#i could add tags for an eternity or i could go hide from that in the wonderful world of Asleep

[wispedvellichor]

WHAT IF WE AS A SOCIETY HAVE MADE A MUSICAL VERSION OF CROWLEYS FINAL FIFTEEN MONOLOGUE

And what if..... it already exists?

And what if it is

Okay, hear me out. Hear me out.

We know that one of the most important distinctions between Crowley's confession and other confessions is that here, the angst is not

"Do you love me?"

They know they love each other. Have known for AGES.

Instead, the true question was

"Do you love me enough to commit to me? To choose me? Over heaven?"

And uh.... well

Yeah.

"We're no strangers to love. You know the rules and so do I"

Azi is NOT a stranger to love. He knows all about the rules and etiquettes and the Jane Austen balls. Way better than Crowley, may I add.

Crowley wants full commitment. He wants to get away, just.... be an us.

And Azi's never getting this from any other guy. They're a team, a group a group of the two of them. Crowley is the only one who understands, and is immortal enough to fully commit anyways.

That was him, the entire monologue. He realised that he could not keep his feelings secret anymore. He just needed Azi to understand.

"I think I understand a whole lot better than you do."

This part is obvious.

Crowley would never hurt azi.

He'd never desert him. *Cue Crowley going back to Azi the moment Beelzebub threatened him with the Book of Life*

He'd never say goodbye. Not really. He'd try but he never could leave his angel behind, could he?

And hes never hurt Azi. He braved hellfire for him. And he would do it again.

"We've known each other a long time. We've been on this planet for a long time. I mean, you and me."

But you're too shy to say it?

"And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't."

Inside, we both know what's going on

They do know what's going on. It's obvious. They love each other, there was no question about it.

"I mean, the last few years, not really."

They know the game. They've been playing it for eternity, a hide and seek of sorts. Letting their true emotions slip through, just for a second. Then pulling the armour back up.

"Listen. Do you hear that?"

"I don't hear anything."

"That's the point. No nightingales."

@apollos-dodgeball-target @the-cat-demon @weirdly-specific-but-ok tagging yall cuz you need to see this <3

[waterfal-ling]

zenin's shadow - gojo satoru x reader

SYNOPSIS: Y/N, the outcast daughter of the Zenin Clan, a weapon forged from a forbidden union and raised in isolation. Gifted with immense cursed power, she is treated as little more than an instrument in the clan's pursuit of dominance. Her existence is one of obedience and sacrifice, a life defined by brutal training and a relentless drive to serve. Yet beneath the surface of her rigid purpose, a quiet curiosity about the world beyond the Zenin estate begins to grow. Despite the clan’s control, her strength, independence, and the haunting longing for something more are forces she cannot easily suppress. As she grapples with her role as a pawn in the Zenin Clan’s ruthless games, she must confront the delicate balance between her duty as a weapon and the desire for a life outside their cold walls. In a world where power, control, and family define everything, Y/N must explore the internal struggle of a girl caught between the chains of her bloodline and the faint hope for something beyond the shadows of her clan’s ambition.

GENRE: 18+, angst to eventual fluff

WARNING: graphic depictions of violence, profanity, self-harm, abandonment, mental health struggles, violence, abuse and trauma, gender discrimination (it is the Zenin's afterall), self-discovery -- will probably add more and the warnings for individual chapters if needed, grammar issues here and there - but I will try to catch them if I can.

TAGS: f!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, very slow-burn, angst to comfort to eventual fluff (but angst will be a very on-going thing), gojo being super mean - until he isn't, NOT-ADJACENT (will follow aspects of the original timeline, but I have changed the timings of things - e.g., Haibara and Nanami's mission happens on this chapter prior to the Plasma Vessel mission).

TAGLIST: OPEN

a/n: I have been looking for a story like this and thought "why do I not write it myself." I have not written an actual story in a minuteeee, so forgive me for the lack of dialogue in this chapter - or going forward. I will try to improve my grammar as I go (also shout out to grammarly). Additionally, I want to add that I will try to update every week, but I do have a full time job, so updates may be slow. The first chapter should be posted soon, once I figure out how to post anything since tumblr is not letting me share anything.

