick, every press, every lick as if her nerves were made of fire. “Please, Lando,” she begged, her voice breaking, raw with need. The sound of her own desperation echoed in her ears, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Please, let me come.” He hummed against her, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her core. His tongue slid lower, exploring her entrance, teasing her with shallow dips that made her hips jerk. He lapped at her with agonizing slowness, savoring her taste, his tongue circling her clit again in tight, rapid circles that had her crying out. “Good girl,” he purred, his voice dark and commanding, and she could hear the smirk in his tone. “Now come for me.” The moment he gave her permission, her body surrendered. Her back arched off the bed as the first wave of pleasure crashed over her, dragging a sharp, keening moan from her lips. Her legs trembled violently, her hands pulling against the cuffs as if they could anchor her to reality. His tongue didn’t relent, working her through the orgasm with relentless precision, each flick of his tongue sending another wave of ecstasy rippling through her. She felt weightless, her mind hazy with pleasure, every nerve in her body alight with sensation. And as the last tremors of her release faded, she collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving, her body limp and utterly spent.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice filled with dark satisfaction. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come.”

She could feel his lips pressing soft kisses against her thigh, his hands soothingly stroking her hips as she rode out the waves of pleasure. Her body was still trembling, her breath coming in short gasps as she tried to calm herself down.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe. “Every inch of you.”

She could feel him shifting, his body moving over hers, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tender kiss. She could taste herself on his lips, the thought making her cheeks burn.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice low, possessive. “All mine.”

Lando pulled away from Y/n’s lips, his breath warm against her skin as he shifted his weight off her. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her body still humming from the intensity of their connection. She could hear the rustle of fabric as he stripped off the rest of his clothes, the sound sending a fresh wave of anticipation coursing through her. The blindfold heightened her senses, making every sound, every touch, every movement feel magnified.

She felt the mattress dip as he knelt between her legs, his fingers skimming up her thighs. She gasped softly, her body instinctively arching toward him. His hands found her hips, his grip firm but gentle, anchoring her in place. The air between them felt charged, electric, and Y/n’s pulse quickened as she waited for his next move.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” Lando murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Completely at my mercy.”

Y/n shivered at his words, her breath hitching as she felt the soft brush of his fingers against her inner thighs. She was already so sensitive, her body still tingling from her earlier climax, and the slightest touch sent sparks shooting through her.

Then she felt it—the hot, velvety tip of his cock pressing against her, teasing her entrance. She whimpered softly, her hips instinctively trying to move toward him, but his hands held her firmly in place.

“Uh-uh,” he chided, his tone playful yet commanding. “You’re not in control here, love. I am.”

Y/n let out a frustrated moan, her body trembling with need. She could feel how wet she was, her arousal slick and warm between her thighs, and the knowledge that he could see her like this—completely exposed, completely his—only made her burn hotter.

Lando chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. “You’re soaked for me, aren’t you?” he said, his voice dripping with amusement and desire. “God, I love how responsive you are. Every little thing I do to you turns you into a fucking mess.”

She whimpered again, her hands tugging uselessly at the handcuffs above her head. “Lando, please,” she begged, her voice trembling with desperation.

“Please what?” he teased, his tone light and teasing. “You’re going to have to be more specific, darling.”

“Please…just…” she trailed off, her words dissolving into another soft moan as he pressed the tip of his cock against her clit, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through her.

“Just what?” he prompted, his voice low and teasing. “You want me to fuck you? Is that it?”

“Yes,” she breathed, her hips instinctively trying to move toward him again.

But Lando held her firmly in place, his grip unyielding. “Not yet,” he said, his voice a soft growl. “You’re going to wait until I say so.”

Y/n let out a frustrated whimper, her body aching with need. The blindfold made everything feel so much more intense—every brush of his skin against hers, every hot breath against her neck, every whispered word sent her senses into overdrive. She could feel every vein, every ridge of his cock as he dragged the tip through her folds, the sensation maddening.

Lando’s fingers traced a feather-light path down her inner thighs, his touch deliberate and unhurried. He paused just short of where she needed him most, his breath warm against her neck as he chuckled softly. “Patience, love,” he murmured, his voice a low, teasing purr. “You’ll get what you want when I decide you’ve earned it.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, her hips involuntarily lifting toward him, but his hands pressed down firmly, holding her in place. The blindfold heightened everything—his voice, the heat of his skin, the weight of his presence. She could hear the slick sound his fingers made as they brushed through her folds, already soaked and aching for him.

“Look at you,” he said, his tone thick with amusement. “So fucking wet for me. Do you even realize how much you’re dripping? I bet I could slide inside you right now, and you’d take every inch without a second thought.”

She whimpered, her thighs trembling as he trailed the tip of his cock along her slit, slow and deliberate. The sensation was maddening—hot velvet against the most sensitive part of her, teasing but never quite enough. Her body throbbed with need, every inch of her desperate for him to fill her, to stop this unbearable torment.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Please. I need you.”

His laughter was soft, dark, and full of intent. “What do you need, darling? You’ll have to be specific.”

“I need...” Her words faltered, swallowed by a moan as he dragged the tip of his cock over her clit, the pressure just enough to make her legs jerk. “I need you inside me. Now.”

He hummed, the sound vibrating through her as he leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. “You’ve got to do better than that. Beg for it. Tell me how much you want me.”

Her breath hitched, the humiliation only intensifying her arousal. “Please, Lando. I want you so bad. I need you to fuck me. I can’t wait anymore.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with approval. But instead of giving her what she begged for, he pressed the tip of his cock against her entrance, just enough to make her gasp. He held it there, his grip on her hips unyielding as she tried to push against him.

“Uh-uh,” he chided, his tone firm yet playful. “You’ll take it when I say so. Not a second before.”

She let out a frustrated whimper, her body trembling with the effort of staying still. The blindfold made everything feel ten times more intense—the slip of his precum against her, the way her pulse raced as he teased her, the way her nerves screamed for release. She could feel every ridge of his cock as he slowly dragged it back and forth along her soaked folds, the friction driving her wild.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled, his voice rough with desire. “I can’t wait to feel you wrapped around me, squeezing me so hard I’ll forget my own name.”

She moaned, her back arching as he circled her clit with the tip, the pressure just enough to make her toes curl. “Please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“Oh, you can,” he teased, his voice low and taunting. “You’ll take it because I’m the one in control. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” she gasped, her body on the edge of breaking. “Yes, Lando. You’re in control.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” He pressed the tip of his cock against her entrance again, this time sinking just an inch inside before pulling back, leaving her clutching at emptiness.

“Lando!” she cried, her voice breaking with desperation.

“Patience, darling,” he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement. “I’m not done playing with you yet.”

She could feel the way her body clenched around nothing, desperate for him to fill her. The blindfold made every sensation sharper, every touch magnified, every sound louder. She could hear the way her breath hitched, the way her pulse pounded in her ears, the way his soft laughter stirred something deep inside her.

He teased her clit with the tip of his cock again, the pressure just enough to make her gasp. “You’re so fucking desperate for me, aren’t you?” he taunted, his voice low and dark. “Begging me to fuck you like the needy little slut you are.”

Her cheeks burned, but the humiliation only drove her need higher. “Please,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I need you so bad. I can’t wait anymore.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice full of promise. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll give you exactly what you need. But first, you’re going to wait. You’re going to be patient and let me take my time. Can you do that for me?”

She nodded, her body trembling with the effort of staying still. Every nerve in her body was alive, every touch amplified, every word a spark that set her ablaze. She was completely at his mercy, and the knowledge only made her burn hotter.

“Good,” he said, his voice softening. “Now, let’s see how long you can last.”

Lando’s breath was hot against her ear as he leaned in, his lips brushing her skin in a way that sent shivers down her spine. “You’re so fucking wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “I can feel it—every single drop. You’re dripping for me, love.”

Y/n whimpered, her hips instinctively arching toward him, desperate for more. But Lando was in no rush. He dragged the tip of his cock through her folds, slow and deliberate, savoring the way she quivered beneath him. The sensation was maddening—just enough to tease, but not enough to satisfy.

“Lando, please,” she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I need you.”

He chuckled softly, the sound dark and delicious, and she felt him shift slightly, adjusting his position. “You need me, do you?” he teased, his lips brushing her neck. “What exactly do you need, darling? Tell me.”

She swallowed hard, her mind racing as she tried to form the words. But before she could answer, Lando moved again, rubbing the length of his cock through her folds, the motion slow and deliberate. The sensation was overwhelming, and she couldn’t help but moan, her head falling back against the pillows.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. “Let me hear you, love. Let me hear how much you want this.”

Her body was on fire, every touch sending waves of pleasure crashing through her. She was completely at his mercy, and the knowledge only made her burn hotter. “I need you inside me,” she finally managed to say, her voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Lando. I can’t take it anymore.”

He smiled against her skin, his breath warm and steady. “Oh, I know you can’t,” he teased, his voice dripping with confidence. “But I’m not done yet. I want to feel every inch of you before I give you what you need.”

With that, he adjusted his position again, this time angling himself so that the tip of his cock pressed against her entrance. He didn’t push in—not yet. Instead, he rubbed the tip against her, the motion slow and teasing, just enough to drive her wild.

Y/n let out another whimper, her hips arching toward him again, desperate for more. “Lando, please,” she begged, her voice breaking with need. “I can’t—I can’t take it.”

He chuckled softly, his lips brushing her neck again. “Oh, I think you can,” he murmured, his voice dark and teasing. “You’re stronger than you think, love. And you’re going to wait for me. You’re going to be patient and let me take my time.”

She let out a frustrated groan, her body trembling with the effort of staying still. But Lando was relentless. He continued to tease her, alternating between rubbing the length of his cock through her folds and pressing the tip against her entrance. Every touch was agonizingly slow, every motion calculated to drive her wild.

By now, his cock was completely soaked in her wetness, and Lando couldn’t help but smile at the sight. “God, you’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “I love seeing you like this—completely undone, completely at my mercy. You’re perfect, love.”

She whimpered again, her hips instinctively arching toward him. “Lando, please,” she begged, her voice trembling with desperation. “I need you inside me. Please, just—just fuck me.”

He chuckled softly, his lips brushing her neck again. “Oh, I will,” he promised, his voice dark and delicious. “But not yet baby. I told you, you’re going to wait for me. You’re going to be patient and let me take my time.”

He pressed the tip of his cock against her entrance, slick with her wetness, teasing her with shallow, maddening movements. Just the tip, gliding back and forth, barely breaching her. Y/n’s hips bucked instinctively, trying to force him deeper, but Lando’s hands clamped down hard on her hips, pinning her in place. 

“Behave,” he growled, his voice thick with authority. “You move when I tell you to move.”

“Lando, please,” she whimpered, her voice trembling almost to the point of breaking. Her body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending hypersensitive, every sensation amplified by the darkness surrounding her. The silk blindfold heightened everything—his touch felt electric, the heat of his breath on her neck unbearable, the ache between her legs consuming. She could feel every ridge, every throb of his cock as he teased her, and it made her mind unravel. It felt bigger inside her, harder, more insistent, and the anticipation of him filling her completely had her hovering on the edge. 

“You sound desperate,” he murmured, a low chuckle vibrating through her skin. His lips brushed her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “So fucking wet for me. I can feel it—every drop. You’re soaked, love. But I’m still not done playing.” 

She whined, her hips straining against his grip. “Please, Lando, I need you. I can’t—I can’t wait anymore.”

He paused, letting the silence stretch between them, letting her desperation build until she was practically writhing beneath him. Then, without warning, he slowly pushed into her, inch by agonizing inch, the stretch overwhelming in the best way. The blindfold made it feel even more intense; she couldn’t see what was coming, couldn’t anticipate the way he’d fill her so completely. Her breath hitched, a moan tearing from her throat as he seated himself fully inside her. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice rough with desire. “So tight, love. So perfect.” His hands shifted to her hips, pulling her closer as he began to move, slow and deliberate, each stroke dragging against her sensitive walls.

Y/n arched into him, her body trembling with pleasure. Every thrust felt deeper, harder, more consuming than usual. The darkness intensified every sensation—the scrape of his chest against her nipples, the way his hands gripped her tighter as she moved with him. She could feel every pulse of his cock, every sharp intake of his breath, every muffled groan that escaped his lips.

“You’re mine,” Lando growled, his voice low and commanding, shattering the silence of the room. His hands gripped her hips firmly, fingers digging into her skin as he thrust into her deeply with a hunger she’d never felt from him before. Every inch of him filled her completely, stretching, claiming. The curve of his cock pressed perfectly against that spot inside her that made her see stars.

Her breath hitched. “Lando— fuck,” she managed through staggered gasps, her body writhing beneath him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his words dark and laced with raw desire. His gaze raked over her bound wrists above her head, the way her chest heaved, and the flush spreading across her skin. Underneath the blindfold, her pupils would be blown wide, her lips parted in helpless gasps. Just the thought made pleasure shoot through him.

He pulled out slowly, savoring the sticky drag of his cock moving through her slick walls; she whimpered frantically. Her thighs trembled as if begging for more, desperate not to lose him.

“Do you feel how tight you are?” He snapped his hips forward again without warning — she cried out sharply. Lando groaned behind clenched teeth as her inner muscles clenched around him repeatedly, so velvety soft yet searing hot. It felt almost too intense, every nerve of her squeezing him tautly mid-thrust, coating him entirely until all self-control slipped further away.

His arms trembled on either side of her, sweat dripping off his forehead as his pace quickened. The slap of skin against skin echoed through the room, punctuated by her ragged breaths and his low groans. Each stroke felt deeper, harder, impossibly more consuming. She tightened around him like a vice, her legs trembling and her fingers pulling at the handcuffs uselessly.

“You’re so perfect for me,” he choked out, one hand moving down to grip her thigh, driving himself even deeper. “How did I get so lucky? How do you always feel even better than my dreams?”

She whimpered.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice dark and possessive. “All mine. And look at you—completely undone. Begging for me. Needing me just as much as I need you.” He leaned down, his tongue tracing the shell of her ear before he added, “Come for me, Y/N. Let me feel you.”

Her orgasm crashed over her in waves, her body clamping around him as pleasure rolled through her. Lando didn’t let up, driving her higher with every thrust, every deep, unrelenting stroke. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “God, you’re so wet. So fucking perfect.”

Her pussy clenched around him, a vicious, deliberate squeeze that ripped a guttural groan from his throat. Lando’s hips stuttered as his control shattered completely. His fingers dug into her thighs, anchoring himself as his release surged deep inside her, hot and pulsing, flooding her with every throb of his cock.

“Fuck,” he hissed against the crook of her neck, his lips brushing her skin in desperate, muffled gasps. “Y/N—fucking hell.” The intensity of it had him shuddering, his body coiled tight before collapsing into hers, his weight pressing her into the mattress.

She smiled faintly beneath the blindfold, a hint of satisfaction curling her mouth as she deliberately tightened around him again. The sensation made him hiss through clenched teeth, his hips jerking involuntarily, drawing another wave of pleasure from her. It was mutual—his cum filled her achingly warm, the steady pulses making her shiver as her own climax rolled through her again, drawn out by the way he throbbed inside her.

“You’re going to kill me,” Lando muttered hoarsely, his breath ragged as he pressed his forehead against her shoulder. His voice was wrecked, almost unrecognizable, but she could hear the grin in it, the pure, unbridled satisfaction.

She didn’t answer, couldn’t, not when every nerve in her body still fizzed with leftover sparks. Instead, she arched slightly into him, savoring how full she felt, how impossibly close they were even now. His skin was fever-hot against hers, his breaths slowly evening out, but hers still came unevenly, little tremors chasing each other down her spine.

He kissed her neck softly, almost reverently, as if all that intensity hadn’t just cracked between them moments ago. “You’re...” He trailed off, words failing him—but she knew. She could feel it in the way his hand slid up to tangle with hers above her head, their fingers intertwining tightly, like he needed to anchor himself to her somehow. And she let him because right then, nothing else mattered but them.

“You okay?” Lando murmured, his fingers brushing the blindfold gently, his voice laced with concern.

She tilted her head toward the sound of his voice, the silken darkness still wrapped around her, and let out a breath that was part laugh, part sigh. “More than okay.”

His laughter was soft, warm, and she could feel the way his chest moved against hers, his body still hovering over her, their skin still connected in the most intimate way. “How’d it feel?” His words were a whisper, grazing her ear, sending a fresh shiver down her spine.

“Different,” she admitted, her voice thick and slow, still catching her breath. “So different. I couldn’t—I couldn’t see you, couldn’t touch you. That was... maddening. But... everything else—” She broke off with a shaky exhale, her hips shifting slightly beneath him, drawing out the feeling of him still inside her, still pulsing. “Everything else felt... incredible. Like I could focus on nothing but you.” Her fingers flexed against the handcuffs, and she gave a small, playful tug. “Hated these, though. Not being able to touch you at all... drove me crazy.”

Lando chuckled, the sound low and rough, his lips pressing a kiss to her collarbone. “Good. I like you a little crazy for me.” He unhooked the cuffs from the headboard, freeing her wrists, and she immediately reached up, her fingers brushing against his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone.

He leaned into her touch, his breath hitching as her fingers smoothed over his skin. “Missed this,” he said, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “Missed your hands on me.”

“Me too.” Furrowing her brow, she vocalized her insecurities. “You’re so handsome. It’s really unfair sometimes.” She slid her palm against his cheek, brushing her thumb across his lower lip.

His reply was immediate, almost annoyed. “Stop that. Don’t talk about yourself like that.” A frown creased his face as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. 

He then reached up to gently pull the blindfold off, and her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the light. The way he was looking at her—intense, almost awestruck—made her stomach flip. “Better?” he asked, his voice still rough, still carrying that edge of possession, but mixed with something tender now.

“Better,” she murmured, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. “But don’t think this means I’m letting you off easy next time. I want my hands on you from start to finish.”

He grinned, that cocky, confident grin she loved and hated in equal measure. “Next time? Already planning the next time?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no bite to it, just warmth and something she didn’t want to name yet. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Norris.” Still, she couldn’t stop her smile as she pulled him down for a kiss, slow and deep and full of something that felt like more.

[luxdove]

Remember me!

(Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader)

Notes: Reader cookie is inspired by Don Quixote from the game Limbus Company and not from the actual book since I have never read the actual book

Since I’m also terrible at writing I’m mainly laying down points and not an actual story format? English is not my first language pls be kind cuz I low key got no idea how to type a story and also these characters might be OOC

Also reader is gender neutral and this is my first story I’ve ever posted 😭

This is also not even proof read and honestly I felt this went all over the place so I apologize if it doesn’t sound great😭

Cw: Hypnosis, memory loss (idk what else to say for warnings)

You don’t remember anything from your past, you kinda just grew up living inside of this tower

But you weren’t lonely! No no! Well actually you were since no one would visit you however! You had tons of books! And would often dreamt yourself to be the greatest cookie knight of all of Earthbread!

It didn’t matter if you seemingly had an endless supply of books, they just never seem to get boring no matter how many times you have reread them!

However one day a knock followed by a crash of the broken door happened, this day was special since it marked your day of freedom from the loneliness imprisonment!

“Oh sorry we knocked your door down…” the cookie with a cane said sympathetically

“It is no worries! What is thou name?!” You exclaimed happy to see more cookies in existence, Gingerbread cookie looks a bit confused as he wonders why you spoke in the old language but he shook it off and tried to understand what you said

“My name is gingerbread cookie! And these are my friends Strawberry cookie, wizard cookie, Custard cookie, Chili cookie, and Pure Vanilla cookie!” Gingerbread Cookie introduced everyone. “What is yours?”

“Thy name…?” You thought about it, you actually don’t remember your name. You looked around and noticed a mail that was addressed to this tower and it said. “Blueberry Milk Cookie…” you muttered “forsooth! Thy name is Blueberry milk cookie!” You confirmed, after all the mail seemed to be addressed to you so surely that’s your name right?

“Well Blueberry milk cookie, would you like to join us on our journey?” Gingerbread cookie asked and you started squealing in excitement. Never had your eyes had shown such bright and shiny stars within it.

“May I?” You asked to confirmed and they nodded. Indeed this was the best day ever.

It’s been a good long while ever since you joined them; you helped them build up a kingdom while meeting new cookies on your journeys. However after meeting all the Ancient cookies in Crispia you decided to hold back for a while to focus on yourself. After the group came back from meeting 2 Beast cookies you decided to take the offer and join them on their journey since you were always excited for a new adventure or journey, after all this is progress for you to become the best cookie knight in earthbread!

“Gingerbread Cookie Esquire! May I ponder where we are headed off to?” You asked

“We’re going to Beast Yeast to beat Shadow Milk Cookie once and for all!” Gingerbread cookie answered, you didn’t join them from their past journeys in beast yeast due to you signing up for random things to occupy your time in hopes it can make you stronger

“Shadow milk cookie..? Hm…where has thou heard such name…?” You muttered as you thought, somehow the name seems familiar to you yet you have never seen this cookie before. “Oh! Yes! Shadow Milk Cookie! I hath read such books and scrolls of the legends of the Beasts!” You exclaimed

“Ah…so you have heard the stories then right Blueberry Milk Cookie?” Pure Vanilla Cookie asked with his kind smile while you nodded vigorously

“Forsooth! Pure Vanilla Cookie Esquire! It ought to be foolish of me to not know such rich stories soaked in knowledge of the old!” You exclaimed “After all! Thou art wished to become the greatest cookie knight in earth bread!”

Everyone laughed while you smiled in glee, after all you sounded like you were stuck in some childhood fantasy with childlike innocence of the world even though you were already exposed to such environments and topics. It was just nice to hear such childlike dreams from the group while they adventured off into a more dark turn.

You guys were enjoying your time while walking down the path towards the Spire of Knowledge, that wasn’t until you guys heard a mischievous laughter.

“That laugh! It’s Shadow Milk Cookie!” Gingerbread Cookie exclaimed as they all went into ready to fight stances as Shadow Milk Cookie appeared.

“Oh if isn’t it my favorite audience to mess with- wait who is this newbie” Shadow Milk Cookie eyed you

“Tis is I! Blueberry Milk Cookie!” You introduced yourself “For thou wishst to become the greatest knight of all of earthbread!”

Shadow Milk Cookie stared at you for a good minute or two, ah yes now he remembered you- but how do you not remember him?

