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dksfml · 4 months ago

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Love 119 [Part One]

part of my paramedic!jungwon series. [part two] [part three]

pairing: paramedic!jungwon x doctor!reader genre: workplace tension, constant bickering, fluff (trust me) word count: 2.7k summary: jungwon and you made it a habit to constantly be at each other's throats, especially in the emergency room. while he barked orders, you fired back just as fiercely. but once the doors closed, the tension shifted into a warm intimacy that only you two knew. author's note: self-indulgent fic because i've seen no one writing this trope

The late afternoon sun was just beginning to dip behind the skyline when the call came in—an emergency at a construction site on the outskirts of the city.

Jungwon barely had time to glance at his watch before he was in motion, his team falling in line behind him as the sirens wailed and the ambulance tore through the city streets.

Arriving at the site, chaos greeted them. Workers were clustered around a man lying motionless on the ground, his hard hat cracked and discarded nearby, dust and debris littering the air. Jungwon’s jaw tightened, taking in the scene in a flash. This wasn’t good.

“Let’s move,” he barked, his tone sharp but calm, his team already spreading out as they grabbed the necessary equipment from the ambulance.

He strode forward with an authoritative air, his well-built frame and broad shoulders drawing more than a few eyes from the construction workers, some of whom were openly staring at him, their faces filled with a mix of concern and awe.

“Step back, please,” Jungwon said firmly but politely, the workers quickly making way as he knelt down beside the injured man.

His dark hair, just a bit tousled from the rush, caught the light, and the sharp angles of his jawline seemed even more pronounced against the backdrop of the gritty site. His team watched him with admiration; Jungwon always exuded this calm, confident charm that somehow made even the most panicked scenes feel manageable.

Jungwon quickly assessed the man’s condition. The patient was unconscious, his breathing shallow. One of his teammates handed over the stethoscope, and Jungwon listened intently to the faint sounds of the man’s breathing. His brow furrowed.

“Possible head trauma. We’ve got low oxygen saturation,” he muttered under his breath, signaling for the oxygen mask as his hands moved swiftly yet delicately over the man’s body, checking for fractures and injuries.

His every move was precise, commanding attention—not just because of his skill but the way he carried himself. Even in the face of an emergency, he looked collected, like he was born to handle the pressure.

"Jungwon," his teammate called from the side, holding the patient's chart. "No significant external bleeding. We’ve got a weak pulse though, around 130, BP's borderline. We need to get him out of here fast."

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed as he nodded, quickly making a decision. “Let’s secure his airway first and immobilize his spine. We can’t risk any movement.” He made the call as he smoothly slid the oxygen mask onto the patient’s face, adjusting it with a gentleness that contrasted the urgency of the situation. His fingers brushed over the man’s wrist, checking his pulse again. A slight frown creased his forehead.

With practiced ease, his team set up a backboard to stabilize the patient, while Jungwon prepared to radio the hospital. His deep voice echoed through the dust-laden air, crisp and calm. “We’re looking at a possible internal bleed or brain injury—trauma to the head, decreased GCS. Get Y/N on standby. She’ll want to know.”

He tapped his earpiece, dialing straight into the hospital, his tone switching effortlessly into that of a strict professional.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice filled with authority as he spoke into the receiver, “we’ve got a situation here. Male, late twenties, unconscious after a fall from height—GCS is 4. We’ve administered oxygen and immobilized his spine, but he’s unresponsive. Internal injuries are likely.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, before your voice came through, crisp and all business. “Vitals?”

Jungwon rattled off the numbers, his tone growing sharper as he outlined the gravity of the situation. “BP’s dropping fast, pulse is weak, pupils uneven—one’s blown. It’s not looking good.”

“Get him here as fast as you can,” you replied, your voice steady. “We’ll be ready when you arrive. I need him in trauma two for imaging, and you better give me a detailed report when you get here.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes subtly, though no one else could hear his exasperation. “Of course, Doctor. Just make sure the room’s prepped.” His sarcasm was impossible to miss, but before you could retort, he was already motioning for his team to get the stretcher ready.

“Let’s get moving,” he said, standing up in one fluid motion, his wide shoulders casting a shadow over the patient as he signaled for the transfer. His team lifted the man onto the gurney, Jungwon guiding them every step of the way. Despite the intensity of the moment, there was something about the way he commanded the situation—his deep voice, his piercing gaze, the way he moved like a force of nature—that made even a frantic scene seem a little calmer.

Jungwon was the kind of guy people listened to, the kind of guy people looked up to. Even with the weight of the situation hanging over him, he held his head high, taking charge like it was second nature. His team moved quickly, securing the patient in the ambulance as Jungwon gave one last glance to the scene before climbing in.

“Let’s go,” he said firmly, and with the wail of sirens, they sped off toward the hospital.

Jungwon stormed through the emergency room doors with a sense of purpose, his jaw clenched as he guided the gurney toward the trauma bay. “28-year-old male, head trauma, GCS of 4, possible internal bleeding. Move it!” His voice boomed with authority, eyes scanning the room as the ER team sprang into action.

The chaos of the emergency room was nothing new, but today it seemed more charged than usual. The tension was thick as the nurses hurried to get the trauma room prepped, doctors barking orders as they readied themselves. And at the center of it all was you—focused, sharp-eyed, already gloved up and waiting.

The moment Jungwon and his team wheeled the patient in, your eyes met his, a silent exchange of understanding mixed with the tension that always crackled between them in moments like this. Not that anyone would’ve noticed—your constant bickering was practically a feature of every shift.

You stepped forward, your voice cutting through the noise of the room. “Trauma two is open. Let’s get him in fast!”

The team followed your lead, transferring the patient from the gurney to the hospital bed with swift efficiency. Jungwon stayed close, hands still gripping the rails of the stretcher as if he was unwilling to relinquish control.

“You took too long with the vitals report,” you said, throwing him a sharp glance. “We could’ve been in there five minutes ago.”

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed. “We did take the vitals. Maybe if you paid attention, you’d know that.”

“Excuse me?” you shot back, your gaze never leaving the patient as you worked to stabilize him. “I don’t need a paramedic trying to tell me how to do my job. We had a plan, and your delay didn’t help.”

Jungwon glared, his voice low and clipped. “Maybe if your plan didn’t waste time on unnecessary scans, we wouldn’t have needed a second round of intubation last time.”

Your hands froze for a split second before you caught yourself. You threw him a withering look. “This again? You think you can waltz in here and play doctor, Jungwon?”

“I’m not playing doctor. I’m trying to make sure you don’t screw it up.” His tone was biting, but professional, and the tension in the room rose instantly.

One of the nurses stepped back, shaking her head. “Here they go again.”

You didn’t back down, leaning closer as you adjusted the IV line. “How about you leave the doctoring to me, and I’ll leave the paramedic work to you? We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Jungwon took a breath, his expression unreadable for a moment, his frustration barely contained. “Fine. Just don’t mess it up.”

“Same to you,” you retorted, not missing a beat.

Before Jungwon could respond, one of the nurses interrupted. “Dr. Y/N, patient’s BP is dropping.”

Instantly, you refocused, the banter dropped as quickly as it had escalated. “Let’s get the trauma panel done. We need to stabilize him before moving for imaging. Prep the fluids.”

Jungwon watched you work, his arms still crossed, but he didn’t say another word. Despite the constant arguing, there was no denying that you are incredible at your job. Even in the most high-pressure situations, you were in complete control.

You worked together in tense silence, the only sounds in the room now the soft beeps of the monitors and the quiet shuffling of the medical team around them. Jungwon’s team lingered just outside, waiting for their next call, though they couldn’t help but glance back inside the room occasionally, accustomed to the combative exchanges between Jungwon and you.

As the patient’s vitals finally stabilized, you took a step back, letting out a quiet breath. “We’re clear to take him to imaging now. Good work, everyone,” you called to the team, your voice steady once more.

Jungwon uncrossed his arms, walking past you toward the door. “You’re welcome,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You narrowed your eyes at his back but said nothing. You didn’t need to. Your argument had run its course for now.

Thirty minutes later, with the patient stable and prepped for surgery, you stepped out of the trauma room, pulling off your gloves. Jungwon was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, that same tight-lipped look on his face.

“Everything go okay, or did I miss something else?” he asked, his voice loaded with sarcasm.

You glared at him. “Yeah, we managed just fine without your commentary, thanks.”

“Good,” Jungwon muttered, pushing himself off the wall and adjusting his jacket. “Maybe next time you won’t waste so much time arguing.”

“Maybe next time you’ll do your job and get out of my way,” you shot back, your voice sharp.

“You love being in control, don’t you?” Jungwon’s eyes glinted, his voice dropping low as he stepped closer. “Can’t handle someone else calling the shots, huh?”

You crossed your arms, your gaze unyielding. “I don’t need to handle anything, least of all you.”

“Trust me, I’m not asking for much,” he replied with a smirk, his voice oozing with challenge.

You scoffed, brushing past him. “Try asking for less.”

Jungwon shook his head with an exasperated sigh as he watched you walk away, but his lips twitched ever so slightly. The others on their teams didn’t even blink. This was just how the both of you were. They were used to it by now—the biting remarks, the challenges, the constant back-and-forth. Every time Jungwon’s ambulance showed up, it was only a matter of time before you and him were at each other’s throats again.

Hours later, the hospital had quieted down. The rush of the afternoon was over, and most of the staff had gone home. You and Jungwon had managed to avoid each other for the rest of your shifts, though your earlier argument still hung in the air like static.

You finally peeled off your gloves after your last appointment and scrubbed your hands clean, your mind replaying the events of the day. You were tired, drained even, but there was something about that last spat with Jungwon that wouldn’t stop gnawing at you. Maybe it was the way he always had a smug retort ready or how he never backed down from your challenges.

Shaking your head, you let out a sigh. “Annoying paramedic,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing your coat and heading out of the ER.

Your apartment wasn’t far from the hospital, a quiet space tucked away from the noise of the city. By the time you have arrived, your exhaustion had fully settled in, your body craving rest.

You pushed open the door and was greeted by the sound of faint rustling from the kitchen.

