#closes eyes pinches nose sighs in mild amusement

[one-shitpost-a-day]

tried to open youtube to check whether sad-ist posted anything and i got as far as the search bar

[novaursa]

A Lion's Leap (flight of fancy)

- Summary: The king announces the betrothal of his youngest daughter, you, to Tyland Lannister. But even the Lannister Lord is taken off guard, as there has been some miscommunication regarding the proposal.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Previous part: peace is a Targaryen illusion

- Next part: unplanned, unbroken

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @misspendragonsworld

The dining hall was filled with the clinking of silverware and the low murmur of conversation as your family finally gathered for a quiet meal. Tyland, visibly relieved to have everyone safely back at Casterly Rock, was halfway through his meal, savoring the rare moment of calm.

Young Daemon and Alyssa, fresh from their impromptu dragon race across Westeros, were seated across from you, looking a little too smug and, frankly, a little too energized. You had just leaned over to refill Tyland’s goblet when Daemon piped up, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“So, Mother, Father,” he began casually, his tone far too innocent, “you’ll never guess who we encountered on our way to Storm’s End.”

Tyland paused, fork halfway to his mouth, giving his son a wary look. “Oh? Do tell.”

Alyssa leaned forward, grinning. “Uncle Aemond. He was on Vhagar.”

The entire hall seemed to freeze for a split second. Tyland’s fork dropped back onto his plate with a clatter as he processed what his daughter had just said.

“Uncle... Aemond,” he repeated slowly, as if hoping he’d misheard. “On... Vhagar. And what, precisely, did you do?”

Daemon shrugged, taking a bite of bread with the most casual expression in the world. “Nothing much, really. Just raced him a little. Played with him in the sky. You know, family bonding.”

Tyland’s mouth opened, then closed, as if he was trying to find the right response and failing spectacularly. “Family... bonding? With Aemond? While riding Vhagar?”

Alyssa nodded enthusiastically, barely containing her laughter. “Oh, yes. Vhagar looked a bit annoyed with us, actually. At one point, she even crashed into one of Storm’s End’s towers. It was a... close encounter.”

Tyland visibly paled, his hand slowly lowering the goblet he’d been about to drink from. “You’re telling me that you... you crashed Aemond and Vhagar into Storm’s End?”

Daemon snorted, trying to hide a grin. “Oh, it was just a nudge, really. Viseron and Grey Ghost were simply showing her who’s faster.”

Alyssa leaned in, looking far too pleased with herself. “Uncle Aemond didn’t seem to take it well. He was shouting, something about us ‘interfering with his duties.’” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Honestly, he could stand to loosen up a bit.”

Tyland pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. “Loosen up… loosen up. My children ‘nudged’ the largest dragon in Westeros into a tower and left their half-uncle seething. This is what they call a ‘casual encounter.’”

You hid a smirk, nudging him gently. “They’re just proving themselves as true Targaryens, Tyland. It’s tradition.”

Tyland shot you a look that was half-amused, half-pleading. “Tradition? This family’s ‘traditions’ are going to be the end of me.” He turned back to the kids, his voice a touch more serious. “And what if Aemond had, oh, I don’t know... retaliated?”

Daemon scoffed, waving a hand. “Oh, please, Father. We had it all under control. Besides, Aemond doesn’t scare that easily. Well, he does when Grey Ghost and Viseron team up against Vhagar.”

Alyssa snickered, giving her brother a fist bump. “Did you see his face when he realized we’d turned back west and left him behind?”

Tyland let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off a headache. “Wonderful. My children are causing diplomatic incidents in midair and taunting their half-uncle on the largest dragon in Westeros. I can already hear the ravens arriving with complaints.”

You chuckled, placing a hand over Tyland’s and giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Look at it this way, love. They’re just proving that they can handle themselves—and maybe teach Aemond a lesson in humility along the way.”

Tyland looked at you, his mouth quirking in a resigned smile. “Handling themselves is one thing. Turning Storm’s End into a battlefield because they thought it’d be ‘fun’ is another.”

Daemon and Alyssa exchanged grins, entirely unfazed by their father’s distress. Alyssa leaned back, stretching her arms with a satisfied sigh. “Well, I suppose we should be proud, right? Not every day you send Vhagar and Aemond scrambling.”

Tyland shook his head, but a reluctant smile crept onto his face as he watched his children, clearly too proud to stay mad. “Only my children would consider taunting Aemond and Vhagar to be an afternoon sport.”

Daemon shrugged with a grin. “We aim to keep things interesting, Father.”

With a sigh and a chuckle, Tyland raised his goblet in a toast, the last of his frustrations melting away. “To interesting times, then. May we survive them.”

And as laughter filled the hall, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for your children—and a little sympathy for Aemond, who was likely still picking pieces of Storm’s End out of his armor.

When Aemond returned to King’s Landing, the mood was anything but light. He stormed into the Red Keep, his one eye blazing with fury and his armor still flecked with bits of stone and dust from his less-than-graceful landing at Storm’s End. It was all he could do to grit his teeth as servants scrambled to clear a path for him, and more than a few cast nervous glances at the faint scorch marks on his cloak, courtesy of Vhagar’s impatient maneuvers.

By the time he reached the council chambers, where his mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, his grandsire Otto Hightower, and his brother, King Aegon, were gathered, Aemond was practically vibrating with frustration.

Alicent looked up, immediately noticing his disheveled appearance. “Aemond,” she gasped, rushing to him with concern. “What happened? You look as though you’ve flown through a storm.”

“Or into one,” Aegon snickered, lounging on his chair and looking thoroughly amused. He took in the state of his brother’s attire, eyebrow raised. “Care to explain why you look like a tower fell on you, dear brother?”

Aemond shot Aegon a glare that could have curdled milk. “Because a tower did fall on me, thanks to those meddling Lannister-Targaryen whelps,” he spat. “Tyland’s children. They intercepted me on my way to Storm’s End and decided it would be… amusing to taunt me and Vhagar.”

Otto leaned forward, his expression tightening. “Tyland’s children? Alyssa and young Daemon? What were they doing near Storm’s End?”

“Apparently using it as their personal racetrack,” Aemond growled, crossing his arms. “They swooped in, taunted me, and made a mockery of the whole situation. And Vhagar... well, she’s not exactly designed for their little games. The result was... less than dignified.”

Aegon burst out laughing, unable to contain himself. “So, let me get this straight—two Lannister’s on smaller dragons managed to rile up Vhagar and get you to crash into a tower?” He shook his head, chuckling. “Oh, Aemond, that is rich. I would have paid good coin to see that.”

Aemond’s glare deepened, his face turning a shade of red that would have made a dragon proud. “Laugh all you want, but Lord Borros was less than pleased to find half of his tower crumbled on account of my... ‘landing.’ He was ranting about ‘disrespect to his castle’ and demanded to know how I would compensate him for the repairs.”

Otto sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “Wonderful. So not only did you fail to complete your task without incident, but now we have a disgruntled Baratheon to appease.”

Alicent looked pained, glancing between her sons. “Aemond, I don’t understand why Tyland’s children would risk such an encounter. Surely they knew what... difficulties this could cause?”

Aemond threw his hands up in exasperation. “Difficulties? They were enjoying themselves! Laughing and darting around Vhagar like it was all a game. They even called it ‘family bonding’ as they maneuvered her into the tower.”

Aegon couldn’t help himself; he laughed even harder. “They called it ‘family bonding’? Gods, that’s brilliant. I’m beginning to like these two more and more.”

Otto’s face tightened with displeasure as he looked over at Aegon, his voice cold. “This is not a laughing matter, Aegon. These antics are not only reckless but a direct challenge to your rule. Tyland’s children mocking Aemond? What message does that send to our allies?”

Aegon shrugged, still grinning. “Perhaps that my dear brother needs to learn how to handle a bit of friendly family rivalry.” He smirked at Aemond, clearly relishing his discomfort. “Or at least learn how to keep his dragon from knocking down a tower.”

Alicent placed a calming hand on Aemond’s shoulder, though her expression was laced with worry. “Aemond, perhaps it would be wise to consider this an isolated incident. The Lannister children… well, they are still young like you. Surely they meant no true harm.”

Aemond huffed, his jaw clenched. “Young or not, they’re Tyland’s children, and they need to learn respect.” He shot Otto a look of simmering anger. “And if they’re this bold now, who’s to say what they’ll do next?”

Otto nodded, looking thoughtful. “We’ll need to consider this carefully. An alliance with the Baratheons could be at risk if Lord Borros feels slighted by the royal family’s behavior.”

Aegon snickered, leaning back in his seat. “Perhaps we send Aemond back with a new tower for Lord Borros. Maybe he can make it there without another collision.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, and he looked ready to launch into a full-blown tirade. But before he could, Otto raised a hand to silence him. “Enough. We will handle the Baratheons diplomatically. And Aemond,” Otto added with a warning look, “perhaps it’s time to rethink how we engage with our kin in these... unexpected encounters.”

Aemond muttered something dark under his breath, but nodded reluctantly. Meanwhile, Aegon, still thoroughly entertained, leaned over to Alicent with a smirk.

“Mother, I do believe these Targaryen-Lannister whelps might just become my favorite relatives,” he whispered, chuckling as he watched Aemond sulk in his chair, stone dust still clinging to his armor.

And so, with a mix of frustration and laughter, the council dispersed, leaving Aemond fuming and Aegon thoroughly amused. Aegon couldn’t resist one last jab as they exited the hall. “Next time, dear brother, try keeping up with our nephew and niece, eh?”

The sun was setting over the gardens of Casterly Rock as you strolled arm-in-arm with Tyland. For once, everything seemed peaceful. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, and Tyland was even smiling, a rare look of pure contentment on his face.

“Isn’t it nice?” he murmured, squeezing your hand as you walked down the garden path. “Just the two of us, no interruptions, no sheep falling from the sky…”

You chuckled, leaning into him. “Yes, it is rare, isn’t it? Just us.”

He paused, looking down at you with a soft smile. “I’ve missed these moments with you. Sometimes it feels as if we’re surrounded by chaos—dragons, children, Targaryen family politics…”

“Ah,” you teased, “but you love it. Admit it. Life would be dull without a little Targaryen chaos.”

Tyland gave you a look that was half amused, half resigned. “Perhaps I could manage with a little less of it.”

Just as he leaned in, ready to kiss you, a loud rumble shook the ground, followed by a resounding crash that echoed through the garden. Tyland froze, his shoulders slumping. “Please tell me that was just thunder,” he muttered, though he didn’t sound remotely convinced.

You turned toward the noise, sighing. “That was definitely not thunder.”

As if on cue, Viseron’s massive, bronze-scaled head appeared over a nearby hedge, his golden-green eyes gleaming with mischief. He was holding something in his jaws, and as he lowered his head, it became clear it was… the statue of some old Lannister ancestor, now missing its head.

Tyland groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, for the love of… not again, Viseron!”

Viseron let out a low rumble that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, dropping the statue in the middle of the garden path with a heavy thud. Dust flew up, coating a few delicate rose bushes, which made the dragon’s antics all the more pronounced.

“Lovely,” Tyland muttered, waving a hand to clear the dust. “It was one of our finest statues, and now it’s... well, it’s headless.”

Viseron, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, nudged the statue’s decapitated head closer to Tyland, as if offering a gift. The dragon’s eyes sparkled with a hint of defiance, almost as if he were daring Tyland to scold him.

You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh. “I think he’s trying to say he’s... helping.”

Tyland gave you a long-suffering look. “Helping? How is this helping?”

You shrugged, grinning. “Who’s to say he doesn’t just appreciate a little remodeling?”

Viseron gave an indignant huff, his nostrils flaring as he nudged the statue head even closer, nearly knocking Tyland off his feet. Tyland stumbled backward, clutching your arm for balance, and muttered, “At this rate, he’ll take down all of Casterly Rock.”

You laughed, patting Viseron’s massive muzzle. “Well, maybe he thought your ancestor looked a bit too... serious.”

Tyland shook his head, clearly torn between annoyance and reluctant amusement. “He’s giving the courtyard a ‘Targaryen touch,’ isn’t he?”

You nodded, patting Tyland’s arm. “Consider it a new kind of alliance, love. Lannister architecture meets Targaryen... flair.”

Viseron let out a satisfied rumble, seeming very pleased with your endorsement. He lifted his head back up, looking around the garden with an air of triumph, as if assessing what else could use a bit of “improvement.”

Tyland held up a hand, his voice rising slightly. “Oh no, that’s quite enough for one day, Viseron. Unless you’re planning to take on the pruning, I’d suggest you... find a quieter way to amuse yourself.”

But Viseron only tilted his head, giving Tyland a pointed look that seemed to say, You can’t stop me, before lumbering back through the garden, his tail knocking over a few decorative urns as he went.

You laughed, pulling Tyland close as you watched the dragon disappear. “There’s never a dull moment, is there?”

Tyland sighed, glancing down at you with a rueful smile. “Not with you, my love. And yet... I suppose I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As you watched Viseron disappear back into the depths of the gardens, causing a few more ominous crashes along the way, you turned to Tyland with a gleam in your eye. “You know,” you began, your voice playful, “since Viseron seems to have taken over the garden, why don’t we go somewhere he can’t interrupt? Silverwing’s nearby… we could go flying together.”

Tyland’s face went pale, his eyes widening in horror as he took an instinctive step back. “Flying? Now? With you… in your condition?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Tyland, I was on dragonback through both of my previous pregnancies.”

He swallowed, trying desperately to come up with a reasonable excuse. “Yes, but… that was different. You were… well, not at war, or… necessary travel. Right now, we’re just… at home. Grounded! Quite literally. No need to be… airborne.”

You laughed, taking his hand. “Come now, Silverwing is as gentle as can be. She adores me, and besides…” you leaned in closer, “she loves you too.”

Tyland gave a strangled sort of laugh, his expression dubious. “Loves me? I’m convinced she’s been eyeing me as a mid-afternoon snack ever since we fled King’s Landing.” He shuddered, clearly remembering the many close encounters with your dragon’s intense, unblinking gaze. “The last time she looked at me, I swear she was… sizing me up.”

“Tyland,” you teased, rolling your eyes, “Silverwing is not going to eat you. She’s sweet and patient. She’d never harm a hair on your head.”

“That’s what you think,” he muttered, his tone a mixture of resignation and barely hidden dread. “But every time I’m near her, she looks at me like… well, like she’s reconsidering.”

You stifled a laugh, looping your arm through his and giving him a reassuring pat. “She only looked at you that way because you were so tense the last time. You know, dragons pick up on fear.”

Tyland gave a resigned sigh, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting Silverwing to suddenly materialize behind him. “Fear or not, I can’t shake the feeling she’s just waiting for the right moment.”

“Well,” you said, unable to hide your amusement, “there’s only one way to get over that, isn’t there? A nice, peaceful flight together.”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, and he gave you a pleading look, as if hoping you might reconsider. “Are you… entirely sure we can’t just go for a stroll instead? A grounded stroll. A quiet one. No dragons involved?”

“Tyland,” you said, leaning in close and giving him a playful nudge, “you’re my husband, the father of dragons. It’s time you embraced your destiny.”

He looked at you, his face a mixture of exasperation and reluctant fondness. “A stroll with Targaryens and their dragons always ends in flight, doesn’t it?”

You only grinned, taking his hand firmly as you began leading him toward the nearby cliffside where Silverwing often sunbathed. “Come on, love. She’ll be thrilled to see you. You might even find you enjoy it.”

Tyland let out a long-suffering sigh, following you with all the air of a man resigned to his fate. “If I end up in her stomach, please tell the children I fought bravely.”

You laughed, giving his hand a squeeze. “Trust me, by the end of this flight, you’ll wonder why you ever hesitated.”

But as Silverwing lifted her head, greeting you with a gentle rumble, Tyland shot her a wary glance, muttering under his breath. “Yes, thrilled to see me. Or thrilled at the thought of finally having me to herself in the sky…”

And despite yourself, you couldn’t help but laugh as the three of you prepared for another unforgettable Targaryen-Lannister adventure.

As you and Tyland made your way toward the rocky cliffs where Silverwing was basking in the afternoon sun, Tyland’s steps grew slower and more hesitant. He shot you a sideways glance, his brows knitted with apprehension. “You know,” he murmured, “I think Silverwing looks perfectly comfortable here on her own. Perhaps it’s best we don’t disturb her…”

You laughed, tightening your hold on his arm and pulling him forward. “Tyland, she’s a dragon. If she didn’t want to be disturbed, we’d know it.”

Silverwing lay sprawled across the rocks, her scales gleaming in the sunlight. Her head was resting on a ledge, one massive eye closed in what seemed to be a blissful nap. But as you approached, that eye cracked open, and she fixed her gaze on Tyland.

Tyland tensed, immediately taking a step back. “Ah, see? She’s looking at me again,” he whispered, his tone slightly panicked. “It’s like she knows I didn’t want to come.”

You rolled your eyes, tugging him closer. “She’s just curious, that’s all. Besides, she likes you, Tyland. She knows you’re part of the family.”

“Part of the family? Or part of the menu?” he muttered, eyeing Silverwing as she let out a slow, rumbling sound that echoed through the rocks.

As if sensing his discomfort, Silverwing tilted her head slightly, her eye narrowing with what almost looked like amusement. You stroked her snout gently, murmuring a few soft words in Valyrian, and Silverwing let out a low rumble, her gaze shifting from you to Tyland and back again.

“See?” you said, giving Tyland an encouraging smile. “She’s perfectly relaxed.”

Tyland looked anything but convinced. “Relaxed, yes. She’s probably thinking about how best to… savor the experience.”

You stifled a laugh. “Tyland, Silverwing is a dragon of peace. She’s sweet, gentle, and not at all inclined toward… dining on family members.”

He gave you a skeptical look. “Then why is she eyeing me like that? I feel like she’s assessing my… flavor profile.”

Ignoring his theatrics, you took his hand and led him closer to Silverwing, who watched his approach with mild interest. As he neared, Tyland took a deep breath, clearly trying to keep his composure. “Right,” he muttered under his breath. “Just a harmless, massive dragon. Nothing to worry about.”

Silverwing let out another low rumble, lifting her head slightly as if inviting you both to approach. You gave her a reassuring pat, then turned to Tyland, smiling. “See? She’s being welcoming.”

Tyland swallowed, casting a wary glance up at Silverwing. “Yes, welcoming. Very… welcoming. But forgive me if I don’t interpret ‘welcoming’ as hovering one’s teeth at face level.”

You laughed, motioning for him to take your hand as you prepared to mount Silverwing’s saddle. “Come on, love. It’s not so bad once you’re up there. Just… hold on tight.”

With a mixture of resignation and reluctance, Tyland climbed up behind you, his arms locking around your waist with a grip that could probably bend steel. “I’m holding on, alright,” he muttered. “You’ll be prying me off when this is over.”

Silverwing adjusted beneath you, her wings stretching slightly as she prepared for takeoff. Tyland’s breath hitched, and he muttered something about making peace with the gods. “I swear,” he whispered into your ear, “if we make it back alive, I’ll never complain about garden strolls again.”

You chuckled, reaching back to squeeze his hand. “Relax, Tyland. Silverwing’s going to give you the smoothest ride you’ve ever had.”

Silverwing let out one final, rumbling sound, as if to say Let’s show him, before launching into the air with a graceful leap. Tyland’s startled yelp was lost in the wind as you both soared over Casterly Rock, his grip tightening as he clung to you for dear life.

The servants and guards of Casterly Rock had grown somewhat accustomed to the unusual since the Targaryen family had made their “extended visit.” They’d endured dragons sunbathing on walls, sheep being used as airborne toys, and the occasional charred walls. But today’s spectacle was a new level of… chaotic entertainment.

As Silverwing soared above Casterly Rock, carrying both you and a very vocal Tyland, the courtyard below erupted with activity. Servants peered up, shielding their eyes against the sun, while guards squinted, some rubbing their temples as if questioning what they were seeing.

“Is that… is that Lord Tyland?” one guard murmured, his brow furrowing as he strained to see. “Is he… screaming?”

Another guard, stifling a grin, nodded. “Aye. Clear as day, that’s our lord up there. Not quite as regal as I’d have imagined him on dragonback, though.”

“Looks more like he’s holding on for dear life than enjoying himself,” a maid observed, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and amusement. “I didn’t even know Lord Tyland could scream that high.”

Meanwhile, Alyssa and young Daemon were in the courtyard, preparing to take off on their own dragons. They both looked skyward, watching with glee as Silverwing swooped and glided above, their father’s increasingly desperate yelps echoing down to the assembled crowd.

“Do you think Father’s enjoying himself?” Alyssa asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Young Daemon shrugged, grinning. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it once he’s back on solid ground. Besides, Mother’s with him. What could go wrong?”

One of the stable boys shook his head, unable to suppress his laughter. “Your father looks like he’s just seen the Stranger himself up there. If he survives this, I’m betting he won’t be eager to go flying again anytime soon.”

Just then, another particularly loud scream floated down, followed by what sounded suspiciously like “Put me down!”

A few of the castle cooks, who had ventured outside to witness the commotion, exchanged knowing looks. “He’s braver than I gave him credit for,” one said with a chuckle, “but I wager he’ll be needing a strong drink after this.”

The older castle steward, who had seen his fair share of Lannister antics over the years, folded his arms, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Well, it’s not every day we get to see our lord acting like a nervous kitten. He’ll be back with his feet on the ground soon enough. Though… I don’t suppose anyone’s told him about the dragons his children are preparing to take out next?”

At that moment, Alyssa mounted Grey Ghost, giving a final check of her saddle before looking up at her father with an impish grin. “Good luck, Father!” she shouted, her voice barely carrying to the airborne figures. “You’ll be a true Targaryen in no time!”

Young Daemon climbed onto Viseron, offering his own enthusiastic wave. “Hang on tight, Father! The second flight’s always the hardest!”

The guards stifled chuckles as Tyland’s scream floated down again, this time with a barely coherent, “This isn’t… necessary!”

One of the handmaidens leaned in toward her friend, snickering. “I’ve never seen Lord Tyland look quite so… vulnerable. Poor man thought marrying a Targaryen would be the end of his adventures. Little did he know.”

The steward chuckled, shaking his head. “I dare say he’ll survive. And I suppose we’ll be dealing with dragon antics for a long while yet. Best get used to it.”

As Silverwing circled once more, Tyland’s final desperate shout of “Ground! I need ground!” echoed over the entire castle, met with the resounding laughter of his children and the barely concealed smiles of every servant and guard below.

In the end, Casterly Rock’s staff had one more tale to tell about their lord and his Targaryen wife—a tale that would undoubtedly grow in amusement with every retelling.

[starrydixon]

Reality Check

*Requested from this ask :)*

Era: Post-Whisperers Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: None-Specified Word Count: 3.3k Warnings: mild language, anxiety, intense and scary situation, brief mention of blood and injuries, comfort-fluff

Summary: When you experience a close call with a walker while on a supply run with Daryl, the archer tries his best to comfort you.

“Do you think we’ll find anything?” You asked in a hushed tone as you and Daryl approached the almost completely ransacked and scavenged neighborhood that was only a few miles away from Alexandria. 

The suburban neighborhood, which looked almost exactly like the community you were currently occupied in, had been cleaned out by the old supply group of Alexandria long before you and the rest of your family had arrived. The place had practically become dormant up until now. With Alexandria now having to deal with the aftermath of The Whisperers, you and the rest of the community were desperate for supplies.

Although there was a rush of relief washing over you when The Whisperers had been defeated for once and for all, the aftermath of their stampede through Alexandria with their massive horde of walkers was distressing. It was a harrowing sight to see, once you returned. The safe haven you and the rest of the community had spent years building and growing was now completely destroyed and tainted. There was virtually nothing left, which meant you would have to start over…again.

“There’s gotta be at least somethin’ that was left behind.” Daryl grumbled as his alert eyes surveyed the surrounding area. The silence of the neighborhood was unsettling, and Daryl wasn’t going to take any chances with letting his guard down. 

With a quirk of your eyebrow, you hummed in agreement. “I’d even take back a pack of rusty nails at this point.”

Letting out a slightly amused scoff, Daryl turned to look at you. “I’ll make sure to keep an eye out.” You could feel a grin begin to stretch out across your face as Daryl averted his gaze from your face so he could survey the neighborhood again. With a nudge of his head, the archer motioned towards the closest house within your vicinity. “C’mon, let’s start here first.”

You weren’t sure what you were looking for exactly as you began to search through the abandoned houses. The possibility of finding a can of food was slim to zero, and you weren’t sure if a suburban neighborhood like this one would have any kind of survival materials; even before the apocalypse started. After going through the first few houses, you and Daryl had only managed to salvage a few items and some clothing for the children of Alexandria. 

“What are we doing?” You exasperated through a tired sigh while leaning against the wall in the kitchen of the latest house you were searching. One of your hands rose to your face so you could pinch the bridge of your nose. 

Daryl was busy pulling out different junk draws and stifling through them. Coming out empty handed, the archer shut the last drawer with an aggressive slam. Dark caramel bangs hung over his eyes as he leaned against the counter of the kitchen island. His back faced you, and you could see his head shaking ever so slightly. “I dunno.”

Pushing off the wall, you ventured towards Daryl and stood beside him. Your shoulder was pressed against his, and it sent a comforting warmth to spread throughout your body at the contact. Wordlessly, you both took a few moments to regroup. Your gaze fell out the window that was behind the sink. There wasn’t much to look at outside; it was a gloomy day with gray clouds covering every inch of the sky and blocking the sun from shining its light on you. In the corner, you noticed an overgrown plant tapping quietly against the dingy glass.

“Let’s look at one more—the big one on the corner—‘fore lookin’ somewhere else.” Daryl finalized as his eyes caught onto the rustling plant in the window.

“Alright—“ With another sigh escaping past your lips, you pushed yourself from the granite countertop. “Let’s go.”

Following behind Daryl, you gripped the machete in your hand. Daryl’s crossbow was held up to his eye level as he surveyed the property with his sharp hunter eyes. When you approached the front entrance of the two floor victorian styled home, Daryl used his elbow to knock on the door. Straining your ears, you both waited for any kind of disturbance to be heard. When nothing happened, you both ventured in. Using his hand, Daryl signaled you to check upstairs while he searched the downstairs. Making sure you had a firm grip on your weapon, you slowly crept towards the staircase.

Due to the neglect and overall age, each stair you stepped on felt rickety, and creaked at a pitch you were uncomfortable with. When you stepped on a particularly soft step, you feared you’d end up falling through the staircase. When you finally reached the top, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Rolling your shoulders to relieve some of the tension embedded in your muscles, you began to tiptoe down the hallway. You’d cautiously peek through each room as you passed them. If nothing caught your eye, you moved on.

The upstairs was eerily quiet; the only sounds that filled the empty passageway were your short and controlled breaths, and the creaks of the wooden floorboards. With adrenaline flowing through your veins, it made the blood pumping through you sound like gongs going off in your ears. As you ventured down the hallway, your eyes flitted over all the pictures that hung on the wall. Most of them were family pictures, or portraits of children who had gotten their yearly pictures taken at school. When your eyes fell on a group family picture, your stomach twisted and you had to look away. You were sure that was the family whose house you were currently looting and snooping through. 

