#but there is something he is way more interested in

[mariasont]

HI i have an idea and its making me really giddy

ok so reader is a translator for the bau and they’re always reading and translating texts or calls or anything like that. and the reader to spencer is basically like penelope to derek. they flirt all the time and all of those lovely things.. and it’s kinda just where they’re flirting on the phone and morgan teases reid about it and reid gets all flustered

IDK IF IT CAN WORK I JUST LOVE FLUSTERED SPENCER :(

anyway i’ll probably be in your inbox a bunch uhhh so call me h or something

-h

Warm Under the Collar - S.R

summary: spencer insists he is not flirting. morgan insists that spencer absolutely is. one of them is lying. pairings: spencer reid x translator!reader warnings: heavy flirting, pre-relationship mutual pining, verbal sparring as foreplay, workplace hr violations, use of angel wc: 0.6k

“Are you thinking about me, Dr. Reid? Because I’ve been thinking about you.”

Spencer exhales, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt as if loosening it might alleviate the sudden stranglehold of your words. He wasn’t sure if it was always this constricting or if it was conspiring against him at the mere sound of your voice.

He rolls his eyes, performative, really, because you can’t see him, and it’s easier to feign exasperation than admit the effect you have on him. His mouth, however, twitches in betrayal, flirting with a smile before he crushes it. 

The crime board he was supposed to be focusing on, filled with monochrome photos and reports, was now blurring into meaningless scribbles as his thoughts veer off-course, plummeting headfirst into you.

“I’m always thinking about you.”

The words come easily because they require no effort to be true. Always isn’t hyperbole, it’s a mathematical constant, an irrefutable fact.

He was thinking about you before he even called you, felt the shape of you in his mind like an afterimage burned onto his retinas. 

Thought about what color you were wearing, whether your hair was up or down. He wondered if you’d eaten, if you were drinking enough water, if you’d remembered to bring a jacket to the office because the temperature had dropped unexpectedly. 

“Always? Spencer, if you wanted me that bad, all you had to do was say so.”

He isn’t sure why he hesitates — why his brain takes a detour through all the ways he has said so, if not in words, then in the way his thoughts orbit you like a law of nature. 

“I feel like I did say so. Quite literally. But if you’d like me to be more explicit about it, I’m happy to oblige.”

Another pause. He wonders if you’re smiling.

“Mmm, well, I’m certainly not going to stop you.” You sigh, a little dramatic. “Go ahead, be explicit.”

Spencer physically winces at how hot his face gets. The very concept of explicit sits indecently in the pit of his stomach.

“Tempting.” He exhales, rubs a hand down his face, forcibly redirects. “But I do actually have a job to do. And, lucky for me, it just so happens to require your specific set of skills.” 

He leans against the crime board, half-smirking despite himself, because if nothing else, this is fun — the sharp back-and-forth, the way you press all the right buttons just to see what happens.

“I have a recording that needs translating. Think you can focus for long enough to help me, or do I need to, I don’t know, compliment your intelligence first to get you in a professional mindset?”

“Complimenting my intelligence to get what you want? Interesting. Manipulative, even.”

He groans, tilting his head toward the ceiling, appealing to some higher power for patience. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t say I was going to —”

“Too late, you put the idea in my head, and now I expect it. Preferably in an eloquent, well-structured speech. Bonus points if you make it poetic.”

“Or,” he counters, “you could translate the recording first, and I’ll… circle back to stroking your ego at a later, more convenient time.”

A small pause. The kind that feels intentional, like you’re weighing your options.

“I guess that works,” you say. “Send it over, pretty boy.”

Spencer shakes his head, fingers moving on autopilot as he sends the file, because if he thinks too hard about the way you lilted that last pretty boy, he might die. “Alright, thanks. Be good, angel.”

He hangs up, still grinning like an idiot, still entirely too warm under the collar. He exhales, staring at the phone in his hand like it might have the decency to cool him off, maybe undo the physiological mess you’ve left him in.

“If I have to listen to one more of your phone calls with her, I’m sending y’all an invoice.”

Spencer freezes when he sees Morgan standing behind him.

He clears his throat, ignoring the flush he knew was climbing up his neck. “Flirting is an unsubstantiated claim.”

Morgan just stares at him. Stares. “You don’t even believe that.”

Spencer mutters something about professionalism because he’s nothing if not a walking contradiction.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[rafes-slut]

Self control

Summary: rafe is bored and he wants to test eachoters self control by cockwarming you to see who can go longest without moving

Warnings: NSFW, cockwarming, sexual tension, teasing, dominance/submission themes, power play, heavy temptation, loss of control, season two Rafe energy, mutual torment.

----

The weekend had started off exciting, but by the time Sunday afternoon rolled around, boredom settled in like an unwanted guest. You and Rafe had spent the past few days holed up in his house, doing a whole lot of nothing—lounging, eating, watching random TV shows that neither of you really cared about. The rain outside made sure you were stuck inside with no distractions, no plans.

You were sprawled across the couch, scrolling through your phone, while Rafe lay beside you, lazily running a hand up and down your thigh. His touch was absentminded at first, but then it turned deliberate. Slow, teasing strokes that made you glance at him, catching the way his blue eyes darkened with something dangerous.

"Got an idea," he murmured, his fingers dipping under the hem of your shorts.

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

He smirked. "Mhm. Something to make things… interesting."

You could already tell by the way he was looking at you that whatever he was thinking had nothing to do with movies or playing cards. Rafe never handled boredom well. When he wanted something, he went after it with a single-minded determination, and right now, you had a feeling that you were his next source of entertainment.

When he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his voice dropped to a low rasp. "How much self-control do you think you have?"

You frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

His hand on your thigh tightened. "I mean…" He kissed just below your ear, dragging his lips along your jaw before pulling back to look you in the eye. "Think you can handle sitting on my cock without moving?"

The bluntness of it sent a jolt of heat straight through you, making you tense.

"Rafe," you muttered, but the way he was looking at you made it impossible to say anything else.

He grinned, knowing damn well he already had you. "What? Scared you'll lose?"

That did it. You never liked backing down from a challenge, and Rafe knew it. Which was exactly why he said it.

"Fine," you said before you could second-guess yourself.

And that was how you ended up here—straddling him on the bed, completely bare, his cock buried deep inside you. The stretch was almost too much, your body clenched tight around him, but neither of you had moved.

You were supposed to be winning this, supposed to be showing him that you had all the restraint in the world. But the way he was looking at you—eyes dark, jaw clenched, his hands gripping your hips just to keep himself from fucking up into you—made it so hard to focus on anything but how badly you wanted to move.

Minutes passed. Maybe more.

You swallowed, feeling a bead of sweat roll down your spine.

Rafe smirked. "Starting to squirm, baby."

You narrowed your eyes, forcing yourself still. "Not even close."

"Liar." His hands slid up your sides, slow and deliberate, making goosebumps rise on your skin. He traced your waist, up to your ribs, his thumbs brushing just under your breasts. "I can feel how bad you want it."

You sucked in a breath, digging your nails into his shoulders.

His voice dropped lower. "Be honest. How bad do you wanna move right now?"

"Not at all," you lied, even though your body was screaming otherwise.

Rafe chuckled darkly. His grip on your hips tightened before he shifted the slightest bit underneath you, just enough for you to feel it.

Your breath hitched.

"Oops," he said, all fake innocence.

You clenched around him instinctively, and he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, his fingers twitching against your skin.

The tension between you crackled like fire.

It was only a matter of time before one of you gave in.

Every passing second made it harder to breathe. Harder to think.

The ache between your legs was unbearable. Rafe filled you up completely, stretching you in a way that left you dizzy, and the worst part was that you couldn't do anything about it.

Your thighs burned from holding still. Your hands clenched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin just to ground yourself. But the worst part? You could feel him. Every twitch, every subtle pulse of his cock inside you, making the heat between you even more unbearable.

Rafe wasn’t doing much better. His jaw was locked, his fingers flexing against your hips like he was moments away from snapping.

Still, you refused to give in first.

But God, it was so hard.

Your body was betraying you, your hips twitching the slightest bit no matter how hard you tried to stay still. The more you resisted, the more desperate you became. You could feel yourself soaking him, your arousal pooling between you, making it impossible to ignore just how much you needed him to move.

A whimper slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

Rafe let out a low groan, his hands tightening on your waist. "Fuck," he muttered, head falling back against the pillows.

You clenched around him at the sound, another soft, helpless noise escaping your throat.

His grip on you turned bruising. "You're making this real fuckin’ hard, baby," he rasped. His voice was deeper now, rough with restraint. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling beneath you. "You're so wet—fuck."

You could barely form a sentence. "Rafe—"

Another needy sound tore from you as he twitched inside you again.

His hands flexed, and then his control snapped.

With a growl, he grabbed your hips and thrust up into you.

The sudden movement made you gasp, a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine as your hands flew to his chest.

"Fuck, baby—"

He didn’t stop. His fingers dug into your skin as he fucked up into you, the slow, torturous game you’d been playing thrown out the window. He was done holding back.

"You wanted to play, huh?" His voice was breathless, low, dangerous. "Now you wanna get all fuckin’ whiny, like you're not the one who started this?"

Your head was spinning. All you could do was feel—feel the way he filled you, the way he hit deep, every movement sending sparks through your body.

He grabbed your jaw, forcing your gaze down to meet his. His eyes were dark, wild, hungry. "Look at me when you come," he ordered, thrusting up into you harder. "I want you to watch who won this fuckin’ game."

And just like that, you shattered.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤA GENTLEMANㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Robin Damian Wayne x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : When he have a puppy crush (obsession).

☆⁠ NOTES : Teenagers in love. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Damian had always been certain of one thing: he was superior to everyone around him. But when it came to you, something shifted in him. He didn’t understand it at first—it was something unfamiliar, something that made his heart race in ways that made him deeply uncomfortable. He would never admit it, of course, but there was no denying the way his eyes lingered on you when you weren’t looking.

From the moment he noticed you in class, you were a source of obsession. Not just because you were incredibly intelligent—far more than most people gave you credit for—but because you were different. You weren’t intimidated by him like everyone else. You didn’t flinch when he looked at you with his piercing eyes, and worst of all, you were kind to him. You smiled at him, genuinely, and asked him how his day was when no one else did.

At first, Damian didn't know how to process it. He hated how much he cared about what you thought. He hated how his chest tightened whenever he saw you laughing with friends or when your eyes briefly met his from across the room. He couldn't help but become... protective. Territorial, even.

His obsession grew, but it wasn’t obvious to you. To you, he was just the enigmatic, brooding boy who sat at the back of the class and barely spoke. To everyone else, he was the unsmiling prodigy who made the rest of Gotham's elite children seem inferior. But to him, you were different. You weren't afraid to speak to him, to challenge him, even when you didn't know his full story.

He’d sneak glances at you when you weren’t paying attention, his gaze lingering for just a second too long. When you walked into a room, his eyes would immediately track your every movement. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but every time you laughed—whether it was at something funny or just something absurd—his heart would pound. Every soft word you spoke, every time you brushed your hair behind your ear, or when you studied so intently in class, it drove him wild. He felt... protective. Possessive, even. But mostly, he felt a desperate need to be the one you relied on, the one you turned to.

He never had a normal crush before. His emotions were all twisted up, almost like he was terrified of it, yet drawn to it. His pride kept him from ever admitting how much he cared, but his actions always betrayed him. If anyone made the mistake of speaking to you for too long, or worse, making you laugh too much, they’d feel the weight of his glare. He didn’t trust anyone around you, didn’t trust that they wouldn’t hurt you, use you, break you like so many others had tried with him.

If you ever had a problem, Damian would be the first to solve it. He didn’t need to be asked. He noticed the little things about you—the way you tapped your pencil when you were nervous, the way you’d tug at your sleeves when you were stressed. He memorized them all, cataloging each detail like an obsessed detective, all while maintaining that cold, stoic expression. But if you ever needed help, even just to ask for notes from a missed class, his voice would become so soft, so eager to please, that it would catch you off guard.

But he was never obvious. If you ever mentioned something in passing, a book you liked or a subject you were interested in, Damian would get it for you. It wasn’t that he thought you needed him—it was that he needed you to need him. He wanted to be the one you thought of when you needed something, even if he didn’t let you know just how far he would go for you.

He’d never say it out loud, but when you laughed at one of his rare jokes or smiled when he helped you with something, it felt like the whole world was aligned. The idea of you wanting him, of you seeing him as something more than just the brooding, serious boy who sat in the back of class, became his driving force. He’d stalk your social media in the dead of night, not to look for anything inappropriate, but just to see you—see your face, your thoughts, the things you liked.

Sometimes he’d catch himself imagining what it would be like to kiss you, to be the one who could make you smile when no one else could. He’d catch himself thinking about how he would protect you—how, in his mind, no one else was worthy of you. You were his. He’d never let anyone else take you from him.

If you ever caught him staring at you—caught him in one of his moments of weakness—he’d look away, almost defensively, as though nothing had ever happened. But deep down, Damian couldn’t hide the feeling that grew every time you were around. A feeling that, for the first time, made him question what it meant to be truly vulnerable.

You were his weakness. But that was something he could never let anyone see.

As time passed, Damian’s obsession with you only deepened, but so did his longing for your attention. His pride and sense of superiority might’ve prevented him from being straightforward, but that didn’t stop him from showing his affection in subtle ways. Every once in a while, when you weren’t looking, he’d steal a quick glance at you, his eyes softening, as if savoring the moments when you were close.

It was the small things that made his heart race—like when you’d accidentally brush his hand as you passed him a pencil or when you’d ask him for help on a particularly difficult assignment. The way your voice sounded when you said his name, the way your eyes sparkled when you were excited about something—Damian didn’t even realize how much it was affecting him until it was too late.

One day, during lunch, you walked up to him at his usual spot by the wall, the one he always sat at, trying to be as unnoticed as possible. “Hey, Damian,” you said, a little shy, “can I borrow your notes from last week’s class?”

Damian looked up at you, and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. The way your hair fell over your shoulder, the way your eyes sparkled under the soft glow of the cafeteria lights—it was almost too much for him to handle. He had to force himself not to let his emotions show.

Without a word, he handed you his notebook, his fingers brushing against yours for just a second. He didn’t pull away, though—he lingered, just a little longer than necessary. His eyes met yours, and for the first time in ages, a flicker of warmth passed across his usual cold, calculating gaze. He couldn’t help the small, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You… You’re welcome,” he muttered, trying to sound aloof. But there was an underlying softness in his tone, something you hadn’t heard before. It was the way he said it—like he was pleased to help you, like you mattered to him more than anyone else in that moment.

You smiled at him, making his heart stutter in his chest. It wasn’t a big smile, just a small, genuine curve of your lips, but to Damian, it was everything. It felt like the world had shifted into place.

“Thanks, Damian. You’re a lifesaver,” you said, eyes lighting up with appreciation.

His chest tightened. “It’s nothing,” he replied quickly, not wanting to sound too eager, but his voice faltered just a bit.

You turned to leave, and as you walked away, you glanced back once, catching his eyes before he quickly looked away, face flushed. The moment he was sure you couldn’t see, he exhaled, the softest, happiest sigh escaping his lips. You’d never know it, but he had a soft spot for you—a part of him that didn’t want to be so cold and distant. A part of him that wanted to just be… normal for once.

From then on, he found himself watching you more than he should. Sometimes, he’d catch you looking at him, and he’d quickly avert his eyes, pretending like he hadn’t been staring. His heart would beat faster in his chest, and it almost made him angry that you could have this effect on him. But then, just as quickly, he’d find himself grinning, not able to help it. It was you—you made him feel things he hadn’t felt before.

It became a little routine: he’d see you in the halls, and sometimes, if you needed help with something, he’d find a way to be there. He’d stand a little too close to you when you talked, but it was never in a way that made you uncomfortable—it was more like he just wanted to be near you. He never told you why, of course.

One afternoon, while you were studying in the library, he walked in, glancing around until he spotted you, sitting by the window, scribbling away in your notebook. His heart skipped a beat when he saw you like that—so focused, so determined. You looked so… cute.

He hesitated for a second before walking up to you, his usual confident stride faltering just slightly. “Do you need any help?” he asked, trying to sound casual, though the nervous energy was palpable in his voice.

You looked up, surprised to see him standing there. “Oh, Damian! Um… yeah, I could use some help with this math problem,” you said, motioning to the page in front of you.

Damian sat down next to you, closer than necessary. His heart pounded as he explained the problem to you, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he pointed to different equations. He tried not to notice how his skin tingled each time it happened, or how every time you smiled and thanked him, it felt like the entire world brightened. He wasn’t used to feeling this way, this vulnerable, but somehow, he didn’t mind it when it was you.

“Got it?” he asked, his voice a little softer than usual as he watched you carefully.

You nodded, a soft smile spreading across your face. “Yeah, I think I do. You make it sound so easy.”

Damian’s eyes softened, and for the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to smile back at you—genuinely, without any pretenses. It was a rare moment for him, but when it came to you, he didn’t feel the need to hide everything.

“Good. I’m glad,” he said, his voice almost tender.

You packed up your things, still smiling. As you stood, you gave him one last look, your eyes meeting his, and for a second, Damian felt like the entire world had come to a stop. There was something in your gaze—something that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to hide how he felt.

“Thanks again, Damian,” you said as you turned to leave, a soft wave following behind you.

And as you walked away, Damian stood there, watching you, a small, secret smile tugging at his lips. Maybe one day he’d tell you how he felt, but for now, he was content with these little moments. He was content with the idea that, for once in his life, someone saw him for who he truly was—not the perfect heir, not the deadly assassin, but the boy who was hopelessly in love with you.

For weeks, Damian wrestled with the idea of asking you out. It wasn’t like he was afraid of rejection—he was Damian Wayne. Fear was beneath him. No, this was different. This was you. The thought of putting his feelings into words, of making himself vulnerable to you, made his stomach twist in ways he didn’t like to acknowledge.

But at the same time… the thought of anyone else asking you out, of anyone else standing beside you, laughing with you, touching you—it was unbearable. The mere idea of it set his blood on fire. He had to make a move. You were his, even if you didn’t know it yet.

So, like everything else in his life, Damian devised a plan. It had to be perfect. He would not fail.

The first thing he did was eliminate all competition. Subtly, of course. Any boy who looked at you for too long? Suddenly, they found themselves tripping over conveniently placed obstacles. Anyone who flirted with you? They’d mysteriously lose their confidence after a single, bone-chilling glare from Damian. He made sure that by the time he approached you, no one else would dare think they had a chance.

Next, he had to find the right moment. Timing was everything. He refused to make a fool of himself by asking you out in a setting that wasn’t optimal. He studied your habits—when you were most relaxed, most receptive. He knew you liked to sit by the windows in the library during study hall. You liked the way the sunlight hit the pages of your books. That would be the perfect place.

The day of, he was completely composed—or at least, that’s what he told himself. He approached your table with his usual confident stride, pulling out the chair across from you without asking, as he often did.

You glanced up, surprised but not unwelcome to his presence. “Oh, hey, Damian.” You smiled at him, and his heart stuttered.

“Hello,” he replied, voice smooth, but slightly more clipped than usual. He was trying to keep his emotions in check. “I require your time this Saturday.”

You blinked. “Uh, what?”

Damian inhaled slowly. He could feel heat rising to his ears. His grip tightened on the book he brought, knuckles white. This was not how it was supposed to go. He had rehearsed this in his head a hundred times, but now, sitting in front of you, he felt like an idiot.

He quickly corrected himself. “What I mean is… I have taken the liberty of arranging a date for us this Saturday. I will pick you up at noon. Wear something suitable for the occasion.”

There. Perfect. No room for rejection. No awkward stammering. Tt. Why was he nervous in the first place?

You blinked again, then tilted your head, processing his words. “A date?”

“Yes,” Damian confirmed, keeping his tone even, as if this was the most logical thing in the world. Because to him, it was.

Your lips parted slightly in surprise, but then—then you smiled. And not just any smile. It was soft, warm, genuine. And it was for him.

“You’re asking me out on a date?” you clarified, amusement lacing your tone.

He bristled slightly at your wording. “Obviously.”

You chuckled, and for a moment, he thought his heart might actually explode. He had never wanted anything more than to be the reason you smiled like that every day.

“Well,” you said, propping your chin on your hand, watching him with something unreadable in your eyes, “you sure don’t waste time with subtlety, huh?”

“Subtlety is for those who lack certainty,” Damian replied smoothly, lifting his chin. “And I am certain.”

Your cheeks warmed, and that small reaction sent a rush of satisfaction through him. “Alright, Damian,” you finally said, “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

For the first time in his life, Damian stopped thinking. He just… felt. A warmth spread through his chest, foreign yet addicting. He nodded once, as if sealing an unspoken pact.

“Good,” he said, voice steady, though his pulse was anything but. “I will text you the details.”

Then, without another word, he stood up and left. Just like that. Because if he stayed a second longer, he knew he would either start grinning like a fool or do something completely irrational, like kiss you right there in the middle of the library.

As soon as he rounded the corner, out of your sight, Damian exhaled, pressing a hand over his chest. His heart was hammering. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

But he didn’t care. Because you said yes.

And he will make sure it was a date you’d never forget.

The day of the date arrived. Damian had meticulously planned every detail, not leaving anything to chance. No, this wouldn’t be a “let’s grab coffee and see where things go” type of outing. This was his date with you.

He arrived at your house right on time. He didn’t need to check his watch—his internal sense of timing was precise, down to the minute. He knocked firmly on your door, his hand steady, even though he had spent the last few hours agonizing over the finer points of the evening in his mind. When you opened the door, his breath caught for a fraction of a second.