“Rough day?” a familiar voice asked, soft and warm.

You smiled, the tension from earlier melting away. There, standing in the kitchen in the same paramedic uniform that had driven you crazy just hours ago, was Jungwon. His hair was a little disheveled now, his expression soft and boyish, the strict leader of the paramedic team completely gone.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, walking over to him, your eyes catching on his broad shoulders, still defined under the crisp lines of his uniform. Jungwon turned around, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat when you see his easy smile, so different from the sharp tone he used at work.

Without another word, Jungwon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. The scent of antiseptic still clung to his uniform, mixed with the faintest hint of his cologne. You closed your eyes and let yourself melt against him, the weight of the day slipping away. You buried your face into his shoulder, feeling the strong muscles beneath the fabric, and sighed softly.

“You’re lucky I put up with you,” he teased, reaching for your hand and pulling your close. “Even after you yelled at me for no reason.”

“I didn’t yell for no reason,” you protested, but your voice had lost all its sharpness, softened by the warmth of being home. You leaned against his chest, letting out a deep breath. “Okay, maybe I did. But only because you deserved it.”

Jungwon chuckled, his arms wrapping around you more tightly. “Sure, I deserved it. You really hate me that much, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat behind it as you melted into his embrace. “The worst,” you muttered, though your fingers played with the collar of his uniform.

Jungwon smirked, resting his chin on top of your head. “Good thing we’ve got the whole night to make up for it, then.”

“You’re still in your uniform,” you mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. But inside, your mind was in chaos. His broad shoulders. The way he held you. The authority he exuded at work seemed to linger here, too, but only just enough to make your heart race.

Jungwon chuckled, his hand moving up to cup the back of your head. “I thought you liked me in uniform.”

You groaned, your cheeks flushing. “Stop it. I’m tired.”

“Liar,” he teased, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His own softened as he took in your face, the familiar tenderness filling his gaze. “You love it.”

And he wasn’t wrong. As strict and commanding as you could be at work, here with him, you couldn’t help but feel weak in his arms. You were whipped for him in every sense of the word, even if you would never admit it out loud.

Jungwon kissed the top of your head, his earlier bravado fading into a gentle affection. “Come on. Let’s get you out of these scrubs and cuddle.”

You let out a soft laugh, the kind that only he ever got to hear. “You’re the one who’s going to change first. That uniform’s distracting.”

“I knew it,” he grinned, but without missing a beat, he started peeling off his jacket, revealing the tight black undershirt beneath that highlighted his lean muscles. You had to look away before you lost yourself completely.

As you settled onto the couch, your limbs tangled together in the quiet of their apartment, the world outside felt a million miles away. In here, there were no patients to save, no colleagues to impress, no reputations to uphold. It was just the both of you.

Jungwon nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his earlier strictness replaced by a cuteness that only you got to see. “You’re such a pain at work, you know that?”

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “You’re not so easy yourself.”

And just like that, the bickering, the tension, all of it faded away. Because here, in your shared apartment, away from the chaos of the ER and the expectations of their coworkers, you were just you and Jungwon—no titles, no arguments. Just two people who loved each other, even if you never let anyone else know.

[part two] [part three]

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13mary-gold · 21 days ago

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Sketches for the fic We Are Sure to Drown by Good_Luck_Charm

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esteljune · 10 months ago

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Imagine being on the couch with Soap, his body entrusted to you without hesitation.

His crested head resting against your sternum, his broad back pressed against your stomach as the boy's calloused hands cling to your thighs.

Despite being together for a while, Johnny is still nervous to talk to you about his work because there's not much he can tell you, and he's afraid that even that little bit might push you away from him.

He doesn't doubt his own conviction, but he knows it's a choice that doesn't belong to you. He manages to spit out some information about his explosives training, his sniper training, and why they call him Soap.

When he realizes that you don't care whether he's Johnny or Soap, but that he'll always be safe with you, he can't hold back his tongue. He feels a million things, some he's never felt before, others he wouldn't even know how to name.

"Would ye believe me if I told ye I've never been as nervous in front of a bomb as I am now talking about my work tae ye?" he confesses impulsively.

"Yes. Your heart is racing, Johnny." you smile tapping your index finger on his left chest.

"Ah... Away n' bile yer heid." he curses under his breath, because it's true.

He manages to control his breathing and heartbeat long enough to put a bullet in someone's head from dozens of meters away, but he can't control himself in front of a simple conversation with you.

#this again is part of my fic #I'm not really okay with asking you this but if you have a wattapad account and want to support my writing you can fin the link in my bio #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #soap #soap mactavish #soap squad™️#soap x reader #soap x you #cod x you #cod x reader #Cod #call of duty #my writing #call of duty modern warfare

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p3ndeja6 · 9 months ago

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₊ ⊹🪻 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🔮

n.amaro x reader

summary: you were younger then nick by a couple of years, and sometimes he’d come over to your apartment after late nights at the precinct, he’d come over to just enjoy peace and serenity

content: fluff, reader is in school (2nd or 3rd year of college) suggestive acts (nothing extreme), age gap!, mentions of sexual abuse due to svu cases, nothing too triggering, just a fluffy one shot overall

super short

✧ ✧

it was late at night, you were working on an essay that was due by the end of the week.. you were getting strained and decided to take a break and call it a day.

You made yourself a quick meal, spicy buldak noodles, a sandwich and your favorite drink that was saved in the fridge. You prepared your meal as you were watching your favorite show. you were almost done preparing your late-night snack when you heard the doorknob shake.

You lived a pretty safe vicinity so the chances of a burgler were slim, but you still were vigilant about your safety, you quickly grabbed your broom and held it tight.

Upon your discovery, the door opened and you saw your boyfriend… nick.

You sighed of relief, and he looked at you worried

“Jesus Nick, you scared me!” “geez sorry, i thought this neighbor was safe?”

you put the broom down, “I mean it is but you never know” “yeah.. tell me about it”

he walked to you as you went back in finishing preparing your ramen, he went behind you and grabbed you hips and nuzzled his head in between your neck, kissing you, making you giggle due to his stubble

he continued and you moved your head slightly to give him more access, he took this as a sign to continue. You tried not to get distracted but you let a soft moan escape.

he laughed,and started moving up your body; cupping your boobs. You laughed and finally pushed him away

“stop Nick” you laughed “I want to eat, I’ve been working on an assignment for the past 5 hours.” he let go and laughed “my hard working girl, okay okay I’ll let you eat but next time, you’re all mine!”

you shook your head in sarcasm, he took of his jacket and unbuttoned his white shirt a couple of buttons down, and took off his shoes. He adjusted himself on your couch, and laid there with his eyes closed taking in the aroma therapy essential oils diffuser thats going around your room.

you look at him, now realizing that he’s here strangely. Nick stops by late nights most weekends or if it’s a weekday he’ll let you know earlier in the day if he’s stopping by, but it’s currently a Tuesday at 12:36 am.

“hey Nick?”

he hummed in response, most likely getting sleepy

“not to sound rude or anything.. but why are you here? It’s late on a Tuesday night, shouldn’t you be at your place?”

He opened one eye and looked over at you

“do you not want me here?” He said a bit suspicious

“oh god, no like yeah I do, but I just realized what day it was and you know you usually let me know when you’re coming over and it’s usually weekends you spend the night with me, I just found it odd you came to visit me tonight” “I love it when you’re here really”

you finally finished your ramen and took it towards the couch where Nick was, and started eating as you waited for a response.

he was hesitant in his answer, he seemed stressed and frustrated.

“today we had a tough case.. a rape case..”

you look at him attentively, making sure you are hearing him and that he has your fullest attention.

you nod in continuous

“and well… it’s about a 8 year old girl who’s after school teacher has been acting inappropriately with her.. you know like touching her where she shouldn’t be touched”

“oh my god” was what you let out

“yeah, and her home life isn’t easy, this one was a bit tough to work on dude to how young and bright this little girl is. I hate to see anyone take it away from her”

you put your ramen down and get close to him, caressing his hand.

“and being here.. with you just brings me peace. All is perfect here, so sorry i came unexpected but i really needed to see you”

you smiled at him

“awe baby, you know you are always welcomed here, I love having you here, never goes a day where I don’t miss you”

you make him look at you and caress his cheek, looking so attentively at his eyes, leaning in and kissing him so gracefully.

he takes you in, and guides a hand on your neck. You move to his lap and continue to kiss him, sucking on each others lips, and you slightly grinding on him

he groans a bit and you continue to bit his lip. You pull away with his lip in between your teeth and stare at him and run a finger across his now plumped lips

“thank you for coming over”

“thank you for having me”

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 1 year ago

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Practice On Me — Bonus Part — Fin x Reader.

Summary: A reimagining of how things would have gone if Reader had decided she wanted Fin — despite him being her friend’s father.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Heavy on the smut. 18+, minors dni. Some jealous and possessiveness. Mentions of forbidden relationships/affairs. If the choices Reader makes in this are something you’re against, I urge you not to read! 🫶🏻

Rita’s is like no other place you’ve been — or seen — before.

Is this what you’ve missed out on, trapped within the frozen maw of Windhaven? There is no place like this there, of such vibrancy and euphoria. The music, the coloured faelights, the energy — it all makes you feel…on top of the world.

Like there’s life outside the misery you’ve known.

Mor knocks a shot back, grimacing as she slams the empty glass onto the bar. A sudden burst of giggles leaves her as she says, “My father would have my head if he could see me right now. Literally.”

You don’t doubt that for a second, because Mor looks resplendent, not just in her natural beauty, but her joy. She has danced and drank and kissed and danced some more. And seeing her like this…it makes you glad that she convinced you to come out with her tonight.

“My father would have my head, too,” you tell her over the music. “I’m surprised he hasn’t already.”

At that, she rolls her eyes, and she reaches for two more shots. “Here’s to saying fuck the males,” she knocks her glass against yours. “May they all perish.”