The last room that had to be checked out was the master bedroom, which resided at the end of the hallway. Swallowing thickly, you readjusted the grip you had on your machete, again, and gently pressed your ear against the cold wooden door. Even after your knock against the door, there were no suspicious sounds coming from within. Moving inside, you looked around the trashed bedroom. There was nothing much to look at, just thrown mildewy clothes, and aged beauty and grooming supplies scattered across various dressers. Just as you were about to move on, a shut door, which you assumed was the bathroom, caught your eye. You hoped there were medical supplies in there, since the supplies you had back home were running out fast. With a clammy hand, you turned the knob.

Before you could even take a step into the bathroom, a growling walker lunged at you from out of nowhere; almost as if it had materialized out of thin air. Your breath got stuck in your throat as the walker came at you with impeccable speed. Until you could get at an advantage point, all you could do was stumble backwards as the snarling walker snapped its unhinged jaw and bared its rotten teeth in your face. Falling into the hallway, you pressed your arm against the walker’s throat to prolong its teeth from sinking into your flesh.

In a sheer panic, you blindly swung your machete at the walker with your free hand. With your flailing body and limbs, it was impossible to get a proper headshot. The best you could do was land a few slashes on the walker’s back and shoulders. The scent of your alive flesh motivated the corpse to keep charging towards you, hence making your weak attempts at slowing it down futile. Letting out a choked cry, your body slammed against the opposing wall in the hallway. With the impact of your body crashing against the wall, one of the framed pictures rattled off its hook and crashed down on your head. Sharp pieces of glass cascaded down your face, cutting your skin and making it seem like you were taking a stinging shower of splinters. Due to your tousle with the walker, the machete had been dropped from your hand.

“D-Daryl!” You fearfully choked out as all the air in your lungs felt like it had been knocked out of you.

“Y/N!?” Daryl shouted as he began to run towards the staircase. The closer he got, the louder your desperate cries and the snarls of the famished walker sounded. Explicits left Daryl's mouth as he ran as fast as he could to get to you.

Your arms shook as you struggled to keep the deadweight of the corpse from suffocating you completely.  It was then that you realized you wouldn’t be able to hold the walker back much longer. Your strength was dwindling fast, and you knew it was only a matter of seconds until your arms would completely give out. Feeling your sinuses swell in emotion, and eyes begin to sting with oncoming tears, you squeezed your eyes shut and turned your head as far away as you could from the salivating walker. Just before your arms had given out completely, you heard an arrow whizz through the air and puncture through the rotten skull of the walker with a sickening squelching sound.

Like a rock, the corpse dropped to the ground in front of you, collapsing in a heap by your blood stained boots. Your chest heaved heavy breathes as your wide and terror filled eyes stayed glued on the neutralized walker. Vaguely, you could hear Daryl calling out to you, but his voice sounded disoriented and indecipherable. It felt like your head was dunked underwater and the only thing you could hear were the muffled sound waves. 

"Hey—hey…Y/N, can ya hear me?" Daryl placed his hands on your shaking shoulders, his eyes darting over your body in search of any bites, scratches, or other injuries. The archer spotted the multiple cuts littering across your skin due to the smashed glass, and a gash on your hairline that was causing blood to fall down the side of your face. “You're alright...just-just snap out of it dammit." Daryl tried to comfort you as you stood in a traumatized stupor, but found himself growing frustrated with his inability to do so. Instead, he found himself growling at you. 

After giving your shoulders a firm squeeze, Daryl gently shook you; even though his capability of gentleness was slow and jolted movements. Feeling the jagged shakes of your body, you slowly felt yourself become less numb. Your vision refocused, and you could see Daryl’s worried face staring directly in front of you. Daryl ducked his head a little so he could be more eye level with you, and searched your eyes for any sign of awareness.

“That—that was too close.” You whispered in a wavering voice before struggling to swallow the lump that sat in your throat. At the sound of your regained consciousness, Daryl felt his shoulders drop in relief.

“You alright?” Daryl asked quietly, fearful to raise his voice any louder. He knew you weren’t okay, but thought he’d still ask.

“My head kinda hurts…but I think I’m okay?” You searched Daryl’s eyes as if the answer was somewhere in his uniquely colored irises. “Please tell me you found something, or this near-death experience was for nothing.”

Removing one hand from off your shoulders, Daryl rubbed the back of his neck. “I—uh—think I found a couple things worth takin’ back…” Trailing off, you watched as Daryl dug into his pants pocket and pull out a box. At first glance, it looked like a pack of cigarettes, but you quickly identified the generic brand for hardware nails. “They ain’t rusty, but I think they’ll do just fine”

At the sight, a smile began to break out on your face, and laughter erupted from out of your mouth. You weren’t sure if it was because the adrenaline was beginning to dwindle, or because of the near death you had just experienced, but your laughter began to turn into sobs. Tears streamed steady down your face, and you instinctively threw your arms around Daryl’s neck for support as your knees began to buckle from beneath you. For a moment, Daryl’s body was completely still as he felt your body tremble against his, and your salty tears seep through his cotton shirt. Dropping the pack of nails, Daryl practically engulfed your frame with his arms; holding you tight and making you feel protected.

“It’s gonna be alright,” Daryl murmured against the side of your head as he stroked your hair. “I ain’t gonna let nothin’ bad ever happen to ya.”

Whimpering, your arms tightened around him. “I don’t know what happened…it just—came right at me. I-I couldn’t even brace myself.” 

“Might be dumb as hell, but those bastards can be tricky sometimes.” Daryl drawled, making his distinct southern accent sound even thicker. 

“I just feel like a stupid rookie—making it this far in the apocalypse, taking down hundreds of walkers for over a decade, and then being taken out by one?” With scoff, you shook your head distastefully. “I’m so stupid.”

“Hey-“ Pulling away so he could cup both your cheeks with his hands, Daryl made sure he was looking into your glossy and sad eyes. “Sometimes we get a reality check, ’n it sucks, but it’s gonna make ya even stronger now.” With a shake of his head, a lopsided smile began to twitch at one corner of his mouth. “You were a force to be reckoned with before, now you’re gonna be unstoppable…feel sorry for the next unlucky sumbitch that gets in your way.”

You could feel your face begin to heat up, and fresh tears glaze over your eyes at Daryl’s endearing words of reassurance. With the sleeve of your shirt, you wiped at the wetness staining your cheeks. Unable to find your voice, and with your throat still feeling thick, you placed a hand on Daryl’s shoulder for balance and rose to your tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. The second he felt your soft lips press against his scruffy cheek, the archer felt the tips of his ears and the expanse of his chest flush pink. Shaking his head so his bangs covered the bashful expression on his face, Daryl cleared his throat and looked inside the bedroom you had previously been in.

“Ya find anythin’ in here?”

“I didn’t get a chance to look in the bathroom.” You admitted with a sheepish shrug of your shoulders. Nodding his head, Daryl turned from you and ventured inside. You followed after him with a ducked head. “I only went in there in hopes of finding some medical supplies…”

Pausing in front of the medicine cabinet that hung on the wall above the sink, and with his fingers resting on the metal knobs, Daryl looked at your dejected form through the mirror. “I know.” Pulling open the unsteady cabinet, Daryl’s hands searched through the outdated and expired medicine. From your visibility, you spotted a small first-aid kit, and a bottle of medical alcohol. “C’mere.”

With a thick gulp, you shuffled over to the archer who was busy pawing through the first-aid kit. “There's others back home that need that stuff more than me.” You pointed out as Daryl grabbed a few bandaids for the numerous cuts that were littered across your face. Turning to you with furrowed eyebrows, Daryl frowned down at you.

“Now you’re bein’ stupid.”

Huffing out a scoff, you leaned back against the bathroom sink and crossed your arms firmly over your chest. After spending years by Daryl’s side, you knew there was no point in arguing with him; he was too stubborn. Stepping in front of you, Daryl grabbed the black bandana from out of his back pocket and slowly rose it to the bloody gash on your forehead. As gently as he could, the archer removed as much blood from the surrounding area as he could. 

As Daryl tended to your wounds, with his face so close to yours and the tips of his fingers occasionally brushing against your skin, you found it difficult to breathe properly. There was so much concentration and concern on his face as he worked, and you could feel the care he had for you with each movement of his hands as he placed butterfly bandages on your various wounds. Whenever your eyes caught his, you could feel your face heat up. You prayed the dingy lighting prevented Daryl from noticing your flustered state. At one point, you swore you saw the archers fingers tremble due to the fear of inflicting further pain on you as he placed gauze on the big and sensitive laceration on your forehead.

“Thanks.” You murmured in a soft voice as Daryl finished with the last bandaid. 

“I ain’t done yet–you’re gonna need some stitches for that gash on your head.” With his finger, he pointed to the cut he was referring too. “I think I got some leftover stitchin’ stuff back at my place.”

“Well, I’m thanking you in advance.” Despite how physically and emotionally drained you were, you still managed to give Daryl a smile that never failed to make his heart feel like it would burst from his chest.

“Don’t gotta do that…it’s nothin’.” Unable to take a compliment, Daryl turned away from you and began to stuff the remaining medical supplies in his bag. With heart racing so fast, he wondered if you could hear it from where you stood so closely beside him.

“It’s not nothing, Daryl,” Placing a hand on his arm, you turned him so he was facing you again. When you were able to meet his ducked gaze, you placed a hand on his chest. “It means everything to me…you and all the things you do means a lot to me, actually.” 

You didn’t know where this sudden proclamation was coming from, you just knew it felt right…despite the intense circumstances that had taken place only moments ago. You supposed your near-fatal reality check was giving you the courage to finally tell Daryl only a fraction of the feelings you had spent nearly a decade harboring. The thought of having to continue living with whatever time you had left not at your fullest caused knots to tighten in your stomach. 

As your eyes flitted over Daryl’s face, you saw him swallow hard, clearly feeling the weight of your words. Slowly, the archer rested his hand over the hand you had rested on his chest. With a silent hitch of your breath, you swore he was about to remove your hand, and you could feel your heart beginning to break at the anticipation. However, when you felt his large hand press down, keeping you there, and his fingers curl around yours, you felt your muscles relax and your breathing return to normal.

“You’re actin’ like it’s a chore to have your back or to care about ya, and it ain’t. I just–don gotta think about it…never had to, really.”

For a moment, you shut your eyes as you felt Daryl sweep hair from out of your face and tuck it behind your ear. When you opened them again, you were instantly met with Daryl’s bright eyes searching your face. With a bashful stifle of a laugh, you raised your free hand to your face and brushed at your cheek with the sleeve of your shirt as if you were wiping away phantom tears. 

“I don’t think I wanna waste another second of whatever time I’ve got left…at this rate, there’s probably not much left.”

With a dismissive scoff, Daryl squeezed his hand around yours. “Don say stuff like that…I ain’t got any more inspirin’ words left to say.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at the teasing lilt in his voice. You felt your hand press down on his chest for balance as your body leaned back with your laughs. Daryl could feel a rather boyish grin begin to stretch across his face due to the sight of seeing your once somber face become enriched with contagious light again. 

“Maybe when we get back home I’ll have more to say.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm–don’t really wanna mess up tellin’ ya how I feel ‘bout ya, either.”

With a grin so bright that Daryl was convinced could challenge and win against the sun, you enlaced your hand in his, and began to lead him out of the bathroom. 

“We should get going then.”

-

-

A/N: This was so fun to write, as I’ve never written this much intensity and action before! I started to get a little carried away towards the end with the semi love confession, since I didn’t like my original ending, but I think it’s cute and works...right? Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!! <3

[chrisbangsbf]

Minho/Hyunjin

Explicit | 995 words

Tags: noona kink, mommy kink, kink exploration, mild dirty talk, creampie, based on this

AO3 link

"So," Minho begins, slinging his legs over Hyunjin's to straddle his lap, "you think about calling me noona?" 

He knew it was something he would have to pester Hyunjin about whenever they got home, and now that they're clean and winding down for the night, Minho decided it was the perfect time to pounce. 

Hyunjin huffs at the sudden movement, a grin spreading across his tired face as he brings his hands up to smooth over Minho's bare thighs. "Sometimes," he admits, kind of shy. "Didn't mean to let it slip like that in public though..." 

Minho sits up on his lap and hums as if he thinks the admission is interesting. With a grin that speaks pure mischief, he drags both hands down to lay flat against Hyunjin's chest before rocking back and grinding against him. "Aren't you glad it did, though?" The whine that he lets out at the friction makes Minho's cock jump in his shorts. 

"Yeah, it's just– fuck," Hyunjin's long fingers tighten on his thighs before he continues, "I just didn't know if you'd be into it." His eyes nearly flutter closed as Minho pushes his shirt up and thumbs over his nipples. Blush high on cheeks, spreading down his neck so prettily. 

"Bet you wanna call me mommy, too," Minho jokes, smirking. But the way Hyunjin's breath hitches tells him everything he needs to know. His smirk grows more amused, a little more wicked, and Hyunjin shifts underneath him like he's trying to hide. It's cute. Endearing in a way that makes Minho want to devour him. 

"I–" Hyunjin starts, hips jerking up when Minho pinches his nipples. 

"You do, huh?" Minho purs, leaning close to nose across Hyunjin's warm cheek, tongue darting out to lick the corner of his mouth like a cat. He can almost taste the embarrassment on him – hot and heavy and delicious on the back of his tongue. He scratches gently down Hyunjin's taut stomach before dipping farther down to cup the growing bulge in his pants. He almost laughs at how hard he is. "Want mommy to take care of this for you?" 

"Minho– noona, please," Hyunjin begs. Pride swells in Minho's chest at how quick he had him wrapped around his finger. Extra sensitive, extra responsive. 

"Oh you poor thing," Minho teases, voice silky and low, full of the kind of faux sympathy he knows has Hyunjin's toes curling. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to his plush mouth. "I got you, baby. You trust me?" 

Hyunjin nods. He looks seconds away from tears and something about that burns a fire in Minho's gut. 

Minho undresses him and opens him up slowly, gently, taking his time working his fingers into Hyunjin and whispering sweet little praises into his skin. As much as he loves to tease him, he has just as much fun taking him apart thread by thread, finding new ways to fluster him. It's fun. 

As he finally presses himself inside, Hyunjin's mouth falls open with a lovely sound. A drawn out, breathy sigh that makes Minho smile with fondness. Once they're flush together, he reaches out to brush Hyunjin's hair away from his face and gives a few slow drags in and out to help him adjust. 

"Mommy's pretty boy," Minho's voice is barely above a whisper as he starts snapping his hips in earnest, eyelids heavy as he watches Hyunjin's face twisting in pleasure, gasping as he wraps a hand around himself to jerk off. "You like noona's cock in you baby? He makes you feel good, right?" 

Hyunjin moans out loud, nodding and forcing his eyes open when he feels like he's getting close. Minho looks equal parts demonic and angelic above him – thrusting with a force that knocks cock-drunk grunts from him with every jolt forward, his damp hair falling around his face and making him look impossibly soft while the arousal shining in his dark eyes speaks the exact opposite. 

"You feel so good, noona," Hyunjin clutches the sheets with one hand and keeps stroking himself with the other, smearing the wetness of precome around his hot tip and gasping as he feels his body start to tighten, "gonna come on your cock– please, don't stop." 

Minho bends over his body, presses their lips together in a messy kiss, panting directly into his mouth, "Go on. Come for your noona." 

It only takes a few more pointed thrusts and pumps of his hand before he's spilling over his fingers and between their stomachs with a whimper. Minho fucks him through it steadily, jostling his body against the bed as he adjusts his hold on his waist and chases his own orgasm with quicker, choppier thrusts. 

As the first hint of overstimulation starts taking place, Hyunjin starts writhing in his hold, legs spasming as grasps pathetically at Minho's shoulders, nails digging into the skin and making him hiss. 

"Inside," Hyunjin chokes, scrambling for a better hold as tears start welling in his pretty eyes, "mommy, please, inside me– I can't–" 

And with that, the last string holding Minho together snaps. His hips stutter to a stop, coming so hard it knocks the breath out of him. Hyunjin's hole clenches around him in overly sensitive waves, like it's desperate to milk him dry. Minho's head tilts back as he tries to catch his breath, reaching out blindly to take Hyunjin's hands into his own. 

After a moment of blissful silence, Minho carefully pulls out and eyes where Hyunjin's puffy rim starts clenching around nothing. 

Hyunjin grimaces as cum starts leaking down his crack. "Oh come on," he whines, pouting, "you're just gonna let it get all over my sheets?" 

Minho giggles and swipes his finger through the mess, smearing it across his soft inner thigh. "Not my problem." 

"It will be when I make you wash them," Hyunjin laughs, breathless and sated. 

"Just because I'm your mommy now doesn't mean I'm gonna start doing your laundry, brat."

[courtingchaos]

Afternoon Delight

Professor Munson series

Warnings: Sex and weed my friends.

A/N: It’s 4/20. I forgot. You know who didn’t? Professor Munson. He’s been tapping his foot behind me all day while I pack boxes instead of bowls wtf. Here’s some smut about him and you getting up to no good. This was quick and dirty and not my best work but it’s head, it’s good stuff come on.

18+ NSFW No Minors

“It’s 4/20!”

“Blaze it.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“I’m a millennial, sue me.” You shrug, concentration stuck to your laptop. Ed called his class off today, sent an email out stating in no uncertain circumstances were people to show up to his class or his office or in his email.

“I can’t believe you sent that through the university’s email.”

“Look, I’m tenured. What are they gonna do, fire me?” Ed mocks while he holds his joint between his teeth and searches the countertop for his lighter. You glance up briefly and watch him miss it three times before you silently point a finger at it till he squints, gasps, and sees it.

“You know those glasses aren’t just an expensive headband.”

He tries to spark his lighter a few times before grumbling about lighter fluid and breezes out of the kitchen, dropping at drive-by kiss on your cheek.

Your phone buzzes and when you check you huff, unknowingly spending three hours doom scrolling your Indeed feed. Ed has texted you at 4pm on the dot, a jumbled line of emojis that you decipher to mean ”oh my god would you please come up here and smoke with me.” Before you can respond he sends a bunch of tongues and another eye roll and you yell up the stairs to wait a god damn minute.

The door to his office is wide open and when you reach the threshold he’s leaned way back in his chair, feet propped up on his desk. It’s hazy and warm and he makes you laugh.

“Aren’t you the picture of relaxation.”

“Listen, I texted you two hours ago and you didn’t respond so I started without you.”

Upon closer inspection he’s full glassy eyed, bright pink under heavy lids. “The party’s been up here the whole time.”

You come around the desk to sit in front of him and he watches all of your movements with mild amusement. It makes you think about your little graduation celebration and he must see the twinkle in your eye.

“Did you bring me a little treat?”

“Depends. You gonna share?”

“I always share with you, baby.”

And he does, for the most part.

“It’s one of those…actually I don’t know what fucking strain it is I just bought because they up sold me. Shit was expensive though.” He takes a deep pull before handing the joint to you. “Seems to be doing its job.”

You take it from him but lean in close and pinch his chin between your thumb and forefinger.

“Oh you meant share.” His lazy grin disappears from view when he kisses you and breathes out into your parted lips. A small puff of smoke escapes from the corner of your mouth when you laugh lightly. His hands find your thighs and he tugs on you to get you to scoot closer.

You break the kiss and get situated, swinging your leg over so your ankles hang beside his knees. His hands climb immediately up to the waistband of your of you shorts and hook there to pull.

“I’m not even high yet.”

“Okay? I’m high enough for the both of us.” His movements are slow and that stupid grin is back. You lean back on one hand to stare down at him while you shimmy around till he slides your shorts off. He rolls his chair closer and tips his head at your hand holding the joint. You hold it for him, listening to the crackle of the cherry while he holds your stare.

“Hang on to that for me.” He says around a mouthful of smoke, head dipping low to drag his lips over your underwear. You take your own hit and tilt your head back when he runs the tip of his finger under your underwear and pulls it to the side. His heavy breaths hit your bared skin and you shiver when he pushes his nose to your slit, pressing a kiss to you before sliding his tongue forward to lick. A few languid licks has you sighing and ignoring the joint slowly burning in your hand.

“Hey.” He lifts his head momentarily. “Don’t waste that.” He brings his hand up between your legs to tease your entrance, his tongue poking out to lightly prod at your clit.

“I’m taking my time.”

“Not with that you aren’t.” He bends his head down to get his mouth fully on you, pushing two fingers in when you roll your hips up to his face.

The sun setting behind him lights his hair up, catches the grays and makes them sparkle. His office is stuffy and cloying, the heat trapped between the two of you making little drops of sweat bead down your back and his forehead. This little moment is lazy and slow. It’s gentle sighs and his small groans against you when he sucks on your clit and speeds up his hand, curling his fingers against your walls. The cotton headed feeling of your high creeps in and Eddie’s mouth feels softer than normal. His tongue drags slow over your folds and dips in near his fingers to lap at your wetness. Through half closed eyes you can see him palming himself under the desk but honestly you don’t care about that right now. He’s working you slowly but surely to a gentle tipping point that you don’t fully concentrate on until your holding on to the roach. Eddie notices your hand hovering and he stops touching himself to slap the ashtray over to you where it bumps your leg. Hand now free you slide your fingers into his hair and he nuzzles into your touch. His groans rumble against your sensitive skin and you can feel yourself toeing the line of your orgasm. He can feel you fluttering around his fingers and when he feels a gush and hears the hitch in your breath he slides a third finger in. Anchors his lips around your clit and makes sure you can’t pull away from him while he slowly unravels you.

It doesn’t slam into you, your release. It climbs up your thighs and gets its fingers in your nerves. Pulls on your spine and makes your scalp tingle. A deep sigh rolls out and you hold his head against you while you ride out the slow ebb, the weed making everything feel syrupy and soft.

He’ll kiss his way up your torso when you finally let his hair go. Probably pull you down and wedge your knees around his hips in his oversized chair. He’ll rock your hips along his length and he’ll produce another joint from somewhere and you’ll tell him not to green himself out and he’ll remind you he’s no rookie.

His office will dim when the sun finally sets and it’ll still be stuffy and hazy and heavy and he’ll taste just as sweet as ever.

[justalonelybitch]

Undoubtable Affection

Miyeon x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff, College AU

Warnings: Miscommunications, Doubts, Awkwardness, Clueless Miyeon & Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Buy Me A Coffee

The golden glow of the sun filtered through the library's large windows, hushed whispers falling deaf in your ears as you focused your attention on your studies. Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared at the book before you in confusion, reading the text over and over. You were only met with the same disappointing results each time, sighing, you scrunch your face up in mild annoyance. A melodious giggle from across the round table had your eyes flickering to the source on instinct, craning your neck to get a better view. A pink hue spread across your cheeks, ducking your head the moment you met Miyeon’s gaze, an amused grin tugging at her lips.

“What is it?” You asked, subconsciously moving to cover your face with the sleeve of your shirt. “You just look cute,” she spoke as if it were obvious, mindlessly twirling a pen between her fingers. Blood rushed to your cheeks as you tugged your lip between your teeth in embarrassment, staring down at the textbook that suddenly seemed far more interesting than before. Another careless chuckle slipped past Miyeon’s lips as she watched your curl into yourself, a shy grin plastered on your face. She reached out to you without a second thought, gently placing her hand to yours where it rested on the desk.

You jumped in surprise at the sudden contact, an audible squeak leaving your lips. Gazing up to her with wide eyes, you blinked in surprise as she leaned closer from her seat opposite you. “You need help with that?” She asked with a raised brow, large glasses perched on the edge of her nose. Breath catching in your throat, you merely nodded, watching in curiosity as she rose to her feet. Miyeon silently moved around the table, coming to a halt beside your seat. She rested one hand on the back of your chair before leaning down to read over what you had been struggling with. You fiddled anxiously with your sleeves at the close proximity, shoulders tensing as her free hand skimmed over your arm.

Her eyes narrowed down at the paper, brows pinched in concentration. “I see why you’ve been struggling,” she mumbled, she blindly reached for a highlighter, uncapping it before turning to you. “Do you mind if I use this in your book?” She asked, to which you silently shook your head, awaiting her next more. She made quick work of highlighting each key point, skimming over the unnecessary points that proved to only further confuse you. Her explanation was clear and easy to understand, only you had trouble focusing on the words that left her lips, lulled into a dazed state by her angelic voice. Having her face so close to yours made it hard to think about anything.

“Hello? Earth to Y/n,” Miyeon’s voice broke through your trance, a giggle leaving her mouth at the sight of you blinking in confusion. “Perhaps we should call it a day,” she proposed, your face falling slightly at her words. “Oh, okay then,” you mumbled, saddened by the idea of cutting your study session short. You were never overjoyed by studying for hours on end, but being in Miyeon’s presence always made it more than tolerable. Your forehead creased in a frown as you began to pack up your books in defeat, Miyeon mimicking your actions with her own supplies. “I thought we could stop by a cafe on the way back,” she suggested, a smile spreading across her features.

“Sure,” you mumbled, biting back the urge to smile as you attempted to suppress your excitement. The ghost of a frown crept onto Miyeon's face, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. Tugging her bag over her shoulder, she guided you out of the library, leading you towards a quaint cafe on campus. A bell dinged a Miyeon opened the door, stepping aside to let you in first. You smiled shyly, brushing past her as you entered, eyes dancing with curiosity as you looked around. Miyeon gazed at you with a fond smile, striding up to the counter, she ordered for the both of you. The barista sent her a knowing grin as Miyeon glanced at you over her shoulder, a fond smile adorning her lips.

Miyeon appeared by your side, laughter bubbling from her lips as you jumped in surprise. You stared wide eyed at her as she offered a take away cup to you, your brows furrowing in confusion. “You mentioned that you liked tea, right? Milk, but no sugar?” She questioned, a nervous smile plastered on her face as she anxiously awaited your answer. “You remembered?” You muttered in surprise, letting her hand over the hot drink to you. “Of course! It’s my treat,” she grinned, hand barely brushing your lower back as she ushered you outside. The icy breeze nipped at your skin, a shiver running up your spine the moment you stepped into the cold.

The two of you began to stroll down the path in comfortable silence, leaves rustling in the wind. “Would you mind holding this for a moment?” Miyeon’s angelic voice was a welcome change from the silence. “Sure,” you muttered, carefully wrapping your fingers around her hot coffee, hand lightly brushing against hers. You carefully observed the sun as it began its descent behind an old campus building, faintly aware of the shuffling behind you. Your lips parted in surprise as a weight was gently laid atop your shoulders, warmth instantly engulfing you. You turned to her in confusion, concern washing over your features at the sight of her bare arms. “Miyeon you’ll get sick,” you voiced your worries, forehead creased in a frown, her jacket draped over your shoulders.

“Then you can take care of me,” she grinned, taking back her hot coffee and sipping on it, a blissful sigh leaving her lips. “I’m serious,” you complained, her gaze softening as she glanced at the genuine concern plastered on your face. “I’ll be okay, Y/n,” she promised, reaching out to clasp her free hand in yours. “You can keep me warm,” she suggested, lacing her fingers with yours. A shy smile crept onto your lips, reddened cheeks only made more prominent by the cold night. Miyeon grinned smugly, a pep in her step as she tugged you towards the dormitories. She smiled brightly, eyes crinkled into crescents as you yelped, stumbling after her with a chuckle.