COMMENTS, LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED

CHAPTER 1: The Unseen Edge > next

The Zenin estate stood in eternal silence, a monolithic cold stone structure with a shrouded purpose. With its aged, worn flags, the courtyard stretched out before her like an empty battlefield, the sharp, frigid wind cutting through the air. It was a place where the sunlight seemed unwilling to linger as if even the skies above could sense the weight of the tragedy below. The estate was a labyrinth of oppressive halls and dim corridors, each corner hiding the darkness that held the Zenin bloodline together—secrets buried in the foundation of this ancestral house, its walls as cold as the hearts of those who inhabited it.

Her only companion was her training ground, a narrow courtyard with uneven stones. The world outside the Zenin gates was something she had never seen, never touched. Her hands were pale and practiced, the weight of her cursed tool familiar, though it was more of an extension of her body than anything resembling a possession. Her movements were precise and calculated, but no joy was found in them. There was no pride. There was only the quiet desperation of someone raised to obey, to serve, and never to question.

The Zenin Clan was a machine, grinding its members into a single purpose: power. And yet, she was something of a glitch in the design, a pawn with the potential to shatter the very foundation the clan had built its empire.

She had been born out of wedlock, a consequence of a fleeting affair between her mother—a woman whose name had long been erased from history—and a powerful Zenin man. Her birth was an event hidden from the eyes of the clan, a shame that would never be acknowledged. The moment her cursed energy had manifested, however, it had been impossible to ignore. It surged through her like an ancient, untamed force, a power that could not be contained by the delicate web of family politics.

Despite the tumultuous nature of her origins, her father had been forced to bring her into the fold—though not as a daughter, not as a person of value. She was a tool, a weapon to elevate the Zenin name. To him, she was an asset—a cursed daughter whose energy could be used to tip the scales in the clan's favor. Her mother had given her a name, a gift of love and identity, but that was stripped away with no regard for her. She was only the Zenin daughter, a pawn without a face or voice.

Her father had no interest in her humanity, and the clan, in turn, had no interest in her existence. She was not a daughter—she was the embodiment of their ambition, the living proof that the Zenin Clan could control the most powerful forces, even if it meant sacrificing everything.

From the moment her powers were recognized, she was severed from everything that could have made her feel whole. She was trained in isolation, pushed to the limits of her endurance, her strength honed not for survival but for the singular purpose of being a weapon. There were no games for her, no childhood pleasures. The other children in the clan played and laughed in the sun while she was in shadow. The difference between her and them was glaring and cruel: the boys were the heirs, the future of the Zenin bloodline, while she was nothing more than a tool to be wielded.

Her instructors, cold and distant, did not see her as a person but an instrument. They taught her obedience as much as technique. When she asked why she was always kept apart, the answer was as swift as harsh: "You are a woman. Play is a luxury for those who are born to rule. You must train, or you will never be anything."

Her mind, like her body, was forged in that same fire. Years of such words and training had worn her down and conditioned her to accept this path. But inside, the seed of something dangerous had been planted—curiosity—the longing for something more, for something beyond the endless cycle of pain and obedience. But a longing had to be hidden, buried deep, because the Zenin Clan did not reward curiosity. It punished it.

She had been forbidden to venture beyond the courtyard's walls, but sometimes, the pull of the kitchens would bring her close to the laughter of children, to the food she would never taste. Their joy felt like an unbearable weight on her heart, a reminder of the life she would never live. She had learned to keep her distance, to ignore the hunger gnawing at her soul. It was easier that way.

Her punishment for curiosity came swiftly: a slap across the face when she ventured too close, a reminder that her place was far from those who lived freely. "You are not like them," one of the higher-ranked women had sneered. You are here to serve, to be useful, nothing more."

And so she continued her training, her cursed tool always in hand, her movements becoming sharper, more deadly each day. Her only purpose, as always, was to serve the clan.