You’ll happily drink to that. With the alcohol that has you in its grip, you’re buzzed on thoughts of storming back to Windhaven and confronting all your demons. Confronting anyone and everyone who has ever hurt you and made you feel less than you are. Your father. Lord Devlon. Azriel—

You banish that thought as the liquid slides down your throat with a satisfying burn. You are in Velaris, not Windhaven. A new place with new people, where anything feels possible. The thought is heady and dizzying.

Someone calls Mor’s name, and she glances over her shoulder, her beautiful eyes lighting up again. You truly don’t know how often she’s able to escape the Hewn City and get away to Velaris, but judging by the amount of friends she’s introduced you to tonight, she’s certainly made her mark here.

“Let’s go dance with them!” Mor yells over the music, grabbing your hand.

You think that dancing might be the answer to everything you’ve never known, and so you gladly follow; gladly throw yourself into the thrall of the busy floor.

But that’s when you see him.

Something…some deep power…compels you to look up. Coaxes your eyes to that area a level above, where the city’s VIP guests spend copious amounts of money on copious amounts of alcohol and drink it from their cushy velvet booths. They’re reserved for associates of the High Lord, a not-so-formal place to meet to discuss not-so-casual things.

But none of that matters. There could be an entire circus up there right now, and still all you would notice is — him.

He notices you, too.

The High Lord’s eyes zero in on you from up above. You watch, rooted to the spot, as he takes in the sight of you, from your braided back hair, to your painted face, your dress and the legs exposed by them. He looks like…like he’s finally setting his sights upon an image that was merely fantasy up until now.

He braces his arms on the balustrade. And he just stares.

You want to know what he’s doing here. Whether he’s at Rita’s for business or…or for pleasure. You’ve heard that there are rooms upstairs for people willing to pay the price. Perhaps there’s a lover up there with him somewhere, waiting to explore every last inch of that glorious, sculpted body—

The bleating jealousy that makes your heart twist is…unexpected. And not ideal; not one bit.

He is Rhysand’s father. Things may have been fucked up royally with Azriel, and you may have been burned by the experience — but Fin is Rhysand’s father.

Your friend’s father.

Your friend’s father who has just so happened to help keep you feeling alive these past weeks. With his layers-deep allure, the sweet, sweet words that roll off his tongue. His hospitality, his generosity. His kindness. All of it, you’d attributed to him being a natural charmer, a High Lord who knows precisely what to say, what to do.

It strikes you in that moment — just how much it’s all sunk its way into your bones and made you feel…dangerous.

He watches you like a cat with a mouse. Watches as somebody grabs your hand and yanks you into the tightly knit dancing bodies. The music pulses through you from head to toe, a frenzied tune of strings and keys that somehow come together to create the feeling of being borne aloft. Being on top of the world.

As you become lost to the sensation of dance, you’re glad to forget all your thoughts about Fin. You don’t want to wonder what he’s doing here. You don’t want to imagine what those strong, rough hands might get up to, where they might venture.

You become sandwiched between two males who dance with you in a way that makes you forget your wings were ever stolen. They touch you and touch each other, and you welcome it all, happy to be someone, somewhere, else. At least for a while.

But there’s suddenly a foreign touch to your shoulder. That of a cold, meaty hand that stills your movements and draws your attention. The two males happily slink away and begin grinding on each other, and you spin on the spot to find a tall, stocky male who looks like he punches people in the face for the hell of it.

“Y/N?” He checks, and you nod. “The High Lord wishes to speak with you. Upstairs.”

You glance over your shoulder, eyes searching for Mor and finding her just as she’s following a male and female to a cloaked-off area at the back. That’ll be her occupied for the remainder of the night. You’re officially going solo.

But not for long. Not as the bouncer juts his chin in the direction of the staircase and begins to lead you there. Perhaps it makes you a fool, but you follow without a word.

He pulls back a rope and gestures for you to go on up, and then he’s refastening it behind you and turning back to train a keen eye on the dance floor. It’s purely the alcohol that hits you with enough of an ego to climb those stairs like you belong amongst the chandeliers and velvet booths.

But you look good — amazing, even. You know you do. And looking like this, things like scars and other insecurities seem so trivial. You’ve taken back the right to feel as beautiful as you are. You wear your Illyrian features proudly, and you’re pretty and lithe and graceful—

And your heel catches on the top step of the staircase, almost sending you sprawling to the floor — if not for the warm hand that catches your elbow.

“Easy.” Fin rasps into your ear, setting you steady on your feet.

Your numbed, inebriated senses are not immune to the effect of his voice, it would seem. The deep baritone, rough as jagged rock, pushes its way into your skin, your veins, and spreads far faster than any alcohol could.

“Pardon me, my Lord,” you answer, and you’re unable to shove down the hysterical giggle that claws up your throat. “Fuck, you’re the High Lord.”

He cocks a dark eyebrow. “And you are drunk.”

“The whiskey they serve here is immense.”

“I’ll be sure to extend your compliments to Rita herself.”

Is that, you wonder, who he’s up here meeting? Perhaps the elusive Rita is a close associate of his. Perhaps they do deals in both business and pleasure.

And taking in your fill of the High Lord right now, in a dark button-up shirt and fitted breeches of a slate grey, you would not blame Rita one little bit.

Gods, he’s exquisite. Rhysand may resemble Roza more than he does Fin, but…with two parents of such stunning beauty, it’s no wonder your friend is as handsome as he is.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you make no secret of the way your eyes linger on him. Tonight is dangerous, and you’re enjoying it.

“Nor I, you,” he narrows his gaze down at you. “Imagine my surprise, considering that when I left the palace earlier this evening, you were curled up in the library with a book. And yet, here you are. Wearing…” mahogany eyes take in the short cut of your dress, “…that.”

“Mor surprised me with a visit.”

“My niece ought to be more careful not to press her father’s buttons too much,” a muscle in his chiselled jaw ticks. “And I think you ought to be more careful not to push mine.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Bold. So foolishly bold of you. You’ll regret it once sober, you’re sure. “Was there a particular reason you summoned me up here, my Lord? I was rather enjoying dancing.”

“I noticed. And I’m taking you home.”

“What—”

Before you can even finish the word, Fin’s gripping your elbow again, and darkness sweeps you away.

Being winnowed while drunk is not a fun experience.

You feel the cosmic, air-light step from one place to another. Your stomach lurches, your head spinning. You can barely get a hold of yourself as you cling to Fin and prepare your feet to touch solid ground.

And then the darkness is gone, and you’re back in the toasty, warm glow of the palace’s library. Your knees buckle, trying to drag you to the floor, but Fin keeps you upright.

“What the…” you gawp up at him. “Why did you bring me home?”

He ensures you’re able to stand on your feet before pushing away from you. Doesn’t even look at you as he commands, “Get to bed.”

“I was enjoying myself.”

“Just as those males were enjoying you, too. You’re drunk and you need to sleep it off. Get to bed.”

He strides towards the door, his knuckles white from how hard he grips the hilt of the sword sheathed at his side. But sword or no, you refuse to give up so easily.

“No,” you say simply. “I will not.”

Fin stops. Goes still. And then he turns back to you.

His temper is clear on his face, but he doesn’t storm back over like you’re half expecting him to. Instead, his eyes shutter, and he seems to take a deep, soothing breath. When he’s looking at you once more, he flicks his wrist in your direction.

And immediately, gone is the haze of the alcohol.

Immediately, you’re completely lucid, completely steady on your feet. Not a lick of inebriation remains, as if you had, indeed, slept it off.

“Did you just sober me up?” you’re outraged by the mere idea.

“Yes.” Fin admits shamelessly. “Now you won’t fall victim to a hangover in the morning — a favour from me, to you, and I ask you in return to get to bed. And don’t even think about trying to venture back out. I’ll know.”

Your blood boils. And the anger isn’t simply because of your ruined fun, but because…because it stings, the way Fin is treating you with such contempt. Scolding you like you’re little more than a petulant child. He’s been nothing but wonderful since you came to Velaris, and yet now, he speaks to you like…like most of the males back in Windhaven do.

It makes you see red.

“What right have you to dictate how I spend my evening?” you snap. “I was under the impression that my free time is my own, and if I wish to go and get drunk and dance like a fool, that is up to me.”

Cold, beautiful anger hardens Fin’s face. He stalks closer, squeezing the hilt of that sword so, so tightly. “What right have I? This is my home. My city. My court. I am your High Lord, and you choose to behave in such a way when I’ve opened my home to you and offered you refuge? When I’ve given you a place to run to and left my resources at your disposal?”

You rock back on the heels of your feet, staring at him. Every word lands a hit — as good as if he’d nocked them in a bow and fired them right at your heart. It stings. Gods, it stings. You want the careless oblivion of the alcohol back.

Because you grapple daily with the pain, the anxiety, of feeling unwanted. And you…you had begun to think that Fin actually cared for you. Actually enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his.

You’d begun to care about his thoughts and feelings where you were concerned. And begun to believe that it wasn’t just the hospitality and courtesy that he would dole out to any runt on the street.

His eyes seem to track the way your expression changes, your shoulders slump. You swallow. The anger is replaced, simply, by hurt.

“If I am a burden, my Lord, I apologise,” you rasp. “I don’t intend to be one. I appreciate your generosity, and I…I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

You hope you can keep your tears at bay long enough to escape to your room. You’re pelted with shame, embarrassment, hurt. You step forward and hurry past the High Lord, desperate to book it out of there, to get to bed.

But his hand encloses around your wrist, tugging you to a stop. And he says, quietly, “wait.”

That hand on your wrist holds the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

You pin your gaze to the ground, unable to look at Fin. You hear him swallow.

“That isn’t—” his voice is gravelly. “I didn’t mean that.”

You don’t think you can speak. You remain a statue beneath his touch.

But so gently — such a contrast to the whirlwind of his actions before — he’s walking you backwards. Slow and careful. You feel your back hit the wall, and he lets go of your wrist and seems to curl his fists at his sides. There’s a desperation to the action that only then coaxes you to look up at him.

His expression is…pleading. For what, you’re not sure.

“You are the furthest thing from a burden,” he says, quietly, on an exhale. “Your presence here is very much welcomed, I assure you.”

You don’t dare breathe a word. Every last bit of your very sober courage is being thrown into maintaining eye contact. There’s none to spare for speaking.