Upon reaching your door, the two of you hovered outside awkwardly, neither willing to break your hands apart. Staring at each other in a trance, Miyeon first to break it by abruptly launching herself into your arms. You tensed at the contact, her arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders, head tucked into the crook of your neck. A nervous giggle bubbled from your lips, timidly raising your arms to snake securely around her waist. The two of you lingered for a few moments before Miyeon reluctantly pulled away, a distant look in her beautiful chocolate eyes. Clearing your throat, you looked anywhere but her, shuffling your weight from one foot to another.

“Did you want to come inside?” You mustered up the courage to ask, nervously fiddling with the sleeves of her coat. “No, that’s alright!” Miyeon quickly dismissed the idea, an unreadable expression masking her features as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Oh, okay,” you muttered in defeat, unable to meet her gaze. Miyeon watched with a frown as you hung your head in disappointment, anxiously gnawing at the inside of her cheek. You wordlessly slipped into your dorm room, suddenly plagued by a lingering sadness as doubts began to swarm your mind. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around Miyeon’s change in attitude.

Days passed without so much as a stray text from Miyeon, your hopes crushed to an irreparable state with each hour that passed. It was silly of you to think that one of the most beautiful girls you’ve laid your eyes on would ever consider someone like yourself. What confused you most was that she was the one who’d initially proposed the study date, and took great effort to initiate anything physical between you. You were stumped. Perhaps it was some stupid dare you’d pitifully fallen victim to. One second she was all over you, and the next she was nowhere to be seen. It was puzzling, and you weren’t sure you wanted to get involved with her if it meant being left in a storm of confusion after every date. That is if she ever asked you on another.

“Y/n!” A voice in the distance had you whipping your head around, eyes wide at the sight of Miyeon running towards you. “Just my luck,” you muttered under your breath, sighing as you picked up the pace, desperately hoping to reach the confines of your room without confrontation. Much to your dismay, Miyeon appeared by your side within a short few seconds, panting as she attempted to catch her breath. “Hey,” she huffed, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “Hi,” you mumbled, not sparing her a glance as you increased your pace, trying to brush past her without further engagement. “Did I do something wrong?” She voiced, gently grasping your wrist in order halt you in your step.

“No,” you grumbled in response, tugging your arm free of her grasp to cross them over your chest. “Then why won’t you look at me?” The hurt reflected in her tone almost had you scrambling to apologise for ever inflicting pain upon her, but you were quick to stop yourself. “Look Y/n, I really do like you and I don’t want to be on bad terms with you,” she spoke with the utmost sincerity. “Then why did you ignore me? Do you even really like me?” You whispered, expressing your doubts, finally meeting her gaze. Miyeon swore she felt her heart break in her chest at the sadness that filled your eyes. She couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to you, gently grasping your hands on her own.

“Would you like to come over to my place? I promise I’ll explain everything, especially how sorry I am.” Miyeon proposed, pleading with you to agree. Pausing as you contemplated, you hesitantly nodded your head, allowing her to guide you towards her dorm room by your hand. The second you passed the threshold, she tugged you towards her couch, already rambling endless apologies. “I’m truly so sorry for ever making you doubt my feelings for you,” she expressed, chocolate orbs swirling with honesty. You remained quiet, waiting for her to proceed with the promised explanation. “I really like you, Y/n. So much so that I was worried it would scare you off,” she admitted, sheepishly scratching the back of her neck.

You furrowed your brows in confusion, wondering what she could’ve done to scare you off. “I know that you’re really shy, and I didn’t want to take things too quickly.” Miyeon confessed, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “I thought I made you uncomfortable when I hugged you,” she explained, watching as realisation washed over your face. “You never made me uncomfortable, I was just nervous,” you blurted out, rubbing your sweaty palms on your pants. Gazing up at her with a shy smile, you mustered up the courage to continue. “And I really like you too,” you whispered, but she heard you loud and clear. A bright grin fought its way onto her face, she began to reach out for a hug, but hesitated for a moment.

You watched her momentary inner turmoil with a frown, your body working with a mind of its own as you moved towards her. Miyeon’s eyes widened as you leaned closer to her, blinking in surprise as you pressed your lips to her cheek. Her heart melted at the feeling of your soft lips against her silky skin, much to her dismay, you retracted yourself far too hastily for her liking. You remained a respectable distance from her, head ducked in an attempt to conceal the bright red blush that coated your cheeks. She grinned in amusement, eyes lighting up at the sight of you shyly reaching your hand out towards her. “Y/n,” she groaned playfully, grasping your hand and gently tugging you onto her lap.

“You can’t just do that and expect me not to kiss you,” she teased, a mischievous glint in her eye. The sight of your timid smile only brought further joy to her heart, it jumped in her chest how adorable your reactions were. “Can I kiss you?” She asked, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You sucked your bottom lip between your lips, a bashful grin lighting up your face as you nodded your head silently. Without another word, Miyeon tugged you impossibly closer to her, surging forwards to connect your lips in a sweet kiss. Her hands rested comfortably on your thighs, tracing calming nonsensical patterns on them as she chased your lips. You felt her smile against your lips, a blissful sigh escaping you, hands snaking around her neck hesitantly.

Reluctantly pulling away, she pressed her forehead to yours, eyes still closed as she relished in the moment. “Miyeon,” you whispered, trailing off. “Stay. We can watch shitty movies and eat junk food all night,” she proposed, beautiful brown eyes finally fluttering open to meet your gaze. “Okay,” you were quick to agree, far too comfortable on her lap to even consider leaving anytime soon. “Does this count as a second date?” She grinned, leaning forwards to peck your lips, fearful that she may be becoming addicted already. You groaned, dropping your head to her shoulder as an undeniably wide grin adorned your face. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she chuckled, soothingly running a hand up and down your back.

It was a date that led to many more.

[luvyanfei]

how they comfort you when you’re sad

ft. diluc, kaeya, venti, childe, zhongli, albedo, & xiao non-requested piece 

diluc ragnvindr. 

as stoic as diluc may be, he’s the most emotionally affected by your misery out of the others listed here, but he’s clueless in how to help. he’s not adept in everything despite being known for being a perfectionist and unfortunately, comforting you is one of them. he would reach out a hand to you, and then pull it back to his side before you notice. it annoys him greatly how he can insult the knights without hesitation and combat against his enemies confidently, and yet...

it’s easy to get diluc flustered over the simpler things in life. you’re usually so happy and lively, the light to his dark that he finds it almost eerie to see you looking depressed as you enter the tavern. you don’t even spare him a glance, and slumps down at an empty seat, your head splayed down on the table. out of concern for your wellbeing, the winery owner whips up your favourite drink free of charge and delivers it himself to your spot. instead of leaving you as one would expect, he pulls up a chair and taps the wooden surface of the table with his gloved fingers, stirring you to look up at him. he greets you in a monotone voice unintentionally, and shyly asks if there are any problems going on in your life. he may not look like it, with how distant he is, but diluc would be very pleased to help you. 

with hesitation, you take the drink and start taking small sips from the cup. the savory taste melts on your tongue and your lips quiver slightly. before you know it, you’re reduced into a sobbing mess, your tears staining the floor. “what’s wrong?” dismayed, diluc rises up and pats your back, handing you a handkerchief from his jacket pocket for you to wipe your tears away with. 

he ushers you into a private room where nobody can see you and rubs your hands together. he doesn’t talk, instead fixating on calming you down. dabbing at your swollen eyes and cheeks gently with a drenched towel, diluc cradles your face and leans in close to you, your foreheads touching. “i’m here, [name],” his voice is soft and delicate, a sharp contrast to his formal and uninterested tone, “i will always be here for you, so you don’t need to worry about suffering alone. we’ll get through this together, alright?” 

kaeya alberich. 

he’ll take you to the tavern with him for a nice drink. it won’t do you any good to be by yourself and moping, right? as hypocritical as it may seem, kaeya is fully accepting of you coming to him for emotional support despite being rather closed-off when it comes to his personal emotions. if you’re underage, he’ll purchase you a soft drink or juice, and if not, a glass of wine will surely boost your spirits up. his attempt to cheer you up is to temporarily distract you from it. quite clever of him, no? of course, his objective isn’t for you to ignore your problems altogether, but to take your mind off of it until you can think a bit clearly. 

kaeya will act like a gentleman the whole time, letting a few teasing remarks slip out every now and then, but his attitude is toned down for the most part. after you consumed a plentiful amount of beverages, he takes a stroll with you in the night, passing by a bard stringing music on their lyre. this gives the cavalry captain an idea and he takes you into a secluded area, fireflies glowing to add a touch of whimsy to the scenario. still gripping your hand, he raises it up to kiss the surface and proposes you to join him in for a dance under the moonlight and stars. 

kaeya looks at you with a brimming grin. “are you feeling better now?” you nod, placing a hand on his open palm.

“now that you’re here, yes, i am.” his smile broadens and cups your cheek with his free hand. the tip of his thumb lightly grazes your bottom lip before he replaces it with his lips. the kiss is passionate and savory, a description that fits your relationship perfectly. 

“i’m glad you do,” he pulls back and breathes out a sigh of relief. “it’s the same with me. i admit, i also enjoy your company very much.” 

venti.

it’s best to let your emotions run loose. don’t bottle it up, okay? if you need to cry, then cry. sure, venti may act all carefree and exuberant, but even he has his serious sides from time to time. he takes the situation rather calmly, pulling you into a comforting embrace and rubbing your back as you tearfully sob. when he feels that you’re muscles have slowly relaxed and your cries have been reduced to tiny sniffles, he transitions out of the hug and places his hands on your shoulder, all with an angelic smile on his face. see, that wasn’t so bad, now was it?

if you’re up for it, venti will be happy to play you a quiet melody carried in the night breeze. he’ll position your head to lean on his shoulder as both of you sit down on the ground and he clears his throat before he begins singing. the stringing of the lyre, the gentle rustle of the leaves in the background, and the soothing sound of his voice automatically brings a smile to your lips. snuggling closer to him, you drift in a state of contentment and serenity. once the bard catches wind of your heavy breathing, your eyes fluttered closed, he stops his singing and presses a dainty kiss to your forehead. 

carefully, so he doesn’t disturb your slumber, venti carries you back to your resident and tucks you into bed. as he’s about to head off, you snag him by the wrist, and tug him back to your side. “please don’t go yet, venti.” he pats the hand imprisoning his wrist and chuckles in amusement. 

“don’t worry. i don’t plan on ever doing something like that.” he crawls into bed with you, tangling your legs together and hooking his arms around your waist. the tip of his nose grazes your hair faintly as your back is pressed against his chest. “not now, and not ever.” 

childe.

he’s the eleventh harbinger, yes, but beneath his fearsome title and mischievous demeanor, childe is a regular human with an affable heart. it hurts him seeing you look dejected, as if you’re on the brink of suffocating from insufferable pain. it’s like your emotions are a type of infection, contagious to say the least. if you’re happy, then he’s happy. if you’re sad, then you’ll bet he’s also going to drop his jovial gleam. luckily, growing up with siblings gives him an advantage here. he’s used to taking care of others and turning their frowns upside down. 

if he finds out someone has been upsetting you, he’ll personally deal with them himself, ordering them to apologize lest they want to face his wrath. if you’re having financial difficulties, he’ll lend you a generous amount of mora so you can clear your debts or help you find a well-paying job. either way, he’ll cradle you in his arms and compliment you for being strong, no matter what life throws at you. life’s hard, but that’s all the more reason why you should keep marching forward - hand in hand with childe.   

“shh, [name], it’s okay. don’t cry.” childe kneels before you and wipes away a salty tear. grabbing a teddy bear abandoned on the ground, he shoves it in front of your face. to your sudden bewilderment, he grabs the bear’s arm to pat you on the head and grins. “there, there. mr. teddy is here to make you happy once more.” 

you sputter out a giggle despite tears still leaking from your eyes. “childe, i’m not a little kid anymore. cut it out!” he resists the urge to pinch your cheeks when you pout cutely at him. 

“fine, fine. i’ll stop, but hey! at least you’re smiling again, right?” you roll your eyes and sniff. 

“yeah, i’m feeling a little better. thank you.”  

your comment forms a blush to dust his cheeks and he sheepishly scratches the back of his head. “there’s no need for gratitude. to me, your smile is the one thing i’d hate to lose.” 

zhongli.

feeling sad? his arms are already wide open and a box of tissues is conveniently laid on the table. zhongli is the wave that laps up your sorrows and tears, the lulling sound of his voice uttering words of reassurance like a tranquil melody to set your heart at ease. he’s the type who will lend a shoulder for you to cry on. while he brews up a nice cup of tea to soothe your mind, he encourages you gently to tell him whatever it is that’s bothering you. he soaks up every syllable that falls from your lips like a sponge and in a pensive state, he gives you advice in turn. 

you take his words to heart, since everything he’s said before have always been genuine and your trust in him runs deeper than the bottom of the sea. sure, maybe not everything he says is the answer that will cause your problems disappear, but he does guide you to choose rationally how you want to approach it. as much as zhongli would like to solve everything for you, he’s aware that there are times where only you have the potential to fix the issue. 

the golden ginkgo leaves twirl in the autumn breeze, as zhongli clasps his hands with yours. you adjust the scarf around your neck, shivering from the mild chill settling in liyue. 

you stare grimly at the seagulls soaring in the cloudy sky, and peers down at your feet planted firmly on the ground. a frown tugs on your lips and you sigh. a warm hand caresses your cheek and you look towards zhongli smiling gently in your direction. wiping away the tears that are beginning to moist your eyes, he encages you in a comforting hug. 

“don’t hold it in,” zhongli whispers soothingly in your ear, “you’re allowed to cry if you want. i promise you, there’s no judgement.” 

albedo.

it’s like he has a sixth sense. you could have been crying in your sleep last night and the first thing you wake up to is all your favourite meals placed rigorously on a sliver tray and a positive message with cursive, neat handwriting scribbled on a notepad for you to read. albedo is rather considerate, like that. before you started to live together and entered a more domestic relationship, he visited your home and asked if anything was wrong in a neutral tone that belied his concern. you were shocked how he could have possibly known since you were sure you concealed the visible evidences skillfully with makeup, and you looked quite normal for the most part, as if you hadn’t been crying mere seconds before he knocked on your door. 

he shrugs indifferently and responds that he just has a feeling something’s bothering you. albedo will take a day off from his confinement in his lab so he can stay with you. he takes you by the hand and gestures for you to sit down on a nearby chair beside him, offering you delectable appetites to eat while you rant to him. once you’re finished spilling out your problems, he kisses you on the forehead and tells you that you did a good job. it isn’t easy to admit you’re not mentally well, in which he praises you for. 

hugging your legs to your chest, you quietly ask him if it’s not a bother. firmly, albedo shakes his head and squeezes your hand reassuringly. “no, you’re never a bother.” he scoops up a spoonful of ice cream and feeds you the cool dessert. once you swallow, his lips curve into a little smirk as he wipes away the excess on the side of your mouth with a finger and licks the cream off with his tongue. 

“whether you’re happy, sad, or disappointed, my love for you will never change.” 

xiao.

he’s not very good at handling these types of situations. xiao can never know what he’s supposed to say or do to make you feel better, so he just stands there awkwardly. please don’t blame him! he’s already terrible at consoling himself that having to cheer someone else up seems more like an impossible challenge than a simple task. however, like albedo, he can also sense if you’re depressed or in need of saving. what do you mortals call it, an instinct? 

he asks verr for advice on what to do to help, and she suggests for him to stick by your side and show that he cares deeply about you. it takes xiao a while to come up with a suitable plan. he wanders up to the highest floor of wangshu inn and reminisces over the past. your first meeting with him, the time when you gave him almond tofu, and when you both fought together to protect liyue - he’s memorized it all down to the last detail. suddenly, an idea clicks into place and he teleports immediately to where you are. sitting on a bench alone, while you absentmindedly watch the birds peck at the crumbs scattered on the cement floor, it takes you by surprise when you find xiao hovering above you. he reaches out his hand and composedly asks if you would be willing to accompany him for the night. 

when you encounter him at the location where you agreed to meet, you curiously question xiao what he wants to do, but he doesn’t reply. instead, he scoops you up in his arms, a surprised expression on your face as you wrap your arms around his neck so you don’t end up falling. before you know it, both of you are... soaring in the air? your eyes subconsciously drift to his vision glowing brightly in the murky night. so he’s using his anemo abilities to create wind currents and literally sweep you off your feet. 

“do you see this place?” he gestures with his head for you to look at liyue harbor. the city lights glow in the darkness and most people are walking back home, idly chatting with each other and giggling. “it wouldn’t be as peaceful as it is now if it weren’t for you. so if you ever feel sad again, know that it’s you who puts a smile on everyone’s faces - including mine.” 

and with that, xiao smiles serenely at you, to which you finally offer a grin of your own. 

[subbykboys]

new to this | taeyong

↳ pairing : virgin!taeyong x reader

Genre ➞ pure smut oof

Warnings ➞ sub!taeyong, corruption kink, begging, mild degrading, handjob, fingering (m. receiving), public-ish(?), mild choking, running into walls

Word Count ➞ 8.3k

requested by @ninachocoo

posted ; 3.08.21

Hot. God, it was so hot. 

Then again, summer in your part of town always was. But this heat— this heat was different. It surrounded you, pulling perspiration from your pores and clinging to you persistently. It spilled down your throat, filling your lungs with every deep inhale. It robbed you of any and all of your energy, leaving you too tired to rouse yourself from where you lay on the cool tile floor of your kitchen in front of the open fridge (the absolute coldest spot you could find in your entire house). 

You didn’t cope very well in warm weather, if that wasn’t obvious. 

And, at the cost of your poor housemate’s sanity, you always found new and creative ways to cope with the excruciating rise in temperature, 

“Y/n a few of my— how many times do I have to tell you to stop doing that?!” You couldn’t bring yourself to so much as flinch as the fridge door was abruptly slammed shut, only managing to pull a whining complaint from the back of your throat as your only source of cool air was ever so rudely ripped away. 

“Fuck you, Mark. It’s too fucking hot to worry about the stupid electricity bill.” You huffed, peeling your eyes open just long enough to shoot an icy glare in the direction of the scowling brunette. 

He crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly, lower lip jutting out. “I think you forget that it’s a combination of both of our money going into paying them, so I think that I have a right to worry about how much is coming out of my pocket because you think that laying in front of an open fridge is a good way to ‘beat the heat’.” 

“Offer me a better solution, I’m open to suggestions.” You sighed tiredly. 

He only rolled his eyes. 

“Oh! I’ve got one,” you exclaimed suddenly, clapping your hands together as a gasp of excitement flew from your lips, “How about I just strip down and walk around butt ass naked? That should do the trick! Oh… but little Mark would like that a little too much, wouldn’t he?” You offered him a taunting pout, feigning sympathy as you glanced down unabashedly towards his crotch. 

Instinctively, his hands flew to cover himself as his cheeks throbbed a devastatingly obvious shade of red, bright enough to rival even the ripest of tomatoes. “Y–you—” 

Your lips curled with an amused smirk, but it faltered at the sound of thundering laughter coming from behind your flustered housemate. Your eyes followed the sound, finding its source in a group of about five or so men crowding up the foyer. Brows lifting in mild surprise, you shifted your attention back to an even more humiliated looking Mark. 

“You brought company.” An apology hung at the tip of your tongue. You really tried to keep your pg-13 teasing to a minimum around other people, especially knowing how susceptible Mark could be to his own embarrassment. 

“Hey Mark, I thought you said your roommate was a raging asshole with the sex drive of a teenaged boy on viagra? She seems pretty cool to me! And hot.” One of the taller boys chimed, a massive dopey grin plastered across his face. 

You turned to Mark slowly, brows raised. But he wouldn’t meet your eyes, head lowered. He wasn’t good at hiding his guilt. 

Welp. No apology for ole Marky boy today. 

“Please, allow me to properly introduce myself to our company.” Mark's eyebrows jumped all the way to his hairline as you pushed yourself off the floor and tossed an arm around his shoulder. “My name is (y/n), but I suppose Mark's asshole roommate with the sex drive of a teenage boy on viagra could work, too.” 

The look you shot him out of the corner of your eye had him shrinking in on himself, regret shining in his big brown eyes. But, you ruffled his hair, a silent reassurance that you weren’t all that torn up about the comment, especially considering it was hard to deny the layer of truth that lingered within it. 

You’d probably subjected Mark to more than his fair share of sleepless nights while you were up into the early morning giving the man (or woman) of the night the experience of a lifetime. A few scathing comments to close friends was more than understandable when looked upon in that light. Besides, you were never good at holding a grudge against your sweet, awkward, puppy-eyed housemate. 

The tall one that had spoken before chimed in eagerly, “I’m Yukhei, but my friends call me Lucas. Xuxi works, too. Or papi if you're feeling especially— ow!” Lucas yelped loudly as a hand connected to the back of a head with a sharp smack. You watched in amusement as another tall, charming looking man tugged him back, shooting him a warning glare before turning his attention to you. 

“Ignore him. He has a bad habit of forgetting his manners around attractive women. My name's Johnny, it’s great to finally meet you.” The sweet, disarming smile he offered you had any reservations melting away, and you easily returned the gesture before he proceeded with introductions. “This Haechan, Jaehyun, Doyoung, and— Taeyong?” 

Johnny pivoted around, brief confusion settling across his face before he spotted whoever he’d been looking for. Reaching behind Lucas, he grabbed someone's arm, tugging them into your line of sight. 

“And this is Taeyong!” He concluded with a grin, slapping a large hand down on the shorter boy’s shoulder. Taeyong dipped his head shyly, not meeting your eyes as he murmured a soft greeting that you were just barely able to catch. Soft tufts of dirty blonde hair fell over large brown eyes as he bowed politely, the air of meekness unmistakable. 

Oh, he’s cute. 

Your lips curled into an impish smirk. “Hi, Taeyong.” 

A faint blush darkened his cheeks and you caught a hint of a smile upturning the corners of his mouth. 

Really cute. 

Mark knew you well enough to see the gears beginning to turn in your head and coughed loudly when your stare lingered longer than necessary.

“O-kay, now that you’re all acquainted…” he stepped in swiftly, opting to intervene before you could get any wise ideas about his friend. “We have got a group project to work on and it would be extremely helpful if you’d refrain from providing any distractions. I already have a hard enough time trying to get them to focus for longer than five minutes as is.”

“Aww but I wanna hang out with your hot roommate, Mark.” Lucas whined loudly, practically throwing himself across Mark’s shoulders as the cutest pout you’ve probably ever seen fell across his lips. “She’s got a way nicer ass than any of you guys.” 

Doyoung sighed, his face screwing in second hand embarrassment for his friend’s shameless behavior. “Lucas, please.” 

“Have some dignity, man.” Haechan huffed additionally and you grinned in amusement as he grabbed the collar of Lucas’s shirt and began tugging him towards the living room. 

“Don’t worry, Mark. I’ll stay out of the way. I would hate to hinder your geek fest.” You teased, wrinkling your nose as you stepped past him. 

“Thank you, (y/n). I really— wait, Geek f– it’s a project worth thirty percent of our final grade!” 

“To-may-to, to-mah-to.” You waved a dismissive hand over your shoulder, before pausing briefly. Spinning on your heels, you turned back to face 

the cute boy, who visibly jolted the moment your attention landed on him. “It was very nice meeting you, Taeyong.” 

“Y- you, too.” He stuttered sweetly and you had to fight the overwhelming urge to reach over and pinch those adorable pink cheeks. Either pair. 

With one last sultry smile, and a wink just to fuck with Mark a little, you sauntered back into your bedroom. Miraculously, you were no longer concerned with the previously unbearable heat plaguing your apartment. Now, you had something —or rather, someone— far more interesting to occupy your mind. 

Taeyong was having a difficult time focusing, which was pretty out of ordinary. He had barely gotten anything done with his assigned part of the project, less than half a page filled out with what little information he managed to collect. Luckily, none of the other guys seemed to notice, too distracted by their own inabilities to focus to take notice of his. Otherwise he would have to concoct some lie. But he wasn’t good at lying. He was a terrible liar, in fact. So he would probably just end up blurting out the truth which was you. You were the reason he couldn’t focus. You with your mischievous eyes and your pretty smile and intoxicating laugh. Mark’s asshole roommate with the sex drive of a teenage boy on viagra. 

He’d seen pictures of you before. But they didn’t do you any justice. In pictures, you were pretty. In real life, you were beautiful, charming, witty, sexy, and you winked at him. Girls don’t wink at him. Not ever. But you had. You’d winked and smiled at him and he wasn’t sure if you were just teasing him because he flustered easily or if there was a chance it meant something a little more than that. 

… he secretly hoped it meant something a little more than that. 

But he shouldn’t be thinking about you right now. He should be thinking about finishing his research. Not your eyes. Not your smile. Not your voice of the way you purred his name and those shivers rushed down his spine and he could have sworn something twitched— okay. That’s enough. He really needed to splash some water in his face, cool down a little before his mind wandered to places it definitely should not. 

“Ah— Mark?” 

The younger boy lifted his head, brows raising. “’Sup?” 

“Where’s the bathroom?” 

He perked, tipping his chin forward. “Oh, it’s to the right of the k— shit, wait. That toilet’s busted. Um, just use the one in my room. It’s at the end of the hall.” 

“Thanks,” Taeyong pushed himself up with a soft grunt, nearly tripping over Yukhei’s long legs as he maneuvered himself around the cluttered coffee table, “I’ll be right back.” 

None of the other guys took much notice of how quickly he rushed out of the room, much to Taeyong’s relief. He let out a low breath the moment he turned the corner and found himself in a vacant hallway, but that relief was short lived. 

Mark had only said that his room was at the end of the hall. But, there were two doors at the end of the hall. Meaning one of them could possibly lead to your room. And you were in your room. Which meant if he walked through the wrong door on accident… he could walk in on you. Oh god. Heat rushed into his cheeks at the mere thought of such a humiliating occurrence. For a moment, he debated turning on his heels and returning to the living room. 

But, he wasn’t ready to go back to studying just yet. He was still feeling flushed and antsy and needed another moment or two to himself. Plus… he was actually starting to need to pee a little. Damn him and his tiny bladder.

Hesitating, he gently knocked on the door on the right side of the hall then waited ten seconds. No response. Just to be extra certain, he knocked twice more before finally turning the knob. Cautiously, he peeked his head inside. The black out curtains were drawn tight so the room was dark, too dark to make out anything defining outside of the vague shape of a bed and dresser tucked into the far corner. It took a few minutes of stumbling blindly through the inky blackness, tripping over clothes and extension wires until he found what he hoped to be the bathroom door. 

Without too much of a second thought, he opened the door. 

Then he froze. 

He thought it was Mark’s room. He really did. He thought he was tripping over Mark’s clothes and Mark’s wires. Though, he probably should have noticed the light coming out from beneath the bathroom door, indicating that someone might be inside. Or maybe he did but ignored it because– because maybe Mark just left the light on. That could have happened. That totally could have happened. 