The courtyard was empty that day, but the stillness felt like the calm before a storm. She stood motionless, waiting for the mission to begin. Her eyes narrowed as she sensed the presence of cursed energy nearby—an unusual, twisting force that hummed with malice. Her heart quickened, her cursed energy thrumming in response, but she had no time for hesitation. When the mission was assigned, it was simple: eliminate a cursed user. A clean task. One that needed no questions, no emotions—just a job to be done. She didn’t need to know why, or who.

The early morning air at the train station felt sharp against her skin, the quiet hum of the platform interrupted by the steady shuffle of people. She stood at the edge, her gaze distant, feeling the subtle hum of cursed energy around her. She kept her awareness sharp. Her eyes scanned the crowd, but she had little interest in the everyday interactions around her. The sound of chatter, the clattering of train wheels, the laughter—it all blurred into the background. But something in the atmosphere today made it linger.

She noticed two figures standing near the end of the platform, moving in sync, their cursed energy standing out from the rest. Their presence was hard to miss.

One of them was a tall, serious figure—his posture straight, his expression calm but focused. The other was the complete opposite: relaxed, easygoing, his energy light and unburdened. His laugh was effortless, and his easygoing manner was a stark contrast to the first.

The two were talking in low voices, the carefree one laughing at something the other said, a genuine sound of amusement. It made her pause. The first man’s stoic composure was the complete opposite of the second’s casual ease. There was something about the second man—his laughter, his warmth—that made her wonder.

She watched them longer than she intended, but their eyes met for a brief moment. The serious man’s gaze swept across her, holding no judgment, but there was a quiet wariness. The moment passed, and she quickly averted her eyes, returning her focus to the world beyond.

She looked out toward the busy streets. The train station buzzed with life, the sounds of people moving, laughing, and talking. Children played, couples shared moments together. It was all so ordinary. But it felt so alien to her. She had spent so much of her life detached from these small, human experiences. She could only wonder what it would be like to be a part of it—to laugh for the sake of laughter, to live without a mission hanging over her.

Could that ever be her?

She shook the thought from her mind. She had a place, a purpose—moving forward, serving the clan. There was no room for such distractions.

The train ride passed by in a blur, the steady rocking of the carriage almost calming in its predictability. Upon arrival, the routine followed. The serious man and the carefree one stepped off the train together, but their path took them in the opposite direction. They were headed elsewhere while her mission awaited.

She didn't spare them another glance as she moved toward her target—an infamous cursed user whose trail had led her here. Her mind focused, her steps determined. The hunt was all that mattered. There was no room for hesitation or doubt.

As the evening drew near, the streets darkened. She walked through narrow alleys, her movements precise, like a well-rehearsed routine. The pulse of cursed energy was faint, but present—just out of sight. Her senses sharpened as she moved forward, aware of every detail.

But then, something strange stopped her in her tracks.

The veil.

Her cursed energy flared for a moment as the veil shimmered in the distance, a presence far beyond anything she had encountered before. It was overwhelming, ancient. She felt its oppressive weight, and for a brief moment, something inside her hesitated.

She had always been alone—detached from the world and its simple connections. But now, something stirred inside her. The serious man and the carefree one—they were already near the veil, facing this overwhelming presence. Were they truly capable of dealing with this?

She paused. Her instincts tugged her toward them.

For a brief moment, she was torn. Her mission was still the priority, but curiosity held her for a second longer.

The hesitation passed.

She moved toward the veil.

From the shadows, she observed. The two men were already in the midst of the challenge, their energies fighting against the overwhelming force. The carefree one, usually so lighthearted, now had a determined focus. The serious one remained calculated, but neither could match the power of what they were facing.

Her gaze narrowed.

She could end it.

Without a word, she stepped forward. Her cursed energy flared, cutting through the air with precision. In a single motion, the veil was shattered, the overwhelming presence dissipating almost instantly. She barely used any of her power; just enough to break through.

The two men looked at her in surprise.

The carefree one stood frozen, his mouth slightly open, caught off guard by the speed and power. He almost seemed like he might speak—perhaps thank her. But she didn’t wait for it.

With swift, decisive steps, she turned away. The air around her felt charged, like a storm about to break. She didn’t need their questions or gratitude. There was no need for thanks. Their curiosity wouldn’t change anything.