You stood there in a simple, yet elegant dress that was both understated and beautiful—just like you. The soft fabric clung to your figure just enough to highlight your natural grace, and the way your hair framed your face made his pulse quicken.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice steady, though his gaze softened as he took in your appearance.

You smiled, your eyes bright, and for a moment, he thought his heart might beat out of his chest. "I’m ready."

As you stepped out of the door and joined him, Damian offered his arm with a small, confident smile that was so different from his usual intense expression. He had plans for this evening, and he was determined to follow them through.

The car ride was smooth, quiet, but not uncomfortable. He drove with precision, each movement calculated and controlled, but there was something different in the air tonight. Something lighter. Every time he glanced over at you, you caught his eye, and he had to resist the urge to smile. It felt almost surreal—this quiet, sweet moment between the two of you. You’d spent time together before, but never like this.

You asked him where you were going, but he only gave you a cryptic smile. “You’ll see,” was all he said. You didn’t push him, curious to see where he had decided to take you.

Eventually, he pulled up to a small, secluded restaurant, one of Gotham’s more refined and hidden gems. It was quaint but elegant, with outdoor seating overlooking a picturesque garden. The soft light of lanterns danced around the patio, giving the place a warm, intimate atmosphere.

He opened the door for you as you stepped out, and offered his hand to you. You took it without hesitation, feeling the warmth of his touch seep through your skin. There was a kind of unspoken respect in the way he treated you. It wasn’t rushed or impatient—just an easy calmness that made you feel like you were the only one in the world to him.

Damian led you to your table, which was set for two, tucked away in a private corner, draped with ivy and soft fairy lights. It was the kind of place where the world around you seemed to fade away. As you sat down, he carefully pulled out your chair, ensuring you were comfortable, before taking his own seat across from you.

There was something so different about Damian tonight—something that made you realize, in that moment, just how special this date really was. He wasn’t like the other boys your age, with their offhand jokes or their self-absorbed chatter. No, Damian Wayne was something entirely different. He had this quiet intensity, but underneath that, a care that he wasn’t always quick to show.

The waiter came and Damian ordered for both of you with an air of confidence, speaking in fluent French, making you chuckle softly at how effortlessly he handled everything. But what made you laugh more was the glint of satisfaction in his eyes when he said, “The wine selection here is impeccable. I trust you’ll enjoy it.” It was like he was proud to share his tastes with you.

As you ate, the conversation flowed naturally. Damian asked about your interests, your thoughts on various books you had been reading, and he listened so intently, as though every word you spoke was a treasure to him. It wasn’t just idle talk—there was genuine curiosity in his voice. And when he did speak, it was always with purpose, never just to fill the silence.

You were beginning to see another side of him. A side that was almost... gentle.

You told him about your love for horses and how you dreamed of riding across the open fields someday. Damian’s eyes softened, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “I can take you to the stables at Wayne Manor sometime,” he said with an easy confidence. “There’s a ranch not far from the estate. You’d like it.”

You blinked, a little surprised. “You have horses?”

“Yes. I do,” he replied, his smile more sincere now, like the idea of sharing something personal with you had softened him further. “Perhaps you could teach me a thing or two. I’ve never been particularly good at it.”

That was the thing about Damian. He wasn’t afraid to show his flaws when it came to you. In fact, he seemed to crave your approval, though he’d never openly admit it. But it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t needy. It was simply him, wanting you to know who he really was.

As the evening wore on, the conversation became more relaxed. You found yourself laughing more freely, your initial nerves completely gone, replaced by an easy comfort that felt like you had known him forever. Damian was still Damian—intense, sharp, but there was a tenderness to him tonight that made him seem... normal. Human. Not just the son of Bruce Wayne, not just the little assassin.

Finally, after dessert, the night began to wind down. Damian stood and offered his hand once more. You placed your hand in his, and together, you walked out into the garden. The soft hum of the night air and the occasional chirp of a cricket filled the silence between you.

As you approached his car, Damian paused. He turned to face you, and for the first time that evening, his expression was serious—not cold, but thoughtful, as if he were gathering his thoughts for something important.

“You’re...” He cleared his throat, looking down at his shoes for just a brief moment before meeting your eyes again. “I have enjoyed tonight... more than I anticipated.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile pulling at your lips. “More than you anticipated? So you did expect it to be bad?”

He stiffened for a second, realizing the unintended implication. “No. That is not what I meant.” He hesitated, looking at you for a long, quiet moment. Then, in a voice quieter than before, almost soft, he added, “You’re... different. In a way I didn’t expect.”

You blinked, feeling the weight of his words settle in the air. “Damian…” you started, but before you could finish, he reached out and gently took your hand in his.

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand in a way that felt intimate, but not in a rushed or inappropriate way—more like he was savoring the moment.

“I would like to do this again,” he said, his voice earnest, but not without the usual confidence. “Whenever you’re ready.”

And with that, he took your hand and, with a deep breath, lowered his head and kissed the back of it. The touch of his lips was soft, respectful—gentle, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur into the background.

When he pulled back, his gaze remained locked with yours, almost searching, as if to make sure you understood just how much that small gesture meant to him.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he said quietly, straightening up and offering his arm again, as if nothing had changed—except, of course, that now you both knew something had. Something deeper than either of you had expected when you started this evening.

You smiled, heart fluttering in your chest as you took his arm. “I’d like that.”

From the moment you officially became Damian’s girlfriend, your life changed—not in the dramatic way people might expect when dating the son of Bruce Wayne, but in the way that everything suddenly felt different. Like the world had shifted slightly, aligning perfectly in a way it hadn’t before.

Damian wasn’t like other boys your age. He didn’t do the whole awkward teenage romance thing. He wasn’t overly flirty, nor did he stumble through his words or second-guess himself. If he wanted to hold your hand, he did. If he wanted to tell you he liked the way you looked in a certain outfit, he said it, blunt and without hesitation.

His affection wasn’t loud or showy, but it was constant—always there, woven into everything he did.

Damian is, above all else, a gentleman. He treats you with the kind of respect that most guys your age wouldn’t even think about. Holding doors open for you? Always. Walking on the side of the street closest to traffic to “protect” you? A given.

If you ever carried anything heavier than a book, it was suddenly his burden. He didn’t even ask—he just took it from you with a simple, “Tt. You shouldn’t be straining yourself.”

He makes sure you never have to worry about anything. If you so much as mention feeling cold? His jacket is around your shoulders before you can finish your sentence. If you’re tired? He’s finding the closest place for you to sit, even if it means him physically leading you there by the small of your back.

But most of all, he listens. He pays attention in a way no one else does. If you casually mention something you like—your favorite flowers, a book you’ve been dying to read, a little café you want to try—Damian remembers. And soon enough, you’ll find a bouquet of those flowers waiting in your locker, that book sitting on your desk, or him showing up outside your house on a Saturday morning, saying, “Get in. We’re going to that café you won’t stop talking about.”

Because to Damian, caring means action.

Damian isn’t very verbal with his affection at first. He won’t say sweet, flowery words or write you poetry (even though you swear he has the soul of an old poet somewhere deep inside him). Instead, he shows his love through actions.

He’s always near you. Always. If you’re walking through the halls at school, his hand is resting against your lower back, gently guiding you. If you’re studying together, his knee is touching yours beneath the table. If you’re out somewhere, he positions himself slightly in front of you, instinctively shielding you from the crowd.

And while he doesn’t do PDA in public (besides holding your hand or the occasional brush of his fingers along your arm), when you’re alone? That’s when he lets his guard down.

Soft touches. He’s always touching you in some way—running his fingers over the back of your hand, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, resting a hand on your knee when you sit next to him.

Forehead touches. Whenever he’s feeling particularly soft (which he would never admit out loud), he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. It’s a silent way of saying I’m here. You’re mine. We belong to each other.

Hand kisses. He does this a lot. If you ever feel sad? He takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and simply says, “You have me.” And that’s enough.

Damian is not someone who tolerates threats to what’s his.

He’s not loud about it, not the type to start fights over jealousy, but his presence alone is enough to keep people in check. If another guy even thinks about flirting with you, Damian is already there, standing a little too close, his green eyes sharp and possessive as he stares the poor guy down.

His hand will tighten on your waist, and his voice will drop an octave as he says something like, “I assume you have nothing important to say. If so, leave.”

And just like that, the threat is gone.

If you ever tease him about being jealous, he just crosses his arms and scoffs, Tt. “I am simply ensuring that no one wastes your time with their nonsense.”

But the way his hand subtly tightens around yours says otherwise.

At first, Damian struggles with vulnerability. He’s used to being the strong one, the one who handles everything without needing help. But with you? You see past that.

There are nights when he sneaks into your room through your window, not as Robin, but just as Damian. Those are the moments when he talks to you about things he’d never say to anyone else.

About his mother. About his father. About the weight of his family name and how, sometimes, he feels like he has to be perfect to live up to it.

And you listen. You always listen. You don’t try to fix him, don’t tell him that he’s wrong for feeling this way. You just hold his hand, stroke his hair, and whisper, “You’re already enough, Damian.”

And those words stay with him longer than he’ll ever admit.

Bruce: At first? He’s skeptical. Protective. But when he sees how much Damian genuinely cares for you—how you make him softer, more grounded—Bruce actually starts to approve.

“You keep him... balanced,” Bruce admits to you one evening. “That’s not an easy thing to do.”

(Which, coming from Bruce Wayne, is probably the highest compliment you’ll ever receive.)

Dick: “Oh my god. Damian has a girlfriend.” He’s so smug about it. Constantly teasing Damian, constantly referring to you as his soft spot.

He also makes sure you know that if Damian ever hurts you (which he won’t), you can definitely call Dick to handle it.

Alfred: Alfred adores you. Treats you like family from the moment he realizes you make Damian happy. Always makes extra tea and snacks whenever you visit Wayne Manor.

“You keep Master Damian in check, Miss. I quite appreciate it.”

Dating Damian isn’t easy. He’s intense, overprotective, sometimes way too serious for his age. But at the same time?

He loves deeply.

Once you’re his, you’re his forever. There’s no in-between, no uncertainty. Damian loves you with the same ferocity that he does everything else in his life.

And one day? When he’s older, stronger, even more sure of himself—he won’t hesitate to tell you:

“You are mine. And I am yours. Always.”

And that is what loving Damian is like.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[unpretty]

Rare non-kink-taxonomy-hell ask: your description of Sorrowverse Joker as actually good at manipulation and gaslighting, to the point where the act he puts on might sometimes resemble Therapy Joker, has actually made me interested in a version of the Joker. Which has never happened before. Could we hear more about him/this aspect of him? Love your writing btw

what if we had a rare limited-time crossover event

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 🤡:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

"Helloooooo nurse."

"Don't whistle," she snapped, shutting the door. "I'm doing you a favor," she reminded him.

"I thought you were recognizing that denying me cosmetics had no purpose but to dehumanize me," he said.

"You know what I mean," she said, pushing her glasses higher on her nose. "And I'm not a nurse." She pulled the sparkly pencil case she'd brought from the pocket of her coat to offer it to him.

He did not so much rise from his bed as unfold. A spider of a man, all long spindly limbs in ill-fitting pale pink. With all the green of the rest of him, it made him look floral, a mop of green hair and his eyes pastel. Even the white of his skin had a green tinge on closer inspection. She'd been sure it reminded her of something and had spent hours online trying to find it. She'd decided on a small emerald moth, staring at stock photos of delicate wings almost translucent and trying to remember where she ever could have seen one.

Charming as a bouquet full of insects.

He plucked the bag from her hand and pulled what looked like a butterfly knife from inside. He grinned, and when he did his face seemed to grow twice as long and half of it teeth. Gleaming purple metal spun between long fingers, but when he pointed it at her to watch her recoil, it had the teeth of a comb. He waggled his eyebrows at her before running it through his hair, using both hands and raising his elbows much higher than necessary so his shirt rode up. She pressed her lips together rather than dignify the performance with a response.

His eyebrows were still pristine and had been since he'd been admitted. Precise arches with edges razor-sharp.

Without products to keep it in place, his hair fell back down at an angle from his widow's peak. "Don't pretend I'm not funny, Dr. Quinn," he said, metal twirling between his fingers again.

"Quinzel," she corrected.

"Nurse Harlequin," he said, rummaging through the limited personal effects she'd brought him. It was absurd to refuse anyone these few small comforts. She'd always thought so. It was punitive, the way they denied any dignity to anyone they were meant to be treating.

There but for the grace of God, she thought and tried not to.

"I don't have a mirror," he declared, holding a red vial she was sure could not be blood. He reached out to touch beneath her chin. "Hold still."

"Mr. J," she warned, refusing as she always did to refer to him by the only name they had for him.

"I love it when you call me that," he said with relish, using her glasses as a mirror to apply tint to his lips with a wand. "Say it again, doll."

"If they catch you wearing lipstick—"

"It's stain," he said dismissively. "They can't prove it. For all they know I got this the old-fashioned way, sucking dick in the bathroom again."

"Agai—"

"Excellent work, Harley," he said, and then his lips were on hers. She made a muffled sound of indignation and was careful not to move. He'd done this before, the first time they'd met, when he'd learned her name and had a good laugh about it. She'd slapped him for it then, hadn't protested when they'd put him in isolation for it. "Aw," he said as he pulled away, touching her lower lip. "I know it hadn't dried yet, but it doesn't show on you, does it?"

It was only stain, but his skin was so pale the red popped, his grin grotesque. A caricature of something unwholesome, white as a sheet and a mouth like a minstrel, too dark a thought to trust. It was hard not to think the worst of people, ascribe symbolism to nothing at all, fall into spirals. Enough real dog whistles without her inventing new ones.

"That's unacceptable behavior," she said, "and that's not my name."

"You don't call me by my name," he said, tapping the tip of her nose, "and I don't call you by yours." He dropped the pencil case back into her hands before she realized what he was doing, and she had to scramble to catch it in time. "Besides, you seem like a good ride." He made an exaggerated handlebar-revving gesture with both hands and winked as he stepped away from her. Something Fred Astaire in his footwork when he walked. She was careful to stay where she was, tucking the contraband back into her pocket.

"Do you harass all your doctors this way?" she asked pointedly, fixing her glasses again.

"Aggressively," he confirmed as he fell back into his bed. "The rest of them don't like it as much as you do, naughty girl." He sprawled sideways, propping his head up in a pose that might have been provocative if he'd had a curve anywhere but the jutting bones that slotted his hands into his forearms. "It's why they locked me up for being a deviant," he said with a limp-wristed gesture.

"They locked you up for killing people," she corrected.

"They were rich," he scoffed. "That doesn't count as people." Her nose crinkled, pressing her lips together again rather than do anything he'd interpret as a laugh. "You can tell because they didn't send me to prison."

"They didn't send you to prison because Gotham's justice system is fucked," she said. Arkham was privately owned with a budget inflated by charitable donations. It was inevitable that expensive-looking criminals were judged criminally insane, the worst of their excesses no longer a taxpayer problem.

He cocked his head. "Do I look sane to you?" he asked.

"Sane doesn't look like anything," she said. "We both know you knew what you were doing, and there's no medical intervention that would make you behave differently."

He grinned, too wide, too many teeth. She tilted her head a little, only enough to see around the edge of her glasses and confirm that his mouth blurred. "Yet here you are," he said.

"Rehabilitation isn't the exclusive domain of the medically impaired."

This job had been a nightmare from the beginning. Every day in large and small ways it wore her down, an endless river of bullshit trying to smooth down every part of her that believed in anything. No accountability, barely treatment, shifts too long with coworkers as sick as the patients. Less like doctors with patients and more like researchers with lab rats. Rubber stamps and no rocked boats and no goals greater than the status quo. Cameras easily bypassed by any employee who cared to, for whatever reason struck their whim. Her no better.

She should have done more. Her job shouldn't have been worth more than her principles. She could have done more than this, makeup and candy and burner phones in her pockets. She kept notes and told herself she'd blow the whistle someday. She kept her head down and kept her health insurance and knew herself for a traitor.

"Come closer," he said, gesturing with his fingers.

She was halfway across the room before she thought to stop and ask, "Why?"

He was grinning again. "Because I wanted to see if you would," he said, and at the look on her face he threw his head back to cackle. She pressed her nails into her palms and felt her face burn. "This might sound racist," he began.

"Then don't," she warned.

"No, no, it's not like that, I just—"

"Don't."

"I can't tell if you're blushing!" he said, exasperated. He swung his legs around to sit upright, his knees a mile apart. "That's all I was going to say, honestly. Is that bad? You can tell me if it's bad."

"I would call that an 'inside thought'," she said, still blushing. He cackled again.

"Really, though," he said, crooking his fingers again, "you should come over here."

"Why?" she asked first this time.

"So I can kiss you stupid," he said.

Her face felt hot again. "I'm not doing that."

He rolled his eyes so dramatically it took his whole face with it. "I have to come over there?" he asked rhetorically, gesturing at her. "Come on, now, doll. Give yourself a little agency, here. I'm locked up. You get to leave. That little love tap earlier was fine, there were cameras on, I get it, kind of hot if I'm honest, pretty into that. But I've got limits too, you know. You want me to play the big bad taking advantage, that's fine, I'm into it, but trust's a two-way street. Get over here and make it clear you know what you're here for, yeah? Despite what your bosses think, I'm not actually an animal. I'm not sitting here waiting for pretty girls to maim."

"I don't think that," she said, defensive.

"Naw," he said, "you're just coming in here when you're not supposed to be and standing in grabbing range, waiting for nothing to happen. Get over here or leave, I'm not going anywhere."

She half-turned, looking at the doorknob, but hesitated. She wanted the last word, but didn't have one ready and her throat was dry regardless. She felt sick.

"You're real scared I'm gonna laugh at you, huh?" he asked, and she whipped her head around to stare at him. He was leaning forward, chin on his fist, watching her. The pale shade of his eyes made it more predatory than it otherwise would have been. His smile was a wry gash across his face. "That happen a lot?" he asked, cocking his head. "Men telling you you're pretty as a prank, asking you out to make fun when you believed it?" She scowled, and his smile split into a grin. "Awww. Poor l'il Harley. C'mere, then. You wanna make a show of being vulnerable, be vulnerable. Least you can do, don't you think?"

The worst part was realizing, the moment he said it, that it was the thing she most dreaded. That he'd laugh at her for believing him.

She came close enough to stand between his knees, but couldn't bring herself to make eye contact. She looked at the hole in his ear where they hadn't let him keep his earrings, instead.

"There's a doll," he said, grabbing her wrist and yanking so she'd fall into his lap. She narrowly avoided her knee hitting him somewhere awkward. She was distracted by how bony his thighs felt compared to hers, all his limbs too thin as his arms went around her waist. He kissed beneath her ear, and she thought of his mouth, the wide span of it and all those teeth at her throat. "Doesn't being honest with yourself feel better?" he asked against her skin.

"This is very, very bad," she breathed, her voice shaking. Her own body heat was mortifying. He felt halfway to a corpse.

"Awww, don't be like that," he said, and she could feel him smiling. All those teeth. "What's the worst that could happen?"

[prythiansprincess]

best friend's brother! tom finally gets you alone

NAVIGATION // home. tag. moodboard. more.

author's note: the demons...they're getting loud again. i'm actually so feral for possessive and obsessive tom. I fear I might make this my whole personality now.

obsession. 

tom riddle was, in every sense of the word, obsessive. the fixation and compulsion he poured into the things he loved had always been a marker of his character. tom was not the type of person to casually partake in something; for the eldest riddle brother, the best things in life were worth being consumed by. 

and he was. 

utterly and irrevocably consumed by you. 

y/n, mattheo’s sweet and innocent best friend. the one whose pretty eyes and lovely smile haunted his every waking moment. the one whose honeyed voice played in his head like a melody and enticed him like a siren’s song. the one whose gentle touch sent his heart racing until he felt as though the damned thing was going to burst out of his bloody chest. 

you had no idea what you did to him, but you would soon enough because tom had a plan. for weeks, he had been plotting and scheming. trying to find the right time to finally get you all to himself. 

fortunately for him, the opportunity arose one fateful evening when mattheo left his phone unattended in the living room. it was so easy, almost too easy, to guess his brother’s password and open up his most recent text thread with you. 

mattheo: come over tonight? 

tom watched as three dots appeared on the screen, indicating that you were currently typing a response. 

y/n: will tom be there?

now that was interesting. perhaps you were asking because you wanted him to be there. wanted him as much as he wanted you. 

mattheo: yes. why do you ask?

y/n: I just don't want to be a bother. I know tom likes to study on tuesdays and me coming over would probably disrupt that.

tom couldn’t help but smile. such a thoughtful, caring girl. he couldn’t wait to ruin you. 

mattheo: tom will be fine. so, are you in or not?  i'll grab your favorite snacks. 

y/n: you had me at snacks.

half an hour later, you were standing in the doorway of the riddle home, dressed in one of those pretty little dresses that tom had imagined ripping off of your body a million times. as the door swung open, those innocent eyes widened at the sight of him. you flushed when tom met your gaze, a light pink hue dusting your cheeks. 

"oh. hi, tom. um, is mattheo here? he asked me to come over." 

tom casually leaned against the frame, giving you a once over that only deepened your flush. "my brother just stepped out, but he should be back soon." 

"o—okay. he's probably out getting snacks." 

tom watched as you lingered in the doorway, anxiously fidgeting with the hem of your dress. he thought it was adorable that you were still nervous around him after all this time. biting back a smile, tom opened the door to his home a little wider. 

"are you coming in?" 

