#give women instruments I’m begging you

[gods-favorite-autistic]

I’m down very bad for women with guitars and women with drums and women who sing with gravelly voices or the clearest most mesmerizing voices you’ve ever heard and also Victoria from Maneskin and also so so many women singers

[sidthedollface2]

A Crown fit for a God (Part 3)

Pairing: Azriel x Fem Reader

Ch Summary: Elain questions Azriels whereabouts. While Rhys places a target on your back after you seek the help of two other Death Gods.

Or

Azriel touches what does not belong to him and craves more.

word count: 5.6k

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, attempted SA, angst, hurt/comfort, light smut, war, including injuries, fighting, sign language, no use of y/n, nicknames, magic, greek mythology, pining, jealousy, azriel with other women (sorry), reader with another man (get it friend ; )

A/n: I had the tickle to write smut so I give you crumbs…for now. I'm a daydreamer not a writer so if you see any mistakes that's how I dreamt it. Lol

*quote from the chaos of stars

~~

Khaos was to be one of the many shooting stars that showered the Night Court skies. The Night Court would be celebrating Starfall, their yearly event to star gaze as spirits made their migration. Had she made her destination they would recognize her as one of their own and welcome her with open arms. Except for the first time the Night Court had in possession four instruments of conquest. The harp, mask, crown, and the horn, commonly known as the Dread Trove; Therefore diverting her journey to The Autumn Court.

~~~~~~~~

Bryaxis roared as he agreed to fight in the war. The reason for the blast; a form of communication, letting you know his end of the bargain was done. A bargain made with the High Lady cementing his plans- your plans. He requested a window below the library to see the sun and stars and most importantly lightning, conjured by you of course. Gods did he enjoy the spectacle, your wrath illuminating the dark sky striking fear and anxiety in peoples bones. The thrill of watching their faces as they waited for that crack of thunder. The sadist in him couldn't wait to be unleashed and bear witness to your fury, cracking of bones and screams in terror. The sweet scent of blood splattered throughout the field. He was giddy with excitement.

Azriel had rushed to the house of wind only to find the inner circle gathered in the sitting area. “Az! I’m so glad you're safe. Feyre and I figured out why the house was so moody.” Elain bounced over to her lover, wrapping her arms around Azriels neck, bringing his mouth to hers in an endearing kiss, running her tongue along the seam of his lips. Azriels arms remained at his sides, as she embraced him. His brows furrowed when she attempted to deepen the kiss.

He had just held you in his arms moments ago, your frame tucked closely within the shelter of his wings. Just the two of you and no one else existed at that moment. Not the flying of splintered bark or decayed leaves from the blast, or the dust, heavy with smoke and mist. He just saw you. Felt the power in your veins, saw the moon and all its stars in your eyes, the ruler of the skies and ruler of his mind.

He already missed the way the stars danced in your eyes as you looked up at him. He wanted to see his shadows dance along glittered starlight, not dirt covered flower beds and baked goods.

Azriel didn’t allow Elain to deepen the kiss, instead he broke apart from her eager mouth and gently pulled her arms from around his neck. “Elain I think we sho–”

“You smell different,” Elain interrupted, sniffing around Azriels chest and neck trying to find the source. “Just stepped on an orange on my way here,” he replied, rubbing the back of his tense neck. Her eyes narrowed, not trusting a single word out of his mouth.

Azriel met Nestas cold glare, a slight shake to her head followed. He was being put on the spot in front of his whole family. Beads of sweat formed along his forehead, wiping his clammy hands along his thighs, he started towards the stairs, “I’m gonna go shower.”

“I’ll join you!” Elain exclaimed, reaching for Azriels hand, intertwining her fingers with his. He silently begged for someone to stop her. To pull her away from what he knew she wanted, what he’s been giving her for the past six months. For anyone to suddenly need her so he could enjoy the scent of your body a little longer. So he could aggressively fist his cock and imagine he was fucking your throat instead.

Slowly Azriel climbed the steps, each step creaked as the wood carried their weight closer to their bedroom. He’d have to imagine it was you instead of her. Your mouth pressed against his lips as he swallowed your moans, hands trailing down your stomach till he reached your wet cunt. Your perfect body pressed against the shower wall as he sheathed himself inside you, taking you over and over and over–

“Azriel? Did you hear me?” It was Cassian that broke his thoughts.

“Sorry, zoned out for a bit. What did you say?”

“Rhys wants to debrief you.” Cassian jerked his head to Rhys' office.

“Now?” Elain whined, “can’t it wait for morning? It’s late.”

“No, he’s right Elain. Better now that it's fresh in my mind.” Azriel didn’t know if he should thank Cassian, the mother or the Gods for sparing him. Elain began to speak again but it was Azriel who seemed to read her thoughts, “don’t wait up,” he finished; releasing her hand that she so tightly held.

Not sparing her a second glance, Azriel followed Cassian to Rhys office, his shoulders more relaxed than before and his shadows seemed to have calmed down. Throwing his arm around Azriels shoulders in brotherly love, Cassian leaned in close and whispered, “you fucken owe me asshole. Now tell me all about her.”

Azriel tried to play it off with a smirk, but a wide smile danced on his lips. He’d get to stroke his cock to the thought of you after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel didn’t sleep in the room he shared with Elain, her once alluring scent now seemed too sweet. Her hands were suddenly too rough from pruning rose thorns and the leftover dirt beneath her nails made him sick.

He knew he needed to find the time to break things off. Cassian had told him that much. It wasn’t fair to lay next to Elain while he dreamed of you. Although Azriel didn’t divulge too much to Cassian about his fantasies, which wasn't the case when it came to Elain.

With Elain he had told Cass every dirty detail, how many times, positions and even sounds. He knows it was wrong. Didn’t think much of it before, as it was spoken between brothers and no one else. It would be different with you though. You were different. He was going to do it tonight. Tonight he would break things off with Elain and devote his efforts in getting to know you.

~~~~~~~

There were strong wards surrounding the Prison in the Night Court, used to prevent anyone from winnowing inside or flying to the entrance. The power needed to pass through the wards was more than you expected. It wasn't till you reached the stone gate that you realized that only the High Lord of the Night Court's blood would open the gate, something that you couldn't manipulate or conjure. You pinched the space between your brows in irritation as you thought of a way to bypass the blood sacrifice. Starting small in order to regain your power you attempted to push at the stone gate, hoping that it would just topple over. It didn't. Since the prison was on a cavernous mountain perhaps a little quake would loosen the rock and stone exposing the entrance for you to just strut right in.

You knelt in front of the stone gate, both knees firmly planted in soil and moss. You closed your eyes to focus on your magic. The sea breeze caressed your wind-chapped cheeks as you listened to the roar and crash of waves when they met the edge of the mountain. You summoned the power of the land through your fingers, plunging them deep into the soil in front of you. With a roar that echoed the strong ocean waves the mountain trembled in fear. The more your arms quivered in pain the deeper your fingers dug into the ground. Every inch rooted into the land caused the mountain rock to shrivel and rumble till small cracks webbed along the stone gate.

Azriel and Cassian were in the middle of breakfast when the floor beneath them swayed side to side, followed by a rolling motion. Dishes broke into pieces as they crashed to the floor, glass and sharp porcelain scattered the ground. Rhys urgently summoned them mind to mind.

There's a breach at the prison, get over here now before she releases them all.

Azriel and Cassian shared a look before they scrambled into their leathers and sheathed their most effective weapons, knives, daggers and swords, preparing for the worst.

Small cracks etched along the stone wall but it wasn't enough to open the gate. With your power almost completely drained you called upon the light. Seconds from opening your eyes to wield a crack of lightning a cool tendril wrapped around your wrist, carrying the smooth echo of ‘Please don’t do this’ in the whisper of Azriels voice.

The soothing touch jolted you. Your eyes shot wide open long enough to see the sky illuminate in a bright flash. A loud roaring sound boomed through the air as a violent strike of lightning slammed into the stone gate, crumbling it to pieces.

When you looked down to your trembling hands submerged in the rich soil, black tendrils seeped from the ground, wrapping up your arms and cooling your hot skin. “I think you like playing with fire don’t you?” Dusting the dirt from your hands you caressed the little shadow and quickly made your way inside the prison, looking at the sky one last time just in case you couldn't make it out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello Bone Carver.” You smiled at your old friend, “Remember that favor you owe me?”

The Bone Carver just rolled his dark eyes. “Whatever you're going to ask me, the answer is yes.”

You beamed, “thank you.”

It had been easier getting out of the mountain than getting in, a flaw in the protection wards you’d fix before you left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel trekked up the mountain you were long gone. Upon entering the prison Azriel was easily able to follow your scent which led him to the Bone Carvers cell. Rhys entered and excused the other two males.

“You sure you know what you're getting yourself into brother?” Cassian questioned, glancing at Azriel with his eyebrow raised. Azriels brows creased as he tilted his head, not understanding what he meant. “She almost leveled a fucking mountain. I love you brother, but I don't think you can handle her,” Cassian smirked, “but I know I can.”

Azriel snorted. They had shared females in the past accidentally and sometimes in the same room. “She’s different Cass. Touch her and I’ll cut off your hands.”

“Don’t need my hands to fuck her Az.” Cassian threw his head back and howled in laughter as Azriel punched his shoulder in jest.

Rhys walked out of the cell and stared at Azriel as if he knew something Azriel didn’t. His violet eyes bore into hazel ones with a look of sympathy, knowing what lay ahead for Azriel.

“What did he say?” Azriel nervously asked.

Rhys didn’t answer as he turned his back away from him, starting his walk back down the mountain. Cassian and Azriel shared a glance, a look of worry in both their eyes.

Back in Velaris, Rhys paced back and forth, his knuckles white from clenching them into fists. The violet of his eyes black with rage.

“She knows about Velaris and can easily bypass the protection wards. Now she knows how to get in and out of the prison. Find her before I do because I'll fucking kill her.” Rhys' tone was low and deadly like a viper ready to strike.

Without another word Azriel set out to find you, again. But this time he was determined to get answers. No more riddles, no distractions. There was a pattern he picked up on. You seemed to befriend the deadlier creatures of Prythian, The Suriel, Bryaxis somehow, and now The Bone Carver. Azriel set his sights on the middle of Prythian where the weaver Stryga was confined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Work out of your home Court was almost complete, the allies that you needed were aware of their duties and were loyal to your mission. Your limbs ached and burned from your travels across multiple courts, the only thing bringing you a sense of peace was this last stop. Possibly the worst, not the person you had to visit but the stench alone turned your stomach.

The severed head in the sac you carried grew heavier and heavier as your final destination grew closer. Crimson stained your clothes leaving them stiff and rough against your delicate skin. Your hair has clumped from the dirt and blood, it’d been days since you had a nice bath. You open and close your mouth as the sour taste of decayed flesh hits your taste buds. Food wasn't easily available but the horrid smell had you doubling over, emptying what was left from your stomach. Sweat now beads down the side of your face. Heavy eyes spot the weavers cottage in the distance. Finally you think.

“Stryga!” You shout, as you rap at the wooden door, “open up!”

Strygas feet shuffle to the door, “must you shout? I’m blind not deaf you insubordinate buffoon,” she scolds as she swings the door open.

Thankfully she doesn't see the way your face falls as you hold in your gag. “I missed you too Stryga.” She beckons you inside, her arm extended towards her cluttered home. “I don't mean to be rude, but I’m in a hurry. It’s not far from now Stryga. You’ll still be able to eat your fill of evil males,” you declare, handing her your sac with the severed head. “I’m going to kill him, both of them. Don’t you worry. Your neck still remains attached to your spine. But I’ll need some help and I’d love nothing more if you fought by my side.”

Stryga lowers her head and you witness her undying loyalty as she motions to kneel before you. “That's unnecessary,” you attempt at grabbing her arm, stopping her bow.

“It would be a pleasure to unleash my wrath for you Khaos, Goddess of creation and decreation,” Stryga pledges as she remains within your grasp. “So, not a buffoon then?” you stifle a laugh at her earlier jab, and for the first time in your presence Stryga smiles.

“No one calls me that anymore.” You remind her, a wave of sadness crossing your eyes as you remember your mission and how far you are from home.

“Buffoon? Or khaos?” She smirks as you throw her a faux glare.

Stryga suddenly stiffened, her ear catching a faint whisper as she tilted her head. Her clawed fingernails digging into the worn wood of the door.

“Stryga?” You whispered, peering behind you at the dozens of trees that seemed unmoving.

“Shadows follow you.” She brings her forefinger to her lips, shushing you, “non threatening it seems,” her brows furrow, "they're captivated.” Her soulless eyes widen as they seem to meet your gaze. “The shadows have stolen from you.”

You don’t have time for her to elaborate. Quickly making you exit and excusing yourself, she shocks you with her parting words. “Do you know what it takes to make a star shine?”

You shake your head as if she can see you. “Darkness,” she replies. “I knew that,” you answer as you take steps away from her cottage, eager to leave before the shadows master finds you. “Then why do you run?” She retorts, crossing her arms as she braces against the frame of her door, a smug expression on her deadly face.

You don't spare her another glance but her words linger long after you've left her cottage. With your work away from home finally done you winnow to your home court, disappearing in a cloud of glitter and smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You inhaled the crisp air, holding it in your lungs for three seconds before exhaling. Calming your racing heart and releasing the power that traveled through your veins. You smile briefly as the pressure of water against your body washes away days of dirt and blood. Finally letting your limbs relax, stretching your arms high above your head, reaching for the blue sky wanting nothing but to hold the warmth of the sun. In the peaceful silence of the forest you give yourself a moment of weakness. You allow the ache that's burrowed deep within your heart to break free from its prison. Your body’s screaming for a day a week or even a few hours of rest, where shifting isn't needed, and glamouring your true form doesn’t eat up most of your power. Where wars dont need to be fought and kings don’t need to die. You let your strength rest; to feel your pain shatter the windows to your soul for just a moment.

~~~~~

Azriel followed the sound of hushed whimpers, his shadows jumping from tree to tree. The soft cries soon turned harrowing then muffled, like a palm over the mouth.

‘Broken’

His shadow informed him.

Taking cover in the darkness below a large tree he heard the faint weeping, the sudden scent of citrus invading his nostrils. Your shoulders shook with the force of your cries as you cleaned off your wings. Azriel tried to look away from your bare back as you bathed beneath the mouth of a waterfall. Immediately he noticed your wings, two forewings and two hindwings that tapered towards the end like those of a luna moth.

You can shapeshift, he realizes, the large expanse of your wings covering your behind from view, leaving Azriel curious. But why were you crying? You didn't seem broken like his shadows had mentioned. That's when he saw it. Blood. You were cleaning off blood from your wings. Someone you had just killed he imagines. No, It was your blood. At the base of your wing closest to your back a large slash cut deep, almost severing your wing.

“You’re hurt, I can help you.” His voice rang out over the rushing water, slowly inching forward so as to not seem threatening. Frightened by his sudden appearance you vanish before his eyes, leaving a cloud of shimmering powder, momentarily blinding him. Weaving through the darkness of the in-between, you swiftly emerge, tackling Azriel to the ground, unsheathing his own dagger in the process.

Clothed in nothing but a thin nightgown, you straddle him, truth teller firm in your grip pushing against the column of his throat. His shadows swirled above your head creating a crown of darkness as if you were their queen. Azriel narrowed his eyes, ‘traitors.’

“Why have you looked for me?

Azriels speechless as he beholds your beauty, ignoring your question. His eyes wander over each of your features as if committing to memory. His hazel eyes land on your pouty lips and his throat bobs as his desire consumes him. Instinctually his pink tongue darted out to wet his lips, just in case.

“Why have you looked for me?” You repeat, forcing his dagger against his jugular, a bead of blood painting his tan skin. Azriel smirked, the thrill of a dangerous female only exciting him, causing the scent of his arousal to fill the air. “You plan to kill me with my own blade?”

“I could kill you without it.” You counter, the force of your power sizzling through your fingers.

Azriels eyes flutter closed, the scent of his arousal drifting to your nose, a husky scent with a touch of night. “So the rumors are true,” Azriels brows furrow, “the shadowsinger playing hero to a damsel in distress, bedding any female that bats her eyes.”

Azriel then twists his foot around your ankle, using his weight to roll you over onto your back. You drag the blade across his throat as he tumbles you to the ground. His hand firmly grips your throat while the other wraps around your wrist, pinning you to the forest floor. With his knees firm on the ground, caging your hips, your legs resting on top of his thighs, making it easy for you to wrap your legs around his waist. “Who told you that?” He asks angrily, blood dripping down his throat from the shallow slash you gave him.

“Eris Vanssera '' you gasp, the slight pressure of his fingers around your throat arousing you more than it should. Yet the grip he holds on your wrists sends you in a panic as memories from your morning assault come crashing.

The males rancid breath makes your stomach churn as he licks at your cheek. The whole weight of his grotesque body has you pinned down, barely able to wriggle out from under him. With one hand he holds your wrists down above your head as the other fumbles with his belt.

Mid-flight he had collided into you, both barreling out of the sky crashing to the ground. Furious, he had attempted to sever your rare wings. The impact of your fall momentarily ceasing your powers, causing you to fight hand to hand.

Your crying only eggs him on, excitement in his rotten attempt at a smile. You're not sobbing out of fear. No. You mourn the life you have to take. You mourn every life, weather deserved or not. The spark that creates life remains. Rooted deep within you, pushed to the side in order for darkness to prevail.

Loyal to your duties as a Death God by any means necessary, you sucked in the secretions from your lungs and violently spat. Thick mucus covered the fat bastard's face, briefly losing his grip, giving you just enough time to unsheath your knife and drive into his thick skull. Later, you’d gift his remains to a dear friend.

Azriels eyes widened with shock as he felt a sharp pain shooting through him. Grunting and hissing he clutches his side, finding Truth teller lodged deep into his rib, warm blood dribbles from the wound staining the ground he's crouched at. “ Did you just stab me?” he chokes out, wincing as he pulls the dagger free, fingers splayed wide attempting to stop the bleeding.

Scrambling out from under him, chest heaving as the adrenaline flows through you. “You’ll live,” you pant as you stand, dusting off browned leaves from your back and knees. A sigh escapes your lips as you notice a blood stain on your white night dress. All you wanted was to wash up the violence that painted your skin and even then your efforts were futile. Azriels eyes trail up your body as he remains kneeled still putting pressure on his rib, his magic working to heal the open wound.

Anger courses through him as he zeros in on a purple bruise on your inner thigh, visible from how short your dress is. “Tell me who he is and I’ll kill him for you.” Those simple words had meant so much you almost cried at the gesture. While you slaughtered the bravest of males and brought warriors to their knees, destroyed kingdoms for unworthy kings, defended the defenseless not one person had offered to protect you. Countless times you had braved your own storm with not one soul willing to weather the chaos. Despite being used for your endless power, time and time again you still gave more than what you could ever receive in return. You save everyone but who was there to save you? You were one female and strong enough to fight your own battles and conquer without the help of highlords or kings. So why was this male cracking the shield of vulnerability wrapped so tightly around your heart?

Azriel seemed to notice your internal struggle, “come here,” he rasped as he stared through your troubled gaze. The tousled waves of his hair that fell so effortlessly over his forehead looked so enticing your fingers twitched. His hazel eyes had darkened and the way his thick thighs looked kneeling gripped you so fiercely your legs moved on their own volition. Standing on weak knees, his eyes never left yours as he patted his thigh, urging you to place your foot on his strong muscle. You obey his command with a slow nod. Azriel chances a glance at your exposed leg, “who do I have to kill?” He asks, softer this time. His bloodied fingers wrap around your delicate ankle and for once you don’t mind. Strong hands gently smooth over your leg, wrapping to the back of your calf. A shiver runs through you at the simple touch, his attentiveness relaxing your muscles. Slowly he lifts the hem of your gown, just enough to expose the bruise and nothing else. “Tell me whose entire family line should I butcher for touching you?” he murmured against your skin, circling your tender bruise with his perfect nose. “I killed him,” you breathe looking down at this male whose lips are inches away from your throbbing core.

“Mmmm good girl,” he growls, meeting your hooded gaze as he licks your inner thigh followed by a tender kiss. You nearly buckle at the sensation of his lips against your skin. The way his rough hands are caressing up and down the expanse of your leg. Lustful eyes roll back as he deeply inhales the sweet scent of your arousal, smothering his handsome face against the heated flesh of your leg like a house pet greeting their owner. “Let me worship you,” he purrs, his hot breath ghosting over your covered core as the tips of his fingers kiss the space between your legs. Azriel could cum right now just watching you throw your head back as you gasp from his fingers grazing your pulsing core. His pants are pulled tight from his cock pushing against his leathers, wanting to bury himself inside you. He’s willing to wait as long as you need but right now he’ll take whatever you give him.

When your eyes meet Azriels again you don’t miss the burning desire in his beautiful eyes or the outline of his bulge as it strains against his pants, suddenly it becomes too much too soon and before you know it you’ve shoved him away, the yearn clouding your vision clears and your back to being a powerful Death God.

“Is that what you tell the females you lay with? That you’ll worship their bodies like the Goddess they are?”

Azriel hangs his head between his dropped shoulders. Shame of his past finally catching up to him when it matters the most. When what he wants more than anything is threatened by his past mistakes. What was he thinking? Oh Gods and Elain. He was offering to please and bed you while he still hadn’t broken things off with Elain.

“You never answered my question. Why have you looked for me?”

Azriel remains silent.

“Did I offer a service which benefited you or your court?”

“Not exactly.” He answers

“Do you seek to use my power for your gain?” You continue, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“No”

“Do you seek treasure?”

“No” He replies with a scoff.

“You seek power then?”

Azriel shakes his head, “no, not power.”

“Knowledge?”

“Nope.”

“You do not pursue power, nor do you wish to bathe in coins, and knowledge is neither here nor there, so you must be searching for love?”

Azriel stilled.

“Ah, love it is. I regret to inform you, I cannot make someone love you.”

“That's not it. You healed me as a child. You were a stranger that showed me more kindness than my own family, and I've spent my entire life looking for you. Not to ask for more healing or to share your magic with others who may need you, but to offer my gratitude. All these years I’ve wondered what you’ve made of yourself, if you're happy, successful, have you found love or have you married or.. ” his gaze shies away, “or if you’re mated.” His tone is sincere, like he's been practicing those words for centuries.

You narrow your eyes at him, gauging whether he's telling you the truth or not, though you sense no lies. “What’s your name shadowsinger?”

“Azriel.”

“Azriel, I'm sorry but the person you're looking for doesn't exist anymore, but I’m even more sorry that I don’t recall this interaction.”

You watch as his expression sombers.

“I’m very flattered though,” you give him a tight lipped smile and get closer, deciding to sit next to him on the stone flat rock that rims the pool you were bathing in. Hoping to offer the same sincerity, you gently place your palm on his lap. “I suppose I can answer your questions, I feel it's the least I can do since you’ve indeed stalked me all these years.” Azriel chuckles remembering the night he said he wasn't a stalker. “I’m not happy, or successful where coin is involved. I have found love in all the faces I’ve seen and the wonderful friends I’ve made, but I’ve only loved one male.” while heat flushes your cheeks and a smile escapes your lips, Azriel frowns, unprepared for the hurt your answer would cause. “His name is Lucien, but –”

Azriel doesn't hear a word you say after that, the weight of your confession pinning him where he sits. Thank Gods for that because he's sure he’d topple over if he were standing. His mind imagines what Lucien had done for you to love him. What words did he use to make you sigh, what cheesy jokes he told to hear you laugh.

Does Lucien know that your skin feels like the finest silk known to man. Has he had the pleasure of kissing you and taking you to bed?

Azriel can feel his anger bubbling or jealousy he's not quite sure but he's unable to stop the hateful words from spewing out, “Lucien can’t love you, he has a mate! And she's pretty and sweet, she's sunshine and rainbows. She's gentle and soft.–”

“And everything I’m not.”

You finish as you swallow the tight knot in the back of your throat. You turn away from him, wiping at a stray tear that's rolled down your cheek. The truth in his words hurting you more than they should; since you’ve moved on. Lucien has too at least that's what you've heard.

Moving on doesn't cure the sadness or put together the broken pieces of your shattered heart. Forgetting Lucien doesn't erase the years of longing. You could never blame him for leaving you. Out of left field he grew distant, a silent struggle you knew nothing of. And you haven't seen him since.

Azriel places his scarred hand on your shoulder, an apology on the tip of his tongue as well as clarification for his words. He doesn’t get the chance as his touch burns your skin causing you to jolt and shrug him off. Azriel panics as he notices your red rimmed eyes, wet with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t..what I meant was-”

“No. You're right. How can someone like him love something like me?”

Azriel shakes his head. You thought of Lucien like the sun, brilliant and warm, setting fires to forest floors and warming the coldest of hearts. And you the moon, who only glows with the help of the sun. You had it all wrong. Lucien was just a sly fox sneaking his way into the heart of the moon. How could someone like him love something like you? The real question was how could he not love you?

Females like you were born during a raging storm under the phenomenon of an eclipse. With lightning in your veins, thunder in your heart and chaos in your bones.

He shouldn't feel hope in your sorrow but he’s glad Lucien didn’t choose you. Azriel would choose you; In a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, he’d find you and he’d choose you.*

If he had the chance he’d rewind the clock and say what he actually meant. If not for a chance at forever then to ease your heavy heart. The words he spoke out of jealousy would hold a different meaning had he spoken them out of love.

‘Lucien can't love you the way I want to love you. He has a mate! So you were not made for him, but perhaps you were made for me. She’s pretty and sweet, sunshine and rainbows. But you balance strength and femininity like no one else. You're stunning, and selfless, you glow like the moon and shine brighter than the stars. She's gentle and soft but she can never compare to you. Not then, not now, not ever. No one has compared to you.’

But those words remain unspoken as he watches your figure retreat into the orange glow of the forest. Your beautiful wounded wings gracing the ground with your presence, leaving behind a trail of starlight. It was then he realized you didn't need to be saved, you needed to be found.