But your lack of response seems to trouble Fin. His eyes rake over your face, searching for something. He swallows again.

And then his eyes shutter, and he whispers, “Mother above, what are you doing to me?”

You don’t know how to answer him — whether he’s even talking to you at all. He takes in a very slow, very deep breath, as though it’s the only thing that’s stopping him from…doing something. What, you’re not sure.

But you can feel it, sense it — the ferocity with which he’s swallowing down words and holding himself back. Like he wants so badly to say something, but can’t.

His eyes open, clearer than they were seconds before, and he says in a far gentler tone, “Get to bed, Y/N,” he inclines his head. “Sleep well.”

With tense, squared shoulders, he turns — and it’s you, this time, that stops him. You halt him with a hand on his arm, and you could swear you feel the muscles flex under his touch.

“Wait,” you say, not ready to let him go, not prepared to leave things between you like this. “Stay and talk with me for a while.”

His jaw clenches like he’s gritting his teeth. “That isn’t a good idea.”

“Why? We talk all the time, you and I. And there are clearly things you’re holding back from saying—”

Your words are cut short as he suddenly meets your gaze with the intensity of a blazing fire. You think it might burn you. You hope it will.

“It’s a bad idea,” he grounds out, gutturally, “not because of what I want to say. But because of what I want to do.”

“What—”

“You are my son’s close friend. You are Roza’s guest,” he tugs his arm out from under your hand. “You are far younger than I am. I am trying my hardest — I have been trying my hardest — to be a good male. And right now, a good male would take his leave and go to bed, so I bid you goodnight, Y/N.”

“Fin—”

“I hope you sleep well.”

“Fin,” you grab for him again. “What if I don’t want you to be a good male?”

Beneath your touch, he stops. Goes preternaturally still.

Words punch out of you with terrifying gall — and truth. “What if I want you to do those things—”

Quick as a flash, he’s pivoting, and he has the upper hand. Has you pressed so tightly up against the wall, his body boxing you in.

And gods, the feel of it might set you on fire. A brush of your hands, a kiss on the backs of your fingers — they’re nothing compared to the weight and press of his muscles against your body. You want your clothes to melt away, and his, too. You want your hands on his bare, hot skin.

“I don’t think you realise what you’re saying,” he growls.

“I do,” you breathe. “I am completely sober. Completely clear of mind. And I am telling you, Fin, I want you—”

A strangled noise is the only warning you get before the High Lord’s mouth is on yours.

The kiss is pure power. It passes from him, into you, roils through your veins and makes you feel like somebody remarkable. It’s the cloak of darkness and the kiss of sin. Of somebody capable of very, very bad things.

And it’s immediately addicting. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to get enough.

You claw at his shirt, tugging him closer, closer, and his broad hands cup your face as his mouth devours yours.

This kiss…it’s been building. The need for it has been working its way beneath your skin for a while. All the heated glances, the late-night conversations. All the thoughts, in the dead of night, of what Fin might be doing in his own bed. Wondering whether he was thinking of you.

It’s so, so forbidden. So wrong. But it feels so godsdamn right.

And the way Fin’s tongue slides between your lips and strokes into your mouth — it tells you that he feels it, too.

Your hands glide from his waist, round to his back, and you yank him harder against you. So desperate are you to feel him. Feel what you think you do to him.

He makes another low noise. And then he’s tearing his mouth from yours. But he lingers close, your foreheads touching.

“Better than I’ve been imagining,” he pants, his hands still clutching your face. “Much better.”

“You’ve imagined kissing me?” You know he has.

“I have imagined,” his thumbs sweep your cheeks, “doing all sorts of things with you, Y/N. Things that would make even the most salacious of a person blush.”

Such a relief — to know that it’s not all just some wild fantasy you’ve cooked up in your mind. That you’re not just some wayward, longing young female who craves the affections of an older male to patch her deep wounds.

No, it’s not that. It’s desire. It’s need. And it burns inside your veins until you think you might erupt into flames.

“I’ve imagined them, too,” you say, without a lick of shame.

Once again, his eyes are shuttering. Once again, he takes that slow, steadying breath. And as you watch him do so, you can’t bear the thought of him still grappling with right and wrong. You can’t bear the thought of him squaring his shoulders and walking out of here, leaving your lips bruised, your body aching, your heart hurting. You can’t bear it—

“I want you to do those things,” you lift your chin, gaze unflinching. “I want you to touch me.”

Fin’s eyes reopen.

He stares at you.

His throat bobs.

You have never seen somebody look so wild, so ravenous. There is heat everywhere, in his stare and in his taut body. His eyes flick down to your lips.

That mere glance at them is the deciding factor, it would seem.

He growls, the sound not at all one you’ve ever heard from a person, and he yanks you up into his arms and kisses you again.

So naturally, your arms twine around his neck, your legs locking around his waist. You can feel the strength of him against you, in the way he holds you. You can taste his crackling power.

He doesn’t falter in the kiss nor his steps as he carries you away from the wall, and you’re suddenly being placed down on the library’s desk, sending books and parchment and pens and ink pots flying. They all clatter loudly to the floor, and neither of you care.

But Fin does pull away to look at you, and there’s wicked, boyish charm in his eyes as the corners of his mouth twitch up. He merely says, “Oops.”

You surge up and kiss him again.

He sighs into it, like your mouth is the answer to all his questions. And when heated hands land on your thighs, you part them, allow him to slot his body in between. The mere feel of it has you pushing up against him, finding him hard—

But again, he pulls away. He scans your face and rasps, “Tell me you’re sure.”

You do not balk from his intensity. From the fact that this is the fucking High Lord of your court, who was changing this world and building a reputation long before you were a mere thought in your parents’ minds. You do not balk from the fact that there are a million different reasons that this is wrong.

You think only about the fact that it feels right.

And that translates into your voice as you say, firmly, “I’m sure.”

You think you see the words course through his body. They change something — forever.

“This isn’t about Roza,” he breathes — breathes heavily, like it’s taking everything to tamp down on the desire to devour you then and there. To say what needs to be said.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Nor is it about Rhysand.”

“No.”

“It’s about me and you.” He destroys what little gap exists between your bodies, his hardness pushing through his breeches, right up against your centre. His hands brace on the desk, either side of you. “And gods, I want you, Y/N. I want you so much, I can scarcely bear it.”

“Have me,” is all you manage — before he strikes.

You think, hope, that his mouth might find yours again — but he’s barely brushing it before his lips settle on your jaw. His hands travel up your legs, fingers biting into the flesh. They find your hips, thumbs delivering explorative sweeps. They tug your dress up as they climb, exposing more of you to the warmth of the room. Exposing more skin that you know he wants to lay claim to.

And when the hem of your dress is ruched around your waist, you smile — at your little wildcard exposed. That he finds no underwear hiding what sits between your legs.

Your choice to forgo a pair seems almost foretelling, now — like some part of you knew the night would end like this, and you wanted to be ready.

Fin’s eyes dip to your slick, exposed cunt. The hunger in them is almost intimidating. You open your legs just a little wider—

But his rough hand is gripping your chin, almost hard enough to hurt. And he snarls deeply, “It drove me to madness — seeing those two males dancing with you. Touching you.”

Pleasure bolts down your spine, and from the way his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your arousal is consuming him.

“Did it?” you stare back at him, welcoming the discomfort of his brutal grip.

“I wanted them dead. I wanted to draw my sword and gut them for even looking your way. For touching what I want to be mine.”

That pleasure again — skittering over your skin. His words do something to you. You bite down on a moan.

“It is yours,” you tilt your chin up to him, smiling when he immediately glances to your lips. “Take it.”

“I warn you,” he lowers his face to yours, “I don’t like to share.”

“And I warn you, High Lord,” you watch as your words land, drawing a deep, raw scent from him. “Neither do I.”

With a growl, he snaps. The kiss he gives you is not slow or sweet. His hand continues to grip your face, and his mouth attacks yours, his tongue sliding between your lips. You can’t help your moan, this time, as his taste overpowers you — a taste that you can only describe as pure thunder.

But it ends too soon, as he begins to leave a trail of heated kisses and bites and sucks along your jaw, down your neck, your collarbones. Your head falls back, and the touches are like little zips of lightning — lightning cleaving through the night sky.

“Pretty dress,” he hums against your skin — and that’s all the warning you get before that dress is ripped apart. Torn to ribbons.

No part of you is left to Fin’s imagination.

He tears his mouth from you and steps back to drink you in.

Instinct roars at you to curl in on yourself and hide. To remember that you are scarred, and flawed, and not to the liking of many — including yourself, a lot of the time.

But something about Fin’s weighty, scorching stare stops you from moving a muscle.

You lift your chin and hide nothing as he takes his fill. His eyes travel a journey from the top of your head and down — down your face, your neck, your breasts. Down your stomach, your waist, your hips. Down to that fine dusting of hair on your pelvis that tracks a thin path to—

Fin drops to his knees with a low noise. His hands wrap around your legs and prise them further apart.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he levels his face with the very centre of you, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight.

The sight of the High Lord on his knees before you — on his knees for you.

As though he senses the direction of your thoughts, his eyes flick up, and he smiles.

And then he dives in.

His tongue wastes no time in sinking between your folds, licking a broad stripe right up the centre of you. At the first stroke, your head falls back, your arms wobbling where they’re braced on the desk.

“Look at me,” Fin growls. “Only me.”

His voice of pure High Lord power drags your eyes back to him. And thank the fucking Mother it does.

You see everything in the way he feasts on you. His tongue laps at your wetness, and it coats his lips, his chin, coats him in you. The damp heat of his tongue is liquid fire. It promises to scorch you, end you, and rise you anew like a phoenix from the ashes.

Your fingers sink into the strands of Fin’s hair and tug. Judging by the noise he makes, the way his pace picks up, you think he likes it.

He utterly fucking devours you, like he’s fought a centuries-long wait to do so. And whatever magic commands his mouth — you know you cannot possibly last against it.

“Oh, gods,” your moan breaks from you, hips bucking up. You think your voice might be loud, but you don’t care. “Fuck—Fin.”