“Blueberry Milk Cookie….huh” Shadow Milk Cookie had a thinking face on as he floated in the air.

“Forsooth! However one of thy missions is to defeat thee!” You exclaimed with shining stars within your eyes as you pointed your lance towards him. Ah, how Shadow Milk Cookie missed those eyes of innocence- it seemed you kept them after all those years.

“Defeat me? HA! Sorry newbie but I! Am the star of the show! And you all are within my stage!” Shadow Milk Cookie exclaimed with a prideful grin. Suddenly a whole rush of monsters and corrupted animals started heading towards you guy’s way.

“Ooooo lookie lookie I guess times up for the next act! Welp toodles! Have fffuuuuunnn~” Shadow Milk Cookie bowed while topping his hat off while he poof-disappeared again.

“That COOKIE!” Gingerbread Cookie gritted his teeth.

“It’s alright Gingerbread Cookie, perhaps we’ll face him again sometime in the future” Pure Vanilla Cookie patted him calmly.

“Indeed Gingerbread Cookie Esquire! After all the Spire of Knowledge is not too far away! Perhaps thee villain rests thou chambers within there!” You exclaimed happily to finally meet one of the Beasts face to face

“Villain?” Pure Vanilla Cookie questioned

“Forsooth! Villain! Is thee Shadow Milk Cookie not thee villain?” You questioned

“Hmmm…maybe but there might be a reason for him to be like that” Pure Vanilla Cookie said wisely, however within your eyes the Beasts have gone far past redemption and are now marked as villains within your book. Now it is your job to defeat such villains!

Then Shadow Milk Cookie greeted you guys because otherwise he would be called a “terrible host” for not greeting his audience and actors. Then you guys just walked all over the place because the palace just seems too confusing! Left is right, right is left, up is down, down is up! There’s literally stairs that are upside down! How on earthbread would you even know where you’re going?!

However as expected you all have lost each other, surprisingly not because of the lay out of the palace no, no.

It was all because Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t think it was entertaining enough so he just decided to split up everyone just for the fun of it.

“GINGERBREAD COOKIE ESQUIRE!!!!! TO WHERE IN EARTHBREAD HAST THOU DISAPPEARED!!!” You yelled out.

“PURE VANILLA COOKIE ESQUIRE!!! TO WHERE HAST THOU-“ you were about to yell out again but a hand covered your mouth.

“By WITCHES do you ever keep your voice DOWN?” A voice that is instantly recognizable and undoubtedly was from Shadow Milk Cookie said in annoyance, however that annoyance was replaced by a smile filled with mischief. “It’s alright you silly Willy! Since it’s you I’ll not do anything”

“Ah! It is thee! Villain!” Your eyes shined with stars in them again as Shadow Milk Cookie face softened, oh boy does he feel somewhat bad for what he’s going to do soon but…he has to, to bring you towards the truth and not live in such a fake reality without knowing just…well you know just a tiny winy bit of information- nothing that would certainly hurt you of course.

“Tis is I! Blueberry Milk Cookie! For thy-“ you were introducing yourself again but suddenly got interrupted by Shadow Milk Cookie.

“Y/n cookie” Shadow Milk Cookie corrected

You looked at him in confusion “Thy name is not Y/N cookie…? Thy name is Blueberry Milk Cookie!”

Shadow Milk cookie didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at that statement “oh you silly willy! That is my old name not yours!” Shadow Milk Cookie barked in laughter

You were in disbelief, perhaps there was more to your life than you could have thought?

“Oh the look of distraught! But who am I to blame? Of course the witches fault! After all they did remove your memories old friend!” Shadow Milk Cookie laughed

Your eyes widen at the news. Your memories were removed? And you were friends Shadow milk cookie back then?

“You villain! I shan’t hath companionship with the villain!” You shouted in disbelief, there was just no way

“Hm? Don’t believe me? Well…” suddenly your limbs get caught in strings making you unable to move any of them and making your body dangle above air. Shadow milk cookie float towards you, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at his eyes, hypnotizing you. “Look into my eyes, breathe in calmly” Shadow milk cookie said in a calm voice

You tried resisting you really did, but when you tried to close your eyes Shadow milk cookie literally used his other hand to force your eye to look into his eyes and then your eyes started to close

“No! I shan’t fallen for the villain’s trap! I shall..! Not…! Fall…len…” then your head lowers as your eyes closed off into a festering, slothful dream controlled by Shadow milk cookie

“Hm…well hopefully this dream will make you remember and get you back into your senses dear friend” Shadow milk cookie muttered as he disappeared off to check into his audience wondering how they were doing so far

You couldn’t believe it, these memories…they must be fake

All these lies that you have fed to yourself because you couldn’t remember your past

You were friends with all the villains it seems

You were there when they were created

You were there when they all started their kingdoms

You were there when they slowly got corrupted, also dragging you to also become corrupted

You were there when they were imprisoned by the witches themselves

You tried,cried, and begged the witches to release your friends, swear to curse them somehow if they don’t

The witches being the evil that they are, removed your memories of such events

The faerie cookies grabbed your body and sealed you inside of a tower so it wouldn’t be opened by the inside however it could be opened by the outside

Did you knew too much that the witches made you to lose your memories…? You couldn’t forgive yourself after seeing memories like these, but at the same time you don’t believe it- you just couldn’t!

“Still in disbelief dear?” Shadow Milk Cookie said as he noticed your disturbed expression, you haven’t woken up too long ago “Well I’m sure this photo will help you” shadow milk cookie said as he hands you over an old picture

No…

No! This can’t be true!

The photo of you smiling along with these villains! This was your pushing point and this finally broke you and shattered the reality you thought was true

“That’s enough!” A somewhat muffled voice followed by a broken door “shadow milk cookie this ends now!” Pure vanilla cookie yelled as he pointed his staff to Shadow milk cookie and shoot, however Shadow Milk Cookie effortlessly dodged the attack

“Blueberry milk cookie!” Gingerbread cookie exclaimed “you’re safe!”

“…” you stood there in silence as your eyes were focused on the photo

“Blueberry milk cookie?” Strawberry cookie said as she carefully approaches

“My name is…Y/N cookie” your voiced sound like you went through 9 stages of grief and was broken “my name was never Blueberry milk cookie”

“Blueberry milk cookie?! What are you saying?” Gingerbread cookie “snap out of it! Shadow Milk Cookie fed you lies!”

“Ohohoho! But these are not lies you see!” Shadow milk cookie exclaimed with an uncanny grin “I just showed them the truth!” As he hugged you and rested his head at your neck from behind you while you look down in either shame or despair

“It’s true…my past…I was with them…I was one of them” you answered softly, your eyes that are now dull and seems to have swirls of blue due to the hypnosis of Shadow Milk Cookie- after all he didn’t necessarily fed you the whole truth, just enough to bring you back to his side and then fed you lies

“You cookies however….” You pointed your lance at your once comrades “have been feeding me lies!” Your face full of rage and distrust

“What are you saying?! We haven’t lied about anything!” Gingerbread cookie exclaimed

“Y/N cookie! Please I believe you can see through Shadow Milk Cookie’s deception and see the whole truth!” Pure Vanilla Cookie exclaimed in worry; hoping they can get it through your head the real truth because after all- they haven’t said one ounce of lies and have only spoken the truth so far. So why were you acting like this?

“Lies, lies, lies, lies…it’s all lies with you! You knew who I was and were sent with a mission by the witches themselves to make sure I don’t remember the past!” You roared in anger, seemingly to believe the lies that Shadow Milk Cookie planted along with those memories.

“Hahaha! Oh how this is sooooooo entertaining to watch! Look how wonderful the curtains have fallen as the truth comes out from hiding!” Shadow Milk Cookie laughed in pure entertainment. “Go on Y/N Cookie….

Kill them” he commanded

You listened as if on queue you rushed towards them with your lance, but before you managed to crack or crumble a single cookie, Pure Vanilla cookie teleported them away.

“Aw crumbs! I wanted to see them crumble! Boooooo!” Shadow Milk Cookie pouted “I guess it’s alright since I have you now!” He smiled with his unhinged smile again as he looks at you. Man you look exhausted with all this information poured upon you at once. “How about we catch up hmmmmm? Just like old times” Shadow Milk Cookie grinned.

“I suppose…that’s alright…” you muttered

“Won-der-ful! Now now where do we start?” Shadow Milk Cookie wondered

Ong I might do a part 2 but idk

But low key I started cringing cuz idk what I was doing 😭 cuz I was working on this all day but started working in different parts of the story throughout the day

But anyways I hope you like it, like I said this is NOT proof read nor do I KNOW what I’m doing

[wizard-of-interesting-failure]

Expanding on that last one: specification is eventually hooked up to mathematics, solving the scarcity problem entirely. You can cast your fireball, tack on a metaphorical "+1" and "-1" somewhere in the spell, and it'll have the same effect as if you hadn't added those despite technically being a different spell; then you do +2 and -2, and so on. This allows any spell to be cast as many times as you want. The renaissance is so profound that a New First Age is declared and the hoarding of secrets ends; the vaults of reality are open at last, and everyone is rich.

The new bottleneck (because there is always a new bottleneck) becomes casting time/spell length. The more times something is cast, the longer you have to spend embedding a number that hasn't been used to cast it yet; the arcane language doesn't really handle math very well, forcing 2 to be essentially encoded as "1 + 1" and taking up twice as much space as a 1. What numbers have been used isn't necessarily known, so often you'll embed a larger number than is currently thought necessary just to be safe and conversely the use of a smaller number is a desperate gambit when you don't have time for something safer. Combinations more like "+1" and "-2" warp the spell but reduce the casting time again; they help to keep incantations short, but only for a while, as do strings like "+1, -1, +1, -1".

[Quick warning, this got way the hell out of hand. Some of it is silly math wankery, but there's plenty of content that isn't and if you treat the stuff that is as weird magic mechanics you'll probably be fine]

Use of rarer, imperfect, or more esoteric spells creeps back in as they become comparable or superior to their more desirable counterparts with a too-large number stapled on. Compressed number notation is developed (multiplication + expression of large numbers via factors, division in place of long decimal strings, breakthroughs in the arcane language allowing it to express numbers and operations in shorter strings, etc), revitalising the spell space with each breakthrough before it begins to decay again.

It never gets outright impossible to cast any specific spell, but once it's prohibitively long enough it may as well be. Empowered by the technically infinite promise of the "new math wizardry" in spite of this, growing wizard populations and demand for magical services drain the reserves faster and faster, keeping pace with these new innovations. New base spells are found. Improved formulations of existing base spells are found. All are depleted to feed demand.

An information theoretical compression limit is reached, but casting doesn't stop. The modern world is built on it now. Goods and services that rely on formulaic casting become steadily slower and slower. The New Third Age approaches, with even the bizarre variants beginning to take minutes or hours to cast as they are endlessly exploited for applications people have become used to as a matter of course. Everyone complains about things getting worse, but there seems to be nothing to be done. This is in no way a metaphor for real life. Magic begins to fade into the background, quietly powering increasingly shitty systems and being largely useless for individual applications.

One wizard-mathematician, locked in her tower for years pursuing broadly useless arcanomathematical theory and being roundly mocked for it, somehow discovers an encoding for complex numbers despite having no idea what they are.

The effects are swift and immediate. She tells nobody her secrets. She alone is able to cast with "1 + 3i" and "-1 - 3i", reaching casting speeds long lost to history. She single-handedly challenges nations while others scramble desperately to figure out her methods. None do.

But one discovers an encoding for trigonometry.

He is able to cast with "1 + sin(3)" and "-1 - sin(3)". He challenges her to a duel. He is overconfident; trigonometric functions are periodic and as encoded in the arcane language they loop very quickly when used for rapid-fire casting. He is forced to use large fractions as arguments well before she is pushed to a similar point with her simple infinitely extending pairs of terms; the periodicity of his weapon of choice prevents multiplication or simple division from saving him. She defeats him and extracts the trick to his encoding, expanding her repertoire of short unique numbers by at least one order of magnitude.

Another one discovers how to embed a definition for π. Another one, e. Another, √2. That last one quickly claims victory over every wizard seen thus far; adding, subtracting, dividing, and multiplying different square roots produces unique numbers in quantities scarcely dreamt of. They have discovered not just a category but a category of categories; a new operation that turns every other number into its own series of unique, easy-to-express numbers on par with the entire New First Age. An infinity of infinities.

They defeat every other contender, adding each unique number category to their own. Combinatorics, already working massively in their favor, go into absolute overdrive. They draw the connection between square roots and complex numbers, somehow skipped by the original wizard who used them. Numerical components like (3 + 2π + √tan(3e + iπ)) x √5 are their bread and butter, with so many variables to tweak that they can be kept short what seems like forever even at a rate of casts that would make any other wizard run out of small numbers in a matter of seconds.

They easily conquer the planet, sweeping aside all resistance with a combination of unrestrained rapid-fire spellcasting unknown even in The First Age and an army of fanatics who believe them to be some kind of God. Resources worldwide are bent to the study of mathematics and arcana, searching for ways to overcome what meagre limits they are still fettered by.

Encodings for exponents and logarithms are discovered. It barely registers. They scour the knowledge of these new techniques from the face of the Earth and add them to their hoard, scarcely noticing; the new bottleneck (because there is always a new bottleneck) has become the now-miniscule casting time associated with the base spell and the few numerical components they need. They can teleport anywhere, sense anywhere, remain awake indefinitely, set contingencies for alarms, and rely on the support of millions. Maintaining an iron grip on the planet is challenging, but possible.

Then someone discovers an anti-magic spell.

It's new, so everyone can cast it quickly. It's an enchantment, so it creates a permanent zone of effect. The effect? Total nullification of all magic and magic-produced effects and objects within the zone. The size of the zone? Large enough.

Non-followers of the Surd Wizard (as they have dubbed themselves; nobody really knows why) waste no time. Anti-magic zones pop up slowly at first, sparking rumours of places miraculously free of the wizard's tyranny, but spread rapidly as containing a secret that so many want told proves impossible. Even the Surd Wizard can't be in multiple places at once (there is an area of the spell space for that, but fortunately it has remained undiscovered) and they are unwilling to share their secrets with even their most trusted souls, leaving them the sole agent capable of anything resembling an offense against the new threat.

There is a period of attempted suppression and it is bloody, featuring extreme countermeasures such as sinking whole cities beneath the range of their zone, but ultimately the process cannot be contained; it propagates too rapidly and the planet just features too much ground to cover. For every city sunk, three more have dug deep and placed anti-magic zones buffering their foundations or carpeted the surrounding land so extensively that projecting a magical effect underneath them is effectively impossible.

Before the entire Earth is covered, the Surd Wizard escapes to space (digging into the planet was considered, but they feared being contained). Their casting prowess allows them to conjure everything they need; food, water, air, pressure, motion, even gravity. They settle into a crater on the moon in a magically constructed compound with as many of their followers as they could bring with them, continuing their studies in a massively scaled back capacity and bitterly plotting revenge.

On Earth, science and technology are finally able to flourish again outside of magic's shadow. Studies of the arcane language become impossible without the ability to test, the topic itself was both suppressed and reviled during the Surd Wizard's rule, and interest in the field mostly withers and dies. A world perhaps resembling our own takes shape, though with some differences; united by a common enemy a global society develops, and space travel is flatly impossible as anything emerging from the overlapping anti-magic zones is instantly shot down before it can even attempt another casting of the spell that adds another zone to the pile. The Surd Wizard, it seemed, had not been idle while the rockets were developed.

Things progress quickly into sci-fi territory, the base nonmagical properties of the universe rapidly bent to serve the ends once achieved by wizardry. Physics backed by the power of nuclear fusion proves a more stable footing than non-renewable magic, and wizards become a distant legend to most and a hypothetical yet ever-present concern to a few.

The moon remains monitored, the Surd Wizard having inexplicably settled on the side facing Earth (it was so they could stare at their once and future kingdom every day, but its denizens had no way to know that), but shows no signs of activity. Most people carry on in what is rapidly approaching a techno-utopia. A few wait nervously for the other shoe to drop. Time passes, generations come and go.

Mars lurches in its orbit.

It's a tiny fluctuation. Barely outside of instrumental error, but significant enough to demand attention. Scientific theories of the day are unable to find any explanation. Knowledge of magic has faded so far from living memory that the possibility of the Surd Wizard being responsible cannot be well evaluated; it is known that whatever bars space travel is still there, but beyond that who can say what they are capable of or even if they still live. Paranoia grips the world; the end times are proclaimed in what pass for the streets of this heavily advanced society.

Plans are drawn up to defend the planet; deflections, evasions, a particularly rotund fellow even draws up a blueprint for a cannon capable of destroying the moon if fed the Earth's entire energy reserves and a bonus helping of antimatter. The consequences would be calamitous, apocalyptic even, but less so than a planetary collision.

Nothing happens.

The state of crisis can only be maintained for so long. Eventually it is concluded that maybe the instrumental error is a little larger than it seemed; what else is there to say? It's not like it can be replicated, and the planet has been back where it should be since the incident. Some people buy it, some don't. Conspiracies abound, the topic attracts all manner of kooks and occultists and becomes the center of its own little subculture, but by and large life goes on. A few still wait nervously for the other shoe to drop. Time passes. Generations come and go.

Venus lurches in its orbit.

It's a little bigger this time, a little less likely to be measurement error, but still close enough that when the records of the Mars Incident are consulted, alarm levels rapidly plummet. Officially. The occultist community goes nuts. The event is seen as something analogous to the Second Coming of Christ; an event that occurred well in the past, then built into a subculture, then recurring in the present day. A few people are excited, but most aren't too keen on the idea of a space wizard of unknown power slamming another planet into their own.

Enough people kick up a fuss that resources are dedicated to investigation; we're post-scarcity, after all, we can spare a little for the peace of mind of our citizens. Instruments are painstakingly recalibrated. Theories are checked and double checked. Measurement accuracy is pushed as far as it will go, and then a little further through careful statistical modelling.

The verdict: Venus's orbit has changed.

The "lurch" seemed to have no long term effect on the planet's orbit, as it had been with Mars; the planet spent a brief period "out of position" before returning to business as usual. At least, that's how it looked before. The new data shows an almost imperceptible shift from where Venus was supposed to be. Like somebody didn't quite put it back right, no-one could bring themselves to say.

Planetary defense efforts are doubled, then quadrupled. The rotund man's moon cannon plans are dug out and put to good use. Orbital calculations are run ad nauseam. Contingencies are written. Contingencies for the contingencies are written. Nobody knows what might be coming or what might be enough to protect against it, but almost everyone is convinced that something must be going on. Scientists work day and night to reconcile the data with any explanation but a magical one, but nothing emerges save wishful thinking. Fear, uncertainty, and doubt permeate every inch of society. Unsavoury types take advantage. Social cohesion is threatened. In an environment where nobody is sure what to do, too many people listen to the confident liars.

A secret order of wizards emerges from the bowels of the earth.

This was...not on anybody's bingo card. They had lived below the anti-magic fields since the days of the Surd Wizard, fleeing beneath the earth with their comparatively meager magic while the tyrant absconded through the atmosphere. There they lived safely if not comfortably, casting spells in the old ways to keep their abode habitable. They discovered the secrets of i, π, and e, but the true source of the Surd Wizard's power yet eluded them and those lesser secrets were largely depleted in the tyrant's rise to power, or perhaps deliberately shortly after. What need would one with the power of the Surd Wizard have for numerical strings composed entirely of those weaker things, after all?

The underground order had struggled to return to the surface for a long time; the fields extended deep underground and they had no way to even signal their existence, let alone escape their self-imposed exile. After many failures on the signal front they pivoted to the construction of a digging machine, acquiring ore and fuel and shaping the machinery through magic to create an entirely mundane final product. Learning the required knowledge from scratch required a long period of trial and error and yielded many failures, but through perseverance and wizardry they eventually succeeded.

The world above looks so different now, they say. What tidings from the land of the sun and moon? What has transpired in our long absence from the surface of the Earth?

You can't fool us, say the demagogues, threatened by the emergence of any unknown. If you are truly wielders of magic, you must be in league with the Surd Wizard! We should slay you at once, before you find a way to betray us.

That's impossible, say the wizards. If the Surd Wizard even lives, we have no more way to know of it than you; the anti-magic fields keep us in as effectively as they presumably keep him out.

You probably found a way to circumvent them, the demagogues say.

We did what the Surd Wizard could not, the wizards reply? Surely you do not think so highly of us.

Perhaps he has too, and you pass messages in secret, say the demagogues.

Then why has he not destroyed us all, ask the wizards?

Perhaps all you can do is transmit information, say the demagogues. Perhaps you have hatched a plan in concert and emerged now to put it into action. You appear now, just as the motion of Venus reveals our adversary's presence beyond a shadow of a doubt, and expect us to believe it is coincidence? Perhaps we should deal with you now rather than wasting more time talking about it.

It would not be a good plan, say the wizards, compared to digging around under the fields and collapsing the world beneath your feet, or flooding it with lava, or launching solid chunks of earth at high velocity, or a hundred other things that the Surd Wizard tried and a thousand he did not. He was one; we are many, and what we lack in speed we would make up for in time. You would never catch us, and we would whittle you down until the planet shrunk enough to drop you all beneath your aura of safety, and rule over you like gods.

Instead we walk into your domain willingly, placing ourselves at your mercy, and offer you the long-lost tools of magic, or would have had you not immediately accused us of calumny and lies. What explanation can you offer for that?

We do not need one, say the demagogues. We do not need to understand your malfeasance to take action against it. You are our enemies just as surely as the Surd Wizard, and must be destroyed just as thoroughly as we would destroy him if we could.

You admit there is no explanation then, say the wizards. No reason to take action against us.

We do not need one, repeat the demagogues. The people listen to us, and we know you for what you are. Now they will end you, for the sake of their own safety.

The demagogues look back, and though they find some people advancing menacingly, they find more in discussion with each other and frowning.

Quickly, they say! The time is now!

The wizards stand impassively, if somewhat nervously.

More people advance.

But they put their hands on the shoulders of the first group, bidding them halt.

Fools, spit the demagogues! The wolf howls at your door and you seek to show him mercy?

What danger do they pose, asks the mass of the people? Be specific. Tell us what they have done and what they plan to do, show us concrete evidence of these things, and we will treat them accordingly.

There is no time, screech the demagogues! Once they have shown their hand, it will already be too late. You must deal with them before they get the chance.