~~~~~~~~

You could cry tears of happiness as you near your humble cottage. Weaving through the tallest of trees and jumping over a running brook with flat rocks covered in moss. A sigh leaves your lips as you take in the place you call home. The wood creaks a familiar sound as you bounce up the worn steps.

Before your hand reaches the bronze knob, the door swings open and warmth envelopes you in a crushing hug. Your melodious laugh echoes in the air as strong arms spin you round and round. Your eyes meet those of amber as he finally lets your feet touch the floor. “I’ve missed you so much,” he admits, as a warm palm cradles your face, gently tracing circles on the apples of your cheek. He wraps his arm around your waist bringing your body flush with his. His heat offers a comfort not found with anyone else. And you allow yourself to melt into him as he softly brings his lips to yours.

His tender kiss turns desperate when you run your fingers through his auburn hair, lighting a fire that only the wetness between your legs can extinguish. The night runs long as this male beds you over and over and the only name that slips past your lips like a prayer is, “Eris. Eris. Eris.”

Part 4

A/n: The Vanserra brothers have entered the chat. 😏 what do you think happened between Lucien and Reader? any guesses?

taglist: @blackgirlmagicforever @going-through-shit @dr4g0ngirl @mybestfriendmademe @isa1b2h3

[thesharktanksdriver]

HARRO

It’s me, I have revived after long periods of sleeping!

Anyway how have you been? I’ve read your works recently and it’s absolutely amazing as always! The idea of reader playing the ukulele and singing is a common thing in your story, they’re just chill like that frfr

But I gotta say this. Reader reminds me and gives off Yaelokre vibes-

If you haven’t heard abt who or what yaelokre is, they’re a music artist that makes absolutely beautiful little songs with amazing illustrated images! With interesting characters, storytelling and all that silly Willy stuff!

I wonder, is reader the type to also create their own stories using music?

I can imagine them playing music and singing, casually telling tales of how many times they died and all those traumatic stuff-

- 🛎 ANON

Hi 🛎️anon! Good to see you again!

Currently I’m in Germany (which is why I’ve been more inactive than usual lol) which has been amazing so far! Tomorrow I’m gonna see Poland!

Determination y/n loves to sing and play! It was something they mainly learned from Brook’s crew and just carried with them and inspired them to learn more instruments. In a kinda sad way they use it to fill the silence of the days they’ve spent afloat with no one, as well as keeping themself from going mad. But besides that I think they just like playing to make others happy, because they’re a chill little bean.

But as for Yaelokre, I love their music! I’m not up to date with their lore since it’s on a discord channel and I’m too antisocial to join it lol. But I really enjoy their vibe and the folk inspired music and imagery they use. I’ve always been a sucker for woodsy and fae stuff so it’s right up my alley, along with like the oh hellos and Celtic women.

I definitely can see the comparison of determination! Y/n and them. A bunch of gremlin children playing music in the woods, y/n would definitely sport a crow mask and cloak with gold shiny star bits. I also imagine y/n has definitely add their own songs and music, though they would typically play it in the time they thought no one was listening.

Y/n typically likes playing songs they’ve learned on the sea as a sort of tribute to the old sailors that used to sing them. Binks booze for example is one they hold onto for the memory of Brook and because they played it for Roger as well. Though in the dead of night or alone they would play their own songs and scores. Most I’d imagine would be somber, perhaps even a bit sad but within their music lies an underlying tone of hope and joy just needing a little nudging to be free.

I like the idea of Luffy hearing it one night and begging y/n to play more of their own music. So, very slowly they begin to do so while the crew listens and overtime those joyous beats start becoming more prominent.

[duckprintspress]

“A Truth Universally Acknowledged”: Teaser Post the First

Happy Sunday everyone! The crowdfunding campaign for our next anthology, A Truth Universally Acknowledged: Queer Fanworks Inspired by Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice,” is off to an awesome start. Four days in, we’re nearly 70% funded already! This campaign only runs through December 5th, so we’ve got a ways to go and not much time to get there, so do be on the lookout and if you want to back, don’t miss your chance.

We have a LOT of contributors to this anthology, and not a lot of days of campaign, so I’ll be packing a lot of teasers into each post over the next week and a half. Today, I’m sharing crops by two artists and excerpts from three stories! 

-

Story Teaser: A. D. Williams

Title: Silk Gloves and Second Chances

Excerpt:

Caroline had never thought of herself as anything less than sincere. Had she danced around the truth at times? Of course. A lady was not to give away her true feelings unless it benefitted her. She had learned early on to smile and titter, elegant fingers lifted to her lips. To turn her head as she dabbed a handkerchief to the corners of her eyes, wisps of carefully curled hair doing their utmost to hide the lack of moisture. As long as one had developed the skill, it was not difficult to shift a gentleman’s opinion.

She had thought, for a time, that all women were like her if they held sufficient wit. That they all played the same game together, keeping a careful eye on their cards and hiding the winning hand against their breast.

Until Miss Bennet.

-

Art Teaser: Max Jason Peterson

Title: Dueling Darcy

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Story Teaser: E. V. Dean

Title: Along the Way

Excerpt:

I thought the envelope would be thicker. More money than I’ve ever seen, yet thinner than my thumb. Beige. Unimpressive.

It’ll take me forever to pay it off. Hell, the way the prices are going, gouged by war and greed, I’ll have to sell my kidney to settle it.

I need that envelope so I can leave his suffocating flat. I had expected Daniel’s home to reek with old money and new tech, but was met with a shrine to adventure in places I couldn’t afford to even dream of: regional art, foreign instruments, travel photos. The couple eating diamond-shaped fruit straight from a strange tree in the photograph behind Daniel seem to laugh at me.

Daniel puts the envelope down with a thump and covers it with his clean, pampered nails. “What do you need it for, Martha?”

I don’t like his tone or his question. He agreed to give me the money when I begged for it; now he might take it away if he doesn’t like my answer. Like it’s even his damn business.

Yet as long as the money is in his hands, I have to play by his rules.

“My sister’s missing.”

-

Art Teaser: Jagoda Zirebiec

Title: Moonlight

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Story Teaser: Genevieve Maxwell

Title: Must Be in Want of a Wife

Excerpt:

Thoughts of Maria Lucas persisted long after the guests had left for their own dwellings and estates. Surprise suffused Georgiana as she caught a glimpse of her moony expression in the reflective surface of a decorative wall panel. That was an expression she hadn’t seen on her face in years—not since she’d almost made the biggest mistake of her life. The initial surprise soon dissipated, and Georgiana couldn’t help but realize she was excited—not frightened—by the prospect of her crush. There was nothing artful about Maria Lucas, so she felt safe from repeating the mistakes of her past. In fact, Georgiana was looking forward to spending her weeks in Hartfordship with a lovely, unexpected friend.

-

Be on the look out! There’ll be more teasers out every day now through the second-to-last day of the campaign (skipping Thursday, sorry). We hope you love them!

Interested in what we’ve shared? Check out our Kickstarter campaign today!

[imaginedreamwrite]

Can I request a nurse!reader standing up for asylum!steve as he get some horrible treatment or a doctor does something to him where he can't defend himself for fuck around and find out friday please?

You were immediately pulled aside when you stepped through the door, Rose stealing you away before you could have even signed into the sheet in the women’s ward. She was hastened and scared, frightened as she ripped your bag from you and threw it to the ground.

“They’re trying to give him a lobotomy!” She was started to cry, her visible and verbal upset was strutting a physical reaction of your own as you felt your heart plummeting.

“No, not…not Captain-“ you felt your stomach churn, acid rising in your throat was burning you from the inside out and Rose had to shake you back into focus.

“Y/N!” She yelled at you, raising her voice to yell harshly. “Dr. Rollins is giving him a lobotomy! He’s going to scramble his brain and you-“

You pushed away from her and ran toward the stairs, flinging the door open and letting it slam behind you. You didn’t bother with the elevator, you didn’t bother trying to slow your pace as you climbed up the stairs to the procedure rooms. Your heart was racing, your palms were sweating as you took every step as if there was a fire under your ass.

“You can’t do this! You can’t do this to him!” You arrived at the room, slamming your hands upon the doors.

You could see Steve in the room, you could see him bound to the table by his wrists, ankles and a strap around his waist to hold him down. Dr. Rollins was mumbling in the room, cathartically preparing the instruments while Steve had remained bound, hooked up to a machine.

“Stop it! Stop it now!” You kicked at the door, panic flood king your system, urgency begging you to act.

“Nurse L/N-“ the door opened and Dr. Rollins had peeked his head out of the door, fury in his eyes and a scowl on his face.

“You are not needed right now, nurse. You can leave-“

You grabbed hold of the door and slammed it against his head, the sudden jerk causing him to fall back. As he fell, you stepped over his body and moved toward Steve. You ran to his side and began unhooking him from the table, yanking the IV that was pumping him full of seeds tubes.

“Steve? Steve, are you okay?” You cupped his cheeks, tilting his head to get a better look at him. “Steve-“

“Sweetheart,” he voice was rough, his hand cupping your cheek, “I’m supposed to be saving you.”

“Let’s go, let’s get out of here before he comes to.” You helped him stand, helped Steve to his feet and then you stepped out of the room, letting Rolin’s unconscious body stay where it was.

“We have to get out of here.”

[spacevixenmusic]

You'd think in a universe full of fringe extremists, eccentrics and weirdos, its inhabitants would be long past things like fatphobia and revulsion to disfigurement. But then again, Lexx came out in the late 90s/00s, and media was ESPECIALLY rife with that shit back then. (It has always been this way, especially after all the decades of brainwashing advertising we’ve endured). This next episode was rough, but I wanted to examine it because it left me with a lot of thoughts that I want to keep fresh in my mind next time I feel like world-building and subverting these ideas.

The Dark Lady (left) is some kind of powerful witch who thinks no one can ever love her because of her disfigurement, and she invites willing participants to use her bimbofication machine (I cannot stress enough that it is literally a bimbofication machine) to make themselves desirable and/or to imbue themselves with Love Slave personalities. The Wozzard (right) thinks this process robs women of their inherent natural beauty, and that The Dark Lady is bimbofying these women simply to sell them off as sex slaves, and cites that they have an “expiration date”. Being that Xev herself was also transformed into a Love Slave, she too has an expiration date, and may die soon if she is not re-bimbofied. She becomes a key instrument in fueling this ongoing war between the two of them.

Anyway, the scene I wanted to talk about. While searching for the machine to extend Xev’s life, the crew gets sucked into the war and the Wozzard uses his own machine to forcibly transform Xev back into her original, fat, disfigured, pre-Love Slave body, then forces her to watch “propaganda” about how wonderful her natural original body is. She hates this idea and begs him to change her back, even with the knowledge of the Love Slave body having an expiration date. The whole scene is framed around how Xev looks, and makes little effort to hide its fatphobia - as many other episodes previously have already demonstrated. The whole conflict boils down to “which body is truly more beautiful”, and ends with both leaders destroying each other as Xev is re-restored to her Love Slave body by her own choice (and technically needed it to extend her expiration date, but I digress).

Now, if you were to remove the fatphobic framing and simply focus on the act of choosing which body to remain in, even with bimbofication, this story becomes an easy trans allegory. At the very least, the core idea changes to "you are most beautiful in the body you CHOOSE for yourself, whether natural OR transformed". And in a universe where magically changing your body overnight is possible, you would think such phobias about fat, trans, and disfigured bodies would stop existing pretty quickly, because anyone could simply change themselves at any time. It’s an interesting concept to explore, and one I think more sci-fi would be keen to dig deeper into. I’m not giving brownie points to this show for “doing it right”, but I am glad it at least approached the topic in a way that made me think about it.

ANYWAY, enough word vomiting. Let’s wrap up this season in the next post!

[oromanticism]

Okay back to this I’m going to give some of my headcannons from this fic

First obvious question, if Geto hates non-sorcerers so much why does he have a non-sorcerer play thing?

Geto obviously believes he’s a good person doing the right thing and in his head misogyny against fellow sorcerers is wrong “Female or male we’re all sorcerers at the end of the day 😸” he thinks he’s an equal rights king.

So being the feminist king how can he subject his sisters in sorcerers to degrading sex turning such strong women into sex dolls? No way #feministking that’s what the non-sorcerer women are there for!

Yeah he becomes a full blown Naoyo Zenin type traditionalist when it comes to non-sorcerer women but somehow even worse. Hes a man with needs after all and who better to subject his depravity too than the people that should be begging at his feet.

In his head Miss Reader should be grateful he has not only kept her alive be allowed her to be the vessel of his sexual frustration her kind isn’t even worthy of life in his eyes and here he was bestowing her with pleasure and she isn’t even grateful? Wow okay then 😒

Ofc he isn’t delusional or stupid he knows why she hates him and somehow it turns him on more knowing she can’t refuse him and seeing the unwanted pleasure she gets from him ofc seeing her fight back amuses him bcs he’s so much stronger than her, it’s like watching a chihuahua growl at you. I also think he views her as an experiment to see if he can “tame a monkey”

It’s obviously a deeply unhealthy relationship, he treats her like a pet, a child and a concubine all at once he probably has a kink for all three.

Other headcanond I have:

He makes her wear traditional clothes 1. Because he thinks it looks nice 2. It makes her stand out 3. It limits her mobility

Has her practice the Koto and play for him in the evenings She will be punished for making mistakes

You know the film Tale of Princess Kaguya ? And in the film the dad forces her to become the perfect princess/wife making her practice tea ceremonies, play instruments, dress in elaborate uncomfortable outfits, walk slowly and act ladylike? Yeah that’s how Geto would be treating dear Reader but like meaner by month three you’ve read every book on jujutsu history and poured more tea than you’ve drank in your lifetime. You’re his little doll after all a plaything

Honestly the relationship dynamic is giving Lolita, he views her and her kind mentally as children stupid, weak and navie yet has no issue forcing himself on her omg y’all this is so twisted don’t worry reader we gonna get you outta there trust me😭🤞🏾

And the kimono he has for her are made brighter fabric that is usually used for children’s ones 1. Bcs again he views her like a child/a pet and 2. It would make it easier to find her if she tried to run

YALL HES SICK YUTA COME TAKE HIM OUT AGAIN FOR ME

how have I managed to annoy myself with my own headcanon Geto count your days trust me

That’s all I got guys read this fic when you can it’s really good!

Fever Pitch [Yandere Geto Suguru x Reader]

Title: Fever Pitch [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Synopsis: Geto’s been hit by a lust curse, and you take what little control you have to avoid him snapping. Follow-up to Bus Stop.