It all happens at once — his name falling from your lips, the growl rumbling in his throat, the flicking of his tongue against your clit and the finger he plunges into you, curls inside you. Every part of it is lightning strikes to your veins, and you come apart, utterly break.

Your climax slams into you and steals your breath. You’re nothing but a gasping, panting, trembling shell. Your mind is somewhere else entirely.

With your head falling back, eyes pinned to the ceiling, chest heaving, you don’t catch the swiftness with which Fin stands, licking your wetness from his lips. With which his clothes are gone in a blink of an eye.

But then he commands, “Look at me.”

It’s the second time he’s said it. Your head lolls forward once more.

You swallow the breaths you’re still trying to get down. Try to stop your body fucking shaking.

But it’s no wonder it does, as you look at him.

Your High Lord is nothing short of exquisite. He is art. Your fantasies have done him no justice.

That golden skin of his seems to attract the glowing light of the room. It bathes him, but it does not steal the attention. It outlines every fine plane of his body, the sculpted muscles on show, the nicks of injuries that have scarred and silvered over time.

There is not a single part of him that isn’t pure, refined power. And when your gaze drops to below his waist…a shudder wracks through you.

His cock stands hard and leaking at the head. You watch, your mouth watering, as he wraps a hand around its length and gives a long stroke.

“Fin—”

“When you look at me like that,” he prowls closer, “there is no way I can consider this forbidden.”

He’s within reach. Your fingers inch towards him. You want to touch him, taste him—

But he curls a hand around yours and stops you in your tracks.

“Not tonight,” he says. Pure promise is laced within the words. “No playing tonight.”

As if he hadn’t just played with you. You want to protest, to get your fucking mouth around that considerable length, but his hand tightens around yours.

And then he’s flipping you over, so fast that you don’t have time to even register it. You land on your front, your belly and breasts pressed against the desk. Fin lays his palm against your back and drags it slowly down. And in the wake of his touch, he leaves kisses. Kisses to your shoulder, your back. They’re…soft. Tender.

“Have I disappointed you?” he murmurs against your shoulder, folding his body over yours. You don’t think it’s an accident that the head of his cock nudges that sweet area between your legs.

It’s all you can do to breathe, “I wanted to taste you.”

“And you will,” he drops the brush of a kiss to your skin. “But now is not time for that.”

You don’t need him to tell you what now is the time for. Not as his hands find the flesh of your hips, and he yanks you to the very edge of the desk, moving with you. The feel of him so close to where you want him is downright cruel.

“Have you thought about me fucking you?” he asks, those hands travelling to rove your ass.

Your nails bite into the desk as you answer, “Yes.”

“Did I make you scream?”

You bite down on your lip at the feeling of him spreading you apart, opening you up to him. “Yes.”

You feel it — his cock sliding between your folds. Not pushing in, but dragging torturously against your sex. From your entrance, up to your clit. The head of his cock pushes against it.

And the moan that rips from you is downright filth, as he rolls his hips and allows your wetness to slicken his length. It feels so fucking good. To you, and to him.

A breath shudders out of him, and he purrs, “Are you going to scream for me now?”

“Fuck yes,” the words tumble from your lips. “I want you, Fin.”

Just like that, his restraint snaps. The High Lord strikes.

He drags his length through your folds and enters you with a single, powerful thrust.

A shout leaves you, and you’re clawing at the desk, trying to keep your grip against the pleasure that courses through you. Fin fills you and stretches you. He pulls out and slams back in to the hilt.

“Fuck me, you’re tight,” he growls, his hands sinking back into your hips. He begins a steady thrusting, sliding in and out of you with a drag that makes you feel every glorious inch of him. “Gods.”

“So good,” you pant. “Want you harder.”

The plea seems to make him groan, and he wastes no time in picking up the pace. His hands bite into your skin as he fucks you faster, harder, your moans and pleas and curses falling from your lips without any nudging from you. The pleasure is all-consuming. In seconds, it’s buried within your veins.

“You like that?” The grit in his voice has you clenching around him. He’s so fucking filthy, so fucking sultry, as he snarls, “you going to be a good girl and come for me?”

Gods, yes, you are. Already, release is coiling tightly within you, and it’s a force entirely of its own right, inching closer and cresting the hill, ready to sink its claws into you. Fin’s cock hits deep, and out of nowhere, his palm is flying through the air and making contact with your ass cheek. That is all it takes.

The pleasure of it all is too much — the sting of the slap, the depth and thrall of his thrusts, the way he growls and grunts as he lays claim to your body, your pleasure.

You cry out, your orgasm blasting through you with unstoppable force. The long strokes of Fin’s cock fuck you through it, through earth-shattering pleasure, through what feels like a mind-altering experience.

“My filthy girl,” he pulls out of you suddenly, and though your cunt still clenches and twitches, desperate for more, more, more, he flips your trembling body onto its back once more and tugs you up, slipping back between your legs. “Fuck, I can’t tell you how relentlessly I’ve thought about making you scream for me like that.”

Past words, you can only reach up and pull his head down to yours to capture him in a kiss. Your taste still coats the tongue that he slides between your lips. It spurs you on to deepen it, luxuriate in the feel of it. And you become so lost in it that you tug hard at the strands of his hair when he enters you again in one great, sweeping thrust.

His arm folds around your back, hand grasping at your shoulder, and it seems to afford him perfect purchase to pound into you. Sounds fill the air of his skin slapping against yours, of the breaths and moans you huff into each other’s mouths. You think the two of you, together, might be loud enough, forceful enough, to bring the City of Starlight to rubble around you.

Fin’s lips tear away from yours, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts are growing quicker, sloppier, reaching a feverous pinnacle that will surely break.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me come, Y/N,” his sweat-slick brow presses against your neck. “Taking me so well like this. Squeezing me like this. You’re going to make me fucking blow.”

You want that — more than anything. To feel the power of him spilling into you.

You squeeze your thighs against his, dragging your free hand — the one not sunken in his hair — down the muscles of his shoulders, his back, his waist — to his ass, where you dig your nails into the tight, toned flesh and encourage him to pump into you harder, faster. The feel of it makes Fin shout.

“Come for me,” you choke around your pleasure. “Please, Fin…want you to come.”

An animalistic growl rips from him, and he slams into you one, two, three more times, and then stills, throwing his head back with a roar that shakes the library. Hot, thick ropes of his seed seem endless as they’re unleashed inside you.

The force of it shatters you both, you think. With his trembling as thorough as yours, your nails are still raking over his skin as his brow presses to the crook of your neck. Strands of hair stick to the back of his. Your fingertips smooth over them tenderly.

It feels like eons that you stay there like that, holding each other up from collapsing under the weight of your mutual release. You want to hold him like this, always. You don’t care what others may have to say about it, what they may deem to be wrong about it. You want him.

He pulls back, as though sensing the thought. Meets your eyes. For a beat or two, he simply studies your face, something like clarity on his own.

And then he dips down and drops a kiss to your brow. Such a tender act, in the wake of such passion.

No words are needed. Not as he scoops you up into his arms, leaving behind the mess the two of you have created. There’s a flash, and he’s winnowed you to your bedroom. A fire roars to life immediately. Fin places you down on the bed.

You watch through hooded eyes as he makes his way into the bathroom. Moments later, he’s returning with a warm, damp washcloth, and he perches beside you.

“Open your legs for me,” he whispers, and you do.

The High Lord of the Night Court is gentle as air as he takes care of you, wiping between your thighs and delivering soft, soothing strokes to your skin. A pleasant soreness sits in your lower belly. He leans down and presses a kiss there like he knows just that.

And then he’s sitting up, and it frightens you — the thought of him walking away, of this ending here and now.

So you lay a hand on his arm, breathing, “Stay with me.”

He pauses, eyes roaming your face like he’s assuring himself you mean it. And then he dips his chin.

“I would be honoured,” he rasps.

And thus, the affair begins.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The need you and Fin have for each other is…insatiable.

Every moment he’s away, you’re thinking of him, longing for the moment he’ll appear in your room and rip your clothes off. If anyone else in the palace — staff, servants, associates — are aware of what’s going on, they don’t give it away. And that suits you just fine.

You can’t get enough. You’re giddy with it. Giddy from the multiple, interesting circumstances you’ve landed yourself in.

Like when you lured him out of a meeting and dropped to your knees in a fucking broom closet, taking his cock into your mouth until he was canting his hips forward and spilling down your throat. Or when he fucked you on the balcony of his personal quarters, your body pressed up against the balustrade, the two of you open to the elements and your moans loud enough to reach the stars above you and the city below you. Or when he took you to watch the ballet, and up in the cushy surrounds of your private viewing box, you watched the performance with him deep inside you, his fingers indolently playing with your clit, his low voice in your ear reminding you to keep quiet.

It’s…exciting. Enthralling. It changes everything.

And as he pulls out of you now, sweaty and panting, and collapses beside you in his bed, you’re not sure you could ever tire of this feeling.

He wants you. He wants you so ferociously, like nobody has ever wanted you before.

As you catch your breaths, he props his head up with his hand and stares at you through hooded eyes, glazed with lust. He leans down and grazes a kiss to your mouth.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” he ponders as he pulls back, moving a hand to brush his fingers over your breast. “All this need — wanting you constantly.”

You lean up on your elbows, tilting your head, “Do you want it to stop?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Never.”

Never. Never is a very long time. It makes your stomach flip — the enormity of it.

Fin circles the tip of his forefinger around your pebbled nipple, watching with predatory fascination as he adds, “But this will, inevitably, blow up in our faces at some point. We haven’t exactly been secretive — not that I want to be. But people will talk.”

You lean up to brush your mouth over his. “Let them talk,” you say, and kiss him.

Immediately, he melts into the kiss. Your mouth seems to have an effect on him that you never thought yourself capable of. Always draws a long, pleasured sigh from him as he sinks into it, welcomes it.

He kisses you and kisses you, so greedily, so desperately. His hand snakes up to cup your cheek. He’s already hardening against your leg.

But he pulls away, dropping his forehead against yours. And he breathes, “Make a bargain with me.”