But it didn’t. 

Because it wasn’t Mark’s room. Those weren’t his clothes or his wires and he didn’t leave the light on. 

He realized this all too late of course. Because now he was staring at you. You who was wet and naked and… wet and naked. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He could only stare, dumbstruck, mind short circuiting as billowing steam curled around the shape of your body like an iridescent veil, beautiful skin glistening under the soft golden light. Your head was tipped back, lips slightly parted, hands soothing your slick hair out of your face as the hot water cascading down the swells of your 

breasts and over the curves of your shoulders.

It was like watching something out of a pornographic shampoo commercial. 

“Oh—” it was somewhere between a whine and gasp, strangled and broken by the time it escaped his trembling lips. It was so quiet, you shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the hiss of water. So it took him off guard when your eyes opened and flicked in his direction. 

He flinched, body jolting backwards like it intended to make a break for it, but it was like your stare locked him into place. His brain was screaming at him to do something; to move, to  turn away, close his eyes, apologize, bash his head against the freaking wall, literally anything but stand there staring at you with his mouth open like a complete idiot. But he couldn’t. 

The corner of your mouth curled, forming into a downright devilish smirk that sent hot tendrils of desire spiraling through his veins. Then you quirked a brow and it was like a burst of electricity bringing him back to life. His hands flew up from where they’d been frozen at his sides, slapping so hard over his eyes that he yelped in shock at the sting. 

“Ohmygod I- I am so sorry! I am so—” he whirled around, spewing high pitched apologies as he scrambled for the door. Only, his eyes were closed so instead of bolting out the door he face planted into the wall next to the door. “Ow!” 

Your low laughter rippled through the small bathroom and red hot embarrassment raced up his neck and into his face. He could only whimper out one finally strained apology as he clutched his throbbing nose and stumbled back into the darkness of your bedroom, slamming the door sharply behind him. 

By the time he’d managed to scramble back into the hall, Taeyong felt like he was on fire. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and he was certain if he dared to look in a mirror he’d be the equivalent of a tomato. 

Humiliation gripped at his throat, squeezing painfully around his airway every time he recalled the previous events. He’d never be able to face you again. Not after that train wreck. Not ever. Groaning distraughtly, he sank against the wall, silently wishing that the floor would just swallow him up and put an end to his suffering.

But, there was something worse than the embarrassment. Something hotter and harder, throbbing shamelessly in the confines of his suddenly far too jeans. He saw you naked— wet and naked, looking like a freaking goddess beneath the stream of hot water, soap suds still clinging to your skin. He had never seen a woman like that before. Not in person, at least. And none as beautiful as you. 

Biting his lip, he squeezed his legs together, trying his best to will away his progressively hardening erection. That, of course, did not work. And it didn’t help in the slightest that every time he so much as blinked, the image of you in the shower came rushing to the forefront of his mind, still fresh and vivid and devastating. 

Oh god. There was no was no way he could go back to working on the project now. If he thought he was being unproductive before— he probably wouldn’t be able to get a single legible word written with the image of you and your body burned into the back of his eyelids. 

He was doomed. 

And he still needed to pee. 

Damnit. 

It was about nine at night when the low voices transformed into booming laughter, the walls practically vibrating under the barrage of stomping feet. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that they’d finished up on their project— either that or they mutually reached the end of their attention spans. 

Regardless, you were bored of remaining cooped up in your bedroom merely for the sake of your roommate’s econ grade and needed to stretch your legs a bit. Not to mention you were beginning to crave something greasy and unhealthy. You were almost certain the group of college boys lounging in your living room wouldn’t be opposed to some pizza, fries, and milkshakes from your favorite delivery place. 

“I don’t know about you boys but I’m starving!” You sang brightly as you all but skipped into the room. All eyes swung to you, wide and stunned as they watched you waltz over to where Mark sat in the love seat and throw yourself into his lap like it was the most normal thing in the world. He grunted under your weight, lip curling in annoyance but wrapped his arms securely around your stomach nonetheless. You pretended not to notice the lingering eyes of one particular boy, meticulously curled into the farthest corner of the couch. “Anyone down to order?” 

“Ugh please!” Yukhei exclaimed, throwing his head back dramatically. “I am dying of hunger.” 

The others were eager to voice their own agreement and you turned to Mark with an expectant smile. “Rubio’s?” He asked, already reaching for his phone. 

“Read my mind.” You hummed, pinching his cheek until he hissed and swatted you away. 

It was nothing short of chaos trying to get everyone’s orders, multiple overlapping voices making it hard to discern exactly who was asking for what, but somehow Mark managed to place all of the requests with only a handful of difficulties. Well, all but one. 

“Taeyong.” 

The boy’s head jerked up so fast at the sound of his name that you were surprised you hadn’t heard something crack. Up until then he’d been sitting quietly with his knees to his chest, staring at his feet, pointedly avoiding looking in your general direction. He could only hold your gaze for a few tense seconds before his cheeks flamed and he dropped his eyes. 

“I– uh– y- yes?” He coughed, blinking hard. 

You tilted your head, offering him an innocent smile. “Is there anything you’d like to eat?” You couldn’t stop yourself from adding an unnecessarily suggestive pitch to the question, words dancing wickedly across your tongue. 

Taeyong swallowed and pulled his knees tighter to his chest. “I– I’ll just have some of the- the pizza.” The words tumbled clumsily out of his mouth and your grin only widened as he became more and more flustered under the heat of your persistent stare. 

“Perfect. Then we can share.” 

The poor boy nearly choked on air when you abruptly pushed yourself off of Mark and sauntered over to where he sat, squeezing in between him and an eager Yukhei, who was more than happy to make room for you. His entire body went rigid, brief panic shooting across his features as you made yourself comfortable. It was tight with Jaehyun, Lucas, Taeyong and now you all squished onto the couch, so you were practically flush against him, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. You pretended not to notice that he was holding his breath. 

“Thirty minutes.” Mark announced, shutting off his phone and shoving it back into his pocket. 

“What should we do while we wait?” Jaehyun asked, ignoring Yukhei as he whined about how he’d be dead of starvation before the food even arrived. 

“Movie?” Haechan suggested. 

You perked. “I know a good one.” 

“No— no.” Mark cut in quickly, pointing a finger with the intention to reprimand in your direction. “Every time you pick a movie it’s either fucked up or really fucked up. So no.” 

“Don’t be a pussy, Mark.” You huffed, wrinkling your nose at him. “Just because you don’t like horror movies doesn’t mean your friends don’t.” 

“I, for one, love a good horror movie!” Yukhei remarked, a smug grin breaking across his lips as he shot a flirtatious wink in your direction. 

Haechan scoffed. “Bullshit! You couldn’t sleep alone for a week after we watched The Shining. And that wasn’t even scary!” 

“There was a tidal wave of blood.” He grumbled defensively, crossing his arms over his chest as he slumped, lower lip jutting out dramatically.

“No tidal wave of blood is this one, promise.” You snickered, snatching the remote from the cluttered coffee table and switching on the television. It only took a few minutes of browsing through Netflix before you finally located the movie you’d saved to your watch list a few weeks ago but had never gotten the chance to watch. 

Marked hopped up to flick off the lights as you pressed play, any excited or nervous murmurs coming to a halt as the opening credits rolled across the screen. Beside you, Taeyong tensed, squeezing his legs even tighter to his chest. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, not missing the nervous way he gnawed at his lower lip even in the darkness. 

“Not good with horror movies?” You hummed, nudging his knee. He flinched in surprise, eyes shooting over to meet yours before he quickly diverted his attention back to the screen. 

“No, not– not really.” He admitted weakly, clearing his throat. 

A playful smirk twirled onto your lips and you subtly leaned into him, whispering near his ear, “you can hold my hand if you get scared.” 

A fierce blush consumed his cheeks, illuminated by the soft grey light of the television. “I– I’ll be okay.” He coughed when his voice cracked and you chuckled under your breath, opting to cut the poor boy some slack… for now. 

The movie progressed with the usual eerie start before transitioning into something lighter, though the low hum of anticipation-building music never ceased. Even if at some point it became rather repetitive, you thoroughly enjoyed a good horror movie. Most of the time, they failed to meet expectations and you left feeling rather disappointed that your stomach hadn’t leapt into your throat any point throughout the film. However, every once in a while, you were pleasantly surprised. 

Now, was not one of those times. 

Boredom quickly settled over you as the plot developed, revealing itself to be almost identical to a number of horror movies you’d watched in the past. You slumped back in your seat, a subtle scowl staining your lips. But then… inspiration. Devious, unquestionably self indulgent inspiration that risked putting a certain someone in a possibly very awkward (but also very delightful) position. 

The slow slide of your eyes from the television over to the boy seated at your left revealed that not everyone found the movie to be boring and repetitive. Taeyong was practically trembling. He had both of his hands over his face, wide, uncertain eyes peeking out timidly from between his index and middle fingers. 

You had to sink your teeth into your lip in order to subdue the large grin threatening to break across your face. 

Fuck, he’s too adorable. 

Unable to resist, you allowed a curious hand to wander towards his leg. With a brush so subtle it could’ve been mistaken for a breeze, you traced a finger over the seam of his pants. But, with his senses on high alert, it wasn’t a sensation he missed. He jolted violently, head swinging in your direction. There was fear in his eyes, but it quickly melted into relief else once he realized it was you and not some demon. 

Then his eyes drifted to where your finger lingered, hovering over his clothed thigh, and the relief transformed into something else entirely. Something hot and shameful and desperate, something he tried to hide behind frantically fluttering eyelids and quivering lips. But it was unmistakable. 

You lifted your brows, a silent question swirling in your gaze. He swallowed, breath coming out in quick, shallow huffs as the unnameable emotion thickened inside of him, then he nudged his leg shyly towards you. The air you didn’t realize you were holding in your lungs rushed out in one quick exhale, a subtle smirk curling onto your lips as excitement swirled in your gut. Taeyong sucked his lower lip into his mouth as your open palm landed boldly on his lower thigh, fingers pressing gently into the clothed muscle just above his knee. 

For a few minutes, it remained there, not moving any lower or any high, simply resting on his leg and he found himself relaxing beneath your touch. The heat of your hand was a welcome –comforting, even– distraction from the horror movie that had progressed to the point in the plot where the reckless characters put themselves directly into the line of danger instead of taking the intelligent path that would help them avoid it all together. You could feel the tension returning to Taeyong’s muscles as suspense building music poured from the surround sound speakers. 

In a two sided attempt to both comfort and tease, you began gently massaging his thigh. His breath audibly hitched, gaze straying from the screen once more in favor of watching the slow, deliberate motion of your fingers squeezing around his leg. That alone was enough to set his long neglected desire to flames. It burned within him, hot and dangerous, turning his face a dark, flattering crimson. 

It was too much. He’d never been touched like this before. You weren’t even close to his crotch and he could still feel the distinctive hardening beneath the zipper of his jeans which were growing tighter and tighter with every passing moment. At this rate, he’d make a mess of himself before the movie even reached its climax. 

The mere thought of coming untouched was enough to make his head feel dizzy, a mixture of humiliation and heady lust licking at his nerves. 

He couldn’t believe he was feeling this way, in a room full of his friends no less. If one of them were to look over, even through darkness, it would be impossible to miss your hand laid across his lap or the feverish blush coating his face, illuminated by the dull light of the tv. 

Then, your hand shifted higher. It was a minute movement, couldn’t have been more than an inch or two. But it had his pulse spiking in his veins nonetheless, blood rushing downward. You gripped gently at the inside of his slim thigh, thumb tracing slow, calculated circles into the rough material of his jeans. He trembled beneath the teasing ministrations, jaw clenched to fight back the urge to moan as your curious touch wandered upwards once more. 

“Is this alright?” 

The question came unexpectedly, a sudden rush of warm breath hitting the curve of his throat. He sucked his lips into his mouth, shivering faintly at the low, rough sound of your voice, just quiet enough that none of the other men in the room could make it out. 

He offered a sharp, jerky nod, desperately heaving in deep breath through his nose. The corner of your mouth curled. 

“God you're shaking. Are you that sensitive? Or do you just get off on getting felt up in front of all your friends? How naughty.” You chuckled tauntingly, words borderline malicious. 

“I– I don’t— I’m not—” he swallowed, shaking his head frantically in denial of your words, despite the flames they ignited inside of him. 

“I think you are.” You purred, tracing your index finger lightly over his prominent bulge, eliciting a strangled moan from his trembling lips. He was fortunate enough that at the very moment the sound escaped, some ditzy bimbo began screaming her lungs out in the movie. Still, he slapped a hand over his offending lips, looking around frantically to see if anyone had heard his slip up. Luckily enough, it seemed they hadn’t. 

This was payback, he realized abruptly, this was payback for walking in on you showering. 

But even if it was— 

It felt too damn good. 

His head tipped back, hand surging to cover his burning face and stifle his whimpers as you suddenly gripped firmly at his clothed length. A low, appreciative hum thrummed through your chest as you felt him twitch, delighting in just how responsive he was to your touch. His thighs squeezed together, hips shuddering upwards as you mapped him out. 

The urge to set your teeth upon his neck was almost overwhelming, but you resisted only because it might draw some attention from the room’s other, currently oblivious, occupants. You doubted Yukhei would miss it, even if he was desperately hiding his eyes behind those astoundingly massive hands. 

But shit was it tempting. 

His pretty porcelain skin would look so good painted in varying shades of pink and red. So sweet and pure… you wanted to taint him. 

He couldn’t stop moving now, squirming and quivering in place. He was unraveling right before your eyes, and you were devouring it. What a sight… 

Warmth stirred in your belly, and you rolled your palm down. He jolted violently, then in the next second he was up on his feet. It happened so quickly that you nearly fell over, just barely catching yourself from falling into the spot he previously occupied. Yukhei shrieked in shock, throwing himself directly into Jaehyun’s lap. 

“Fuck, Taeyong! You almost gave me a heart attack!” Haechan shrilled, clutching a pillow against his chest. Instead of responding, Taeyong jerked forward, the movement sharp and robotic, like his body wasn’t quite caught up to his brain. 

“What are you doing?” Doyoung asked, squinting at him through the darkness. “And why do you look so—” 

“B- B- Bathroom!” Taeyong squeaked out abruptly. You could only watch with wide eyes and gaping lips as he proceeded to run out of the living room like his ass was on fire. 

“Movie must’ve freaked him out.” Johnny muttered. 

“It’s not even that bad.” Yukhei scoffed in a voice too high pitched for his words to sound believable, grunting when Jaehyun shoved him off of his lap. Noisy banter was quick ensue. Noisy and distracting enough for you to make a quick and silent escape without catching any of the other boys’ attention. 

“Taeyong?” You called softly, worry churning in your gut that you overstepped or upset him. “Tae, I’m sorry if I—” you gasped, words cutting off in your throat as a hand found your wrist and you were quickly tugged around the corner and into the unlit hallway. 

The motion was so unexpected you ended up tripping over your own feet, having to slam a hand against the wall to steady yourself. But it was only when you felt a rush of quick, warm breath against your face that you realized the position you’d gotten yourself into. Taeyong was standing in front of you, face flushed a feverish shade of red, faint perspiration glistening on his skin, and he was standing with his spine flush against the wall, effectively caged in by your body. And he was looking at you. 

Really looking at you. 

With the kind of eyes that had something tightening deliciously in the pit of your stomach, chills of excitement ricocheting through your veins. 

“Tae?” His name was less than a breath on your lips, laced with an unspoken question. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, fluttering gaze dancing across your face. 

“I almost…” he swallowed, shivering voice tapering off as he became overwhelmed by the proximity. He could smell your shampoo, a subtle, smoky-vanilla kind of scent that made his head feel dizzy. “I almost c- came.” 

The corner of your mouth swirled, both amused and charmed by the way he whispered the word, tone so innocent and shy that the filthy meaning behind it almost became misconstrued in your head. 

“Do you want to come, Taeyong?” You asked quietly, jutting a knee forward to press between his thighs. He gasped, trembling lips silently caressing the shape of your name as his hands shot forward, clutching desperately onto the sides of your shirt. A shy nod was all he could muster, the words feeling far too dirty to say aloud. But you weren’t satisfied. 

“Say it.” You murmured, nose brushing against his. His breath hitched at the command, warmth flushing through his veins beneath the staggering heat of your dark, hooded gaze. “If you want it, say it. If you don’t, tell me now.” 

“I want it!” He said quickly, only to flush and shrink in on himself, taken aback by his own outburst. Licking his lips, he repeated himself in a much softer voice, “I– I want it.” 

You let out a low hum, curving a gentle hand around his jaw. “Can I kiss you?” 

A shock ran through his body, his wide eyes snapping down to trace to soft lines of your mouth. “Yes.” He breathed, suddenly desperate for a taste of your lips. You didn’t deny him. 

The first brush of your lips against his is light, delicate… teasing. It made his knees tremble, fierce anticipation and wild desire running rampant through him. He opened up for you like a goddamn flower in bloom, melting sweetly when you applied even the slightest bit more pressure. His mouth was soft and warm, his kiss shy. And there was something ever so endearing about the way he clutched at your top like it was the only thing keeping him upright. 

You kept the pace deliberately slow, relishing in the soft moans that fluttered from his chest as you sucked his lower lip into your mouth, gently sinking your teeth into the sensitive flesh. He was wracked by a violent full body shiver when you licked over the seam of his lip. 

God he’s adorable. 

His strong reactions made you wonder if he’d ever been kissed like this before. Or, perhaps, this was a new experience entirely. 

“Taeyong.” He whimpered when you abruptly broke away from the kiss, but you ignored it. “Are you a virgin?” 

His eyes widened, a deep red flooding his cheeks. Then, he nodded, gaze dropping to the floor as the tips of his ears darkened. 

Wicked excitement curled in your gut, heat licking at your veins at the thought of being the first to corrupt such a sweet… innocent… 

“Have you ever been touched before?” 

He shook his head, chest pressing against your with every jagged inhale he drew into his lungs. 

You dipped a hand between your bodies, trailing teasingly down his stomach. “Would you like to be touched?” Your voice had dropped at least an octave, a low, rasping whisper that nearly made him keen. 

“Yes.” A devious grin settled across your lips at the quickness of his reply. Didn’t even need to think that one over, huh? 

You slid your hand over his crotch, feeling his hips buck uncontrollably when you squeezed. “Just looking at you,” you began, toying with his zipper, “I never would’ve guessed what a little slut you are.” 

“I- I’m not a slut.” He whimpered, digging his fingers into your waist. 

“Aren’t you, though?” You popped the button of his jeans. “I mean, take a good look at yourself, Yongie; letting yourself get felt up and teased by your best friend’s roommate while they’re just in the next room over. Seems pretty slutty to me.” 

Taeyong couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped his chest at the degrading word, his cock twitching within the confines of his boxers. Slipping a finger beneath the elastic, you tugged it away from his skin, letting out a playful coo when his weeping pink tip peeked out. The blush on his face intensified tenfold, both of his hands dropping down instinctively to cover himself. But you were faster, snatching his wrists and pinning them against the wall on either side of his head. 

“Don’t even think about it.” 

Shivering, he offered a compliant nod. 

“Good boy.” 

He barely had time to form a reaction to the praise before he felt you around him, stroking and caressing. The responding moan that burst from his lips was loud— too loud. You were quick to cover his gaping mouth, successfully muffling the series of succeeding gasps and whimpers. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” you clicked your tongue, watching the way his eyes fluttered and rolled as you tightened your grip around his cock, “you wouldn’t want your hyungs to find out what a little slut you’re being, now would you? Mark was so kind, inviting you into his home… How do you think he’d feel if he were to see you taking advantage of his hospitality, getting your pretty little cock played with by his roommate? How shameless...” 

Taeyong whimpered, and you felt the gentle press of his lips against your palm, followed by a meek flick of his tongue. He was looking at you now, really looking at you, with the kind of pathetic, wanting eyes that never failed to make your skin burn in excitement. You wondered if you could make him cry, overwhelm him with pleasure to the point where he couldn’t keep his emotions at bay. The desire to ruin him was almost unbearable. 

Swirling your thumb over his tip, you slotted a leg between his, pressing up against him from underneath. He nearly keened at the pressure, hips rolling greedily over your thigh, simultaneously pumping his cock into your closed fist. Heaven, this must be heaven. Honestly, you hadn’t expected him to succumb to his desires so readily, with such… enthusiasm. But this Taeyong surprised you at every turn. You’d thought he’d be shy, reserved, hesitant to give in, but here he was, riding your thigh and fucking your hand like his life depended on it, his muffled moans pulsing beneath your palm. 

It’d be a flat out lie to say you weren’t beyond turned on. 

There was a slick warmth building between your thighs, soaking into the fabric of your underwear, and tight knots in your stomach, threatening to burst at any given moment. The knowledge that less than thirty feet away, your roommate and all his friends were gathered and one stray moan from the crumbling man before you could give away all the filthy things you were doing to him stroked the lustful flames blazing through your blood. One glimpse into those hooded, glassy brown eyes told you he was suffering from a similar burn. 

“Turn around.” You demanded, somewhat breathless as you tore your hands off of him. A low whimper escaped past trembling lips at the loss of stimulation, a shiver rippling down his spine as his hard, abandoned cock swung through empty air. Regardless, he was quick to comply, spinning himself around and pressing his palms flat against the wall. You hummed a praise, pleased with his eager compliance, rewarding him with your touch. He gasped, forced to sink his teeth into his lip to stifle his whimpers as your hands slipped over his body: one returning to stroke his dick while the other pushed beneath the material of his top, venturing up to his chest where your fingers set to toying with his sensitive nipples. 

“(y/n)—” he moaned your name desperately, rocking his body back against yours as overwhelming pleasure pulsed through his veins. 

“Easy, sweetheart,” you chuckled darkly, splaying a steadying palm across his hips as they began grinding back into yours, “you sound like you're about to burst.” 

He moaned, shuddering when you caressed his sensitive tip, and an idea struck you. 

“Can you do something for me, Tae?” You asked, voice a low, rasping against the shell of his ear. “Can you suck?” 

Any short lived confusion dissipated from his mind when he felt your fingers nudging at the soft flesh of his lips. A deep blush flooded into his cheeks, but his mouth opened nonetheless, shyly taking your digits inside. 

“There you go…” you purred, feeling his tongue lick delicately at the pads of your middle and ring finger. He sucked, and you lowered your head to press slow, encouraging kisses laced with whispered praises to the juncture of his throat. You felt the soft vibrations of his muffled moans quivering through your knuckles and against your lips. He was shaking, the stimulation to his cock causing violent tremors to wrack his body. He wasn’t far off from release, you could tell as much by the way he was twitching and the slow increase in volume of his sounds. 

But you weren’t finished yet. 

Not by a long shot. 

You pulled your fingers from his mouth, the suction of his lips giving with a lewd, wet pop. A filthy sound coming from such innocent lips. 

Leaning forward, you nipped gently at the shell of his red tinted ear, hand releasing his dick in favor of venturing beneath the hem of his pants. You heard his breath hitched and offered quietly, “Tell me if you want me to stop.” 

Taeyong nodded in understanding, but offered no resistance as you pushed the thick denim down over the soft curve of his ass. His shoulders jumped, a gasp shooting from his lips when you slid a saliva soaked finger between his cheeks, coming to the abrupt realization of what your intentions were. 

“O– oh—” 

“Is this alright?” 

He swallowed, glancing back at you from over his shoulder. “I– I’ve never…” 

You soothed a hand down the front of his thigh, “it’s okay if you don’t want to.” 

There was no judgement in your tone, rather a gentleness to the reassurance that put his buzzing nerves at ease. “That’s not it,” he shook his head, gnawing at the corner of his lip as a soft pink crept across his cheeks, “j– just…” 

“Just?” 

Taeyong drew in a deep, trembling breath. Your furrowed brows shot to your hairline, heat twisting in your gut as he suddenly bent himself over, sticking his ass out, practically fucking presenting himself to you. “B- be gentle…” he whispered shyly, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow. 

Steam would surely start coming out of your nose if your temperature rose any further. This is fucking ridiculous. How was it possible for a man to be so cute yet so sexy all at once? This couldn’t be good for your health… 

Smirking deviously, you settled a palm between his shoulder blades, pressing down ever so slightly and watching as he delicately arched his spine. “I’m always gentle.” 

A hiccuping moan rushed from his chest at the first careful press of your finger, his brows furrowing deeply as his muscles tightened in response to the foreign stretch. 

“Relax, sweetheart.” You reminded lightly, settling soothing kisses across his shoulder. He drew in a series of deep breaths, allowing himself to adjust to the sensation of having something inside of him while melting into the tender caress of your cool lips across his feverish skin. You felt the slow dissipation of tension, felt the way he melted beneath you. “There you go…” you cooed, easing into him until your knuckle before allowing him a few moments to adjust. 

He was panting, forehead thudding softly against the wall as his hips trembled, a strange but not unpleasant feeling sparking to life inside of him. 

“Oh…” it was a barely audible sound, soft and breathless of shuddering lips. But you didn’t miss it, didn’t miss the way his shoulders drooped, his walls tight relaxing ever so faintly around the intruding digit. The corner of your mouth curled upwards in a salacious smirk, and you curled your finger experimentally. 

His reaction was instantaneous, a moan of surprise entwined with unexpected pleasure rushing from his flush throat. He glanced back at you from over his shoulder, eyes wide and trembling, hazy with an emotion you immediately recognized as pure, unfiltered lust. Your grin widened, almost triumphant as you whispered, “feel that?” 

He nodded rapidly, a gasp of breath wracking his chest. “Yes,” his hands were curling into fists where they were braced against the plaster wall. 

“Wanna feel it again?” 

The sound he let out was a combination of several things, keening and desperate for the sensation he’d never before experienced. “Please. Please.” 

It was impossible to say anything but yes when he begged like that. 

You rewarded him by stretching him out around a second finger, his knees nearly giving out when you thrust them in as deep as they would go. He was an absolute mess, forced to slap a quivering hand over his gaping mouth when his teeth proved insufficient at keeping his sounds in. You were enjoying yourself perhaps a little too much, enjoying watching him slowly crumble, enjoying watching his innocence shatter into tiny irreparable pieces on the floor beside glistening drops of precum. He was just too irresistible… 

“You’re about to come, aren’t you?” He was nodding before you even finished the question, muffled moans and sobs escaping through his fingers as he fucked himself back onto yours. You curve a hand around the shape of his jaw, tugging his head back at an angle that surely causes a strain in his neck, and slot your lips into his. Shoving your tongue down his throat proves a far more efficient means of keeping him quiet. 

But when you curled your fingers inside of him, subsequently stroking that sensitive bundle of nerves, even your mouth wasn’t enough to stifle the shriek of pleasure that burst from his throat. You were hoping the screams you heard emulating from the other room were enough to drown it out. 

“Keep your voice down.” You all but snarled, curling a hand around his throat. 

“I- I can’t— oh god, it feels so g- good.” He babbled, voice strained from the sheer effort of trying to keep himself from crying out in bliss. “I’m g- gonna come— I’m gonna c- come—” the sound of him choking on his words, gasping for breath around the added resistance of your restricting hold was even hotter than you imagined it would be. 