Word Count: 3200ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, dubcon, sex, some mentions of past degradation 

 It’s funny, the way you can get used to anything. When you were first taken,  you would have sworn--on your heart, your soul, on blood from a cut on your palm--that you would fight, hiss, and spit at Geto until the day you died. 

And now here you are, nestled on a seat cushion in his sitting room, quietly reading a book while he’s off collecting curses and doing favors that aren’t really true favors at all. The person assigned to you today is a familiar face, someone you don’t entirely detest, if only because they are content to keep an eye on you without emanating visible hatred towards your existence at every second.

They were even kind--or what classifies as “kind” here--enough to lend you their scissors a few weeks ago, when someone stuck a wad of sticky bubble gum in your hair as they passed you in a hallway. Sure, they kept an eye on you the entire time in order to make sure you weren’t trying to stab yourself (or anyone else); but they said nothing as you hacked at your own hair, eventually giving yourself a passable pixie cut.

Geto had raised his eyebrows when he came back that day, and had a quiet word with your keeper. But you didn’t get punished, so that was that. Cutting off your hair felt good, even. Like you were cutting out whatever part of yourself was still simmering in pointless anger at  your situation. Why be angry, why be in despair, when nothing you did mattered? You ran once. He found you. If you bothered to run again--not that you’d get the chance--he would find you again. And again. 

It was better to find something like enjoyment instead of wallowing. 

Wasn’t it?

Besides, even Geto had been different since the day he found you. He seemed content for you to be a quiet pet again. He no longer visited you in the night, touching you, forcing pleasures and sounds you didn’t want to experience from his fingers, even as he commanded you to always keep your arms away from him. He was allowed to touch--but you weren’t allowed to touch him. You hated it. 

But he hadn’t touched you in the slightest intimate way since that day. Unless you counted the condescending head pats as intimate, which you certainly did not. 

You hear Geto’s footsteps, and your muscles tense in preparation. You carefully set a bookmark in your book and set it aside; he didn’t like it when you paid attention to a book instead of him. Especially when he’d been gone for most of the day. 

But something’s wrong. Something’s different.

These are not the orderly footsteps of Geto returning to his rooms at the end of a (horribly) productive day. These steps are staggered--hesitant. 

Strange.

Your current keeper stands when Geto enters, but he simply dismisses them with a wave of his hand and an unusually curt: “Leave.” 

They hazard a glance at you--it almost feels kind--before swiftly grabbing their bag and walking away, hurried steps echoing in the hallway that leads to his suite of rooms.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Geto begins to shed his clothing. Now this wasn’t unusual. He preferred to wear only a casual outfit around you, some trousers and a light top most of the time. What was unusual was the undignified manner in which he did it, simply peeling away his layers and tossing them on the ground, all the while his breath seemed to come in quiet, stuttering pants.

It’s enough to make you break your gaze from the floor and look at him.

Geto looks… ill. His cheeks are flushed and yes, his chest is heaving a little as he takes in short, frenzied breaths. Even the skin of his neck and collar had a slight glow to it, like he’d been exercising vigorously or done something terribly embarrassing. 

“Geto?” You ask, hesitantly. You flick your eyes back down to the floor, where you’re told they belong until he says otherwise. 

He doesn’t answer. The final layers of his robes drop to the floor. 

Normally, he would approach you now, calmly. He might tilt your chin up with his hand and ask what you did today--if you were good, if you behaved. 

Instead he staggers away, catching himself on the corner of a table.

“Geto?” You try again, voice higher, more concerned. 

You look up to see him with both palms splayed on the table, breaths coming in deeper huffs. His skin is still flushed--it’s so strange--and you swear the room feels warmer than it did a few moments ago. 

His fingers curl against the table into a tight fist, then release, then curl again. His breath comes in more ragged by the moment. There’s an unmistakable soft groan--in pain? Discomfort?

“Are you… all right?” You ask, and do the boldest thing possible in your present situation, which happens to be standing up on shaky legs and taking a step towards him.

“Don’t.” The word is practically growled out, and your muscles freeze for the moment, keeping you in place.

He turns to look at you, but instead of looking angry, he looks… desperate. His eyes roam over you and his lips part, and you see the edge of his tongue reach out to lick a dry patch as he struggles to regain control over his breath. 

The expression hits you and it’s oh-so familiar and you don’t like it at all.

Geto isn’t sick. 

He’s aroused.

You reach up to clutch at your shirt, fidgeting with the fabric like it might actually provide comfort in this unsure situation.

“What… happened?” 

He doesn’t answer at first. His mouth twists into something like a grin, but it’s twitchy, uncontrolled. He chuckles slowly.

“A curse. I should have taken a closer look, but--” He lets out a pained sigh and squeezes his eyes shut. “I was distracted. Foolish. Stupid.”

You--perhaps foolish, stupid--take a step forward. Little pieces find themselves fitting together in your brain, trying to create a plan for what will come ahead. It’s how you’ve managed to survive so far, isn’t it? Taking in everything about your situation and acting accordingly to preserve your health and sanity?

“What… kind of curse?” You ask, and take more steps, until you’re close enough that you can feel some of the unnatural warmth from his body. 

He looks at you slowly, his eyes almost rolling in a way that makes your stomach turn. You perhaps don’t need to actually hear the answer. It’s become clear, with the way he’s panting, the way his skin is flushed, the awful warmth from being so close to him. But it’s best for him to admit it, anyway, and confirm it to your whirring brain.

“Lust.”

Something seems to roil through him and he leans down, groaning in an uninhibited way that makes cold fear crawl up your arms, despite the warmth from Geto’s body. This close, you can see the sweat beading on his forehead, and when you glance down, his hardness is evident through his trousers.

Oh, you’re going to be fucked by the end of the night. You know it. It’s an inevitability. 

What if it’s like before? When he would be rough and fast, and it would feel good and terrible all at the same time? When you felt like you had no control over what was done to you, and what you were made to do? The shame that would spread through your body afterward was nearly unbearable. 

No… it was better to take charge yourself, wasn’t it? The only other option was to wait for him to snap. And if he was influenced by some lust-filled curse, there’s no telling what he might do. 

So you’ll take care of him before he can reach that breaking point. 

“Geto,” you say, and your hand reaches out slowly, like he’s a wild dog (perhaps he is) until it rests just above his back. Close enough for him to sense you. Although attempting to touch him without permission would normally have earned you a slap on the wrist and a reprimand, Geto leans into your palm, letting out a soft, pleased noise, as if your palm resting on his back was something far more wonderful.

“Let me… take care of you,” you manage, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth before you force it loose to say the words. He doesn’t answer, breath still coming out in a pant. 

“Let’s go to the bedroom.” You speak louder, more firmly. More sure of yourself, even if a large part of you is wondering if this is a terrible idea after all. But it’s better to get it over with; to do this on your terms, or as much of your terms as you can manage. You can at least admit that.

Geto doesn’t answer, and you’re about to say something else when he grabs your wrist--it’s too tight, his palm is sweaty--and begins to pull you towards the bedroom. Your house slippers scuff on the floor from the unsteady force of his grip, but you manage not to fall.

Later, you will wonder--if you did trip in that moment, would he have simply taken you on the floor? It was a distinct possibility.

But you don’t fall. You make it to the bedroom and he lets go of you, stripping off his clothes with  a frenzy that is completely unlike him. You don’t wait for an order to remove your own clothing. He might not have even been in the right frame of mind to remember that you’re normally supposed to wait for his order on everything. Or perhaps it has been so long since he’d touched you this way, he didn’t even think of giving it in the first place.

When he turns around, both of you are naked. His hardness is evident, erect and pressing against his flushed body. You can see wetness around his tip and something between your leg twinges in both pleasant anticipation and worry at what this curse-induced arousal might mean for the both of you.

“Well?” He says, voice thick and low. 

You swallow against your throat, against the worries that normally come with seeing Geto naked. You remind yourself that this is different. That you’re taking control, as much as you can get, with him so afflicted. It won’t be like before, surely, when he would use you and leave you alone like the toy that you were afterward. 

“Lay on the bed,” you command. Your body flinches instinctively at the audacity of it. “Please,” you add, but he doesn’t seem to mind your forwardness in this moment. He crawls on the bed and leans back against the pillows, keeping himself half-upright as he watches you. 

You glance down at his cock. It twitches, ever so slightly, and you feel yourself twitch between your legs to match it. Was it because it had been so long? Or because you were the one telling him what to do? Or some awful mixture of both, and more besides? 

It was hard to tell what was normal and what wasn’t in the fucked up state of your existence. 

“Get on the bed.” It’s his turn to give a command, and you’re quick to obey it. For as much as you’re taking the initiative, you can’t let yourself forget who owns you, perhaps literally. Even if he’s currently flushed and woozy and subject to the demands of the arousal forced upon him by some wayward curse.

You climb on the bed and crawl until you’re positioned with your knees on either side of his hips. It’s the first time you’ve been above him. It would be out of the question, you think, before. He liked to remind you where you belonged in the literal sense, and that had extended to sexual positions.

Instinctively, your hands go behind your back, folding primly. You’re not supposed to touch him during sex. You know that. It’s been the rule; it was one of the first things he drilled into your head when he began fucking you. He was allowed to touch you in any way he wanted; stroking and pinching and whatever else fell within his whims. But you? You keep your filthy hands to yourself. 

And so, it’s with your hands behind your back that you carefully begin to lower yourself onto his erect cock. 

He gasps and groans, and you do, too. Your twinges were not enough to get you properly wet, and it hurts as you lower yourself down. But the flush on his face and the feeling of being full after so long begins to grant you the warmth necessary to produce your own slickness, easing the passage just a little as you take all of him in. Not enough for it to be painless. But it’s not like that ever mattered before. 

“Fuck,” he spits out, throwing his head back from there mere sensation of your pussy taking in his erection. You feel yourself clench him and he hisses in delight. It makes you feel a bit giddy, to affect him like this, with so little.

Your fists clench behind your back as he bottoms out inside you, and your own groan joins his as you steady yourself, keeping your balance as you sit on top of him. His cock twitches inside you and you let out a sigh, leaning forward. Your hair tickles your ears.

He’s looking up at you, hips writhing in a way that makes you gasp.

“Touch me.” 

You think you must have misheard him.

“I said touch me,” he says, more forceful, the arousal pulsing through him giving his voice a thick tinge. He thrusts his hips and you bump upwards, in discomfort yes, but also a growing sense of your own arousal at the fullness and friction inside you.

“All--” You gasp when he thrusts again, and perhaps the idea of taking too much control was an illusion. “All right!” Your hands slowly come out from behind your back and with a hesitation that comes from months of being trained otherwise, you slowly lower your hands to rest on his hips.

Slowly, you trail your hands up to his chest, eyeing his nipples. How long had they been erect? Was it before or after you lowered yourself on him? It doesn’t matter. You begin to pull yourself up, timing your own movements with his now-shallow thrusting. As you do, your hands rest on his nipples, rubbing them slowly with your palm--the way he sometimes does to you, if he’s not pinching them harshly to make you squeal.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Just… just like that. Good pet.” 

And there again, the sight of his pleasure from your touch, his raise, makes you clench… which makes him hiss in pleasure, which makes you giddy. 

It’s a wonderful cycle, and so different from all of the other times he’s fucked you. This is almost nice, in its own way. To be above him, mostly in control of how fast you move, how much of him you take in and out as you lift yourself up and down on his cock.

“Faster,” he says, and you don’t mind obeying. One of your hands still toys with his nipple while the other reaches between your own legs and thumbs at your clit. It’s audacious, really--you’re not supposed to pleasure yourself without his permission.

But he doesn’t tell you to stop. Instead he simply watches the way your thumb rubs against your clit; does he enjoy the sight of his cock inside you, the way your pussy takes him as you use your leg muscles to thrust up and down?

He must, because you can feel your own arousal mixing with his, see the way his chest rises faster. Tell-tale signs that he’s getting close.

“Stop,” he orders suddenly. “Get off me.” His voice is still low, still filled with lust, but there’s something else in it. Something more familiar. 

“Geto?” You ask, confused, your own voice coated with arousal that’s just about to reach its peak. It’s disappointing to stop now, but you know better than to disobey. Even right now, or perhaps, especially right now.

He seems to regain a stronger semblance of himself. “Get off,,” he commands, and you do. 

It doesn’t take long to realize why he gave the order. He swiftly grips your arms and flips you on the bed, your back pressing against the sheets that are warm with his own unmistakable body heat.

Now this is familiar. Geto above you, naked, flushed, aroused. And you, beneath him. But this time your arousal was of your own making, and there’s a sort of power in that, you think.

He’s back inside you and by this time you’re wet enough that it simply feels good to be filled again. His wrists keep your own pinned and you murmur a plea, you were so close, Geto--and to your surprise, one of his hands leaves your wrist to begin playing with your clit.

Arousal builds quickly this time, and you come without ceremony, your muscles clenching around him and legs kicking helplessly on the bed as he continues to touch you through your orgasm.

Familiar patterns set in, and as your own orgasm begins to fade out, you know what will happen now. He’ll fuck you faster and pull out as he comes–he refuses to finish inside you–and then leave you to yourself.. Maybe he’ll have to go another round to deal with the effects of this curse, but whatever change had been over him before, allowing you greater freedom, was surely gone.

Only… maybe not.

Because as you feel the familiar sensation of Geto pushing inside you harder and faster as he nears his release, something new happens. Something different. Something that makes butterflies and battery acid flutter in your stomach all at the same time.

He leans down and presses his lips against yours, tentatively at first, then harder, until you open up your mouth and let his tongue inside.

Geto kisses you. It’s a surprisingly passionate kiss, and you let out a yelp of surprise when he grips your chin and kisses you through his own orgasm. 

He doesn’t even pull out. You feel his seed inside you for the first time, a liquid warmth. It’s uncomfortable and strange and you wonder how angry he’ll be, later on, that he did this. 

He doesn’t stop kissing you until you’re breathing heavily through your nose, and when he pulls away you take in a gulp of air.

He stares down at you with something that looks like wonder. At himself… or you? 

“Good pet,” he murmurs. But there’s no condescension in it today. 

There’s an awful, naked vulnerability that washes over you.

Geto let you touch him. Geto kissed you. 

Geto, Geto, Geto…

Was he going to be mad when this curse effect wore off? Would he get rid of you for making him violate so many of his own rules? 

You don’t have time to think about it, because you realize he’s still hard, and he begins to thrust shallowly inside your overstimulated pussy. 

He’ll have to go another round. 

--

Afterward, sleep came without warning. You had simply closed your eyes when Geto finally pulled out and that was that. 

You don’t know how much time has passed when you open your eyes, blinking away the grogginess of an unexpected nap. 

There’s a soreness between your legs, which you expected. There’s the feeling of your body being used, a low openness that combines vulnerability and humiliation in a bittersweet mixture; which you expected.

You don’t expect to blink and see Geto sleeping beside you, his arm slung around your waist, keeping you in place.

Geto never slept with you like this. He would fuck you and use you and sometimes tell you that you were a good pet if he was in a jovial mood--and he would leave. 

You’re afraid to move. If you wake him, will he be angry? Will he be annoyed that he let himself fall asleep beside you? Annoyed with himself for allowing it, or annoyed with you for being there? 

You don’t move, but it doesn’t matter. His eyes flutter open and you feel the warmth of his breath on your face as he takes in the sight before him, as you just did.

He doesn’t furrow his eyebrows in irritation or fling himself out of bed or reprimand you for existing like this in his space. Instead he pulls you closer, until your face is pressed closer to his chest. It makes you feel something--warmth? Affection? Relief that you weren’t being yelled at for being bad?--and your hand slowly leaves your side to curl up against his chest. 

He allows it. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs.

And you obey.

[luxurybrownbarbie]

hi barbie!!

i am patiently awaiting the rest of your tortured poets department takes when you are ready to share them. thank you in advance!

sincerely,

your fellow intern 💌

Hi darling! 💛 I will give you my less “instant gut punch” and borderline trauma dumping takes here. 😭I’ll get into the Substack post in the morning (the funeral skipping lore is so much, I will dive into it more😭)! 💛

First, earnestly defending her right to date a nasty racist is certainly a choice. Hate the muse a lot! I feel like she’s kind of messed up her view of what criticism is and what it means? It’s not always baseless, Ms. Swift!

Anyway, further takes! The second half of the album is phenomenal. The first half is so sonically cohesive it almost becomes boring. For a while I could barely differentiate between each song.

From the first half, my top three (excluding So, Long London.) were:

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?- The imagery in this song is incredible. She’s enraged. She’s dead. She’s a ghost. She’s haunting everyone. She’s a caged circus animal. It’s so visceral. The production works flawlessly with her lyrics. It’s literally like a score from a horror film. But I hate the way the song builds up to a natural crescendo and then she abruptly stops and slows it down again. It just feels too jarring for a song that flowed so perfectly from the beginning.

Florida!!!- I’m a simple woman. Florence starts singing and whatever it is, I love it. I love the ambiguity of it all. I love the hooks, the paradox of your home being a place you’re a guest, a place where you’re a criminal, instead of the way we usually view home as a sanctuary. The production is incredible. It’s frenetic and frenzied. It’s jarring and loud. Florence’s backing vocals are incredible.

The Alchemy- It’s so atmospheric. It’s not even particularly well written compared to the other songs on the album, but the flow of the music just draws you in. The production brings this song to life. It feels like an early 2000s song you’d hear on the radio in the summer. Just great vibes.

From the second half my top three are:

How Did it End?- The mortifying ordeal of being known. The instrumental being stripped back for so much of the song gives it a haunting quality. The piano is the loudest instrument in the song, the absence of any other bold production tactics perfectly captures the soul baring essence of the song. It’s simple. She doesn’t know how it ended. She’s both asking and being asked.

The Prophecy- A classic case of hope vs. faith! She has hope that she will find love again. She doesn’t have faith in it. That’s why she’s begging. Hope is good, but faith is more tangible. The lines “I guess a lesser woman would’ve lost hope/A greater woman wouldn’t beg”, alone make this essential listening. She’s too proud to lose hope. She’s not proud enough to not beg.

Cassandra- Personally, I believe she telepathically connected her brain to Meghan Markle’s to write this. I don’t care about the lore or the whole story with K*nye and the Kardashians. “Blood’s thick, but nothing like a payroll?” “You can mark my words that I said it first /In a mourning warning no one heard?” It’s about being hung out to dry while knowing that you’re not the first woman this has happened to and you won’t be the last! The family will protect its own, not out of love but out of desire to protect its entrenched financial interests. It’s about the fact that you will be punished by both the men and women around you when you step out of line. They remain silent while she is tormented and when she’s vindicated. 10/10 song. Great storytelling.

What are your thoughts my fellow intern? 💌💛

[st-alessia]

Blood of Empires Chapter 6

The unusual chill that permeates her bones eases once she passes through the city’s gates; Lucretia pauses briefly to look behind her at the gate between her and the wilds of Skyrim. ‘I still feel like a child; jumping at shadows and noises.’ Lucretia already has monsters that stalk the depths of her mind that she willfully ignores, she doesn’t have the time nor the energy for more. 

With a sigh, she shakes her head and continues down the path leading through the market and head’s for Arcadia’s shop. This late in the day, Arcadia has already closed up and headed home for the evening so Lucretia lets herself in with the spare key provided to her. She wastes no time in organizing her flowery load into designated jars, bowls and shelves. Lucretia cleans the alchemy table and sweeps before setting out the tools and instruments Arcadia will need in the morning. 

She tidies up the rest of the shop before locking back up and heading to the Bannered Mare for supper, she was feeling extra needy by wanting to spend more time around people instead of hidden away in her tiny closet-converted room at the temple.

The hum of a lute and loud chatter greets her as soon as the door opens followed by a gust of warm air. Almost immediately Hulda catches sight of her standing in the doorway and she calls out a greeting, “Come on in. Let me know if you need anything, or take a seat by the fire and I'll send someone over.” 