We could say the same of you, say the people.

We seek only your betterment, the demagogues cry plaintively!

The wizards have said the same, say the people. Why should we believe you and not them?

Things proceed in circles in this way for some time. Eventually the demagogues, sensing that the tide has turned against them, flee with their most ardent believers and weave a narrative of persecution by the foolish masses. Our time will come, they tell themselves and their supporters. We will show them that we are right, we will take back what is ours, and all will be well.

It is a good thing we developed a strong argumentative tradition in our generations underground, say the wizards.

[I don't know why we had this anti-fascist interlude, says the author, but it's here now and I'm sure as hell not removing it. It's all, like, metaphorical of broader social dialogue rather than a literal recounting of events, incidentally, in case that wasn't clear. Just thought I'd clear that up while I'm here!]

With the vastly superior technology of the surface, reinforcing and expanding the tunnel dug by the wizards proved to be trivial. Further underground facilities were developed; designs had existed for a long time, but the lack of starter information about wizardry precluded the possibility of any programs to resume the study of magic. With that obstacle removed, interest in the topic rapidly surged, and it was surely only a matter of time before the secret to encoding the square root in the arcane language was discovered, and with it perhaps the power to truly challenge the magical barricade surrounding the planet.

It would be a matter of less time, however, before the first asteroid would find itself hurled at Earth. The Surd Wizard, it seemed, had not been idle while the lost arts re-emerged.

The rotund man's cannon had been built to shatter the moon, or at least push it out of orbit; using it to deflect an asteroid was nearly trivial and required many times less power.

This was...less true of the second through fourth, which saw fit to arrive all at once from different directions.

The wizards and their new students had not been idle. They had discovered the encodings for trigonometry and passed on their knowledge of the arcane arts to many eager apprentices. The Surd Wizard's secret yet eluded them, but with another axis to explore and more hands and minds on the problem they found a number of pockets of relatively quick casts that remained unused. They would have to do.

The engineers, too, had not been idle; in preparation for the discovery of the Surd Wizard's secret, they had built hardier and more flexible vehicles for escaping the planet's gravity well. Intended for intuitive control by a single magically capable pilot who may be distracted by their spellcasting efforts, the vehicle would respond to simple bodily movement in a natural manner; the lack of aerodynamics resulting from a large humanoid shape rather than an actual rocket were, by this point, easily offset by advances in materials sciences and the raw power output of the latest miniaturised fusion reactors.

Wizards in mechs, enjoyers of ancient Earth media said to each other, and laughed.

Further testing, iteration, and pilot drills were planned before the initial breaching attempt, but time had run out. Even if the cannon could somehow strike all three asteroids before any of them caused any damage, surely the next barrage would be imminent and even larger. Better to begin now when the stakes were as low as they would get; pessimism surrounded the evasive options, as they would cause widespread planetary disruption and nobody was sure whether the asteroids would simply swerve to follow them. So up the wizards went, to try and deflect the things with magic or, failing that or perhaps in concert with it, with good old mechanical motive force applied at point blank range.

The first wizard to exit the planet's anti-magic field conglomerate was slain almost instantly.

Almost.

She detected the incoming spells and cast in opposition to them. Though she was barely able to fend off the Surd Wizard's spell volume for a fraction of a second, it was enough for her metal shell to gather and transmit vital telemetry back to Earth. With her final breath, she had even managed to cast a carefully formatted reporting spell to encode the results of a magic detection into the transmission before sending. A near-novel, near instant magical tool that was worth every second of magi-tech research spent on it and finally proved the value of the field beyond all doubt despite its relative infancy.

The barrage that this data painted a picture of was truly eye-watering. Fireballs, lightning bolts, magic missiles, countless other direct strikes and a wide variety of more subtle effects, all topped off with an almost endless supply of artificial atmospheres to allow everything to function as required in the vacuum of space.

Utterly undefeatable, at first blush, until the data scientists came back with their analysis: it was the same sequence, repeated over and over. For all his power and speed, it seemed the Surd Wizard remained a singular mind. Augmented in God only knew what ways, perhaps, but a singular mind nonetheless, was the conclusion.

The second wizard to exit the planet's anti-magic field conglomerate was slain instantly.

Almost.

Armed with knowledge of the pattern she aimed to exploit its structure to fight against it more efficiently, making up for her huge speed disadvantage, but what she confronted was a different angle of attack entirely. Her conveyance detonated essentially the moment a fraction of it crossed the threshold, internal systems obliterated by malicious feedback and high speed fragments of the portion outside the field slamming into the portion inside, all while the pilot herself was still inside the anti-magic field and unable to respond. The Surd Wizard, it seemed, had not been idle while the second launch was prepared.

The attack demonstrated intimate knowledge of the mech's construction and internal configuration; a baffling development until someone suggested that the first one might have survived even as long as it did only because it was allowed to. A review of the telemetry confirmed it; a simple information gathering spell hidden amongst the incredible magical noise of the alpha strike. The only shred of good news was that the second attack was less omnipresent than the first; it had failed to damage the auto-eject systems in time to kill the pilot, though it was a near thing, and she was subsequently successfully recovered and currently recuperating in a medical facility somewhere in eastern Europe.

The cannon was fired at one of the asteroids. It passed through with no visible effect.

Were they being toyed with?

A frenzy of data analysis and speculation followed. They could be illusions. They could be real and seamlessly replaced with illusions when struck. Real asteroids could be under invisibility until they hit the planetary field, at which point it would be too late (but then why have visible asteroids at all?). The second attack could be foiled by these configuration tweaks. The second attack couldn't be foiled because another scan and strike could be run all at once before the pilot exited anti-magic space. The second attack must be able to be foiled or the scan on the first mech would not have been necessary. One of the asteroids was a ruse, so why not that too? On and on in circles, as the possible space rocks drifted ever closer.

I have a plan, said a wizard from the corner, everyone turning to look at him.

The third wizard to exit the planet's anti-magic field conglomerate successfully extended the field with the first new castings of the spell in almost a millennium before returning to Earth.

The problem, the wizard said, is that we are not going fast enough.

We're going as fast as we possibly can, said mission control.

What about magic, asked the wizard?

We can't use that on the surface, replied mission control. You know that.

But we can use it underground, said the wizard.

What use is that, asked mission control? It cannot carry anything magical to the surface, much less to the upper threshold.

It can carry speed, said the wizard.

...how much speed can you give it, asked mission control?

We have portals, said the wizard with a smile.

The mech, third pilot securely strapped in, was placed in an endlessly falling loop between two portals. It built to terminal velocity, then the air was banished from the cavern it was falling in and it fell even faster. The underground process was entirely hidden from space, so when the machine finally launched up the hastily cleared elevator shaft at Mach Way-Too-High, the Surd Wizard had no prior warning of where or when it would breach the anti-magic threshold.

They still almost managed to tag it.

A useful quirk of the anti-magic fields was that failed spellcasts within them did not consume the spell; as far as the universe was concerned, performing the steps to cast in a field was just you thinking weird thoughts and maybe saying weird things and making weird gestures too. This meant that as our erstwhile pilot #3 flew toward the heavens, she repeated the same anti-magic spell over and over again until it worked, snapping into place and erasing a somewhat erratic cluster of attack invocations that had been aimed at her.

They had caught the Surd Wizard by surprise. Now it was time for the follow-up.

She repeated the technique with a scry-and-record spell, firing it the instant she left the newly minted anti-magic radius, then immediately followed up with another anti-magic cast. This time the Surd Wizard was able to clip her hard enough to tear off an arm, but whatever heightened cognition they were running on clearly wasn't quite up to the task of bringing their A-game on such short notice; the second field snapped into place before any more damage could be done. Two for two.

This was where she should stop pushing her luck, she knew. The exit plan was to cast a carefully configured momentum killer and fall back into the anti-magic field, then rapidly and evasively navigate back to the ground in case smaller physical projectiles were now part of the attack plan.

But she was fighting the Surd Wizard. And she was winning.

The ultimate Adversary of humankind. A millennia-old boogeyman. A being so powerful that when they built a perfect shield against their power on Earth, they learned to perform a one-wizard asteroid bombardment against the whole planet in response. Practically an outside context problem at this point, with access to magic so bizarre and unknown and casting speeds so fast that they could still only guess at their true capabilities.

And she was winning.

With a vicious smile, she cast a dispelling wave as she exited the next bubble.

It spread out in every direction except into the anti-magic field below her, so slowly that she rocketed past the front of the effect almost in the same instant she cast it.

She rapid-fire teleported, as fast as she could mentally run through the numbers, back to where she'd cast it.

On the first pass she was hit with a deluge of enchanted acid. Her frame held. Barely. Alarms blared as every structural integrity warning triggered at once.

As she flew through the expanding front of the dispel for a second time, the acid remained. Conjured; it would take a trip through an anti-magic field to remove it. At least it stripped the enchantment.

On the second pass, nothing seemed to happen. She knew better; probably another magical scan of some kind.

On the third pass, she blacked out. The Surd Wizard had targeted her consciousness directly. Luckily she had finally decided to stop pushing her luck and fired the momentum killer instead of another teleport, and by the third run through the front of the dispel was far enough from the center that she was exposed beyond it for a much shorter time than on the first.

She fell, then, protected by the front of her dispelling wave until she made it back into the anti-magic field, at which point her brain restarted. She was in free-fall, unable to move both for the near-total destruction of her mech and the sheer disorientation of being turned off and on like a light switch.

She could think of only one reason they had not killed her outright on the third pass; their aim must have been capture. A soberingly terrifying thought, as was the knowledge that the Surd Wizard had gleaned valuable insight from the acid bath and whatever they had done on the second pass.

Still, as the wave rippled through the nearby asteroid and the illusion winked out of existence, it felt like victory.

One to go.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth wizards to exit the planet's anti-magic field conglomerate met with no resistance. They had a playbook, now, and the data from mission three's scrying spell. The Surd Wizard still couldn't be in more than one place at once (though not for lack of trying), and it seemed that rather than risk exposing more capabilities or somehow being caught off-guard and slain now that the defenders had a deployable strategy and were using it to send up multiple wizard mechs simultaneously, they had chosen to abandon this particular offensive.

The final asteroid was the true threat, but with the cannon ready to hit it before it got too close and a steady trickle of random scouting missions hitting the upper atmosphere, it seemed they did not believe themselves able to force the issue. Valuable data in and of itself, even if none of the scrying attempts caught so much as a whisper of the Surd Wizard's presence. And most important of all, they had lost their window of opportunity to irreparably damage Earth's self-defence capacity before it could come fully online.

More cannons were built. Better infrastructure for deploying portal-launched wizard mechs was designed and constructed. The higher volume of deflector firepower combined with the ability to spot check a respectable radius around the planet kept the Surd Wizard at bay, even when they began demonstrating a capacity to aim multiple real asteroids in sync. There were casualties, they decided to take more risks as their situation became more desperate, but eventually Earth began sending up mechs in groups large enough that they posed a serious threat; even with all their speed, the Surd Wizard remained one consciousness with one point of attention.

Time was bought, and spent, and one day we cracked the square root encoding.

We almost croaked the bastard on their next attack. They tried their luck against the wrong squad and were nearly overwhelmed by the counterattack; exponents and logarithms gave them an upper hand as an even more versatile and less used tool than the surds for which they were named, but the square root space remained plentiful and quick enough to force them into a retreat. We haven't seen them since; we call them the Log Wizard now. A little less dignified, I reckon.

We've begun branching out throughout the solar system. The magic required is plentiful, and the tech fills the gap where there isn't yet a spell for our needs; we have not yet discovered everything the Log Wizard could do. The wizard mechs have proven highly versatile and handy for large-scale construction, and clever enchantment of existing fusion technology has rendered power a complete non-issue; there was even talk of a dyson sphere until we realised we don't actually need one. FTL is the next frontier; we aren't clear on whether it's actually possible, whether teleportation violates causality, etc, but it's all very new and exciting.

There are still worries. The surds will run dry and long one day; perhaps before we can find a replacement. The Log Wizard might discover a spell that lets them be in two places at once, or they might still have followers after all these centuries and finally be willing to teach them the secret of surds, or they might exhaust enough of the low number constructions to cause us trouble even at their own expense, or maybe they'll discover an encoding orders of magnitude more powerful than even logarithms. Or maybe they'll find aliens and convince them to attack us! We can't know at this point, so all we can do is prepare our defenses and study our crafts as best we can.

Still. It took what feels like far too long, but it seems like we've finally begun to crack the full potential of wizardry. They're calling it The Final Age; I'm not too keen on tempting fate, but I can't say I hate the optimism.

Spells are a non-renewable resource. One a spell has been cast, it can never be cast again.

But thankfully, what counts as a unique spell is permissive, and very early on in the history of wizardry, wizards found many ways to use the arcane language to specify a similar effect even if the wording was different.

And still, spells were a non-renewable resource.

There are only so many ways to call forth a beam of lancing light, only a limited number of methods of purifying food to make it safe to eat. Soon it became necessary for the wizards to start casting spells that weren't quite what they wanted: a beam of light that arced to the left, a purifying spell that added a bitter taste, some changes cosmetic and others very functional.

And still, spells were a non-renewable resource.

Wizardry was divided into ages by the historiographers. The First Age was the age of plenty, when wizards could make minor tweaks to the spells and cast as much as they liked. The Second Age was the age of modification, when wizards were jumping through hoops and using methods with side effects. But the Third Age was the age of decay, when so many spells had been used that only the oddballs were left. It was impossible to cast anything even remotely resembling a fireball, not even one that hooked to the left and exploded with sharp green shards.