“hm?” you asked absentmindedly. “oh. yeah. yes, i’m coming. not like that. I mean, obviously. shit. ignore me please.” 

tom raised a brow, but said nothing as he barely gave you enough of a gap to squeeze through the door. he smirked to himself as you maneuvered your way inside, perky breasts brushing against his solid chest. tom could smell the sweet scent of your strawberry shampoo as you passed through. he wanted to drown himself in it. you timidly avoided his gaze, choosing instead to follow him into the kitchen in silence.

“would you like something to drink?” 

you nodded. “yes, please, i’ll take a —”

before you could finish your sentence, tom handed you a cold can of vanilla cherry soda. your favorite. you thanked him with a shy smile before following him upstairs. instinctively, you turned in the direction of mattheo’s room, but tom gripped your wrist and kept you in place. 

“you can wait in my room if you’d like. mattheo might be a while. he reeked of weed when he left."

you chuckled. “it does take matty forever to pick out snacks when he’s high.” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other before glancing up at tom through your lashes. “are you sure you don’t mind? I wouldn’t want to impose.” 

“i’m sure,” tom confirmed. “I could use the company.” 

with that, you followed tom into his room. unlike mattheo’s, tom’s room was neat and organized. everything was perfect and pristine, much like the man standing before you. tom busied himself by putting away the books and notes on his desk while you fiddled with your fingers, not quite knowing what to do with yourself. 

“sit on the bed,” tom commanded. “make yourself comfortable.” 

“okay.” you replied in a small, breathy voice. 

carefully, you settled at the edge of his bed and crossed your legs. you drummed your fingers against your thigh, pondering how strange this situation was. in all your years of knowing tom, you had never once set foot in his room. at most, you caught glimpses of it when you passed by on your way to mattheo’s room. 

everything was so foreign and interesting. that was the desk where tom does all his studying. that was the closet where he keeps all of his clothes. that was the night stand where he places his glasses on before he goes to sleep. 

that was the bed that he laid in every night. your mind started to wander through all the things that tom had done in this bed. maybe by himself. maybe with someone else. the intrusive thoughts fired off one by one, leaving you flustered. does he soak the sheets when he gets himself off? does he tie his partners to the bed post when he eats them out? does he push their faces into the pillows as he rails them from behind? 

you were so engrossed in your dirty and filthy fantasies that you nearly jumped out of your skin when tom rested a hand on your thigh. 

“hm,” tom hummed. “you’re so jumpy, love.” 

you held your breath as he leaned closer, his face mere inches away from yours. the tension between you ebbed before he carefully took the soda can in your hand and placed it neatly on his nightstand. tom smirked when he noticed the hitch in your breath at his close proximity.

“do I make you nervous, doll?” 

“yes,” you answered truthfully. there was no point in lying. it was written all over your face. “you’re just so…intimidating.” 

“am I?” tom drawled as he slid in beside you, scooting in closer until his thigh was pressed against yours. even through his neatly pressed trousers, you could still feel the heat of his skin on yours. “maybe we just need to get to know each other better.” 

you bit your lip. “i’d like that, tom.” 

“good,” tom drawled. “let’s start with why you think you’d be a bother to me. mattheo told me you were hesitant to come over earlier.” 

you flushed as you stared at your shoes, the curtain of your hair shielding you from tom’s intense gaze. “I know you like your peace and quiet, which mattheo and I probably constantly interrupt. i’m sorry if we’re ever being annoying.” 

“you don’t have to worry about that. you could never bother me,” tom stated in a silky, flirty voice. “the only thing I find annoying is that you’re always with my brother. I just can’t seem to get you alone, can I?” 

you shivered as tom’s gaze flickered down to your lips. “well, we’re alone now.” 

“indeed we are.” you held your breath as tom leaned in closer, the bed dipping under his weight. “you have no idea how long i’ve waited for this. just you and me, without my brother to interrupt. I think about it all the time.” 

tom watched your pupils dilate, reacting to his admission. “what do you think about?” 

“I think about all the things I’d do to you. I think about the way you’d feel, the way you’d sound. if you’d scream or moan or whimper for me.” you shuddered at the sinful confession, rubbing your thighs together as heat rushed to your core. tom’s green gaze felt like a brand against your skin as a predatory look flashed through his handsome face. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” 

before you could react, tom’s mouth was on yours. the kiss was neither soft nor gentle, but instead hungry and possessive. the magnitude of his desire took you by surprise. you had always thought that tom viewed you as nothing more than mattheo’s pesky friend, the one that came over unannounced and wreaked havoc in his life, but apparently you couldn’t have been more wrong. 

tom kissed you like a man starved. he poured all of himself into the action, tangling his fingers through your hair, yanking your head backwards so he could kiss you deeper. you could barely keep up with the way he was devouring you, his tongue dominating yours while you moaned softly into his mouth. 

a gasp escaped your lips as tom picked you up and placed you on his lap. you were dizzy with desire as you straddled him, whimpering when tom bucked his hips against yours which caused his erection to rub against your soaked core. never in a million years would you have imagined tom to be this dirty and filthy as he grabbed and groped and gorged himself on you. 

your breathy moans filled the room as tom slid his right hand underneath your dress and squeezed your thigh before palming you through your panties. you melted into his touch, moaning his name softly while he growled in response. as he slid the lace aside, tom kissed your neck and teased your slit with his fingers. 

“you’re soaked, doll.” tom said with a dark chuckle. “do I make you wet, hm?” 

“yes,” you breathed, eyes rolling back as tom spread your slick ever so slowly. 

he seemed to take this as encouragement, taking his time teasing you, rubbing your clit and spreading your folds until you were reduced to nothing but a whimpering mess. 

“tom, please…”

“so needy,” tom murmured. “what is it that you want, love?” 

“I want…” you bit your lip as tom stroked your pussy. “I want your fingers. I want them inside of me. please, tom.” 

“aw, doll, you sound so pretty when you beg,” tom cooed. “don’t worry, I couldn't resist you even if I tried.” 

without warning, tom plunged his fingers into your pussy. you groaned at the stretch, face heating from how vulgar the scene unfolding before you truly was. tom watched with rapt attention as you squirmed and panted, drinking in every little moan and whimper like a fine wine. his fingers felt like magic as they curled and scissored and flicked inside your walls. the other hand that wasn’t playing with your pussy rested on your hip, gripping tightly as you grinded against tom. 

“that’s it, doll. ride my fingers just like that.” 

tom was mesmerized at the sight of you using him to get yourself off. mattheo’s sweet and innocent best friend was no longer sweet and innocent as tom fingered and ruined you like the perfect little slut that you were. his perfect little slut.

“are you going to be a good girl and cum for me?” 

tears streamed down your cheeks as you rode tom’s fingers like your life depended on it. your mascara and lipstick were both smeared, but you didn’t care as you chased after your orgasm. you gave tom a weak nod, half out of your mind with pleasure. 

tom gripped your chin and forced you to look at him. “answer me, doll.” 

“y — yes. i’m going to…oh god, tom!” you writhed as tom rubbed your clit with the heel of his palm, pushing you over the edge. 

the glimmer in your eyes right before you came unleashed something within tom. the flushed cheeks and fluttering lashes; the parted lips and strained scream, it was enough to drive him insane. he wanted to see you make that face over and over again. 

“you look so pretty when you cum, doll.” tom murmured as he bit down on your neck, staking his claim on your skin. “you’re fucking exquisite.” 

amusement danced in his gaze as you shied away from the attention, cheeks flushed from the praise. tom locked eyes with you before sticking his fingers in his mouth and licking them clean in the most obscene and erotic way you had ever witnessed. 

“don’t get all shy now, love. it’s your cum i’m licking off my fingers and i’ll be damned if you ever feel nervous around me again.” 

you chuckled in disbelief. the tom riddle in your head was supposed to be prim and proper, but the real tom was salacious and vulgar; a version of him that was better than what you could have ever imagined. still, despite the heated exchange, tom was surprisingly tender as he helped clean you up. you blushed furiously as he pulled your dress down and kissed your cheek. 

the timing couldn’t have been more perfect because soon after you were situated, the two of you heard footsteps in the hall. you barely had time to compose yourself before mattheo came barging into the room. 

“tom, have you seen my phone?” mattheo paused in surprise when he found you staring back at him. “oh, hi y/n. what are you doing here?” 

“you asked me to come over and hang out, remember?” 

“did I?” mattheo wondered aloud. “I was pretty baked earlier. guess I must have texted you then. well, i’m free now if you want to watch a movie.” 

tom smirked as you shot a bewildered glance at him. “oh, yeah sure.” 

“by the way, what are you doing in tom’s room? is he boring you to death about his coin collection again?” 

you blushed furiously. “no, uh, we were just…tom and I were…” 

“we were discussing the finer points of human anatomy,” tom lied smoothly. his smirk was still perfectly in place as he glanced over at you. “it was a rather…stimulating conversation. was it not, doll?” 

the tips of your ears were bright red as you nodded in place of a response, because you couldn’t trust yourself to speak at the moment.

mattheo rolled his eyes. “well, if you’re done being a weirdo, y/n and I will be in the basement.” 

you fiddled with the hem of your dress, not quite able to meet tom’s eyes. “um, well, I guess I’ll see you later?” 

tom winked behind his brother’s back. “you know where to find me, doll.” 

[hhughes]

𐔌 　 ⁺　 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𓂃۶ৎ

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 , after some comments were made by quinn's brothers, you get a little insecure in your relationship and he has to reassure you

𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. luke!bsf x quinn hughes. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕. fluff. teasing. flirting. 𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. I love writing quinn so much😭 this is a repost that’s slightly edited if it looks a little familiar to you. one of my favs things ive ever written to this day so thanks again to the anon who requested it! <333

you and quinn had been dating a few months now. sneaking around behind everyone's backs including luke. your best friend and quinn's youngest brother.

the four of you were sitting in the living room at the lake house, watching some movie. jack and luke were chirping quinn about some actress that he used to have a crush on. going on and on about how he had a thing for older women because he was such a mommas boy.

you laughed along at first, always finding it so endearing to watch the brothers bicker back and forth. even though you've been around to witness it for quite a few years now...it never got old. your smile quickly faded when jack started making comments about how all quinn's relationships with younger women has failed, and that he should go for someone older this time, cause it doesn't seem like the younger girls can handle him.

you know you shouldn't let these comments bother you. it wasn't that serious and it wasn't directed towards you, but it was one of your, if not the biggest insecurity you had when it came to your relationship with quinn. being four years younger than him. not being enough to keep him interested. these comments from two people who probably knew him the best, didn't do anything to reassure you.

"I'll be right back," you whisper, avoiding quinn's eyes as you make your way to the bathroom.

a few minutes later there's a soft knock on the door and quinn enters, when you answer, shutting the door behind him and coming over to where you're standing in front of the sink. he wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you closer and kissing your shoulder softly.

"what's wrong sweetheart?" he asks you softly, brushing the hair out of your face as he holds you tight. the time he’s had to spent close to you but not allowed to touch you, having taken its toll on him.

"nothing," you mumble and he puts his hands on your hips, spinning you around to face him and pushing you against the counter.

"don't lie to me. I know you well enough to know everything's not okay and even if I didnt this pout is enough to tell me there's something wrong." quinn says, rubbing circles on your hip and tracing your lips with the thumb of his other hand.

"do you think I'm too young for you?" the words fly out before you can stop them and quinn sighs, knowing his brother's comments was the cause of this.

"age is just a number baby," quinn says teasingly, kissing your lips softly and you sigh.

"quinn I'm being serious," you retort, grabbing both of his hands and holding them in yours, the way they were caressing you becoming a little too distracting.

"so am I. I don't care if you're four years younger or four years older or if you were born the exact same day I was. It doesn't change the fact that you're perfect for me. you know how jack is, especially if he's been drinking, he can't keep his mouth shut. if there's an opportunity to chirp me about something, he’s gonna take it. if they knew that we were together, he would be more careful about making remarks like that. you know both of them adore you and would never say anything to hurt you on purpose" quinn says and you bite the inside of your cheek, knowing he was right.

“and besides, those relationships didn’t work out because they just weren’t the right girl for me baby. not because they were younger. they just weren’t you” he says softly, pressing yet another kiss to your collarbone.

"i’m not ready to tell luke yet." you say and quinn nods, expecting that response from you.

"the longer we wait, the worse it's gonna be." quinn replies and you look down, not wanting to argue about this. again.

quinn sighs softly before taking his hand out of yours and cupping your face between his palms, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

"god it's torture seeing you all day and not being able to touch you. kiss you." he says wrapping his arms around your waist and just hugging you for a few minutes. you smile a bit, thinking that this is exactly why he was nicknamed "huggy bear". your guy loves hugging.

"I'll sneak into your room tonight. if you think a young girl like me can handle you," you quip and quinn chuckles, knowing you're not gonna let that go for a while.

"I think you can handle me just fine baby" quinn smirks, slapping your ass as you walk past him, and out the door.

𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. thank you for reading and feel free to drop by the inbox and share any and all thoughts <333

[dmitriene]

Hiya👋👋 I hope you start feeling better❣❣ Anyways I was thinking.. Hybrid Au with any of the Cod guys you can choose, where reader and whichever of the guys you pick are both hybrids. One and or both of them go into heat/rut at the most inopportune moment possible, like on a mission or in the middle of a meeting type thing. Please and thank you❣❣😊

cw: hybrids, mating, rut, breeding, mentions of 141.

simon ghost riley realizes how important it is to discuss the next mission in order to strategize the matter between the soldiers, so when captain john price pulls him out of your grasping, hugging arms with a phone call in the morning, saying that in fifteen minutes he will be waiting for everyone in the briefing room, you both have to unglue your eyes open to the mercilessly bright morning rays and start getting ready.

the thing is, you've been lot, awfully clingy all recent week, sure, it's not something new for either of you, you've already been making simon's life harder from the point when he made you his mate, your body always wrapped or rubbing against defined expanse of his muscle and bone, kitten tail flicking around and curling over his leg, sweet face always nudging in against his own rugged and stubbled mug, his precious, needy darling.

but the further it's goes, the more possessive you got, obsessed, even, something been gnawing in at the pit of your tummy, making you scrape your sharp, tiny teeth's against the exposed pulse point on simon's neck, claw over every honed out, full corded lines of his body, make his pointed, dark furred dog ears twitch, fluttering at your very touch and ghost of a smell, cloying enough to his sensitive nose, flaring out in response to your antics, as you coated him in the smell of your body, didn't let him go anywhere without your company by his side.

the center of the reasons for your behavior were laying in impending heat, simple as that, but both you and simon missed all the signs, until today's briefing, a room full of other members of taskforce, soldiers all around both of you, and the air seems stuffy, almost, as you brush it off on being a little bit annoyed by the early morning you had to start, the burn of your skin a distant hint that something is wrong, yet you're too engrossed in listening to captain talking.

too unaware for your own good, because the smell of you permeates and fills the room until there's no space and corners left, wafting, flowing around and under the noses of your fellow sergeants and captain, heads turning, chests expanding and chasing the wafting notes that tickle their noses, making all the discussions cut short, curious, confused eyes searching your own from across the table, settling, and then does it's strucks you, body shuddering, searing hot, as you try to find simon with your slowly glassing gaze.

simon smells you before he sees you, whiskey pooling eyes eclipsing, and he feels the way his tail gives an interesting wag, straightening against the back of the chair he sits on, as it scrapes to follow his raising body, sending a screech of metal legs and a low rumble that bubbles up his constricting, swallowing throat, searching for you, his sweet mate, sitting between two ogling sergeants, their hands fidgety at the table, a simple instinct, since they know best than to touch what doesn't belong to simon, but still, it's enough to make him pounce.

saliva burns down his throat as if he’d gulped down battery acid, body moving on autopilot, chased only with the sound of his heavy boots thumping down against the shiny floor, before he reaches and snatches you off the chair, it's almost menacing, spine shuddering in it's roughness, but his gloved hands soften their touch when connecting over the curves of your shaking body, scooping you up and secure against him, and when simon's gaze shoots over each head in the room, the soldiers hide their gazes and turn around.

john's nose is covered by the palm, shielding, they all know the smell is addictive, arousing, plugging their noses and greedy mouthes, filling their bellies and pressing upon their underbelly, until they are hard in their pants, and without needing the voiced out permission, price's mouth preoccupied with biting down at his lip, simon carries you towards the door, shushing the whine that tears through your parting lips, exhaling out a feverish breath, jolting even in the tight grasp of his enveloping hold, before the door snaps shut.

it's gonna be alright, a voice of his, gravelly through sharp gritted teeth's, rings in through your ears, maybe, you seem to whimper, maybe you move, since simon's soothing is endless, blanketing over your frayed, distressed nerves, because you need him closer than just carrying, you need him naked, you need him weighting down on you, need his mouth frantic and covering you like a tactical map, need to feel your hole full, the one that is sopping wet against your sticky panties now, and your arousal bleeds with scent that won't stop abusing simon's senses.

every minute is countable, and he won't doggy you in some cramped, dusty room to give you a quick relief, so he has to walk all the way through the long hallway until his gaze sharpens at the sight of his room, shoulders squaring to bump against the door, elbow jutting down on the doorknob, until it's gives down and cracks open, letting him weight aside, spreading open further, until he steps past the doorway, your body and mind seeming to feel the changes of the air, the comfortable warmth of the walls around, the all fulfilling scent of simon, helping you to know, for sure, that you're safe.

your pointy, fluffy kitten ears flicker, no longer pressed tight against the crown of your head, tail curling in the air tentatively, then wraps around his forearm, and you let out a purr, small, contented sound as you bump your forehead beneath his masked jaw, the tension flowing off the shore of simon's shoulders muscle by muscle, melting in the weight of you in his arms, vibrating from the force of your little sounds, his own ears softening, no longer straightened forcefully in alertness, as his legs carry him forward, to bed.

there, simon would take care of your heat, fill your greedy, gaping leaky hole until it's too much and you're too full, the swelling weight of his cock inside of you, fat and curved to but against the gummy root of your cervix, tease right where you need him the most, filling you of warm spurts of his cum, leaving you plugged whole of his seed, but he'd take his time, first.

you'd get him in his own rut too soon like that, keening and blabbering his name through small, broken sobs, because you don't like how slow he moves, trying to be gentle, but you need this cock deep in your guts, battering your gummy, rippling insides until your thighs are soaked, glinting with tacky slickness that oozes out of your cunt, pounded along every wet slap of his thighs, lingering as a burn, full, hanging balls pressing against the plump swell of your ass to feel the way his bulbous tip nudges in that tiny, sensitive spot.

little claws piercing in his own flexing butt, scratching and tugging at his thumping, wagging tail, making him growl down at you, watery eyes all glazed as you peer at him through sooty lashes innocently, moaning on a purr in response, high pitched and so, so aroused, and he can do nothing but speed his already frantic enough pounds, to make sure you're sated, as you chirp in acceptance, cunt accommodating to each rutting motion of his hips, relishing in the roughness, in the sweaty mix of your scents, the darkness of his dilated pupils, enraptured by you.

until simon's thighs cramp and shake, every part of skin aflame from scarlet scratches you left, long and crisscrossing over his back and shoulder blades, as his cum oozes, drips out from your stretched out, pulsing hole, frothy globs soaking in the rumpled bedding beneath your entwined, heaving against each other bodies, and only then do you let him rest, your poor mate, panting in the curve of your neck, warm and sharp scented, his thrusts faltering, as your clawed fingers find their way in the sweaty locks at his flushed nape.

perhaps, you'll both crawl out the bed only by the time of a next mission, but it's doesn't matter, as long as you remain pleased and simon's rut won't trigger in the middle of the field, because that thing, none would survive for sure, especially not your captain and the sergeants, after the bothered state they were left in the briefing room, discussing the upcoming mission without you both, all while throbbing in their pants.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[beloveds-embrace]

Ok Duke au but only one of the boys fell for user! Maybe it was when she first came to the castle/ house, yk if Price ain't gonna give her love then let him!

Or maybe feelings showed up slowly, finally realizing that maybe he should go finally interact with her grace, seeing as she avoids any interactions with others.

Sorry if it makes no sense, I tried to make the decision of which boy falls only for user up to you, minus price >:)

i didn't want to make this too angsty fjddkcj </33 so it's more of the normal dukedom au

Kyle knows he shouldn’t; it isn’t part of the arrangement.

You were meant to be a formality, a necessity, a woman to fill a role, nothing more. And for a while, you had been just that. Sweet and competent, always carrying yourself with quiet dignity no matter the murmurs of high society. A wife in name, a duchess in duty, a friend of theirs, but never a true part of their world.

John had expected you to remain at a distance, and in return, you had been given a life of luxury and protection. That was the agreement. That was how it should have stayed.

But Kyle should’ve known better.

He should have known the moment you leaned over his shoulder one evening, peering at his bookkeeping notes with genuine interest instead of mere obligation. He should have known the moment you scolded Johnny for burning his hand, or when you’d pressed a cool cloth to Simon's temple after a headache instead of calling for a servant.

He should have known when you stopped seeing them as just your husband’s lovers.

But the real moment of downfall- the moment that shattered any fragile delusion he held- was when you smiled at him.

Not a polite smile, not a passing pleasantry.

A real smile.

It had been late. You had been working over estate documents at the desk, and he had lingered, pretending to tidy up, pretending to have something important to do. And then, you had looked at him, eyes warm, lips curving in a way that made something in his chest lurch.

"You work too hard, Kyle. Come sit down with me ?"

You had said his name. Not 'Mr. Garrick,' not 'the head butler.' Just Kyle. And it wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time it made his heart ache something fierce and longing.

Because it was too soft. Too familiar. Too much like a wife speaking to a husband.