Feeling encouraged, Lucretia grabs the open seat with a stool next to the fire pit. She doesn’t wait long before Saadia approaches her to take her order and she rushes off again–her gait always drawing Lucretia’s eye for some odd reason but as usual she ignores it in favor of more important thoughts, such as when will she be leaving for Windhelm. It doesn’t take long before she has her supper and a goblet of wine, both filling her belly with bliss. The thrum of the lute and the steady stream of patrons bustling about and chattering was soothing; after some time, Lucretia allows herself to be pulled into a conversation with Carlotta.

"Life's hard enough with all these men propositioning me. But that bard is the worst." Carlotta sighs in exasperation, shaking her head. 

Lucretia halts a sip of her mead and blinks in surprise, “Someone is giving you trouble?” 

Carlotta gestures with her head without turning to look at the object of her annoyance. "That bard Mikael is begging for a dagger up against his throat, the way he goes on about me. I've heard him boasting, saying he'll 'conquer me as a true Nord conquers any harsh beast.' Hmph." Her scowl deepens. 

“Oh… I’m sorry to hear that. Has anyone told him to stop?” 

"I can take care of myself. A Nord woman learns how to handle a few idiot men early in life. You’d best learn too, before he sets his sights on you." Lucretia didn’t have time to feel the unease build at the thought that she could be harassed too before said person of annoyance seems to have been summoned like a Daedra to Carlotta’s side. 

“My dearest Carlotta, was that my name on your sweet lips?” Mikael smirks at the women before him as if he had won some prize. 

The prior unease vanishes and annoyance takes its place. Lucretia had only ever seen him from a relative distance and he always seems to be attempting to charm women and horribly boasting about himself. Thankfully the times she had chosen to visit the Bannered Mare, it was always in the company of Ria and Farkas–one glare from Farkas always sent him scampering to the other side of the inn. Unfortunately, this was not the case tonight.

Undeterred by their looks of disdain, Mikael took up a seat next to Carlotta on the bench, leaning closer to her, “You look absolutely stunning today. May I buy you a drink?"

Carlotta leans away from him while trying to maintain a calm voice and says, “I'm not interested.”

Mikael chuckles. "Now, now, no need to be so cold. I was just hoping to share a drink with a beautiful woman and her equally beautiful friend."

Lucretia raises an eyebrow, an unimpressed look passes between both women.

"I simply don't have any interest in you. And neither does my friend." Carlotta’s expression darkens. “Leave us be.”

Lucretia watches as her companion becomes increasingly annoyed with the bard, her voice pitching louder as he again moves closer to her. She was unsure how to intervene without causing a bigger scene–a few others pause in their conversations to see how this turns out. She could see Saadia glaring at Mikael from the doorway to the kitchen, if she wasn’t part of the situation she might have found it comical that the Redguard woman looked ready to hit him with a pot. 

Mikael chuckles again. "Oh, I see. Still playing hard to get, are we? I like a challenge." This time he went so far as to wrap his arm around Carlotta’s shoulder, tugging her against him. Lucretia was out of her chair just as Carlotta starts to yell, “Get off me, you-” her words cutting off as she was pulled backwards off the bench, the only reason she didn’t hit the ground was in thanks to Lucretia catching her hands as she flailed, holding her aloft. 

Everything is silent.

Lucretia pulls Carlotta to a stand and the older Imperial woman wraps an arm around her as she turns to see what was happening. There Mikael laid–his back hard against the stone with his legs still draped over the bench–and Vilkas glaring down at him, boot on his chest. “You’re asking for a beating, bard.”

Before anything worse can happen, Hulda calls out in a reprimanding tone, “No fighting inside!”

Vilkas grunts, removing his boot and forcefully pulling Mikael to his feet like he was a ragdoll. “It seems our resident bard needs to learn to keep his hands to himself. Leave them alone.”

Mikael accepts his loss as it stands glaring in his face. “Whoa. Hey there. I didn’t mean to make you upset. On my honor, Carlotta won’t have to worry about me again.”

“Both.”

Mikael’s face flitters with momentary confusion before he remembers the new, pretty Imperial in town who happens to be standing with his lady-love. “But sir, surely-” 

Vilkas practically growls as he pulls the bard’s face closer until they are nearly nose-to-nose, voice lowering. “Don’t test my patience, bard.” The remaining color saps from Mikael’s face the longer Vilkas glares at him with molten silver eyes. 

A line of sweat trails from his brow and dips below his jaw, Mikael drily attempts to clear his throat. “Y-yes, of course. I… I will never bother these ladies again. You have my word.” 

“Good, because if I hear otherwise I know where to find you.” With a shove, Vilkas pushes him away allowing Mikael to fall back to the floor with a thump, and turns to Lucretia and Carlotta. Now that the confrontation ends without a fight, the rest of the patrons turn back to their prior conversations. Mikael quietly picks himself up and sulks to the furthest corner from them.

He glances over to Carlotta, assessing her rumpled dress but altogether she is alright; she gives him an assuring nod and thanks him for his intervention before excusing herself for the rest of the night after hushed words into the Imperial’s ear which she nods in agreement. He pretends to not hear the exchange.

After she leaves, Vilkas meets the girl’s eyes and gestures for her to return to her seat while he claims the spot at the bench. “Farkas will be upset to know you’ve become the source of some trouble.” 

Not the response she was expecting, Lucretia sits flabbergasted as Vilkas gratefully accepts a mead from an even more grateful Saadia. He watches her over the rip as he drinks, his silver eyes having lost its hard edge but their intensity remains.  

“I didn’t cause any trouble!” 

Vilkas hums, one corner of his lips tugging up in mild amusement. “Didn’t seem that way to me.”

Deciding it wasn’t worth arguing, Lucretia takes a moment to study the twin she has never spoken with before. He was always dressed in his armor when she saw him but now he was dirty and flaking with dried blood from someone unfortunate to be on the wrong side of his blade. 

“You’ve just returned from a mission?” 

For a brief moment his face twists into scowl, she assumes he became self-conscious at the mention of his dirty appearance but it quickly evens out. “Something like that. Good thing that you're in the city, the companions got word of vampire attacks in the valley. Farkas, Aela and Skjor are still out making sure we finished them off.”

The heat of the fire did stop the return of cold dread, now she had an answer to why she felt like she was being followed. “I thought-” Lucretia takes a sip of her wine, hoping to ease the tightness that has crawled its way up her throat. Vilkas watches her like he already knows.

“I was out there today. On my way back I felt like I was being followed and there were weird noises, it sounded like a.. Like something, maybe a wolf, killed another animal? But not quite. I wasn’t expecting-” She continues to ramble.

Vilkas listens as the little Imperial’s heart races, thumping in fear of what almost certainly happened to her. He felt pity for her, the girl–woman–was as skittish as a hare. ‘Thin too.’ If he hasn’t seen her hard at work collecting herbs for Arcadia and making potions as well as tending to wounds in the temple, he’d think she merely sat around like some docile wife to some milk-drinking nobleman and something about that sat weirdly with him. 

He times his interjection so it didn’t seem as if he wasn’t paying attention to her words. “Have you ever considered learning to wield a blade?”

The question was enough to cause her to stop rambling and ponder his words. Her thoughts now on his question was already enough to work on calming her racing heart. 

“Ah… No. I was also more partial to learning magic and spellcraft as a child–not that my brother or Grandmother would have ever considered the idea of me wielding a blade. Then I… Well to be frank, I got distracted by a boy.”

Vilkas chuckles at her admission, “Normally, it would be the boy getting distracted by the girl and slacking off.”

He watches as Lucretia’s eyes take on a faraway gaze as she turns away from him to stare into the fire, a soft smile on her lips but it was bitter. “That was still the case, I was every bit of a distraction for him as he was for me. He wasn’t much interested in learning how to wield a sword or any kind of weapon for that matter. The dreams he had… they were big dreams, especially for a child. He wanted to help people, make their lives easier.”

“He was your sweetheart?” Curiosity peaked even though he felt a mild annoyance for this unknown boy.

Her bitter smile dips into a frown. “Yes, we were to be married.” 

Vilkas pushes just a bit more, “You don’t seem happy about that. What happened?” 

“He died.” The words come out in a whisper, so low that if his hearing was not heighted by his beastblood he would not have heard her. Tears rim her eyes but she swipes them away before they could fall and takes another sip of her wine. 

She clears her throat. “But that was a long time ago.” 

Vilkas doubts that. She was younger than him and if he had to guess, it was more than a ten year age gap. The boy’s death was probably as recent as five years or so, fresh enough to hurt but far enough to mention it in front of a relative stranger. Then again, his brother spends much of his time in her company so perhaps his face is enough for her to forget that they are not as close as she and Farkas seem to be. ‘Is this something they have discussed before?’

Vilkas decides to stop pushing his luck with this line of questioning and directs the conversation back to her immediate family–namely this brother she mentioned. That was enough to get her going for a while, she regales him with stories of their youth and the mishaps they seemed to get in. In turn, he shares some of his own. They too are twins but whereas she was shorter and displayed more Imperial features, her brother–Val, a nickname of sorts but he thought it was rather childish for a man–was tall and broad like a Nord. Everything else about them is identical.

Vilkas could not help but focus on the similarities between them. She was more interested in knowledge the same as he, while their own brothers prefer to simply take a sword to their obstacles. While he didn’t like how skittish she was, he could understand the pull Farkas felt around her. He could sit here all night talking to her, he wouldn’t mind if they met for dinner regularly just to talk. She was also quite pretty to look at.  Before it became too late, he walked her back to the temple before bidding her a goodnight. He was looking forward to talking with her again. And a bath, by the Gods he feels disgusting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Another shorty!

Find the story on AO3 here

[wondersofdreaming]

Sex on Fire

Co-written with @radaofrivia​

Characters: AU Captain Syverson - Gynaecologist, dr. Syverson x female reader

Word count: 4.522

Warnings: NSFW! Smut, so smutty. Gamahuche. Licking. Bodily liquids. Fingering. Sucking. Hair pulling. Begging. And I’m out of whatever else there is, but I’m sure there’s more - let me know and I’ll add them XD

Author’s note: This story was co-written with the always gorgeous and incredible @radaofrivia​! She is the Brain to my Pinky! The Barney Rubble to my Fred Flinstone! My goddess Saga and my muse Erato! My drinking buddy and who will stay up till 4am with me to finish this story.

Please go enjoy her stories here:

Rada’s Masterlist

I do not own any characters in this short story, except the reader who is a figment of my imagination.

*Edit: The title was decided before I realised that it is a song by Kings of Leon. These two have nothing in common except for the title.

MY MASTERLIST

Sex on Fire Masterlist

Feedback is appreciated.

(Credit to original gif owner - if this is yours please contact me so I can give you proper credit)

The grey concrete building stood tall in front of you. You leaned your head back to see the top, but it was nearly impossible. All you could see were windows leading into the sky. A doorman in a black uniform stood by the entrance, watching whoever went in and out. He nodded his head with a stoic look in a greeting.

The lobby looked more welcoming than the outside building. There was a fireplace with three sofas surrounding it and a coffee table stacked with magazines. A few women were already sitting there, gossiping about the new dapper doctor that had rented the entire top floor.

You rolled your eyes and went over to the reception. A man stood to greet you with a smile, but he was talking to someone in his headset, which only took a few seconds before he hung up.

“I am sorry about that, how may I help you, miss?” he asked.

“I’m here for an appointment with dr. Syverson,” you said a little nervously.

“Ah, yes. I have a form you need to fill out,” he handed you a piece of paper and a pen, “The elevators are just right over there. Take it all the way to the 52nd floor. Another receptionist will be there to guide you further.”

You accepted the paper and went for the elevators. A chill went down your spine as the cold air from the air condition hit you. You pressed the button for dr. Syverson’s floor. An orchestral song started playing over the speakers. It wasn’t until you listened closely to the lyrics that you noticed it was ‘Nothing Else Matters’ by Metallica.

You closed your eyes, swaying to the beat of the soft drums. Lars Ulrich had been your celebrity crush as a teen, and you still listened to their older songs when you had a bad day.

The elevator doors opened with a loud ‘ding!’, pulling you out of your trance. Another receptionist stood at the opposite side. She looked up from the computer and smiled.

“Welcome to dr. Syverson’s clinic. Do you need help filling out the paper?” she asked nicely. You quickly scanned what you needed to scribble down. It was mostly your personal information and history of health.

“No, I think I can manage, thank you,” you smiled back.

“You can take a seat in the sofas, and when you’re done just fold it and put it in the mailbox, dr. Syverson will call you in, shortly,” she motioned to a black mailbox by the elevators that you had missed when walking past it.

You nodded and went for the sofas. The room was warm and comfortable with green plants everywhere. The sand-coloured leather sofas were softer than you expected as you sank down. You filled out the form and put it in the box.

Instead of sitting back down, you decided to walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and take a look at the impressive view of the city. Your eyes widened at how far you could see, all the way to the ocean, and if you squinted your eyes, you might have been able to see your apartment building, even the bar you had often been frequenting lately.

Dr. Syverson walked out of his office. He stretched his arms above his head, feeling a bit sore from having sat down reading his patients’ charts all afternoon. Now he just needed to check on his last appointment, before he could go home and enjoy an ice-cold beer.

His receptionist was packing her stuff, sending him a kind smile. The perks of working with his sister were that she didn’t try to seduce him, or leave her underwear in his white coat pocket like some of his patients tended to do.

He smiled back and looked around the room. His gaze landing on you. His first thoughts were not ‘oh there’s my patient’, no, his mind went straight to ‘YOWZA!’.

“Last patient for today, Luc. I’ll be leaving now, see you tomorrow,” he heard his sister say to him. She smacked his arm to get his attention. He was pulled back to reality, saying goodbye to her before walking towards you, changing his mindset from dirty to professional.

You gasped when a flock of seagulls flew by, making you take a step back and hit a wall. Except the wall had arms that grabbed your shoulders before you hit the floor.

“Whoah, careful there, miss,” a deep rough voice said. You looked up and saw a man with a trimmed beard, a soft smile on his lips, and a mischievous look in his cerulean eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked out. You quickly remove yourself from his arms, first now noticing that he was wearing the white coat signalling he was dr. Syverson. And if that didn’t kick your brain in gear, then the name tag on his chest should do it. Dr. Lucas P. Syverson.

“It’s all good. This way, please,” he made sure you followed him to his office. The wall colour changed to a more soothing beige colour and was adorned with colourful paintings. You didn’t notice what they depicted before you stepped closer to one. It was of naked human bodies in various forms and shapes, very fitting for a gynaecologist’s office.

He had various books about his profession, but a few stood out to you. One had a peach on the cover and was written by dr. Syverson himself. You were impressed but wondered about the peach until you saw the title that made you blush deeply.

“How to eat a peach for dummies.”

He motioned for you to sit in the armchair, while he plopped down on the opposite one. He grabbed a chart from his desk and a pen.

“I’ve had a look at your medical history, and the…” Dr. Syverson looked down on the chart, “three gynaecologists that you have been referred to have written that you are in a state of good health. Well, we’ll see about that, I’m not too keen on some of these doctors you’ve had appointments with. They’re as old as Methuselah.”

You let out a peal of laughter. The joke having put you at ease with the doctor, who was smiling as you calmed down from your fit of giggles.

You were a little bit shocked by this doctor. Dr. Syverson was nothing like how you had imagined him. He couldn’t be over 40, with the extended educational schooling he would have had to go through. You remembered having read somewhere that it took at least 12 years to become a gynaecologist.

“Oh my gosh, they were. Another thing they had in common was that they would take a “quick” peek, not caring that I was screaming in pain, and then tell me that I’m healthy as a horse.”

Dr. Syverson sat back; his brow pushed together. You could practically hear the gears turning behind his forehead. He ran a hand through his beard, which made you notice that he wasn’t wearing a ring. If he wasn’t your doctor, you might have asked him on a date. Had you only met him at a bar instead of his office, and not being his patient. Damn it.

“There is definitely an issue we need to figure out here. I want you to know, miss that I plan on solving this mystery. Please, tell me in your own words what you think is wrong?”

You opened your mouth to explain, but all the sentences you thought of were too embarrassing to say out loud.

“Miss, you can say anything here. Nothing leaves these four walls, I promise you,” dr. Syverson tried to make you feel more comfortable with him with his gorgeous smile. His presence alone was putting you at ease. How did he do it?

“It burns when I’m penetrated,” you confessed.

“Penetrated how? During intercourse or masturbation?”

“I haven’t had sex since this happened. I can barely stuff two fingers in there,” you blurted, turning tomato red, confessing something so private to a total stranger, but it felt great to finally say it out loud, like a heavy stone being lifted from your shoulders.

“How about I take a look? Let me see with my own eyes that you’re ‘healthy as a horse’,” he quoted the old men, making you giggle. “You can leave your trousers and underwear on the bench, and have a seat on the table. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The dashing doctor left the room while you removed your clothing. Feeling a little self-conscious, as you walked over to the gynaecologist table with the stirrups and sat between them, trying to cover your private parts with your shirt.

Dr. Syverson came back soon with a variety of scented candles in his arms.

“The smell of something nice usually helps my patients to relax a little,” he explained. He held them up for you to choose.

“This one,” you smiled and handed him the one called Ocean Mist.

“Nice choice, that one is my favourite,” the doctor grinned. He set the lit candle on his desk. The scent of a sandy beach and salty ocean soon filled the room. The doctor pulled the ultrasound machine towards you. You leaned back on the table inhaling deeply, willing your abdominal muscles to relax. The sounds of a guitar reached your ears. You watched as he set a portable speaker on the small table next to you.

“I hope you don’t mind a little music,” he said, smiling, while he put on a pair of bright orange gloves.

“I love Metallica, so please keep it flowing.”

“Can you guess the song I’m playing? Put your legs up here for me,” he patted the stirrups.

You lifted your legs, intensely listening to the instrumental version of the song.

“Is it ‘The Unforgiven’?” you asked.

“Correct, you’re good. This is going to be a little bit cold,” he squirted a large amount of gel on the ultrasound wand. He slowly inserted the rod inside you, pushing ever so gently. “How long have you listened to Metallica?”

You winced at the invasion but tried to keep your muscles from tightening around the smooth object. You didn’t see the set jaw on the gorgeous looking doctor. Your sweet scent was tickling his nose and making his mouth salivate by the thought of tasting you.

“Since I was a teenager. I’ve been to at least one concert per tour they’ve done,” you groaned in pain.

“I’m sorry, your right ovary is a little difficult to find. You’re doing great. Your left ovary is the epitome of health. Are you on any kind of birth control?” he asked casually, trying his best to make you feel safe around him.

“N… no… I…” your voice broke, and tears started streaming down your cheeks. Doctor Lucas quickly removed the wand, cleaned it and sat down next to you.

“It’s okay. Let it all out,” he told you softly. Concern for your well being was painted on his chiselled face.

“It’s just that… I haven’t had sex for years, YEARS doc. No man wants a broken woman, especially not a woman that cannot be penetrated without her screaming in pain.”

You babbled so much you forgot that you were in a gynaecologist’s office and not at a psychologist.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to blurt all that out,” you started to blush a crimson red.

Lucas fought hard not to pull you into his arms. His protective instincts were on high alert; he wanted to make you feel safe, make you feel loved. He was cursing the bastards who had hurt you. To him, women were the stronger sex, had to endure more pain than men. Women are precious, made to birth life, made to give love and be loved.

“It’s quite alright. You’ve had a rough time,” he patted your arm, the safest place to touch you and went to get up. “I’m going to feel around to see if there’s something I’ve missed with the ultrasound. What other bands do you listen to?”

You watched as doctor Syverson slapped on another pair of gloves and squirted a smaller amount of gel on his finger, on his long thick finger. You were practically drooling by watching him prepare to examine you.

“Eh… I listen to a little bit of everything,” you said. You laid back down and draped an arm over your eyes. Watching the handsome doctor working was becoming too much for you. He was stirring feelings inside you that you hadn’t felt in a long time, and not in this form or quantity. You had taken a look at his well-proportioned ass when he walked out earlier, and his black trousers did very little to hide his hefty package.

“I’m sorry, but, again, this is going to be a little cold. What was the last song you listened to?” he warned.

It was an erotic scene, watching him standing between your legs, one hand on your belly, while the other was about to enter your most sacred place. You felt him enter. A soft moan escaped your lips.