It came to be that few wizards could produce a spell on their first attempt. They would try, only to discover that someone else had already taken their idea and the spell does not work. They would try again, only to discover that their second idea had also been taken. Wizard battles, which had once been glorious light shows, were reduced to two wizards standing in a field trying to be the first one to stumble upon a spell that had never been cast before.

~~~~

Here are some plot hooks:

Wizards jealously guard their knowledge, fearful that someone will learn of a "seam" of untapped spells, but they also write down every spell they know to have been cast, to reduce their search space. Obviously this trove of knowledge is highly valuable.

The existence of spell "seams", which are really just collections of spells that work off the same cluster of discrete variations, mean that wizards tend to be very specialized. The Sheep Wizard knows eight hundred ways of turning someone into a sheep, because he's studied that area of the arcane language extensively, as well as historical precedents that have been ruled out. The natural enemy of a Sheep Wizard is, of course, another Sheep Wizard.

During the Second Age, a group of wizards get together to deliberately reduce the spell-space, largely in the hopes of reducing the capacity of wizard-kind for making war. Their work largely consists of sitting around casting as many fireballs as they can, depleting all options for everyone else.

During the Third Age, a group of wizards gets together and in the spirit of mutual cooperation begins to define "spell blocks", a collection of spells that a single wizard is entitled to and all other wizards agree not to use. When you become a wizard, you're given a thousand spells which are thought to still be valid, and will lose your license to practice wizardry if you cast any spells that are outside your block. This is difficult to enforce, rife with accusations and suspicion, but is thought to be better than nothing.

During the Fourth Age, a group of "wizards" (none of whom have ever actually cast a spell) are working on the arcane language in the hopes of a revival. As the age of hoarded knowledge has mostly passed, they're able to get their hands on many books that weren't previously available. One day, they invent a new form of specification that allows hundreds of thousands of new spells, re-igniting wizardry.

[bahablastplz]

Battleground: Minho x Reader

Prompt: "Hii, i was wondering in you could write a one shot of alpha!minho x Alpha!afab. They met through their friend/roommate Jisung who is an omega, and they are enemies and Jisung has to break up their fights, but this one time they end up having sex while fighting for dominance." Content: Smut, angst, omegaverse, enemies to lovers, switch/dom Minho, switch reader, alpha reader/alpha Minho, afab!reader WC: 5000 Note: hi yes I got carried away with this but this was super fun to write. enjoy!

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You should have never trusted Jisung. This is often a motto of yours, actually, seeing as he’s responsible for nine out of every ten instances of trouble you find yourself in. But he has big pleading eyes and he can be so convincing that you throw caution to the wind every time he speaks. 

You needed a new roommate. Your old one bailed on you (thank god, because she was actually the worst). She was filthy and never cleaned up after herself. She left dishes in the sink, piles of trash for you to take care of, and was blatantly rude. You let out a sigh of relief when she told you she was moving and it took all of two days for her to fuck off for no apparent reason. She left your life as violently as she entered it, however, leaving piles and piles of her junk for you to take care of as well as half of the rent once again. 

You wish that you could lie and say that you could afford it by yourself but you simply couldn’t. It was just too far out of your spending limits and so… you needed to find a new place to live. 

When Jisung suggested you come to live in his spare bedroom, it really didn’t seem like that bad of an idea. You knew the omega well enough; he wasn’t the cleanest in the world but he’s a step up from your old roommate for sure. Plus he was one of your closest friends. If anything, you knew you would feel comfortable around him. The only reason you had hesitated at first is because everybody always tells you not to live with your friends. Somehow you doubted this would be an issue with Jisung though. 

It would be fine, right? You’ve heard only good things about his other roommate, Minho. Jisung jokingly refers to him as his platonic soulmate sometimes but you don’t really know anything else about him. You were a little weary about sharing a living space with two omegas and all, being an alpha yourself, but you were no asshole alpha. They would have nothing to worry about. 

Once again, you should have never trusted Han Jisung. 

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“What are you doing? You’re going to scare her away!” You hear through the door of the apartment. You’re a little unsure when you hear muffled shouting and you feel an uneasiness in your stomach that you ignore but you can’t help to continue to listen. “Why are you acting like you don’t want her here?” 

“Because I don’t. We don’t know her!”

“You don’t know her. I know her perfectly well and you should trust my judgment.” You use this as the opportunity to knock on the door which swings open to a wide-eyed Jisung. He looks guilty of something and you’re confused before it hits you all at once. 

The apartment reeks of cinnamon. Every crevice and corner is dripping of the strong smell to the point you can hardly smell Jisung’s vanilla, even if you really focus. That’s when you come to the realization that Jisung’s roommate isn’t an omega… He’s an alpha. One intentionally covering the whole apartment with his smell before he even gets to know you to assert his dominance. You fight back the urge to roll your eyes at the stereotypical alpha behavior and you resist the urge to cover your nose at the smell. Just because Minho is being rude doesn’t mean you need to be rude in return. 

And before you can even say anything to greet him, he’s walking away and slamming his door shut. You give Jisung a look and he’s already looking at you apologetically. 

“I’m sorry,” he winces. “I really am. He’s not usually like this, I swear. I don’t know what’s going on–” 

“Jisung,” you interrupt. “You never told me he was an alpha in the first place!” 

His mouth opens slightly in a small ‘o’ shape. “I didn’t?” 

You sigh at him and take a deep breath. “Just help me with these boxes, okay?” And as if he’s eager to be back on your good side, he helps you without a fuss. 

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It’s two entire days before you even see Minho again. It agitates your own alpha, really, knowing that there’s someone else in your living space you haven’t gotten a proper chance to meet and scope out. But you’ve finally gotten yourself settled into your space and you have to admit it’s nice being so close to Jisung all the time. 

You stumble out of your room after an afternoon nap to find him cooking in the kitchen. It takes you by surprise, honestly, because for someone who has already tried to be so stereotypically alpha, it just seems like a very… omegan activity. You tell yourself it’s not polite to pass judgments on someone you hardly know, especially regarding their secondary gender, so you don’t say a word about it. You do, however, make an attempt to properly introduce yourself.

“Hello,” you say lightly. Minho’s shoulders tense up for a second before they relax. “I’m Y/N.” He doesn’t turn around and he doesn’t say anything. You make a face from behind him, where he can’t see you. What is his deal? You lean against the wall, trying to think of a way to make conversation. If this were anybody else, you wouldn’t bother but… you’re doing this for Jisung, after all. This is supposed to be one of his closest friends aside from you. “How long have you known Jisung for?” you try. 

“Longer than you,” he scoffs. This catches you off guard as you’re not quite sure what to make of the statement. Is he trying to be possessive over the omega or is he just trying to show you that he’s winning whatever competition this is? 

“Oh. How long would that be? I’ve only known him for two years or so, but we’ve grown really close–” Minho finally spins around and you make eye contact for the first time. His harsh gaze is the first thing you really notice about him, his feline eyes sharp as they stare daggers into you. He’s very pretty, you note, and it almost pisses you off even more. How can someone so attractive be such an asshole? 

“You’re not my friend,” he says, pointing a wooden spoon at you threateningly. “This was my space first and you have no right to intrude and try to be buddy-buddy with me. I don’t know you.” His words are blunt, to the point. He turns back around and… god, he’s trying to assert dominance again by shutting you up and ending the conversation here! Better yet, his cinnamon scent spikes and swirls around the room, haunting you. 

You won’t retaliate with your own scent. You’re better than that. But that doesn’t mean you’ll let some alpha think he’s better than you and shut you up without a fight. “Who’s fault is that?” you spit. Minho freezes so you continue. “Who’s fault is it that you don’t know me, hmm? I never asked to be your friend, Minho. But I’m not here to intrude and I’m not here to take over your territory and become the new head-alpha, okay? I’m here because Jisung invited me. I’m here because I need a place to live! Is it really so fucking bad to think that maybe you can be civil with me? Instead you’ve been defensive since the second I walked through that door!” Your anger is spiking and you need to get control of yourself before you explode on him. You turn around and slam your door shut before you can say anymore. 

Once on your bed you fight the urge to punch something. You certainly let yourself get riled up fast. It annoys you that someone you don’t even know has this sort of effect on you. But you close your eyes and will the anger away, telling yourself that maybe, just maybe, it’ll get better. 

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It doesn’t get better. It gets a whole lot worse, actually. Your first movie-night in with Jisung you actually get nauseous with how much he reeks of Minho. 

“Jesus, Sung,” you tell him. “It smells like you rolled around with him right before you came into my room.” 

“Sorry,” he says apologetically. It’s so hard to be mad at him. It really is. “He’s been extra clingy lately for some reason.” 

“For some reason,” you grumble. You know exactly why. “He’s trying to intimidate me to stay away from you, probably.” 

“What? Minho would never do that!” he says. You glare at him and he cowers down immediately. “I don’t know what’s going on with him,” he admits. 

“I’m tired of him making me feel like I’m the crazy one here! Everyone I talk to shoots praises out of their ass for him and meanwhile, I’m public enemy number one. I seriously don’t know what his issue is with me and I’m getting sick and tired of everyone telling me what a great person he is!” you rant rather loudly, ending with a great sigh. 

“Have you tried talking to him?” Jisung asks. You feel like you’re going to explode. 

“Yes, I have,” you tell him. “Multiple times. Each one ends in an argument or one of us storming off. I just can’t figure out what his deal is.” 

“Maybe–” 

“Sung, let’s just watch the movie, okay? I’m starting to get irritated and you’re not the one I’m upset with.” 

He concedes and snuggles in a bit closer to you, pressing play on the laptop. If you discreetly try to cover him in your own ginger scent? That’s between you and the moon goddess. 

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You find yourself in the midst of some sort of war and you’re on the losing side. Lee Minho has made it his life mission to inconvenience or irritate you in any way he can. 

Exhibit A: One morning you find yourself running late for class and you open your door just to trip over a conveniently placed pile of his shoes. Cursing his name in your head, you grab your backpack and run out the front door, just narrowly making it in time for the professor to start talking. Fast forward to the end of class when you pull out your folder just to realize that said folder is nowhere to be seen. Your homework which you spent over an hour on the previous night has vanished, gaining you a zero on the assignment. You’re sure you’re seeing red when you get home and your folder is on the kitchen counter.  

“I don’t know what game you think we’re playing, but sabotaging my grades is going too fucking far, Lee!” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says as he sips on a cup of coffee. You fight the urge to throw it in his face. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t try to make me late for class and hide my folder!” you say, waving the folder in his face. He looks irritated but it’s no match for how you feel. 

“Your belongings are not my responsibility,” he says with an eye roll. “Next time maybe don’t misplace your stuff.” You leave because you’re not confident in your ability not to punch him. 

Exhibit B: Poor Jisung has tried to set up an apartment movie night. It’s a good idea, in theory, to try to get some supervised bonding. Jisung even sits right in the middle, anxiously picking at his nails the entire movie. That’s only after Minho accuses you of burning the popcorn and fighting with you over which movie to watch. Jisung ends up picking it. It was going well until he stretched his legs out over Jisung’s lap and into your space. You shove his feet off of you faster than he put them up. The action makes him almost fall off the couch and spill his soda all over himself and Jisung. 

The omega stands up covered in soda and huffs. “I give up!” he cries out in exasperation. 

“It’s her fault for pushing me–” 

“Give it a fucking rest!” you cry out. 

Everybody ends up in their respective rooms that night. 

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

 You didn’t want to go to this party. You really didn’t but you figured that you owe Jisung big time for turning his apartment into a warzone. The omega already has social anxiety and doesn’t love parties himself so you promised you would tag along. 

Minho is here too. You tell yourself you won’t interact with him but you keep catching his eyes from across the room. Deep down you hope that maybe the alcohol will mellow him down a bit and make him more tolerable. And maybe you use alcohol as a coping mechanism this one night. You’re stressed and a walking ball of tension every second of each day, not even able to relax in your own apartment. 

You always have an eye on Jisung when you party together. But you indulge in some tipsy flirting for once. This guy is super cute, after all… freckled face, long blond hair that frames his face, and a deep, sensual voice that makes you giggle and fawn over him. You amp up the usual techniques, touching his arm and laughing at all of his jokes. And when he leans in close enough that you feel his breath on your neck you don’t stop him. 

But somebody else does. 

One second you're bracing yourself for a drunken kiss and the next a hand is wrapped tightly around your arm, pulling you away. You smell burnt cinnamon before you even realize what happened and the anger that bubbles in your chest is unlike any you’ve ever felt before. You retaliate just as fast with an overwhelming mix of ginger that smells so strong it burns your nose. Before you can yell you’re being pushed out the door and into the cold of the night. 

“What the fuck was that,” you spit at Minho. You yank your arm out of his grip. 

“We’re leaving,” he tells you. 

“Like hell we are! You don’t get a say of who I spend my time with or when I decide to leave.” 

“I get a say when you’re making idiotic choices,” he answers, voice low. He spins you around until you’re pinned against the wall and his skin burns hot against yours. 

“No, you don’t. You’ve made yourself loud and clear that you don’t give a fuck about me. My bad choices are mine to make, Minho, not yours.” 

“You’re not thinking straight,” he tells you once he finally lets go. He looks like he’s trying to convince himself more than you. “Felix… he’s… I know him from my dance studio, okay? Just.. trust me and don’t go home with him. You can’t kiss him. Not Felix.”

“From your dance studio? Wow, ladies and gentlemen! Lee Minho has revealed exactly one thing about himself! He’s a dancer!” you say with mock surprise. You stumble a bit and Minho steadies you by your waist. It only serves to piss you off even more. 

“Let’s go home, yeah?” he asks. It’s probably the softest you’ve ever heard his voice yet. 

“No. I think I’m going to go kiss Felix and you can go fuck off,” you protest. You cross your arms and you look away from him because his cheeks are also flushed from drinking and he worries his lips between his teeth so you can’t stand to see it. 

He takes a deep breath. “Y/N, I swear to god you’re going to walk home with me or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and bring you home myself.”

Before you snap back at him about how ridiculous he’s being, the door opens and Jisung steps out. “Guys?” he questions, looking back and forth between the two of you. You’re breathing heavily and your fists are clenched but your anger dissipates the second you see the disappointed look on Jisung’s face. He wanted you here to keep him company. To soothe his social anxiety and to prove that you could be there for him, to show up for him like old time’s sake. And just like that, the adrenaline high slowly fades when you realize you’ve let him down. Anger turns to sorrow and guilt and god, no you won’t let Minho see you cry but you bury your face into Jisung’s neck. You whisper an apology and tell him you want to go home. 

You can’t help but feel like Minho has won this round, in some roundabout twisted way. 

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

You avoid leaving your room for the next day. You don’t really feel like you’re deserving of wallowing in your own sorrow, especially since the one who is impacted here is Jisung, not you. You’ve let him down. You don’t get to mope. So… what you’re doing is avoiding. Avoiding Minho and therefore avoiding any more conflict. 

It’s the next day you leave your room. You notice the scent of vanilla a little more sweet than normal and when you knock on Jisung’s door you notice he’s nesting. A mixture of your clothes and Minho’s are piled in his bed and you feel a pang of guilt in your chest. 

“You okay?” you ask. If Jisung is in preheat and you’ve avoided him for the past 24 hours, he’s probably feeling pretty antsy. He does let out a breath of relief when he sees you though and brings you in for a hug. 

But of course your timing is unfortunate because Minho unlocks the front door at that very moment. When he sees you in Jisung’s arms he growls, causing you and the omega to stiffen. Minho crosses the room in seconds and the smell of cinnamon behind you gets stronger. 

“Off,” he says low into your ear. You have half the mind to snap at him but Jisung’s vanilla scent burns. You back off, giving Jisung a small nod before disappearing to your room. The last thing you want to do is distress Jisung further just before he starts his heat. This needs to stop. It needs to end. 

Jisung leaves the next day to spend his heat in a hotel. Despite the apartment being more comfortable for him, the unit isn’t equipped to deal with the overwhelming scent of heats and ruts. You couldn’t afford a scent complaint fee. Jisung doesn’t complain as you help him pack his bags and you even help him into the hotel room. You offer your best support in helping him rebuild his nest though you don’t have the same omegan instincts as he does. 

“I’m sorry again,” you tell him before you leave. “For everything. With Minho. It’s… we’ll work it out. Okay? Love you Sung.” 

He gives you a sad smile. His heat should start by the morning, you would guess. You just hope he can be comfortable and not worry too much about you and Minho. 

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

Minho is standing anxiously by the door when you get home. You half expect him to crowd you against the wall but he doesn’t, eyes glued to the floor instead. 

“You smell like him,” he tells you. 

“Yes Minho,” you reply sarcastically. “It’s like I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time. Jisung is my friend too. You don’t have to act all possessive of him all the time.” 

He hums. You feel your blood boil again. How does he get you so worked up to the point of your heart pumping a mile a minute every time you see him? 

“Minho. Be honest,” you start. He finally looks up at you. You can’t read his face. Your alpha goes back and forth between wanting to pounce on him and run away in fear. You need to do what you think is right. “Do you want me to move out?” 

You aren’t expecting his reaction. You expect him to laugh in your face. You expect him to be overjoyed. But instead he seems shocked. 

“What?” 

“What do you mean what? Don’t act like this isn’t what you wanted from the very beginning. You win, okay? I concede. You want your space? You want to be the only alpha again? This is it. This is your opportunity. I’m offering you a way out now. No more fighting. No more upsetting Jisung. If you want me gone, just say the word. Please. I’ll leave.” 

“Don’t.” 

“What?” You almost think you’ve misheard him but he takes a step closer and he looks at you with pleading eyes. “What is your gameplan then? Why make me miserable since the second I move in? Argue with me, tell me who I can and can’t kiss, for god’s sake make me fail a fucking assignment? If you don’t want me fucking gone, Minho, what the fuck do you want–” 

You’re cut off by his lips clashing against yours so hard your head would have hit your head against the wall if not for Minho’s hands holding you as if you’re something precious. Your teeth clank together but you’re breathing him in and reciprocating his affection just as violently as he gives it. When his tongue enters your mouth and you taste cinnamon you realize you’ve never hated the smell, never hated him… He kisses into you like he needs you to breathe, like he’s been in the desert and you’re his oasis. 

You’re not sure that a kiss has ever felt like this before. You think for a moment that you might not be able to kiss anyone again after this, everyone and everything lacklustre compared to Minho. Minho. Minho. Nobody has ever and will ever make you feel this burning, boiling… hatred? lust? desire? Whatever it is you feel, you’re not sure it could be replicated. 

When you wrap your leg around his waist he grabs under your knee, hoisting you against the wall. His mouth is all over you and he explores every inch of your mouth, your neck, your collarbone. Your hands take purchase on his shoulders, in his hair, you’re not sure but you want to feel every inch of him there is to explore. Cinnamon has never smelled so sweet.

Minho brings you into his bedroom and it’s the first time you’ve stepped foot into his space but you don’t take the time to look around. In fact, the only thing you notice is that his comforter is soft, soft against your back as he throws you onto his bed. Your clothes are all but shredded from your body and if you had claws you would have used them to get every inch of useless fabric off of Lee Minho’s body. It makes you angry that he’s still clothed, so angry that you forgo pleasure in replacement of ripping the clothes off of him harshly. He grins. He has that smug fucking grin on his face you want to wipe off and you kiss his stupid lips again. This time when you kiss you’re both completely naked and every part of your body that touches his is scalding. 

When you sit on his lap your bare pussy slides along his cock and you both groan. His hands are on your hips and in desperation you both move back and forth. Every time his cock catches on your entrance you both let out a hitched breath but neither of you can stop. 

“Fuck. I’m gonna knot you, you know that? I’m gonna fuck you so full and then knot you so that everybody knows you’re mine,” he pants as he ruts his cock against you desperately. Is this just another way for him to stake his claim over you? To show that he’s the true alpha? Oh hell no.

“You’re such an asshole,” you tell him with a hiss when he finally slides into you. He’s big. You already knew this from the (not so) dry humping just moments ago but it still pisses you off when he stretches you nice and full. “Stupid asshole alpha with a stupid big cock.” 

When he looks up at you it’s with adoration and it throws you off. His eyes gleam and his teeth are caught against his bottom lip in a sultry grin. He plants his feet against his bed and thrusts up into you hard and fast–you almost fall because you have no time to plant your hands anywhere for balance. But the almighty perfect Minho catches you before you fall because of course he does. His hands on your waist only hold you in place to give him the opportunity to fuck up into you with more force and the wet sounds that come from between your bodies are filthy… but only serves to turn you on even more. 

“You were saying about me being an asshole?” he asks. His voice is breathy and low and you fucking hate how much you love it. 

“If all you wanted was to fuck me this bad you didn’t have to act like such a dick,” you say through tight lips. Okay. You’re trying not to moan, to give him that satisfaction. Who could blame you? “You only made me hate you more.” 

“Fuck,” he says, throwing his head back. “It wasn’t on purpose… didn’t like you at first but all of a sudden it turned to lust and… can’t you feel what you do to me?” He punctuates his point with a harsh thrust and fuck, you vaguely remember him mentioning he was a dancer. Perfect body, perfect hips and thighs made just to fuck you like this. 

“How you treated me wasn’t fair,” you tell him. You need him to know and you’re lowering your hips, trapping your legs under his so he can’t bounce you up and down on his cock anymore. Your hand snakes up to his throat and takes purchase there, watching the way he gulps and his eyes turn heavy at the action. You feel a burning satisfaction at the way his hips buck into you involuntarily when you squeeze slightly. “Say it,” you coo. “I want to hear you admit to me that you know you treated me poorly.” 

You expect a fight from him because, let’s be honest, Minho always puts up a fight with you. But any ounce of opposition leaves his body the second his eyes meet yours. He looks regretful. He looks small. “I treated you poorly,” he tells you. His eyes never leave yours. “I acted like a child because I had feelings for you that were misplaced. I liked you from the beginning and I… fuck, I didn’t know how to deal with that and I pushed you away. I wanted you to hate me.” 

The confession that spills past his lips is the last thing you’re expecting him to say. Your grip on his neck falters and he uses his stupidly impressive core strength to sit up, bringing your lips into a kiss. It isn’t explosive, it isn’t word-changing, but it is sweet and apologetic and very Minho. 

He places you on your back and resumes his pace, bringing your legs up to rest on his shoulders. At this angle he reaches deep inside you and the first time you gasp he resumes his brutal, relentless pace. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna knot you, please let me knot this pretty pussy,” he pleads. The first time he said it it was a demand; this time he asks from his soul, baring it to you and giving you ample time and opportunity to reject it. 

“Yes,” you moan. But if he’s going to claim you as his from the inside out, the least you could do is return the favor. And so you scratch Minho, raking your nails down his back until they’re sure to leave a mark. And when you’re both on the precipice you bite down onto his shoulder hard, just inches away from his scent gland. It’s not a mating bite but it is a mark, a claim. You suck hard into the bite just as he finishes, his knot expanding and catching on your entrance. You don’t release your mouth from his skin until he’s done pulsing inside you but to your surprise, he doesn’t stop moving his hips. Despite his knot locking you in place he grinds his hips into yours in small circles, putting pressure right onto your clit with his pubic bone. It’s too much, the stimulation of your clit, his knot, and the thick head of his cock hitting that spot deep inside you causing you to cum around him hard with a cry. 

You feel as if you’ve been electrocuted, little shocks going through your whole body with every wave of your orgasm. You almost wish he was bad in bed, if just to keep your dignity and tell him that he wasn’t all that. But with the gutteral noises he dispelled from your body, lying would just be a farce. 

When you’ve both finally calmed down and his knot finally deflates, you half expect him to kick you out of his room. You’ve built up your walls so high around him that it’s hard to imagine him treating you any other way. You’re anxious for sure, moreso at yourself for allowing yourself to be so hopeful. But Minho rolls over and grabs you, holding you close to his chest. Even when you squirm he doesn’t dare to let you go. 

“I really am sorry,” he tells you. A murmur into your hair. “I don’t want you to move out. I’m sorry for treating you the way I did. My alpha thought… that because we like you that maybe asserting our dominance would make you like us more. I know that’s illogical and just sounds  like an excuse but…” 

“I forgive you,” you tell him. “Well… maybe I don’t forgive you just yet. But I can if you prove to me that you’re done with the macho asshole alpha act. No more being possessive over Jisung. My friend by the way! Still haven’t gotten over that. And no more sabotaging my grades.” You shoot him a glare and he only looks at you sheepishly. Harsh looks turn into soft stares and all of a sudden he’s kissing you again. Your tension has already begun to melt away. You begin to see the charm of the Lee Minho everybody has told you about and you think, maybe… just maybe everything will be okay now. 

“I think we owe Jisung a gift,” Minho whispers into your hair. 