“Gone on, sweetheart. Let me see you make a mess of yourself.” You kissed the shell of his ear, deciding then to have mercy and offer his pathetic, weeping cock a helping hand. He was finished the moment your fingers grazed his tip, struck with an orgasm so powerful it had his knees buckling beneath the weight of his quivering body. 

His jaw when slack, unleashing every pent up sound he’d managed to keep bottled up thus far. They came rushing out of him too quickly to stop, not that you made much of an effort. You were enjoying the way he was moaning your name like it was his saving grace far too much to care whether or not the other boys were hearing. In fact, the thought of them hearing their sweet, innocent Taeyong whimpering like a bitch in heat, moaning your name, gave you an unexpected rush of delight. 

You didn’t stop fucking your fingers into his tight little hole until you were certain you’d milked him for all he was worth, until he was reduced to little more than a trembling, whimpering mess against your chest, barely able to keep himself upright. 

“Oh my g- god.” He murmured shakily, head falling back to rest on your shoulder. 

A low chuckle slid from your lips as you gently released his spent cock, simultaneously pulling out of him. He winced faintly, whining weakly at the unpleasant emptiness that ensued. 

“That felt pretty good didn’t it?” You teased. 

He bit his lip, humming airily as he melted into your hold. 

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Taeyong?” Your words danced over the curve of his throat, flooding his senses with the fluttering implication. Blushing, he nodded, a shy bob of his head that caused the sweat soaked fringes of his bangs to fall over his eyes, clinging delicately to his pretty eyelashes. “Words?” 

“I—” he swallowed, gaze flitting as his face reddened further, “I’m a g- good boy.” 

You mouth curled deviously. Holding your come covered hand up to his panting mouth, you whispered against the shell of his ear, “good boys clean up their mess.” 

His breath hitched, wide eyes jumping over to meet yours. You held his gaze boldly, cocking an expectant brow. Then, ever so lightly, his tongue dipped out from between red bitten lips, kitten licking his come from your fingertips. You could’ve come right then and there, watching him shyly lap his own release from your hand. Honestly you would’ve been happy to stay like that all night, his tongue tracing the lines of your palm, caressing your knuckles… 

But then the doorbell rang, and someone cleared their throat in the other room. 

“Uh… foods here.” 

Taeyong leapt away from you with a gasp, flushing deeply as his hands flew to tuck himself back into his jeans. 

“D- do you think they—” his voice cracked and he coughed as crimson crept up his neck. 

You smirked, not in the least bit ashamed. 

“Oh, definitely.”

A/N; well i dropped off the face of the earth, sorry about that loves. but i think you’ll be happy to know that i have a number of wip sitting in drafts, should i tease the banners? 

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Prompt idea: Geralt gets a contract for a monster that has been sighted nearby. When he tracks it down, he is surprised to find mothman!Jaskier who (much like actual mothman) has an ass that won’t quit.

?

I just want you to know that Mothskier now lives in my head rent free 24/7. I love him. I would die for him. This is my new favorite emotional support au.

2k-ish words - please feel free to shove comments through the bars of my enclosure, I would really like that

art by the ever-wonderful @mawbwehownets, whose drawing of Mothskier made me legit cry.

tw: mild injury, brief blood mention, strangers to lovers

---

“So what you’re saying,” Geralt raises an eyebrow slowly, curious, “Is that you need me to catch a monster that’s half man and half moth?”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. The frustrated Witcher takes a slow breath to calm and center himself, before he ends up botching the entire contract-writing process. Humans tend to grow attached to the strangest monsters sometimes, and apparently this mysterious local being was no different. “Let me get this totally straight, so there are no mistakes or misunderstandings. You want me to capture this man-moth and get it out of your woods, but you don’t want me to kill it?”

“He’s called the Mothman, and he’s pretty damn stubborn about sticking around,” the aging farmer corrects Geralt with a little frown. Then his expression shifts and he smiles in a way that seems almost apologetic. “We were hoping you could find a way to relocate him without hurting or killing him, Master Witcher.”

“That’s completely possible, if he isn’t attached to this specific patch trees by any magical or biological means. You said his natural habitat is just… the forest?”

“As long as there's an abundance of pine around he seems pretty happy. Before he came to live with us, Mothman lived in a heavily forested area up the coast; or at least that’s what the historical records and local mythology seem to indicate.”

“That’s actually pretty helpful information to have on hand, I’m impressed,” Geralt nods. “Alright, Mr. Stevens. I promise to relocate the poor thing without killing or maiming him, and I’ll be sure to take him somewhere far enough away that your crops won’t be in danger. Thanks for calling me first instead of just going straight to an extermination service.”

“Honestly, Master Witcher,” the farmer sighs and readjusts his dirty baseball hat, “If it weren’t for the mischief he’s been getting into lately, we would have let him stick around until spring. I hate to admit it to a man as strong and stern-faced as yourself, but the poor creature is almost… adorable at times.”

“Well that’s a first,” Geralt chuckles, honestly amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “A monster being referred to as ‘adorable’ rather than ‘terrifying’. I’ve never heard such a thing in my many years of life.”

“Then you’d better prepare yourself, Sir Geralt. He’s got a pair of big blue puppy-dog eyes that’ll knock you on your ass if you aren’t careful. And that’s coming from a man who raised three daughters with dimples.”

“Hmm. Fuck.”

---

Geralt knows enough about moths to come up with a plan he thinks will work.

Before he heads into the woods to find and capture the poor wandering creature, the Witcher takes a detour through the lighting section of the nearest Lowe’s.

---

Unfortunately for Geralt, the farmer was right about the power of Mothman’s puppy dog eyes, which are big and blue and begin to water as soon as the Witcher’s net knocks him to the ground. The creature lies in a whimpering tangle of limbs beneath the heavy, magically enhanced restraints. Geralt takes an opportunity to look at what the locals called "a cryptid".

Mothman has a long, lithe body that's covered in a light layer of grey-brown fur, but his hair resembles that of a human’s, falling over those enormous blue eyes in a lovely chestnut fringe. When Mothman sees the swords on Geralt’s back he cries out in panicked recognition and tries to pull his arms up far enough to shield his face. The lamp Geralt used to lure him into the clearing is still bathing him in a pool of yellow light; it’s almost pretty for a monster, Geralt notes.

As the Witcher takes a step forward, the cryptid squeaks and buries his face against his own shoulder. His entire frame is trembling.

“Hey there, shhhhh,” the Witcher murmurs quietly. He drops into a squat and holds both hands up to show Mothman that they’re weapon free. Tears are now falling freely down the creature’s surprisingly human face; whoever or whatever this is, they are likely some kind of Fae. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to get you back through the veil.”

“Liar,” Mothman huffs. His voice has a surprisingly musical quality to it and Geralt is now sure of his Fae parentage (or grand-parentage).

“I promise I’m not lying,” Geralt reassures him, slowly crawling forward. When he reaches for the nearest corner of the net, he feels all of Mothman’s muscles go tense. “I’m going to lift this up and I am going to restrain you, but I swear that I’m not going to kill you. I wish to cause as little distress as possible. Is that alright, Mothman?”

The creature hisses and yanks his foot back away from where Geralt’s hand had nearly touched it. “Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” Geralt glances up, raising an eyebrow.

“My name is Jaskier,” the Fae repeats, glaring up from between the sections of woven rope that make up the heavy net. “Not Mothman.”

“My apologies, Jaskier,” Geralt bows his head. He words his introduction carefully, in case this thing can manipulate his name like others of his kind: “You may refer to me as Geralt.”

“That’s your real name,” Jaskier states. The Witcher’s head snaps up.

“How did you know?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out as he mimics the sound Geralt made earlier. “Not telli-AH! Stop! Oh go- gods, stop! Please!”

Geralt drops the short section of rope he’s trying untangle from around Jaskier’s ankle and snaps his eyes upwards, already searching for damage. “What’s wrong!?”

“My wing!” Jaskier bawls. His scent spikes out through the clearing, sharp with panic and pain. The creature’s chest begins to shake more violently than before, his shoulders shuddering with the rising force of his sobs, “It’s t-t-torn! Oh gods, my wing! Sir Witcher, p-please!”

Geralt freezes, his gaze settling on the torn section of Jaskier’s large, furry wing. It’s a nasty wound near one of the joints, a faint trickle of barely-luminescent blood has already dried around the edges. Jaskier tries to flutter it a little and screams in agony when the muscles shift too suddenly, shrilly enough that Geralt needs to cover his hypersensitive ears. The Witcher's heart crashes down into his boots; based on the way the shivering Fae has gone pale and silent, the pain is too much for him to process. He’s gone into shock.

A torn wing is exactly the kind of thing Geralt had promised the farmer (and the collective of townspeople he represented) wouldn’t happen to the peaceful moth creature if they hired a Witcher instead of an exterminator. He sighs and gives the strange being another once-over. “Everything's alright, Jaskier. You’re going to be alright. I’m so, so sorry that you've been wounded. We’ll get you out of this net and get you something for the pain, but it’s going to hurt a little to untangle you. Stay still, don’t struggle, and it’ll be over soon.”

“J-Just kill me,” Jaskier pants. He’s continuing to hyperventilate and Geralt needs him to calm down before he passes out. The Fae reaches a hand for the dagger at Geralt's waist and the Witcher twists out of reach with a frown. Jaskier sobs again, fingers still seeking, “I might n-n-never fly a-again so just k-kill me!”

“Breathe with me, Jaskier,” the Witcher instructs, forgoing patience and cutting through the net with that same dagger. He scoops Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the keening sound at the back of Jaskier’s throat when his wing is jostled, and rushes the Fae to his truck, tucking him into the passenger’s seat and wrapping him in a large, fluffy blanket. “I’m taking you to my friend. She’s an expert at healing magical creatures and I'm certain that she'll get your wing fixed in no time.”

Jaskier doesn’t give an answer. When Geralt looks up into the creature’s face again, the injured Fae has already passed out.

---

Jaskier moves with all the grace of a newborn foal as he explores the room Geralt has provided for him. His wing has been inspected, treated, and bandaged by a rather scary sorceress named Yennefer, who glared at the Witcher the entire time she was caring for him. She had also taken one of Geralt’s old t-shirts and cut an enormous hole in the back for Jaskier’s wings to fit through. The shirt’s bottom hem falls to the middle of his thighs and the thick black material is softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

He hears a knock on the door and calls out, “It’s open!”

Geralt enters slowly, bearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a mug of tea. “I brought you some last minute supplies and - uh… I brought you some tea. Yen always likes some before she goes to sleep and I figured since this was a new place and new places can be scary that I should-”

“Thank you,” Jaskier interrupts, smiling shyly. His antennae twitch happily as he takes the offerings from Geralt's hands and the Witcher watches them with wide eyes. Jaskier carefully sets the pajamas and the tea on the nightstand before turning back to look at Geralt. “I will… see you tomorrow?”

Geralt gives one sharp nod. “Hmm.”

“Goodnight,” Jaskier sing-songs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Geralt exits.

From the other side of the closed door, Jaskier’s superior hearing picks up the Witcher’s final whisper: “Goodnight, Jaskier. I will always be sorry for causing you pain.”

The next morning he meets Geralt at the breakfast table, refreshed and ready to learn about the human world. He’s summoned a glamour in order to hide his more Moth-like traits, the only things that remain of his true nature are his wings and antennae; his fur is gone and he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and that same old shirt. The Witcher offers him a bowl of fruit and mug of something sweet-smelling. Jaskier glares into the mug with a slight pout to his lips before finally asking, “What is this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

Jaskier takes a sip and his antennae flutter, twitching happily as he swallows the best drink he’s ever had in his long life. He eats a strawberry from the bowl and slowly works his way through the hot chocolate, eyeing Geralt warily as the Witcher moves through the familiar kitchen to make his own breakfast.

“Where is Yennefer?”

“She went home,” Geralt shrugs.

“She isn’t your mate?”

“N-No,” Geralt sputters, turning to stare at the nervous young Fae. “Why would you think that?”

“You smell like each other.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Geralt shrugs again. “Good friends, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier mimics his host for a second time. Rather effectively by the annoyed twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Just wondering.”

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

“Why don’t you have more lights?”

“Huh?”

“Lights,” Jaskier gestures around the minimalistic layout of Geralt’s open-concept kitchen/living room and its distinctive lack of lamps. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the dark marble countertop. The pout has gone from 'slight' to 'full-bore' and Geralt is clinging desperately to his braincell with how cute it looks. “It’s no fun.”

“You really like lamps, don’t you?” the Witcher replies, mouth dry. Jaskier huffs and takes another sip of his hot chocolate, antennae flickering back and forth in irritation. Geralt bites his lip to hide a smile; it’s too fucking cute, which is an odd thought for a Witcher to have.

“So what if I do enjoy a nice lamp or five in my living space?” Jaskier argues. "I'm a Moth of taste."

“No matter,” Geralt laughs quietly. “Finish your drink before it gets cold.”

---

Jaskier stays with Geralt for a few weeks while his wing heals, and for a creature whose sole interest seems to be fancy light fixtures, the Fae becomes a source of light in Geralt's own world. They go to a nonhuman friendly second-hand store to find Jaskier some more clothes and Geralt discovers the cryptid's love for oddly patterned shirts in bright colors. Jaskier chooses several to fill out his closet, as well as a sweater two-sizes too large in deep black (Geralt tries his best not to attach any meaning to this choice), a few pairs of pants, and a jean jacket that he declares, "Can be altered."

They watch movies together and make food together - Jaskier is always incredibly impressed by the way the automatic coffee maker works, and how easily Geralt can control the flames of the stove. Jaskier also follows the Witcher along on less dangerous hunts and helps bandage him up after worse ones, always there with a smile and a little kiss over the cleaned-up wound.

“It really is magic,” Jaskier always insists, lips pink and shining from licking them as he concentrates. "It makes you heal faster."

Geralt realizes one night - two weeks into Jaskier’s stay, as he leans against the doorframe and watches the strange creature’s even breathing - that he has gone and done the stupidest thing a Witcher can do: fall in love with a pretty, temperamental young Fae. Head over fuckin’ heels, actually.

So he makes a decision.

---

The next evening, after the dinner dishes have been cleaned and put away, Geralt herds Jaskier down the hall to the guest room. Those entrancing blue eyes blink up at him in obvious confusion. “Bedtime already?”

“No, not quite. I just- I made you… uh…”

“Do you have a surprise for me?” Jaskier asks, used to the Witcher's issues with verbalizing.

Geralt nods, relieved and thankful for the Fae’s steadfast understanding. “Do you want to cover your eyes or should I just open the door and show you?”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Jaskier smiles, covering his eyes with both hands. Geralt finds it adorable, as Jaskier always is, and allows himself a matching grin as he swings the door open. The ceiling light is off but Geralt has built a blanket fort at the center of the room and surrounded it with fairy lights of all colors and sizes. Inside the blanket fort is a mass of blankets and pillows; Jaskier has the odd habit of building nests - Geralt jokingly calls them cocoons - and sleeping in those on the floor instead of on the very comfortable mattress the Witcher has provided.

“Open them,” Geralt urges.

Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt watches as his pupils go huge and wide. Jaskier's face breaks out in the sunniest, most blindingly happy smile Geralt has ever seen. He turns and throws his arms around the Witcher, his wings fluttering behind him and his antennae twitching and flicking above his head. He tries desperately to speak but only manages a half-snuffled little “I’m-” before bursting into tears of joy.

Geralt just holds him, letting his arms fold carefully around Jaskier’s waist, just beneath his wings.

"I just wanted you to know that, if you wanted to stay, there would be room for you. Your room, if you want it."

"I do," Jaskier smiles, burying his face in the Witcher's neck. "I'd love to stay. I'd love nothing more than to spend my days going on adventures with you."

"Well then," Geralt gathers all of his courage and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head. He's met with happy spasms from the antennae so he does it again. And again. Moving from the top of the Fae's head to his cheeks and then his mouth - pretty and pink and pouting and so worth the trouble. "I suppose we can get started on our next adventure tomorrow."

[1kook]

one man, no hands

— a some way, some how jungkook drabble summary “Just my mouth,” he reassures you, rough hands slipping beneath the sides of your skirt, urging you to lift your hips as he nudges it over your tummy. “Promise.” warnings established relationship, mechanic jungkook, business woman oc, cunnilingus / eatin out, jk is dirty like in the literal sense rating m (18+) wc 2.5k 

notes am i confident in the title? no. am i stubborn and feel like it has to follow this pattern out of some weird self made obligation? yes, please help me. anyway here is 🔧⚙️ jk and his hot girlfriend once more <3

For the most part, you like to believe you were a pretty composed person. Sure, there are a few instances in your personal history where you exploded, sobbed, cursed the planet to hell and back. But given your chosen career track and the amount of stupidity you dealt with on a daily basis, you’re significantly more mild-mannered compared to your peers. That being said, you were by no means the dictionary definition of serene. After a long day of meeting clients around the city, a rather unsatisfying lunch, and atrocious city traffic—all while breaking in a new pair of heels—there was nothing more satisfying than pulling up to Jungkook’s empty auto shop and huffing out one long, “fuuuck.”

Jungkook doesn’t mind. “Hey, gorgeous,” he calls from over his shoulder, looming over the open hood of yet another innocent vehicle. The metal table beside him holds every tool imaginable. “How’s my sexy department manager doing today?”

“Terrible,” you confess, heels clicking against the concrete floor. You realize he’s hunched over his own car today, a rather rare sight if you’re being completely honest. Jungkook wasn’t the biggest fan of working on his own car(s) at the shop, something about pride and refusing to admit something was wrong with them in front of people who looked up to him. Men, you chuckle, finally closing in on him. 

He’s terribly sweaty, the sweltering heat turning the inside of the garage into a human microwave. “How’s my sexy mechanic doing today,” you hum, throwing all reservations aside to lean over and press a kiss against his cheek. Jungkook, as always, makes sure to nuzzle into the touch. 

“Pretty good,” he replies, taking advantage of your affectionate nature to set aside the tool that had been in his hand. You watch his sturdy fingers reach for the hood of the car, carefully shutting it because he knows you hate the smell of metal. The rag tucked into the pocket of his red jumpsuit is littered with stains, and the half-assed wipe of his hands against it doesn’t help. 

When he turns, that same hand attempts to reach for you, the remnants of oil buried beneath the tips of his fingernails. “Hey,” you warn, intercepting him at the wrist; you’ve spent one too many nights at the local laundromat trying to remove oil from tweed. 

Jungkook frowns, shakes his head to the side in that infuriatingly sexy way that not only lets you see the dark furrow of his shapely brows, but also has the tendons in his neck bulging just the slightest. “Give me a kiss,” he pouts, pretty pink lips fighting off a smile. “I missed you.”

Hands holding onto his wrists, you lean forward, your pointed heel tapping against the dirty toe of his work boots. 

One of your greatest contributions to society was introducing Jungkook to strawberry flavored chapstick, a deed that the universe pays you back tenfold with each kiss he bestows upon you, lips so soft and sweet. If you look past the distinct smells of the auto shop and Jungkook’s own natural scent, you swear you can smell the strawberries. 

It is as you’re trapped in this train of thought that Jungkook manages to overpower you, abruptly stepping forward enough to throw you off balance. Your gravity shifts, and while your heartbeat may spike for a moment, you know he’d never let you fall. “Easy there, beautiful,” he grins, one tatted arm wrapped around you. He’s got that stupidly cocky grin on, the one that usually proceeds some stupid or horny thought. 

Lo and behold, a second later he says, “can I eat you out?”

You roll your eyes, placing two hands against his chest. Jungkook takes it as a sign of your approval and moves in for a second kiss, only for you to shove him away with a huff. “You haven’t even showered, smelly,” you chide, straightening out the front of your blazer in a rather snooty manner that has Jungkook scoffing. 

“Please?” he tries again, not the slightest bit phased by the unimpressed look you throw his way. “I’ll wash my hands.”

“Jungkook,” you level, settling into one of the many rolling seats that decorate the floor of Jungkook’s garage, your cell phone placed down on the metal table nearby. From the corner of your eye, you catch sight of the familiar paper wrapping of the deli down the street, crossing your arms over your chest. “Did you eat at Shin’s for lunch? I don’t want your onion breath on my intimates.”

Jungkook steps in front of you, looking down at you with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Well then,” he says calmly, and then, drops to his knees in front of you. It has you jolting in surprise. Before you can accidentally send yourself rolling across the floor, Jungkook catches your ankle in one hand, tugging you forward until your knee presses against his side. “It’s a good thing that was Jimin’s lunch and not mine.” 

“Kook,” you gasp, the muscles in your legs weak against the grip he has on the back of your knees. The muscles in his forearms tense up as he slowly pries your thighs apart, leaning down to place a rather soft kiss against your knee. The tenderness of his kiss shouldn’t be surprising, but it never fails to make you inhale sharply, hands slowly coming to rest against his shoulders. 

The brush of your fingers against him has his eyes flickering up to meet yours, strawberry sweet lips curling into a smile. “Just my mouth,” he reassures you, rough hands slipping beneath the sides of your skirt, urging you to lift your hips as he nudges it over your tummy. “Promise.”

One shaky exhale later, you find yourself slowly nodding along, fingers burying themselves within the dark tresses of his hair. “No hands,” you remind him one final time, letting him manhandle you out of your panties. “And be gen—“

Your words are swallowed up by the surprised squeak that slips through your lips upon Jungkook’s first long lick over your slit. “I’ve got you,” he chuckles, the low and breathy kind that makes your skin tingle. “Hold on to me.”

“What the— fuck!” you exclaim, pulling at his hair in sheer fright when he whirls your chair around suddenly, pushes you the three feet until your chair is bumping against the front of his bumper, appropriately named. “Jungkook,” you scold, roughly yanking him up by his hair. “Don’t do that.”

“Shh,” he hushes, but the shock still has your heart thumping a little too quickly. You pinch his ear. Jungkook shakes you off just as quickly, throws you a childish glare. “You’ll need the support.”

The opportunity to question him never comes, because a second later Jungkook is tugging you forward in your seat, knees neatly placed over his shoulders for easy access to your pussy. You did need the support, you realize, back pressed against the curve of the hood as Jungkook begins the rather torturous process of teasing you. 

As promised, his hands rest over your thighs, thick fingers digging into the soft skin as he descends upon you, one featherlight kiss pressed against your mound. The polite greeting of his lips is followed by the not-so-polite greeting of his tongue, the warm and wet muscle caressing your clit. 

Your breathing hitches, a pleasant warmth settling in your core. It blossoms quickly, stamps out the remnants of fear from a few minutes ago. Jungkook’s tongue plays a key role in that change, nudging your clit back and forth carefully as he listens to the subtle alterations in your breathing. 

After the day you’ve had, the delicate way Jungkook laps against you has you melting, both into his touch and against the cold metal of the hood behind you. “Oh,” you pant, eyelids fluttering at the kiss he places against your labia. 

He’s relatively quiet today, just soft sighs against your cunt. Without his hands, you’re surprised by how easily he navigates his way along your lips, tongue nudging your folds apart. The round tip of his nose throws you for a loop as he kisses down your slit, the soft skin unintentionally brushing against your throbbing clit. (Or maybe intentionally— you never really knew with Jungkook.)

At your quivering entrance, he pauses, pulling back with glistening lips and dark eyes. “Good?” he murmurs, tongue peeking out at the corner to trace across his red lips. Another shake of his head, dark strands tickling his cheekbones. 

“So good,” you exhale, releasing one hand from it’s trembling grip in his hair. You press it against the side of Jungkook’s face instead. Briefly, the tips of your fingers brush against his ear, an action that makes his eyelashes flutter, mouth dropping open just as your thumb presses against his lower lip. “Make me cum,” you command, as if you aren’t completely at his mercy right now. 

Still, Jungkook humors you. His pearly teeth playfully bite down against your thumb, a smile making its way across his features when you pull away. “You got it, boss,” he teases. 

You roll your eyes. “You’re the boss here,” you mumble, shivers running down your spine when he ducks back down once more. 

Lips suctioned around your clit, your thighs quiver beneath his touch. A soft whine pulls itself from your throat, hand jerking forward to grasp at the white undershirt he’s got on, stained like always. Jungkook ups the intensity, pulling away with a loud pop only to bestow a chaste kiss against your sensitive clit. “Please,” you whimper. It takes every last remaining ounce of self-control to keep yourself from accidentally clamping your legs shut around him, hips jerking forward as he licks his way down your slit once more. 

His tongue dips its way between your folds, over your quivering opening, as if he’s circling where he’ll pleasure you next. A second later, you feel your entire body tense up momentarily as he slips his tongue in. It’s nowhere near as girthy as his cock, barely comes close to two of his fingers. But there’s something about Jungkook being so close, mouth against your pussy, that sends a shock of electricity straight there. 

“Oh— Oh, god,” you sigh, head lolling back, tapping against the hood of Jungkook’s car. 

The fingers digging into your skin tighten to the point of bruising, his hands growing anxious with every breathless moan drawn out from you. His plush lower lip is warm against your puffy skin, hot breath fanning over your wet folds as his tongue slowly works its way in and out. Slow, painstakingly slow. The speed has you growing restless, legs threatening to lock around his head, pushing him against your cunt until he can’t breathe. 

It’s a good thing Jungkook is the one in control, his flattened tongue trailing one, long lick over your pussy. It starts at your entrance, glistening with arousal and his saliva, and ends at your clit. You’re almost certain you can feel your heartbeat through the bundle of nerves, releasing a loud cry at the way the tip of his tongue flicks against it once more. 

The muscles in your legs, tired from walking all across the city, spasm beneath his ministrations. Your shoulders, tight from the weight of your responsibilities, relax back against the warm metal hood. Every kiss Jungkook places against you has you melting, feeling so unbelievably pampered. “Fuck, J- Jungkook— baby,” you whimper, letting go of his shoulder to bite down on your knuckles. 

Jungkook breathes harshly against you, brows furrowed together as he focuses on making you feel good. The sight of his handsome face buried between your thighs makes you shiver, jolt when he pushes his tongue into your entrance once more and begins slowly thrusting it in and out. It’s so wet, mixes with your arousal and makes this lewd sound that only fans the flames of your pleasure, fingernails pressed against his shoulders and then burying themselves against his scalp. 

It doesn’t take much longer, fatigue and pleasure catching up to you all at once, accumulating in a toe-curling orgasm unlike your usual ones. It’s quieter, filled with stuttered gasps instead, Jungkook’s name occasionally finding its way into the mix. By the end of it, you find yourself fretting over the state of your boyfriend’s scalp, having pulled it roughly at the height of your pleasure. 

“How cute,” Jungkook hums softly, eventually releasing one of your trapped legs from over his shoulder. He rubs the back of his hand over his mouth and chin, transferring a dark stain of something onto his porcelain skin. In that moment, you’re glad you banned the usage of his hands on your pussy. Without anything to hold it up, your leg slips down, the impact of your heel against the concrete sending a tingling pain up your leg. 