The serious man watched her walk away, suspicion beginning to flicker in his eyes. She could feel it—the shift in his focus.

Their gaze lingered, but she didn't look back.

The hunt wasn't over.

But as she searched for her target, the familiar pulse of their cursed energy faded. The trail was gone.

Had they sensed her power?

A feeling of unease settled in her chest, but she dismissed it quickly. There was no time for questions. The mission would continue, as it always did.

The mission was over, and the Zenin Clan responded swiftly and brutally. They were enraged by her actions, her audacity in interacting with the other sorcerers, and her independence. But their anger was muted by something deeper—the fear that her power was a force they could no longer control.

She was summoned back to the estate, her punishment inevitable. The scars would form, as they always did, the pain a constant reminder of her place. They believed this would break her. But they underestimated her.

The fire in her eyes could not be snuffed out by pain. It was a fire that would burn brighter and hotter until she would rise above them all.

She healed swiftly, the reversed cursed technique working magic on her body, but the scars on her soul remained. They could not touch those.

And so she endured.

She was a weapon, a tool of unimaginable power, but she was not finished yet. Yes, she was a Zenin daughter, but that was not all she was. And she would find a way to be more.

No matter the cost.

But the truth was, she was finished. The Zenin estate had no place for her beyond her usefulness. The fleeting moments when she could glimpse at something beyond the shadows—those brief seconds of curiosity—were long gone. The world outside was an illusion, a dream never meant to be hers.

She would always return to the cold stone, the empty courtyard, the echo of footsteps that meant nothing to anyone but herself.

The Zenin Clan had made her, and they would break her. And in the end, she would be no more than a footnote in the history of their ambition.

A shadow, always watching but never seen. A tool, always wielded but never acknowledged.

In this world, she was extra. Always a part of the background but never indeed seen.

[coalmonger]

LOTR/The Silmarillion time travel fic ideas and prompts

Not all of these are very serious but I would read a 200 thousand+ word story about them in a heartbeat. Who doesn't love crazy concepts?

Maybe I'll try my hand at making one of these but still, if you use any, tag me!

1 Boromir's no good very bad quest

'Boromir dies as he lived, honorably. Despite what he had fallen too. No man expects to come back from it, not truly. '

Boromir wakes up a week away from Rivendell, a week away from the council meeting. This time, he won't let himself fall, no matter what. Even if he has to sacrifice himself to do it.

2 At least we have each other?

'Merry and Pippin go to sleep a year after the war, Boromir dies a year before then. They all wake far, far in the past.. at least Boromir is here'

Just an older brother trying to keep the kids safe, with vague memories of history classes and a will to survive! The Fëanorians aren't ready for rowdy Hobbits and a rather secretive man. At least the man speaks Sindarin.

3 Birds of a feather

(Can you tell I love this one?)

'Elrond wakes up as a bird, in a place very unlike Imladris. Surprisingly this isn't the worst thing to happen that day.'

Elrond wakes up as a strong winged bird on the shores of Losgar. His situation is confusing and not a little disorienting but he understands quickly when he sees a blaze in the near distance. His instincts let him fly in the air, it's his mind that flies towards the flames rather than away.

The ships are ablaze and a memory strikes him... Amrod is saved that day by a rather mystical bird. The Fëanorians think he's one of Manwë's.

He's going to have a rather interesting time. He'll find a way to unbird himself eventually.

You could add more excitement into the mix if Elrond's kids also got birdtified, the flock will find each other again somehow!

4 Memories of affection

'Maglor doesn't notice when it happens, lost in his own mind once again.

His family does though'

Maglor has spent an eternity alone, he can't hide that even when it's made clear when and where he is. All that pain and suffering can't disappear with a flick of the wrist. Especially when the searing burn on his palm still blazes.

Fëanor fears deeply for his son, it seems almost as if he's falling to the same thing his own mother had. He doesn't know what or who caused this but he WILL find out and WILL help his son.

5 Eternally stuck with you, my friend

'How about side by side with a friend?

Always.'