Lucas’ ears perked. He hadn’t expected to hear that sound coming from your full lips. Had he heard correctly? The little vibration from you sent a jolt straight to the beast he was trying to keep dormant. This wasn’t the first time a woman had moaned while he examined them, but you were different. Another sweet sound reached his ears. You were so responsive to his touch, so open, so reactive. His mind was racing, but one word kept popping up, more.

You had forgotten how to speak, how to form sentences, how to communicate. You could only feel.

“Miss?”

“Hmm?”

“The last song? You listened to,” he didn’t mean to sound so tense, but he had to distract himself, his treacherous mind, he needed to keep the small-talk going, to break the silence. He wanted to kick himself in the balls for thinking about you, while he was fingers deep inside you. His compassionate instinct was winning over his lust.

Stop it, Lucas! You’re a professional. You cannot mess up! You CAN NOT fuck this up! She needs your help. Lord, give me strength.

“Oh...” you murmured, coming back from whatever universe he had sent you to with his finger technique, “Ehm, before the Metallica song in the elevator, I listened to ‘What’s Your Country Song’ by Thomas Rhett.”

“That’s a great song. I like country music.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed you as a country kinda g… GOD!!!” you gasped as he curled his finger, touching the spot.

You released a louder sinful sound, a sound that hadn’t left your lips in a very long time. Lucas watched as your chest was heaving, gasping for air. The room was suddenly suffocating him. He felt like he was burning up from the inside. His breath was hitched, and he couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Why did you have to sound like desire itself?

“Does it hurt when I do this?” he asked, his voice lowering an octave and reduced to a velvety whisper. He hooked his finger once more, listening intensely to the sounds escaping you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your eyes rolled back in your head. You lifted your hips, moving your pelvis closer, needing more friction, needing to feel him deeper inside you.

Fuck!

He was watching you, vehemently. A fire was burning deep in his groin, heck even his eyes were flaming. His shoulders moved fastly up and down as he was heaving in the air through his parted lips, he needed oxygen, he needed to control himself. He was scolding himself for feeling like a horny teenager.

“This is… wrong,” he said in a panic. He moved his hand away from you. You wrapped your fingers around his wrist in a fierce grip.

“Please…” you begged, “please don’t stop. I… I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Please, Lucas… I need you… I need you to finish this.”

He could hear the need in your voice. He could smell your arousal. You were clawing your nails into his skin. The look in your eyes was clear that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. The same eyes were shining with unshed tears, begging him for release, and the sound of his name from your lips was making him so close to breaking his resolve.

“I… can’t… you’re my patient,” he groaned, his forehead showing the concerned lines of wrinkles, which made him look even more desirable.

“Can’t you make an exception? Just this once? Please...”

Lucas ran a gloved hand through his short-cropped hair. He turned away from you, needing support for his shaky legs he leaned against the back of his office chair. He was thinking about it, really thinking about it.

“Please, doll. Don’t test me. I’m standing on the edge, and I’m this close to jumping in with both feet. I can lose my career, and I don’t want you to regret this tomorrow.”

You watched as his shoulders sank. You moved off the examination table, pulling the hem of your shirt down to try to cover your nakedness.

“I’m sorry, dr. Syverson. I… I didn’t mean to put you in such a precarious situation,” your voice was small. Your gaze firmly on the wooden floor beneath your feet, you felt so ashamed to have tried to seduce your gynaecologist, who was only trying to help you. Lucas turned around to the sound of your voice breaking, and a little saddened that you started calling him his title again. Your cheeks flushed, your arms wrapped around yourself. You gathered the courage to move towards your clothes.

“Damn it!” he cursed. He moved towards you with the speed of lightning before you could take a single step. His large muscular frame wrapped around you, your head was laying on his chest, listening to the racing of his heartbeat.

“Say ‘you’re fired’,” he ordered, his voice husky and commanding like some kind of army captain, but it was also desperate. Desperate for you not to leave him. Craving your touch. Desiring, longing, yearning, lusting for you. 

Your eyes widened in shock as you processed his words. He heard you gasp as you realised what he was saying.

“Dr. Syverson… you’re fired,” you whispered seductively, although a little shaky too. You watched as the sweet and calm doctor changed before your very eyes.

He clashed his lips with yours in a hungry kiss. He was starving; his only thought was to taste you that was his only goal. Your scent had been making him insane; famished was more correctly described.

While holding you in his arms, he made you move backwards until your bum found the end of the exam table.

His kisses were desperate, and so were you. Your heart felt as if it was about to beat out of your chest. Your breathing was shallow. It was going to happen; it was really going to happen.

He lifted you up and made you sit on the exam table. He parted your legs and went to stand between them. He cupped your face between his warm palms, leaning down to kiss you again. He kissed your jaw and all the way to the shell of your ear.

“Please, don’t regret this,” he whispered and went to touch his forehead against yours.

“I want it, even more than you do,” you answered breathlessly.

With your consent, there was no turning back now.

He devoured your mouth while his hands roamed all over your body. He unbuttoned your blouse while you shoved his white coat to the floor. You pulled at his button-up, buttons were flying everywhere. He shoved your shirt down your shoulders and off your arms before he threw it somewhere behind him. You ran your hands up and down his hairy chest, wanting to feel all of him, not the doctor, but the fine specimen of a man that he was.

He removed your bra with a flick of his fingers. Slowly revealing your breast to him. Your nipples two hard buds, waiting for his mouth to suck, lick, bite, whatever he wanted to do.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered. His voice was desperate, so filled with lust, but also something oh so sweet.

Lucas moved his lips down your collar bone. Feasting on your breast, nibbling at your skin, before he finally went to town with your nipples. With the first touch of his tongue on your left breast, while he pinched the right, you let out a loud guttural sound. Just him playing with your bosom was about to send you over the edge. The coil in your belly was so close to snapping.

“More… Please, Lucas, more,” you whimpered, pushing his head to the place where you needed his mouth the most, right between your thighs.

You heard him chuckle. He gently pushed you down, making sure you were comfortable before he hooked your legs over his shoulders for better access to your glistening desire.

“Fuck…” you mewled. The sight of the mountain man between your legs, the growing bulge in his dark trousers was so erotic you were about to combust. Your sex was on fire.

“Your body is divine, bug. It was made to be worshipped. I want to make the pain go away,” he said softly.

You didn’t get to say a word as his tongue ran along the seam of your wetness, making you shutter from the first contact. His tongue was wide and long, his mouth blowing hot air as he sucked your lower lips gently.

That tongue of his was everywhere, inside you, lavishing you, adoring every centimetre of your flushed skin. You lifted your head to watch him working you into a frenzy, right as he sucked his index finger into his mouth, coating the digit with his saliva.

The pleasure that he was giving you was overwhelming. The moment he pushed his finger inside your womanhood, was like nothing you had felt before. His finger was warm, and it was a whole different feeling than when he was gloved. His tongue darted out to play with the glistening pearl hiding between your lips, sucking in his finger. Your wetness allowed his movements to be smooth and easy, in and out, and he found that spot that made you howl in ecstasy.

“Luc… I’m… I’m so close… FUCK!”

The coil broke, snatched, ripped apart. You weren’t pushed over the edge, you were shoved, hard, and the pleasuring waves kept coming and coming. It felt as if your orgasm was never-ending. You never wanted to come down from that high. It was addictive.

You released your hold of Sy’s head from your thighs, not having noticed you had trapped him. You were panting hard, trying to catch your breath after the tsunami of an orgasm the doctor had given you.

Lucas’ palm covered your cheek, wiping the tears that had fallen from your eyes.

“Did I hurt you, doll?” his face scrunched in concern.

You shook your head, no.

“No… that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced.”

The smile on Lucas’ face was breathtaking. He was beaming with pride. You watched as he leaned back, noticing he was still wearing his trousers. The apparent bulge in his abdominal area looked painful.

You moved to sit up, motioning for him to stand.

“I want to return the favour,” you told him, unzipping his trousers. You were gentle, as the tent grew more extensive, the more you released his manhood from its confinement. You helped him out of his black boxer briefs and came face to face with the finest cock you had ever laid eyes on. You were drooling, licking your lips, dying to taste him.

“You don’t have to, angel,” he groaned as your tongue darted out to taste the precum leaking from the tip, hearing him growl, a sound coming from deep inside him.

“Please let me, Sy,” you pleaded, taking his length in your hand. You looked up to see Lucas nodding slowly. He groaned in acceptance.

You ran your tongue over your palm to lubricate it. Lucas’ eyes widened to the size of teacups. His cock jolting in excitement, his heart skipping a beat at the erotic scene happening right before him.

One hand touched his hips, moving to the small of his back, to have a grip on his ass, pushing him closer to your face. He filled your hand beautifully with his hardness, yet he was still soft to the touch of your palm. You started moving your hand up, slowly, hearing his gasp was turning you on even more than you already were. You smeared the clear precum around the glans with your thumb. Delicately wrapping your mouth around him. Your lips were stretched to max capacity, a voice in the back of your mind was telling you that you had to be careful not to lock your jaws, but then again you had a doctor right in front of you if the situation should happen.

You languidly moved his member further into your warm mouth, coating him with your saliva. Your tongue gliding over the tip. Lucas released a low moan that sent vibrations through his body. He lifted his face towards the ceiling. Your hand left his ass, moving down his thighs, tickling the backside of his knee, before travelling up the inside of his thigh and gently cupping his balls.

“Fuuuuuuck…” he guttered. You sucked the part that could fit in your mouth in synchronicity with your hand’s movement. He felt the tightening deep within his testicles. The hitching in his breath notified you of his coming release. You led his hands to your scalp, letting his fingers fisting your hair, before giving him a sultry look with his cock in your mouth.

He was grunting hard as he set the pace, while you did your best to keep up with him. Moving his hips, chasing his release inside your mouth. You relaxed your throat, letting him take over. You wanted so much to please him. 

“Fuck, sunshine… I’m so close,” he growled.

“Come in my mouth,” you uttered. It was like something within him snapped the minute you voiced the words. He moved faster, harder, rougher. Until you felt the first spurts of his seed hitting your palate. You swallowed everything he spilt and then licked him clean.

Sy fumbled with his office chair as he sat down with a satisfied hum and pulled you to sit on his lap.

“That was amazing,” he smiled at you, kissing the tip of your nose, your cheek, the corner of your mouth and lastly a lingering kiss on your reddened lips.

“Glad you approve,” you grinned back, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“About those books,” you pointed towards the books you had peeked at earlier.

“Theses I had to write for med school.”

“Tell me about them while you rest for round two.”

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Live Stream Murderer (Part 2) | Spencer Reid x reader

Requested by @thatsonezesty13 / Summary: You’re kidnapped by the Live Stream Murderer, who is in search of his soulmate. He tortures the women for 36 hours and whoever lasts that long is in his eyes; his soulmate. Will you make it through the 36 hours of torture? 

| Part 1 | 

A/N: here is part 2! Thank you for all the attention on part 1! I love seeing all the likes, reblogs and comments, especially the ones asking to be tagged so they don’t miss the next part! <3 hopefully you all enjoy this one as much as part 1!! xx 

*possible trigger warning and could spoil the ending of part 2 for you; blood, talks of death, description of a bloody and headless person 

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} CLOSED

** Rules for Requesting **

** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

Your head was pounding, and you could feel your body was weak from the torture. How long had you been passed out? The last thing you remembered was a hot poker penetrating your side. There sitting in front of you was the man who would probably haunt your nightmares for forever.

He wore a sickening smile, “Hi.. I was wondering when you would wake up.” He stood up and held a red straw to your lips.

“Fuck you.” You whispered weakly. There was no telling what was in that drink and you weren’t about to find out. 

He frowned, “But you’ve made it 28 hours.. only 8 more and you’ll be,” His fingers went to caress your cheek, but you revolted at his touch, “my soulmate.” He said the last word like he was in a loving haze. 

You’d made it through 28 hours with this psychopath? You watched as the man went to the storage closet and pulled out multiple instruments and set them on the table next to you. He clicked a button on a remote and the camera in front of you flashed a red button. You figured it was live streaming now and there was a chance the whole world was watching this freak torture you; including Spencer. 

Oh, Spencer. Your heart felt overwhelmed at the thought of him. He’d suffered the loss of Maeve and you worried he would never recover. This was probably bringing those terrible emotions back to the surface. 

“I have to see if you can withstand more pain.” His voice was behind you and then a knife cutting the ties off your left arm. If you weren’t weak, you’d try to fight him with one hand, but with your injuries suffered so far and the knife still in your leg, there wasn’t much to do. 

“I have to see if you’re my soulmate.” His fingers gripped your upper arm, “This might hurt.” 

Your breathing increased as you wondered what was next. Your eyes fixated on the camera in front of you and you tried to focus on the one thing that made you happy. The one thing you loved most in this world. Spencer Reid. 

~ 

It was a trick you’d been taught during your training. You were keeping your mind preoccupied by coming up with various scenes, happy scenes. Spencer’s face crossed your mind and suddenly you were transported to a library. You were sitting across Spencer, books in front of the both of you. You could see him peeking every once and a while to look at you. You knew because you were doing the same thing to him. 

 “If you keep staring at me, we aren’t ever going to get this finished.” 

His fingers continued to dance across the page as he read and he gave a small smile, “I’m not staring at you.” 

“Okay.” You shut your book, amused, “Tell me what you just read.” 

His fingers stopped and he knew he’d been caught. He finally looked up at you, “I have no idea what I just read.” 

You let out a laugh, “Spencer Reid!” You stood, “We have to finish this paper for Dr. Johnson’s class!” Grabbing the two books on the table, you headed toward a row of library books, “These don’t have what I need.” 

In this imaginary world you and Spencer were young, college students. It was a normal life with no danger. No BAU. No cases. Just you and Spencer living a normal life. 

“I’m sorry!” He chuckles, standing to follow you. He stops behind you as you put the two books back on the shelves, “how am I supposed to concentrate when I’m in front of the most beautiful girl in this universe?” 

You turned around and faced him, “Spencer Reid.” 

“y/n y/l/n.” He copied your tone, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, “I love you.” Those three words. You wanted to hear it again. 

“Say it again.” Your fingers wrapped around his wrist as he cupped your cheek.

His other hand cupped your other cheek and subconsciously caressed your cheek with his thumb, “I love you.” 

~ 

You let out a scream as the man pulled on your arm, dislocating your shoulder from it’s socket. No no.. take me back. Take me back to standing there with Spencer in that library where you heard the words you’d wished he’d confess. 

How much more of this could you take? How much more could anyone take? This was an insane amount of pain and all you wanted to do was sleep. You wanted to give up. 

You sobbed, finally breaking, “Please stop.. just please.” 

“I can’t.” He sighs, “36 hours.” He taps the watch on his wrist. 

You were fading, or at least you wanted to fade away. You’d been strong during all this because you knew you’d get to see Spencer again. He’d been the one to keep you going during this, but right now you don’t know how much more you could take. You wanted to make it through this just to be able to tell him how you felt. Your thoughts slowed and the darkness consumed you. 

~ 

As soon as the live stream was posted, Penelope began working her magic. However, it was still proven to be a challenge on pinpointing the location. 

He had to watch as the man pulled your arm out of it’s socket and listen to your screams of agony. He’d kill him. He knew if he’d ever see this man he’d kill him with his own bare hands for harming you in this way, such a public way. 

“Please.. please hang on just a bit longer.” He pleaded to the screen. 

More disappointment as the live stream cut off when your eyes went closed. You’d passed out from the overwhelming amount of pain and exhaustion. 

~ 

8 hours later there was another livestream, but this time there wasn’t anyone seated in the chair. You were gone and his mind went to worst. You’d lost the battle. 

“I’ve got it! I’ve got the location!” Penelope yelled through the comms, the location immediately sent to everyone’s phone. 

There wasn’t time to think as everyone rushed out the door and toward the known location. However, when they arrived, it was Hotch and JJ who went in first. As Spencer followed, Hotch immediately came back out stopping him at the door. 

“You don’t need to go in there.” 

Spencer was confused, “What? Why not?” He tried to push passed Hotch again and the look on JJ’s face told him everything he needed to know. “Let me see!” 

Hotch lost the grip on the determination of Spencer and he passed through the door way. Spencer skitted to a stop at the sight before him. No no no. 

His knees his the floor.  This wasn’t happening again, please no. He silently begged. “No! No no!” He couldn’t help the sobs that overcame his body. 

There in the middle of the room laying on a blanket where the chair had been was your headless body in a pool of blood. 

Criminal Minds tag list: @thelovelydreamer17​ , @la-vie-en-amour1​ , @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25​ , @astra-inclinant-sed-non-obligant (possibly: @astra-x-inclinant​)  , @bluerose512​ , @lolychu​ , @varsityalthete​ , @televisiondreamstomorrow​ , @harry-hollands​ , @lumineshawn​ , @lyss-xo​ , @rexorangecouny​ , @sassy-hades​ , @britishspidey​ , @ateez-star​

***i’ve added all the ones asked to be tagged in this story to my criminal minds tag list because I only have taglists by the shows and/or character I write for instead of specific stories. In the future if you’d like to be taken off the list, just shoot me a message! xx 

All my works tag list:  @blossomreed​ , @mggstyles  , @simonsbluee​ , @thewolf-and-thesheep​ , @obxrafejjwhore​ , @abbiesthings​ , @itstaskeen​ , @reniescarlett​

[twiceinadream]

“Blow off some steam.”

Requested: Yup

Request: dom!jeongyeon x fem!s/o if you could? business (like workplace thing) au where jeongyeon gets stressed with all the things she needs to get done and wants reader to relieve it

a/u: Hey, guys! I’m back and with another Jeongyeon prompt, it feels like forever since I’ve written for my bias. This AU is basically the Tdoong Entertainment season 2 so if you’re ever confused that’s what I’m referencing. I hope y’all enjoy, I love you guys!

Word Count: 2k

Category: NSFW and Fluff

Jeongyeon slouched back in her chair as she closed her eyes, she could feel them straining against the harsh glare of the computer screen as she reached a hand up to massage her temples. Everyone had already left the company nearly an hour ago, even her manager Myoui Mina had beat her to clocking out as she was left with a mountain of work to finish before the end of the week. She sighed heavily as she heard her phone buzz, her face lighting up as your name flashed on the screen: Hey Jagi! Are you coming home soon? Food’s getting cold.

The brunette frowned as she typed back: Sorry, don’t wait up for me. I'm still at the office going through projects. I’ll pick something up later, love you <3

Jeong waited for your: Love you too. Before setting her phone down and continued going over the mountain of paperwork Chaeyoung had sent her this morning, ‘And they said they’d take it easy on me when I got back from the business trip.’ The Korean girl mused as she scrolled through another file.

—

Across town you could sense your girlfriend wasn’t as “good” as she was trying to play off, ‘If Jeong says she’s gonna eat later, that may as well be never.’ Shaking your head to yourself as you decided to pack up the dinner you had cooked and make your way down to Tdoong Entertainment, ‘At least she’ll be happy to see me.’

—

When you arrived the place was nearly dead save for a custodian or two mopping up the floors as you rode the elevator to your girlfriend’s floor. The dark hallways made you a little nervous as you held the bag closer to your body before spotting the only computer screen still on, and to your relief your girlfriend was sitting in front of it. A soft smile graced your lips as you walked as quietly over to her as possible before wrapping your arms around her from behind. Jeongyeon jumped at the contact as spun around in her chair throwing you off, “What the..Y/N!?”

You laughed lightly, “The one and only.” You smiled brightly as Jeong wrapped you in a proper hug, her nose buried in your neck as you felt her relax in your hold.

“What’re you doing here?” She mumbled against your neck refusing to let go as you just held her.

“I figured you probably weren’t going to eat so I decided to bring dinner to you instead. What are you doing here so late?” The brunette pulled away to place a peck on your lips.

“I got a shit ton of work sent to me from Chae this morning so I have to get a move on if I want it done by the deadline, which is the end of the week.” She sighed as she fell back in her chair leaving you standing.

“Well, that sucks. But I’ll stay with you till you finish up for the night.” You reached into the bag and pulled out two sets of Tupperware filled with kimchi-jjigae and some rice along with two pairs of chopsticks and spoons, “Bon appetit.”

Jeong thanked you as she turned back to the computer taking a bite every so often as you pulled a chair from Momo’s desk beside your girlfriend as a calm silence fell between the two of you.