“Ouch,” you murmur, and then find yourself demurely covering your exposed pussy, still glistening with cum and saliva. At your modesty, Jungkook snorts, releasing your other leg only to surge forward and knock his forehead against yours. “Ouch,” you repeat, the stinging pain exacerbated when Jungkook pushes himself closer.

“So, what do you say?” he asks, smiles that devilish smile that makes him look like a Calvin Klein model. His hands are at your waist, helping you tug your skirt back down. It’s nothing grand, but your rose-tinted view makes you swoon at the way he manhandles you. He’s dangerously handsome, has you mindlessly wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

“Say about what?” you mumble, hypnotized by the cherry hue of his lips, and the fact they probably taste like you. 

Jungkook tilts his head to the side, like he’s going to kiss you. Instead, he pauses just in time to say, “how was my onion breath?” 

You’ve never pushed someone away fast enough, nearly impaling him with the sharpened heel of your shoe against his chest. It sends him tumbling back, a rough cough mixed with a boyish chuckle, the dorky kind as he sprawls himself over the dirty concrete floor of his auto shop. It’s as you’re glaring down at your immature boyfriend and what you’re certain is a tiny puddle of motor oil beside his head, that you realize this is your life now. Men, you think bitterly. 

“I hate you,” you announce childishly. You find your discarded panties on the metal table beside a goddamn wrench. You fling it at his chest, only the slightest bit turned on when he raises it up for a sniff. “Mmm,” he purrs, letting the flimsy fabric rest over his eyes. You don’t even have it in you to scold him on how dirty that is, instead nudging his side with your shoe. “You know,” he says, catching your ankle in his hand. He guides your foot over him, surprising you when he places it directly over his chest. “I had a dream like this in high school,” he confesses, making your face heat up. “Think it was because of those 50 Shades of Grey books we found in your attic.”

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[lilyofthestyx]

I saw request we’re open for RE8. Could I please have a fem! reader who tries to get rid of Ethan Winters because he keeps causing distress to her wife, Alcina? Please and thank you.

yes. yes you most certainly can have this.

i have been DYING to write about some alcina x fem!reader for the sole reason being that i have NEVER questioned my sexuality so hard since this damn game came out so yeah.

ps: wrote this in first person hope that's okay!

pps: there is some major plot deviation because.... i felt like it. idk. it fit??

DISCLAIMER: I do not claim to own Resident Evil or its characters or plot. CAPCOM please don't come for me.

here you go love >:)

word count: 1.57k

"Girls!" I call, closing the door behind me. "My darlings, I'm home!" Shifting the grip on the parcel of items from the village, I look around.

Usually one of the girls would've answered by now. Bela is usually here to greet me.

She's probably with her mother.

I shrug off my fur coat, handing it to one of the maids. She takes it and lays it over the back of a chair. I can tell by the large, gnarled scar on her forearm who she is "Marienna," I mumble, staring up the stairway. "...where're the girls?"

Marienna's face pales as she stares back at me. Her mouth opens and closes like a trout. "Well?" I snap, "D'you know where they are or-?!"

A crash resounds down the hallway. Alcina's voice tears from her bedroom, followed by a shuddering sob.

I'm hurrying up the stairs in seconds, abandoning the parcel. My body collides with the door- forcing it open.

Our bedroom is destroyed- the vanity broken to pieces. Alcina's soft hands cling to the golden wood, thumb rubbing against the varnish. Slowly, her eyes trail up to me. A smile nearly as broken as the vanity crosses her painted lips. "...I loved this damned mirror," she mumbles, eyes turning down to the broken pieces again.

"What happened, darling?" I coo, stepping over the pieces to stand beside her. My hand on her shoulder, I turn her face gently towards mine. Tears are streaming down her face- leaving jagged streaks of mascara. "Are you alright? What happen-"

Alcina's body tenses under my touch. Trembling, her grip tightens on the wood. It cracks before being wrenching in twain in her hands. "It was that stupid manthing!" She hisses, standing back up to her full height.

"...what 'manthing'?" I ask, "Your brother?"

Alcina ignores me, leaning back down to pluck one of the larger fragments before throwing it across the room. "He laid his filthy paws on our daughters!"

My mind races as it struggles to understand what the hell is happening.

Manthing.

It's not Heisenberg. He'd never lay a finger on the girls.

Some brutish village slug- that's got to be it.

But why? Why on earth would they...?

It doesn't matter.

As Alcina leans down to grab another bit, I grab her hand. "...are... are the girls okay? Where are they?"

A shuddering sigh passes her lips. "...they're all together," she whispers, wiping tears from her face hastily. "Bela... she was... that disgusting beast, he nearly killed her!"

"What?" I mutter, eyebrows drawing together as I step back. "...what... well is she okay? What happened? Is she going to be alright?!"

Alcina sighs again. "...she'll be alright," her hand wraps around mine gently. "Her sisters found her. Brought her to me."

"Where is she now?," I ask, tightening my grip around her finger. "My baby girl... where...?"

Alcina smiles warmly, getting down onto one knee. Her fingers brush back the hair from my eyes. Tears fall quickly down my face as I realize what could've happened if Cassandra and Daniela weren't nearby. "She's with her sisters," she answers gently. "Resting... waiting for her mother to get back with the flowers and silk from the village."

A cold laugh passes my lips before I sniffle. "...her mother should've been there. Should've never left."

Alcina's face tightens. "You can't blame yourself, darling," she mumbles, turning my chin up so I can face her. "No one knew this... Ethan Winters... would be so hideously vindictive."

I nod slowly, wiping the tears from my face. "...can I see her?"

"Of course, my love," she says, leaning in to press her lips to my cheek. "Of course."

The two of us walk down the halls to the center of the house. 'Safest place for her' Alcina had told me.

She had spoken to me the entire way over here, trying to get me out of my own head.

Bless my beloved wife for trying.

But that name. It just keeps buzzing around my mind.

Images of my hands, covered in thick blood, gripping the handle of a sickle play through my head. The blade going through the jugular of this 'Ethan Winters' and popping out the other side. Him desperate for air, choking on his own hot blood, as he watches me loom over him.

His last words will be for mercy.

His last view will be my blade.

My breath is bated as I watch him stalk through the darkness of the courtyard. In the moonlight, I can see is head is down, eyes wary as he keeps a fair grip on his pistol. The cool air lets me see him regulating his breathing- keeping him steady, keeping his pistol steady.

He's experienced.

My grip on my own weapon tightens as he stops in the gazebo. His eyes narrow as he turns around, his pistol raised. I watch in mild amusement as he whirls around, looking for something to shoot.

He's experienced, yes, but still not experienced enough.

I tug the fabric around my face higher along the bridge of my nose. Gripping my sickle, I balance on the balls of my feet.

Ethan finally relaxes, dropping his arms with his back to me.

A small smile creeps along my lips under the mask. A foolish move made by an even more foolish man.

My body slides underneath the stone railings for the stairs leading into the center of the courtyard. Untucking one of the smaller knives from my belt, I pinch it between two fingers and flick my wrist forward.

The knife goes flying- landing right between Ethan's shoulder blades. A guttural yell comes from him as he spins around to face me. In a blink, I'm up in front of him, nose brushing against his.

I can see the fear in his eyes.

I can't help my smile growing beneath the dark fabric.

Ethan raises his hand, pistol in his palm. With a tut of my lips, I shake my head and stab his hand through with my sickle. "...no, no," I mumble as he continues to scream and thrash against my hold. "There'll be none of that, I'm afraid, Mister Winters."

His teeth gritted, he hisses as my sickle is pulled from the inner part of his wrist. A bitter laugh bubbles up from my gut as he stumbles back onto the floor of the gazebo, now holding the pistol in his shaky left hand. "You can't be serious!" I giggle as Ethan pulls the trigger.

A wet squelch hits my ears as the bullet tears into my stomach. I sigh dramatically, looking down at the gushing hole in my dress. "You didn't think I was human- did you?" I ask, twirling the sickle in my hand.

"Wh- what?" Ethan mutters, eyes fixated on the bullet wound in my torso.

"I'm not," I continue, stepping closer to him as he tries to back away. Another gunshot echoes through the courtyard- the bullet landing in my left shoulder. "Not entirely, anyways."

"What the hell are you?!" Ethan yells, firing three more shots. One in the crook of my neck, one just barely grazing my temple, one lodging itself in my hip.

My jaw tightens as I hurry forward, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him back into the center of the gazebo. "I!" I snap, grabbing him again and gripping his wrist. "I... am the mother of the girl you almost killed!"

I pull another knife out of my belt. Trailing it down his lips, I smile. "And the wife... to a woman scorned." With a single swing, the knife digs into the flesh of his palm and nails it to the gazebo.

Ethan yells in pain. As I step back, his other fist cracks across my face. I stumble back. Grabbing at my cheek, I chuckle darkly. "Oh, Ethan," I coo coyly, grabbing my sickle. "You really shouldn't have done that."

I swing and watch with what could only be described as 'glee' as the blade pierces his throat. Covered in blood, the blade glistens crimson in the pale moonlight. Ethan's choked pleas are drowned out by my laughter.

"Why?" is the only word able to leave his lips without being smothered in a gush of blood.

"Because, Mister Winters," I hum, my nose brushing against his as I watch the life in his eyes flicker. "You should never have touched my family."

BONUS ENDING:

"What is that delicious smell?"

I turn around to see Alcina bending down to peek outside. A smile crosses my lips as I gesture to the mutilated corpse with the end of my sickle. "Dinner, my love," I hum, wiping off the blade with the fabric I had used for a mask. "Sorry it's not the cleanest."

Alcina scoffs and waves me off. "It's fine, _________. I'll just go let the girls know their mother brought dinner...," she pauses, eyes flicking over the gushing body. "...who was that? He smells... familiar."

"Just Ethan Winters," I answer nonchalantly.

"...y-you..." Alcina stammers, eyebrows weaving together and lips pursing. "You... when did you-?"

"He must've been tired," I continue with a small smile. "He was not nearly as difficult a kill as I thought he'd be."

"...I'll... I'll be going now."

"Okay, love," I chirp, "I'll drag him in in a second. Love you!"

Alcina's eyes are still wide, mouth slightly agape as she steps away from the doorway. "...love you too... darling."

can you tell i had a lot of fun with this?

yeah. because i did.

i hope you enjoyed! writing lady d is so much freaking fun i kid you not.

big vampy lady make brain go brr

[5acchan]

red-handed, pink-cheeked

inumaki x f!reader

warnings: sub!inumaki, d/s themes, femdom, cock&ball torture, mild verbal humiliation/degradation, teasing, mutual masturbation, panty kink, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, creampie, established relationship

summary: you'd heard the rumors even before you started dating toge. first from maki, then from megumi. how odd and out of character, you'd thought. and naughty. (i.e. panty stealer inumaki)

me @ me: r u rlly gonna write 3k abt inumaki in panties

me: /inhales i present to you all on this good day...

you'd heard the rumors even before you started dating toge. first from maki, then from megumi. how odd and out of character, you'd thought. and naughty.

after all, toge had always treated you differently than others. even as friends, he'd been sweet and eager to please, and that hadn't changed when you began dating him. toge was obedient, a little bit submissive and masochistic, bending to your will with stars in his eyes the entire time. not that you minded. even if what your friends told you was true, your boyfriend wouldn't dare, would he?

you return from a coffee run one afternoon and get your answer—he would. your first thought is to be amused, but you can't help the anger that sparks from your belly and surges through your veins to send your heart racing as you watch toge root through your carefully organized underwear drawer from where you stand in the doorway. i just folded and sorted them all by color this past weekend, you groan internally.

toge straightens up and you tense, expecting him to turn and see you watching him. you don’t expect to see him inspect a pair and test the stretch of the waistband before carefully holding them up to his hips, as if he's checking whether or not they might fit properly on his slim frame.

that pair might fit, you think, and then take in a slow, deep breath as your irritation melts into arousal at the unbidden mental images of your fingers snapping the waistband against his sensitive skin, rubbing the thick length of him over the silky fabric while he squirms and bucks into your touch in a wordless plea for you to sit on his cock.

toge, in your panties? if he wants to wear them so badly, you'll allow him the opportunity to do so. never let it be said that you wouldn't do anything for your lovely boyfriend. and with that, you inhale and exhale with a sharp, "what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

he jumps, clutching your panties to his chest before turning to face you, eyes wide. you deliberately drop your gaze to what’s in his hands, which nervously crinkle the fabric in a way that makes you frown. “bonito flakes,” he offers.

“‘wasn’t doing anything,’ my ass,” you say, not taking your eyes off him as you shut the door he’d so carelessly left ajar. he gulps. the sound is audible even from behind his collar. his eyes are wide, a bit fearful of what's to transpire. you don't blame him. as a dom, you can be unpredictable at times, though you always make sure to give him what he wants in the end. but with such a sweetly responsive sub, you can never resist playing with your prey a bit.

toge warily eyes you as you casually make your way to your desk and take a sip of your coffee before you neatly set it down on a coaster. “do you like them?” you ask.

he nods, waiting until you walk over to carefully whisper, “looks nice,” before clamping his lips shut.

you hum in agreement. that pair does look good on you, both nobara and maki had said so when you’d tried them on at the department store. it’s simple black in a cheeky cut, made of a stretchy, silky material with a set of thin black straps that criss-cross over your hips, joined in the front with a little gold o-ring. nobara had made a comment about you looking like a dominatrix in them, and you had immediately changed back into your own clothes and strode over to the checkout counter to purchase them.

(“it’s like that, then?” maki asks, a wicked smirk on her lips as she saunters over to pay for her own goods.

“would it be any other way?” you reply.)

“they’d look good on you too. put them on, then.”

he flushes pink all the way up to the tips of his ears, and you’re sure if his jacket wasn't zipped all the way up, you'd see a pink flush across his nose and cheeks too. you suppress a smile at how he fidgets in a way that lets you know it's exactly what he wants, but he's feeling a little shy.

"go on."

he stares at you a moment longer, a pleading look in his eyes, before dropping his gaze to his belt and zipper. there's the soft clinking of metal and a smooth zip, and then his pants pool at his ankles. he still has your panties bunched in one hand, and you raise an eyebrow, indicating that he should undress further. toge half turns away but you make a sound of disapproval. "what're you turning away for? afraid i'm going to see your slutty cock all wet and hard for me already?"

chastised, he turns back around to face you fully and wiggles the waistband of his black boxer-briefs down until they fall to join his pants on the floor. sure enough, he's hard, flushed pink and thick enough to make your mouth water, not yet leaking freely but precum oozes out of his slit when you step closer and give him a squeeze. he lets out a stuttered breath and presses his forehead to yours when you begin to stroke him, the ring of your fingers catching under the sensitive head of his cock on the upstroke. toge's mouth drops open when you lick your palm and curl your slick fingers tighter around him, patting his thigh to encourage him to fuck upwards into your closed fist. a shaky breath leaves his lips at the way the leaking tip parts your fingers, peeking out like he's fucking into a hole.

with your other hand, you unzip his collar and undo his jacket buttons so it hangs open to reveal the light pink flush at the base of his throat that descends into the neck of his form-fitting black undershirt. your hum of approval mixes with his bitten-off moan when you grope at his pectorals and tug at his perked up nipples.

fuck, he mouths, tugging at your shirt so you'll look at his face, his lips. they’re slightly parted, the marking on his tongue peeking out from between his teeth. the faces he makes when you touch him are always so erotic, the lewd expressions at odds with his wide, innocent eyes with their thick lashes and the slight roundness to his cheeks with the bit of baby fat he's yet to lose.

"does it feel nice?" you ask, hoarse with desire, and he nods, eyes falling shut at the tight, wet slide of your hand around him. just as his eyes close, you stop stroking him and smack the underside of his cock with a flattened palm.

toge’s eyes pop open and he gives a choked shout. he jerks and squeezes his thighs together, effectively trapping your hand between them, his hands clutching the front of your shirt as he leans his weight on you. really, why does he even try to resist? you sigh and pinch his nipples with your free hand, pulling and twisting to the point of pain. toge's thighs quake around your hand and he lets out a strained, "ah, bonito flakes..." his chest arches into you despite the rough treatment, seeking more of your attention.

you kiss his open mouth, which he belatedly responds to, distracted by your fingers switching from pinching to lightly stroking across his sensitive nipples, and he moans in earnest when you suck on his bottom lip, releasing it only when you're sure it's hot and swollen. "so sloppy, baby," you murmur against his mouth, letting the vibrations from your words buzz against his lips. "you left the door open and looked through my stuff, then didn't even have the decency to clean up the mess you made. did you think you could just get away with all that?"

“mmh...” is his intelligent response, too engrossed in the physical stimulation to come up with anything else. you nudge his thighs open from where they’re clamped around your hand and cup his balls, stroking them gently and then increasing the pressure of your grip until you're squeezing them hard between your fingers. he squirms, discomfort clear on his face and dazed pleasure in his eyes, but he doesn’t pull your hand away or tell you to stop. a jolt of pride at how good he is brings a smile to your face, and you release him.

“good boy. put the panties on now, please.”

he sheds his jacket and steps out of his pile of clothes on the ground, and you admire how the muscles in his legs bunch as he raises them one by one to slide them through the leg holes of your panties (woefully wrinkled after being crushed in his hand). the satiny fabric fits snug around his hips and stretches thin over his erection, the straps creating a sinful pattern against his pale skin and accentuating his lower abdominal muscles. when he turns to climb onto the bed, your eyes are drawn to the tantalizing way the panties strain over the round globes of his ass, with the undersides of his cheeks peeking out, and you can't help but bite your lip and reach out to swat at his ass.

the thin fabric doesn't provide much cushioning, and he throws you an affronted look over his shoulder as he settles against the pillows. you shuck your clothes and deposit them on top of his before joining him on the bed.

toge gives you a sly smile when you settle an arm's length away between his spread legs. he loves to watch you as much as he loves being watched by you. sure enough, you tell him, "touch yourself for me," and he eagerly wraps a hand around his clothed cock. his expression goes soft as you sit back on your calves, legs spread wide, and tease yourself by running your fingers up and down your wet slit, dipping inside and trailing back up to graze over your clit before repeating the motions again.

from your seat, you can clearly see the way his length juts out from his hips, obscenely tenting the fabric of the panties and straining over the wet head with each pass of his hand. it's barely enough friction for him to get off, the tease of pleasure more frustrating than anything, but what the smooth slide of material over his skin lacks it makes up for in eroticism. the rustle of fabric as he touches himself and the way his precum bubbles up clear before being blotted away by the panties makes you groan and sink two fingers into your heat, which in turn makes him moan and fist his cock harder, his gaze dipping between your face and your fingers working between your spread thighs. the look on toge's face is helplessly turned on as he imagines his cock making those slick in-and-out noises instead of your fingers, wrapped in your soft, hot insides and pulling sweet whines from your throat with each press of his hips into yours.

"ah, toge," you sigh. your clit aches as you purposefully neglect it, instead fucking yourself with your fingers at the same pace toge desperately fucks up into his hand. it feels good but it's not enough, and imagining the heavy weight of his cock buried in you instead of your fingers has you panting and curling your fingers to insistently press into the spot that makes your thighs shake and squeeze together, heat curling in your belly.

toge mindlessly slips two fingers past the waistband to stroke the underside of his length and his hips rise off the bed, chasing the feeling of bare skin on skin. he hears you gasp and belatedly asks your permission to properly touch himself with a hoarse, "mustard leaf?"

"go ahead, baby."

he complies by shoving his hand under the fabric, thighs trembling at the rough slide of his palm against his heated skin and synthetic material damp with precum against his knuckles. his head tilts back in rapture before he snaps it upright again, jerking his cock faster, harder as he watches how you reach up to pinch your nipples, your hips tilting and bearing down on your fingers in a mesmerizing cycle. you don't stop him, the look in your eyes egging him on. he thinks you intend for him to get himself off like this and he pants loudly, eyes rolling back at the thought of creaming in your panties.

but then you sink forward onto all fours and knock his wrist away, pinning it to the bed with wet fingers, and he makes a questioning noise that quickly devolves into a shaky noise of pleasure when you dip down and stroke the sensitive underside of his cock with your tongue. the slightly salty taste of precum blooms on your tongue as you lap at the tip and then flatten your tongue to rub at the spot under the head. toge's hips buck up when you squeeze his inner thigh hard enough to leave a bright pink mark and his free hand latches onto your shoulder, creeping up to cup the back of your neck and reverently stroke your hair. your hand, the one not holding his down, slides under his shirt and up his chest to play with his nipples again. with a pleased hum, you suck the fat head of his cock into your mouth, letting your saliva pool and soak the fabric barring his skin from the wet heat of your mouth.

shuddering in pleasure, he pulls the shirt off, reluctantly removing his hands from you to tug his arms out of the sleeves and toss it over the edge of the mattress before lovingly returning his hands to you, one in your hair and the other cupping your cheek and feeling your jaw move with each rasp of your tongue over him. the front of the panties are a mess, soaked through with his precum and your saliva, and toge is flushed down his neck to the top of his chest with a combination of arousal and humiliation.

satisfied with the way his cock throbs insistently for more, you lift your head and press a brief kiss to his palm before gazing up at him.

"should i fuck you now?”

toge gives a frantic couple of nods, and you tug his cock out and scoot up onto his hips so you can sit on it. a low moan leaves his mouth as the tip sinks in, and you look up from where you're joined with him to watch his expression change from dazed to euphoric as you seat yourself fully with a shiver.

even after prepping yourself with two fingers, his length and girth leave you feeling almost uncomfortably full, and you lean forward and bury your face in his neck to give yourself some time to savor the feeling of him deep inside you. toge groans again at your breaths hitting his damp skin and makes a noise that sounds vaguely embarrassed when your mouth finds his neck. the way his collar shields his face and neck leaves him especially sensitive to any kind of stimulation once it's off, and you feel his body go limp when you leave a trail of wet, sucking kisses from his jaw down to his collarbone. his chest heaves under your palms, filling with air in between his moans. it's not until he feels your tongue and teeth that he squirms under you like he's protesting at the hickies you're giving him.

"shut up," you snap, though it comes out breathy and low with the way his cock pulses inside you. each little jerk of his cock creates a momentary stretch that draws a whine from your throat, which you muffle by busying yourself in nipping at his neck. hands tight on your hips, toge moans helplessly as you suck and bite at his damp skin, soothing the sting of each mark with a wet kiss and a sweep of your tongue. "don't want everyone knowing you're my little slut?"

"bonito flakes," he rasps, squeezing your hips. you give him a patronizing little hum but acquiesce, switching to pressing rough kisses down his throat while you grind your clit against his pelvis, inadvertently pulsing your insides around him. he knows he'll likely pay for it later, but with the way you're teasing him and squeezing his cock with your pussy, he can't help planting his feet on the bed and thrusting up into you. you gasp in surprise against his throat and grind down to meet his hips, pushing yourself up on your hands to see his mouth hanging open and his cute fringe mussed and clinging to his face, sticky with sweat.

"toge, harder..."

always eager to please, toge slides his hands underneath you to squeeze your butt and lift you partially off him so he can thrust into you properly. the headboard bangs against the wall as his pace quickens, unable to stop himself from instinctively seeking more of your warmth. your eyes roll back at the onslaught of sensations—toge moaning as he shoves his cock deep into you, delirious with how hot and tight you are, the lewd slapping of his hips against your ass, the fat head of his cock carving a hot path into you and rubbing your walls—and your insides give a hard pulse, your orgasm coiling low in your belly. toge lets out a strangled gasp, hips stuttering, and you wind a hand into his hair and tug.

"don't come yet," you rasp, "finish me first."

toge cries out in protest and you lean over to silence him by smothering him with your breasts. he muffles a pathetic whimper by frantically sucking a nipple into his mouth. tears clump his long lashes together but he continues fucking you, barely holding on as you gasp and press his face into your chest. his tongue flicks over your nipple, teeth nipping at your skin, drawing you closer to the edge until suddenly you're coming, the world narrowed down to the mindnumbing heat between your legs and the stretch of toge's length as it pumps in and out of you.

as you bury your face into his hair and shake from the force of your orgasm, toge detaches from your chest with a wet noise and a whine. his fingers dig painfully into your hips. you're so tight he can barely breathe, and it only takes another two, three thrusts before he's arching, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you close and bury himself in your heat before he collapses, boneless against the sheets. you take a moment to admire your lover. his skin is flushed and his heart is still racing in his chest where it's pressed to yours.

toge's mouth meets yours in a languid kiss and he sighs in contentment, relaxing further under you with the lazy slip of your mouths and tongues together. as you stroke his hair, the movement of his lips slows, and you know it's time to clean up before he falls completely asleep.

you gingerly lift yourself up with a gasp and a shiver, toge echoing your gasp with a moan as his cock slips out of your warmth, and you reach into one of the nightstand drawers for a hand towel. he groans when you tap his hip, indicating that he should lift up to let you pull the soiled panties down his legs.

"let me clean you up, good boy."

you start with his face first, gently dabbing the sweat from his forehead and cheeks, before swiping the cloth over his neck and chest down to his belly and softening cock. he shivers and grumbles at the sensitivity but stays still otherwise. as you head into the bathroom to wash up, you hear him yawn and shift around on the mattress, likely making a bigger mess of your pillows and blankets as he gets comfortable. you toss the panties and used towel into a hamper before using the toilet and stepping into the shower for a quick wash.

when you exit the bathroom, you find toge comfortably sprawled across your bed with the blankets pulled up to his waist, positively looking like an angel as he sleepily blinks at you and pats the empty space next to him. he sighs contentedly and snuffles into your hair as you lie down with him. toge yawns softly and snuggles closer, likely aiming to nap until dinner. despite the tiredness in your limbs after a satisfying round of sex with your lover, the exhilaration of stumbling upon him in your panties and toying with him so thoroughly still humming beneath your skin keeps your mind awake, wandering through a multitude of tempting scenarios involving toge and other pieces in your closet.

"maybe i should stuff them in your mouth next time. you'd look so pretty gagged," you sigh, then hum in satisfaction at the mental image of him with a wad of lace shoved into his mouth, followed by how he'd look with a black ball gag nestled between his lips, chin wet with spit, his beautiful eyes looking up at you with desperation.

toge shoots up and jostles you from where you're lying half on top of him. "bonito flakes!" he says indignantly, trying to communicate how much he doesn't want something in his mouth preventing him from suckling on your tits or your fingers. you laugh and run a hand over his slightly damp back until he settles down with a disgruntled huff, pulling you closer until your breasts are pressed against his chest.

"one more thing, love," you say. he squirms at the way your words vibrate against the sensitive skin of his throat.

"mustard leaf?"

"if i catch you making a mess of my things again, i won't be as nice."

toge lets out a considering hum and turns his face into the pillow to hide his smirk.

[hardyimagines]

A Crave For Fame

Would love a Forrest piece, maybe where you’re cornered by some bad guy and Forrest steps in and you nurse him. Bandaging his wounds and what not. You get really close to his face and he acts nonchalant about it but you’re really shy. Ends in a heated kiss. Lots of fluff.

TW: Mild Violence

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1932.