“I think we owe him a hundred gifts,” you wince. 

“He’s not going to believe his fucking mind when he gets back.” You laugh so hard your stomach begins to hurt. You think maybe you like the way Minho looks when he smiles. You think maybe you really like the way cinnamon and ginger smell together. You think maybe you could get used to kissing Minho and that burning, bubbly feeling in your stomach agrees. 

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

[fumiscripts]

✦ SO, BABY, HOLD MY HAND NOW

✦ one shot ,, michael kaiser x gn!reader

content:: kaiser never would've thought he'd be falling first and harder. after an inner debate, he decided he'll ask you out on valentines. he's not sure what to do, though one thing was for certain: he wants to make you happy

valentines fic ,, fluff ,, 877 words

additional:: WHIPPED loser kaiser who tries to act nonchalant, implied childhood friends if you squint, he prolly would not do allat but like c'mon man it's valentines let's have a little fluff, ts is so sappy like actually, kaiser attempts to pin after reader, ending is open heh

Kaiser believed that he was a nonchalant, male manipulator.

But, really, he could not be any more dramatic than this.

Seriously, what was wrong with him? Thinking corny, cheesy thoughts about you like he liked you. He's killing himself inside every time his mind points towards the idea of holding your hand, or whatever couples do, cringing at himself— which was a shocker, as he never seemed embarrassed from whatever bullshit he constantly does— and tweaking out violently. And not the kicking feet and giggling type of tweaking. The pulling hair, screaming into a pillow type of tweaking.

He's Michael Kaiser, for fuck's sake, not some hopeless romantic! Why was he even thinking of you? You're so mid compared to him. Seriously, you didn't deserve to be going through his head 24/7. You didn't deserve the way he feels warm whenever he sees a smile grace your face, didn't deserve how stupidly much he wanted to be the reason for it— to be the reason you're happy.

Well, you're close to him, that much he can say. To the point the two of you had witnessed each other while on their most vulnerable. Kaiser found himself sincerely caring for you—but that doesn't mean he liked liked you.

So what? He could wrap an arm around your shoulders and pull you around by your hand whenever the two of you were walking, and you could still be friends. In fact, he does lots of the latter. A lot of hand holding. He could say the weight of your hand was perfect against his–

God, he really needed to stop.

The way it’s nearing Valentines is not helping. Usually, he’d find these days boring and meaningless— but now that you’re in the picture? Yeah, no, it’s different. While crashing out over his feelings, he had come to a simple conclusion: He’s gonna ask you out. In the most extravagant way possible because he’s Michael Kaiser. Plus, if he was to ask you for a date with him, he needs to at least make it seem like you were the one desperate for him, and that he was only doing it as a favor. Really, he just wanted to take you out, though he denies it.

On the day, you were greeted by a notification from him, a short one, to not make it seem like he had been staring at his phone for minutes, debating how to write the message.

“Dress up, we're going somewhere.”

The text stated, making you wonder what the hell he’s making you get ready for so early in the morning. But you made the effort to follow along, anyway. If he was up to tomfoolery, you were in. Maybe you'll shit on couples, who knows.

You could hear him pull up an hour later, just in time when you were finished doing your morning routine. Opening the door, you were greeted with him leaning against the wall— acting all cool and composed, when he had been pacing back and forth anxiously while waiting for you to open the door— Kaiser spots you and pushes himself up, leaning on the doorframe, instead.

“Hey,” he forced the word out, trying not to let the way you looked so good get to him. His palms were sweating. Why were they sweating? He's not nervous. Totally not… was he? Kaiser forced out a smile, shoving an obnoxiously flashy bouquet of blue roses in your direction, having it from behind his back to in your arms. Seeing your puzzled expression, he rolled his eyes, shifting his position again to tilt his head, looking down at you.

This was his attempt at making a scene with close proximity, like what he had seen in those low-budget romcoms the both of you watch for shits and giggles. Really, he does not have any experience in relationships— all of this was ripped off straight out of movies and books he read, just to try and impress you.

“Happy valentines,” Kaiser greeted. Before it could seem too mushy and sweet, he followed up. “Since I just know you're lonely and all, I decided why the hell not take you out on a date? Better than being single while sappy couples are kissing all around you, hm? How lucky you are, scoring a date with me of all people.”

The surprise written on your face quickly transformed into a hint of slight annoyance. “...I never complained about being single on valentines…? Are you sure you didn't just wanna ask me out? I'm not shaming you for that,” you say, having a slightly amused grin right after. Kaiser wanted to wipe it right off your face.

“Whatever,” he scoffed, before offering you his hand. A simple, romantic gesture. “Yes, I'm asking you out.”

You stared at his hand, raising an eyebrow. To which he sighed, heat rising up to his face at the thought of being out here and doing something soft and romantic with you— wanting to see you smile and enjoy the day because of him. You weren't stupid, you saw the soft hues of red on the tips of his ears, and the way those blue eyes softened just the slightest as he muttered something out.

“Just hold my hand now.”

happy late valentines y'all 😓

taglist (ask to be added) @shrii-kk, @tired-xyra-urstruly, @fishii28, @yui2aku, @lakeside-paradise

© fumiscripts 2025. don't steal, repost, translate or modify my works without my permission.

[kwoniele]

his (favorite) cheerleader

synopsis: cheerleading practice seems to affect seungcheol a lot more than you expected.

genre: smut

pairing: seungcheol x cheerleader!reader

wc: 737

warnings: rough sex! clearly i have a kink.. creampie, unprotected sex (please do NOT do this! use protection always) overprotective cheol, praise, scratching 😝, BABE THIS ISNT PROOFREAD ☺️ none of my works are tbh. i think thats all? please lmk if there are more!

authors note: hiii im baackkk!! this was supposed to be a celebratory fic for from behind but unfortunately i got quite occupied with my assignments (ack?) and didn’t get to ginish but u can read this as a standalone haha also my requests are open! please request SOMETHING im in need of ideas.. ok bye enjoy

nervous.

thats how you made seungcheol feel.

honestly, he would have never felt this way if he had stopped you from wearing the skimpy skirt for cheerleading practice. you asked him permission before choosing to wear it for the day because one: you would hate to make him feel like you’re dressing like a slut for everyone to see and two: the girls in your crew are bringing their boyfriends.

you would never admit it, but the girls in your squad have terrible taste for men. all of them are either desperate for a quick fuck with anyone but their girlfriends, or theyre in denial and swear to like women but seem to enjoy having drinks with your boyfriend instead.

but seungcheol didn’t hold you back. he swore it was okay and that you looked amazing in the skirt. he explained that he was going to be right beside you the entire time and that things were going to be alright. because he was there.

he was concerned that the boys would be very much eyeing you for a minute too long, or your name would be the name they’d be chanting for the entire game rather than their girlfriend’s.

he was wrong.

he was the person he was worried about.

the way the skirt almost barely covered your ass, the way your hair stuck to your forehead sticky with sweat, how your chest heaved whenever you finished a routine; he felt like he was going absolutely insane.

regardless of the fact he promised you he’d behave, he wasn’t doing a good job of fulfilling it. he could feel his cock slowly growing in his pants and he was not trying to hide it.

“seungcheol-ah, if you’re in need of relief, we’d really appreciate it if you could do it somewhere else and not on the freshly cleaned bleachers.” irene’s boyfriend lightly elbowed seungcheol,

cheol shot him a glare before his eyes slowly rested on you again. you were hot. if male ovulation was a thing, cheol was the epitome of it. all he heard was ringing and inaudible chatter as his attention was focused on you. his eyes were in the shape of hearts as he watched you perform.

he couldn't wait to go home. he just knew what he’d do to you as soon as you step foot into your house.

—

“haa~ cheol!” if he had asked you to count how many times you’ve come tonight, you wouldn’t be able to answer him. your cum had made a creamy white ring around his cock, slowly growing thicker and thicker as his thrusts began to pick up rhythm faster than the one before.

your voice began to strain, sweat started to trickle down the back of your neck, your hips were burning red as seungcheol showed no mercy at all. it was as if his dick had a mind of its own. his tip kisses your g-spot, making you arch from the bed as cheol’s hand pushed you down.

“you were so fucking pretty out there. did you know that? i was worried the boys would be a fucking idiot around you— fuck.” he threw his head back in a moan. “but it turns out, i was the one going insane.”

his lips traveled to your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses beside the bruises he had made earlier. his thumb rubbed your clit, causing you to whine controllably as your gripped onto his shoulders. “pleaaase, let me cum!”

“yeah? my baby wants to cum?” seungcheol rapidly thrusted into you—if that was even possible—even more, making you slip out incoherent words as your eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“yes! yes! yes! please let me cum please!” your nails clawed his back, leaving dark red marks as he winces in pain.

“fuck, cum with me okay?” you nodded in agreement, not caring about the neighbours who were probably wide awake, or the open windows that seungcheol didn’t bother to shut, or your cheerleading outfit that you definitely needed the following day.

“you can cum, beautiful.” he painted your walls with white ribbons as you breathed heavily—cumming right after him. you came so hard that you saw stars. as soon as you finally caught your breath, seungcheol was already rubbing you with a warm cloth, cleaning up his mess.

“you’re so responsible, you know?”

“mhm, i am. just not when you’re at cheerleading practice.” you giggle.

“you should come more often.”

[cuteandhughesy]

Love Is Not Dying | Vince Dunn

summary: hooking up with the hottest guy who think you’ve ever seen can’t go wrong…right?

7.4k

warnings: NSFW! one night stand | drinking | brothers teammate (beniers! reader) | flirting | sexual and mature themes | kissing | smut | brief nipple play | fingering | oral (f receiving) | protected p in v intercourse | filthy sex bc vince just brings it out of me | read at your own discretion

a/n: formed from this request! thought i’d combine this idea with the very much high-demand need for vince dunn! so with that being said here’s so smut to satisfy your eyes on valentine’s day 💌🤭

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contrary to what movies, shows, books and anything and everything else tells you—moving to a new city is actually really refreshing. there's something about a fresh start that just feels so good. the delicious cafes, the smell of a new apartment, the new restaurants and people everywhere you turn...what's not to like?

seattle is your fresh start—your new city. a place where you can forget about your old life and asshole ex-boyfriend back in massachusetts. getting treated like the dirt on the bottom of a shoe and being cheated on for 2 and a half years really pushes you to get the hell away from hingham.

moving to seattle seemed like the most logical option considering it's where your younger brother lived—playing for the kraken like the ridiculously talented athlete he's always proven himself to be. hockey has never really been your thing though, regardless of matty's undying devotion. you prefer to cheer him on from your couch...with your dad texting you anytime matty scores. you didn't even know seattle had a nhl team until they drafted your brother.

your phone buzzes in your jacket pocket, vibrating the leather and tickling your skin.

little shit

hey. you're still coming over for breakfast tomorrow?

matty's text has you snickering, and you almost walk into a bike rack lining the sidewalk. you blink, a flush covering your cheeks.

y/n

planning on it. unless you've changed your mind and want to treat some random hookup to my well deserved time with you

the bag on your shoulder begins slipping, the faux leather providing the perfect slip and slide for the strap of your canvas tote. the last thing you need is to drop the grocery bag and shatter your eggs and spill the milk. then the whole trip out would be pointless.

matty can tell you're joking around, he knows you too well to assume otherwise. you have always been close, and because of the distance between states, you'd only been seeing one another at christmas and in the summer since 2021–when he was drafted. but now you're in seattle, and your younger brother is only a 10 minute drive from your new apartment.

you've only been here three days, and matty has been bugging you about having breakfast since the u-haul pulled into your complex. little bastard couldn't even help you unpack because of his strict schedule—two game day naps your ass.

little shit

I was going to ask if you wanted sweet or savoury—but maybe I should reconsider having you over if you'd be so inclined to think i'd cancel on my favourite sister

y/n

i'm your only sister

little shit

see you tomorrow 😌

you roll your eyes with nothing but fondness, shoving your phone in your pocket as you continue the walk back to your apartment. it doesn't take long until you're back home, unloading the small grocery haul from the strawberry printed tote bag.

your new job at seattle's biggest law firm—which you still can't believe hired you—started yesterday, and it's only been a day but you feel so welcomed and accepted already. it's another confirmation that you're meant to be in seattle. one of your new co-workers jasmine, a stunning woman with dark skin and chocolate eyes, invited you out to one of the local bars tonight.

you'd gotten the text on the way to the grocery store, as well as a follow up message that she and a few other employees wanted to get to know you better. ever the social butterfly you agreed easily—excitement flowing through your veins at the thought of letting loose, mingling and hopefully forming some friendships.

jasmine let you know that everyone was meeting at the bar around 8:30, and you were welcome to join them anytime then. you make yourself some dinner, a delicious saucy pasta that has you serving yourself a second bowl, before jumping into the shower.

you take your time in there, making sure your scalp is scrubbed, and your legs and underarms are shaved—you're not sure if you're going to wear a tank top, and you're going to be prepared. by the time you've blowed dried your hair into loose, bouncy curls, put on your usual dusting of makeup and decided what to wear—it's time to leave.

you order an uber as you're planning on having a couple drinks, and as you finish up with your shoes, the notification of your rides arrival lights up your phone. on the way to the bar you busy yourself with your phone—responding to emails and texts that you've been neglecting since getting to seattle. you even respond to matty's picture of waffle ingredients laid out on his counter, as well as his annoying message.

little shit

you never answered. so sweet it is 🖕🏽

y/n

if you think I wanted anything but sweet you're just stupid

little shit

ouch. i'm going to poison your breakfast

the uber comes to a rather rough stop against the curb, the middle aged man giving you a polite smile that also says hey, get out. i've got work to do.

you bid a thank you and step onto the sidewalk, the late october air nipping your skin despite it being a warmer evening. you run your hands through your hair to try and tame any frizzy fly aways that have sprouted in the uber, and make your way inside the cozy bar.

you're immediately enveloped in the atmosphere of what feels like a family owned bar—exposed brick and worn leather booths lining the walls, matching the scuffed floorboards under your feet. the lights are dim, giving that mysterious vibe that does nothing but intrigue you. it's cute and packed.

you should've expected it to be busy considering it's a friday night, but the amount of people lingering and mingling throughout the room is just baffling. you push up into your tip toes, searching through the sea of people to try and spot your co-workers. well, jasmine—because you're not sure who else is here.

jasmine finds you first, standing up at their claimed booth and waving. "y/n! we're over here."

you smile as your eyes connect, making your way through the crowd and dodging tipsy people as you walk towards the booth. "hey," you greet warmly, accepting the sweet hug jasmine offers. "this place is nice."

"and fucking packed." your other co-worker, a defense lawyer named brock, mumbles with a grin, taking a slow sip of his beer as he eyes you.

joseph, another lawyer stands from his spot on the outside of the booth, gesturing for you to slip in beside him. you smile politely, slipping your pea coat off and hanging it over your arm. "thanks."

"you look great." jasmine compliments warmly, twirling the mouthful of wine left in the bottom of her glass, creating a mini whirlpool. "seriously where'd you get that jacket—it's killer."

you grin, sliding the clothing item of jasmine's desire between your hip and the wall. your jewelry chimes together as you pick up the small drink menu. "it's from h&m, can you believe that."

she gasps, lips forming a small shocked but amused 'o'. "I wasn't aware of h&m's game."

you laugh, thumbing through the sheets of laminated card stock that display the assortment of different drinks. there's even some typical bar food listed like fries and wings—slathered in sauce and grease. joseph doesn't sit back down beside you, but instead jerks his thumb over his shoulder and in the direction of the bar. "anybody want a drink? i'm going up for another round."

"hit me." brock says deeply, finishing off the last swig of foamy beer in the bottom of his bottle. jasmine follows suit, asking for another mulberry wine with a exaggerated grin.

joseph looks at you expectantly, a playful quirk to his one dark eyebrow. "i'll have whatever whiskey they have, with some coke. diet please, joseph." you say confidently, closing the menu and slotting it back into the metal holder at the end of the table.

brock hums in what seems like approval, drumming his fingers on the slightly sticky table top. "you heard the lady, joey boy."

despite the almost arrogant attitude brock seems to have, he's actually really fucking nice—hell so is joseph, and jasmine even more so. you can't believe how lucky you've been at this job, and having three amazing people to work alongside you is a dream come true.

seattle already feels like home and you haven't even been here a week. you spend a good two hours laughing, chatting—and drinking—with your new friends, and everything in your little world flows easily.

it's almost 11:30 when you slurp up the last sip of watered down whiskey and coke concoction through one of those small black mixing straws. you pout with a tiny whine, dropping the glass back to the table. "i'm empty."

joseph snorts behind the rim of his bottle. "want another?"

"yeah," you huff. "but I'll get it—need to stretch my legs before I start to cramp." jasmine laughs playfully as joseph lets you slide out of the booth, stumbling slightly as your feet find the worn wood floorboards.

jasmine takes a slow gulp of her wine, eyes nothing but mischievous as she eyes you. "sure you just don't wanna get closer to that group of hotties over there? that one brunette can't stop checking you out."

your brows pull, as well as your smile. "where?" you ask wildly, looking over you shoulder to try and find this alleged group of men jasmine alludes to. you find them easily. theres 5 men, all broad and tall, sticking out like a sore thumb. there's one guy in particular—a stupidly good looking guy—who must've been watching you, because as soon as you catch his eyes, his head turns away faster than you can blink.

"don't look!" she scolds with a hushed tone, but her words have no bite against her amused expression.

"I don't care." you admit cheekily, pulling your gaze away from jasmine and back to the guys sitting on the opposite side of the busy bar. although now it's not as bustling, but still packed enough that you have to weave through bodies to get to the bar top.

the female bartender, probably around 50, looks at you flatly. but even with that deadpanned looks you can see a friendly glimmer in her eyes, and the subtle way her lip quirks upwards in a smile. "what can I get you honey?"

somebody on your left bumps into you, too distracted talking over her friends to pay attention to you. you sigh gently, but ignore it, giving the bartender your full attention. "whiskey and coke please. diet."

she lets out a half breath of laughter, grabbing one of the shallow glasses from underneath the counter. "got sick of your boyfriend coming up here?"

you're confused at first, but then the blonde bartenders brows flick towards, eyes darting back to your table—to joseph. "oh," you chime, "he's not my boyfriend but yeah, I was ready to get out of that booth and stretch my legs a little."

your eyes find her shiny gold name tag, 'marlene: owner.' you should've known this woman was important to this place, her energy is just that strong. marlene turns away from you, walking further down the bar is search of the whiskey she's been serving you all evening.

the bar has cleared a bit in the time she's gone, and the oblivious blonde who bumped you earlier and her group has gone back to the makeshift dance floor—but there's still enough of a crowd that if you look on either side of yourself, your eyes are landing on somebodies face or shoulder (depending on their height obviously).

marlene returns after a minute or two, sliding a perfectly made glass over to you—the diet coke bubbles, coming up and stinging your nose. "here you go baby."

"thanks," you grin, opening your small shoulder bag and digging through your various cards. "how much?"

"oh no," marlene snickers, pulling your attention back to her unreadable expression. "it's been paid for." before you have a chance to question what she means, marlene's hazy eyes flicker to the other side of the bar—where she was just making your drink. that's when you see him. the guy who you caught starring at you earlier. the mystery man isn't with his friends, but he's got three beers in his hands like he's been sent up to fetch them.

his cheeks are pink, skin pale. his broad shoulders are covering by a black fitted long sleeve, the material hugging his biceps and doing nothing to hide the ridges of muscles underneath his skin. the man's eyes dart up, finding you and marlene.

unlike before he holds your eye contact for a moment, tipping his head in a greeting and a small smile pulling at his plump limps. your brows raise in amusement before turning back to marlene. "i'm sure i'll see you again."

she snickers. "i'm sure you and him both will."

you take your drink before rounding to the other side of the long bar counter, pushing between bodies until your right next to the attractive mystery man. your chest smooshes against his bicep, and when your nipples catch wind of the contact against his hard muscles, they pinch and tighten.

he looks down at you curiously, but amused nonetheless—tongue darting out to swipe along his lower lip.

"so first was staring at me across the room, and then next was buying my drink..." you trail off lightly, eyes twinkling with playfulness as you pause in anticipation. "what's after that?"

he breathes a soft laugh, eyes quickly flickering away from you and across the bar. but just as fast, mystery man is looking back down at you. hoping to appear seductive, you slowly take your straw into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the mixing stick before taking a drink—hopefully you're tempting him.

he swallows thickly. "well maybe you'll find out once you finish your drink." his tone is teasing, and it shoots straight down to your core. you haven't even thought of a man sexually since breaking up with your boyfriend—and honestly even having sex with him didn't do anything for you.

you're touch starved, and so horny it's not even funny. so go forbid you start throbbing as soon as an attractive stranger buys you a drink and keeps eyeing your lips. sue you.

your brows raise, and before he can blink, you take your straw out of the glass, raising the rim to your lips and chugging the entire thing. once it's empty, you wipe your mouth and plop the mixing stick into the empty glass and put it back on the bar.

he takes his bottom lip into his mouth, and he can't help but eye the way your lips have been moistened by your drink—and maybe even taking a quick peek at your cleavage. he's stronger than no other man.

"alright," he smiles, tone full of appraisal and making your heart skip. "I'm vince." his hand justs out, and you take it, your small hand almost completely enclosed by his much larger palm.

"i'm y/n." you smile, and the sight has vince's breath hitching. suddenly he's completely forgotten that he's still waiting on jared's wine (his taste is too expensive for beer apparently), and when you ask him to dance with you, he quickly agrees, abandoning the beer bottles in the bar.

from your booth, your new co-workers watch you lead vince out into the crowd, both of you looking at one another with a look that just screams tension. joseph's brows raise, but an amused smile is on his face. "she's insane."

brock blows out some air. "she's hot."

"she's a baddie." jasmine corrects brock, elbowing him in the ribs as a warning for his behaviour. but he just snickers again, watching through lidded eyes as you vince begin moving with one another in a slow, steady motion—knowing grins on your faces as you whisper to one another about god knows what.

you love the way vince is touching you—grabbing you—like you're his. but it's also not possessive, and even though the way he's handling you is confident, you can feel an underlying shyness, or perhaps hesitation in this movements.

vince doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, and he also doesn't want to come across awkward. it's not everyday he's out at the bars, dancing with strangers like this. a very beautiful stranger who makes his dick twitch in anticipation nonetheless.

you dance together for what feels like forever—but could honestly only be 10 minutes. every look vince sends your way, every lick along his bottom lip, every touch, breath, laugh, and whispered words has your stomach dropping and head spinning.

his voice isn't super deep, but it's got a certain rasp that has you hanging onto every word and question that passes through his tempting lips. between dancing with vince and going back up to the bar together for refills—marlene giving you that look everytime she spots you tucked under his arm—you learn quite a bit about the handsome stranger.

vince works in sports, but he didn't disclose his actual profession. it has your mind working overtime—is he a journalist? maybe a football star? does seattle have a basketball team? he's originally from a small town in canada, one that you've never heard of. his ideal vacation is somewhere tropical, his favourite food is italian and he's a boobs guy based on the fact he can't stop looking at yours.

thank the fashions gods for low cut shirts.

and it's not like he's been only letting you ask him questions. vince has been just as interested in asking you about your life (and squeezing your hips, but that's a whole another story). telling him about moving out to spend time with your younger brother and working at a high end law firm came easily, and the almost proud smile on vince's face made your decision feel validating.

which says something, because validation from a stranger is never something you've strived towards. vince doesn't feel like a stranger though, which is a shame because after tonight, chances are he will be.

a little while later jasmine is sliding up next to you and vince, her eyes narrowed playfully as she looks at the lack of space between the two of you. "hey," she starts, her grin growing. "we're hungry, thinking about getting pizza. you guys wanna come?"

a small gasp leaves you, and your eyes light up like fireflies. your drunk brain and empty stomach agree—pizza would be divine. "oh my god! yes."

jasmine cheers, lips tainted with her wine. "yay! okay i'll get your coat and we will meet you outside." her eyes dart to vince again, smiling increasing before she slips back through the crowd.

you take your lip between your teeth, but even that can't stop your smile from widening. your small hands wrap around vince's forearms, squeezing the muscles beneath your fingers as you blink up at him. "you coming? please come with me. we can share pizza lady and the tramp style."

he laughs, a real hearty laugh that comes from his stomach. his fingers slide up your back, passing over your bras straps. "how would that even work?"

you shrug. "I don't know but we can figure it out."

vince's eyes twinkle with something you don't recognize, and his lips quirk up higher in an amused grin. you blink up at him again, all doe eyes and babydoll like and he's nodding. "okay, let's go."

you grin triumphantly, and he lets you pull him through the crowd easily. there's something so sexy about it, especially when you know he could easily overpower you in any way—at any moment.