—

Another hour of silence passed before Jeongyeon once again fell back in her seat, this time massaging one of her shoulders as you looked up from your phone in concern. “Want some help?”

Your girlfriend just nodded as you rose from the chair moving to stand behind her as you softly began kneading the tense muscles under her grey suit jacket. A contented sigh falling from her lips as she leaned into your touch, enjoying the feel of her body relaxing as your hands ventured down further till you were lightly brushing her sides. Her eyes cracking open as she felt your hands move to the front of her shirt, as you began massaging her breasts lightly. “You’re being naughty.”

You shrugged innocently as Jeong stared up at you, “I don’t know what you mean.” The brunette rolled her eyes as she swiveled the chair around to face you.

“Oh I think you do.” She smiled as she stood up, looking over you with a predatory stare making you swallow a lump in your throat, before she leaned in to whisper in your ear, “You’re being a brat.”

You shuddered as her breath tickled the sensitive skin of your ear as you felt heat begin to pool in your stomach, “N..no, I just want you to blow off some steam.”

Your body felt hot as Jeongyeon’s arm snaked around your waist pulling you closer to her as her lips left open mouthed kisses along the side of your neck, you felt like putty under her touch as you melted into her kisses as she flipped your guy’s position so she could push you against her desk. The back of your thighs hit the table as your girlfriend connected your lips in a kiss before she helped you onto the desk, she wedged herself between your legs as she slipped her hands under your shirt.

Shivering under the cool touch of her fingers as she worked her way to the clasp of your bra, expertly removing it with a flick of her wrist as you felt it go slack on your shoulders. She broke the kiss to look you in the eyes as she silently asked for permission to continue, you returned it with a nod as she worked your shirt over your head and took your bra with it exposing your breasts to cool air of the office as your nipples hardened to stiff peaks from the cold and your arousal. Arousal that you were sure could be seen soaking through the front of your underwear as Jeong moved her hands to work on your pants as she took a stiffened bud into her mouth.

She used her tongue to circle the sensitive skin around your areola as she popped the button to your jeans, using her hands to slowly work the material down your legs as you lifted up on the desk slightly. Releasing your breast with a pop as she placed a kiss to the valley in between your boobs before she began trailing them down your stomach till she stopped above the waistband of your underwear. She was on her knees in front of you with a smile painting her face from ear to ear, sure enough you looked down to see that your excitement was more than visible to the naked eye as she decided that she wanted to tease you further.

Moving away from where you wanted her most so she could place languid kisses and nips to your inner thighs and leave marks where no one but she could admire them. Your fists clenched tighter as you tried to behave but your girlfriend had been dragging this on for far too long and you were growing impatient. And after enduring another few minutes of her teasing you couldn’t take it anymore, “Jeongie please.”

The brunette’s eyes flicked up to your face at your sudden outburst, “Please what?” The smug smirk on her face made you want to roll your eyes, but you knew better than that, as you sighed.

“Please...fuck me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you ducked your head in shame.

“What was that Y/N-ah?” Jeongyeon pushed as your face turned all the more red.

“I said…” You shook your head as you rid yourself of your nerves, “Fuck me. Please fuck me!”

Finally satisfied with your answer, Jeongyeon hooked her fingers into the elastic of your underwear, “No need to beg, baby.” She smirked as she placed a kiss to your clothes clit before pulling the fabric down your legs. You barely had enough time to lift your hips so she could get the garment off and the next thing you knew her tongue was at your entrance.

You were leaking like a faucet as your girlfriend lapped up your juices, her skilled tongue knew all the special spots that made your toes curl and your core tighten. She worked you like a finely tuned instrument as your moans filled the empty office floor, bouncing off every wall as you let the world know just how well Yoo Jeongyeon made love to you.

Your fingers found its way into her hair as she continued eating you out, you pulled gently at her tresses as she began suckling your clit. Your thighs tightened around her head as the coil in your stomach felt like it was getting wound tighter and tighter. It seemed as though your orgasm was no less than a stone’s throw away till Jeong inserted a finger inside of you did things turn up a notch.

It wasn’t much of a stretch but she wasn’t playing around when she found the spongy patch of flesh along the frontal wall of your snatch, giving it an experimental push before hooking her finger into your g-spot. The overwhelming sensation of the feeling of her tongue on your clit and her finger jackhammering against your g-spot sent your body into an unexpected orgasm that shook you to your core.

It all happened faster than you could have ever processed. One second you were on the verge of coming and the next thing you knew you were thrown headlong into one of the most intense orgasms of your life. Your body shook uncontrollably as your girlfriend didn’t let up on the attention she was giving you even if your screams grew so loud she figured the entire building and anyone lingering outside could probably hear you reaching cloud 9. But instead of stopping, she encouraged you to keep coming as your entire body seized around her.

The last thing you remember was your vision going white as you laid slack in Jeongyeon’s arms. A satisfied smile on her face as she carefully set you in a chair and began redressing you so she could get you into the car and back home.

She figured the reports could wait till tomorrow.

-

The next morning Jeongyeon had walked onto the floor and no more than five seconds of her being there Mina had yelled at her to come into her office. The brunette did as she was told following the flustered looking Japanese women who could barely look her in the eyes. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife when Jeong spoke up, “So, what is this about Mina-ssi?”

The raven haired woman opened her mouth to speak before closing it when no words came out, her eyes darted back to her computer then briefly at Jeongyeon then back to the computer. A light blush began coloring her cheeks as she pinched the bridge of her nose, “If we gave you too much work, you could have just said so.”

Jeongyeon cocked her head in confusion as she looked at her manager in confusion, “What’re you…”

Mina turned her computer screen around so the older woman could get a third person view of what you and her had gotten up to last night at the office, “There. Are. Cameras.” The brunette’s jaw dropped as her pupils seemed to turn into saucers.

“I…” Jeong was rendered speechless as her face took on an unhealthy shade of red, refusing to look the other woman in the eyes.

“Just, don’t do it again. Please. I don’t need HR coming in here with an ‘inappropriate use of office space’ presentation. Am I clear?” Mina fell back into her chair with an exasperated sigh, turning the screen back around so that it was only facing her.

Jeongyeon nodded her head earnestly, “Of course, it won’t happen again. I swear.”

Sighing again, Mina nodded, “Good, now get back to work. I assume you still have projects from last night to finish.”

The teasing lilt was not lost on the Korean woman as she walked to the door, stopping before she could leave, “Oh, Mina-ssi?” The Japanese woman looked up from her desk to face her, “Is...is there a possibility I could get a copy of that?”

Mina’s face went pale then red as she yelled, “Out, Yoo Jeongyeon! Out, out, out!”

The elder’s laugh followed her out as she yelled back, “Great talking with you boss!”

[simon-x-billy]

Simon x Billy

Dear Cassandra Clare, I’m sorry for pretending that Simon Lewis wrote every one of your books. To be fair, he’s still writing book 4. Please forgive?

No knowledge of The Mortal Instruments required, except this: Simon Lewis was in them.

——-/-/——-

Chapter 5: Are you alive?

AN: Simon’s finally over Voldemort. We can all breathe a sigh of relief for the death of crying chibi Simon. Thanks for bearing with him through his dark period. Meanwhile, Billy needs some damn context. This is based pretty solidly on a combination of scenes from the BBC’s terrible sitcom Me & Mrs. Jones, from whence the character Billy Delaney comes. And escapes and lives on as an actual human here. This one’s for you, Billy. I hope I’m doing you justice.

TW: Trans themes, which I hope I handled with sensitivity and love. If not, please comment and let me know how I can do better. Also, Billy is a man whore. Don’t hate. He loves women.

Masterlist | ao3 | Start | Prev | Next

Guest starring, Alfie Jones

Chapter 5: Are you alive?

-----//Billy//-----

I’ve barely made it two months.

Billy: Are you alive?

Simon: Who is this?

Billy: You know who this is - are you alive?

Simon: Yes

-----/-/-----

Last time I saw this name on my screen, reckon it’d be about a month past. But here I am just leavin to fetch Anna Lucia and my text notification sounds out.

First dates. That’s a great feelin, isn’t it? You know you’re gonna kiss, but you don’t know when. Your heart’s poundin. And then the cell buzzes. Hope she’s not begging off. Took her ages to even sustain eye contact with me. To be honest, you know you’re bein flirted with when I come at yeh. Not that I’ve been pesterin her. Her eyes just couldn’t bear lookin straight into the sun. Ah, I’m only jokin.

Right, give m’self one last lookover. “Teeth, check. Hair, check. Cock in, check. Smell good, check. Phone, check. Text check?”

Simon: Are you alive?

Billy: Obviously

Simon: Why is it obvious

Billy: I responded

Simon: Yeah, but I couldn’t know that until you responded

Billy: Then I responded, and you knew. Obvious

Billy: What’s up, man? All right? You well?

Time check. Tick tock tick tock. Come on, man, I can’t be sat here waitin on yeh to decide whether yer textin back. Anna Lucia’s-

Simon: There was an earthquake in Northern Italy

Billy: Yes, that is correct - there was an earthquake in Northern Italy

Simon: You ok?

Billy: Yeah man, did you worry? That’s so sweet

Simon: Shut up

Billy: Then you wouldn’t know whether I survived the earthquake in Northern Italy

Billy: Don’t be losin sleep on my account, man - I’m well to the south

Billy: Big landmass, we’re not fallin into the sea - that sorta thing only happens in America

I pause, thinkin that he might take the bait, but it’s been a minute without a response and I’ve got a stunner waitin on me.

Condoms? Definitely. Check.

-----//Simon//-----

Billy: Simon

Simon: What

Billy:

The little typing-in-progress dots start and stop, and start and stop again.

Billy: Nevermind.

Nevermind. Nevermind? Nevermind?! What the fuck?! You can’t just - grrrrrr. Sometimes I hate that guy.

Shit. What if something’s wrong.

What if he’s lost fingers and can’t thumb in a text. Besides “Simon” and “nevermind.” Yeah, no, that’s ludicrous, Lewis. Obviously. Certo.

Two hours later, and I’m still distracted. ‘Nevermind?’ Rude.

Annoying.

Fucking obnoxious, is what it is.

I do not need this kind of thing in my life. And I don’t even know the guy. So I delete him from my contacts.

I already kinda regret it.

Fuck.

——-/-/——-

So yeah. Fuck. I still regret it.

For a whole week. Shit.

Did I put it under Terrazze……. Or di Limoni? Ah, ok. The phone ringing in Italian sounds weird and wrong. Sorta like me in Italian.

“Ciao, Terrazze di Limoni, parlando Rosalina. Come posso aitutarti?”

“Um, si, I’m good, thank you — um, I don’t parlo Italiano.”

“Si, signore. How can I help you?”

“Thanks. I’m looking for Billy Delaney. Or, actually, I just need his phone number. I lost it.”

Nothing.

“Billy from the restaurant?” I clarify.

Again, nothing. “Yes?” I ask.

“Yes? I do not understand you, Signore Laywees. Is this a question?”

Ok, redirect. “Do you know his cell phone number? Please?”

“I can not no.”

“Is there someone who does know his number? Maybe the computer?”

“No. Non signore. I am not permiso. Emmm, how you say, permit to give to you the informazione that is personal to him.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I can understand that. Makes sense. But since I know him?”

She is silent, again. Until, “I do not understand you, Signore Laywees. Is this a question?”

“I’d really like to talk to him. Via text, I mean. Send a text - to him.”

“Sí, signore.”

“Yes? You’ll give it to me?”

“No.”

“Do you remember that he and I are friends? I stayed in the suite up on the top floor?”

“Si. You are the American on the roof.”

“I what? No, nevermind. He is still at the hotel, though, right?” Maybe I can just ask to speak to the mana-

“No.”

“Wait, what?”

“No. He is no longer at the hotel.”

“But he’s still in Sorrento, right?”

“No.”

“But-“

“He is in London,” she adds.

“Wait, what?”

“He is in London.”

“I didn’t know that,” I say quietly to myself.

“Certo.”

So now it’s even more important that she give me his number. Cuz if I ever need to get in touch with him, there’s no way they’d give it to me. Not a chance.

“No.”

Goddammit, Lewis. “Did I say that out loud?”

“It was quiet, Signore.”

“Pardon?”

“Si. I perdonna you.”

Help? Confused. “Please, I need to talk- to text him. Even more now that he isn’t in Italy anymore. If you don’t share his number,” I say, kinda more to myself than to her, “then that’s it.”

“What is it?”

“I mean-“ Shit, I suppose that really is it, then. I won’t get to tell him I’m over Voldemort and her nighty. I was kinda looking forward to that. “I guess it’s just that that will be it. In terms of knowing him. Friends. So, yeah. I guess I just won’t know him anymore.” This is the single most embarrassing experience I have ever had. Since Italy.

“Ah, si. Si.” She stretches out the last word, so it sounds like she’s mulling something over.

“Signore Laywees,” she says in a muffled whisper. “His numero is-“

——-/-/——-

Simon: Billy

That Irishman:

——-/-/——-

Rude!

——-/-/——-

Three days later it’s even ruder. More rude. (I’m allowed to think with bad grammar.)

I shouldn’t have bothered getting the number. That’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back. I mean, how many more days is he… You know what? Fuck it. I don’t even care.

This is me not caring.

At all.

—--//Billy//—--

Fucksake, Simon. I was with a girl. Lucrezia with the long legs, and what, you want me to pull out to answer your text?

Y’ know what - I’m done with this. He’s alive. That’s fine. All I needed to know.

Deleted.

—--//Simon//—--

Simon: Where are you?

That Irishman: New phone, who dis?

I - wow. That kind of - stung.

Stings.

—--/-/—--

It’s been a week and it’s still stinging.

Simon: Are you alive?

I couldn’t go a week without texting. What the fuck is wrong with me.

That Irishman: New phone, who dis?

Ow.

He ghosted me. Actually, like, in reality, intentionally ghosted me.

Simon: You know who this is.

You know what? I’m done.

I still do not need this in my life right now. My book placing Simon out front as main character is due in two months, but Me Simon, the author? I’m still stuck. I still suck. I’ve scrapped everything I’ve written about him.

So of course I start writing an entirely different story. Which then turns into an idea for a Warlock spinoff series for my most flamboyant and interesting character.

It’s a love story between boys. It’s been building over the course of all three books, and I just can’t shove it out of my head. And the fans want that just as much as they want a Simon book. Easiest way to avoid doing something you need to do? Do something else you need to do.

Shit. I need to do some research.

That Irishman: Why?

Huh. Interesting point. I-

Simon: I don’t know

—--//Billy//—--

I think we’ve gotten past our - whatever it was a few weeks ago. That was weird. Yeah, weird. We were up each other’s arses about - what? Nothing at all. Immature and grating, and yet, we’re still texting. A little more often now. But usually it’s of the “are you alive?” variety, with single word, single syllable answers from Simon. “Are you over her?” “Yes,” that sort of thing. I can’t tell whether he’s pissed, or just wants to know I’m alive. I thought I was supposed to be knowing that he was alive.

Billy: Are you alive?

Grumpy: I guess

Billy: Two words! We’re making progress

Grumpy: Shut up

I laugh.

Billy: I’m not talking, I’m texting. If you want me to stfu, just put the phone down

Billy: Try it - now

Billy: See? Silence. Wasn’t that nice?

Grumpy: You really can’t can you

Billy: Can’t what

Grumpy: Shut up

Billy: Jaysus, Simon. Put the phone back down. I don’t need to be hearing you being mean

Grumpy: Funny

Billy: You know man, you’re like the Hemingway of texting

Grumpy: So literary

Well, he’s not biting. Much. Why do I bother? Have a better conversation with the cat.

Of course my friend Rachel’s a cat person. I like that about her. And her cat.

So I feed the cat. And Rachel, before she’s back to her pub downstairs. I potter about the kitchen, tidying up while I wait to hear back from my best mate, Alfie.

I feel my cell buzz in my back pocket, just as I’m puttin the several thank-you meals I’ve made Rachel into the fridge.

Alfie: We still on mate?

Billy: Do you really have to ask?

Alfie: Yes!

Alfie: I mean no

Alfie: I mean I know - just looking forward to seeing you mate

Alfie: Worried you wouldn’t want to see everyone - you know what I’m trying to say

Billy: I think what you’re trying to say is you’re leaving the house now

—--/-/—--

Is this- I think this is shot #3. She gave us two, and then- so that’s 4? I think.

Oooh, my arse is vibrating. But not for the fun reason.

“Whoa-what Alfie?!” has just grabbed me - bodily - and pulled me up against him.

“Alfie, I love you, mate. You’re a mostly good friend and I guess you’re kinda cute, but-”

He flips us around, drops his arse onto a bar stool, and makes himself very small.

“Tired, mate?” I’m frowning down at him when Rachel sets up another pair of shots.

“For the birthday boy. Where’d he get off to?” she asks, pretendin to survey the room.

I snort. “Here’s yer man. This tiny human here in front of me who appears to find my Vegas belt buckle fascinating. Alfie, mate, what’re yeh-”

“I’m hiding,” he hisses.

“But why?”

And of course it’s just as I’m throwin back shot #5 (4?) when the great eejit grabs me about the waist, yanks me to him, and buries his face in my navel.

So now I’m chokin on vodka and he’s hissing at me to shut up and stand still. “The fuck? What’re you doin?! Stop it,” I wheeze.

“Shhh!”

Still tryin to see past the blindin fire in my sinuses. “Fucksake, Alfie! You know I just blew a shot of clear alcohol out my nose. And I know you do cos you’ve vodka snot in your hair, and runnin down the side of yer face, mate. What the fuck?”

“I don’t care, shhhh!”

So I stand very still and speak very quietly. “Alfie, mate. Why don’t you care that you’ve vodka snot – my snot – runnin down yer face?”

That’s when he grabs both my arms and slaps them on the bartop, caging himself in.

This once again catches Rachel’s eye at the other end of the bar, and she shoots me a quick look. I answer with a shrug.

“Do I even want to know?” she asks, headin back our way.

“Would both of you shut up? Hide me!”

Rachel rolls her eyes and leaves me with the child in my arms.

“I’d say I’m flattered, mate,” I whisper. “But you’re freakin me out now. I’m assumin it’s a girl, yeah? Which one is she?”

I’m looking into the bar mirror and spot a face from a lifetime ago.

“Alfie, is that-”

“It’s that fit Thai bird from Bangkok.”

“Alfie, is that Ken?”

Guest starring, Ken

Alfie buries his face in my navel again.

“Yes?” he says in a guilty squeak.

“Why is she here?” I ask very slowly, as if I’m speakin to someone not so bright. Because I am speakin to someone not so bright.

“Erm, well… Because I live here? Probably?”

I need another pint. And vodka’s put me off, as that’s a pain that’s gonna linger in my nasal passages. I signal the lovely Rachel, who nods as she begins to pull me a pint.

“Alfie. Why are yeh hidin? From Ken. Who is now where yeh live. And not in Bangkok.”

“I sort of…”

I give him the ol’ eyebrow encouragement.

“I’ve kind of been sending her sexy pokes…erm, sexy poking with her.”

“For a year?! Wait, no. How long has it been since Thailand? Have you been sexy poking her all this time?”

“Shhhh!” And back to my navel he goes. “I didn’t invite her! She’s just here! Over there,” he says with a muffled rumble into my belly.

“I have a feelin that’s just the beginning of a very long, very embarrassing story. Don’t let me stop yeh. But yer steamin up my stomach and my vodka snot has now migrated back to me. On my shirt. And you know how I feel about laundry.”

Sighing and shaking my head. “Mate, stop it. Yer actin like a baby. Face yer fears or face responsibility or buy her a drink. Those are yer options.”

“How about we buy me a drink instead?” He looks up hopefully, his hands loosening the vice grip he’s got on me.

“And by we, you mean me,” I state the obvious.

“It is my birthday.”

“And we have a history of phenomenally fucked up birthdays here. Are you plannin to make a regular habit of it?”

Rachel places the perfect pint in front of me. I sigh. “Sure’n I suppose you’ll be wantin my pint then.”

He grins sweetly up at me. “Birthday?”

“Thank yeh, Rachel, love. That’ll be one more. But I’ll be takin this one.”