You trace a thumb over his bottom lip. You’ve never made a Night Court bargain before; never had reason to. “What bargain?”

“When this blows up in our faces,” he grips your hand, folding his own over it, “we face it together. You and I.”

“You and I?”

“You and I” he kisses your hand. “I don’t claim to be perfect. I don’t try to be. I can be brutal and callous, and I can lie and play games,” another kiss. “But not with you. Never with you. I will look after you. Take care of you. I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

Words that you’ve always longed for someone to say to you. Words that should not be taken lightly, should not be said without meaning.

But you know he means them. You can tell he does.

You watch closely as your fingers interlace with his. And you whisper, “Together?”

Fin’s thumb sweeps over yours. “Together. We’ll face it together.”

“Then it’s a bargain.”

A flash of splintering pain zips around your midriff. You glance down to find the tattoo now inked there. The black line that draws a perfect circle around your waist, like a trail of night-kissed lightning.

You look up at Fin to find a roguish smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, I like that,” he hums.

And then he’s leaning down and pressing kisses to that circlet signifying your promise to one another. Kisses the entirety of it, flipping you on your front in the process.

And kisses lower, until you’re screaming for him again.

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

#practice on me #pom #daddy fin #acourtofwhatthefuck #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar au #azriel #acotar fic #rhysand’s father #high lord of the night court #high lord #acotar x reader #fin x reader

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cathrrrine · 1 year ago

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based on this incorrect quote i posted

how the svu characters would react to your “would you still love me if i was a worm?” text

Sonny Carisi

Amanda Rollins

Nick Amaro

Fin Tutuola

Rafael Barba

Olivia Benson

Elliot Stabler

Part 2!

#law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #dominick sonny carisi #law and order svu imagine #olivia benson #amanda rollins #fin tutuola #elliot stabler #nick amaro #rafael barba #svu characters #text imagines #x reader #edited by me!#cat’s text fics: svu

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arafilez · 11 months ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ▰ ▰ ✶ WØRLD EPISØDE FIN: WILL ⪨

ㅤㅤ➛ ㅤiii.ㅤ EMERGENCY 𒉽 jeong yunho❛ 𓇿

🥂̸̤ㅤㅤMDNI smut, fluff ㅤ ✸ㅤyou can hack into anything and everything! except maybe jeong yunho's heartㅤㅤ───ㅤㅤ w: kissing, flirting, praise kink, size kink, oral (f receiving) ㅤㅤ»ㅤㅤ wc: 3.2kㅤㅤ𠈔ㅤㅤ moodboard

ㅤ❛ you're the reason why i am dancing in the mirror ❜

You type away furiously in your laptop with the new code that Yeosang has sent to your base and continue changing bits of your programming code to try and infiltrate into the Z-dimension’s security system. It was hard and with the variety of codes in front of you the best thing you can do now is stay calm and concentrate. You still have time till tomorrow.

Wooyoung is almost done with the hologram of the ship, Yunho is fixing some of the hardware and you only need to crack this code. You rack your brain to find another loop you are missing, some kind of infinite series, or it might be a null loop that you have to add when you hear a loud crash. Jerking up your head from your laptop your first instinct is to run because there has been an attack.

Your second instinct is to stand in confusion as you hear Yunho scream, “What the fuck, man?” to your brother and him blabbering some excuses. Yunho shakes his head and goes back to work as you look at your brother who just winks at you mischievously. With disgust painting all your features, you set back to work ignoring Wooyoung’s whines about you being a ‘bad’ sister.

You type down the various codes again and try to work but nothing comes up as a frustrated groan leaves your lips. Should you try a completely different method or go back to the basics of a for-loop and add a simple elif loop. But wasn’t that too simple? You jerk up in surprise again as you feel a hand on your shoulder and turn around saying, “Wooyoung, I don’t have time for your shit.”

Your words dry at the back of your throat as you look at Yunho’s smiling face with the contrast of his veiny hand on your shoulder. Should a simple touch make you light-headed? No, it should not, absolutely not. “Hi Yun,” you murmur and your ears suddenly feel hot when you extend his grin looking at you.

Your insides feel like melting, but before you let your heart win, your mind interferes and you cough lightly. He also seems to get out of a trance as he says, “You can do this tomorrow, sleep for today, and you look like shit.”

“Such sweet words you say Yun!” you roll your eyes affectionately, and he chuckles. Leaning towards you he gently places a hand on your hips and whispers, “I can say more if you want me to.”

“Do I now?” you smirk lightly looking up at his tall figure as you think you see his eyes darken just a little, a smirk adorning his pretty face but almost instantly his hands leave your waist and he is gone. You exhale lightly shaking your head at your hallucinations and close your laptop.

Yunho is flirty. He will flirt with a stray cat if given a chance and you scold your heart lightly at it racing for him. Yunho didn’t mean it, he never meant it and it has always been that way. Him flirting, you flirting back and that was it.

“Gosh, stop with the heart eyes, it’s disgusting,” Wooyoung says making fake gagging sounds as you roll your eyes at your twin and get up. “So did you see that?” Wooyoung asks looking at you expectantly and you furrow your eyebrows.

“See what Wooyoung-ah?” you ask as you move around your desks turning off the projectors and look up to see his wiggling eyebrows. He smiles mischievously saying, “How he got angry when I threw that?”

“Yes, why did you even throw that thing so hard? I thought we were attacked, you piece of shit,” you scold him gritting your teeth as he makes a face at you which screams ‘I am so done with my dumb sister.’

“I did it for you, remember, how you said Yunho looks hot when angry?” Wooyoung grins and your fingers pause over the projector switch as you look up and scream, “What?”

“He. Looks. Hot. The point was made. So I did it for your eyes to be blessed,” he screams back and you walk over to him holding him by his collar. As you smack your brother's shoulder, your face is probably adorned with fifty shades of red and pink.

“Sh-shut up, and stop screaming,” you whisper-yell at him and another patch of hyena laugh comes from him as you slowly release his shirt.

“You are so gone for him, sis.”

“Am not.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.”

“You said he looked hot yesterday when he had grease in his face while he was fixing the machine,” Wooyoung cocks his eyebrows as you look away. Well a small patch of oil and grease on his right cheek made him look sexy which was no lie but the mistake was telling your hyper brother about it.

“You like him so much, it is gross,” Wooyoung speaks a little too loudly as you try to shush him but he continues, “Oh we both know you have degrading kink too, even if you try to hide it.”

“Woyo shut the fuck up,” you scream jabbing him in the side to which he just giggles like the menace he was.

“Are you guys okay?” Yunho peeks from the door and you say ‘yes’ a little too quick for your liking. Wooyoung clicks his tongue in disapproval and whispers, “What did I teach you about playing hard to get?”

You don’t pay attention to him but instead look at Yunho, staring at him quite openly as you take in his messy silver hair sprawled over his forehead and being lightly tied back with a bandana.

“Take a picture, it will last longer,” Yunho chuckles leaning his tall body against the doorframe and you can hear Wooyoung snicker behind you as you look down scolding yourself for getting caught for your blatant stare.

Yunho walks in and keeping down the file he had gone to fetch walks towards your desk and you can hear Wooyoung mumble something along the lines of “Seonghwa hyung is calling me” before you can call out his bluff because Seonghwa hadn’t returned yet, he sprints off leaving you and Yunho alone in the room.

You click your tongue at your brother and his antics to “get you and Yunho laid”, his words, not yours, and know he did this on purpose. If you make a list right now it will be endless how many times your brother has actually done this.

He once locked you two in a laundry room which had another door, and once tried to lock you two in his room at a New Year’s party, instead, his overly drunk self, locked himself, successfully spinning the bottle for you two to kiss only for San to barf all over the floor, trying to send you two in a ‘seven minutes in heaven’ only for the lights to be cut off and hear Mingi scream his ears off. You appreciated his efforts but you knew this from the heart- the universe doesn’t want you and Yunho together. You knew you weren’t Yunho’s type but who was your brother to listen.

Yunho’s fingers softly caress yours as you are broken from your thoughts and he smiles softly saying, “I will help you tidy up.”

“Yun, you don’t have to,” you say softly but he hums and says, “No, I volunteer,” and places a hand on his chest as if he was taking a pledge making you giggle at him.

But in the back of your mind you know Wooyoung is right about you two being too oblivious and trying to hide your feelings by sticking to casual flirting. You push these thoughts to the back of your mind but they come back. How Yunho’s eyes had lingered on your lips and your eyes even after San barfed, how he casually slid over to your desk and hovered over your figure while his fingers rested on yours when you told him to check a code. There’s plenty of space beside you but he always does that. You know his lust-filled eyes and the tinge of jealousy in them when Yeosang practices his seducing skills on you. How his eyes lingered on your exposed neck in the last mission and then trail along your jaw to your lips making you fidget on your seat as Hongjoong was handing out your positions.

And you enjoy this too much. The little push and pull game you two keep playing, the way he gives you his attention and you bask in it. But lately it has been too much. Playful flirting has turned to intense staring, light jokes have turned into him and you being too close physically but never escalated. And your fool of a heart was falling for all these.

“What is on your mind? Me?” Yunho says coming right in front of you and you look up at his tall frame looking deep into your eyes. Earlier you would have flirted right back, but now they have started to make you lose your voice, weaken your knees, and your hands sweat. The effect it had on you now was insane. If you didn’t have any better judgement you would push him down right there on the table and take him. Or let him take you. Either way works.

You shake your head stuttering out a “no” but Yunho doesn’t ponder much leaving you to your desk as he puts his own documents down on his table. After you two were done, you left, Yunho following suit and then the door closed automatically as you two walked out. The walk is quiet, tension thick in the air when you decide to test a theory.

You are one of the best technicians here, the best hacker, so maybe you can hack yourself into Yunho’s heart too.

You trip lightly on air, very much on purpose, and wait like a damsel in distress to fall and for Yunho to catch you. His muscular arms easily slide around your back and you grin satisfactorily in your mind at your plan being successful. You open your eyes with your best-acting face on when you see the smug grin on his face.