The bar smelt like thick liquor and dried throw up. The top of your nose was red and cold from the chilly wind as it whipped around outside swirling in circles, shaking tree branches until they were forced to drop their leaves, whisking up grains of dirt and sending them flying in the direction of those who were outside. It was a dust storm of some sort, that’s what people were referring to it as. The air outside was orange and murky, it looked as if the clouds had descended and were making the world all puffy and one big blur.

The tips of your painted nails slid along the straps of your bright red apron. Unhooking the fabric from the silver hook on the wall, you briefly ogled the peeling paper, crisp and dangling like a hangnail waiting to be ripped off. The apron wasn’t exactly required, but you found that it definitely helped to wear something in order to prevent having alcohol sloshed and spilled and stuck on you when rowdy customers would shake their heavy fists and bounce their heavy, drunk bodies on the counter stools.

Regardless of how many times you wiped down the counter, it always seemed to have a slick, sticky feeling to it and the lemon scent only masked the stench of whiskey and rum for a limited amount of time. The sign outside read ‘Restaurant’ and the sign further forward read ‘Gas station’, and while there was a small supply of gas and a short list of food items on the menu, that wasn’t at all what this place was truly selling.

It was the prohibition era. People were parched and the only way to quench their thirst was by giving them a cold beverage that scalded their throat as it went down. The smooth liquor was rich, bitter, sweet, plain. Everybody had their preference. You weren’t much of a drinker, but pouring beverages was easy enough and from the looks of approval you received all the time, you’d assume you were doing a pretty good job.

Working for bootleggers was never something that had spiked your interest in the past - and maybe it wouldn’t have when you had sauntered up the hill when it was pouring down rain a year ago, but one look at the man had charge had sent you reeling. You didn’t want to work anywhere else.

Forrest Bondurant was one of, if not, the most attractive men you’d ever seen. He had big blue eyes and a head of constantly gelled hair. Why he went through the trouble of styling such a mess, you didn’t know, majority of the time he wore a hat on top of it anyway. He was always strolling around in his big gray cardigan with a button down or another sweater underneath. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’d overfilled the shot glasses on the bar and spilled liquor all over your fingers and the counter, just because staring at him was such a distraction. He didn’t notice though, and if he did, he didn’t say anything.

The front door opened with a loud creak, the hinges loudly alerting whoever had just entered that they were in no shape to be handled so roughly. The door swung shut, slamming loudly behind the new guest. His eyes shimmered green and his teeth sparkled white. The man removed his top hat and strode up to the counter with so much confidence you could’ve upchucked. Men like him made you want to spit in their drinks.

“What can I get for you?” You asked, not bothering to stop and give him the eye contact that he was clearly searching for.

“Something light.” The man said. “I won’t be staying long.” He pressed his elbow against the counter, but made no mention of the filth or the stench.

It wasn’t busy yet, but there were always people inside. Either they slept the night at the bar counter, on the floor, at a table, or outside, or they showed up as bright and early as the sun did, ready to start drinking the day away. Most of the customers that tended to be here so long just made their own drinks when you rested. Forrest knew them, you knew them, so there was no harm done. But this man, he was a completely new face.

“Something light as in water?” You said, pouring a shot of water and replacing it with the shot of vodka that one of the men had been drinking. He was green in the face and looked about ready to faint. You knew he needed to be eased off the liquor, you couldn’t just flat out say that - people reacted too differently to know if it would be a threat or not to cut someone’s intake off.

The man snorted. “Why would I come into a bar for a glass of water?”

You arched a slow brow. “The same reason you’d come in and ask for something light - we have liquor, straight from the bottle. It’s not dolled up and pretty, we don’t have any mixers, it’s just straight alcohol.” You didn’t say another word, instead you finally let your eyes flicker to his own, resisting the urge to glare. But your patience was wearing thin. You didn’t have time for games and he was beating around the bush.

The man sighed. “Moonshine.” He said before lowering himself down on the stool. “And maybe a drink of you?” You could hear the amusement in his voice, as if he were positive you’d take him up on his offer. He found himself hilarious.

Turning on the heel of your pointed boot, you wrapped your slender fingers around the neck of the silver bottle. Rotating, you poured a perfect glass of moonshine and then set the glass down in front of him. No spillage. The liquid was filled to the brim. Extending your arm, your palm creased as you curled your finger inward, waiting to be paid.

Instead, the man grasped your wrist and pressed it against the bar counter. “How about you give this one to me for free? Since I don’t see you marching that ass of yours from out behind the counter.” He patted his lap for good measure. “I went ahead and saved you a seat,” He motioned to his thigh again. “but you know, you’re being awful rude.”

Your eyes creased in the corners, stare hardening as the man tightened his hold on your wrist. Forrest was a shout away, but you were a big girl, not some maiden in a tower waiting to be rescued. Attempting to jerk your arm back to yourself, you hissed under your breath when he turned it at an odd angle. All the other men in the room were out old or oblivious. You could scream their names and they probably wouldn’t bat an eye.

You flinched as he began to rifle through his pocket.

“I’ll give you something.” He said, masking the tone of his voice for a more gentle and apologetic one. But you weren’t an idiot, so you didn’t let your guard down. But it wasn’t as if you could just rip your arm away from him. He was insanely strong and you, unfortunately, didn’t get much upper arm strength pouring drinks. Before you could utter a word, he pressed a cigarette against his lips and lit the end. The brownish-orange tip of the stick illuminated with bright orange embers as he inhaled and the smoke lifted from the end of the form of payment.

“Let me go.” You insisted, practically ripping at your arm so hard that your wrist had gone numb from his tight grasp.

“After I pay you.” He said. You didn’t know what to expect, a puff of smoke being blown in your direction? The man pinched the stick with his knuckles, clasping it between his pointer finger and his middle finger. He rotated it swiftly, pinching it then between his thumb and pointer finger. As suddenly as he moved the smoking tip toward your flesh, your eyes flickered with realization. And then you began to squirm.

“Hey..” You pulled harder. “What are you doing?” It was so obvious. But in a panicked state of mind were you expected to speak adequately. “Let me go, please..” Begging was never one of your strong suits. It just didn’t fit you. You hated it, having to ask someone to have mercy on you. But you didn’t fancy smelling burnt flesh, or feeling the pain that would come along with seared flesh. Scream for help, your brain said. You’re a big girl, but you can still ask for help, it reminded you.

The ashes fell from their loose spots on the cigarette, floating across your skin, dusting it with kisses. The ashes gathered on the counter as he lowered the hot tip of the cigarette toward your flexed forearm. Forrest’s name was on the tip of your tongue, but the pink muscle felt swollen and useless. There was a block in your throat that wouldn’t let your voice free and for the first time in a long time, fear surged through you like a whirlwind, resembling the very state of weather outside. Your body ran hot with fear and as you jerked your elbow to the side, the glass of moonshine toppled over and clattered against the floor.

Pieces scattered along the floor as the cup smashed on impact. If that wasn’t enough to lure Forrest out of office, then perhaps your cry of agony would. But the bloke was just a sliver of a second too late. The tip of the cigarette grazed your skin, enough to leave a slight burn, but as quickly as the glass had broken, Forrest had appeared.

He didn’t hover in the doorway to inspect what was going on. Someone had their hands on you and right away, it was unacceptable. The big, burly man strode forward. His thick fingers curled in the caramel flannel that the bastard was wearing. Forrest snatched the cigarette from his pinched fingers and immediately snubbed the lit tip out by pressing the hot surface against the man’s cheek.

The bloke let out a nasty yell, finally releasing your arm. You lifted your hands, on instinct, to cup over your ears, blocking out the sound of his pained shouting as best as you could.

His cry was like a signal though. The doors flew open and three other men piled in. It was rumored that the Bondurant brother’s were all invincible - especially Forrest. He’d survived a lot - brutal attacks, life-threatening illnesses, having his throat slit, his heart broken, wars. But could he take on four men?

Dropping your hands from your ears when the yelling stopped, you crouched down and began to twist the knob on the safe. It was a sixteen digit pin, so it would take a moment to open, but the revolver inside had six bullets, so you be able to wipe out all of the men with that if it came down to it. You weren’t peering over the bar counter to see what was happening. You were scared - terrified. A part of you wanted to leap into your boss’s arms and give him a bear hug, another part of you wanted to hide in those big arms of his and just forget that your arm had almost been burnt to a crisp. Instead, there was just a very small burn. It was nothing to worry over, nothing in comparison to the burn on the man’s face.

“What the fuck are you all standing there for!” The man rasped loudly, clutching his hand to his face as if the skin on skin contact would help him. “Get him!”

All three men moved forward. One was smoking a cigar - very nonchalant as he marched toward Forrest, one was sweating like he’d just ran a marathon, and the other was blinking furiously as if the dust outside had momentarily blinded him.

Forrest stuck his hand in his pocket and used his fingers to make the shape of a gun. The outline was bulky and visible and the three men hesitated, if only for a second. “I’d think very carefully on what you’re ‘bout to do next, boys.” Forrest spoke softly. His voice was quiet, slow. It was silky against your ears.

You poked your head out for half a second, blindly rotating to nozzle all the way to the left - 11, and then all the way to the right, 5. Inputting every single number as quickly as you could, you jumped in fear at the sound of a sickening crack. You jumped up, expecting to see Forrest laying in a heap on the floor, but instead it was just one of the other men. Forrest stood with his bloodied hand hanging at his side. Blood dripped from the brass knuckles he wore, droplets staining the wooden floorboards. Forrest sneered.

“Who’s next?” He inquired. “The man with the cigarette burn, the broken jaw, the blind one, or the sweaty one.” He flexed his fingers for a moment, waiting impatiently for one of them to charge at him.

What he didn’t expect was for the untouched duo to jump toward him at the same time. He sent his fist flying directly into one of their spine’s, but with the help from the bastard who now had a permanent scar on his cheek, Forrest was sent directly down and on to his back. The men tackled him and you trembled on the spot.

Shakily crouching back down, you began to finish off the code. Forrest’s groans of pain were evident. He was rasping, moaning, putting up as much of a fight as he could. He swung his arms and tried desperately to cover his face. Two men grabbed his arms and pulled them apart, leaving his face and stomach vulnerable to their boss.

The man’s cheek was sunken where the hole was forming. His eyes were red and watery and his stance was slightly shaky. But he had the upper hand as he moved forward. His hand dropped to his pocket and without any hesitance, he pulled a knife free from a holster.

“Now then, why don’t I reopen that cut on your throat?” The man sneered, already beginning to crouch down. Forrest’s nose was bleeding, his eye was swollen and purple. You were sure his stomach would be doused in bruises in the morning and his fingers would be cramped, locked, and jammed.

The safe opened with a quiet buzz and you, with an eagerness, desperately grabbed the handle of the gun and stood. Your hold was steady and your aim was perfect. You’d been working here for a little more than a year, and Forrest had taught you how to shoot within your first few weeks.

Extending your arms out, you held the gun steady as you cocked the revolver. “Hey, asshole.” You said breathily. “If you lay one more finger on him, I’ll kill you.” You could tell by the man’s tense back and resistance to look in your direction that he knew you weren’t bluffing. He slowly tucked away the blade and then sucked in a deep breath of air.

“You’re the first group of people to put up such an unnecessary fight. My brother’s and I, this is what we do, free alcohol from the bootleggers and pretty women are an extra bonus.” He snorted before looking in your direction.

You scowled, before demanding. “Leave..” And although you wanted them to, to all just pile out toward the entrance and get the hell out of here, it worried you. What if they came back sometime in the night when everyone was vulnerable and sleeping? Your eyes were distant as you pondered how this would end. You could blow another hole in his other cheek, though that one would be far more deadly. Or you could let them go.

“Forrest..” You whispered. His guidance was definitely a necessity right now. It wasn’t too often you found yourself in this position. The floorboards creaked underneath you as you shuffled your weight from foot to foot. Forrest sat up with a low grumble, clearly trying to hide the fact that he was in pain. He jerked his arms free from the hold the men had had on him and as he began to stand, he spun around and grabbed the back of their necks. Shoving them toward one another so their skulls rammed into each other, he shoved them both to the floor and then retrieved his brass knuckles. Two opponents down, and one more left.

Forrest gave each of them a few extra punches to the face for good measure, wanting them to realize that they truly weren’t a match for the invincible Bondurant. He whirled around to face the last man, the one who thought he could lay a hand on you, the one who thought he could use you as an ashtray and that would be fine.

The man did that to all of the bartenders, marking them in each town he passed through. His real name wouldn’t live on in the history books, but what he’d done would. Who wouldn’t want to read about a man that burned bartenders with a cigarette butt as a form of payment? It made him want to laugh on the spot.

Instead, he dove head first across the bar counter and directly into you. When it came to fight or flight, your reflexes were clearly to just freeze. His body sent yours crumbling to the floor. It was sticky and disgusting because you only mopped on the weekend. You have a sharp cry of pain and fear as he ripped the gun from your hand and pressed the tip against your chin. “Now then,” He sneered down at you. “You didn’t want a cigarette burn, maybe you’d like a bullet wound. I won’t kill you, I need you alive so you can tell the story about me.” His eyes creased with his lopsided grin and his breath - it stunk of peanuts and smoke. He didn’t even take a sip of the moonshine, it sat prettily on the bar, the liquid shaking from all the movement in the bar.

Forrest stepped toward the bar to help you, just as the man jerked you up and to your feet by your hair. Your eyes were opened wide and your eyes were pleading. The barrel of the gun caressed your soft skin, stroking your chin until he dared to move the gun to your lips. You jerked your head away, scoffing under your breath at the audacity of this man. He must’ve thought he was in a movie with the way he was behaving, talking about himself as if one day he’d be some big story. Your watery eyes moved to Forrest. He hadn’t budged. His knuckles were bloody and dripping - his blood or the men’s blood he didn’t know. All he saw was red. He felt hot and irritated, at a loss of control.

“What do you want?” Forrest said. His voice was so monotone. He sounded like he was taking someone’s order for food, not trying to save your life.

The man chortled. “I want you to light a cigarette and put it out on her body. I’ll let you choose where.” The man moved his hand to the back of your neck, roughly pinching it before he shoved you as hard as possible out from behind the bar and in the direction of your boss. He didn’t follow, he kept four feet between himself and the two of you. The gun was cocked and pointed, all he had to do was shoot.

Your feet didn’t cooperate with your mind, especially not after being forcefully sent flying forward. You rammed right into Forrest’s broad chest, arms immediately lifting so that you could clutch on to his cardigan. No part of you worried that he’d actually do what he was told. This was Forrest, he had a way out of everything - you hoped. Lifting your watery eyes to his own as he pressed his thick fingers against your elbow, steadying you, he checked your face for any signs of injury before slipping his other arm around you as well. You’d never been so close to him, pressed flush against him with hardly any room to breathe.

The man reached up and pinched the front of his hat. Removing the accessory, he lowered it to your head, shielding you from what was to come. Should he be shot, he didn’t think that was something you should see. You blinked slowly, your breaths seeming louder than usual beneath the oversized hat. You couldn’t see much, nothing but the ground and his belly as it rose and fell with every inhale and exhale.

So what happened next made you flinch. It was loud, so loud, there were screams of pain and the sound of cracking bones. Forrest hadn’t moved, he was still standing firmly with his feet planted against the wooden floor. His fingertips dared to brush along your arm, slow and assuring as he watched the scene play out. His brothers weren’t the best fighters, they weren’t the best when it came to confrontation, but regardless of what was happening they’d always have his back like he had theirs.

Without explaining what was going on, Forrest merely lifted the front of his hat so that he could see your features. Inspecting you closely, he let out a quiet grunt before giving you the best smile he could muster. With a swollen lip and a bruised eye, the expression didn’t seem fitting. Who’d be happy at a time like this? Relief colored his features as he slowly brushed his knuckles along your warm skin before he parted his lips to speak.

You beat him to it though. “Thank you..” You whispered softly before dragging yourself back. You didn’t want to suffocate him or make him uncomfortable by clinging to him. There was no longer a threat. “Come on,” You murmured softly. “Let me look at your injuries.” Peeling the hat off of your head, your slender fingers slipped through his own and you slowly guided him toward one of the tables. It was wiped clean, void of any crumbs or liquor, so you set the hat down on the surface and then nudged him gently to take a seat.

Forrest’s knees popped under the pressure and his bloodied hands moved to his stomach. It was only then, when he felt the pressure of the brass knuckles, that he realized he hadn’t taken them off. His fingers felt swollen and stiff and his arms refused to move for a few moments.

You have him a soft smile before slowly reaching for his hand. Your touch was delicate and slow as you pried the brass knuckles off of him. Setting the tool on the table, you turned around to fetch the first aid kit from behind the bar, just as Howard and Jack were hauling the bloke toward the exit. They’d be back for the other three as well.

You stepped over the unconscious bodies on the floor - some drunkards, and the three others were Forrest’s attackers. Retrieving the fallen revolver, you uncocked the weapon and slipped it back in the safe before securely closing the black case and then retrieving the plastic first aid box. The white handle fit snugly in your small palm as you pulled it free from its place under the bar.

You didn’t have the confidence that you’d be able to fix Forrest up as good as new, but you were certain that you’d be able to prevent anymore swelling, help some go down, and patch up the spots on his face that were bleeding. Your boots clicked softly against the floorboards as you made your way over to the table. Setting the box down, you undid the clasps on the front and then pushed it open. Dragging out the small container of alcohol, some gauze, a few wipes, and an ice packet, you gave him a small smile.

Forrest watched your every movement through one good eye, and one half-opened, swollen, purple eye. His nose was busted and bleeding and purple in the center. It didnt look broken, but it certainly looked bruised.

“Could I wipe your hands clean?” You asked softly. There was always an ever present shyness to you when it came to the man seated in front of you. You didn’t know what it was about him that made you feel so nervous, but you felt the need to shy away after every word exchanged.

He gave a quiet hum before lifting his hands and laying them on the table. His knuckles were tense and bleeding in various places. The impact of the brass knuckles hammering against a man’s face, still brought a small amount of pain to the man’s knuckles. He shuffled, watching you as you slipped your hand into his own and lifted it. The sun poured in through the window, falling across the injury so you could see perfectly. You opened the bottle of alcohol, dousing the cloth in it before you gently began to wipe away the smudges of blood and then cleaned the opened wounds, cuts and scrapes that bled like gashes.

He didn’t wince or jerk away even though it stung horribly. It wasn’t a matter of protecting his ego, everyone experienced pain at some point in their life. Adjusting his hand lightly, he cleared his throat before letting his thick fingers drop to his lap when you were finished cleaning them up. “Would you have really shot him?” He asked suddenly.

Your eyes lifted to his own as he asked such a thing. You stepped away again to retrieve some ice, but his words burned your ears. As you filled the ice pack, you couldn’t help but wonder what the honest answer was. Would you have shot him? Blinking a few times, you carried the ice pack back over to your boss and slowly lifted it so that he could hold it in place over his eye. “Yes.” You said after what felt like an eternity to him. “In the leg.. perhaps, or the arm.” You offered. “But I don’t think I couldve killed him.”

Forrest gave a soft nod. “I didn’t expect you to.” He assured you before giving you the best smile he could muster. “I’m incredibly grateful that you.. well, put your life on the line for me like that. He could’ve killed you.”

You snorted. “You and me both. But we’re fine.” Guiding his hand to the ice pack so he could hold it on the wound, you then began to tend to his nose. There wasn’t much you could do, apart from clean up the dried blood that rested underneath his nostril. He had stubble, dancing along the length of his warm flesh. His cheeks and his jaw were coated in the fine hairs, giving some texture to his face as your hand cupped the sharp surface, thumb grazing his chin so that you could tip his head back.

The close proximity was numbing. You felt like you’d been swallowed by a flame. Maybe it was the way the sun illuminated the both of you, but the heat you felt was completely internal. Fidgeting for a moment under his unwavering stare, you watched as the white cloth turned red and his red skin returned to the initial paleness it ordinarily was. Crumbling the rag, you laid it on the table before leaning into him so you could get a better look at his eye. You moved the ice pack, squinting as you inspected the damage.

“I’m not doctor, Mr. Bondurant.. you’re probably better off having this injury looked at.” You suggested before straightening. Your arms slowly crossed over your chest, warm fingertips tracing the sleeves of your shirt.

Forrest grumbled something incoherent before giving you a soft nod. “Feels just fine.” He lied.

“Forrest.” You scolded him. “It’s swollen shut.”

The man arched a brow. Very rarely did you use his first name. His large palm lifted, covering his eye so that he could watch you through the swollen one. “See. Works just fine.”

You squinted challengingly before shaking your head in mild amusement. The man was insufferable. You made movement to turn to clean up the first aid kit tools, but he grasped your forearm tenderly in his large palm.

“Id know if something were wrong with my eye, Y/n, because you look just as beautiful through my swollen eye as you do with my two good ones.” He pulled you in his direction, his expression a pleading one. “Perhaps you should take one more look at it.”

Your brows furrowed at the compliment he’d given you before you stumbled in his direction. Laying your nimble fingers against the unsturdy, wooden arm of the chair. Inspecting his eye as he asked, you gave him a small, shy smile. “Mr. Bondurant, I believe you..” Though you weren’t sure if you did or you just wanted to put some proximity between you and his body. He was so warm and inviting, it drove you up the wall.

Forrest leaned forward. He enjoyed seeing you squirm so much. You were riddled with your fear of being unliked by him, even though it was clear he felt the same things for you. The man’s hand was gentle as it slid up the length of your arm so he could brush a few of your tresses back and out of your eyes.

Your cheeks felt unbelievably warm in this moment. You were sure that if they could be, they’d be the color of a ripe tomato. Lifting your free hand to steady yourself, you pressed it against his strong shoulder. “What are you doing..?” You breathed, attempting to rack your brain for some sort of explanation for his actions. Your brain refused to help you, it was completely blank. The closer your face grew to his own, the hotter you became and the more your brain shut down. You felt like a blob of jello.

He couldn’t help but smile. He sensed your shyness, which was exactly why he didn’t offer any words. Just actions. He figured they’d speak louder. Besides, he had to thank you in some enjoyable fashion. Why not with a kiss? The man spread his thighs wide enough to give you a place to stand. Drawing you forward, he moved his hands to your curvy waist and held on to you as his hot breaths began to mingle with your own.

All at once, your brow smoothed and your mind was completely blank. You saw nothing but him, heard nothing but the hammering of your own heart, smelled nothing but him - and he smelt like smoke and liquor, you felt nothing but his hard body under your palm, and soon you’d taste nothing but those big, pink lips of his. Your own mouth parted, incredibly too willingly, and all at once your mouth’s molded together like long lost pieces to a missing puzzle.

Your body fell into his lap, arms appearing to be insanely slender as they curled around his wide, broad, muscular shoulders. Forrest moved his hand to your leg, steadying you with one hand on your thigh and the other laid against your back. His mouth was slow, tentative, and curious as it moved in sync with your own and your’s was hungry, exploring, and needy. The shyness you felt crept away, but it didn’t go too far, it was just silenced by the romantic exchange he was leading.

His lips were as soft as you were imagined, and he tasted like honey and coffee. You pressed the crook of your elbow against the back of his neck and let a sultry moan fall from your lips in approval. Every brush of his fingers against your spine and feel of his tongue gliding against your own, sent sparks of electricity jolting throughout your body.

You still didn’t understand why he was kissing you, but was there really a point in questioning it? Maybe he was just grateful. Maybe he’d been hit so hard in the face he thought this was the right thing to do? And maybe, you hoped it was for this reason, the incident had helped you both find the confidence to grow suddenly closer. You were careful not to let your nose bump his or your hands to stray too far in fear of hitting an injury. What this meant and how far this would go didn’t cross your mind though, because in this moment there was only him and those sweet tasting lips of his.

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Tag List: @saved-fanfiction @thephuonganh @theaamberr @innerpaperexpertcloud @darklydeliciousdesires @thebeckyjolene @mollybegger-blog @travelingmypassion @caffinated-tree @tcmhollnd @br0ck-eddie @ellar21 @advictedtohim @river-rain-water @crldrr2 @louloudeug99

A/N: This is my first fic in almost a year so please bear with me🖤 ( ALSO NOT MY GIFS ) also it’s been soooo long since I’ve uploaded, I can’t remember how to do a ‘keep reading’ on mobile, so please message me and let me know how!!

[faithfulwarrior-og]

Drunken Confessions

Rating: T | Word Count: 1,449 | Warnings: swearing, mild suggestive content

Raya has a little too much fun at a party and gets drunk. Namaari takes her back to her room and long story short: drunk Raya is a handful.

Raya is drunk off her ass. She had gotten a little too into the dance party and lost count of how many drinks she’d had. Now Namaari is carrying Raya bridal style up a freaking flight of steps in Heart castle to get her to her room.

Raya is giggling and swatting Namaari’s ear cuff so it swings back and forth.

Namaari sighs. “Please don’t yank that out of my ear.”

“Pfffft you’re so *hiccup* silly…”

“You’re going to be so fun to be around tomorrow,” Namaari mumbles, shaking her head.

“HELL YEAH I AM!!”

Namaari practically drops her. “Dragons! Can you not flail like that?”

Raya wraps her arms around Namaari’s neck and snuggles into her. “This better?”

Namaari swallows. “Sure.”

Raya sighs. “Mmmm you smell so good. Do you *hiccup* like snuggles? Cuz I do.”

Namaari rounds the corner leading to Raya’s quarters. “That’s nice,” she says.

Raya nuzzles her face into Namaari’s hair. “It’s wayyy better than nice,” she adds, hiccuping again.

Namaari is unable to keep from chuckling at how funny Raya is behaving. “Oh yeah?”

Raya tosses her hand into the air. “FuCk yeah dude!”

Namaari laughs despite herself. “Raya, there’s people trying to sleep.”

Raya wipes her nose. “That’s cool. I’m gonna go sleep.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea.”

Raya starts tracing Namaari’s collarbone with her finger. Namaari tries not to blush but fails miserably.

“‘Maari, one time Snisu suggled with me and that was so cool.”

Namaari nods. “Mmhm.”

“She is the fluffiest Sisu ever,” Raya says.

Namaari chuckles. “Oh really.”

Raya hiccups, “Uh-huh,” then begins counting on her fingers. “She snuggles me, Tuk Tuk snuggles me…” Raya pokes Namaari’s nose. “Boop! Do you like snuggles?”

Namaari blinks. “Umm sure.”

Raya giggles drunkenly. “Fang princess likes snuggles.”

Namaari frowns at her. “I will drop you.”

Raya gasps and clings to her. “No!”

Namaari coughs. “Okay, stop. You’re choking.”

Raya loosens her grip. “Hehe you like it.”

“Raya.” Namaari goes beet red while Raya just giggles.

Then Raya bursts into tears.

Namaari stops at Raya’s door and sets her down. “What? What’s wrong, dep la?”

Raya collapses against her and Namaari caresses her back, hoping she’s offering some comfort.

Raya sniffles. “You snuggle.”

Namaari squints. “Is that... bad?”

Raya nods into the crook of Namaari’s neck. “Mmhm. No. But yeah.”

Namaari gently pulls her back so she can see her face. “Dep la, I don’t know what you mean, how about we go get you tucked in.”

Raya slumps against Namaari as she is practically carried into the room and over to her bed.