the chilly air nips at your bare arms, leaving a wake of goosebumps all over your skin. you curse three different swears, all of them blending together to create one big fuck fest. vince snickers, rubbing his hands over your arms in attempt to warm you up. he's so hot you're pretty sure your underwear are soaked with arousal.

when joseph passes you your coat, vince takes it from your co-worker with a nod, and then he helps you slip it on. you're seriously going to die before getting pizza.

the walk isn't more than 10 minutes, and you can smell the tomato sauce and warm dough as you approach the building, lit up by neon signs. inside is busy, mostly drunk college kids. vince keeps you close, and arm around your waist between you and your coat like he's from a damn rom com. "what are wanting?" he asks you softly, leaning down so he's whispering in your ear.

you hum pleasantly. "just cheese."

joseph gets garlic bread for himself, and he threatens if anyone tries to steal a bite he'll walk them over the head with the red plastic basket. jasmine and brock get a deep dish pizza to share, loaded with vegetables and pepperoni, while you and vince get your cheese pizza. and yes, he pays for not only your order, but your co-workers orders too.

you might be in love and you might have to keep him forever.

because it's busy, the seating options are a little sparse, and you won't be able to all sit together. your co-workers get a table meant for two, but steal a spare chair from a friendly group of frat guys and make it a table for three. you and vince find a spot at the counter, two available stools in the corner against the wall—next to the neon outline of pizza slice.

your so squished in there that you're overlapping with vince, and your leg might as well be draped over his spread, huge thighs. you take an unattractive bite of your slice, and groan happily.

vince smiles, chewing his own bite of pizza as you watches you with amusement. "good?"

you nod. "so good." you finish off the slice before speaking again, sucking your thumb into your mouth to taste the pizza grease. "what's your favourite disney movie?"

he's almost at the crust of his second slice of pizza. vince hums between bites, brows pulled in concentration as he thinks of an answer. "sleeping beauty."

your lips quirks. "really?" he nods. "you kind of remind me of prince phillip you know, all sexy and tall." you admit shamelessly, picking up another slice and biting the into crust first.

vince blushes, but doesn't look embarrassed. "you think i'm sexy?" he questions, dusting his hands off against his thighs. you watch his fingers as they run over his legs, and when he catches you staring, vince's smirk widens.

"yeah, I do."

his tongue swipes along his bottom lip, and he leans closer to you by an inch or two. "I think you're really sexy." vince says, voice all low and hushed like he doesn't want anyone to overhear. nobody could even if they wanted to, the array of loud voices and charli xcx playing over the speakers is too loud.

you take your lip into your mouth as you smirk. you decide to tease him, "does that though have anything to do with my cleavage?"

vince's eyes twinkle again. he holds your gaze, and his brows pull together the smallest amount—smirk never wavering. "part of it, yeah." to accentuate his point, vince's gaze flickers to your boobs for a moment, and then finds your warm face again.

your cross your legs to try and relive some of the throbbing pressure in your corse.  "perv. eat your pizza." you send him a teasing glare and smile before you take a bite of your slice in an attempt to try and not jump his bones in front of everyone. vince's eyes linger on you for a long moment but eventually he does what he's told, picking up a slice and taking a huge bite.

a moment passes, and he swallows. "you always this curious?" it's not accusatory, but instead curious. vince waits for your response, wiping his mouth with a logo branded napkin before balling it up and setting it on the nearly empty pizza stone.

"always," you nod. "you can learn so much about a person when you ask them questions—questions that aren't informative but rather fun and silly. like the disney movie one."

he hums. "so what have you learned about me from my disney answer?"

you purse your lips in thought, dropping the rest of your slice back down to the stone. you ponder for a moment as you try and find the words. your eyes flicker over his, and you lean in close, your leg pushing against his. "I think that you're a bit of a hopeless romantic, even though you'd never admit it. you're a bit shy, but you love meeting new people. you'd do anything for the people you love—even if that means pricking yourself on a cursed needle."

vince nods, a deep sound rattling in his throat as he looks at you. without realizing it, he's leaned in closer to you, and if you wanted to, you could brush the tips of your noses together. he takes his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on the skin as his gaze darts over your face. "interesting."

your quirk a brow. "am I right?"

he releases his lip with a gentle pop, gaze never once wandering from your warm, beautiful face. vince swallows, "yeah. you're right."

you cheer and that has vince's fond smile widening. he has to ignore the way your small, painted fingers absentmindedly run over his jean covered knee or else he'll have no choice but to take your clothes off and fuck you on the counter.

vince blinks the dirty thought out of his mind. "ask me another question. I like when you're talking."

a beat passes before your eyes glaze over with lust. you put your hands on the top of his thigh for leverage as you lean into his space, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you speak. "are you gunna to fuck me tonight?"

his body tenses, you can feel it under your palms. you grin in satisfaction, pulling back just enough so your eyes lock. vince's hand slides over the side of your face, fingers threading through your hair as he holds you. before he can talk himself out of it, he leans in and kisses you.

it's chaste and experimental like he's testing the waters and giving you the opportunity to stop him. but you don't want him to stop, your earlier words doing enough to prove that. you kiss him again, a more firm pressure that last 5 seconds. he taste like pizza and beer, and you can't get enough.

and then vince kisses you for a third time, his lips slotting between yours in a proper, hotter embrace that has your toes curling in your shoes and belly swooping. mindful of the public space, he releases your mouth after merely 15 seconds, resting his forehead on yours as you both breathe heavily. "I want to ruin you."

"ruin me." you whisper, pressing one more kiss to his glistening lips. "let's get out of here." you breathe against him, sliding off your stool and standing between his spread thighs.

the taxi ride back to your place is excruciating. you can't keeps your hands off one another—subtle squeezes and trailing fingers over sensitive areas. vince kisses your neck in open mouthed, hot intervals, and each time you moan—which makes him snicker against your skin.

the taxi driver keeps sending you looks through the rearview, but you don't even care.

as soon as you're in the elevator, vince's lips are on yours—capturing them in a breath taking kiss that has you tingling. your hands rake over his strong chest, feeling up his muscles underneath his black long sleeve.

he shudders at the feeling, but his kiss doesn't waver. vince has one hand tucked in your hair, scratching at your scalp soothingly while his other hand squeezes handfuls of your ass—the combination the perfect mix of soft and rough.

"I need you." you whimper against his lips. vince sighs deeply, pushing his bulge against your lower belly—he doesn't have to repeat your words. he doesn't need to in order for you to know it's reciprocated.

the elevator dings, and the heavy doors slide open. your grin, pulling away from vince and taking ahold of his hands. you pull him down the hallway quickly, stealing flirtatious glances over your shoulder. as your hands begin unlocking the door, vince smacks your ass firmly before giving it another hard squeeze.

he leans into your back. "you're so fucking pretty." vince presses a kiss to the junction of your neck, and it has you faltering, eyes fluttering closed and a sigh leaving your puffy lips.

thankfully vince pushes the door open further and saves you from having to move. he uses his hips to shuffle you into your own apartment, never stopping the suckling against your neck as he gently kicks the door closed.

his hands are all over you again, squeezing your hips and running up your belly until his thumbs brush the underside of your boobs. he repeats the motions until your withering, wordlessly begging for more. vince pushes you to the wall, and you shiver when the cold surface touches your chest—nipples pinching under your top.

vince slips off your coat, and his lips trial after it—down your shoulder and towards your elbow. your gasp lightly, looking down over your shoulder with hooded eyes as he removes your jacket, throwing it towards your couch. his eyes flicker up towards yours. "wanna taste you. you gunna let me taste you, baby?"

"yeah," you whine, fingers flexing against the wall. "please...please."

vince smirks and doesn't make you wait, dropping to his knees before his hands trail up the backs of your thighs, rounding over your ass and hooking into the waist pants of your pants. he roughly yanks them down, exposing your skimpy underwear and sticky arousal.

you thank god for choosing sexy underwear tonight.

he groans, palming your ass and exposing your core further, which is barley covered by the fabric anyways. vince nips the skin of your ass, before smoothing the sting with a open mouthed kiss. "fucking god, y/n."

you moan, pushing your hips back as you search for some much needed friction. vince is in a trance, fingers squeezing your thighs and ass as he admires your pussy. there's really no reason for your underwear at this point, he thinks, because there's not enough fabric to cover half of your pussy, never mind all of it.

you're glistening, practically dripping. you can feel vince lean in closer, breath fanning over your slick folds. he nudges your spread thighs further apart, hooking his index finger into the crotch of your lacy paintes and yanking them to the side.

vince licks his lips. "so messy and pretty." he doesn't waste anymore time, and he dives in, licking a wide strip from your clit and back to your leaking entrance.

"oh god." you sigh shakily, eyes fluttering once again at the feeling of vince's mouth on your needy heat. vince has the perfect combination of sucking, licking and kissing that has your knees going weak. "you're so good at this...holy fuck."

vince smirks against you and then sucks your clit perfectly, his nose running along your entrance perfectly. "never tasted something this good."

you gasp, one of your hands leaving the wall and reaching behind you, threading your fingers through vince's thick brown hair. "i'm close." you admit breathily, squeezing his roots in an attempt to keep him close.

vince hums, but much to your dismay he pulls away from you, leaving your pussy to throb and flutter around nothing—searching for more. you pout, but the sight of your arousal soaking vince's lips and chin has you moaning again.

vince smacks your ass as he gets off the floor, flipping you around to face him.

"why'd you stop?" you pout, pushing your boobs against his chest, fingers relaxing over his biceps teasingly.

he smirks. "relax, you'll get it again." vince kisses you again, and you can taste yourself when he slips his tongue into your mouth. the next few moments are a flurry of hurried movements. you pulling off vince's shirt and unbuckling his leather belt—vince practically ripping your tank top off and exposing your tight nipples and heavy tits.

his calloused palms slide up your ribs and cup your tits, giving them a quick squeeze. your head falls back against the wall as vince's thumbs swipe over your nipples, a back and forth motion that has them getting impossibly harder.

"your place is nice." he says lowly. his casual scentence is contradictory to his actions—pinching your nipple between his thumb and index finger.

you mewl, arching into his touch desperately. "thanks...ugh-lots of..mhmm. lots of places to fuck me on." your words are broken by your own moans and sighs of pleasure. it's kind of pathetic but vince thinks there's nothing hotter.

he face dips down to your chest, inclosing his warm mouth on your nipple—tongue swirling and prodding the bud like it's his profession. your hands are in his hair again, carding through the locks and tugging when he sucks just right.

vince switches to your other nipple. "where do you want me to fuck you?" he asks before taking you into his mouth, repeating his movements on your nipple while he palms your now unattended one.

you lick along your bottom lip and watch through lidded eyes as vince sucks your tits. you're pretty sure your arousal is leaking onto the floor and puddling between your heels. "you could take me on the floor and I'd be happy."

he releases your nipple with a quiet pop. "don't say that....because I will."

you grin softly, bringing his face back to yours for another kiss. vince's hands slide up the backs of your thighs, and then in one quick movement he's hauling you off the ground, wrapping your legs around his hips.

you gasp lightly against his lips, your soaking core bumping his lower stomach and sliding over his defined v-line. vince doesn't stop kissing you, walking you over to the new couch in your makeshift living room. there's still a few boxes pilled on top of your coffee table, and there's loose clothes thrown over the back of the chair from when you'd been sorting through suitcases earlier.

the room is casted in the moonlights glow and the warm light under your microwave. it makes everything feel soft—makes it feel private and hot. vince drops you against the plush cushions, and you squeal happily.

vince smirks, "how's the couch?"

you take your bottom lip into your mouth, watching with lustful eyes as he begins undoing his button, tugging down his zipper and releasing some of the confinement against his hard bulge. "it's perfect."

his brow quirks up in amusement. "perfect huh?" vince asks, pulling of his jeans completely. he retrieves his wallet from his back pocket before throwing the pants behind him—making you giggle.

you hum in response as vince pulls out a square foil package from his wallet. a condom.

he smirks, leaning over your body. "wanna know what else is perfect?" vince asks lowly. your mouth opens as a quick breath leaves you, but vince isn't actually waiting for a response. two of his long, thick fingers trace over your collarbone and brush against your pulse point. "your skin is perfect."

then those two fingers flow down to your sternum and tease around your breasts—tracing over your nipples with just enough pressure to have you whining. "and these tits." vince trails down to your belly, passing over your hip bones. "and these hips." next is your core, his fingers slipping through your wet folds. "and god this pussy is perfect."

and with the cherry on top, vince slips the same two fingers he's been running along your body into your entrance. the squelch your walls make sound his fingers is intoxicating, and you practically scream out. "tell me what feels good baby." he tells you, eyes reluctantly leaving your pussy where you take his pumping fingers, and flickering to your warm face.

you begin babbling, making a mess around his hand— dripping off his fingers as he continues to thrust into you. "god," you let out a sharp gasp, walls squeezing his fingers and stopping him momentarily. "this...your fingers feel really good."

vince smirks, and he thrusts his fingers into you a few more times—each time rougher than the last. he feels like he's going to combust with the sight of you under him, withering and whining like you've never been touched like this…maybe you haven't been touched like this before. pride swells in his chest at the thought.

vince’s impossibly hard cock twitches uncomfortably in his boxers—if he doesn't get inside you soon he's going to die. in a fluid motion, he is pulling his fingers out of your warmth.

you mewl in protest, but vince is too busy ripping open the condom package and then pulling himself from his underwear to hear your cry. his dick hears the sound though, and it throbs—ready.

vince rolls the latex on expertly, and he lines his red tip up with your slippery entrance. your hips shift, and his head slips inside your entrance—both of your groaning loudly at the feeling.

vince pulls back out, and a devilish smirk grows on his face as you huff all horny and frustrated. "what happened to the shy vince from earlier?" your tone is slightly whiny, but he can tell you're teasing him—your small hands wrapping around his ribs and torso.

"he's not feeling so shy with your pretty face under him." with that, vince pushes his cock into you. the stretch is heavenly, and your walls mold against him like second nature. you moan, nails digging into his pale skin as he comes to a hilt—balls resting against your ass and tip brushing your cervix.

"that okay?" he asks you breathlessly—dazed eyes flickering over your blotchy skin and puffy, parted lips. he can't help but let his gaze fall between your bodies, right down to where you're connected. vince's hips jerk involuntarily at the sight of your creamy walls holding him in, and you whine pathetically at the feeling.

"so good, vince. oh my god." you probably look like a pornstar on your couch right now. vince buried into your dripping entrance with your legs spread wide, heels still on because you'd been too horny to remember to take them off. but as vince begins rolling his hips into you, all thoughts die out, and you can only focus on him.

his pace picks up quickly, much to your satisfaction, pounding you into the couch like he knows nothing else but your pussy. vince's breath fans over your neck and ear, sending shivers down your spine as you hold onto him.

"fuuuccckk, that's—yeah that's good baby." vince groans deeply, hips snapping against yours loudly, the sound echoing in your otherwise quite apartment. "that's right, taking me so well."

his cock rams into you quickly and perfectly, ilicting another round of ridiculously loud moans from you. you're too wound up to even respond properly, your words coming out in a jumbled string of curses and groans. the couch squeaks under his unfaltering thrusts.

your eyes pinch shut, and the grip on vince tightens as your walls begin to flutter—an all too familiar pattern as you near a desperately needed orgasm. "please." you whine breathlessly. you don't even know what you're asking him for, but it doesn't matter—not to you and not to vince.

his thrusts don't stop or slow, his balls smacking your ass as he continues to pound you into the cushions. vince curses, pushing one of your legs against your chest to open your pussy up even further. "you gunna cum, y/n?"

you nod quickly, your head pushing further back into the couch pillows as your walls clamp down on his cock. "yeah! oh my fuck, yes. i'm cumming."

vince hisses at the feeling of your release— gooey, warm walls squeezing and fluttering over his length. "holy fucking—ugh." it has vince following suit, stilling as he groans into your neck and shooting his sticky load into the latex protection.

it could be 2 minutes or 15–you're not sure—but vince's body is so heavy and warm on top of you that it has your eyes closing. he presses a kiss to your jawline, lifting himself off you. "you okay?"

you nod sleepy, a lazy grin on your glistening lips. "mhmmm. i'm tired now."

vince chuckles, pulling out of your spent pussy. you whine for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, watching through tired eyes as vince ties off the used condom, padding into your kitchen and tossing the latex in your garbage. he tucks himself pack into his boxers as he gets back onto the couch—kneeling between your legs and slipping of your heels.

you wrap your arms over his shoulders, and he kisses you. this kiss is different—softer and sweeter, but just as good as all the others you've shared tonight. you pull away, "stay the night."

he grins, "i'll stay as long as you want me too."

he's so fucking cute, you think blissfully.

vince pulls the throw blanket off the back of your couch, tossing it over both of your bodies as he tucks himself behind you on the couch. his torso is warm and wide against your back—it's so comfortable and soft, and your eyes begin closing soon after.

—

your phone is ringing.

that's the first thing you register as your eyes flutter open. you squint at the harsh morning light streaming through your windows, looking around for the pesty ringing device to silence it.

behind you, vince's arm tightens around your waist, his semi-hard cock rolling against your bare ass instinctively. memories of the night before flood your mind, and you feel hot all over again.

he groans, tucking his head into your shoulder.

your phone is still ringing. you sigh, locating it on the floor beside the coffee table. you pick it up, and your eyes widen at your brothers contact photo lighting up your screen—it's some goofy .5 picture you took of him at christmas. you were supposed to be at his place for breakfast 10 minutes ago.

"shit!" you curse.

vince's eyes flicker open at your panicked tone, and he catches sight of the incoming call before you answer it—jumping off the couch, stark naked and nearly tripping over your heels as you dart into your bedroom.

you throw on the first thing you can find as matty's voice filters through your speakers. "did you fall off a cliff on the way here?"

"I overslept," you say, dragging your ratty hairbrush through your sex messy hair. it gets caught on at angle and you wince. "i'm just about to leave."

matty says something else that sounds like see you soon, but you're too distracted by everything to hear him properly. you hang up the phone with a rushed goodbye, shoving it into the pocket of your jeans. you spray an unhealthy amount of body spray over your clothes and hair, hopefully masking the scent of sex.

you dart back out into the living room. "i'm so sorry, I have to meet my brother for—why do you look like you're about to puke?"

vince is sitting up, posture ridged. his complexion in pale, more so than usual, and he's got his hands cupped over his mouth in a prayer like position. "he's your brother?"

your brows furrow in confusion. "yeah, i'm supposed to meet him for breakfast." the look on vince’s face contorts into what looks like pain, and it has you faltering, stomach dropping to your ass. "why?"

vince's eyes flicker to yours, and he drops his hands from his face. "we play hockey together. i'm matty's roommate."

for fucks sake.

[etherealevangeline]

Thinking about handler!simon <3

You’re his demi human pet who bites and pounces everywhere, trying to get a hold of what you can in his living room. He’s cooking up a mean dinner, trying to work on his skills since he’s sick of canned food, frozen food, and anything considered cheap meals. Simon understood he might be trying to fit into this new role of being a caregiver, and all the cozy things associated with it. Having a house smelling good, wealthy with food, abundant with activities.

He can’t blame himself entirely. Ever since he’s got you, his pet, Simon has been living life a little differently. He sees the pure, sweet and innocent look to your eyes, the way you pant excited from playing, or when you’re curled up in your bed and sleeping peacefully on your back. He’ll reach out to give your belly some rubs. On some days, depending on your mood, you’d have a feral wild bite to you.

He loved it all. And now, it seems as though he wants to try. So, he cooks. He makes his steaks juicier, he learns the difference with non stick and stick pans, grabs the best oil there is (avocado cooking oil) buys himself a new knife set, finding it rather ravishing the way it glints ever so dangerously in the light. He buys a bloody chopping board, and no, no apron.

He despises aprons despite trying to fit in.

“Bloody ladies dress,” he’d curse under his breath. He preferred the rough and tumbled look. Unbuttoned shirt, revealing tufts of chest hair, rolled up sleeves, patchy, washed out jeans. Hands covered in flour, oil, all the likes.

So he cooks.

And now he’s got the house smelling all warm, full, wholesome.

Simon, who tosses a towel rag on his broad shoulders, whistles to get your attention. It’s quick, punctual, and his hands make a move, sautéing the onions, garlic, peppers. The pan sizzles.

You were on the couch, pawing at the patchy and old couch, ears perking up at the sound of his whistle. You sniff the air and bounce down from the couch eagerly, clumsy on your legs as you walk to him.

“Didn’ I tell ya you can’t be bitin’ my things?” Simon scolds, gruff. His back faced you.

You make a mock whimper and playfully nudge at his leg, giving him your best puppy eyes. He fawns inwardly at the sight, disheveled at the sight of you being meek and playful.

Simon hides this and sighs through his nose, and in the light you could see the soft glint to his deepset eyes. His mask was off revealing his unguarded self to you, at least physically, trying to earn your trust.

“Alrigh’ alright, I know I avent’ been around. You’re clingy, needy. Enough o’ tha’.” Simon mumbled, though his eyes kept wandering to your sitting form on the carpet, itching to bite and pounce at anything.

Simon knew these days he’d been busy with base meetings, discussing a possible mission deployment. He knew what it meant for you.

And somewhere inside him it caused his gut to clench, the idea of leaving you to fend for yourself in this hippy, happy to go state. You had to be fed on time, given toys, and not just any, but the kinds you liked. You had to be put to bed too, since you were affectionate and needy. Simon got used to sitting on the bed, book in hand, his other hand patting your head absent mindedly as you drifted off.

He didn’t mind the moments now, he was slowly thawing off after all.

You made a small noise for his attention wondering where his mind was at. Simon looked down for a moment before cooking the tuna in, mushing it around with his wooden spatula. “Easy, why don’t ya go play?“

Simon did need to finish the food anyway.

You moved, curious and eager. As you walked passed him into the open space of the living room, your eyes landed on his mask laying on the wooden table. It was decorated with a dingy yellow table cloth, soft and flowy. It was a gift Simon got a long time ago. When he saw how sad and disengaged you were from the lack of decor, he tried putting it up.

Apart of you missed his scent these days, and wanted to be closer. Of course, he’d been missing from the home, so tonight was a welcomed sight to see him cooking.

So, you moved, grabbing the mask with your teeth and pawing at it. The cloth shifts slightly. You sit, unassuming, and pawing and nibbling, going quiet.

After a while, Simon figures you’re not making noises and something isn’t right. He finishes the tuna, mixed with onions, pepper, garlic and such, and adds some rice to it. He sets his plate down, tosses the rag to the counter, and saunters to you. His old work boots creak with effort.

“Pet, is tha’ my—“

It is.

He pauses, not sure whether to grin wolfishly, or sigh at your needy, peckish behavior. You’re scrabbling, almost playing tug of war now with the poor mask. Sniffing, pawing, bumping your head into the table and all like a clumsy thing.

Simon whistles.

You look up, jaw still clenched around the mask, and there it is that same wide eyed, caught red handed look.

“Oh no—“ Simon chides when you try to paw at the mask, continuing with your peckish behavior.

“Up here.” He orders softly, with a sense of firmness however, crouching down. He tugs the mask gently away from your teeth and a pitiful whine leaves you.

The confused, sour look to your face—the furrowed brows, downturned lips, tail thwacking the floor impatiently tells him you’re displeased.

“Do you want or hug or wha?’” Simon gruffly said.

You look slightly surprised, and perk up. Your ears, specifically. You tilt your head at his new approach and slowly move to him, wondering how and why he changed.

“Look, I can’t ave’ you bitin’ my masks remember, lovie? Either its hugs or no biting.” He chides gently as you clamber up in his lap, perching yourself neatly.

You sit, waiting.

He almost has to laugh lowly at the way you sit expectantly now, waiting for some pat or cuddle or praise. He slowly and gently brings his hand to stroke your hair, the delicate curve of your spine.

He admires the way you listened despite having a bratty streak, and he has to commend you for it.

“Good girl, wasn’t so hard was it?” He found himself saying, the words slipping out like sugared honey. He tilts his head, admiring the way your eyes shut, a rumbling low noise of comfort leaving your body at his touch.

“I know you miss me, can’t do much bout’ life gettin’ annoyin’ right?” Simon mutters mostly to himself. He lets you lean in for warmth.

For a while he just holds you, smelling the warm aroma, and letting you find comfort in him. It’s a first that he ever felt this sense of peace. Wholesome, sweet, and loving. Connected with you.

He makes it a point to spend more time with you before he leaves for deployment, and another point to drill down the sitter he’ll be having in place for you. Leaving you in someone’s incompetent hands is not an option for him.

[arc-misadventures]

Team Leader Woes

Glynda: Hello, Mr. Arc. Do you know why i called you here today?

Jaune: Noooo...

Glynda: It's because you fell asleep in my class. In fact, you have fallen asleep in a multitude of class other than my own.

Jaune: I'm sorry, Professor Goodwitch...

Glynda: Would you care to explain why you keep falling asleep during classes?

Jaune: I haven't been able to get a proper good nights sleep for the past few... weeks...

Glynda: Weeks? What is happening, Mr. Arc?

Jaune: My... Yawnnnnnn... My teammates aren't giving me time to sleep...

Glynda: Your teammates? What are they doing that keeps you awake at night?

Jaune: My partner... Neo...

Glynda: Yes, Ms. Politian, what of her?

Jaune: Well... When I go to bed, Neo comes over to me, and... and...

Glynda: And...?

Jaune: Uhhh...