“Did you do that on purpose?” he cocks his eyebrows at you and you get up scoffing lightly, “You wish.”

You feel dizzy seeing his face as he leans close to you and his lips hover just above yours as he says, “I wish for a lot of things, you know?” You draw in a sharp breath at the close proximity but Yunho swiftly moves away, opens his door and calls out, “Don’t trip anymore on your way, I am not there to catch you, you know?” followed by a cheeky grin.

You enter your room, your thoughts screaming only Yunho’s name and you keep thinking about him even when you make yourself comfortable under your covers. God he is making you suffer so much, it has been an hour since the incident but his thoughts are unbearable, if only you can hold him by his collar and push him against the wall and make out.

And your brain clicks.

This is it.

This is what you have been missing. A firewall. The code is for breaking the firewall to get to the main security system. You scramble up, throwing your sheets down and putting a jacket over your t-shirt and shorts you walk out with your ID. You open the door of the lab and run to your table taking out the papers sprawling them on the table and typing out the code in the computer.

And it worked.

You jump in joy lightly and send a text to Hongjoong about the success which you knew he would check in the morning. You stumble lightly, tipsy from your happiness and you bump into a muscular chest behind you.

Yunho.

Yunho?

Shouldn’t he be sleeping?

“Why are you up?” his deep voice rumbles making goosebumps dance against your skin and you can feel your insides turning mushy.

“Just had to finish this,” you reply, voice coming out much breathier than you intend it to be and you glance at him just to retract your eyes because of his own boring into yours.

“Hmm? What you got there?” he hums lowly, his tall frame leaning over your back as his hands swipe open the computer while the other goes around your waist and holds the desk. You become a bit light-headed as soon as his cologne hits your nose and you inhale it sighing carelessly.

His head is now almost on your shoulder while your body is stiff as you grip the desk more rigidly when you intake the view of his veiny hands around you and on the mouse casually swiping through the code you had cracked earlier. Your breath becomes unstable as you realise the proximity and you curse your mind for liking the warmth of Yunho’s body pressed against your back.

“Well, Hongjoong is going to be satisfied,” he breaths out and you can feel it tickle your senses as you hum and look at his face. He looks at you back and for a moment you feel everything stop. His eyes glaze into yours and you look back into his dark ones and wonder what bliss could possibly come.

Yunho is so close to kissing you. His eyes are fixated on your lips and his whisper sends a warm flush all over your body, “If we do this, there’s no going back.” You are in a haze and you whisper, “Yes,” and it barely makes it past your lips before Yunho kisses you.

And suddenly the air is knocked out of you. This was an emergency situation, an uproar went in your head.

Jeong Yunho is kissing you, his lips on yours and you push down all questions in the back of your mind and kiss him back. The kiss becomes impatient almost immediately as he grips your waist and holds your cheek with his other hand manoeuvring the kiss. You kiss him back feverishly, lips clashing harshly against each other and you tangle your hands in his hair tugging at them harshly.

He pulls away for a breath of air and you pant lightly as you look up to his lust-filled eyes and he hoarsely speaks up, “My room.” The walk through the corridor is a blur and you cling onto Yunho’s arms as he quickly opens the door and closes it after you two enter.

Pushing you against the door he kisses you again and swipes his tongue over your lips and you grant him access as a slow, elicit moan leaves your mouth. Fighting for dominance is not useful as Yunho taps your thighs twice and you comply with him jumping and locking your legs along his torso as he carries you to his bed.

Lying you down gently Yunho’s eyes run over your messy figure before he asks, “Are you sure?”

Your heart melts at the sincerity in his tone and you nod a “yes” quickly not wanting to waste any more time as Yunho dives in for your neck. He presses light open-mouth kisses along your jawline before moving his head and sucking harshly on your neck. You moan loudly as he continues nibbling delighted at your response and presses a light kiss adorning his work after.

You start to become impatient and almost rip open his shirt and he chuckles lowly saying, “Slow down, kitten.” You exhale lightly at the nickname and watch him pull your t-shirt over your head and throw it to the other side of the bed. You run your nails through his toned chest drooling over the perfect texture and he chuckles.

“Damn no bra, aren’t you naughty, kitten?” he slurs his words lightly and you throw your head back in pleasure as he takes one of your perked-up nipples and fiddles with it.

“I-I was just-" You try to finish your sentence and he hums bringing his voice lower by an octave and looks at you almost challenging you to finish the sentence. “I was just going to sleep so I had no bra o-oh my fuck Yunho,” you moan loudly as he dips down suddenly sucking your other nipple. You arch your back in pleasure and his hands slide down your waist playing with the hem of your shorts before yanking them off along with your panties.

The cold air hits your clit making you shiver from the sensation and he smirks looking at your state. Arousal drips from your vagina and he places a long finger collecting them and pushes his finger in you. You cry loud at the immense pleasure you feel and you see his pants straining as he moans too and says, “Fuck, you are beautiful.”

He scissors another finger inside you and then adds another and you moan his name loudly as he hits your g-spot frequently and picks up pace and you feel your stomach tightening. You are close, so close when he suddenly pulls out his fingers and pants and you open your eyes at him desperately.

“Need you,” he moans and quickly opens his pants and boxers and you almost gasp at the sight. You knew he was big, but this was a whole new level and you drool at it. Yunho would be proud but right now he was horny and needy and needed to be inside you badly.

He hovers over positioning himself and pushes inside you and you moan his name out loud as he stills himself. When you tap him to move he obeys and picks up his pace, his strong hands holding your hips down as he slams into you. “Fuck faster, Yun,” you scream and he coos at the nickname.

“Fuck baby aren’t you small and tight?” he moans explicitly when he feels the tip of his cock on your stomach, “All for me.” Your eyes roll back and you chant his name feeling your high build up fast at his pace.

His cock slams against your walls making you light-headed as you barely murmur an ‘I’m close’ and you can hear him grunt something along the lines of ‘Me too.’ With one last long-drawn moan you cum, your high getting released rapidly. He pulls himself out before coming all over your stomach.

You pant lightly, slowly returning to reality as Yunho gets up to get some wet tissues from the bedside table. You watch him silently as he cleans you and himself up while you lie and adore his face that was sculpted by the gods. His awkward clearing of throat brings you back from your trance and you look at the shy smile that makes its way into his face.

“Listen urm, I like you, y/n,” he speaks shyly gazing at your fingers which were now intertwined with his and you smile back saying, “I like you too, Yun.”

“Oh good,” he exhales and you laugh at his puppy-like demeanour and run your fingers through his grey hair as he leans into your touch. He brings his lips down to kiss you and you can feel his smile as you kiss him back softly as he holds your hands in his. Pulling back he puts another peck on your lips as you two become a giggling mess under the warm covers.

✸ㅤ ara's notesㅤㅤ───ㅤㅤ i am happy for this one yayay lmao i mean a bit self indulgent but okay ig ㅤㅤ»ㅤ series mlistㅤ ateez mlist ㅤ main mlist ㅤ naviㅤㅤ𠈔

✸ㅤ taglistㅤㅤ───ㅤㅤ @haneagerr @tunaasan @evidive @huachengsbestie01 @philijack @atiny-lizbeth @chxnnii @nakiiko @therealcuppicake ㅤㅤ»ㅤㅤ comment here or in series mlist to be added or removedㅤㅤ𠈔

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rodolfoparras · 1 year ago

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Pairing: John Price x Male reader

Summary: in which price takes a liking to his son’s boyfriend

Cw: 18+, scent kink, age gap, pervert!price, masturbation, toys, price is a shitty dad :/

Price doesn’t have the best relationship with his son but in an attempt to mend it, he invites his son over to dinner, even tells him that he can bring you, his boyfriend, with him. Price would love to meet the person that has made his kid so happy.

However as soon as Price opens the door he’s at loss of words because he didn’t expect you to be so… hot. He finds himself eyeing your body, thighs squeezing together when your hands accidentally brush upon his when you hand him something, even finds himself stumbling over his words when talking to you

Fortunately dinner comes to an end and he breathes a sigh of relief when the two of you leave.

Price couldn’t be attracted to his son’s boyfriend , he just couldn’t, especially when that boyfriend is basically half his age. He just needed to get laid that’s what it is.

However no matter how many men he sleeps with he just can’t stop thinking about you.

He finds himself inviting his son to dinner more often, in hopes that you’ll come as well, which you usually do.

Obviously he can’t act on his feelings because you’re dating his son but but he finds other ways to quench his desires.

One time he’d offered to show you how to make his son’s favorite dish. The two of you were standing at the stove, so close, your crotch was basically rubbing upon his ass while he explained the recipe. And as you cooked, there were moments where you’d asked him to taste your food. He’d made a show when tasting everything, wether it be by licking the spoon clean or moaning loudly as the flavor hit his lip, even going as far as to heavily compliment you on your new found skill.

He’d be excited whenever you spent the night at his house. That would usually happen around holidays when you or his son would be too tired to drive back home. You had a certain habit of showering before bed and Price was more than happy to do your laundry “so that you can have clean clothes in the morning” or at least that’s what he said. But instead of washing your clothes like he had promised he’d have your boxers in his hand, nose buried in the crotch area while stroking his cock. The sound of his moans mingle with the tumbling sounds coming from the washing machine. It doesn’t take much before he’s tipping over the edge, cumming all over your boxers just as the load of laundry finishes.

There was even one time where he’d gotten a peak at your size. It had happened when he accidentally bumped into you while you were walking out of the bathroom , and wearing only a flimsy towel around your waist. Through the thin fabric he could see the outline of your dick, could see your happy trail on full display even the water drops trickling down your skin. Price felt his dick twitch, had rushed to his room to order a toy of the very same size and had used it on himself multiple times while imagining it was your cock pounding into his ass

However it never seemed to be enough for him and Price didn’t know how much longer he could suppress the desire bubbling up in his gut…

#I wanted a poe bot for TIS couldn’t fin d it I give fic #perks of being a writer #call of duty #john price x reader #john price x male reader #john price #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #top male reader #bottom male character #x male reader #male reader

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luizd3ad · 8 months ago

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So I started watching SVU and all I have to say is.. John Munch 😮‍💨 I got an idea for a soulmate au for him and I just ah I needed to share

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strangersatellites · 2 years ago

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It had all started in Photography 101.