And now, he is here, standing beside John as you make your absurd little request, completely unaware of the way his hand clenches against his side.

You are oblivious, as you always are, so innocent in your own kindness. You do not see the way John’s gaze darkens, the way Kyle stiffens at your words.

"I am merely a bit… unsatisfied."

Your voice wavers slightly at the admission, and Kyle wonders- if he had been the one to claim you, if he had been the one to hold you at night, would you ever have been unsatisfied?

He bites the inside of his cheek and looks away, even as John’s fingers tighten around his glass.

Something tells him neither of them will let you remain unsatisfied for long.

But he knows the truth.

Even if you are claimed, even if you are made theirs, it will not be by some stable boy.

And that knowledge alone fills him with smug satisfaction.

He doesn’t miss the way John’s grip tightens around his glass, and he knows that if the other two were here as well, Simon's jaw would have tensed and Johnny would have lost all his amusing charm. You are oblivious, of course- always so sweetly naive, thinking you can simply ask for something like this and have it granted without consequence. But this? This will never happen.

John would never agree to this.

And Kyle is relieved. Relieved that your foolish little request will be swiftly discarded. Relieved that you will stay exactly where you belong- here, with them, under their watchful eyes.

You don’t even realize what you’ve done, do you? You think this arrangement is still just convenience, that they merely tolerate you. But Kyle sees it- the way even Simon looks at you during dances, the way Johnny slips you extra sweets as if bribing you into affection, the way John has begun watching you more intently, possessively.

You’ve wormed your way into their hearts, tangled yourself so deeply into their lives that they can’t ignore you anymore.

And Kyle?

Kyle is pleased.

Because it means you are theirs, whether you realize it or not. And no matter how much you pout over John’s rejection, you’ll never be anyone else’s. Because even if he'd been the first to fall for you, he did not need to worry about the others not liking you as well. And now, he will not need worry about anyone else taking you from them.

Not now, and not ever.

[gf2bellamy]

Hello!

Can I please request domestic fluff of Spencer and reader just chilling on the couch and reading and reader is just giggling because she got to a fluffy romantic part of her book and she can’t contain her fangirling so Spencer just looks at her with fondness like “omg I love her so much 🥰”

cozy — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: literally just pure fluff a/n: hiii !! hope you like this <33333

Spencer sat on the couch, his long fingers absentmindedly carding through your hair as you rested your head in his lap, both of you lost in your books.

Spencer was fully immersed in a dense book on quantum physics, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. Meanwhile, you were curled up with a well-loved romance novel.

The silence between you was a comfortable one, filled only by the occasional sound of a page turning or the subtle rustling of clothing as one of you shifted.

Then , something in your book made you giggle.

Spencer's fingers momentarily paused in your hair, his attention now fully on you. His lips curled into a small, affectionate smile as he watched you, so engrossed in the words on the page that you hadn’t even realized you'd laughed out loud.

The warmth that bloomed in his chest was immediate, filling him with a kind of quiet adoration he never quite knew how to put into words.

Without thinking, he let his hand drift from your hair to your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. The gentle touch pulled you from your trance, and you blinked up at him.

“What?” you asked, still smiling as your eyes met his.

Spencer shook his head slightly, his gaze lingering on yours, soft and full of affection. “Nothing,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. Then, as if the words had been sitting on the tip of his tongue, waiting for the right moment, he added, “I love you. You know that, right?”

The confession, though not new, still sent a rush of warmth through you. You felt your cheeks heat up, the blush creeping from your neck upward as you fumbled for a response.

With a shy smile, you mumbled a quiet, “I love you too.”

Spencer’s grin widened, his thumb tracing over your cheek once more before his hand returned to your hair, resuming its gentle motions.

You moved your eyes back to your book, but you couldn’t focus. The words blurred together, your mind still caught on the way he’d looked at you, the way his voice had softened when he said those three words.

After a moment, you gave up and looked up at him again, sitting up from his lap and turning your body to face him fully.

Spencer put his book aside, his full attention now on you. His head tilted slightly, a curious smile playing on his lips as he waited for you to speak.

“You,” you pointed your finger at him, trying to suppress a grin, “just ruined the moment.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, his playful tone returning. “I ruined the moment by telling you that I love you?”

“Yes,” you nodded emphatically, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your mock seriousness.

He chuckled softly, leaning back against the couch cushions as he crossed his arms. “And what ,exactly, did I ruin ?”

You hesitated, your cheeks flushing again as you glanced down at the closed book in your lap. “It’s… it’s nothing.”

“Clearly, it’s not nothing,” he pressed, his tone curious. “You laughed, and then I ruined the moment. I think I deserve to know what was so funny.”

You bit your lip, debating whether to tell him. It felt silly now, saying it out loud, but the way he was looking at you—with genuine interest —made it impossible to resist.

“Fine,” you relented, sighing dramatically. “There was this part in the book where the male character was recounting all these little habits and quirks about the female character. Like, the way she always tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s nervous, or how she hums when she’s concentrating. It was just… really sweet. And it made me laugh because it was so cute.”

Spencer listened intently, his head tilting slightly as he absorbed your words. When you finished, a slow smile spread across his face, and his eyes sparkled with mischief.

“So,” he began, his voice teasing but tender, “you’re telling me that you got all giggly because the character was listing small, endearing things about the person he loves?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “It sounds so cheesy when you say it like that.”

He laughed softly, reaching out to gently pull your hands away from your face. “I don’t think it’s cheesy. In fact…” He paused, his expression softening as his gaze locked onto yours. “I could do the same thing about you.”

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head quickly. “No, no, you don’t have to—”

But he was already speaking, his voice warm and steady. “You always bite your lip when you’re trying not to laugh. And you have this habit of tapping your fingers against whatever surface is nearby when you’re deep in thought. Oh, and you hum under your breath when you’re cooking, even though you’re completely off-key.”

You stared at him, your mouth slightly open as a mix of embarrassment and affection washed over you. “Spencer…”

He continued, undeterred. “You twirl your hair around your finger when you’re deep in thought. Oh, and you get this little crease between your eyebrows when you’re reading something intense. And you-”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupted, laughing softly. “You’re going to make me blush even more than I already am.”

Spencer chuckled, the sound warm. He gently intertwined his fingers with yours. “I’m just saying,” he said, his voice teasing but tender, “if the moment was ruined, it’s only because I wanted to make a new one.”

You looked at him, your heart so full it felt like it might burst. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

“Ridiculously yours,” he corrected, his smile softening.

“Yeah,” you whispered, as you squeezed his hand.

And in that moment, with his hands in yours and his ridiculous, over-the-top declarations still echoing in your mind, you couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

[tbaluver]

Caught You Staring ꩜ .ᐟ - The Love And DeepSpace Men

pairings in order: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, sylus x reader, caleb x reader requested: by anonnie ☕︎ summary: you get distracted from how handsome your boyfriend looks genre: fluff fluff + silly a/n: hihi lovelies ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ this was requested a while back and i finally finished this ! i hope you enjoy reading (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ and thank you for beta reading this @ilovemitsuya MWAH (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

you both were at the cafe, grabbing a quick bite while trying to finish the last Wanderer report before you both head back to the building. but honestly, how could you focus on paperwork when he was sitting across from you like that?

his light brown hair looked so soft, you wanted to run your finger through them. and his lips? they were slightly pursed, like he was in deep thought and they would always be so soft whenever you pressed your lips on them. they were just naturally perfect.

and those eyes. his blue eyes. they were like the ocean and every time he blinked, his long lashes fluttered so slowly and softly. you swore you could feel your heart skip a beat every time you were around him, it was ridiculous. but when are you ever normal about your man?

it didn’t take long for him to catch you staring but you were too busy admiring him to notice that those same beautiful blue ocean eyes were staring right back at you. for a good couple of minutes, you both stared at each other until it finally clicked.

your cheeks flushed as you blinked rapidly as if you were trying to reboot your brain. you stammered out an apology as you avoided his gaze, “sorry. i..i-”

“i win,” he says softly.

you blinked, confused. “..what?”

“staring contest,” he explains innocently, “i guess it’s unfair you had a head start so..let’s have a new round.”

Zayne:

most of the time, you two just did your own thing as you two spent time together. he’d occupy himself with a book or flip through patient reports, preparing for his next operation that would be in a couple of days. you did your own tasks but you couldn’t focus on anything he looked like that.

you looked up from whatever you were doing, only to get completely distracted by the way his glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, perfectly perched. the way he would occasionally adjust them with those long, slender fingers of his was somehow mesmerizing. you definitely weren’t staring but your eyes just seemed to be glued to him.

the way he was so focused on his work, so intent and serious, was just attractive. his jawline was so sharp, they could cut you and leave marks. the way his brows furrowed in concentration and you couldn’t help but admire how those soft lashes fluttered every time he blinked. and those hazel green eyes of his-

ahem

you didn’t realize it, but you had been staring for a while. so long, in fact he could feel your eyes burning through him as he did his own tasks. “i have a feeling you’re more interested in what i’m doing or perhaps do you need something?” he spoke without looking up.

your cheeks instantly flush. were you staring that long? “sorry i just got distracted..” you mumble as you scramble back to what you were originally doing.

the corners of his lips quirked, closing his book with a soft thud. “i see..” he murmured, adjusting his glasses. “then perhaps you can enlighten me on what was so distracting?”

Rafayel:

thomas had insisted that rafayel should finish his last canvas for the upcoming exhibition and naturally he would procrastinate for as long as he could but with thomas’s relentless nagging, he finally got to work. he begged- insisted that you stay with him for inspiration and support and who were you to turn down that request?

for the past couple of hours rafayel had been silently focused on his canvas, stroking the brush across the surface. meanwhile you stayed out of his way, letting him work in peace. but well, you couldn’t help but look up every now and then. 

he looked good in his white button up shirt, casually unbuttoned to reveal the little mole on his left pec and how his sleeves rolled up just enough to give you a peek of his veins. and those nebula eyes of his were so easy to get lost into.

he seemed to notice this of course but he didn’t bother to say anything though. instead, he lets you stare as long as you want, clearly trying not to let the smirk creep up on his lips. but as minutes passed he couldn’t resist anymore. “if you’re gonna stare cutie, take a picture.”

you blinked rapidly, snapping out of his trance as you scrambled back to what you were doing. your cheeks heated up as you quickly stammered out a quick apology. “sorry i was just..i just wanted to see what you painted so far..”  you knew you were lying and he knew too.

raf, clearly enjoying this, taps the brush innocently against his chin. “yeah? don’t liars get set on fire or something? should i light you on fire or..” he teases, giving you a playful grin.

you rolled your eyes, playfully huffing before walking around him, stepping closer to the canvas. “wait no-!” the teasing tone gone immediately as his hands flail to cover the canvas away from you. but it was already too late, your eyes landing on the canvas to find it..exactly as the same as before. no progress.

“raf..” you said flatly. “were you not painting at all?”

he gave an exaggerated hmph, crossing his arms as he turned away. “i can’t focus when you’re staring at me like i’m some kind of bait!”

Sylus:

you two sat beside each other in comfortable silence. he was cleaning one of his vintage guns while you were pretending to focus on your own task. it wasn’t easy when he was sitting right there, your gaze wandering over to him.

there was no denying your lover was handsome. his gaze was often found intimidating but not to you. his crimson were practically hypnotic to you, like you could lose yourself in them forever and still feel safe. you let your eyes trace his features, his soft hair, nearly swept back and how his lips curve, making it impossible not to imagine how they’d feel against yours right now.

before you knew it, you were completely lost in thought about him, your thoughts melting away as you admired every detail about him. you probably should have been more discreet about it when his voice broke through your daydream.

“if you’re that curious about what i’m doing, feel free to ask. i’m not the one to keep secrets from you.”

you blinked, snapping out of your trance to find him glancing at you with a raised brow. your cheeks flushed once you realize you’d been caught.

“i- um,” you stammered, fidgeting in your seat as you pretended to busy yourself back into what you were doing to avoid the embarrassment.

he chuckles as he watches you. “cat got your tongue?” he teases, closing the gun’s case with a soft click. “there. now i’m all yours sweetie.”

Caleb:

you two were sitting beside each other, working through training reports like old times. but this time it was different, maybe for you. this time you worked on training reports as an official couple. every time you tried to focus, your attention kept wandering back to him.

his dark brown hair looked so soft, you had to resist the urge to reach out and run your fingers through them. his hand rests thoughtfully on his chin and you couldn’t help but notice how his fingers skillfully flip his pen between them.

then there were his lips. a little curved and how much you love how that curve would widen into a full bright smile whenever he was around you. and his eyes, always full with so much longing for you as much as you did for him. you couldn’t help. you continued to stare at him, lost in the moment until his voice broke through your daydreams, pulling you back into reality.

“are you trying to telepathically tell me you need something pipsqueak?” he teases, his lips curling into a smile as he ruffles your hair gently. he rests his chin back on his hand, the way he looks at you was making your heart flutter all over again.

your face flushed. “i-um,” you stammered, shaking your head as you quickly averted your gaze, trying to focus back on the training report in front of you.

“you know,” his hand slides the report away from you. “if you’re tired, you can always lean on me. or maybe we can just take a break? how about that?” you glance back at him, the words getting caught in your throat as he smiles warmly at you, making the entire world pause just for a moment.

[angelfic]

yandere!DAMIAN WAYNE x reader

warnings — yandere themes, jealousy, mentions of violence and murder. unedited! a/n; idek what to say. i felt crazy things writing this

Damian Wayne doesn’t consider himself a jealous person.

Protective? Yes. Possessive…? Fine. But not jealous. He considers jealousy as something only lesser men succumb to — men who allow emotions to cloud their judgement and who lack control. Damian has spent his entire life mastering control and discipline over his mind and body, so no. He doesn’t get jealous.

And yet, here he is, mentally cataloguing every single flaw of the guy working at the concession stand at the movie theatre who was clearly trying to flirt with you. While you were very clearly here with Damian. He’s holding your handbag with the sparkly charms on it, for crying out loud. And he paid for everything (naturally) in front of the guy, so why did this idiot think he had a chance with you?

It wasn’t right. It was bordering offensive. Practically a crime, punishable by….

Well. Damian could get creative.

He doesn’t like what he’s feeling. It’s sharp and hot, like a knife being slowly dragged along the inside of his ribs every time you laugh like this guy is the next great comedic mind of your generation.

And where the hell are the rest of the customers, he’s thinking with a scowl on his face. There’s no line behind the two of you right now, probably why the theatre worker is taking such liberties. Damian makes a mental note to research peak movie theatre times to avoid this in the future.

The movie is what he’s discussing with you — a franchise that you’re a fan of and that Damian has no interest seeing, but he rarely says no to you. He’s such a good friend, a fact you constantly remind him of.

When the guy hands you the popcorn, his fingers brush against yours for a split second.

Damian’s eye twitches.

You don’t react or seem to notice the action, but Damian finds it hard not to stare at his hand, resting on the counter, now inches away from yours. It would take minimal effort to break a few fingers, he thinks. Just as little physical exertion to snap his wrist. Damian could even make it look like an accident — some unfortunate mishap with the popcorn machine.

He takes a deep breath to quell the molten, irrational feeling burning under his skin. He has rules and moral codes to live by, but they're being threatened by something animalistic clawing at the edges of his carefully maintained composure.

“Hey, you okay?”

Your voice pulls him out of his little spiral. He internally reprimands himself for not being less obvious when he notes that you’re looking at him, head tilted, concern evident in your eyes.

He schools his face into a perfectly neutral expression. “Fine. Should we go?”

Understanding dawns on your face and you give him a sheepish smile, mistaking the glassy, faraway look in his eyes for boredom. Better that, he thinks, than you suspecting the mental blueprint he had been drafting on how to stage a minor but effective felony on this moron.

Speaking of, you turn and thank the worker for your drinks and snacks before gesturing for Damian to leave for the movie. You don’t give him a second glance (despite the disappointed look in his eyes) and Damian finds himself relaxing slightly. Fine. It’s fine, just a friendly conversation.

What was he so worked up about again?

“We need to work on your resting face, because I’m pretty sure that guy thought you wanted to kill him,” you say, laughing happily at the thought.

Somewhere beneath the fluttering in his stomach at the way you’re gleefully talking about murder (even if you’re only kidding), he registers a hint of panic. Maybe he was being obvious.

No matter. He’ll be more careful in the future.

Or maybe he won’t. He considers the way you loop your arm through his as you walk and wonders if you sometimes do this on purpose, allowing people to flirt and talk so openly with you.

Were you doing this on purpose? He can’t tell if you’re the most blissfully oblivious or sadistic person he’s ever met.

“He was undeserving of your attention.” The words slip out before Damian realises what he’s saying and when you glance over at him, brows raised, his pulse starts racing, considering his next moves.

He could deflect. He could lie. He could manipulate, he’s definitely good enough at it.

And then you laugh.

“You’re so protective, Damian,” you giggle, nudging his shoulder. “It’s cute. And relax, you’re the only one currently holding the position as my best friend.”

He smiles blandly.

You don’t notice how he clenches his jaw, his breathing coming out a little shallower at the mention of such an offensive word. Friend. You don’t know just how wrong you are about that, but he allows you to continue thinking it for now.

Completely unaware, you sip your drink before offering him the straw and his brain stutters. You’re not even looking at him, too busy balancing the popcorn in your hand, but Damian is staring hard at the mark of your lip gloss painting the straw.

Indirect kiss.

The words slam into his skull like a battering ram. No, it’s fine. He can be normal about this.

Damian swallows. Forces himself to actually move and slowly, deliberately, he reaches for your cup.

His fingers brush yours and a spark shoots through his veins and he berates himself. He can’t freak you out, what if you’re never this casual about these things again? He adores that quality about you.

He lifts the drink, bringing the straw to his lips and finally taking a sip, looking at you as he does it.

The drink is… fine. He barely even tastes it, choosing to look at you as his lips are wrapped around the straw that you were just drinking out of and—

Calm down, he wills his beating heart to not go into cardiac arrest when you finally glance over, your eyes settling on his as he looks up through his lashes before darting to his mouth.

Damian feels his breath leave him immediately.

Your gaze lingers, fingers tightening around the popcorn bag for a moment. It’s barely any time at all, but Damian is observant — more so when it comes to you, of course.

So the way your breath hitches slightly and how you’re refusing to meet his gaze causes his earlier irritation to melt into something completely different.

Interesting. The realisation settles in his chest, slow and warm.

After a long, agonising pause, he pulls the drink away, licking a stray drop of soda from his lip.

Your eyes follow the motion.

Ohhh, this is fun.

He’s practically giddy when he speaks next. “Ready to go in?”

“Hm,” you say, blinking out of your distracted state and taking the drink back to sip at it again.

Damian follows you into the theatre, fingers twitching at his sides. Heat crawls up his spine, spreading to his ears, his neck — everywhere, all at once.

He was barely going to be able to concentrate on the movie before, but it would be an impossible feat with you next to him now.

He simply has too much to think about.

[g0r3wh0rre]

ROMANTICISM HANDLED WITH DISCIPLINE ── 박성훈

your professor catches you reading a not-so-safe-for-school book in the middle of his class. in an effort to make things better, you fear that you may have just made them worse.

⧼ 📜 ⧽ 一 pairing༚ ⸝⸝⸝ professor!park sunghoon ✗ student!fem!reader includes ༚ ༚ ༚ jungwon, jay and jake of enhypen, giselle and karina of aespa

genre ༚ ༚ ༚ smut, fluff, porn with plot

warnings༚ ⸝⸝⸝ teacher/student, age gaps, power play, light dom/sub dynamics, dom!sunghoon, masturbation (f. rec), erotic literature, explicit language and sexual content, spanking, dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, name calling (slut), wet dreams, impact play, oral (m. rec), cumming in pants, facefucking, deepthroat, big dick sunghoon, doggy style, sex on furniture, unprotected sex, creampies, talk of contraception (reader is on birth control), alcohol mentions, drinking and partying, hair pulling, size kink word count༚ 12 . 2 k | ⧼ 🗝️ ⧽ 一 to library༚

[notes.] a rewrite of a rewrite of one of the first ever fics i've ever written! this fic was originally written for soobin of txt, but i took that one down when i decided to discontinue writing for that group. but thanks to my lovely mutuals, they asked (demanded) that i rewrite it for hoon <3 this is a romanticization of student/teacher relationships where both parties are consenting adults, but it is important to note that these relationships can be problematic in real life due to one parties authority over another's and unstable power dynamics. banner done by my beloved mootie @heechwe! reblogs and feedback are very appreciated <3 i hope you enjoy!

YOUR FRENCH LITERATURE professor embodies everything you find detestable in a teacher. His classes are a monotonous drone of information, devoid of anything exciting or engaging, though that might not be entirely his fault with how painfully, mind numbingly boring the subject he teaches is. He rarely ever deviates from his tight-lipped script, and he absolutely refuses to entertain any questions or foster any interesting discussion. He never accepted late assignments or gave any extensions, his tests are ridiculously hard, and he’ll dock points off your assignments for the tiniest, stupidest reasons. Sure, it’s a difficult course, and it’s important to your major, but you swear he seems to take some kind of pleasure in making his students miserable. Each class feels like an eternity, and often you find yourself counting down the minutes until you can escape the insufferable, suffocating atmosphere of his classroom.

Yet, for some strange, inexplicable reason, you find yourself absolutely obsessed with him.