~~~

Jaune: Huw, what?

Neo: 😁👋

Jaune: Neo? What is it?

Neo: 👌🍆💦😁

Jaune: Oh come on, Neo, I need to get some sleep... And, not with you...

Neo: 😠

Neo: 🤔

Neo: 😀☝️

Jaune: Neo, what are you...

Neo:

Jaune: ...

~~~

Jaune: She's been trying to sleep with me, and she's been keeping me up at night with all of her attempts...

Glynda: What is wrong with that? She wants to sleep next...

Jaune: ...

Glynda: You're talking about sex, aren't you?

Jaune: Yes... She's been rather... thirsty... and, keeping me up late at night with her advances... She's been whitling me down until I snap, and... do her...

Glynda: I see... And, unless you sleep with her, you won't be able to get any sleep?

Jaune: Yes...

Glynda: Any idea why she is... doing this to you...

Jaune: I uhh... I triggered a kink in her...

Glynda: You what?!

Jaune: She was being a brat, so I grabbed her by the neck, and slammed her against the ground... She blushed like a ripping tomato, and has been trying to seduce me ever since... Short stacks like to be man handled it seems...

Glynda: Oh... okay... Well... Despite all of this, your combat grades have improve drastically! Why you even beat, Ms. Xiao Long the other day. When you first started she would, pardon the expression, mop the floor with you. Now you can hold your ground with the best of them, and even win. You should be proud of yourself, Jaune.

Jaune: Thank... Yawnnn... Thank you, Professor... but, that's most because of the twins... threats...

Glynda: The Twins threat? Are you talking about your teammates the, Malachite twins?

Jaune: Yep...

Glynda: What exactly are they... threatening you with?

Jaune: Yawnnn... The pair agreed to train me, but if I fail... They'll...

Glynda: They'll...?

~~~

Jaune: Thanks guys! I really appreciate you guys training with me.

Miltia : Think nothing of it, Jaune!

Melanie: It's our pleasure!

Miltia, and Melanie:

Jaune: Alright! I'm ready!

Miltia: Oh! Before we begin, Jaune we have to tell you something.

Jaune: Oh, what?

Melanie: If we beat you!