All he had needed was one more elective added to his schedule for the fall semester to be considered a full-time student. It was Robin who had suggested photography.

Steve had never had that great of a memory to begin with, the numerous blows to the head from juvenile high school fights certainly doing him no favors. Sometimes the amount of time it took to jog Steve’s memory surpassed the time it would’ve taken to simply tell him the story as if he hadn’t been there himself.

He was always able to grasp the memory eventually, but sometimes they were slippery in his mind.

He and Robin had found that his memory was ten times better if he had something to look at. Sometimes that was a souvenir from a trip, sometimes it was a takeout menu with his order circled in red pen, sometimes it was a physical scar on his skin from some silly injury. But most of the time it was pictures.

Steve took to taking photos of everything. His friends, his food, the landscape, a book with a pretty cover, anything he wanted to be able to remember.

The walls of his room grew to be covered with polaroids and prints, some staged, most not. Many blurry and out of focus, but in the moment just the same.

So when Robin suggested Photography 101, Steve saw an opportunity to take something he did for his own benefit and turn it into something he really enjoyed, something he was good at.

The semester was a breeze and Steve flourished under the attention of his professor. He was constantly drowning in compliments about the movement in his photos and his eye for composition.

(Robin would tell him on several occasions that she had never seen him enjoy something this much.)

By the time the semester was coming to a close, he was left with one final project. The professor had been intentionally very vague in her description of it throughout the semester, so Steve was a little on edge.

Sitting in the front row of the small classroom, he twirled the strap of his camera around his fingers while he daydreamed. The room slowly filled and the professor settled in behind her desk.

About five minutes after class was supposed to have begun Steve noticed they were all still sitting in silence. Glancing at the professor he saw her brows furrow and a frustrated lilt to her lips as she looked at her watch.

What are we waiting for?

She stood and dusted off her pants before clapping her hands together.

“Well,” she began, “I guess we can go ahead and get start–”

The door at the back of the room swung open and knocked against the wall with a resounding slam.

“Shit! Fuck! So sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch.”

Steve is so caught off guard by the man who just burst into the room that he barely even registers the words he’s saying.

He’is tall and all lanky muscle, dark curls and jewelry, tattoos and the smell of smoke, chains and leather and everything Steve’s not. Everything nobody in this class is.

He’s even more caught off guard when his professor laughs and pulls the man into a tight hug. There are only five other students in this class, surely he’s not the only person confused.

He keeps an arm around her shoulders as she introduces him to the group.

“Guys, this is Eddie. He’s a family friend and he’s going to be your subject for your final project.”

Steve’s own eyebrows furrow as he tries to understand how this was the project she has been keeping under wraps. They’ve had plenty of portrait sessions this semester, with models and subjects of their choice alike.

The guy, Eddie, claps a hand to his chest in a dramatic show of faux humility.

“Thank you for having me, Joyce. It's such an honor to be here.”

She smacks at his arm and carries on.

“So, Eddie is your subject and you have no parameters. The only requirement is that he is the inspiration for your shoot. This can look like a standard portrait session, this can be contemporary urban street photography, whatever you like. Eddie does not even have to be in the photo! He just has to be the inspiration for it.”

Steve's brain is already running a mile a minute, conceptualizing shots faster than he can keep up.

Dingy bars, backseats of cars, details of his eclectic style.

But one idea sticks out from the rest. As Steve lifts his eyes to Eddie once more and meets his own twinkling with mirth and smirking back at him he makes his decision.

He’s going to take his mugshot.

*****

“I want to take your mugshot.”

They’re at the campus coffee shop. Joyce had scheduled a few hours for Eddie to meet with the other students during their class time so they could talk through their projects.

Eddie barks out a laugh. “What, man?”

Steve twirls his straw around his drink and tries not to bristle at the reaction.

“Look,” he starts, running a nervous hand through his hair, “I don’t really know where the idea originated but once I had it, it stuck. I just saw this vision of the shot in my head and it was sick, dude.”

Eddie leans back in the booth, one of his boots knocking into Steve’s foot under the table. He crosses his arms and tilts his head.

“Thought this shoot was supposed to be inspired by moi,” he says, gesturing a hand towards himself. “You saying I look like I should be in jail?”

Steve groans and puts his head in his hands. “No. I already told you I don't know where i got the idea–”

But that’s a lie isn’t it. He knows exactly where he got the idea. It was somewhere between the chains dangling from Eddie’s jeans and the handcuff belt he was wearing the day they met.

He put his hands together on the table between them. “Okay. No, I’m not saying you look like a criminal, Eddie. I’m saying I think you want to look like one.”

Eddie blinks at him for a moment before his face breaks into a slow smirk. He huffs a quiet laugh and leans closer. “Guilty as charged, Stevie. Besides, I was arrested once actually.”

Steve gawks while Eddie laughs. He is unfairly attractive when his dimples pop and Steve is going to have such a hard time holding it together behind the camera.

*****

Steve takes his shoots very seriously. Every detail has to be perfect, even the ones not relating to the subject of the photo.

So it is wildly convenient that his professor happens to be married to the chief of police back in Hawkins.

One quick phone call from Joyce and Steve and Eddie were granted access to the booking room at the police station. You know, for the sake of realism.

Steve’s setting up his tripod while Eddie takes a chalk marker to the placard and writes up his own booking ID, a long series of random numbers with E.M at the end.

Steve would be lying if he said Eddie’s choice of clothing wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.

He’s wearing a ratty, old band t-shirt for some group Steve’s never heard of. There’s his usual black leather jacket and the silver chain around his neck. His ripped black jeans and fingers covered in rings and black nail polish.

It's perfect for the shoot. But Steve’s sanity is struggling.

He gets the camera and the lighting set up just as Eddie steps into place in front of the height measurement wall.

Steve puts his hands on his hips and gives instructions.

“Okay, so I know you’ve done this before–”

“Hey! It was one time!”

“So you know how this goes. We’ll do one forward and then one to each side.”

Eddie shakes out his hair and rolls his shoulders back. He holds the placard up in front of him and levels the camera with a dead-eyed stare.

He looks good.

Steve is less than shocked that he looks even better on camera.

He lines up his shot. Click.

Eddie turns to his left. Steve gets a little distracted by the line of his jaw.

Click.

He turns to the right and of course only now does Steve notice his ear piercings.

Steve takes a deep breath and focuses.

Click.

Before he can even look through his shots Eddie is dropping the placard on the desk.

He’s halfway out the door before he grabs the frame and leans back in. “One second pretty boy, I have an idea.”

He’s back before Steve snaps out of his stupor at the nickname. This time, he has a pair of handcuffs swinging from his index finger.

Steve snatches them out of his hand. “Where did you get these?”

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs. “I know a guy.”

He rolls his eyes.

He’s already picking up the placard and setting up some detail shots when Eddie grabs his wrist and stops him. He freezes for more than one reason.

“Hey, uh. Not to step on your toes or anything, but I actually have another idea.”

Steve is about to start on his spiel about ‘not messing up his flow’ when Eddie rubs his thumb over the inside of his wrist. Gentle and reassuring.

“Do you trust me?”

Honestly Steve has no reason to trust him, he’s basically a stranger.

A pretty one. His brain supplies.

But he does. Trusts him enough to let him take Steve’s creative liberties and throw them out the window apparently.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Eddie’s smile is blinding. He turns Steve’s hand over and drops the handcuff key into it.

“Don’t lose this big boy,” he says as he snaps the cuffs around each of his own wrists.

Steve laughs, loud and shocked. He waggles his eyebrows at Eddie.

“Well, now didn’t this take a turn.”

Eddie rolls his eyes this time and lifts his hands as much as he can.

“Don’t try to sexualize my creative prowess, Steve. I am a professional.”

He nearly trips on his way back to his place in front of the wall and Steve has to hide his laugh into a cough.

Steve’s back behind the camera, hands back on his hips when he asks, “Alright, what’s the plan?”

Eddie smiles and says, “You just shoot, Harrington. I’ll do the rest.”

He leans down to finalize his camera settings and line up his shot. When he finally looks through the viewfinder his jaw drops. Because while Eddie was clearly joking about being a professional, if Steve didn’t know any better, this shot would have him believing it.

Eddie’s got both of his pinky fingers tucked in the corners of his smile, tongue bitten between his teeth. His thumbs are raised along with his middle fingers, while he’s got his nose scrunched and one eye squeezed shut. The cuffs hang right under his chin and accentuate his silver jewelry in a way Steve never would have anticipated.

Click.

The next is a close-up of the booking placard between his teeth.

His hands twisting to unlock his own cuffs.

He’s a natural, and Steve’s camera roll can attest to the fact.

It wouldn’t be until Steve was reviewing and editing the shots that he caught on. The booking ID on the placard looked long because it was. It was Eddie’s number.

*****

Steve got an A.

He got an A, an endless stream of compliments from Joyce and a dorky hot boyfriend.

The rest of the class went the route Steve expected them to.

Dingy bars, backseats of cars, details of his eclectic style.

But Steve’s mugshot series stood leagues above the rest.

Later in their lives, when one of their friends would see the photo in Steve’s wallet they would ask when Eddie got arrested and why.

It quickly became a game between the two.

He’s been arrested in high school for selling drugs (True.)

When he was twenty for public indecency.

At twenty-two for arson.

Thirty for contract killing. This one was followed up with the claim that he was in witsec and was now going to have to change his identity and flee the country.

But the real when and why Eddie got arrested is because when he was twenty-one Joyce told him there was a nice boy in her class that she thought he should meet.

#photographer x mugshot au #steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #one thing about me: my Eddie is going to be a jackass in every universe #also not to toot my own horn #BUT #Joyce being the professor? when her son??? is a photographer?? who probably learned it from her????#toot toot bitch #its canon I don't make the rules #can you guys tell I am a photographer be honest #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #gin writes #fin gin #shot of gin #steddie nation #come get y'all juice

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