Maybe it was because you spent your time in his class focusing more on him than any of the words that came out of his mouth. His irritatingly handsome, angular face and his pouty, kissable lips, the moles on his cheeks framing his tall nose. The way his thick brow furrows and his lip curls when one of your classmates asks a question that he deems too stupid to grace with an answer. His big veiny hands and how they look shuffling papers and twirling pens, filling your head with thoughts of how they would look caressing your body. His tall, fit frame and how he towers over you whenever you come up to him, the way he has to lower his head to look you in the eye, a soldering heat bubbling in your belly from the way he makes you feel so small. You can’t stand to be his student, but you dream at night about being something else to him entirely— it’s a paradox that drives you to detrimental distraction. How can you be so obsessed with someone you loathe? His perplexing combination of qualities was like some kind of mystery you felt compelled to unravel, at the very least to put your own mind at ease.

That was when you found the novel. It was hidden in the romance section of your favorite used bookstore, squished between two old technicolor cover harlequin novels, it’s dark and simple spine juxtaposing against all the bright colors and ornate fonts. It intrigued you enough to pull it from the shelf and look it over, your cheeks heating up as you take in its cover. A headless, well-dressed man sat in a chair with his legs spread invitingly, the smart suit he was wearing disheveled and his undone belt held tightly in his hand, the leather strap resting against his inner thigh. The title Lessons in Attraction was printed where his head would be, vague but provocative enough to make your stomach flip. The man immediately reminded you of Professor Park, from the way he was dressed to the prominent veins in his hands, and when you flip the book over to read the synopsis you understand the connection. It outlines the story of a steamy romance between a strict economics professor and his teaching assistant, an innocent, young virgin who wants nothing more than to please. It was as if the author had plucked your deepest fantasies straight from your head and printed them out on paper, then planted the book in the perfect spot for you specifically to discover. You knew just from skimming through the pages that reading it would only do you more harm than good, but you just couldn’t put it down, drawn to the story like an addict needing a fix. You hid it in your stack of textbooks, and you refused to look the cashier in the eye as they checked you out.

At first, you had intended to keep it hidden in your bedroom, only to be read late at night when your roommates were either out or asleep. But as your obsession with your professor continued to deepen, so did your obsession with the novel; soon you found yourself taking it with you everywhere you went, reading snippets whenever you had the chance and quickly shoving back into your bag anytime someone would walk by or glance over at you. Your dreams devolved into graphic, vivid replays of your favorite dirty scenes, with Professor Park in the place of the professor from the story. You wake up hot and bothered every morning, and his class becomes even more difficult with your head now full of illicit, naughty fantasies. Everything he does makes your belly swirl with need, even something as simple as running a hand through his hair or adjusting his glasses— you can’t even bare to look at him, and instead try your hardest to focus on whatever boring tangent he was rambling on about… until you caught yourself fantasizing about how his deep voice would sound whispering dirty words in your ear.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Professor Park's lectures were beginning to feel more like sick torture— you needed something to keep you distracted before you went insane.

So, against your better judgement, you started to bring the novel to read in class. You sat far enough in the back that you were certain he wouldn’t notice, and your poor classmates were too bored out of their minds to look your way. It was easy to keep it hidden away tucked in your lap, so you could pretend to be writing in your notebook while you read. Something about it excited you, reading about fucking your professor with your real professor standing there in front of you, none the wiser. Being able to admire him as you indulged in your secret desires. If he caught you, you would be humiliated, but you would be lying if you said that the thought didn’t excite you…

"Miss L/N, what are you doing?”

You nearly shoot straight out of your chair, your professor’s sudden call of your name shocking you out of your reverie. You had gotten so absorbed into your novel that you had forgotten to check to see if he was looking your way. “H-huh?”

“You keep looking at your lap.” Professor Park remarks, peering up at you from his spot at the podium with an unamused frown. His thick-rimmed glasses made his pretty brown eyes appear even larger than they already were, blinking up at you like he was studying you through a magnifying glass. “You’re not on your phone, are you? You know I have a no-tolerance policy when it comes to electronics.”

“Oh! No, sir, I’m just…” your startled gaze bounces back to the book in your lap, and you swallow nervously. “Reading.”

“Reading?” Professor Park echoes, raising his brow. “What are you reading? I assume it’s not the textbook, from the look on your face.”

You blanche, trying your hardest to appear nonchalant as you snap the book shut and shove it down into the recesses of your school bag. “It’s nothing!” You reply far too quickly, sounding guiltier than sin.

Professor Park's lips pull into a thin line, his magnified eyes raking over your sweating face before trailing down to your bag, clasped protectively over your lap.

“Give it to me.” he orders curtly, stretching out his hand.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. “What?! W-why?!”

“Reading anything that isn’t the course material is against my class rules— I have it printed clearly on the syllabus, though with how you can never seem to pay attention I wouldn’t be surprised if you missed it when I went over it at the beginning of the semester. I would recommend looking over it again to see if there’s anything else you’ve forgotten. Now, get up and hand me that book.”

The entire class has turned to look at you now too, dozens of pairs of eyes fixated on your every move. The silence is absolutely deafening. Your heart races and your hands tremble as you squirm in your seat, trying desperately to come up with some sort of escape as if you were in a horror movie; you might as well be, because out of all the ghouls and monsters you can think of, this has to be your worst nightmare.

You consider refusing. Technically, Professor Park couldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to— hell, you could walk right out of the classroom right then and there if you really wanted to, with both your book and your dignity intact. After all, you were a grown adult paying to further your education out of your own pocket. Trying to confiscate your belongings as if you were a child was borderline insulting.

But you can’t risk your grade over something like this, as embarrassing as it was, and you wouldn’t put it past him to penalize you in some way for defying your orders. You were already struggling as it was, partly because of how difficult the coursework was and mostly because of how you could never concentrate whenever Professor Park was around. To make matters even worse, passing was a requirement for your degree. Getting even more on his bad side than you already were simply not an option.

It takes every ounce of energy you have to force yourself to stand up out of your seat and trudge down to Professor Park's podium, clutching your novel against your chest like you were clutching pearls. He has to pry it out of your hand with a considerable amount of force, because you can’t seem to loosen your fingers around the cover.

You scamper back to your seat, but not before turning back to see Professor Park eye the cover with a startled expression. It would have been comical if you didn’t feel like you were seconds away from throwing up all over your desk.

He places it gingerly face-down on his desk like he was handling a dead fish, and you’re both grateful and horrified that he noticeably avoids making eye contact with you when he steps back up on his podium. ���You can come by my office later to get it back, Miss L/N. I have a free period at six.”

“Yes, sir.” You answer glumly, staring at your shoes.

Luckily for you, he dismisses the class only a few minutes later, muttering about something to do with grading papers. You’ve never ran out of that lecture hall so fast in your life.

“Whoa, what’s up with you?” your friend Jungwon asks when you walk by him in the hall, looking up from his phone and tugging out his earbuds to cock his head in your direction. “You look live you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

You stop just long enough to realize that you were still running, even though you had made it nearly halfway across the building. “I’m so fucked.” You state simply.

“What? What happened? Did you do something to piss off Professor Park again?”

“Yes. No. Kind of?” you cringe inwardly. There’s absolutely no way you’re telling Jungwon about any of what happened; he’d laugh at you to the point you fear you might actually start crying. “I don’t want to talk about it. I gotta go.”

You shuffle away before he can respond, and while you feel bad ignoring him as he calls out to you in confusion, you’re focused solely on finding somewhere quiet and empty to hide out until your next class. And maybe grabbing an iced coffee or something. Just to drown out the tears as you wallow in your own misery.

Against all odds, you manage to make it through the rest of your classes. The wait was almost worse than getting caught, barely able to sit still in your seat as you panic inwardly for hours on end. If it was Professor Park's intention to psychologically torture you, he wildly succeeded.

And you’re absolutely sure it was, because the first thing you see once you step into his office is your professor lounging back in his chair reading your book.

“Professor!” you yelp.

He glances up from your book, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes as he sends you a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, Miss Y/N! You’re just in time. I was just flipping through your book here, it seems awfully… interesting.”

You gulp, your trembling hands clutching the strap of your bag in a vain attempt to ground yourself. “Um, sir!” you squeak, rushing to his side to glance over his shoulder at what page he was on, praying to whatever god that will listen that he hasn’t read anything raunchy. “I think it would be best if you, um, didn’t read that…”

“Oh?” He flips the page and quirks his brow, not even sparing you a second glance as he adjusts his glasses, “What do you mean?”

You rack your brain desperately for a good enough excuse, but you can’t think of anything other than just how mortified you were, watching helplessly as your professor’s keen eyes scan over the pages. “Can I have it back now?” you say instead, your voice small and shaking.

“Surely you can wait just a little longer— now I’m dying to know why you don’t want me to read this.” Professor Park's crooked smirk infuriates you.

Was there any possible way that you could talk your way out of this without telling him upfront that what he was holding in his hands was an erotica, one about a teacher and a student no less? You shuffle nervously, stumbling over your words as you try to stutter out something, anything, “You, um… you wouldn’t like it.”

He turns his head to look up at you again, the look in his eye sharply changing when he takes in your frightened state, into something you don’t recognize and aren’t sure you like. “How can you be sure I wouldn’t enjoy it? I’m a fan of many different genres of literature, though I’ve never read anything quite like this before. Is it some sort of romance novel? If it is, you don’t have to be ashamed, Miss Y/N. I’m sure many young women such as yourself read these sorts of novels, though I strongly discourage reading them while I’m in the middle of a lecture. It’s simply disrespectful. Now, where was I?”

He trails his finger down the page as if he was looking for his place, and you bristle. “Sir, seriously, don’t—!”

“I followed my professor to his office, watching with bated breath as he rounded his big wooden desk.”  Professor Park begins to read aloud. You barely stop yourself from screaming, instead letting out a sort of pained choking sound. “He stopped to stand behind me, looking down my shoulder as if he were looking over my essay just as I was. I had made three errors in my writing, each one circled in bright red ink. He seemed more upset about it than usual.”

“Professor, please.”

“’Put that essay on my desk.’ he said, so I did.” Professor Park continues, ignoring you. He had gave the professor character a stupid, high pitched voice when he spoke, which would have been funny if you weren’t so humiliated. “’Now bend over with your elbows on my desk, so that you are looking directly at the essay. Keep your face very close.’”

“Stop it! Just let me have it!” You hated to talk to him this way, but if he continued reading any further… it took everything you had to keep yourself from running out of his office and crawling into the nearest ditch to die in.

“That’s not how you should speak to me, Miss Y/N. Now you certainly aren’t getting it back.” Professor Park retorted, his evil little smirk growing even wider. You wanted to hit him, or kick or scream, but you couldn’t do anything except stand there and try your hardest not to cry. “I was puzzled, but I followed his instructions, bending over the top of his desk so that my chest, belly and arms were pressed against the hardwood. My nose was merely a centimeter or two away from the letter, which made it difficult to read. My skirt was starting to… to slide up the backs of my thighs, but I was sure that if I moved to tug it back down, I would just get into even more trouble.”

You grimace when Professor Park's voice broke, his smile slowly starting to slide off his face and twisting into something unreadable. But he did not stop reading. “’Now read the letter to yourself. Read it over and over again.’ My professor said. I read: “In today’s rapidly evolving global landscape, the integration of technology in…” and at the word “integration”, which I had misspelled, he— he… um… Oh.”

You began to feel less like wanting to die and more like you were actually dying. Professor Park stares hard at the pages for a painfully long moment, his ears turning bright cherry red, but to your surprise and absolute mortification, he began to read aloud again. His voice had dropped that cheerful quality, however, sounding winded as if he had been hit upside the head. “At the word “integration”, which I had misspelled, he reeled his arm back and spanked me hard. I stopped reading with a loud gasp, shocked— the sting reverberated through my core, fiery hot, and despite my embarrassment I began to soak through my panties. At my silence, I was spanked again, even harder. ‘I said read it.’ My professor reminded me. ‘Be a good girl and follow instructions.’”

Professor Park shuts the book closed abruptly and looks up at you with a very red face and wide eyes. The tears that had been pooling in your lashes threaten to spill down your cheeks, so overcome with fear and embarrassment that your stomach turns like you're going to be sick. That was just what you needed to top off this already life-ruining experience, wasn’t it; vomiting all over your professor after he uncovers your darkest, dirtiest secret.

“This is extremely inappropriate material to bring on campus.” Professor Park finally says, his voice wavering.

“Yes, sir.”

“And that relationship, it’s… wrong. It’s against the university’s code of conduct. I— he could get fired for that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You shouldn’t be reading this. It’ll put... thoughts in your head that don’t need to be there.”

“…Yes, sir.” Part of you wants to argue with him, remind him that you’re an adult and can read whatever it is that you would like, but you don’t have the strength to.

He sighs heavily, like something important is weighing on his mind, and he hands you back your book before turning back to pour over the scattered, forgotten papers on his desk. “Go home, Miss L/N. And get rid of that book.”

You turn tail and scamper out into the hall, but you can’t help but glance back into Professor Park's office as you leave. He’s hunched over his desk with his elbows resting on the wood, his fingers tangled in his dark hair as he rests his head in his hands. It seems like something is bothering him, something bigger than grading papers or your stupid, silly book.

You don’t stick around to find out what it is.

The next morning, you receive a rather hastily written email from Professor Park telling you that he’s cancelling classes for the rest of the week. He’s come down with a cold, he claims— you and the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach know better than to believe that.

You don’t see him until that next Monday, but even then he might as well not have shown up at all. He struggles to get through his lesson plan even more than usual, and he wouldn’t look away from his papers or the projector, even when one of your classmates raised their hand to ask a question. You spent the entire period gathering up the courage to go up to him after his lecture, but when you do he brushes you off with a lame, half-baked excuse about having papers to grade and no time to talk, grabbing his things in a rush and scampering out of the lecture hall before you can call out for him to come back.

The pit in your stomach opens up into a black hole, swallowing up everything except for overwhelming, gnawing anxiety. It’s eating you up inside, manifesting itself in how you’ve chewed your lips until they bled, and then bit your nails down to the quicks— anyone with eyes could see that something was weighing on you, and you became increasingly tired of all your friends asking if anything was wrong, so once you were finished with your classes you took to hiding out in your dorm room curled up on the couch, your favorite fluffy blanket wrapped around you as you sullenly binge-watched a k-drama you’ve seen a thousand times.

While you were more of a homebody, your two roommates were much the opposite. Karina and Giselle loved to go out and party. Tonight was no different, the two of them flittering around the dorm as they got ready to go out to some club, and while they had given up on trying to get you to join them a while ago, something about the way you moped about seemed to reinvigorate Karina’s desire to get you off of your ass and out on the town. She knew you better than anybody, and immediately she could sniff out that something was off.

“Why don’t you come with us? You can borrow one of my dresses.” She offers, rummaging through her collection of high heels. “It’s a Friday night, everyone’s out! We can dance, we can find some boys to take home; it’ll be fun. You look like you need some.”

“I don’t need to have fun. I need to study.” You reply solemnly, scowling, but you make no moves to get up off the couch. It was a shitty excuse even to your own ears; it was obvious you didn’t have any plans to do anything tonight except feel sorry for yourself.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” She huffs. You don’t even have to look at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes. “Something’s bothering you and you won’t even tell me or Gigi what’s wrong. Don’t you think a drink or two would be good for you? You can vent to us all night, too. I promise we’ll listen.”

“I don’t know if I even want to tell you about it.”

“Why not? We’re your best friends, Y/Nie. You can tell us anything, even if it’s stupid or embarrassing. If it’s bothering you this badly, it’s clearly something serious.”

You peer out from under the blanket to look over at Karina— the worry in her eyes makes your heart sink. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t even consider taking her or Giselle up on their offers, but the way you were stuck running circles inside your head was far from normal. “You promise not to laugh at me?” She smiles warmly. “Nope. But I promise I’ll hear you out regardless.”

The loud, thumping bass reverberating throughout the club did very little to help ease your pounding headache. Your temples throbbed with every beat, the pressure so severe it felt as if your skull was just moments away from splitting in two. You don’t think you’ve ever been this uncomfortable in your life; the dress that Karina gave to you was a size or two too small, the shiny fabric so tight around your chest that you gasp for air. It would be difficult for you to breathe even in properly fitting clothes, the air hot and heavy from the throngs of sweaty bodies that surrounded you. You felt claustrophobic, the crowd closing in on you and threatening to swallow you whole— the only place to escape was to the bar, but even there you’re bombarded with flashing lights, deafening music, and the overlapping voices of everyone around you. You have to strain your ears to make out what Giselle was saying, and she was just on the barstool right next to yours.

“Aren’t you glad you came?” She giggles, sipping on a brightly colored cocktail. She had ordered a round of them for all three of you, and the amount of alcohol mixed in them felt like a sucker punch to the face, even with all the sickeningly sweet grenadine the bartender had used to try and mask the flavor. You watch in abject horror as both she and Karina downed them one by one like they were water.

“No.”  you reply honestly.

“You will once you tell us what’s going on with you!” Karina interjects from your other side. “I meant it when I said I wanted you to vent to us, let it all out and give us the tea! Aeri’s dying to know.”

“It’s really embarrassing…” you admit, staring forlornly down at your own drink. “I’d rather just forget all about it.”

“It can’t be that bad. You didn’t drop your pants in front of everyone or anything, did you?”

You cringe. “God, no. It’s not like that.”

“Then it’s nothing you can’t tell us about.” Giselle shoots you a smile over the rim of her glass.

“It’s… it’s about Professor Park.”

“You and Gigi's lit professor?” Karina asks, cocking her head. “Isn’t he the one you have a massive crush on?”

Your cheeks flush, your drink becoming even more interesting as you avoid looking at either of them in the eye. “Maybe.”

“Ugh, your taste in men is the worst.” Giselle snickers. “I don’t understand why you like him so much. He’s such a dick.”

You fight down the urge to defend him— for some odd reason, you feel a surge of protectiveness over Professor Park, even when you completely agree with what Giselle is saying about him. “Yes, I like him, but that’s not the point. The point is that I totally fucked up and now I think he hates me.”

“What did you do?! Please tell me you cursed him out, he fucking deserves it.”

“No, Gigi, oh my God.” Even the mere thought of doing something like that sends shivers down your spine. “He caught me reading during class.”

“…That’s it? You’re freaking out over that?” Giselle blinks.

“It’s what I was reading that’s the problem.” you lament miserably, gathering your courage with a sip of your disgusting cocktail. “I have this book; it’s about a teacher and a student… getting together, if you know what I mean. It’s really dirty… and he caught me reading it in class. He took it, and then he read it himself right in front of me! He thinks I’m a freak. It’s been two days and he won’t even look at me.”

Karina and Giselle stare at you.

“Why the hell were you reading a smut book in class?!” Karina gasps, her dark glittery makeup making her wide eyes look even wider. “And one about a professor, too— were you trying to get caught? There’s better ways to go about telling him that you want to fuck him.”

“I don’t know— I was bored and stupid, okay?!” You had been asking yourself the same question for days, mentally beating yourself to a pulp every time it crossed your mind. “I thought he wouldn’t notice me since I sat in the back… now he’s going to tell the dean, and I’m going to get expelled, and—”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Giselle stops you in your downwards spiral, grabbing your shoulder to ground you. “You’re thinking too hard about this. He’s probably just a prude. If he was going to do something like that, he would have probably done it by now. Plus, I don’t think that’s really something you can be expelled over.”

You lean into her touch, resting your head on her shoulder as she pats your back comfortingly. “He’s mad at me…” you whine petulantly. “I was trying to get that TA position, too… fuck, I’m so screwed.”

“What would he be mad at you for? Being horny?” Karina laughs, “It’s really his own fault for snooping in your stuff.”

“I think you’ll still get it.” Giselle supplies helpfully. “You’ve really got nothing to worry about. Sure, your grade sucks, but I’ve seen the two of you talking in the hallway before— the way he looks at you is insane. And the way he looks at your ass when you leave is even crazier. You just showed him that you feel the same way about him that he does about you.”

“Don’t say that.” You groan. “You think that about every guy I talk to. There’s no way in hell that Professor Park feels anything for me except hatred.”

“If you’re really that worried about it, you can always just apologize.” Karina says, drumming her long nails against her glass. “It might not do anything, but it’ll make you feel better.”

That was the first bit of real advice either her or Giselle had given you in a while, even if it left a bad taste in your mouth. “I don’t know. I feel like that would just make things worse. I need to go to the bathroom.”

You scramble off the barstool in a rush, teetering on your heels— you weren’t even that tipsy, but every step made you feel like a newborn deer. Karina and Giselle watch you hobble away in pity.

You stumble through the crowd in search of a bathroom sign, quickly getting lost in the sea of bodies. There’s little room to move around, everyone pressed up against each other dancing, too intoxicated to notice you trying to politely squeeze by. They jostle and knock you around, and you nearly trip over your own wobbly feet multiple times. Your headache grows nearly unbearable, your desperation to find an escape leading you to start pushing people out of the way so you can continue to move forward. One particularly drunk woman nearly knocks you to the ground, and she shoots you a dirty look over her shoulder when you shoulder past her roughly. You hate to be rude, but you’re teetering dangerously close to your breaking point. You need to find some peace and quiet, and fast.

But all of that goes out the window when among the countless bobbing and weaving heads, you spot a frighteningly familiar pair of broad shoulders.

“Professor Park?!” you call out in shock, shoving your way towards him. “What are you doing here?!”

Without his suits and big clunky glasses on, you almost don’t recognize him. He was leaning back against the wall with two men who you vaguely recognize as other professors at the university, talking and laughing amongst themselves with beers in their hands. You admire the profile of his strong, angular nose, the way his pronounced collarbones peeked out from the loose linen shirt he wore, the first few buttons undone to show a delicious strip of tan skin. His dark hair, usually gelled back to show his forehead, was left fluffy and untamed, framing his dark, intoxicating eyes. He jumps a little at your voice, turning away from the men to look at you.