Miltia: Whoever beats you gets to have sex with you on the spot!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: What?!

~~~

Jaune: ...

Glynda: S-Seriously...

Jaune: Yeah... I've been running on fumes trying to stop both the twins, and Neo's advances... I am absolutely exhausted...

Glynda: Oh... Those are certainly some... understandable reasonings on why you haven't been sleeping...

Jaune: Yeah... pretty much...

Glynda: Are you falling asleep, Mr. Arc?

Jaune: I've been falling asleep for the last two weeks...

Glynda: Oh~? Come here, Jaune. Place your head down here...

Jaune: This is.. this is your lap... Are you giving me a lap pillow...?

Glynda: Yes, I am?

Jaune: Why...?

Glynda: Because, you're such a brave student, trying to hold out as long against those little sluts. Here, rest your head upon my succulent thighs for as long as you want I'll keep those horny brats away from you~!

Jaune: Oh... okay... Thank you... Professor...

Glynda: My pleasure, Jaune~!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: ...

Glynda smiled as she watched, Jaune's resting face as he slumbered across her thighs she looked up, and saw the rest of, Jaune's teammates before flipping them the bird.

Glynda: He's all mine bitches~!

Neo: 🤬💢

Melanie: Fuck!

Miltia: I knew we were pushing him too hard!

///

I think the punk aesthetic would have looked better than the gothic lolita in my opinion.

[spidori]

Possible twist on this, what if Danny's ghostly side *is* actually Doomsday, or at least his soul?

Got a little rambly, so putting that under the cut.

The short summary is Doomsday's soul has an obsession with resurrection, and has developed the ability to push back through to the living realm and construct living bodies to do so.

He ends up pushing into and regenerating Danny during the portal turning on, then doesn't want to take over, even if he could kill what his soul now sees as a part of himself, because cooperating like this turns out to be a fantastic survival strategy, not to mention Danny's DNA quiets down the anger and violence written into his own. So he just stays, a symbiotic soul now completely chimeric to Danny's own, and they survive.

What if the portal couldn't open unless something was trying to do so from both sides? And Danny accidentally resetting the safety cutoff switch only worked because Doomsday's soul "happened" to be punching its way through the veil for his resurrection at the same time?

I kinda like this idea for a few reasons actually. Especially since it provides a really good reason for Danny surviving; it's always kinda bugged me, since Danny doesn't seem particularly obsessed with anything in the show, at least not nearly enough to help him survive the moment of becoming a halfa; and I know obsession is pretty much if not entirely Phannon, and the show just has him essentially chosen by the narrative, which is fine, but I don't want to give up all the narrative potential that obsessions offer.

So Doomsday got beaten by Superman, as he do. Goes to punch his way back through the veil and regenerate from whatever matter, as his ghostly ability allows him to; obsession with resurrection and survival will give you that kind of ability if you have enough ecto, and the scientist who made Doomsday spared no expense in the resources he provided, so Doomsday is a lot like Spectra if her obsession wasn't quite literally skin-deep.

He's in the process of pushing through (it's a process to break the boundaries of reality, ok. It's why he can't just instantly res every time he's killed) when the weak point he's making suddenly shatters inwards, and he goes from pushing against nearly infinite resistance to suddenly nothing pushing back at all, and instead goes absolutely Flying into the portal, and *SMACK* right into a body. A fully formed pile of organic matter, exactly what his soul would normally have to slowly and painfully construct, but also in the process of being obliterated by the conditions of portal formation and a ton of electricity from the other side.

Welp, can't have that. That's a perfectly good body right there, ain't no way Doomsday's obsession would let that go to waste. Not like he hasn't survived those things before either, so how to survive them is already incorporated into his soul. So that's what he does, he keeps Danny from dying, as is the first half of his obsession. He also fuses himself into Danny, giving him a body, and satisfying the second half of his obsession as well.

The thing is? That's actually exactly where his obsessions end? It's not like he *wants* to rampage, that's all trauma and conditioning from his "upbringing" so to speak. It's literally encoded into his DNA, something he only kinda has at the moment, since he managed to save Danny's body from damage so well. And Dannny? Doomsday saved him so well his mind is even still intact. Doomsday can't kill his mind to take the body either, the whole process had the side effect that his soul doesn't differentiate between Danny and Doomsday any more, and destroying himself goes directly against his obsession. So, as long as Danny isn't trying to kill himself, there won't be any differentiation by the underlying obsession, and the Doomsday part of the soul will just try to help the overall being survive. Eventually, the two aspects of souls coexist as a single fused soul long enough that they go from symbiotic to something better described as chimeric, with no real boundary to differentiate them, just gradients across where bits originating from different existences have found points of connection and blended together at the edges.

One cool ripple effect from this is that it adds a lot to Dan. Danny was, unintentionally, trying to destroy Doomsday by ripping him out like that. It triggered the *Survive* obsession, which designated the Danny part as the threat, letting him be differentiated as a-part-of-self-causing-threat-so-needs-to-be-removed instead of something of the self to still be protected.

The rampage that follows is just the Doomsday anger-in-his-DNA part coming back to the surface a bit, even if it is mixed with parts of Danny and Vlad that got pulled in during the process. The only real difference is that the soul has come to view ghostly existence as another form of survival through all the time as a halfa, letting it not try to resurrect as a living being, and instead keep access to all the ghostly powers it's picked up in the process of surviving as Phantom.

Danny gets experimented on by either his parents or the GIW and dies over and over and over again but because of his unusual ghostly creation he keeps coming back and with each return he changes. Originally the changes with each death were subtle. His skin would be a shade greyer, his flesh would be tougher, his powers a bit stronger.

Then the changes became far more apparent, the deaths reaching past the multiple thousands. He’s grown and he’s grown a lot. His skin is grey and spikes protrude over his being. His face no longer resembles what he once was, now a terrifying being with razor sharp teeth and spines imitating a beard jutting out of his jaw (wait how long has he been doing this? Has it been THAT long? Surely not.) Danny just wishes he could be free, not to be put under simulated trials over and over and dying again and again.

The Justice League heard word of unusual power disruption and reports of unethical experimentation at an absolutely massive underground research facility. Superman chose to lead the charge, rounding up scientists and directing other league members to find the server room and to find, collect, and then destroy all research this group might have found.

Going deeper and deeper into the research facility, there are dozens upon dozens of inhuman entities in massive glowing green vats, all of which seemingly in a comatose state.

At the farthest and most secure part of the facility, having broken through dozens of secure locks, doors, and security drones, Superman comes across the largest containment of all; one holding a being hooked up to dozens of monitors and in a similar comatose state as the others, the beast within is someone Superman knows very very well. Doomsday.

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

HELLOOO👋🏻

Since your requests were open could you do a Leona x fem!reader??

Where the reader is initially wary of men due to past experiences back in her world. So when she's in twst world (more specifically in NRC) she's cautious around boys, but Leona notices and tries to gain her trust. Alot of people misunderstood him being a player, womanizer, mean cruel man etc when he's actually not like that. I guess you're my only hope for a Leona x reader request lololol 😭

Hope you have time to do this req!

Thank you for the request! I've been itching to write more Leona content, and you gave me an excuse to take a moment away from my The Rain series to do so! (I've had a somewhat similar idea rolling around in my head for months, but I'll save that for another fic ;))

I tried not to let the story or its themes veer too far off into. . .unsavory directions/topics, but some things have to be at least acknowledged in a vague way when discussing this topic. I tried to do so as respectfully as possible, but if I failed, please tell me so I can do better!

Synopsis: Fem! Reader who is wary of men grows to trust Leona.

TW: mentions of the reader having previous bad experiences with men, but I tried to keep it rather vague; reader has anxiety about being in a school full of men as well as having to stay with them in the events of book 3; reader gets chased by a guy that wants to beat her up near the end, but Leona steps in (I tried not to make it a princess in distress situation, but tell me if it comes off too much that way)

Being thrown into an unfamiliar world is awful. Being thrown into an unfamiliar world and being stuck in an all male school there? You had to question what kind atrocities you committed in your past life to deserve this fate.

It took you a while, but you managed to make. . .friends here. However, even those bonds were rather unsteady and fragile.

It's not that you hated men. You were simply wary of them. You had had past experiences that were. . .unsavory: being catcalled, the uncomfortable conversations with men who approached you in scarcely populated gas stations at night, the jokes no woman in her right mind would find funny, and even some experiences that to this day keep you up at night wondering what your fate would have been if you had done even the slightest thing differently.

You tried to trust the clearly good-hearted people who you logically knew had no ulterior motives hidden behind their kindness, but it was hard. Traumas are not easily forgotten or healed.

That's why, when the events with Octavinelle went down, you were on the verge of hyperventilating. You were friends with Ace and Deuce, and you trusted them as much as you could muster yourself to allow, but that was them. You didn't know, and certainly didn't trust, everyone who resided in Heartslabyul.

Jack's offer didn't seem much better to you, but when it came down to it, you didn't exactly have any other options.

The arrangement ended up being that you would stay with Leona in his room. You weren't sure if you'd prefer this over staying in a packed room with more people.

He barely acknowledged you, or, at least, it seemed that way at first. As your short time staying with him passed, you noticed some things. For one, Ruggie always complained that when he was waking up Leona, the lion wouldn't even wait for Ruggie to get out of the room to begin getting dressed, but Leona had always changed in the bathroom connected to his room for as long as you had stayed there. He also never got too close to you; and when anyone else did, he'd come up with a conveniently timed task for them to do. He didn't use his bathroom for anything other than changing while you were there, and instead used the dorm showers, leaving you his bathroom to yourself.

Don't get me wrong, he didn't go easy on you. He simply respected you and your right to space and privacy. You aren't sure if this was simply how he was raised, if he had noticed your wariness and acted so as not to worsen it, or if it was a mix of both.

By the end of your stay in Savanaclaw, you had somehow managed to find a sense of security in being there with the lion.

As time passed after your stay at Savanaclaw, you found yourself continuing to sit in the botanical garden during lunch. When Crowley decided you would be required to join a club, you joined the Spelldrive Club as a manager. On the rare occasion you had joint alchemy classes with Leona's class, he was unexpectedly present to class and would always 'begrudgingly' agree to be your partner.

However, what really cemented him in your mind as someone who could be trusted was the incident.

You had to stay after school as Grim had caused trouble again and gotten the two of you into detention. You were allowed to leave a bit early as you hadn't caused as much trouble, and you did because you had errands you had some items you needed to pick up from Sam's shop before it closed for the night.

As you walked through the hallways, you were distracted making a mental grocery list. In your somewhat spacey state, you bumped into another student.

He accused you of bumping into him purposefully and it soon became clear he wasn't planning to let you go unscathed. He was massive compared to you, so you knew that if things were to get physical you wouldn't have a great chance of coming out of things on top, so, you did the only thing you could do at the time and ran.

The other student shouted after you and took chase. You ran for what felt like an eternity. Your legs burned so bad you were astonished you were still managing to take steps, and your lungs felt as though they were on the verge of imploding. You weren't consciously thinking of where you were going as you ran, but you found yourself approaching the botanical garden with the other student hot on your heels.

Telling yourself that if you just gained a little more distance you'd be able to find a spot in the plants to hide without him noticing, you urged your legs to pick up the pace.

However, luck wasn't on your side, and, when you got into the garden, you tripped over an uneven brick on the path and toppled face first into the unforgiving stone. You skidded painfully across the bricks, your knees and palms being skinned in the process.

You did your best to scramble to your feet, but your legs had finally given out.

"Gotcha."

You heard a sickening voice not that far away as footsteps approached you at far too fast a rate for you to crawl into a bush before he reached you.

It was when you were searching the foliage on the sides of the path that you noticed what you had at first mistaken as a stick laying in the path, but upon further inspection you realized to be a tail.

You took in a deep breath before screaming "LEONA!" and praying it would be enough to wake the lion.

"The hell are you babbling about!" The voice of the other student snarled before you felt a harsh grip on your collar yank you up. "I was originally just gonna make you pay up for bumping into me so rudely, but after that chase you put me through, I think my fists have some anger pent up."

You ducked your head and braced for impact, but it never came. What did come was a soft warmth that caught you and held you up once the student's hand had finally released its grip on you. When you opened your eyes, you saw a clearly ticked off Lion.

He had one arm snaked under your shoulder and around your stomach to keep you up, and his other had a firm grip on the guy's wrist.

You were too dazed and hyped up on adrenaline to take in the words the two exchanged, but you swore you heard a crack moments before Leona let go of his wrist. The guy fled and were sure that if he were a beastman he'd have his tail between his legs.

You were torn out of your daze by an uncharacteristically soft, but still gruff voice: "Can you walk?"

It took you a moment to form words, but you eventually managed to reply: "I'm not hurt, but-"

Before you could finish your sentence, your legs were swept out from under you. A brief "'scuse me" left Leona's lips as he picked you up, and an unfamiliar feeling blossomed in your chest.

Seeing the shift in your expression, Leona sighed "Look, I know you like your personal space, but you can't walk and I'd feel like crap if I left ya out here, so I gotta carry you to the infirmary. I woulda asked, but it's not like I could get ya there any other way. You can punch me later if ya want."

The trip to the infirmary was silent. Thoughts raced through your head, but one of the most prominent was: "I called out for him."

You had no other choice but to come to terms with the terrifying realization that you trusted this man. For better or for worse, you trusted him. . .and while it scared you, it also bloomed this warm feeling in your chest.

You let your head fall against his chest as he carried you, and if he took note of that, he didn't let it show.

After you got checked out at the infirmary and reported the incident to Professor Crewel (because we all know Crowley is too incompetent at his job to do anything), Leona walked you back to your dorm.

The two of you never verbally acknowledged the events of that day again, nor did you talk about the feelings that came with them.

He was never not there after that, and you didn't mind the company.

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[pennyellee]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡?

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡? | 𝐌𝐘𝐆 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐔 (𝐌) pairings: producer!min yoongi x popgirlie f!reader genre: romance, smut, slight porn with plot, friends to lovers au word count: 6K beta read by @chaoticpuff17 (ily)

prompt: "There is just no way you two did not fuck each other's brains out." summary: "You Big Enough?" - when an old flame resurfaced, rumours spiralled, and suddenly, every lingering glance and every touch between you seemed to carry weight. It had always been just music, just friendship—hadn’t it? No. You always had the vibe of  'will they, won't they.' This has become bigger than the music. Tension crackled, boundaries blurred, and there was this thing that Yoongi made sure you knew well besides that he was big enough. "They just talk. I fucking deliver."

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, explicit language, themes of subtle (and not-so-subtle) possessiveness, teasing, sexual activity, rough sex, fingering (f receiving), miscommunication driving emotional conflict, dirty talk, raw fucking (stay safe!) choking and spanking as part of intimate scenes, creampie, fleeting nipple play, very subtle dominance/submission dynamics, implied size kink ... (as per usual, I'll add some if needed)

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, sexual activity, sex without protection, choking and spanking as part of intimate scenes.

a/n: yall, I had this idea like a month ago and I wrote the initial part but lowkey forgot that it's in my drafts so I finished it yesterday (might come later to edit, pls excuse me im working overtime these days) and amazing and spectacular @chaoticpuff17 managed to read it so you can have it as a lil Valentine's day treat. So here is something simple, smutty, and cute for ya. Happy Valentine to all of you who celebrate, love you my little fairies! ♥

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Your hands hovered above the keys and your brain could not figure out what to press to make it sound as magical as you want. Your mind searched for the perfect melody for the bridge of her latest song—

"Try F-sharp minor," Yoongi suggested, his voice low and even. The studio is a second home for you. Always have been and dear Min Yoongi was as much a refuge as the soundproof walls and softly humming equipment.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"Perfect—" There was a warmth in his gaze, one that lingered a second too long.

"How do you always know, Yoongi-ah?"

"It's my job," he said simply, but the corners of his mouth quirked up. Your heart fluttered with a familiar yet unwelcome sensation. But you quickly shook it off, focusing on the music in front of her.

"I'm lucky to have you, then," you murmured.

Yoongi didn't respond immediately, and when he did, his voice was quieter than before.

"I'd say I'm the lucky one."

Before you could process what he meant, your phone buzzed, breaking the spell. You picked it up, seeing a message from your lifelong bestie, Jimin-ah.

Emergency. Coming over.

You frown but you are happy to not indulge in something you don't have the answers to. "Jimin-ah is on his way. Guess I'll have to call it a night."

Yoongi's expression was unreadable, but he nodded, knowing that it must be something important if you’re packing your stuff so quickly. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"You need to fucking hear this," he says, her voice brimming with urgency when he bursts into the apartment like a whirlwind, his dark glossy hair bouncing as he flops onto the couch.

"You remember Seo Kang-joon?"

You hand him a glass of red wine and sit across from him.

"What now? Did he suddenly reappear after he ghosted me?"

Jimin winces.

"Actually, yeah. And I finally found out why he did so."

Your stomach drops. You liked that man when you went out, but the message you left a good amount of time ago went unanswered for an even longer period of time.

"Why?"

He hesitates, his eyes darting around the room. Finally, he leans forward, lowering his voice. "Everyone thinks you and Yoongi are… you know."

You blink.

"What?" you say, playing dumb.

"You knooowww…—

"—that."

He said through gritted teeth, trying to make you understand, but your brain was not cooperating.

"No, I dooooon't know that" You mimicked him, and he only stared dead serious at your stupidity.

"They think you've been doing it," he says bluntly. "Apparently, it's some open secret in the industry. Like, 'Oh, Y/N and Yoongi? Of course, they're a thing.'"

Your jaw drops. No way. No fucking way.

"That's insane. We're not… we're not like that."

"You sure about that buttercup?" Jimin raises an eyebrow and you merely nod.

"Cuz', he's not exactly denying it. And honestly, can you blame people for assuming? You've written two albums together, spent countless hours locked in the studio, and the way he looks at you…" he trails off, shaking his head.

"There is just no way you two did not fuck each other's brains out."

Your cheeks burn.

"That's ridiculous. Yoongi and I are friends. Just friends."

"Hmm, I don't know hun,—"

He was right. You weren't buying it. Not entirely.

But you weren't ready to admit that out loud—not yet, anyway. Your mind races. You replay every moment you've spent together, every lingering glance and fleeting touch.

Yoongi and you?

It was absurd, wasn't it?

Right?

Jimin watched you carefully, his perfectly shaped brows raised in amusement. "You're thinking about it, aren't you?"

"No," you scoffed, but your voice lacked conviction.

Jimin smirked, leaning back against the couch. "Look, babe, I wouldn't bring this up if I didn't think it was something you should actually think about. People don't just make this kind of shit up for no reason."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I just—why wouldn't he deny it?"

"That's what you need to figure out." Jimin gave you a pointed look. "You trust him, don't you?"

You hesitated. That was the problem, wasn't it? You trusted Yoongi more than anyone. He had been your anchor in the storm, your safe space when everything else felt uncertain.

But this—this was different.

The way he looked at you.

The way he always knew exactly what you needed.

You replayed every moment with Yoongi in your mind, combing through the memories with a fine-toothed scepticism, looking for anything—anything—that could have fed these rumours. The way he watched you while you worked in the dance studio, the quiet way he always made sure you had water before long sessions, the casual intimacy in the way he touched you—light, fleeting, like a habit neither of you had ever questioned.

Had you been blind this whole time?

Jimin's voice snapped you back to reality.

"Look, I think you need to talk to him. Like, actually talk to him."

You swallowed hard.

Talking to Min Yoongi had never been difficult before. But this? This felt dangerous.

The next evening, you stepped into the dimly lit studio, and the question sat on the tip of your tongue like a loaded gun.

Yoongi was already there, as always. The warm amber glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across his sharp features, catching on the soft strands of dark hair that fell over his eyes. His fingers rested idly on the soundboard, a picture of quiet focus—until he looked up at you.

His gaze, steady and unreadable, held you captive.

"You're late," he murmured, but there was no accusation in his tone—just that familiar, quiet warmth.

You swallowed. "Got caught up with Jimin last night, forgot to set a reminder."

At that, something flickered across his face—too quick to name, gone before you could hold onto it. "Ah."

Silence stretched between you, thick with something you weren't ready to name. But you hadn't come here to tiptoe around things anymore.

So you stepped forward, pressing a hand against the cool surface of the mixing console, grounding yourself, only now taking his appearance in.

"I played with the structure a little last night after you went home and—" he broke the silence first, but you knew he sensed the sudden awkwardness in your posture, your whole being.

"Is something the matter, sleepyhead?"

"Nope, nothing at all."

You quickly retorted, trying to look anywhere else but his gorgeous face.

Yoongi's eyes, however, never wavered. They held a depth that made it impossible for you to escape his gaze. You had always known how intense he could be, but now, in the stillness of the studio, it felt almost intimate, the air thick with unspoken words that seemed to pulse around you like a melody begging to be heard.

He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting casually on the desk, but his posture was all focus—intent, almost as if he was waiting for you to unravel yourself.

"Are you sure about that?" His voice was lower now, a gentle challenge. He was pulling at the thread, testing the tension between you.

Your stomach twisted. This was the moment, wasn't it?

"I'm fine, Yoongi, just had a lot of wine last night," you said again, but your voice betrayed you. It cracked, ever so slightly, and you couldn't mask the uncertainty in it.

The silence between you thickened, and it felt like the space in the room had shrunk, until it was just you, him, and the suffocating pressure of the question you both knew was lingering.

He didn't look away, not even when you avoided his gaze, staring down at the soundboard like it could offer you some kind of escape. He moved to the electronic piano while lifting a brow at you.

"So as I said, I played with the structure—"

You watched him, leaning at the piano, his fingers poised just above the keys, waiting for him to break the silence again, to give you something more. But you didn't want more from him—not in the way you wanted it. Not yet.

Instead, you played a dangerous game, one of subtle manipulation, testing him, probing for the truth behind his unreadable expressions.

"You remember Seo Kang-joon, right?" You interrupt him, raising your voice just a little.

The name hung in the air between you, deliberately chosen, carefully placed like a baited hook.

Yoongi's fingers stilled for the briefest of moments. But it was enough. Just enough for you to notice. His posture shifted ever so slightly, his shoulders stiffening imperceptibly.

You bit back a smile, inwardly satisfied at his subtle reaction.

"I bumped into him yesterday on my way home. He... he actually asked me out on a date again. Said he lost his phone and had to get a new phone number, didn't remember mine."

A lie.

The words left your mouth so easily, like a lie you had rehearsed in front of the mirror, and yet your heart pounded with anticipation. You weren't expecting much. Just a flicker of jealousy, a crack in the calm façade he always wore. So your interrogation of his, perhaps, hidden feelings isn't unprovoked.

Yoongi didn't immediately respond. His fingers finally touched the keys, the faintest chord ringing through the room, but his eyes remained fixed on the piano.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the soft melody playing between you, the rhythm of his fingers meeting the ivories almost too steady.

And then, finally, he spoke. His voice was low, flat. "Is that so?"

Your breath caught. That was it?

You frowned, staring at him from across the room, searching for a reaction. Anything. But his expression was as controlled as ever. His calm demeanour was unshakable.

No way.

You leaned forward, the pressure of the lie beginning to claw at your insides. "Yeah, he asked me. He was actually pretty... persistent about it. He was sorry I thought he ghosted me." You let the words hang, trailing off deliberately, watching his reaction closely.

But Yoongi only nodded, his eyes focused on the keys.

"I see."

A small flame of frustration ignited in your chest. Was he really this indifferent? Was he truly going to let this lie slide without a hint of a reaction?

You stood up abruptly, unable to hold the pretense any longer. You could feel your temper rising, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

"You fucking see?!" Yoongi's fingers paused mid-chord as the tension in your voice snapped through the room. You busted out your feelings. Well, this was doomed from the start.

You stepped forward, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and something else—something raw that you hadn't been prepared to face. "You don't even care, do you? You don't care that everyone is saying we're fucking, that they think we're—" You cut yourself off, almost choking on the words. You couldn't bear to say them aloud, but you needed to know, needed to push him.

His gaze met yours, and in that instant, you knew he hadn't been indifferent. He'd been waiting. Waiting for you to unravel yourself, for you to show your cards. His eyes, dark and unreadable, pinned you in place.

"Is that what you wanted to hear?" His voice was cold now, controlled, with an edge that made your skin prickle. The air in the room thickened, turning heavy with the weight of his words.

"Well, perchance?!—" You gesture rapidly.

"You run around not denying it Yoongi,—?!"

The calm, controlled exterior he wore was unravelling, and you weren't sure if you liked the version of him that was emerging—or if it terrified you.

He stood up, slowly, deliberately. The sudden motion caused a cold shiver to run down your spine. He didn't step towards you, but the space between you both seemed to shrink in the way he carried himself—every step deliberate, every movement measured.

"Why do you care so much?" His voice was low, almost detached, but there was a certain sharpness to it now. It was the tone he used when he was dangerously close to losing control, but for now, he still kept it in check. "What's so important about what they think?"

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words tangled in your throat. You had been so sure of your reasoning—so certain of the way you wanted him to react—but now that he was giving you exactly what you wanted, you realized just how hollow that satisfaction felt.

"I dunno Yoongi—maybe because men ghosted me—maybe because you just might be the reason I had a dry season— or maybe you're that kind of motherfucker—"

Yoongi let out a sharp breath, a dry laugh escaping him as he shook his head. You elevated this to a different level now. "A motherfucker?" He repeated his tone somewhere between disbelief and amusement. "That's what we're doing now?"

You were too far gone to stop. The frustration, the pent-up emotions, the sheer nerve of him sitting there, all unbothered while you spiralled—it cracked something open inside you.

"Yes, Yoongi! A motherfucker! What else do you call a guy who lets rumours fly like this and doesn't even care?" Your hands gestured wildly as your voice grew more frantic.

"You don't deny it, you don't address it, you just exist in this limbo, letting people think we're screwing while I sit here looking like a desperate idiot who cannot get a hold of her man—"

His jaw clenched, his patience visibly wearing thin. "So what if I don't deny it?" He stepped closer, voice a fraction lower now, dangerously quiet. "What if I don't care what they think? What if I like the way it sounds?"

Your breath hitched.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Your entire argument, the whole reason you'd brought this up, suddenly felt shaky, flimsy, like a house of cards collapsing under the weight of his words.

Yoongi watched you, his eyes dark and unreadable, waiting for you to process what he had just admitted.

Finally, your voice came out in a whisper, hoarse and unsure.

"The fuck, Yoongi?"

"I don't deny it," he said again, slower this time. His head tilted slightly, studying you. "Because it's not entirely wrong."

A rush of heat flooded through you—anger, shock, confusion, something else, something deeper and more dangerous. "Not… entirely… wrong?" You echoed, blinking at him. "Are you—are you actually fucking insane?"

Yoongi exhaled sharply, like he was just as frustrated as you were, like you were the one being difficult. "Y/N—"

"No," you cut him off, pointing a finger at him. "No, you don't get to just drop that and act like it's nothing."

"I'm not acting like it's nothing," he countered, his voice still calm, still infuriatingly composed. "You wanted to know why I never denied it? That's why."

"You can't be fucking serious right now, you fuck—" his body in your proximity startled you, but you let him pin you to the wall next to the mixing desk.

His hands caged you in, palms pressing against the wall on either side of your head. You felt the sharp inhale of his breath, the slow exhale, the tension buzzing between you like a live wire.

"You don't get it, do you?" His voice was quiet but razor-edged, his eyes dark and unwavering. "You've been running in circles trying to make me jealous, trying to get a reaction—" his gaze flicked down to your lips for just a second before meeting your eyes again, "pushing me like you want me to snap."

You listened. For once.

"You sat in that fucking booth with only your panties under that big shirt—"

"My fucking shirt—"

"My fucking shirt," he repeated, voice rough. "And you think I wouldn't become possessive? Think I didn't see the way you stretched in it, how you leaned in close, pretending like you didn't know exactly what you were doing?"

Your breath hitched. You did not realize he saw you this way.

You swallowed, trying to find solid ground beneath the sudden energy shift, but Yoongi wasn't giving you the chance.

"You wanted me to react?" His eyes burned into yours. "You wanted this?"

The heat between you became unbearable.

"I—" You started, but you had no words.

Because now, finally, Yoongi wasn't holding back.

And neither were you.

Your pulse hammered in your throat as his words sank in, wrapping around your ribs, tightening like a snare. You had been waiting—aching—for a reaction, pushing buttons you hadn't even fully understood yourself. But now? Now, Yoongi was looking at you like he had already decided.

His breath was warm against your cheek, the space between you non-existent.

"Say it," he murmured.

You licked your lips, the movement not lost on him. "Say what?"

Yoongi let out a short, dark chuckle. "That you like it. That you like this—the way I look at you, the way I see you."

Your stomach flipped.

"You're so full of shit," you whispered, but there was no weight behind it but pure provocation.

His fingers twitched against the wall before he exhaled sharply and leaned in, just enough for your breaths to tangle.

"And you'll be full of me."

"You big enough?" 

Oh, that did it.

A sharp, involuntary gasp left his lips and your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up. The air between you turned electric, charged with something too dangerous to name.

Yoongi's gaze darkened, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as if savouring the way your breath hitched when he looked at you that way. He bit down his lower lip before he spoke again, laying his palms on the flat surface of the table in front of the piano that lay on it–

"There are two possibilities happening between us—" He tilted his head slightly, gaze never wavering from yours, his voice a low rasp against your skin.

"One—we make this official,—" He said it like it was inevitable, like it was a fact written in stone. "No more rumours, no more bullshit. No one else but us. Just you and me."

Your breath stuttered, your heart slamming against your ribs.

"And the second?" you whispered, barely able to form the words.

Yoongi smirked, slow and sinful, his fingers twitching against the wall before he leaned in, his mouth a breath away from yours.

"I keep writing my songs, keep filling my verses with filth about how I would fuck you good and hard—until you finally beg me to bury my cock in your cunt."

“And people will hear you’re mine—”

Your entire body went hot. Yoongi's smirk widened, watching the way your breath stuttered, your pupils blown wide. He tilted his head, gaze flicking down to your parted lips, his voice dropping even lower. Your thighs clenched a traitorous reaction that made his smirk turn predatory.

"You—"

"That's the difference between them and me, baby." His fingers ghosted over your waist, light enough to make you shiver. "They just talk. I fucking deliver."

You swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming so violently it was a wonder you were still standing.

"You're so—"

"What?" Yoongi pressed in closer, his nose brushing against yours. "Say it."

You had no idea what you were going to say.

But when his fingers finally curled around your hip, pulling you flush against him, the words you should say, the ones that would stop this before it went too far—before you gave in—died in your throat.

"Fucking thought so." He smirked again. That smirk. That fucking smirk.

It did something to you, something dangerous, something you weren't sure you could control. It made you want to wipe it off his face—maybe with a slap, maybe with your mouth.

Yoongi knew it, too.

He leaned in just a fraction closer, his breath hot against your cheek, his grip tightening on your hip as if daring you to push him away.

You didn't.

"See?" His voice was silk and smoke, smooth but lethal. "You love this. You love the way I get under your skin. The way I make you feel."

Your nails dug into your palms. "You don't know shit about what I feel."

Yoongi chuckled, low and rough. "Don't I?"

His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down your side, stopping just shy of indecency but still making you shudder.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured. "Tell me you don't want this, and I will."

It was the worst thing he could've said. Because the truth—the one you refused to admit even to yourself—was that you didn't want him to stop. Ever. You were so fucking needy to be touched after you got to know that your dried spell had a sorcerer and it was him. So technically now, he should be the one breaking it. And he knew it.

Your silence was all the confirmation he needed to press his lips against your neck.

His hands were suddenly everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your thighs, spreading you open like he had every right to.

"You think I'm going to let you run your mouth, push me to the edge, and not do something about it?" His voice was a rasp, thick with hunger. "You think I don't see how badly you want this?"

Your breath hitched as his thigh pressed between yours, the friction making your knees buckle. His mouth found your jaw, teeth scraping over sensitive skin before he kissed a path down your throat, sucking, biting, claiming.

You barely had time to think before he gripped your wrist, guiding your hand down—down—until your fingers brushed against him, hard and thick beneath his sweats. The sound that tore from his throat was pure sin.

"Feel that?" Yoongi growled, grinding against your palm. "That's what you do to me. That's what you fucking cause each time we're in this studio."

Your fingers flexed, a teasing squeeze that had his breath stuttering. He cursed under his breath, tilting your chin up with his free hand, forcing you to meet his gaze.

Dark. Devouring. Desperate.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured again, a cruel echo of earlier. But this time, there was no space between you, no restraint.

And you didn't.

Instead, you yanked his mouth to yours. Yoongi groaned into the kiss, the sound reverberating through you as his hands pushed under your shirt, fingers trailing over bare skin, leaving fire in their wake.

Your nails raked down his back as he lifted you effortlessly, pressing you harder against the wall.

His hips rolled, slow and devastating, and a moan ripped from your throat, shameless, wrecked.

"That's it, baby" he rasped, his forehead against yours, breath heavy. "That's the sound I've been waiting for."

His hand dipped lower, slipping past the band of your shorts, finding you soaked for him. Yoongi cursed, his fingers teasing, circling, before sliding through the wetness with devastating precision.

"Fuck," he groaned, voice hoarse. "You're already so fucking ready for me."

You didn't even get a chance to respond before he pushed a finger inside, then another, stretching you, filling you, working you open until you were trembling against him.

"Yoongi—"

"I know," he hushed you, his lips brushing against your ear, his fingers moving faster, deeper. "I've got you, baby. Just take it."

And fuck, you did. You took everything he gave, your body writhing against his as pleasure built sharp and unbearable, spiralling higher, tightening—

"Come for me," he ordered, his voice dark, commanding. "Come on my fingers like the desperate little thing I know you are."

And when he curled his fingers just right, his thumb pressing where you needed it most—

You shattered.

Completely. Utterly.

Yoongi swallowed your cry with his mouth, dragging it out, his hand still moving, still milking every last bit of pleasure from you until you were shaking in his arms.

Then, as you barely caught your breath, his voice came again, low and teasing.

"Now," he murmured, undoing the string of his sweats, letting them fall.

"I'll fuck you hard that you'll forget about those smutty books you're reading—"

Your body barely had time to recover before Yoongi was pressing closer, his fingers sliding away, leaving you aching and empty. But then—then—his hands were on your hips, tugging your shorts down, peeling them away with agonizing slowness, like he wanted you to feel every second of it.

Your breath stuttered as he stepped back just enough to look at you, his dark gaze trailing over your bare, trembling form.

"Fucking perfect," he muttered, almost to himself, before his hands gripped your thighs and lifted you, forcing your legs around his waist.

The weight of him, the sheer heat of him, pressed right against your core, had you gasping, fingers digging into his shoulders. Yoongi groaned low in his throat, rolling his hips just enough for you to feel all of him, hard and thick and ready.

"Ain’t big enough, huh?" he murmured, dragging his clothed crotch against your soaked heat. His voice was rough, strained. "I’ll show you how big I am."

Your nails bit into his skin, your body writhing against him as he kept teasing, kept torturing you with slow, precise movements. The friction had you panting, your forehead falling against his.

"Stop teasing," you managed, barely above a breath.

Yoongi chuckled, dark and knowing. "Look at you. So desperate for me already." His fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Tell me how much you want it."

You let out a sound between a whimper and a growl, rolling your hips against him in a silent plea. But that wasn't enough for him. Your heart racing, you felt his warm palm connect with your skin, a stinging sensation spreading through your buttocks as he spanked you. You let out a small yelp, but Yoongi didn't relent, his hand rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

"Say it." His voice was like gravel, low and demanding. "Say you want me to fuck you, Y/N. Say you need me." He pulled down his sweats enough so his cock sprang free from the confinement.

Your pride clashed with your need, the battle waging for only a moment before he rolled his hips again, pressing the thick head of his cock right against your entrance—and your resolve snapped.

"Fuck—I need you," you gasped, your fingers twisting into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan. "Please, Yoongi—just fuck me."

Something broke in him then.

With a guttural sound, he aligned himself and pushed inside, the stretch of him stealing the air from your lungs. He didn't stop, didn't hesitate—just drove forward, sinking deep until he was fully sheathed inside you until there was no space between you, nothing left but the overwhelming, consuming feel of him.

"Fuck," Yoongi gritted out, his forehead dropping to yours. His hands flexed against your thighs like he was trying to hold himself back, to give you a moment. "So fucking tight."

You could barely breathe, barely think, pleasure and pain and something deeper rolling through you in waves. But then he shifted, just slightly, and—

"Oh fuck," you gasped, your head falling back against the wall.

Yoongi's grip tightened, his breath hot against your skin. "Yeah?" He rolled his hips again, slow and deliberate, dragging himself out before thrusting back in, harder this time. Your moan was wrecked, broken—exactly what he wanted.

"Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me," he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, across your collarbone. "Taking me so fucking well."

Then he moved. Snapping his hips as hard as he could to make your back rub against the wall, to make your head spin from the bouncing on his thick cock that made you see so many constellations. Up and down, up and down. He felt so good inside you, filling you completely as his hips slammed against yours.

The force of his thrust made you cry out, your fingers tangled in his dark raven hair, which you so openly adored when he kept longer. His mouth crashed down on yours, swallowing your moans as he drove into you with a fierce intensity, each stroke building on the last.

His hand cupped your breast and his thumb brushed over your nipple. The touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the fierce way he was driving into you. Your back arched, pushing your breast further into his hand, and you felt his fingers close around it, squeezing softly. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and you moaned loudly, the sound lost in the kiss that still claimed your mouth. Yoongi's hips kept moving, each thrust building on the last, and his hand on your breast seemed to be pulling you closer to some unseen edge. His fingers tightened around your nipple, rolling it between them, and you felt yourself teetering on the brink of something explosive.

Yoongi groaned, his grip almost bruising now, his thrusts turning erratic. "You gonna come for me again?" he rasped, his hips thrusting into you harder, each one was met with your breath hitching in your throat before you moaned. Loud.

"Gonna fall apart on my cock?"

It was too much—too good.

"I know what you want, love. What will make you cum around my cock."

Your body began to tense, your muscles coiling tighter and tighter as he spoke. "You want it rough," he growled, his thrusts becoming more savage, more primal.

"You want me to take you apart, piece by piece." His grip on your breast tightened, his fingers digging deep into your skin, and you felt yourself spiralling out of control.

His hand left your breast to envelope around your throat, his fingers wrapping tightly around your neck, his thumb pressing against the underside of your jaw. That was it. Your moans got even louder and he raised a brow. You felt a flutter in your chest as his grip tightened, his eyes burning with an intense hunger as he gazed into yours and he slowed down to observe your face that certainly did not hide any pleasure.

"Kinky," he rasped, his voice low and dirty. "So fucking kinky."

He held you in place, his grip on your throat tightening ever so slightly, he began to move his hips again, his cock stirring back to life inside you. His eyes burned with an intense desire, and you could feel the tension building in his body as he drove into you with slow, deliberate strokes.

"I'm going to fill you up, babe" he growled, his voice low and husky. "I'm going to make you take every last drop of me." And with that, he began to thrust into you harder again, faster again, his hips pounding against yours as he chased your release. You felt him swelling inside you, his cock growing thicker and hotter as he approached the edge.

Your orgasm crashed into you, and you could not even stop it. You wanted this to last until your body shuts down from all that pleasure he has given you. Your body locking up as pleasure burns through every nerve ending. You clenched around him, drawing a strangled moan from his lips, his hips snapping forward one last time before he broke. His release spilt deep inside you as he let out a low, guttural groan, his semen erupting into you in a hot, pulsing flood that warmed your walls. You felt him shudder and convulse above you, his body trembling with pleasure as he emptied himself into your waiting flesh

The sensation was overwhelming, the feeling of being filled and claimed by him almost too much to bear. His chest heaving with exertion and for a moment, neither of you moved.

"You're so fucking mine," he murmured, voice still thick with satisfaction. He lifted his head to meet your lips once more before he said.

"Don't you ever question my devotion for you—" he started, panting after the little stunt you just pulled. 

“—Or the size of my cock, doll.” 

You only smiled wickedly into his lips. 

“You like us role-playing, tho—“ you started. Yoongi's grip on your waist tightened, his lips brushing over your collarbone as his breath warmed your skin. His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the curve of your body possessively. 

"He could not stop talking about it the whole fucking night, babe."

"Who, Jimin?" he asked, his tone dripping with amusement, yet there was an underlying tension in it, like he was trying to keep himself in check to not turn you over and fuck you in the ass. Even though he had to thank Jimin for this fuck prompt he unknowingly gave you an idea of (such a mundane trope) and the final ride you two just had. The thanking will wait until whenever you decide you want Jimin to know about you two.

Of course, something similar happened at the start of your relationship and you could not help yourself to let him fuck you against that wall once again. This time with a similar scenario but slightly adjusted replicas.

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh, though it was edged with a hint of frustration. You shifted under his touch, your heart still racing from the intensity of the night.

"Yeah. Couldn't stop about how people talk about us fucking our brains out here—"

"But we are—" his voice thick with the weight of his meaning, but his tone now softer than before. His mouth pressed against the sensitive skin just below your ear, and his hands pulled you closer, if that was even possible, as if to remind you of just how much he could claim you again and again and again.

You gasped, your body reacting to him in ways you couldn't control, and you felt a rush of vulnerability, knowing how deeply he could read you. "Yoongi," you breathed, trying to keep your composure, but he wasn't making it easy.

"Yeah, you can say that again," Yoongi whispered, his lips brushing against your ear before his teeth grazed the lobe, making your entire body shudder.

You swallowed hard, your head spinning. "I'm serious," you managed to say, even though your voice came out shaky. "Jimin—he thinks I'm still under that dry spell cuz' everybody thinks we're doing it—"

"Let him yap, love."

"Yeah I would, but he went to a point where he talked about how I'm gonna need to buy that Tesla robot to fuck me cuz' no living man will, thanks to you and your not-so-subtle hints that we're doing it—"

"My not-so-subtle hints?" He chuckled.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, feeling a mixture of amusement and frustration. "I mean, he was kinda making some good points," you teased, pretending to think it over. "We do have that whole 'will they, won't they' vibe going on."

Yoongi's fingers paused against your skin for a moment, as if he were considering your words, but then a slow, mischievous smirk crept onto his lips.

"What do you think, babe?"

"I—I think," you stammered, feeling the weight of the moment sink in, "I think we could've been doing a better damn good job of hiding it. But maybe—" You hesitated, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

"Maybe it's time we stop pretending."

"Well, next time Jimin mentions our 'vibe,' I'm making him listen to a few of our 'studio sessions.'"

Your eyes widened in mock horror. "Yoongi!" You gave him a dramatic shiver, and he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you.

"Exactly," Yoongi said, smirking mischievously. "That'll shut him up real quick."

"Good luck," you teased, tapping his chest lightly. "Maybe he'll start talking about how lucky you are to have me in your corner."

"Lucky, huh?" he mused, pulling you in for a hug. "You're damn right I'm lucky."

You grinned, enjoying the easy banter, letting the tension slip away as you let him hold you. It wasn't about proving anything to anyone—it was just the two of you, sharing this moment, enjoying each other's company and, of course, having a little fun at Jimin's expense.

"Wait—" you just realised.

"You know about my smutty books?!"

He threw his head back and gave a loud throat laugh in response.

©pennyellee. please do not repost

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lots of love, p.