Raya hiccups. “How come you teld— didn’t tell me you had a human?”

Namaari looks down at her. “A human? What—”

Raya flails her arms up. “A human. Y’know. To snuggle!”

Namaari watches as Raya flops onto the bed face first. “Raya.”

“What,” she says, her voice muffled.

“I snuggle with my serlot, okay? Now let’s get you into bed—”

Raya starts crying again, flipping over onto her back and wiping her eyes.

Namaari crosses to the bed. “What??”

Raya whimpers. “That’s so precious…”

Namaari sighs and takes Raya’s cape off for her. “Come on, lightweight. Sleep time.”

Raya smirks and sidles up to Namaari. “Taking my clothes off and *hiccup* everything, dep la?”

Namaari flushes. “Raya, you’re drunk.”

“Pffft. Not.. drunk.”

“Raya—”

Raya begins to unwrap her top. “You missed a couples layers dep la—”

Namaari grabs her wrists and puts the loose part of the shirt back. “No no no, let’s—why don’t you just sleep in your clothes?”

Raya pulls Namaari against her and brings her lips within inches of hers. “But I don’t want to…”

Namaari clears her throat and gently pushes Raya away. “O-okay, well, let’s change into your night clothes over there then.” She inclines her head toward the changing shade.

Raya slumps against Namaari and exhales. “You’re no fun, binturi!”

Namaari rolls her eyes. “I know. So cruel of me.”

Raya looks up at her suddenly. “We should dance.”

“No.”

Raya pulls Namaari close and starts swaying. “C’monnn jus a lil dance?”

Namaari gently pushes her back. “Raya, you need to rest. We just finished dancing.”

Raya pouts. “I knowww but I wanna dance moreee…”

Namaari shakes her head. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Raya scowls. “Yer NO FUN!” She then proceeds to mumble all manners of expletives.

Namaari rolls her eyes again. “Okay, bed time.”

Raya swats her hand away. “But I didn’t change!”

Namaari sighs. “Okay. Fine. Go change.”

Raya shuffles to her changing screen and nearly topples over halfway there. Namaari pinches her nose as Raya finds the fall incredibly funny.

Namaari waits as clothes are thrown all over the place—Raya also seems to find this hilarious—and then Raya says, “Ok ready?”

Namaari squints. “Ready for wha—”

Raya steps out with a smirk from behind the screen in very provocative sleep-ware and Namaari would swear her neck cracked with how fast she stared at the opposite wall.

“Damn it Raya!” she exclaims, her face a deep red. “What are you doing?? And where the hell did you even...” Namaari shakes her head at that. “Never mind. Just..get into bed okay?”

And then Raya is behind her, wrapping her arms around her abdomen. “What’s the matter, dep la?”

Raya’s breath tickles the back of her neck.

Namaari gulps and makes to gently pry her hands away when she feels soft lips press where Raya’s breath was a moment before.

Namaari manages to turn in Raya’s arms. “Raya, no. We can’t. You are drunk. It’s time for bed.”

Namaari goes to push her back but the look Raya gives her then makes her heart constrict.

“You don’t want me?” she asks, clumsily caressing Namaari’s cheek.

Namaari huffs. “No I—” She stops. “I— it’s not that…” She huffs again. “You’re drunk. I’ll be happy to talk about this with you later. Another time. When you’re not drunk. Okay?”

Raya is softly crying again. Namaari pulls her into a hug and murmurs, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s not that I don’t want you, dep la. Don’t think that.”

“Just wanna kiss you…” she slurs against Namaari’s neck. “I keep telling me.. to tell you that. And I never do.”

Namaari freezes, telling herself over and over that everything Raya is saying and doing means absolutely nothing.

The Heart princess snuggles her head against Namaari. “Please don’t leave. Stay and snuggle, please?”

“Raya…”

“Please?”

Namaari sighs. Why does she have to give those damned puppy-dog eyes? “Okay, but just for a minute.”

Raya grins and sprints to the bed to dive onto it. Namaari can’t believe she doesn’t fall on her way there with how wobbly she was.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wear something more comfy, dep la?” Namaari asks. She doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea when she wakes up. The last thing she wants is for Raya to not be able to trust her again.

Raya is already burrowing into the covers. “Nah I’m too sleepy.” *hiccup*

Namaari shakes her head, smirking despite herself. “Okay.”

Raya pokes her arms out and beckons Namaari over. The latter chuckles and climes in beside her. Raya immediately puts her arm over Namaari’s torso and snuggles into her neck. Namaari reminds herself to breathe. She gently brushes Raya’s hair out of her face and her hand lingers, softly combing through silken locks.

“Thet fels nice,” Raya mumbles, barely awake.

“Good,” Namaari whispers back. “Sleep well, dep la.”

“You too binturi,” Raya whispers.

Namaari laughs softly then stops altogether as Raya kisses her cheek.

“I love you,” she says.

Namaari’s eyes well with tears as Raya drifts to sleep. She continues to massage her scalp until her breathing evens out and she begins to snore lightly.

“I love you too,” Namaari whispers.

The Fang warrior slowly worms her way out of Raya’s embrace, careful not to wake her as she replaces the covers and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

She smiles at how peaceful Raya looks, still breathtaking even with a little trail of drool pooling onto the pillow. Namaari scoffs in amusement. That woman is going to have the worst hangover in the morning and be a literal gremlin. Namaari wouldn’t have it any other way, though. She loves that gremlin.

She retrieves a blanket from the end of the bed and curls up on the little seating area that Raya has in the corner of her room. It’s surprisingly comfy due to the millions of pillows that all smell like the soap Raya uses on her hair. Namaari falls asleep quickly, trying not to worry about what today might mean for their friendship.

[gryffindors-weasley]

Hidden Confessions

Ron Weasley x Reader

Summary: Hidden in an old trunk, you come across an old and sentimental letter much to Ron’s dismay.

Warnings: mild language, flustered Ron, fluff, kissing

The Burrow had always been a place you and Ron flocked to for the holidays without question, and this year was no exception. It was a place of great welcoming and love for anyone who visited the wonderfully lopsided and magical home. Everything radiated warmth both literally and figuratively, though the winter chill always did have a habit of seeping it’s way through the old floorboards and small gaps in the walls. It always left you to be rather cold.

You found yourself breaking away from the boisterous group in search of a sweater you’d hoped Ron had left behind there, the thought of the soft fabric all too enticing not to give it a look. You made your way up to the very top floor, the old wooden stairs creaking loudly with even the smallest bit of pressure placed upon them. It was a bit of a winding trip, numerous enchanted photos lining the walls in picture frames that couldn’t be more opposite from each other. The various candelabras provided a little bit of warmth, illuminating every surface in a golden glow. It certainly wasn’t a boring walk up, though it was rather lengthy.

You were a bit out of breath by the time you finally reached his room, however, but you didn’t pay it any mind as you walked in. Even with the roaring fire burning in the living room, the house was seemingly too tall and too intricate for the heat to weave its way up there.

It seemed as though everything was just as Ron had left it, not a single thing out of place or taken. It very much still resembled a room that once housed a teenage boy. Quidditch posters still dotted along the wooden planks of the slanted walls, a bunch of old quills sat tucked in a miscellaneous goblet on his desk with a few empty ink bottles and that same old ink stain. A multitude of dusty books that have gone unread lined his small wooden bookshelf along with other little trinkets he’d gotten here and there. The only thing that seemed to be missing was the Chudley blanket that currently resided on your shared bed at your own home. Everything else remained the same. Even the little carving of your initials on the windowsill. He insisted he wasn’t a fan of sappy things, but you knew it’d been a lie.

Your eyes skim over the rest of the room when they land on something that has promise of what you’re looking for, his empty dresser proving to be a bust.

Tucked halfway under his bed was an old trunk, and naturally your immediate reaction was to pull it out. It was heavier than you had anticipated when you lifted it, dropping it to the bed with a bounce and sending dust particles flying into the chilly air in a small cloud. ‘Weasley & Weasley’ was printed on the face of the lid in worn yellow and orange lettering, the paint beginning to chip. A quiet laugh left your lips as you remembered; it was a hand-me-down trunk of the twins when Ron had broken his own after he caught sight of a spider crawling inside it. Needless to say it had taken a tragic and unforgiving tumble from the very top floor of the house.

Eager to find the sweater you were looking for, you pulled down the latches on either side, pressing the small metal button. A middle latch popped open, allowing you to lift the creaky lid and see its contents. It was obvious it hadn’t been open in ages by the way the hinges cracked. A few miscellaneous spell books lay on the very top, one of them being the same potions textbook Ron had regrettably lost years ago. The one that cost him a weeks worth of detention with Snape. He claimed he hadn’t had a clue where it was, that it was still in the classroom, but just about everyone knew better than to believe that. He had to count and recount each and every textbook in the cabinet since he’d insisted it was there.

Just beneath that you spotted a splotch of the familiar red and orange striped knitting you had your heart set on, a triumphant smile gracing your lips. You grabbed the soft material by the sleeve and pulled it from the trunk carefully, your eyes flitting to the cream colored envelope that had crinkled and fluttered to the ground at the quick action. Your eyes narrow as you set the sweater down on the bed, reaching to pick it up curiously. You turn it over in your hands, peeling away the red wax seal.

“Everything okay? You’ve been—”

Ron trails off when he sees you, ginger brows furrowing as he looks between your hands and your curious gaze that had now been focused on him momentarily.

“‘To Y/n Y/l/n’…,” you read out loud, turning back to him with a raised brow. “What is this?”

He only gave you a puzzled expression to match your own.

“I don’t kn—” His eyes widen soon after, and in a matter of moments he nearly leapt forward as a wave of realization struck him, snatching the paper from your hands with reddened cheeks. Not before you caught a glimpse of what was inside. “It’s…it’s nothing!”

You squint up at him in disbelief as he laughed nervously because the way he’d been acting meant it was absolutely not nothing, amusement flooding your expression as you pursed your lips. A flurry of emotions came raining down on him and the sight was very much obvious to you. Nodding, you hum and watch him for a moment more as he fidgets, before quickly stealing it back from him. He was never a match for your remarkable reflexes.

“Love, don’t,” he pleaded, voice adopting a higher pitch.

You quickly evaded the arms that tried so desperately to cage you against him, stepping onto his squeaky mattress. The letter immediately was raised over your head and just out of his reach, and he cringed when you pulled it from its envelope and opened the old trifolded piece of paper.

Ron had begun give up by this point, resigning to the fact that his unsent love letter was soon to be broadcasted back to him word by sappy word by the very same lover he’d written about. His face scrunched in humiliation as he gulped, flushing a deeper crimson as his lovestruck confessions were pulled from the tattered piece of parchment and spoken into the room. He meant every word, of course he did, he couldn’t imagine loving anyone as wholeheartedly as he did you. But this, this was mortifying.

His twenty-four year old self could have worded his feelings far better than when he was seventeen. Hearing his very own words made him wish the ground would open up and swallow him whole rather than to listen to another second of it. He was convinced he sounded much less mushy gushy and terribly absurd when he’d been under a love spell. The tips of his ears were now burning cherry red too.

He remembers the night he wrote it clear as day. He’d been so fed up with watching Cormac flirt with you every second of the day in an attempt to win your affections. It was near maddening to hear it, he thought it should have been him to make you laugh and swoon. It should have been him that made a rosy blush stain your cheeks. So he sat in his dorm and scribbled out his feelings in a rush, no matter how awfully worded, no matter how much of a hopeless romantic it made him sound. He was in love with you, that much was evident.

He’d written anything and everything that came to his mind, trying his hardest not to sound like McLaggen. One after another, the crumpled pieces of parchment were beginning to accumulate around him until he came up with what he deemed to be the ideal version. But then he thought better of it, hastily stuffing it to the bottom of his trunk when he convinced himself it was a one-sided attraction. It hadn’t been touched since then, until now of course.

“I think they’ve called us…for dinner!” He splutters out, trying desperately to divert your attention away from the page before you could get any farther. He grabbed your hand and tugged you towards him, only eliciting a laugh from you. Of course you hadn’t batted an eye at his pitiful attempts at being distracting.

“‘Your eyes shine brighter than any star in the night sky’…” you carry on in merriment, paper still outstretched above your head as he let his hand fall back to his side.

“Bloody hell,” he curses to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he endured your teasing. He felt like a terrible knock-off of Shakespeare at this point, but with much less eloquence and far more cliches stuffed in that ridiculous letter to last a life time or even two. Regardless, he lets his eyes fall closed as he sighs heavily, listening to the love of his life giggle endlessly at said cliches scrawled messily on the paper. Perhaps the more embarrassing part was that he’d once thought it was absolutely brilliant.

He could feel the prickling heat continuing to burn in his cheeks and travel further down his neck, not knowing where to look. Anywhere but you seemed like a viable option to him. Perhaps never showing his face to you again would be even better.

“‘Every time you look at me, it feels like there’s a million butterflies in my stomach’…” you quote, and Ron once again finds himself hopelessly reaching for the page but you only swat him away and take a few wobbly steps back. “‘Your laugh is ever so angelic; you’re my sun, my moon, and all my stars’—”

“Give me tha—”

He cuts himself short as he watches your playfully taunting smile begin to fade and your jovial laughter die down, watches as you slowly lower the letter below your head. The way you blindly step down from the bed as you read out the last line ever so softly, tucking your hair behind your ear so it wouldn’t keep you from reading it.

“You have a hold on my heart, one I’m afraid will never falter. I’m entirely yours, if you’ll have me, Y/n. I love you. I love you.”

Your eyes linger on the very last lines for a few moments as you reread it a couple times over, mouth hanging slightly agape as you let the words wash over you. The entirety of that letter was impossibly cheesy and sweet but that, that was something else entirely. That was something that made your heart flutter wildly in your chest. Even after all these years, reading those very words made you feel like it was the first time they were ever spoken, he always had a habit of doing that. Each time they were declared it gave you butterflies, whether it was quick murmur before work or if it was thoughtfully spoken when you were tangled up and half asleep in the early morning hours. But this left you breathless.

Meanwhile, Ron was beginning to panic at your lack of response. He wasn’t entirely sure why, it’s not like he hasn’t already admitted those very feelings to you a million times before. You’d been together for nearly seven years yet he was still nervous as if he hadn’t admitted it yet. As if he’d actually given you that letter like he intended to and you’d just discovered the way he felt about you.

“Love?” He manages to say, swallowing thickly as he tried to read your expression carefully.

You gingerly fold the letter along its previous creases and tuck it back in it’s rightful envelope, meeting his eyes before you smiled brightly. “I’ve got a hold on your heart?”

He bites the inside of his cheek to hide his smile though his efforts quickly become futile the more he looks at you. It’s impossible to not smile when he looks at you. “Yeah,” he nods, a small laugh leaving him. “Yeah, you really do.”

Your hands settle on his cheeks as you lean on your toes as the envelope spirals to the floor, your lips melding in a kiss that just might have been sweeter than that letter. His arms snake around your waist as he brought you closer, the sweater you thought you needed moments before no match for the warmth blossoming in your chest in the current moment.

“I love you,” you whisper softly against his lips, kissing him once more. You found that the more you did so, the harder it was to stop. “I love you.”

You could feel his breathy laugh puff against your own lips when you parted from him reluctantly, not missing the way he chased you for more adorably as his nose brushes against yours.

“Y/n?” He says softly, tucking his face in the crook of your neck to conceal the bout of laughter threatening to spill.

“What?”

You were beginning to grow concerned a few silent moments pass until you felt his his breath against your skin. He was laughing.

“What would you do if I told you Harry helped me a tiny bit with that letter?” He murmured with a gentle squeeze, his lips pressing just below your ear. He braced himself for the swat you landed on his arm, his laughter ringing out into the small room. “I’m kidding!”

He pulled you back into him by a grip on your hand, the faux offense you held now dissipating entirely as his forehead rests on yours with a soft nudge of his nose. His sigh tickles warmly against your skin and is filled with nothing but content, his eyes fluttering closed as he smiles blissfully. You rest your arms on his shoulders, your fingers tangling in the red hair at the nape of his neck.

“Ron?” You ask after a little while, pressing a kiss to his lips. You wait for his hum before you continue. “Is my laugh really angelic?”

He nips at your nose softly as he chuckles, your laughter mingling in the close proximity. He’d do anything to hear you laugh, to keep you smiling. “It really is, love.”

You’re beaming by this point, your lips pressing to his in a much longer kiss as you lean on your toes. His hand settles on your cheek, thumb brushing over flushed skin as he begins to smile. He nearly swept you off your feet with how he made you feel, and he would’ve kissed you forever if his mother hadn’t actually called for dinner this time. Though he paid it no mind for a few moments longer, basking in the taste of your kiss until his family’s calls was unable to be ignored.

“We better go,” you murmur, his lips ghosting over yours.

“Yeah,” he kisses you again, “we better.”

—

Tags: @vogueweasley @loony-loopy-lupinn @theweasleysredhair @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq

[rookie-ramsey]

Forty (Ethan x MC)

Description: Ethan hates surprise parties. That much, he knows for certain. But she has a way of making anything special, even something as mundane as his fortieth birthday.

Rating: 17+ due to suggestive dialogue at the end, but nothing graphic. 

Ethan hates surprise parties.

That much, he knows for certain. He’ll attend events when it’s for the greater good, but there’s nothing about surprise parties that Ethan thinks serves any real purpose.

If he’s honest, birthday celebrations on their own don’t have much of a point. They’re entirely for socialization with people he normally makes a point of avoiding. He hasn’t made a point of celebrating his birthday since high school, and he can’t remember having a surprise party since he was six.

The jovial tune Olivia’s humming doesn’t go unnoticed. She’s hiding something, and everything about her demeanor suggests that he’s going to walk into a surprise party by the end of the day.

Ethan arches a brow, peering over the rim of his coffee mug at her. He knows by the smirk she’s trying to hide that she has something up her sleeve.

She catches his eye and lets the smile widen. “You’re staring at me like you think committed a felony.”

“You’ve been incredibly suspicious all morning.”

Olivia rolls her eyes and leans across the desk. Her lips touch his in a quick kiss that he wants to sink into, but she pulls back with a teasing grin.  “It’s only eight in the morning. How could I have been suspicious that long?”

“It’s something about the way you’ve been smirking and whistling since the exact moment I asked if you’re planning a surprise party.”

Her mouth curls downwards in mock offense. “I said I wasn’t planning a party. I’d never plan a party without your awareness.”

“That sounds… unconvincing. Very much so.”

The glass doors to the office slide open and Olivia smiles across the room. “Tobias, am I throwing Ethan a surprise party?”

The smirk Tobias gives in response does nothing to ease Ethan’s suspicions. “If you are, I’d like to know why I didn’t get invited sooner.”

“See?”

Instinctually, Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose. If this were absolutely anybody else planning a surprise party, he’d insist on sulking and explaining why he refused to partake in such tomfoolery.

“No party.” Still, she winks and grins in the way that never fails to make his heart stutter, even when she’s absolutely up to something.

There had better be whiskey at this surprise party.

XXXXXX

Ethan doesn’t see much of her the rest of the morning.

In fact, he doesn’t see her again until lunch time, in the cafeteria. She’s already seated, huddled close to Sienna and grinning at something Sienna is showing her on her phone. The glance she throws in his direction tells him that it absolutely has something to do with whatever she has planned.

A friendly clap on his shoulder distracts him. He turns to see Bryce standing in line, grinning ear to ear.

“I hear someone hit the big Four-Oh today. Should I bring tequila?”

Next to him, Rafael tries not to laugh. “Come on, Bryce. Don’t tease him so much.”

Ridiculous as it is, hearing his age out loud makes Ethan cringe, not for the first time today. “Tell me what you know about this party.”

“No can do. I’m sworn to secrecy.” Bryce makes a performance of pretending to zip his lips, chucking an invisible key basketball-style into the nearest trash can. The amused smirk never leaves his face as he picks up a tray and walks away with it.

Ethan turns his attention to Rafael, thinking that maybe he’ll show an ounce of mercy. “Well?”

“I’m… going to go make sure Bryce didn’t take the last pudding cup.” With that, he follows his friend, and Ethan’s suspicions are no less than they were before.

XXXXXX

“Ethan!”

At the sound of Naveen’s voice, Ethan looks up from his patient’s charts. Naveen strides into the room, smiling warmly and holding an envelope in his hand.

“Happy birthday, Ethan,” Naveen greets, pulling his former protege in for a hug before handing him the envelope.

Ethan opens the envelope and reads the greeting on the front of the card. “Welcome to your forties, where a night of heavy drinking requires more recovery time than minor surgery.”

Naveen rolls his eyes at the mildly amused snort that follows. “Hey now, if you laugh any harder, you may get hurt!”

Olivia snorts and smiles at Naveen. “Speaking of heavy drinking, and since Ethan doesn’t want a party, we thought we’d reserve a big table at a restaurant tonight. One with a bar.”

“I don’t think I can make it, but who knows? I always did love crashing parties.” Naveen winks, confirming Ethan’s suspicions that apparently the entirety of Edenbrook’s staff is going to be in his living room when he gets home tonight.

Once they’re alone, Olivia catches his stare and sighs. “Ethan, we’re messing with you. I promise, no surprise party.”

“Mm hmm. You’re fortunate that you are the only person I’d go along with this for.”

“I’m touched.” She pretends to dab at her eyes, then steals another tauntingly quick kiss before her pager interrupts. “Gotta go. But I promise… no party.”

She can deny it all she wants, but Ethan knows better. He’ll go to this party, but he wasn’t lying-- there is absolutely nobody else he would do this for.

XXXXXX

It’s the end of his shift and Ethan knows he only has a few minutes of peace and quiet before he goes home to find co-workers he barely knows occupying his home.

Olivia’s fingers lace through his as they make their way to the top floor. Ethan half-expects to already hear music pulsing through the door, but the hall is eerily quiet.

Suspiciously so.

With the number of people she recruited to tease him today, Ethan expects no less than ten people, and that’s assuming she only invited their closest co-workers.

She steps ahead of him, reaching the door first. Her eyes sparkle with a teasing glint as she inserts the key--- her key--- into the doorknob and unlocks it. She tentatively pushes the door open and emits a low whistle.

“Wow, it’s dark in here. I mean, it’s always dark because we’re responsible people who turn the lights off when we leave, but… you know.”

Not subtle at all.

With a flourish, she swipes at the light switch. Light floods the room and Ethan expects an onslaught of people to jump out yelling some pre-rehearsed birthday greeting, but he’s met only with a living room devoid of partygoers.

“Huh. I told everyone to meet in the living room. They must be in the kitchen. Close your eyes.”  When he relents, she bites back a smirk and ushers him into the dining area. “Okay, open them.”

Ethan opens his eyes, blinking in mild surprise when he isn’t greeted with people jumping from behind every piece of furniture. Instead, there’s a table set for two, a bottle of fancy scotch at the centerpiece.

“I… you didn’t…”

“I didn’t plan a surprise party after all?” she finishes, smirking as she leans up to silence him with a kiss. “Told you so.”

“Then why did you go so far with the act today?”

“Because you’re almost impossible to surprise and I thought if I tricked you into thinking you’d walk into a surprise party, you’d actually be surprised by a nice, quiet dinner.”

At that, he lets out a low chuckle. “Well… I suppose I can say I am very nicely surprised to not have people in my house on my birthday of all days.”

The teasing glint returns to her eyes as she wraps her arms around his neck. “Besides, you’re really getting up there in years now. I couldn’t risk startling you like that.”

Ethan rolls his eyes. “Such a comedian. If my aging memory is correct, your thirtieth is not far away at all.”

“Shh.” Olivia shakes her head and steers him toward the table. She lifts the lid from the serving to reveal their dinner, the warm spices wafting into the air. “Steak, paired with the best potatoes you’ll ever eat, and expensive alcohol. Three things that I know you like more than parties.”

“Four, if your presence counts.”

Her grin widens, making his features soften in response. “That was cheesy, but I’ll take it since you’re the birthday boy.”

Ethan laughs as he picks up a knife to cut into his steak. “I’d like to know how you managed to do all of this.”

“I have my ways of finding help so I can sneak off to cook fancy dinners using your recipes.” She pours two glasses of scotch and sits across from him. “And there’s chocolate cake for dessert, courtesy of Sienna.”

“So that’s what you two were conspiring about in the cafeteria.”

“Got it in one,” she confirms. She clinks her glass to his. “How does it feel to be forty?”

“No different than it felt to be thirty-nine.”

“You would say that. But I’m curious, how old were you the last time you had a birthday party?”

“Sixteen.”

“Did you have to share your birthday cake with dinosaurs?”

Ethan’s eyes roll again. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Absolutely.” An amused laugh shakes her shoulders and she doesn’t miss the way Ethan’s lips lift into a soft smile.

Companionable quiet falls between them as they enjoy their dinner, followed by slices of chocolate cake. As soon as Ethan takes his last bite, Olivia hands him a long wrapped box.

“Open it.”

“Impatient.” Ethan removes the gift wrap to reveal a framed photo. They’re sitting on his couch, her head resting on his shoulder as she snaps the picture. He’s not looking at the camera, but the side view of his face catches the softness of his smile.

The smile he’s pretty sure he’s making right now.

“There’s more under the tissue paper.”

Ethan moves aside the tissue, his fingers brushing against the plush fabric of a soft bathrobe. “I think someone is enjoying her first year of an attending’s salary.”

“Maybe a little. I know I didn’t go all out and the gifts are pretty small, and-“

He closes the distance between them, cutting her off with a tender kiss. Olivia doesn’t hesitate before she melts into it. Her fingers reach up to graze his stubbled jaw.

“I love it,” Ethan assures her when their lips part. “The dinner, the gifts… I’d rather have quality time with you than extravagant parties and presents.”

Warmth fills her eyes as she takes a seat on his knee and touches her forehead to his. A smirk forms on her mouth. “I got a matching robe for myself, too. But I’m sure you’d rather see what I’m going to wear under it.”

The words send a shiver down Ethan’s spine. He’s half tempted to swipe the dishes off the table and let her have her way with him right here, right now, but he does have self-control.

Her smile widens, tantalizing him. It’s enough to make his heart skip with affection and longing.

For a moment, she pauses, her face inches from his. She steals another kiss before she gently grips his shoulders and urges him out of his chair. “Follow me for the rest of your birthday surprises.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

XXXXXX

Moonlight and glow from the city lights bathe the room, spilling through the window. Raindrops drip down the glass, the sound of their pattering lulling him toward sleep.

Sleep tugs at his eyelids. Ethan stifles a content yawn. His hand cradles Olivia’s head to his bare chest, his fingers combing softly through her hair.  She’s already asleep-- she always falls asleep first-- and Ethan wants to cherish the moment before he surrenders to sleep, too.

His arm tightens around her waist, drawing her closer. Her breaths escape in soft snores, almost inaudible and warm against his skin. Ethan’s not sure what he did to deserve this, deserve her, but he made a decision two years ago to never take a moment for granted.

He couldn’t be happier if he tried.

author’s note: So I definitely cringed at some of my own dialogue, especially since I don’t use present tense often. But I liked the way this turned out! It was originally going to be a headcanon, but... this happened instead.

Tags, part 1

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