His eyes widen sharply, moving slowly from your face down to your chest. They linger there for a moment, blinking owlishly, before he tears them away from you completely, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

“Oh, um. Hello, Miss L/N.” he covers up his stutter with a weak cough, suddenly very interested in the state of his shoes. You make a quick mental note to thank Karina later for convincing you to squeeze yourself into this stupid dress.

“Oh, this is Y/N?” One of the two other men slurs gleefully, a grin stretching across his handsome face. There was a certain hunger in the way he undresses you with his eyes, scanning you head to toe like a predator. You could tell from his flushed pink cheeks that he was very drunk. “I’ve heard all about you! It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Something odd flashes in Professor Park's eyes and he jerks his head to shoot his friend a deathly glare. He was far too tipsy to notice.

“You’ve… heard about me?” you cringe, your heart sinking. Out of whatever Professor Park had to say about you, none of it could be anything good.

“Oh, not much, just that you’re one of the brightest students that he’s ever taught.” The other man cuts in, chuckling. He tips his head back and takes a swig of his beer, flashing you his sharp jawline. “One of his favorites to have in class, he says.”

“Such a smart head on those little shoulders! You should consider taking my econ course next year, it’d be a gift to see your pretty face in my class.” The first man adds, his crooked smirk widening.

“Jake, Jay, please.” Professor Park grits out through gritted teeth, anxiously running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, what did you say, Miss L/N?”

You splutter as your lips refuse to form words. You?! The brightest student he’s ever had?! That was just a complete and utter lie; if it wasn’t for Giselle helping you with an extra credit assignment you had practically begged him on your knees for, you would be failing his class spectacularly. You couldn’t fathom why Professor Park would say something like that to these two men, when nearly every class he was scolding you for being late, distracted, forgetting your deadlines, a combination of all three and more. Not only that, but with what had transpired the other day still fresh and stinging… they had to be saving face or making some kind of sick joke. As you collect your thoughts, you half expect them to start pointing and laughing.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, peering up at Professor Park's blushing face. He avoids meeting your eyes, just like how he did in class.

“Am I not allowed to enjoy the start of my weekend?” he retorts, fiddling with the pull tab on his beer. “Clearly, you’re doing the same.”

He spits out the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth. It stung like an insult. “I thought you said you were busy.” you assert, biting your lip to keep from scoffing. The liquor giving you a little too much courage; he was still Professor Park, even if now standing in front of you he looked like just any other guy.

“I… was.” He mumbles, “And now I’m not anymore. It’s really not any of your business.”

It takes everything you have to keep from blurting out that your book really wasn’t any of his business either, but you manage to hold your tongue.

“I’m sorry, I just— Sir, I need to talk to you.”

 “There’s nothing to talk about.” He says matter-of-factly. It’s far from what you were expecting him to say.

“What do you mean?” you challenge, your annoyance starting to turn sour. “It’s about the other day.”

Professor Park continues to play dumb, though he keeps throwing sidelong glances to his coworkers. “What about it?”

“I want to apologize.” You bite hard on your lower lip. For doing nothing wrong.

Professor Park's eyes snap up to meet yours, inky dark irises wide in shock. “Y/N—”

“Apologize?” Professor Park's friend— Jake, you think— butts in, raising an eyebrow. “What happened?”

All the color leaves Professor Park's face, even the blush that was slowly trailing from his cheeks down his neck. He awkwardly clears his throat and averts his gaze, putting on a show of cupping his ear and pretending to be confused. “Sorry, I can’t hear you over all of this noise! If you have a question, I’ll be in my office tomorrow afternoon. Go on and have a good night.”

“Wait, Professor—!”

“Have a good night!”

It takes you a long time to find your way back to the bar, drunk, defeated, and stewing in your own thoughts. You’re pleasantly surprised to see that Giselle and Karina have been sat waiting for you all this time, but you don’t have it in you to feel happy or grateful as you plop yourself back onto your empty barstool. Their irritation quickly shifts to confusion and worry, both shooting you odd glances as Karina tentatively hands you another cocktail.

“Are you okay?”

“Did you get lost or something?”

You take a long sip, the disgusting sweetness and the bitter liquor overpowering your senses enough to calm your racing thoughts. “I think I’m going to go and talk to Professor Park tomorrow.” is all you say.

“If you fuck him, please put in a good word for me.” Giselle slurs drunkenly in reply. “I need to pass that fucking class.”

“You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you, Miss L/N?” Professor Park whispers in your ear, his deep voice dripping with honeyed venom. The fabric of his dress shirt ghosts over your back, his body so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. He has you trapped against his big wooden desk, bent over it obscenely with your ass in the air as you whimper and squirm. Your skirt and panties pool at your ankles, leaving your most intimate areas exposed for him to view. Your leaking pussy quivered from the icy cold air, your hole clenching desperately around nothing and aching to be filled.

“I’m sorry!” You mewl, voice wavering.

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you sorry for?” he presses, so deliciously condescending in the way he feigns ignorance, “Apologize to me properly and tell me what it was that you did.”

“I’ve been bad, sir. I was reading during your lecture, and I’m sorry—”

“Oh, you weren’t just reading.” Professor Park scoffs, straightening himself up and off your back. He rounds the desk to circle you like prey, his slow methodical steps echoing throughout the quiet of his office. They echo in your ears and strike a dizzying mix of fear and anticipation in your heart.

“I-I was reading smut and…” your face burns hotter than the sun, and you close your eyes and take a deep breath to will yourself to have the courage to admit what it was you were caught doing. “…And I was touching myself.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.” He stops to stand at your side, his mere presence hovering above you enough to make you shudder. “Tell me exactly how you were touching that slutty little pussy.”

His words go straight to your core, making you squeeze your thighs together in need. Just a little friction was all you needed, and the edge of his desk granted a great opportunity… but as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t let yourself give in to desperation and grind yourself against Professor Park's desk like a dog in heat. He would notice immediately, and it would only worsen your punishment.

“I was… I was rubbing my clit through my panties.” you admit ashamedly, “Grinding against my fingers. I was going to put one inside but you… you stopped me.”

“I could see your hand up your skirt all the way from the back of the class.” Professor Park spits, his carefully controlled demeanor cracking and his wild, untamed anger boiling to the surface. “It’s like you’re trying to get the two of us caught. You’re lucky no one else was looking… or was that what you wanted? Did you want everyone to see what a slut you are?”

“N-no!” you gasp, but the idea gets you even wetter; you wanted nothing more than for everyone to know that he was much more than just your professor, that he was yours and in turn you were his. “I’m a slut j-just for you, no one else!”

“Fuck, that’s right.” he groans lowly, his voice dripping sex. He picks up a long wooden ruler off his desk, right by your head, and points the tip at the nape of your neck. It ran slowly down the curve of your spine, a ghostly barely-there touch that left a trail of fire erupt across your skin. He stops at the plush swell of your ass, gently caressing your flesh with the cold wood. “You’re all mine. My favorite little student. You just need some discipline to put you back in your place, hm? Show me what a good girl you can be and count for me.”

He rears his arm back, poised and ready to strike. You can hear the ruler whooshing through the air, sharp and fast as he swings his arm forwards—

Your eyes snap open with a gasp. Suddenly, you’re back in your bedroom, curled up safe and sound in your bed, groggy and disoriented as you slowly come back down to reality. While you dreamt about Professor Park often, never had one felt this vivid, this real. You can still feel the echoes of his touch, the phantom pain of his ruler against your asscheek haunting you like a ghost. Your panties are soaked through completely, sticky arousal pooling in the fabric and dripping down your thighs, creating a wet spot on your sheets. You toss and turn to try and go back to sleep, but it’s no use; you’re so horny you can’t think straight, can’t ignore the dull throbbing in your core.

As your hand slides under the waistband of your panties, you decide that enough is enough.

You were at your breaking point. Your life had spiraled completely out of control in the span of just two days, all because your stupid puppy-love crush of a professor had to be nosy about your reading material. He just had to find a way to humiliate you even more than he already did, didn’t he? He could’ve just given you your book back and the two of you could have gone on with your lives. He shouldn’t have even taken your book in the first place! You could have continued fantasizing about him from the back of the class, not a worry in the world, instead of losing precious hours of sleep and mentally beating yourself up.

And after your interaction at the bar, you feel even more ridiculous. If Professor Park truly had the intention of telling someone about what he had caught you reading, wouldn’t he have told the other professors that he was with? And lying to them about you being his smartest student…  you couldn’t wrap your head around it.

It was clear that he didn’t want to talk about it. But even if he wants to pretend like none of this ever happened, you just couldn’t.

There was simply no other way for you to get over all of this other than finally confronting him. You needed to make the endless spiral stop, tell him exactly what was on your mind and finally put this to bed. The longer you stew over everything that has transpired, the more your fear and anxiety boils over into anger. This was all Professor Park's fault! You needed to give him a piece of your mind, or you don’t think you’ll ever be able to move on.

Professor Park doesn’t answer until after the fifth knock, his face immediately dropping once he swings open his office door to see you standing there in front of him. His hair is a mess and his clothes are disheveled, his tie half undone and his shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Anxiously he adjusts his glasses, the wide brown eyes behind them looking like a cornered deer’s. “You actually came over to apologize?” He blurts out before you can even open your mouth, genuine surprise taking over his features. “I didn’t think you—"

“Actually, no, I’m not here to apologize!” you declare, the words spilling out before you gave yourself the time to second guess yourself. You had lied awake until the sun came up thinking about what to say, and you weren’t going to let those wasted hours go to waste. “I’m here to tell you, sir, that going through my book was an invasion of my privacy! And that it’s none of your business what I read! I’m an adult, not a child, and I can do whatever I damn well please!”

Professor Park blinks owlishly, staring at you in stunned silence for so long that your newfound confidence falters and you begin to shuffle nervously.

“Oh. Um… alright.” He finally says.

“Alright?!” you echo incredulously, your irritation coming back in full swing. “You’ve been avoiding me for days and all you have to say for yourself is alright?!”

Professor Park's eyes flicker around anxiously, and it suddenly hits you that you were yelling at him in a public hallway. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Yes you do!” you shriek. This really wasn’t how you were planning on any of this going, but it was far too late to turn back. You open your mouth to continue your rant, face burning hot with unbridled rage, but Professor Park quickly grabs your wrist and roughly pulls you into his office. The sudden act shocked you into silence, your eyes wide and mouth agape as he drags you all the way back to his desk. 

“Listen.” He growls, his voice octaves deeper than you’ve ever heard it before. “You’re acting way out of line right now. Don’t you dare ever talk to me like that, you understand me? I’m still your professor, even when we’re not in class. You’re to treat me with respect—”

“Then you treat me with respect first!” you retort, though you do manage to calm yourself down enough to lower your voice. “Playing dumb and refusing to talk to me after humiliating me in front of everyone! What was even the point of doing that? Was it just for your own sick pleasure?!”

“Y/N.” Professor Park sighs, the second time you’ve ever heard him call you by your first name— the first was at the club, but you were far too distracted to dwell on it. “I know you have some sort of feelings for me. You’re not very good at hiding it.”

Your entire world comes crashing around you, though you suppose that you shouldn’t be too surprised. You had just let yourself hope beyond reason that he would never pay you any attention.

“What I’m trying to say is… Y/N, you need to stop it. Get rid of the book. I can’t be with you, it’ll never work, okay? I’m your teacher, and ten years your senior. There’s plenty of college boys around campus for you to ogle over instead.”

“You say you can’t but… do you want to?” you ask quietly, barely above a whisper.

Professor Park doesn’t meet your eyes. “I could get in a lot of trouble, Y/N. You could too.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You challenge, a hopeful spark igniting in your chest. He didn’t say no… and you may be looking too into things, or just clinging onto hope, but that was more than enough proof to you that your professor was hiding some feelings of his own.

“We can’t do this.” He mumbles, his voice growing wilder, more defiant.

“Sure we can! I’m an adult, you’re an adult… did I scare you away with my book or something? Look, it’s okay if it wasn’t up your alley. There’s nothing wrong with being vanilla, Professor. You don’t have to, like, spank me or anything—”

“But I do!” he interjects suddenly, his head shooting up to look at you with wild eyes. His entire face was bright crimson red.

“You… wait, what?” you must have misheard him. That was the only explanation, surely; There was no way he actually—

“I can’t stop thinking about it! I thought there was no way you’d be into anything like that, that I needed to stop thinking about you and move on like a professional, but then you go and pull this, and now I can’t go a single second without thinking about putting you over my knee! It’s driving me insane! I can’t even look at you!” 

“Professor—”

“Sunghoon. God, just call me Sunghoon. I can’t handle you calling me that right now.”

You open and close your mouth a couple of times, surely looking like a fish out of water— This was the absolute last thing you expected to come out of your professor’s— Sunghoon's—mouth. Your eyes bulge out of your head, your face burns hotter than the sun… your pussy clenches pathetically. It felt like you were in a dream, almost, which might have been why you suddenly felt so brazen— if you wanted him, and he wanted you, who were you to deny him?

“Then do it.” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He looks just as shocked at your proclamation as you were. “If you want to do it that bad, do it.”

He moves in a flash, giving you no time to prepare— within seconds has you thrown over his lap on his office swivel chair, your hair hanging in your face as you blink wildly at the floor. Sunghoon brushes one of his big hands against you skirt-clad ass, barely a brush of his fingers, but you still gasp all the same.

“Do you really want this?” He breathes, voice low, his breathing hard—the outline of his cock presses hard against your stomach through his slacks, making it considerably hard to focus on the words that came out of his mouth.

It takes you a moment, but you manage to choke out a whiny “Yes, sir, please.”

Sunghoon stutters out an uneven breath, his fingers inching down to the hem of your skirt, teasing the tops of your thighs for just a moment before pulling the fabric up to expose your ass, a noticeable wet spot present on your panties.

“So pretty…” He coos. You can feel his cock twitch against your stomach, those long knobby fingers trailing along the edge of your lacy thong. “Is it okay if I take your panties off, bunny?”

You whimper and nod your head— Sunghoon lands a gentle love-tap to the junction of your thighs with an airy chuckle. “Use your words like a good girl.”

This couldn’t be happening. You had to be dreaming, or hallucinating, or something, anything except truly living through this fantasy come to life— Boring, bland Professor Park, the biggest prude you thought you knew, was just way too good at this, at making your legs shake and your pussy throb all the while barely touching you. In just an afternoon your reality had shifted from thinking that he had to be the world’s biggest loser virgin to thinking that he was even sexier than the professor in your book.

You weren’t sure how to feel about it, but your cunt did. 

You must have stayed silent for too long, because without much warning Sunghoon lands a much harsher spank to the top of your asscheek. “Bad girl!” he admonishes, and you can hear the teasing, rotten grin in his voice “C’mon baby, use your big girl words. Tell me how much you want it.” His hot breath fans over your ear— you couldn’t hold in your moan even if you tried, the broken whine sounding weak and pathetic even to your own ears. 

“P-Please, sir… please take my panties off. Please spank me.” you whimper, your face beet red and your pussy drooling— his deft fingers stroke slowly up and down your folds, feeling the wetness seep through the cotton fabric of your panties. You bite your lip to keep from screaming.

“That’s my good girl.” You could hear your panties rip as he tears them off of you in one solid motion, the biting cold air meeting your hot soaking cunt and making both you and Sunghoon hiss. He admires the slick leaking down your thighs for a brief silent moment, deep breathy voice cooing at the way you arch into him and his touch, before he straightens back up and lands a stinging, eye watering spank deliciously close to your core. You yelp at the sting.

“That’s for being a fucking tease,” he states, soothing your reddening flesh with a soft caress of his palm. “Being so fucking sexy all the time and driving me crazy because I thought I could never have you.”

You hadn’t realized that this was confessional. Shooting him an evil smile over your shoulder, you giggle, “You could’ve just asked.”

Another spank, this time with even more force. Your hips buck with a shrill cry spilling from your open, panting mouth, your eyes watering— you had no idea Professor Park was this strong. He refuses to give you any time to prepare, never warning you when the next hit to your ass will come. “I didn’t say you could talk back to me.” He growls.

You’re on the verge of tears from the red-hot stinging in your ass, but you still giggle at his words. “You’re kinky.”

He just rolls his eyes, spanking you again, albeit a little softer. “And this one’s for being a brat. How about you start counting for me, little girl? That’s one.”

“One?! You’ve hit me four times!” Maybe you were pushing it too far, but it just came naturally to you to fight back, make him work for your submission and obedience. You relished pushing him as far as he would go; you relished losing.

Sunghoon grabs a handful of your hair and yanks hard, making you gasp loudly and your empty pussy flutter. Leaning down close to your ear, he lets out a warning growl; “I said fucking count.”

You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life. Torn between bucking your hips into Professor Park's bulge and pushing back into the touch of his hand, you give a quiet, watery whimper of “One…”

The hand holding your hair lets go, your head falling limply over his knee. “That’s my girl.” He coos lowly, stroking your head.

It distracts you enough that the next harsh slap to your ass feels even more intense than any of the others before it. “T-two…”

“That’s for being so fucking disrespectful. And in front of my colleagues too, no less. It’s like you were asking for me to ruin you.” he tsks. “You need to learn to watch your mouth.”

The urge to say something smart tugs at you again, even if just to prove his point, but another spank rains down on your sore, bruising asscheeks before you can seize the opportunity.

“T-three!”

“And that’s… that’s for pushing me to put you over my lap in the first place. You couldn’t just leave it alone, could you? And now look at you, making me risk my job to teach you a lesson.” Sunghoon's voice wavers, filling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place— it was extremely difficult to focus on his words when his fingers began to trail down the curve of your ass to your sticky, quivering folds, rubbings the tip of his thumb right over your clothed core. You moan unabashedly, shifting your hips and opening your legs to give him better access to what was peeking out between your thighs.

The fifth spank never comes. He tugs your panties to the side and pushes two long, thick fingers between your folds, stuttering out a low moan like he was the one being touched. He starts a rough, dizzying pace almost immediately, his fingertips searching for that spongy spot inside of you. You grind your hips back against Sunghoon's fingers, a drooling mess against his slacks.

“Pr-Professor…” you whine high in your throat — you want more, want him to speed up, slow down… his touches were driving you wild. You hadn’t been touched like this ever before.

“I told you not to call me that.” He hisses, curling his fingers against your sweet spot and making you keen. “Please, call me by my name.”

“Sunghoon!” you cry out, writhing against him. You felt a passion rising within you like the hottest fire, clouding your brain. You couldn’t think of anything except of the pleasure that he gave you, couldn’t utter out anything other than his name.

“Such a slut, falling apart just on my fingers…” he chucks huskily, enamored with the filthy wet sounds your cunt made and how they echoed through the quiet office. “I’ve thought about doing this for forever, God… you’re just as beautiful as I thought you’d be.”

His thumb, wet from your arousal, comes down to rub tight, delicious circles against your sensitive, engorged clit, your strangled wail no doubt loud enough to be heard from the hallway. The building ecstasy distracts you enough for him to push in a third finger into your tight hole. The stretch burns but you love it, your hips kicking and moans growing louder and louder as he effortlessly takes you apart. 

“...Too much…!” you manage to choke out, digging your teeth into the fabric of Sunghoon's slacks to keep yourself from screaming out in bliss. You felt full to the brim, pushed closer and closer to the edge with every rough flick of your clit and thrust of his perfect talented fingers. He teases a fourth finger around your leaking, stretched out rim, the threat of it alone enough to make your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh baby, if this is too much there’s no way you’ll be able to take my cock…” 

The tears that had been brimming in your eyes start to stream freely down your burning cheeks, choked hiccups and sobs wracking your body, but it was the most pleasurable agony you had ever been in. Your hips move with a mind of their own, bucking against Sunghoon's cock, thick and hard as a rock, only seeming to grow bigger and bigger every time you rub against it. You relish the sharp intakes of breath he takes every time you move against him. He was starting to fall apart too, you could tell, his voice sounding a lot less dominating and a lot more whiny and pathetic with each roll of his hips up into your tummy.

“I’m gonna… gonna make you cum on my fingers,” he whines low in his throat, his hand completely soaked in your arousal up to the wrist. “You gonna make a mess for me?”

His fingers dig impossibly and wonderfully hard into your sweet spot, that white-hot band of desire in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with each perfectly aimed thrust. You wail and sob, your hand reaching back to grab a tight fistful of his shirt sleeve. “I-I-m— ‘m gonna cum!”

Sunghoon's other hand, the one that had been stroking your hair, then comfortingly up and down your back, rises up to smack your ass, the sudden burst of stinging pain making you scream, and for real this time.

 “You gotta ask first, bad girl! Gotta ask for permission b-before you cum…” His voice starts to break, his hips stuttering helplessly— the feeling of his big fat cock grinding hard against you only added to the fire in your belly. 

“Can I cum? Please, sir, can I cum? I’ll be a good girl, I promise, just let me cum!” you had no control over your mouth, hardly any conscious at all— all you could focus on was the tightening in your belly, the way Sunghoon's fingers thrusted in and out of your pussy so good… you were his brainless whore, fucked dumb on his fingers. 

“Shit, go on honey, my good girl… cum all over me, make a mess!” with his permission you let yourself topple over the edge, moaning and whimpering like a whore as you soak your thighs, his hand, his shirt and slacks with your juices. You lay across his lap twitching for quite some time afterwards, your chest heaving like you had just run a marathon… you’d never come before like that in your life, not as hard or for as long. Sunghoon was with you the whole way as you come down from your high, sweet as can be as he coos praises into your hair and pats your back, kissing your head when you raised it to look over your shoulder at him.