Alfie whines unintelligibly.

“Alfie!” rings out the voice of a high tenor.

I move aside like the terrible friend that I am.

“Judas!” Alfie cries.

“Ken!” I cry.

“Billy. I like seeing you again. I don’t like seeing this one with his face in another man’s chest!”

“Another man’s-”

“Pickles!” Alfie cries.

Guest starring, Pickles

“Lord Jaysus, Pickles!” I cry. I’m over the moon to see our old mate Cheese & Pickles. Another one Alfie made a hash of a start with, leadin him on. But at least in that case, it had been an honest mistake with a cheese and pickle baguette, and quickly sorted. And we made a solid mate out of the mess. Hoped I’d see him again this year.

Ken, on the other hand, I never had much interaction with her. Nice girl if memory serves, but she is a bit of a wild card. Certo.

I round on Alfie. “How long has this been going on?”

“Two years!” Ken shouts. Oh Alfie, you feckin brainless eejit, look at the state of yeh.

“He said he wanted me. Me. He never said anything about you.”

I watch as Pickles’ jaw drops open at the implication, and his eyes slide from side to side like it’s Wimbledon.

“I say it again, Billy. He told me he wants me. So I came.” Ken is trying to keep a lid on her emotions, but they’re right there at the surface ridin her.

“Erm,” Alfie begins, looking like things are starting to fall into place in that thick skull of his.

“What was that? Squeak up,” I press. “Today’d be grand.”

“Erm, well,” Alfie begins again. “I-” And his face turns cherry red starting from his collar, ending at the very tips of his little mouse ears. “I may have said-”

“I want you so much. You told me over and over. I want you. I want you so much. Come with me. So I came.”

Pickles zips his mouth shut.

Simon would have relished this moment.

“I am beautiful. You told me! How could you be with him? He is not beautiful.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Pickles mutters again.

“Thanks, mate,” I say. No harm in hearin it, if I’m honest.

“And just where were you when you were telling Ken how much you wanted her? How beautiful she is?” Spit it out, man.

“Erm…” says Alfie, eloquent as ever.

“He was on the computer. Where else would he be? He was not in bed with you!” Ken turns on Alfie. “Were you?”

“Erm…” repeats Alfie.

“Have you no sense, you great eejit? You’re makin it worse.” All skull, no brain. Don’t know why I bother.

We need to get her calm, get her some privacy in a nice, cozy snug in the corner, sit down and sort this out. This is too personal for the floor of a pub. Not fair to Ken.

Looking disgusted with Alfie, Pickles steps in and picks up Ken’s hand. “You deserve better,” he says softly but with honest conviction. Good man.

“Yes. I do.” Ken’s eyes are welling.

“Oi!” Alfie exclaims in indignation.

I cut him off with an elbow to the ribs and a glare. “Not helping!” I grit out.

“Oh. Oh!” Alfie takes in a deep breath and gives her a sincere apology. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he says, and once again buries his face in my navel.

“Alfie!” Ken looks like she’s about to cry quite a lot of tears. “You said-”

And right before my eyes, Pickles’ face goes all soft. I watch it happen right in front of me. That moment you see in films when the boy looks at a duckling like he’s never seen one before, and suddenly she’s the loveliest water fowl he’s ever met. “Ken, is it?” he says softly. “He’s not worth it. Come sit down. I’ll get you something to drink, and we can figure it out.”

I incline my head toward the snug at the back part of the room. I can see it’s empty.

Ken raises her head high, and pins Alfie with a deadly glare. “You are not worth my tears. Or my frequent flying kilometers.”

Alfie looks ashamed, as he should do, and wisely keeps his fat trap shut. Wise - for Alfie, that is. Pickles leads Ken across the floor as far from Alfie and me as he can be. “Do you have luggage?” I hear Pickles ask as they walk away. Good man. Damn good man.

“You owe Pickles, mate.”

“All my birthday beer is his.”

“That’s right,” I agree.

“That’s right,” Alfie whispers as he downs his two forgotten shots. “That’s right.”

“Alfie. What’s really goin on here, mate?” I ask him. “You realize you’ll be needin to have an honest talk with Ken, don’t yeh? Pickles may have put the situation on pause for the moment. But she does deserve better, man.”

He looks a bit lost.

“What were yeh thinkin?”

He starts to fidget. “Look, man.” I reassure him. “I’m here for yeh, thick, thin, wide, narrow, tall, short. Female. Male?”

“Or maybe somewhere undefined in-between?” he asks.

“Alfie. I love yeh, mate.” I’m bendin down gettin in his face, bein that the man is avoidin eye contact with his head down. “Nothin else matters, yeh see that, don’t yeh?”

Alfie peeks up and looks at me, barely. He’s unsure and deeply unsettled. Ken, in person, has him rattled; profoundly rattled. And can I blame him? Somethin private – and very likely somethin he thought was just for fun with no consequences – just became public and hit home in a very, very she’s-at-my-home kind of way. So much for no consequences.

“Life is real, Alfie. Life happens. Life has consequences. Life is full of good people, in with the bad. Ken’s one of the good ones, mate. If yeh don’t want anything to do with her-”

“I didn’t say that!” busts out of his mouth, before he can think on it. Which, if I’m honest, describes everything that comes out of Alfie’s mouth. He squeezes his lips together, willing them not to speak.

I let it float for a minute, not wantin to give him any outs, but also not wantin to scare him off speakin. But I break. “No judgement, mate. Do you want Ken?”

He finally lifts his head, and gives me frightened eyes I’ve never seen him wear. “I don’t know?”

“No reason to panic like this. No need to have it all worked out of a sudden, all at once. But you do need to be honest with her; you owe her that. And you need to walk over to that snug with me, sit yerself down across from Ken, and talk to her. Tonight. Let her know how yer feelin, that you might be conflicted, questioning. She’s got to know what that feels like, mate. Hasn’t she?”

He gives me a one-shoulder shrug, lettin me know he’s heard me.

“Go take a piss, do a shot, smoke somethin, whatever. But you’ve got 5 minutes before you have to act like a grown man. I’ll make your excuses til then. And I’m lettin her know you’ll be joinin us in that snug. No runnin from this, mate. She knows where yeh live. Because I’ll give her the street number and drive her there m’self if ye run.”

—--/-/—--

When I finally arrive back up at Rachel’s flat, I’m drunk enough to bump into every wall between the entry and the stairs, which I manage to fall up, and then “Ow!” as I knock my hip against the railing at the top.

I’m tripping as I try to walk out of my jeans and open the bedroom door at the same time. Seems like something that should be possible, walking out of a pair of jeans. It isn’t.

As I fall on my arse with a loud thud and grunt, my guest for the evenin begins laughin at me. I can’t really blame her. I’m drunk. She’s drunk. Neither one of us remembers each others’ names. Doesn’t matter. Except-

Guest starring, Guest

“Oh, Saints preserve us! Jaysus no!”

“What are you on about?” Somethin-somethin-somethin, “on me.”

I’ve no idea what she’s sayin, and couldna care, because I’ve fallen on my phone. “Mary and the sweet baby Jesus, oh thank you. Ohhhh thank you. Oh lord.”

I caress it lovingly – which is really what I should be doing with the bird crawling across the bed in a relatively alluring way. The screen lights up revealing a text notification, and I vaguely remember it buzzing in my pocket at the start of the night. I’d sort of forgotten it, what with Alfie’s nose in my navel. And my nose shortly due to be well below her navel.

Simon: Why

“What? Oh no, not you love. Don’t move a finger. I want yeh just like that.”

Billy: Why what?

He replies almost instantly.

Simon: Why are my texts like Hemingway

Billy: Brief.

I turn off my phone, and drop it on the crumpled and growing mass of clothing on the floor. After all, it’s important I focus all my attention on my guest’s needs. And I’ve a feelin she’ll have many.

—--/Simon/—--

Fuuuuuuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Again.

I have no idea how to write the Simon book and it’s seriously sucking my will to live. Which, you know, vampire Simon and all that.

OK, so here’s the thing. I can’t just suddenly claim I’m totally different from the character, when the fans know I’ve based him on me. And they know I’m a nerd. A huge nerd. I can’t turn him into some super, supernatural, sleek, and sexy vampire. Nope. He has to be confused half the time. And show periodic feats of great courage, followed by moping and pining and loyalty. The fans love it. They eat that shit up. On paper – not in my actual life. Me Simon, I mean. Other Simon gets to mope all he wants and they still think he’s worth reading about. Fuck if I know why.

I can’t turn him into an amalgam of like, hipster-bass-player-shoegazer-vampire. We’ve all already read the one about the rockstar vampire.

So what kind of person would Other Simon wish he could be?

Ugh, well, 15 year old Me Simon just wanted to be cool and get the girl. 15 year old Other Simon is… a vampire, and will get the girl. Maybe two. Eventually.

I think he needs confidence. Other Simon, I mean. That’s what being a vampire gives him. That and killer abs. (Vamp abs are killer. I crack myself up. This is me cracking up.)

I dunno. Now maybe he’ll go be a rockstar at being a super-supernatural superhero, rather than an actual rockstar of music.

Nobody cares that I play bass.

Back when I thought I played guitar. Fender. You know how it is.

You, self in mirror. Nobody cares that you play the bass. Just let it go.

Ok fine. You win. As usual. Nobody wants to hear the stats on my vintage Marshall stacks. Or about my priceless Rickenbacker, played by Sir Paul himself. Oh my god, why? Whyyyyyy? This should be exciting to everyone, everywhere.

I wonder if Billy would say I’m whingeing. How do you even spell that. Winging? Winjing? Whinging?

Actually, wait. Billy’s a confident person. He’s gregarious. Everybody fuckin loves that guy. Sometimes I hate him, just to prove to the universe that it is possible. Sometimes he deserves it, too. Wanker. Twat. Neither of those sound good in American.

Maybe Ma’s right and I should get out more.

Nah.

What would I even do? I’m supposed to be writing. I’m supposed to be writing. Writing. Writing.

I can’t believe I went to Italy and didn’t take one picture. Not one. I had a couple good conversations. All with an Irishman – no one Italian. That would be stupid, Simon. (Me Simon, not Other Simon.)

Fuuuuuck.

——-/-/——-

Simon: I was in the seat of the Roman Empire, on possibly the most awesome sea in the world, and I didn’t fucking notice

That Irishman: Yeah, I noticed

Simon: Where are you?

That Irishman: Sorrento, dinner rush, can’t talk

Simon: Pick me up tomorrow

That Irishman: Wait, what???

That Irishman: Simon

That Irishman: Simon!

——-/-/——-

Masterlist | ao3 | Start | Prev | Next

——-/-/——-

@badsext @super-unpredictable98 @salvador-daley @sheehanksgiving @elliethesuperfruitlover @maerenee930 Hope you guys don’t mind me sending to you.

——-/-/——-

[rxscss]

𝓽𝓪𝓼𝓴 001. - 𝓯𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓭𝓾𝓹𝓸𝓷𝓽

“nice of you to show up sober.” hannah said to felicity with a raise of her brow, causing felicity to offer a roll of her eyes. the woman practically raised her, she was much more than a manager to her. but still, felicity couldn’t stand being spoken to like a child. being someone who barely had parents, she wasn’t exactly one who responded well to authority. “hey, enough with the ‘tude fee, alright? you just got cast in a movie again for the first time in a long time, i had to beg vogue to do this interview with you...don’t fuck it up. just be yourself....your old self.” hannah said giving felicity a raise of her brow as the camera crew knocked at the door. “go ahead, i’ll be in the kitchen.” she said, giving felicity’s shoulder a squeeze. and with that, she took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, before turning on her heel and heading towards the door. “hey vogue, i’m felicity dupont. wanna come in?”

On a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?

"it’s kind of hard to put a number on it, you know? moods constantly change...life constantly changes. and i...took a break for a while, but i’m really excited to start making stuff again.” she said with a soft smile and a nod, although it was the furthest thing from the truth.

Describe yourself in a hashtag?

"#tryingmybest.”

If you could do a love scene with anyone, who would it be?

she couldn’t help the slightest roll of her eyes at the question, wondering if it was a dig at the release of her sex tape. “it’s 2022, i think it’s about time we start equating the value of women’s work in film to the men they have to be intimate with on camera, don’t you?”

If your life was a musical, what would the marquee say?

“a musical? i don’t know maybe ‘one night only,’ i’m not exactly a fan of having my life put on public display.”

What’s one thing people don’t know about you?

"people probably don’t know that i can play 8 instruments - guitar, drums, piano, violin, saxophone, flute, harp and the cello. let’s just say i had a lot of down time in empty studios as a kid.”

What’s your wakeup ritual?

would she give her real wake up ritiual? absolutely not, especially since it usually consisted of taking care of whatever hangover she had. “i like to be active first thing in the morning. go for a run or a swim depending on the weather and really get the blood flowing. but other than that the routine itself differs every day.”

What’s your go to bed ritual?

another one she’d have to lie about. the last thing she needed to admit was how much sleeping alone terrified her and how she much rather fill her bed with a stranger. “i’m not really a fan of all that fancy skincare stuff or having a twenty step routine, as long as my sheets are clean and my room is cold, i’m out like a light within seconds.”

What’s your favorite time of day?

"i like between two to three in the morning in california. if you go down to the beach when all the city lights are out, you can see the stars.”

Dream country to visit?

"norway to see the northern lights.”

What’s the biggest surprise you’ve had?

"probablyt when i won my first oscar for girl, interrupted. it was such a risky role that was out of my comfort zone and i was just beyond honored to be recognized for it.”

Comfy shoes or dress shoes?

"comfy, always.”

Vintage or new?

"vintage, always. more than half of my closet is from the thrift store.”

Who do you want to write your obituary?

"well, that’s a dark thought. i would hope it would be someone i care about...so maybe my manager hannah or mallory.”

Style icon?

"jane birkin. no one can do casual cool as good as she did.”

What are three things you can’t live without?

“my guitar, my journal and mallory and hadley...we’re gonna count that as one because they’re a package deal.”

What’s one ingredient you put in everything?

"i’m not much of a cook, but when i do i’m notorious for oversalting.”

What 3 people living or dead would you like to make dinner for?

she would have loved to say her mom, maybe in another life if they had had a relationship before she died, that would’ve been her answer. but she was truly the last person she ever wanted to see. “amy winehouse, sylvia plath and marilyn monroe. i feel like there’s a lot that can be learned from some of history’s most misunderstood and overly-judged women.”

What’s your biggest fear in life?

she had a million fears, she was practically riddled in them. of dying miserable and alone like her mother, of never being loved, of not being capable of feeling love herself, of never being good enough. but those were all things she would kept to herself. she was trying to show that she was fine, right? “what was that cheesy quote from a cinderella story? never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game.”

Window or aisle seat?

"always window.”

What’s your current TV obsession?

"i’ve been into really goofy comfort shows lately - arrested development, it’s always sunny in philadelphia, that 70′s show, all the classics.”

Favorite app?

"nowadays, i really try to limit my screentime as much as possible.”

Secret talent?

"well i mentioned i play eight instruments before, so i guess that would be it.”

Most adventurous thing you’ve done in your life?

"i wouldn’t say anything i’ve done could be categorized as adventurous...yet, that is. i’d love to take a year or two off and just fall off the grid and just travel the world and see everything that i haven’t.”

How would you define yourself in three words?

she really only had negative things to say about herself lately, but she’d keep it neutral for vogue. “hard working, resilient and...empathetic.” she said with a soft nod.

Favorite piece of clothing you own?

"i have this vintage 1972 leather jacket i found at a yard sale about a decade ago and i’ve literally worn the absolute crap out of it, but i’ll never, ever get rid of it.”

Must have clothing item everyone should have?

"a really, really good pair of jeans. there’s nothing better than a good vintage pair of levis.”

Superpower you would want?

"invisibility.”

What’s inspiring you in life right now?

"i’m still looking for it, but i’ll be sure to let you know when it comes.”

Best piece of advice you’ve received?

"probably that everyone looks out for themselves and that you have to have your own back, especially in this business.”

Best advice you’d give your teenage self?

she thought back to her teenage self for a moment - the girl who began hustling to become an actress at just fourteen years old, who had emancipated from her father and was trying to build a life all by herself with no parents, no guidance from anyone except the people she paid. she had always been alone. and her teenage self would be so disappointed in what she allowed her life to turn into after how hard she had worked. “i...uh...i don’t know. i think i would just give her a hug.” she choked out quietly, clearing her throat. “next question, please.”

A book that everyone should read?

“let that shit go by bruna nessif.”

What would you like to be remembered for?

"i would hope to be remembered for making an impact or a difference in a good way, even if it’s just on one person’s life.”

How do you define beauty?

“looks come and go, i think real beauty is in people’s souls.”

What do you love most about your body?

"i love that it’s been through a lot and it’s still able to carry me every single day.”

Best way to take a rest/decompress?

“a nice bubble bath and playing guitar.”

Favorite place to view art?

"i love going down to venice and seeing all the street art. sure, it’s one thing to see it in a museum. but to see real people, creating something out of nothing is much more inspiring to me.”

If your life were a song, what would the title be?

she wouldn’t admit that she had already written a song that she deemed to be the anthem of her life when she was going through the worst of her scandal. music and her love for singing was certainly not something she wanted to share in fear of comparison to her mother. “i don’t know, maybe something like “shit happens.” because well...shit happens, right?”

If you could master one instrument, what would it be?

“i know a lot of them so i’m not sure...maybe an accordion? bag pipes?”

If you had a tattoo, where would it be?

“i’m not sure, i’m really indecisive, i couldn’t imagine having something on my body forever.”

What is your favorite animal?

"ladybugs.”

What’s your spirit animal?

"a butterfly. they’re always changing and growing.”

Best gift you’ve ever received?

"hannah got me this locket for my fifteenth birthday.” she said with a soft smile, pulling at the small gold heart around her neck as she looked towards the kitchen at hannah before back at the cameras. “it was the first nice piece of jewelry that anyone’s every gotten for me, so definitely that.”

Best gift you’ve ever give?

"probably hadley’s first birthday. i filled mallory’s living room to the brim with presents. but definitely the best one had to be the little guitar i got her. i can’t wait to teach her how to use it one day. “

What’s your favorite board game?

"i never really played boardgames...so what’s the basic answer everyone gives? monopoly?”

What’s your favorite color?

"red.”

Least favorite color?

"is it weird to say i don’t have a least favorite?”

Where do you feel most at peace?

“ at the beach at night.”

What’s your favorite thing to do in your time off?

"travel to a place i’ve never been to before.”

What’s your hair-care routine?

"wash it? i don’t know, i don’t do anything special. i’m a very low maintenance gal. i don’t have the patience for all that stuff.”

Pilates or yoga?

"neither, i’m more into running.”

Coffee or tea?

"depends on my mood, but usually coffee.”

What’s the weirdest word in the English language?

"probably bologna. because it has no business rhyming with ‘pony’ and being spelt like that.”

Dark chocolate or milk chocolate?

"is both an option?”

Stairs or elevator?

"escalator. best of both worlds.”

Summer or winter?

"fall and spring. i’m more of a happy-medium person.”

You are stuck on an island, you can have only three things with you. What are those things?

“a nice island get away? just give me a comfy place to sleep and some good food and that’s all i need. maybe my guitar to keep me occupied, too.”

What are your phobias?

"the dark...i always need some kind of light on when i go to sleep.”

A skill you’re working on mastering?

"patience.”

Best thing to happen to you this year?

"still waiting for it. but we’ve still got a few weeks left, don’t we?”

Worst thing to happen to you this year?

"i think tmz can answer that one.”

Best compliment you’ve ever received?

“i once had a casting director say i reminded him of lauren bacall. and she was one of my favorites when i was teaching myself about film, so that was really special to me.”

Favorite smell?

"sandalwood and pine.”

Hugs or kisses?

"hugs.”

If you made a documentary, what would it be about?

"the mistreatment of women in the entertainment industry and the misogyny they have to face on a daily.”

Last piece of content you consumed that made you cry?

"i read a script recently that i really loved. i didn’t get the role...but the film seems like it’s going to be beautiful.”

Going out or staying in?

"going out.”

Sweet or savory?

“sweet”

Celebrity crush?

"what are we twelve?”

How you know you’re in love?