Slowly, you realize that you no longer feel his bulge poking at your belly. You release your iron grip on his shirt to slide your hand down his chest and abdomen, all the way down to gently cup his very wet crotch. “Sir…?”

“F-fuck... sorry, baby… couldn’t help it…” he turns his head away from you to hide his glowing red face, but you can see how his blush spreads down his neck and up to the tips of his ears.

“Did you just… cum?” you ask in awe and disbelief, looking down to see a dark stain spreading across the fabric of his slacks. Sunghoon only mumbles in response, refusing to answer or turn back to look at you, his blush growing an even deeper shade of red. It was all the confirmation you needed.

Professor Park came in his pants like a virgin without you even needing to touch him. Something about that alights a blazing inferno in your core, your senses overtaken with need even though you had just had an orgasm yourself.

“I want to taste it.” You breathe out, your overwhelming desire eclipsing any rational thought and taking control of your words.

“Y-you… what?” his head snaps back to you in surprise, his eyes wide and clouded with lust as they gaze headily into yours.

“Your cum, wanna taste it, want it on my tongue…” you’ve never spoken like this to anyone, your voice not feeling like your own— the words spill out from between your lips mindlessly, desperate for more of his brain numbing pleasure as you rub him through his slacks. His cock twitches underneath your fingertips, beginning to harden again from the ministrations. “Can I please suck you off, sir?”

“Fuck.” Sunghoon moans, rough and deep in his chest, the sound shooting straight to your sensitive pussy. “Yeah you can, naughty girl, come on, get on your knees and suck my cock. Clean up my mess.”

Your entire body feels limp and weak, not wanting to cooperate with you as you slide off of his lap to the floor. It takes great effort to get yourself situated, kneeling on the floor with your unsteady hands grasping at his thick thighs. He widens his legs to give you more room to get comfortable, one of his big hands instinctively coming down to tangle in your hair as your own begin to slide up the insides of his thighs towards his straining belt buckle.

Ever so slowly and meticulously you unbuckle Sunghoon's belt, the jingling of the metal buckle as it’s casted aside like music to your ears. You pull his pants and boxers down together in one rough tug, Sunghoon canting his hips to help you guide them down his thighs. His cock springs free and slaps obscenely against his belly, smearing the light fabric of his dress shirt in his thick, viscous cum. You can’t help but stop and stare, enamored by the sheer size of it— nearly as thick as a can and twice the length of one, throbbing veins making your mouth water. Cum still leaks from his angry red tip, fat and bulbous, the entirety of his length wet and shiny down to his heavy, twitching balls and neatly trimmed pubes.

You kiss the tip with a delighted grin, the contact barely-there but enough to make him throw his head back and whimper in delight. Your tongue peeks out from between your lips to slide across his slit, earning a high-pitched needy hiss from the man above you, his long fingers tightening their grip on your hair as you lick down his dripping shaft. His thick, salty cum tastes like ambrosia on your tongue, the delicious bitterness quickly getting you drunk. You can’t stop until you lick him completely clean, and even then it’s impossible for you to pull away, the feeling of his weeping cockhead heavy on your tongue far too addicting. Greedily you suck him into your mouth, relishing in the way his girth stretches your lips before swallowing him deeper and deeper until his tip knocks against the back of your throat. You can hardly fit your hands around him, let alone your mouth, fisting what couldn’t fit down your throat as you start bobbing your head. More broken tears collect on your lashes and drip down your wet cheeks, looking utterly ruined and wanton as you gaze up from between Sunghoon's legs into his hazy, unfocused eyes.

The eye contact is too much for him— his eyes roll back in his head with a whimper and his cock twitches violently inside of your mouth, the grip he has on your hair shifting from guiding your head along his shaft to tugging you off him with a sudden and disorienting strength. He pulls you off him with a wet pop, a foamy string of saliva connecting from his shiny cockhead to your needy whimpering lips.

“I’m gonna cum again if you don’t stop,” he pants, gasping for breath, “I gotta fuck that pussy first, little girl, please. Need to feel that tight cunt squeezing around me.”

“D’you wanna cum inside?” you goad, a lustful, mischievous grin overtaking your features, “Don’t worry, Hoonie, I’m on the pill. You can fill me up if you want to.”

Your words make him visibly shake, the nickname making him whimper, what was left of his flimsy resolve crumbling right before your eyes, leaving nothing but primal hunger. “Get on the fucking desk.”

You obey immediately, hardly able to contain your excitement as you stumble to your feet and bend over Sunghoon's big oak desk, wiggling your ass in the air invitingly. Your skirt and panties were still pulled up and pushed aside, exposing your dripping puffy hole for his eyes to feast upon.

“So pretty…” he croons behind you, his hands caressing your hips and waist. They smooth over the exposed globes of your ass, his fingers fiddling with the gusset of your drenched panties. Sheer pink lace that compliments your flushed skin, looks so delectable running through his fingers as he grabs your asscheeks and spreads them wide. “You look so cute in pink.”

he hisses in appreciation at the sight of your dripping hole quivering, sliding a finger down between your pussy lips to circle at your engorged clit. “Holy fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans, accentuating his claim with a flick of his hand— your pussy squelches obscenely, the lewd, pornographic sound making your cheeks flush. “I can’t take it anymore, I have to be inside of you— you can take it, right bunny?”

“Please!” you beg, hardly able to string together a sentence, “Please, sir, put it in, I need it so bad, need your cock—”

You’re interrupted by the feeling of his cockhead slapping against your entrance, Sunghoon running the leaky tip up and down your slit a few times just to hear your little whimper before burying himself inside to the hilt in one smooth thrust. He rams into you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs, his long fat shaft stretching out your hole much more than you could have ever been prepared for. The burn is indescribable, overwhelming every single one of your senses in the best way, your tight gummy walls gripping his cock like a vice as the both of you struggle to adjust.

He's so deep inside of you it feels as if he’s poked through your cervix and into your womb, his big fat mushroom head snug right beneath your belly button. You’re so deliciously full that it makes your head spin, already fucked completely brainless before he had even begun to properly move.

“Does it hurt?” he asks you softly, so gentle compared to how he carved out your insides. In any other circumstance you would find it sweet that he was this concerned, but you were certain that if he didn’t start moving inside of you right then and there, you were going to die.

“More.” you croak back in response. “Give it to me.”

With a winded groan, he relents. He pulls his cock out until just the head was inside of you, giving you not a single moment to prepare before slamming back in with a force that knocks you further up on the desk. The hardwood against your cheek does nothing to muffle your loud, unabashed shriek, so he improvises by shoving two of his thick fingers past your open lips, the musky tang of your own juices filling your mouth when you suck hungrily at the digits. He set up a punishing rhythm within seconds, his hips clapping loudly and wetly against your ass while he muffles your whines and wails. His heavy balls smack against your oversensitive clit with every rough thrust, sending shockwave after shockwave of pleasure straight to your core. The desk cuts into the skin of your hips painfully, but if anything, it only adds to the burning sweetness building steadily in the pit of your belly.

“F-fuck, I’m close already!” Sunghoon puffs against the shell of your ear, pressing himself up against your back— you’re suddenly thrown back into your dream from the night before, the way the sensations were eerily similar yet nowhere near as good as the real thing. “Gonna cum inside you, is that okay? Wanna see how pretty your pussy looks dripping my cum.”

You can only drool in response, your thoughts fragmented and scattered, babbling desperate nonsense and rolling your hips back to meet his thrusts with a dizzying force. Your body vibrates with liquid fire, heating your puffy cunt and quivering thighs— faster than ever before were you hurtling towards your climax, that familiar tightening in your core growing harder and harder to bear. You wanted nothing more than to yield to the tide, let it overtake you completely, and in turn pull Sunghoon down with you.

Your professor was going to cum inside of you. The fantasies that had haunted you for months truly became a tangible reality. What did you do to make you so lucky?

“This slutty pussy’s sucking me in so fucking tight,” he groans, his thrusts growing sloppier, “Tell me you want my cum, baby, come on. Who’s cum do you want inside of you? Tell me and I’ll give it to you!”

“Yours!” you shriek with the last remaining bits of your energy, your words nearly incomprehensible to how you sniffled and sobbed around Sunghoon's fingers. “Want your cum— my professor’s cum inside of me!”

You took a gamble, but it was just what he wanted to hear. With one last aggressive thrust, he bottoms out inside of your pulsating cunt, his bulbous cockhead kissing your battered cervix as he cums with a broken cry. The sensation of his sticky, hot seed splashing against your insides is just what you need to tip over the edge yourself, your walls clamping down on him and milking him for all he’s worth as you ride out your own climax with long, surrendering moans. He hisses from the overstimulation, but he makes no movements to pull out, letting himself soften inside of you as you both struggle to catch your breaths. Thick viscous globs of your mixed cum leak out from where you’re connected, dripping down your thighs and Sunghoon's balls to collect in a puddle on the floor.

You gaze over your shoulder to watch as he slowly and carefully pulls out, a creamy, foamy white ring formed around the base of his cock. His glasses were fogged up from his heavy breathing, his hair and clothes even more a mess than it was when he had first opened the door, his pink face so irritatingly kissable when he shoots you a nervous smile.

You cant help but giggle at him.

“You’re not going to… tell anyone about this, are you?” he asks you anxiously, opening one of the desk’s drawers to retrieve a packet of tissues.

“As long as you explain to me why you told those other professors that I was your best student.” You reply smartly, your grin widening when he scowls.

“It was the only way I could think of how to explain why I talk about you so much.” He admits, a little shy, wiping down the mess between your thighs with a fistful of cheap, scratchy tissues. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather if we continued that charade so it doesn’t look suspicious when I ask you to come to my office every once in a while.”

“Will you give me that TA position then?”

“You technically don’t qualify,” He laughs, “but I thought that was a given.”

“You won’t regret bending the rules a little, I promise.” You tell him with a wink and a smile. The love-stricken grin he shoots back at you in return makes your heart soar.

“I know I won’t.”

[occamstfs]

Couples Counseled: Confidence

Sean convinces his boyfriend to go to therapy with him. Both him and the therapist have something besides conflict resolution in mind however as Kyle accidentally wills his twink to be the domtop he never knew he wanted.

Part 1 of a 2-parter! Follow Sean's transformation into a muscular, hairy brute who's sole priority is pleasure, hope you enjoy! -Occam

Couples counseling was all Sean’s idea, they had been dating for well over a year now and neither boyfriend particularly wanted the relationship to swirl down the drain. So, despite his DL boyfriend’s preference to break an arm rather than a single exposed emotion, after setting an ultimatum Sean convinces Kyle to give it a try.

After having been forced to accept the idea, once convinced Kyle was all-in. He even volunteered to find the perfect therapist for the pair, after the hassle of convincing Kyle to try couples therapy Sean was more than happy to let him have a hand in the process. Arriving at the office of Lucien Faust, Sean wonders if he should have done some preliminary research on the therapist.

It’s not as if it’s outwardly shady or anything, something about the place simply sets Sean on edge. The receptionist greets the pair and offers Kyle preliminary paperwork which he promptly begins to fill out. Sean eyes this with a head tilt, wondering why he got no such form, before returning his primary inquisition to the clean waiting room they reside in. 

That’s what it is, it’s too clean. They’re clearly the only patients in right now but surely not the first of the day, and yet Sean is filled with the feeling that nothing in that room had been moved. He’s possessed with the feeling that something horrible is afoot. Narrowing his eyes at a plant sitting directly under a vent he elbows Kyle to get his attention on the ficus.

“Psst, hey- Kyle! That plant’s leaves aren’t moving from the heater!” Pausing from his paperwork Kyle doesn’t feign interest, looking for half a second before returning to his assignment, “I’m sure the thing’s just not running Sean.” The boyfriend purses his lips and wags his hands as he tries to determine what to do, clearly the only one concerned. 

It’s still the dead winter and unseasonably warm in this room, that vent has to be running. Sean slowly stands and ambles over to the plant. The receptionist continues staring at the screen on her desk, apparently unconcerned with the pair. Making his way over, Sean raises his hand and is shocked to find indeed the heater is not on. One mystery solved he is immediately possessed anew, wondering to himself “Then why’s it so stuffy in here?” Suspiciously eying the ficus he messes with the leaves just to prove that he has some will yet, then he hears the bassy voice behind him.

“Now now son, no need to treat old Chuck there with such aggression.”

Sean slowly turns to see Kyle has finished his paperwork and given it to this mystery large man wearing a suit such a deep shade of burgundy it seems black. Sean tries to get backup from his boyfriend but finds Kyle nervously looking at the reception desk. Following his gaze, Sean turns to find the receptionist staring directly at him, standing with a wide smile on her face she states flatly, “Sean Gilroy, the Doctor will see you now.”

The massive man reaches out a hand, “Pleasure to meet you Mr. Gilroy.” He waits until Sean shakes it before turning and ushering the young man towards his office. Before leaving Sean turns to scold his boyfriend for getting him into this mess and notices him nervously looking at the papers in the doctor's hand. Sean immediately reads through this regret and assumes his boyfriend has not taken this seriously. Before the door closes behind Kyle mouths a ‘So Sorry’ and a ‘Good Luck’ with a shaky thumbs up. And then Sean is alone with the therapist.

Sean blinks and finds himself sitting across from the man at his desk, gasping in shock, he clutches at armrests he wasn’t aware he had. The therapist then looks up slowly with quite a canine forward smile, “Ah! Seems I lost ya for a second there Mr. Gilroy. I know day one is boring but let’s try to not fall asleep!” There’s a pause where one might expect him to laugh but he simply continues to smile before continuing, “So! Your loving boyfriend filled out this little preliminary worksheet for us to better understand the problems in your relationship.”

Still on edge from having no idea how he got here, Sean is struck with how unfair it is that he didn’t get to have any input on this session. As if he were reading Sean’s mind, Lucien raises a hand, “Worry not there Sean. Once we’re finished you will have the opportunity to do likewise, filling out the exact same questionnaire for my time with Kyle.”

The therapist pauses, performatively grabbing a pair of glasses before clearing his throat and continuing on, “If you are all-set then Sean. Shall we begin?” The patient nods and goes to cross his arms before deciding to leave them at his side, to at least present as open and not anxious. Lucien, while still looking down, certainly takes note of him quibbling with himself.

“What is your favorite quality of your partner? Ah, how sweet.” Sean stares at him, convinced that Kyle has somehow made this a complete waste of time, “And your boyfriend answered ‘His Confidence’,  well is that something you agree with Sean?” 

Sean blankly stares as he tries to temper his response and calm his ire. The whole reason to their doing couples counseling was an argument about Sean’s lack of confidence. The memory of Kyle getting home late with a suspiciously hickey-shaped bruise on his chest sent waves of paranoia through Sean. He knew Kyle wouldn’t cheat, it was just- So clearly can he see the look of betrayal on his boyfriend’s face at being labelled a cheater. So clearly can he hear the sting on his voice as he explains the injury as being peened by a baseball.

“You need to work on your fucking confidence Sean.”

He has half a nerve to flee into the lobby and slap Kyle for the deliberate disrespect. Clearly he’s not willing to act like a mature adult and talk this out. Sean’s blood is boiling as he stands, though before taking a step towards the door, Lucien adjusts his glasses and speaks up, “Do you not agree with his assessment Mr. Gilroy? You do seem quite confident to me.”

His mouth falls open in shock as he points at himself “Me!?” Sean’s mind flies through every memory in his life in which his self-critical mind rules his actions. He’s been a steaming mess of nerves and self-criticism for as long he can remember, he delves into his mind to try and explain his usual anxious state to the doctor. Only, whenever he focuses too much he hears the echo of Dr. Lucien’s words, you do seem quite confident to me. Hands shaking, as he remembers he sees his memories begin to change. 

All throughout school his time hiding towards the back of class to avoid the gaze of bullies is washed away as Lucien’s appraisal of confidence washes over him. No, he survived not by hiding but by being louder, standing taller. He feels pain in his right hand as he sees a memory of him punching out a particularly cruel adversary. He feels his knuckles reshape as they heal from being broken on another man’s face. 

Wait? What’s the problem, he is confident? He’s always been confident. He sees the vision of himself as a wallflower at a bar when he met Kyle. His brow furrows as he can scarcely recognize himself being pulled onto the dance floor by the bleary eyed jock. And then he remembers that isn’t what happened at all! Blush burns clear on his face as whatever meek shred of self remains is rife with embarrassment as he sees himself approach Kyle at the bar and begin grinding on him. 

Just before he starts getting too worked up from the memory, he shakes off his distraction and clears his throat, “Woah uh, sorry doctor what was your question?” The man at the desk simply smiles, “Do you feel confident, Sean?” Sitting back down the twink makes a weird smirk, as if the question were something that needn’t be answered, “I mean, yeah?” Gesturing to himself exactly as he did when confidence was the furthest thing from his sense of self, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

image?

“Very good!” the therapist’s eyes are hidden by his glasses but judging by the smile Sean assumes him to be very pleased. He continues onto the next question, “Oh looks like we’re getting into it now. What do you hope to achieve from your couples counseling sessions.” Sean racks his mind wondering what Kyle could have written. Fixing our compatibility maybe? Keeping it up? Sean almost laughs at the idea before Lucien raises his eyebrows and reads what his boyfriend wrote, “Oh my! Well no way forward but head on. Kyle says ‘For Sean to learn how to chill out.’”

While his confidence is now boosted to excess, such a change does nothing to Sean’s perpetual high strung state. One can almost hear that too-taut string keeping him composed snap as he recalls the face he saw on his boyfriend as he left the waiting room. Bolting up he shouts, “Chill out!?”  Dr. Lucien watches tepidly, taking a sip of tea while his client paces the small office, railing against his boyfriend. Half-tuning the ranting man out as he goes on and on about how his energy is the only thing keeping them together, Lucien sits and waits for Sean to tucker himself out.

Arranging papers on his desk, Lucien looks out over his glasses to see Sean has worked off enough of his anger and now simply sulks. Ready to get on with it Lucien launches his volley, “So, do you agree you could chill out more Mr. Gilroy?” 

Sean meets that with a sneer though he is promptly struck with a horrible headache. Chill out. The past few minutes of his life rewind through his head and he grimaces at how intense he was? How on edge he was and how he was making it everyone else's problem. Maybe- Maybe he could stand to take it down a few degrees. His shoulders crack as his posture shifts to something more relaxed. Thin chest held high now accompanied by shoulders never raised in anxiety.

Finding every spot of tension across his body soothing unnaturally, relaxing all at once, he sinks into the chair behind him like a puddle as his history begins to change yet again. The GPA he graduated with, one he was always proud of shoots down a few digits. Not from stupidity, sharp as a razor he remains, but from apathy. Sleeping through 8 AMs on the reg and only putting in an effort when there was a consequence hanging directly over himself. He remembers many times his usually chill boyfriend had to put out all the stops to get him to do an assignment.

Pawing at his crotch, his mind latches onto his boyfriend, now apparently the more enthusiastic of the two. He sees someone who looks just like himself struggling to get Kyle ready and out the door for his date, then the memory shifts to their new reality. He sees himself watching some trash on the TV, clothes straining from a slightly less maintained figure as Kyle does a paltry job trying to get his boyfriend excited for his date.

Smirking as he sees just how affected Sean has been from the session already, Lucien almost laughs as he sees the man scratch his crotch like an animal. Chilled out indeed! The therapist sees a small belly appear on the man though reading ahead it seems that is soon to get fixed, “Well let’s get on with it then. I’m sure you’d like to get this wrapped up soon hm, Mr. Gilroy?”

Sean doesn’t even dignify the doctor with words, just waving him ahead nonplussed. “Very well! Onto the final question! What is something you wish your partner did.” The patient purses his lips, he feels he should have a problem that this survey apparently only has three questions and that they were these three at that. But he simply can’t bring himself to care, when met with the idea that this final one is going to be things for him to do for Kyle he frowns as the impulse to do nothing has never been more compelling. 

That is soon to change, skimming the response Lucien finds that Kyle must have spent most of his time on this response, not surprising given how apathetic he was to the process. Lucien fights back a smile when he imagines the man seeing what his boyfriend has become at his own hand, though who knows how he too will be molded. But he’s getting ahead of himself, hemming to himself he goes so far as to scratch off part of the answer he’s disinterested in, knowing that Sean clearly couldn’t care less. “Ah! Here’s one for you Mr. Gilroy, ‘Wish he would hit the gym more with me.”

Sean frowns noncommittal and nods in agreement, he could stand to lose a few. Then his blood starts pumping. He sits up straight once more and his dull eyes get wide as he feels himself surging with energy, his arms start to burn as he clutches at his chest. Sweat pours down his long hair as it pulls into something less obstructive towards his pursuit of gains. 

Going to fan his shirt as his clothes are quickly soaked through he finds his arms struggling against his sleeves as they quickly bulk large enough to impede his range of motion. Soon enough they burst free, exposing sweaty pits as his chest too surges larger, bursting open the neat top he threw on for the couples therapy session he had long been awaiting. Looking down at his torn clothes, Sean then turns his attention to the therapist, having been barely listening he asks, “Sorry, did you say go to the gym more?” 

Lucien’s teeth gleam as he smiles, “Seems to be what he wrote, Sean.” The once-twink crosses his arms in thought, sending matching tears down his back as his whole chest widens and traps burst above his shoulders. Abs hide under the remnants of his shirt as he adjusts his seat to more comfortably hold the perfect bubble butt above his mouth-watering thighs. 

“Ah and here lies the root of most disputes Mr. Gilroy, finances! ‘I wish he would stop wasting so much money on his appearance’” Sean rolls his eyes, he barely does that to begin with! Sitting there steaming in his own sweat he racks his mind to recall what this could even refer to, much of his superfluous spending on manicures and face washes having already been dropped when he chilled out. Scratching his cheek he feels the scritch of stubble and figures that must be what he meant.

He always thought Kyle liked him hairless, but if he insists. Stubble lancing onto his face quickly shapes into a beard as he sits there contemplating what Kyle wants. The curls already extant in his pits expand and lengthen as they long to spread down his bicep and over towards his chest. For now though, they lie content as similar forests pop up everywhere they’re able. Curls pattern his meaty pecs as pubes quickly curl around his crotch, up towards his abs and onto his thighs with expediency. 

Sean rubs his new sweaty fur with delight as he sits there rapt in changes he is worlds away from understanding. Seeing the last message written by Kyle, Lucien can’t help but editorialize, “And last but certainly not least,” corrected in deep red ink from wish Sean would top more the doctor launches the final nail into the coffin, “I wish Kyle was more dominant, like the top he is.”

The top he is. The platonic ideal of a top flashes into his mind, big dicked, muscled up, and always ready to fuck. He clenches his jaw as his body begins following the blueprint he laid for himself. Hairy arms bulking up even more as they go to handle a cock that is already pushing against the briefs that were almost too roomy when he walked into this office. The elastic band snaps free as his dick swings into the open air, flinging pre onto the floor as he moans heartily.

His brows thicken and hang over his eyes as his expression becomes one of almost perpetual sneering. Surging taller he is filled with new ideas about asserting his dominance, always standing over his bottom, always displaying his masculinity in every way he can. Skin tight tanks that allow his pits to breathe, that allow his musk to proliferate. He can feel his hard cock poking into the back of Kyle as they stand to take a thirst trap together, his hand on the man’s throat. 

Biting his lip at the idea his hips begin bucking out of his control as he is unable to prevent himself from losing control at the height of his ecstatic transformation. And so he does, loosing load after load into the couple counselor’s office. Lucien simply watches in glee as the twink finishes becoming the monkey’s pawed version that Kyle asked for. Self-conscious and type A no longer. Lucien can’t help but laugh at the burly man rubbing cum into his new body hair with abandon. And then checking his watch, he figures it's time to turn the tables.

Lucien claps and the room changes at once, cleaned up from the mess Sean made with his release. So too does a new outfit appear on him, one befitting his new appearance and temperament. Beanie hiding his short sweaty hair, a stringer allowing him to show off at will, and sweatpants drenched. One would assume he was at the gym rather than a therapy session, though it seems  The massive new top shakes his head as if awaking from an intense dream as Lucien coyly speaks up, “Seems I lost ya for a second there Mr. Gilroy. But that’s alright, I believe we are done with this part of the session, wouldn’t you agree”

Sean just scratches his pecs and motions for the therapist to get on with it, “Whatever doc, if that means I’m good to go then fine. This shit’s just as much a waste of my time as I knew it’d be.” Lucien pretends to make a few notes as Sean stands with quite a bit of effort, totally unaccustomed to moving in a body over a foot taller and hundreds of pounds heavier. “You are indeed good to go sir, though, if you are interested I do have a copy of that form for you to fill out for Kyle, if you are so inclined?”

Hand on the door, the promise of inconveniencing his boyfriend as much as Kyle did to him, Sean feels himself turn with a decidedly unkind smile. “You don’t say doc?” He makes his way over, heavy footsteps stomping as he casts a shadow over the seeded therapist. “Can I borrow your red pen?” Lucien meets the man’s expression with his own predatory grin, “Be my guest Mr. Gilroy!” 

From behind his glasses he watches as Sean crosses out Kyle’s name and rewrites it Ky. His grin grows wider, he thought Sean’s transformation was the only bit of fun he’d get today, should’ve remembered that every street goes both ways. Watching the brutish man crunched over the form, the doctor can’t wait to walk Kyle through the life his top imagines for him.

[arc-misadventures]

Demon Sisters

Ren: Dammit!

Jaune: That noble bastard whore!

Ren: He told us to clear up a small cult! Two, three people tops! I've lost count of how many people I've killed!

Jaune: At least fifty three in total!

Ren: You're keeping count?!

Jaune: Yes. Fifty four!

Ren: Why?!

Jaune: Cause I'm going to make that fat noble prick pay a gold coin for every cultist we've killed! And, if he refuses, it'll be one punch per dead cultist!

Ren: We split the punches fifty fifty?

Jaune: Hell yeah we will!

Ren: Awesome! Let's do this!

~~~

Ren: Haa haa haa... What... Haa... What's the count?

Jaune: One... Ohh boy... One hundred, and seventy two...

Ren: One hundred, and seventy two gold coins, or one hundred, and seventy two punches... I'm not sure which one I want more!

Jaune: A hundred, and seventy gold coins, two punches if he refuses. Or, two for the hell of it!

Ren: Hell yeah!

Jaune: But, money aside... The hell is with this cult...? When they came running at us most of them were unarmed, little knives at the best, then they grabbed whatever weapons they found along the way.

Ren: I know cultist tend to be... fanatical... But, when they came running at us, I didn't get that fanatical zeal when they were charging towards us. It was more frantic if anything.

Jaune: Their screams... They didn't sound crazy, but... they sounded scared.

Ren: Yeah... They weren't running towards us, more like they were running away from something, and we just happened to be in their way.

Jaune: Hmm... We haven't seen any of the upper echelon, much less the cult leader, just the peons...

Ren: Yeah... Something feels wrong... Very wrong.

Jaune: Agreed. Stay on your guard, we're walking in blind.

Ren: Always.

~~~

Ren: Okay, seems to be leading to end of the little cult hideoooooooooout...

Ren: Oh...

Ren: Hey, Jaune, I figured out what the cultists were running from!

Jaune: Let me guess: They preformed a ritual to summon a being of unimaginable power to obtain unimaginable power in turn. However, the being they summoned didn't give them squat, and instead killed them all, and is just standing there gloating over a pile of bloody corpses waiting for a tag of foolish heroes to come by, and fight them?

Ren: Yes. But, the being they summoned was a demon.

Jaune: Typical summoned creature during a cult ritual. Shame though, I was hoping for an eldritch monster personally, I'm tired of dealing with demons.

Ren: Yeah, but uhh... There's... There's two demons instead of one.

Jaune: Peachy.

Ren: But, uhhh...?

Jaune: What's uhhh?

Ren: Well...

Jaune: What's, 'Uhhh?'

Jaune: Oh... They're, 'Uhhh.'

Ren: Uhhh... Shit...

Jaune: That's one way to say it.

: Oh? What's this? Look sister! A group of adventures are here to kill us~!

: Adventurers? Maybe we'll be able to have some fun dealing with these two than those pathetic little cultist.

Jaune: Uhh... W-We're just here to deal with the cultists.

Ren: And, we're told they're just be two cultists not... What's the final count?

Jaune: Two hundred, and thirteen.

Ren: Two hundred and thirteen cultist, and two demons wasn't in out contract!

Jaune: And, we don't get hazard pay for this either!

Ren: Since when have we ever gotten hazard pay?

Jaune: Exactly! So, we're just going to go.

Ren: See you later!

: Uh uh uh!

Ren: They've blocked the exit...

Jaune: Cue the boss music...

: The cultists didn't sacrificed enough to myself, and my sister for us to remain in the material world for a few more hours. So while we're here we would like some... Entertainment~!

Jaune: Boss music intensifies...

Ren: Alright then! Bring it!

: Ahahah~! Sheath your weapons, we're not interested in any fight. Well, I can't speak for my sister, I'm more interested in something else~!

Ren: She's looking at you.

Jaune: I can tell, Ren.

: Tell me, Sir Knight, what is your name?

Jaune: My name is Jaune Arc! Paladin of the order of the Summer Maiden!

: A paladin?!

: Of the Summer Maiden~?

Jaune: Now, I've told you my name, what are yours?

: Oh how rude of me, my name is Bleiss, Demon of the Ashen Snow. And this is my sister...

: My name is, Weiss, Demon of the Frozen Snow!

Bleiss: And, I think dear sister, we have found our... Entertainment~!

Weiss: Indeed we did sister~!

Jaune: ...

Ren: ...

Jaune: They're talking about...

Ren: They're talking about you, yes.

Jaune: Alright...

Ren: Okay, ladies! I'm going to leave, I'll leave my friend here with you. Try not to break them, Jaune.

Jaune: Should you be saying that to them about me?

Ren: Jaune, what happened to that, Greater Demon we met?

Jaune: She gave me her card?

Ren: She went away with a lim… She gave you her card?!

Jaune: Yeah, it's a summing card incase I want to...

Ren: Smash?

Jaune: Yeah...

Ren: ...

Ren: Okay, I'm going, I’ll see you later at the bar after I beat up that noble.

Jaune: Okay, see you later, Ren!

Jaune: Okay so... How do you want to do this ladies~?

Weiss: Hold on, you slept with a greater demon?

Bleiss: And she gave you a 'booty call card~?'

Jaune: Uhh... yeah...

Bleiss: Oh my, that's certainly an achievement~!

Weiss: Tell us, what was this greater demons name~?

Jaune: W-Willow the Greater Demon of the Ember Snow.

Bleiss: W-Willow the Greater Demon...?

Weiss: Of the Ember Snow...?

Jaune: Uhh... Yeah, that's the one.

Bleiss: That's our mom...

Jaune: She's you're what...?

Weiss: You fuck our mom...

Jaune: I did what?!

Bleiss: And, you got her card...?

Jaune: Seriously, Willow is your mother?

WB: ...

WB: DIBS!!!

Jaune: Whoa hey?!

[sailoryuns]

INAMORATA ─── PSH

genre. idol!sunghoon x model!f!reader | established relationship

warnings. angst, fluff (moreso towards the end), smut, accusations of cheating, hoon being lowkey toxic, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, some mentions of crying, not proofread wc -> 1.5k

ps. the position i’m referring to is this (nsfw link), i usually hate vids but this was rly good imo.

“i think we should take a break...” you admit, voice growing shakier as you spoke. this was never something you wish to say in a million years, you wanted this relationship to work more than anything. but you were at your wits end with everything, talking to sunghoon was like conversing with the wall, never fully grasping any of your concerns.

you noticed the cracks beginning to seep in the midst of six months of being with him. he would often be dishonest of his whereabouts, saying he was out late due to “work” but was actually out drinking at some bar with jake or something. it made no sense for him to lie about such trivial things but he does it without even thinking. this was supposed to be a lovely vacation in paris together but lately you’ve grown tired of feeling like you’re unappreciated. a break from each other might be the best solution in getting his act together once and for all.

sunghoon felt his whole body turn limp as you uttered those words. not only was he blindsided by your decision, but you never indicated before to him that you were ready to propose such a drastic idea. “but why though? don’t you think this is a bit random? i mean this came out of nowhere y/n, i thought everything was good between us, why are you suddenly saying this now?” his thick, bushy brows furrowed in confusion, he wasn’t letting you off this easy and you know it.

“i just think it’s for the better right now hoon, we’re both so busy. we have a lot on our plate, especially you… and this relationship is just— it’s only putting more strain on everythi-”

“are you serious y/n? do you hear yourself? i knew what i was getting myself into the day i asked you to be my girlfriend. i’m well aware that i can’t be with you 24/7, and neither can you—however, i don’t expect that anyway. all i ever wanted was to have you by my side, i want to work through the hardships with you but if you’re so willing to give up like this then… i don’t know. i don’t even know what to say to this honestly..” sunghoon couldn’t help but cut you off, once his emotions take over, all sense of logic and reasoning is thrown out the window.

he was never one to question his worth in the eyes of his partner, but you were his longest relationship, he saw you as his first and only true love. it never occurred to him that he could lose you, the possibility of this break lasting long enough to make your love fade away was a scary revelation. there had to be a way he could fix this, he couldn’t bear to be without you.

“are you seeing someone else? maybe that’s why you’ve been so distant towards me lately…” he wanted to scream for saying that out loud but at least he got it off his chest. he knows how petty it sounds but he didn’t care, he wanted you to give him answers.

“no! i’m not seeing other people, i don’t have an interest in anyone but you sunghoon. i want to do this for the sake of us, we’re clearly not where we need to be and this break could help with getting us back on track and spending time apart could be beneficial.” you try your best to articulate your words properly but he remained unconvinced, he wasn’t on board with any bit of this.

how could you even be okay with something like this? spending time away from you drove him absolutely insane, he couldn’t fathom taking a break—not from someone as important as you in his life. he just needed to remind you that the love was still there, though it may be but a dull flame, he could ignite the spark again, with the little bit of hope he had left.

the foundation of your relationship was built from shared interests, since you both are part of professions that rely heavily on looks, you refused to see each other based solely off those superficial aspects. instead you got to know each other’s minds, your core values and beliefs, what mattered to you the most. you cherished every one of those deep conversations you shared together, it was a beautiful experience, an indescribable memory that shaped your bond forever.

so why is it now that you feel this way? was he really that oblivious to everything? he should’ve done more to prevent this but now he fears it’s too late. he’s faced with the conundrum of losing you and there wasn’t much time for him to stall or ask for a chance of redemption, he couldn’t waste another second.

“fuck that,” sunghoon angrily spat, his face contorting into a look of pure disgust. “you’re not going anywhere.” he reaches out to grab your waist before you could walk away, aggressively pulling you into his chest.

no matter how much you attempt to escape his hold, he’s not letting you go in the slightest. he’s much stronger than you, could easily lift you up without breaking a sweat. there was no use in fighting, you had no choice but to give in and let this conversation go. once his lips crashed into yours, everything faded to black. as if a simple kiss was the cure-all of mending this decrepit relationship.

sunghoon’s forehead pressed against yours as he pulled away, “shhh, lye down baby,” he hushes your quiet mewls, instructing you to do as he says. “gonna make you feel so good,” his hands slid under your skirt, gently rubbing over your clothed core “you’ll forget everything.”

* :.･ﾟﾟ･ ✿

“oh my- fuckk, sunghoon!” you cry out, almost on the verge of tears just from how skilled he is, rutting your hips upwards into his mouth as he devours you whole.

the pace of his tongue is relentless, roughly lapping up all your juices like he’s the most starved man alive. you’ve lost count at the amount of times he’s already made you come undone just from his mouth alone. your body’s buzzing with titillation, all you can do is scream and clench your pussy around nothing while he fiercely sucks on your clit.

you couldn’t stop twitching, feeling yet another orgasm approaching. your legs anchored over his shoulders, unable to think or speak coherent sentences as his face was fully buried into your sloppy cunt. he relaxes his jaw a bit more, going all the way from the bottom inching further up as he comes back in contact with your puffy clit. at any given moment it feels as if your heart’s about to stop.

“hoon-” your heads thrown back into the pillow, digging your nails into his shoulder blades from how overly sensitive you are. “n-need to cum.. can feel it. m’so close.” it surprises you when you’re able to even express such words.

a low grunt can be heard underneath, sunghoon loves hearing you— it’s arguably the best part about going down on you. the hand that wasn’t occupied went straight to gripping a fistful of his ebony hair, continuously moaning his name so loud that you genuinely feel bad for whomever the unlucky people that got to hear this.

just when you thought it couldn’t get anymore intense, he slips 2 of his slender fingers inside, making you gasp from the overwhelming sensation. flashes of white invade your vision, violently shaking as your lips form an “o” in the throes of ecstasy. sunghoon knows your body so well that this is nothing for him, he’s got it all down to a simple science. no one knows your body like he does, and especially no one can make you cum as hard as he can.

“go ahead, make a mess for me baby,” he strongly encourages, picking up his pace as his digits fuck into you faster. “just gonna clean it up with my tongue all over again.”

your eyes roll back to the depths of oblivion, feeling an out of body experience when reaching your climax. a string of curses leaves your shaky breath, limbs trembling and faint tears stain your flushed cheeks. sunghoon slows his movements, rubbing his thumb over your clit gently to make you even more sensitive. you love the way he calls you “good girl” and how proud the look on his face becomes while you ride out your orgasm on his fingers. he doesn’t stop showering you with compliments, only ramping up his affection as he plants fleeting kisses to your thighs, hips, and stomach.

once he’s finally come back up for air you grab his face to pull him into your lips again. moaning in his mouth while getting a taste of yourself was probably the hottest thing sunghoon’s ever witnessed.

“can’t believe this is all mine.” sunghoon whispers against you, gently massaging your aching thighs. “i love you so much, baby.”

“love you too hoon.” you instantly say back, feeling more at ease now that things are somewhat back to normal.

maybe a break isn’t necessary after all, how else would you be able to have such earth shattering orgasms?

- 完 ♡︎

[neontiger]

everywhere, everything

♡Jason Todd x reader

♡Fluff. Shopping with Jason Todd. Risqué hand-holding and forehead kisses, oh my!

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The sun and Jason Todd were a rare combination you couldn't get enough of. You were so used to seeing him under dim streetlights or the glare of cheap LEDs that now in the brightness of the afternoon you were struggling to keep your eyes anywhere but him as you walked through the arcade. His hand keeps a protective grip on your hip to hold you close through the crowds. There's a serious expression stuck on his face, as if this is a mission he'd rather be in uniform for and not simply a Sunday shopping trip.

You reach up and pinch his cheek. The seriousness in his eyes doesn't wane, but it's tinged with slight irritation when he narrows them at you. If it wasn't for the corner of his lip twitching you'd actually believe he was upset. "Couple more stores," you say. "Can you handle that?"

Jason makes a face. You reach up again, this time to ruffle the bangs that hang messily over his forehead. He grabs your hand and brings it to his mouth to bite the tips of your fingers gently.

You elbow him in the ribs, knocking him off-balance. His hand leaves your waist, and you take the opportunity to storm ahead of him, slipping into the crowd.

He's never far behind, hands fisted into the pockets of his leather jacket. Your steps take on a rhythm. You know he's watching the way your ass sways in your dress. The fabric clings in a way that's better suited for a night out, but Jason likes it on you too much for it to stay stuffed in your closet.

You glance over your shoulder as you pull open the door to a bookstore. Blue-green eyes meet yours for the briefest moment before a family of five passes loudly between the two of you, and you take advantage of the distraction to slip inside and disappear.

Inside is calm and quiet, shoppers milling about the shelves. Music plays low over the speakers and from the café the scent of warm coffee wafts over towards you, mingling with the familiar smell of paper. You wander among the books, gaze dragging over the spines, mind elsewhere.

His presence is felt before his hand even grabs yours. It's like a weight on your soul, a squeeze on your heart that causes a skipped beat, a flutter in your stomach. His fingers lace through yours and tug you back to him.

"Don't run away from me." Jason pinches your chin. You scrunch your nose and narrow your eyes, a cat caught in its owner's arms, but you don't pull away. Arms wrap and capture you in a tight embrace, and he kisses your forehead, the smack of his lips against your skin loud enough to be embarrassing.

He smells like...musk, citrus... and nightfall, which to you is a mixture of cold city air and gunpowder. More a feeling than a true scent, but it's wholly him. Your hands find their way under his jacket, under the plain black shirt, to brush against the skin of his back. Fingertips trace muscle and scars, paint small circles as he keeps you close.

You break the embrace. Jason couldn't; the air is heavy with words unsaid, kept behind teeth tightly clenched. You take his hand and lead him. This time, his eyes are glued somewhere more appropriate...on that tangle of fingers, yours through his. How much smaller your hand is. All the thoughts in his head swirl into one: keeping you safe.

"Are we looking for something?" His eyes dart up to your face, catching the concentration in your expression as you're now reading the book spines. He glances at them, but nothing stands out.

You shrug. "Anything interesting."

Now he's concentrating, looking for the answer in the hardcovers. Something you'd like. It has to be him that finds it. The desire to be useful burns in his fingers and toes, twists his heart tight.

If he's not useful, then what is he to you?

You stop, a particular title catching your eye. Jason frowns when you pull the book from the shelf, but remains quiet, reading the blurb on the inside of the jacket from over your shoulder. A romance, set in the future. The promise of rain and heartbreak.

"Really?" Jason cocks an eyebrow.

"Why not? Sounds good." You close the book and hug it to your chest in one arm, the way they taught you in elementary school. "Maybe you can read it with me."

He nods but won't admit out loud how much he wants to. You take his hand to lead him once more, this time towards the back of the store, away from the crowds at the café and registers.

Quiet, except for the low hum of the music. You step away from him but don't let go of his hand, and he uses that to tug you back. His free hand grabs your waist as his body crowds you against the shelf of books pertaining to European history.

Jason dips his head down. This time his lips meet yours, for a kiss that starts short and sweet but inevitably evolves into one that has you clutching your book in one hand and his bicep in the other. His tongue smooths over yours. Hearts beat a weighted pattern, both anxious and overstimulated, with purpose and need.

"Jay," you whisper, on a rare breath. He pauses, eyes sat on your mouth as it shapes around the nickname.

He wants to go home. He won't say it because he doesn't think it's what you want, and he'll follow you wherever you like until you're tired. His wants are coated in selfishness anyway, instead of proper reasons.

Your head rolls back against the shelf. Despite what Jason thinks, it's not hard to tell what's on his mind. "Maybe we should go home. I'm getting kind of tired."

He nods. "Me too."

You're a weakness. He knows it's not right, not safe, to have you like this. You're his heart, and one stray bullet, one misstep, and this world - you, his entire world - comes crashing down around him.

He furrows his brow. You catch it, the almost imperceptible movement, but before you can speak, his lips are closing on yours in another kiss.