"i’ve never been really in love before, but i like to think that you know when you are when you just...i don’t know, feel safe, i guess.”

Song you can listen to on repeat?

"stairway to heaven, led zeppelin.”

If you could switch lives with someone for a day who would it be?

"probably someone completely and totally normal. i’d love to know what it’s like to just be a regular person who can go grocery shopping or can hang out in a cafe.”

What are you most excited about at this time in your life?

"new beginnings.”

Your go to for having a good laugh?

"athena sinclair, always.”

Your affirmation for today?

"take it one day at a time. that’s all any of us can do. tomorrow isn’t guaranteed anyway, right?”

[existslikepristin]

Sounds

Just my ultimate bias doing ultimate bias things. This is just the intro. There will be more to come. Thanks also to worldsover and EhBeeSeeDih for most excellent editing help!

Tags: TheLounge, Dreamcatcher, Gahyeon, Siyeon, Yoohyeon, other members all referenced, some unnamed male, lots of butt stuff, very light bondage, brief watersports (pee), various other kinks referenced, I just want everyone to know Gahyeon is the best human

Gahyeon observed the consistency of the lube that dripped, nice and slowly, from the fingertips of her black latex glove. She only wore the one, leaving her other hand bare. Besides the glove, all she wore was an oversized baggy tee shirt and a pair of panties that weren't her own. From behind her, the up-close-yet-distant sound of amateur porn moans reached her ears. It made her smile.

Not long after Gahyeon had revealed her desire to dominate to the rest of Dreamcatcher, she’d first been approached by Dami. Dami initially showed a similar interest in dominating others, but was equally interested in being a pet.

Gahyeon hesitated for some time, but eventually agreed to give it a try. It wasn’t much of a surprise that Dami made a pleasant, calm, obedient pet. Gahyeon never really had many ideas for commands to give to a panda, though, so perhaps her perspective was a bit skewed.

Some time later, the two got involved in a bit of role playing as well. Dami would be the prince, and Gahyeon would be one of a variety of higher-ranking royalty that Dami would then have to satisfy. Gahyeon would certainly never admit that this was one of her favorite roles to play in her escapades with her members. Mostly because it meant she received lots of massages from Dami’s delightfully delicate hands.

Dami was a grunter.

Gahyeon’s situations with Jiu and Handong were quite similar to each other in the sense that neither of them really expressed a major interest in being dominated.

Jiu was more of a standard, every day, give-and-take type of lover, but just happened to enjoy a bit of pain. Gahyeon was always happy to provide that little extra sadistic touch that would push Jiu over the edge of climax.

Jiu was a lip-biter.

Handong didn’t need a dom. She wanted somebody with a dick she could wreck herself with. Gahyeon had a growing collection of dildos and strap-ons to choose from. It was as simple as that between them.

Handong was a shouter.

Sua was, as expected, the most difficult to work with. She was a switch. But while domming, she was often excessively overpowering, demanding that her subs participate in her kinks, rather than compromising with them or catering to their desires. She had serious negotiation issues. All of which meant that Gahyeon was the go-to option when the other members wanted to be dominated.

Of course, Sua would reach out to Gahyeon to be dominated as well. But she was a bit of a back seat driver. Or a severe brat. Or uncooperative. It depended on the day. Gahyeon would often just suggest they do something less kinky. Of course, she wasn’t about to cut Sua out of her sex life entirely, given their friendship and Sua’s rocking body.

Sua was a screamer.

Yoohyeon, on the other hand, was quite the fun submissive. She was willing to try anything at least once, up to and including the most depraved acts Gahyeon could come up with. Once or twice, Gahyeon had even directed her to do some things sarcastically, but Yoohyeon complied immediately, no questions asked, resulting in both of them discovering some kinks that neither of them realized they had.

One of Gahyeon’s favorite aspects to domming Yoohyeon was her eagerness to be filmed. Gahyeon’s SD card case was an absolute treasure trove of videos. It didn’t matter if she was far from her members, because she could always count on some long-distance submission from Yoohyeon. And it never hurt to have something to watch when she just wanted to be alone and masturbate.

Yoohyeon was a moaner.

But as much fun as Gahyeon could have with those five women, Siyeon stood out from the pack as Gahyeon’s favorite. She had a hard time fully explaining the favoritism, but as far as she was concerned, it was undeniable.

Siyeon presented herself outwardly as confident, bold, even. Gahyeon expected in the beginning that Siyeon would have no interest at all in submitting to her, or anyone else for that matter. She quite literally wore the pants.

One hot summer night, however, Siyeon sheepishly asked Gahyeon to spank her. It seemed innocent enough, as far as sex acts went, but it escalated gradually. Over the course of several months, Siyeon’s outer shell melted away. She became Gahyeon’s clay to mold.

Everybody else let Gahyeon dominate them because she gave them what they wanted.

Siyeon begged Gahyeon to dominate her because she wanted to serve and please.

That wasn’t to say Siyeon wasn’t getting what she wanted out of the action of course. Just that what she wanted happened to be whatever Gahyeon wanted. It was the perfect match.

Siyeon was an instrument that Gahyeon knew exactly how to play.

The sexual activities of the members weren’t obvious to the average viewer, except some of the wild shit Sua would do, but that was easy to pass off as “girl group popularity-mandated gay bait.” Every once in a while though, Gahyeon would get the itch to break Siyeon’s façade down in public. The lightest brush of the fingertips, a sidelong glare, anything could be the trigger if Gahyeon did it with the proper intention.

She’d even gotten so bold once as to do it on live video, streaming to their fans with Jiu and Sua to either side. Siyeon nearly collapsed before Gahyeon let her go. That same night, Sua practically molested Siyeon, but Gahyeon was vindictively proud to see that it didn’t have the same effect.

Gahyeon watched as one last drop of lube fell from her fingers back into the bowl she'd poured it into for easy access. It was just viscous enough to stay on a surface, but wasn’t tacky. Rather, it was slick, as if there were no friction at all between her digits.

“How are you feeling, my wolf?”

“I-I’m excited, Gahyeon.”

Gahyeon preferred hearing her own name falling out of Siyeon’s mouth. The sound gave her a twisted sense of romance, as opposed to the supposedly traditional “Mistress” or “Ma’am.”

Gahyeon turned to look for the first time since getting lost in her thoughts. Siyeon was tied up, albeit only with the shirt and pants she had been wearing earlier in the day, rather than a rope. The knots that her sleeves formed were weak and could fall apart with the slightest force, but Siyeon was much too good of a girl for that. It wasn't her physical bonds that held her still.

There was a twinge of disappointment amidst Gahyeon’s glee at seeing that Siyeon was looking, entranced, back at her. She had, after all, dictated that Siyeon watch the video that was playing on her tablet.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Siyeon gulped nervously, but Gahyeon could see the slightest, quivering smile touch the corners of her lips. “Sorry, Gahyeon. It’s just… I think I’m extra struck by your beauty today.”

Gahyeon smiled and placed her ungloved, unlubed hand on top of Siyeon’s head, stroking her hair softly. “Oh babe. You know flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere. It’s just going to get my fingers deeper inside you. And you'd better watch out, because you're getting close to the knuckles.”

Her gentle hair stroking turned into a rough grip, which she used to turn Siyeon's gaze away, back to the tablet.

"Don't you want to learn from this video, Siyeon? I made it just for you."

"Yes, I do."

"Then you should be watching. Look, or you're going to miss the best part."

Siyeon's eyes slowly refocused themselves onto the video. It was Yoohyeon, all but limp in a full-nelson-under-the-legs hold. Whoever was holding her up, slamming their cock repeatedly up her asshole, they weren't fully visible, but it was easy to guess their identity. Yoohyeon's eyes rolled up so far, they looked like they might do a full three-sixty at any moment. Anyone viewing the video might have been concerned for her well-being if not for her dopey smile.

"See, my wolf? She's such a good little slut. Keep watching and you might learn something."

Gahyeon let go of Siyeon's head, confident she'd follow instructions this time, and reached around to feel how ready she was. As expected from her favorite toy, and the hours of teasing Gahyeon had subjected her to up to this point, she was so wet that Gahyeon could have gone swimming inside her.

Her gloved hand dipped into the lube again, then made its way down the cleft of Siyeon's ass, coating the entirety. If she didn't already have very specific plans, Gahyeon would have considered using it as massage oil and kneading Siyeon’s beautiful butt cheeks until the bright red hand prints on them disappeared.

A series of moans came from the tablet speakers again, and Gahyeon smirked at what she knew was coming next, which was Yoohyeon.

"Eyes open, Siyeon. You really don't want to miss this."

Gahyeon watched Siyeon’s fingers wiggle beneath their impromptu bonds. Yoohyeon's moans shifted into a long, guttural shout, and a stream of pale yellow liquid shot out of her. Siyeon’s butt visibly clenched.

"What a fantastic slut she is, hm? Cumming so hard from her ass being used as a fuck hole that she can't even control herself, pissing all over like an idiot."

Even from behind her, Gahyeon could sense Siyeon’s devious smile forming. "Well that's rude to say about her," Siyeon said, risking life and limb.

Gahyeon responded with a series of powerful smacks, leaving the handprints already on Siyeon’s ass glowing red, as well as a haphazard smattering of lube. "Shut uuup," she whined, "She got fucked stupid and pissed herself. You know what I mean."

Siyeon turned back over her shoulder to show Gahyeon her smile. Fresh tears flowed from her eyes. "Yoohyeon's always a fool though," she managed to joke through the pain.

One last, full-motion spank made Siyeon’s smile briefly turn into a grimace.

"Is that what you're going to do to me too?"

Gahyeon resumed her steady lubrication of Siyeon’s entire backside. "Someday, maybe. But we have a long way to go before you'll be able to experience that level of pleasure without pain. And trust me, the inside of your ass is not the part of your body where you want to be feeling pain. We'll build you up to it."

There was minimal resistance against Gahyeon’s middle finger as it slipped fully into Siyeon’s butt. Siyeon hissed and her toes curled. Gahyeon kissed her neck, shushed into her ear, and used her ungloved hand to stroke from Siyeon’s breasts down to her clit and back.

After a moment of calming down, Siyeon whispered, "If anybody can get me there, Gahyeon, it's you."

Gahyeon struggled to hold back her cutesy giggle, even though she knew that it wouldn't make her seem like less of a dom to Siyeon. "We're going to do, at most, two fingers today. I don't want you masturbating with anything bigger than that on your own, okay? It might feel like you can do more, but we're not taking any chances. Understood?"

Siyeon’s shoulders flexed and toes spread as Gahyeon wiggled her inserted finger. "Y-yes Gahyeon," she stuttered.

"Good. Now, let's practice your safe word, shall we?"

Siyeon hesitated, but relented anyway. “Apricot…”

Gahyeon slowly removed her finger. “Perfect,” she said ever-so-softly, reveling in the goosebumps rising on Siyeon’s arms. “Was that okay? Nothing hurting?”

“It was perfect.” Siyeon used the same word Gahyeon had.

“Well then, let’s get started.”

[sillydreamer]

Hello! O/ I just saw this post of yours and... it's free? If it does: I'd like a headcanon about this image that Beemoov shared today in IG... What type of story I want? I don't know, I'm here to tell you that: Feel free to write anything that your head does about this image and... in that image is Nevra, can you do also for Lance and Leiftan in the future? There's no rush, you can do it with peace of mind n_n

Scenario of the image in episode 7 New Era (Nevra)

Of course I can do this ;3

Let me tell you that I got excited and wrote a scenario instead of a headcanon and also I read it wrong sorry ahhhh, if you want it as a headcanon just say the word and I’ll do it right away! Don’t hesitate to ask!

I'll do the same when Lance and Leiftan images comes in the future (either if the episode comes or when someone publish them in here, I don't have instagram x_x). Anyway, here comes what I think that happened in the image.

Okay seeing this now that I have finished I think that I wrote something quite long hahahaha...I hope that you don’t mind 😅

The stars seemed to dance at the night sky just like the people did below them, Nevra gazed up and found the brilliant dots covering everything until the horizon. Since Huang Hua became leader everything seemed quite normal and everybody was happy. Why couldn't he advance?

He remembered what happened during the last eight years of his life, he discovered people that helped him but now they were gone, he needed to take new responsibilities to protect whoever needed it. The world seemed more like a cold place while everybody danced around him.

"Nevra? Is everything alright?" the voice of Huang Hua interrupted his thoughts and he looked at her. The leader seemed genuinely worried to the point that Nevra felt guilty for being the reason of that.

"Yes, I just feel a little bit tired, that's it" replied Nevra with a low voice. He knew that Huang Hua didn't believe his lie because she sat down right at his side and looked even more concerned.

"I know that there are things that bothers you and are taking space in your mind. It's hard to move on. Let me be clear; I don't want you to act like everything's alright and to ignore what happened eight years ago" her voice always had the power to calm down people, even the vampire felt safe and by looking at those honey eyes he felt like all of the problems could disappear in an instant "But don't forget that there’s things that you can learn in hard situations”

He didn’t answer. That grey eye was passing by every single person in the garden. Each one of them seemed happy and were celebrating with their friends. Why couldn’t he feel the same way?

Nevra sighed heavily and stood up, not having the courage to see Huang Hua’s eyes.

“I’ll think about it. Now I should dance a little” he moved on through the people searching for somebody. He didn’t know what but his legs were moving and his eyes trying to find something. A grip at his shoulder make him turn around and his eyes crossed with a young lady.

The vampire knew her, she was one of the H.Q habitants. They had a few dates and spent some nights together but nothing more. There were not feeling between them and how could it be? Risking himself to get damaged again? 

“Nevra sorry for bothering is just that you seemed...bad” her voice was soft and low. His instinct forgot about whatever it was searching and put all its attention to the lady.

“Nothing unusual, just work and I was searching for fresh air” those words were lies. Nevra felt bad for lying since he hated them but there was no point on worrying others more, he needed to carry with its own weight and problems as he had done for the last years.

“I see...do you want to dance?” she asked almost timidly. Nevra stretched out his hand to grab hers and led both to the dance floor.

This play was a feminine voice followed by a piano and a violin. Nevra was a great dancer since young and he felt the music running through his body but something was feeling wrong. His instinct was telling him to stop and as far a he knew the best option was to follow his inner voice.

Still he didn’t want to leave that poor lady alone so he spend a few more songs dancing with her. His hands grabbed her hips and followed the rhythm of the melody while she looked directly to his face. He looked back but inside of his head the voice begged him to stop, to quit and ran away. “But ran away of what?” He questioned himself while helping that lady to give a spin. The music turned off and this meant that another song was coming by.

“Nevra, are you busy tonight?” again her voice interrupted his thinking. Nevra blinked a few times but didn’t answer. While looking at that lady with yellow eyes he spotted someone else over her shoulder.

Two big purple eyes were looking directly at him, that brown hair was very particular but what surprised him most was the look that Erika gave him; those purple eyes seemed sad but not surprised.

Nevra moved back and looked at the lady that was in front of him, she was waiting for his answer with a bright smile at those beautiful pink lips.

“I-Im sorry...I need do something” Nevra’s voice vacillate for a second. When he looked back at Erika she was gone.

“I understand” the lady whispered and got closer to give Nevra a quick kiss “But promise me that we are going to see each other soon”

After promising that he walked away, back to the H.Q, in there his steps became faster until he was running. Nevra wanted to get away from the world and hide where nobody could ever find him. But again that voice at his brain began speak and told him to think, to not get overwhelmed by the situation.

Before he could question that or even think Nevra found himself front of the crystal room. A few years ago that was his place for meditation; knowing that Valkyon gave his last breath in there, that Erika and Leiftan sacrificed themselves...a lot of hard decisions were taken inside of those walls.

Nevra entered and was received by the pale light of the mineral, nobody was there to bother him and his thoughts. With a calmer step he walked like he was attracted to the light. A heavy sigh left his mouth but it didn’t last long since he heard someone approaching.

That was a public place, by the oracle. How could he expect to have peace in there? His surprise was bigger when Erika’s shape crossed the door and started walking at his direction.

“Hey, leaving early?” she asked with a calm voice, still he could hear that there was a storm behind it. Erika stopped walking to save a few feets between them.

“Not feeling good, that’s it” Nevra excused himself and looked back to the crystal. It’s light had the ability to calm him down and keep his mind-cold, and that was what he needed to most.

The guardian didn’t answer but still the vampire was able to hear the footsteps behind him and when he looked, she was just at his side. But Erika wasn’t looking at him, instead her eyes were focused on the crystal, her eyes glowed and she looked impressed.

Her right hand extended to the mineral and touched the cold surface but nothing happened, the silence flood the room until Erika sighed heavily.

“Even if my powers are back, I can’t save everybody. I’m...useless” the words that came out of her lips and her head looked down.

“No you’re not” Nevra’s words came out even without him thinking about it. The guardian looked at him but the vampire regretted that immediately. He wasn’t the best with soft words and all that he could think is on what would Huang Hua say.

No. He wasn’t Huang Hua. He would do it in the Nevra way.

“Look, I know that it’s hard to leave the past behind. Believe me, I spent many night eating my brain thinking why I didn’t do this or that. But... the end I learned that we can’t change the past, we need to move on and think about what we learned with the experience so we don’t commit the same mistakes again”

He was surprised that those words came from him, Nevra felt relieved when the guardian looked at him with a small smile at her lips, happiness was the only emotion that the vampire could feel and he also smiled, forgetting his old emotions.

A soft melody of a violin could be heard on the distance and Nevra looked at the door by instinct. Nobody came.

“Do you want to dance?” the guardian asked breaking the wall between them. The vampire looked back and saw her hand extended at his direction. He grabbed it and lead her to dance at the sound of the melody.

The bodies moved along with the music, Nevra’s fingers touched Erika’s hips while his other hand held hers. They were very close, too close. Nevra step back to give her a spin and then catch her. Erika seemed surprised but again she smiled.

“Looks that you hadn’t loose the style” she joked and straightened to keep moving.

“I’m not that old, you know?” Nevra replied and gave her another spin “Although I have to admit that I used to be faster...”

“I prefer it this way”

Both of the bodies kept moving in perfect synchrony, another instruments joined the violin and this motivated these dance couple. For the first time in seven years Nevra felt free, their foots were able to move across the room and nobody was there to judge, they were just the two of them, sharing a moment.

Erika turned but this time her body moved backwards so her back is against Nevra’s chest, her left arm stretched to grab the vampire’s nape and pull him closer.

“Did you really meant to say that?” Nevra asked while his left hand touched her face “That you prefer it this way?”

“I prefer when you are calmed down like now but...” she stopped for a second and closed her eyes with pain “I can’t stop thinking if this is going to end tonight”

“What do you mean?” even when he was confused his body didn’t move, so didn’t Erika’s. The music could be heard in the distance but the dance stopped.

“I know what you have been doing these years, flirting with more women and then pretending that nothing happened” Erika opened the eyes and they seemed like two amethysts, Nevra was shocked “Is this the same for you?”

Nevra remain silent, that was a question that hadn’t come through his mind. Was her really a one night thing? He remembered all of the adventures that they lived together, how she managed to smile through hard times and how she sacrificed for a world that wasn’t even hers. Giving him and everybody a chance.

Nevra’s hearthbeat increased while Erika’s face still looked at him, he knew what was that feeling. Something that he tried to ignore since she awake. 

“Of course not, you are more than just that” his voice was soft and some pink cheeks could be seen at his face. He pushed away just to grab her chin and look at those soft lips “You are more that I could even imagine”

Erika stepped closer while her eye closed, the vampire did the same and the last thing that he saw was that beautiful face before their lips touched.

His hand hugged her body and pressed her against his shape, Nevra was desperate to feel that warm feeling, sharing it with someone else. Erika’s arms moved through his chest and ended up hugging his back.

That was a moment that both of them hoped to last long, but they needed air and this end up with the kiss but still a smile could seen at their lips.

“Want to try again?” the vampire asked.

The night was only theirs, with other melodies running through the air they kept dancing and whenever they had the chance a fast kiss will appear to be followed with others.

This was definitely longer that I expected, at first I struggled about how to do it but then I heard Edda’s Requirem and gave me the inspiration to write all of this. 

I really imagine these two dancing with that song it just- *chef kisses*

If you hadn’t heard the song it this one.