Classic time loop with Legolas and Gimli. Starting off just before the council meeting. If any member of the fellowship dies they start over, yes including Boromir. Aragorn gets told about the loop in a LOT of rounds, even if he's not told, he almost always notices something is off with Legolas.

Legolas and Gimli could have a bromance or a romance, both would be beautiful!

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 21: Preparations

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 4k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

Astarion weaves Illyria through the streets with her hand in his. He keeps a close eye on her but is rather proud to see his beloved is starting to become a tad more comfortable around the living. She does not squeeze his hand with quite the same ferocity or tug on his clothes at the sound of beating hearts nearby.

He leads her to the Wide, an area in the upper city where merchants set up their stalls to peddle their wares to the patriars and nobles that call the Upper City home. The first stop is a jeweller’s stall, the same one from which he commissioned her ring. She eyes the selection while he chats with the jeweller, who shows him various pieces. He holds up a pair of earrings with large sapphires.

“You know your ears are not pierced, right?” She teases him with an arched brow.

“Perhaps I will get them pierced just so I can wear them. They are quite fetching,” he taunts her back with a wry grin. “Not for me, little love. Do you like them?”

She lets her fingers run over the stones, which are perfectly polished and sparkling. “They are pretty, but they look… expensive.”

“We’ll take them,” Astarion says, handing them back to the jeweller to place in a box. He returns his attention back to Illyria, who looks rather uncomfortable, though he cannot fathom why. “Love? Is something troubling you?”

“Oh, no. Not really.” She looks askance, her splintered, crimson eyes darting away from him. “I’m—” she trails off, shaking her head, and corrects herself. “You don’t have to buy me things. You know that, right?”

“Have to?” Astarion’s brow arches.

He reaches for their bond, and she lets him access most of her mind freely, but there is something she keeps blocked and hidden, like running into an invisible barrier. It rankles him slightly. He should be granted full access to her mind, no? They are to be married, after all, and now she decides to hide things from him? Astarion takes a deep breath and tries to let it go. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that she’s keeping some things under lock and key after his most recent episode.

Astarion worries that she’s not as okay as she says. There have been times when he’s reached out to her, and she’s reflexively jumped back or grimaced as if she expects pain to follow. Every time is like a barb to his heart. He deserves it; he knows this, but it does not stop it from hurting him nonetheless. She refuses to discuss it, preferring instead to continue reaffirming that she is fine.

But how could she be? He, her husband, her lover, who is supposed to protect her, held her down and carved something into her flesh, and he’s not even sure what. The other version of him might know, but all he can work out is that the symbols are not random and they are not infernal. Astarion is glad he cannot remember it, but he feels guilty for that gladness. If he had to live with the memory of hurting her like that… Gods. He does not know if he would be capable of it.

It makes him feel weak.

“Illyria,” he says, lowering his timbre to something meant to reassure and soothe. “I want to. I want to give you everything.”

She smiles at him, closed-lipped so as not to show her fangs. She places a hand on his chest, patting him gently. “As long as I have you, I already have everything. You are enough.”

Astarion’s heart swells. He is enough. These are not words he ever thought he would hear. “Thank you. But you will indulge your husband in his wishes to buy you gifts, won’t you?”

She sighs with a small chuckle. “I will indulge my husband in whatever makes him happy.”

“Splendid. Nothing would make me happier.” Astarion smiles, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Now, get over here and pick out my ring, will you?”

He’s already commissioned her wedding band. Wedding. Married. Gods. A notion that once filled him with dread. He cannot remember if the mortal man he was ever had any aspirations of marriage, but he is certain that in the last two centuries, he’d never pictured it would happen to him. He dismissed the idea as another dream stolen by Cazador and undeath.

So many years spent in the boudoir, an endless parade of warm bodies, and the resignation that he would spend eternity alone. Until she came long and breathed new life into his inert heart. She made it remember how to feel, taught it how to love, and then restored its beat.

“You want me to pick it out?” Illyria glances at the display. “Are you sure? You can be very fussy.”

“Fussy, am I?” He crosses his arms and feigns irritation, although he cannot wipe the smug smirk off his lips. “Darling, I can make anything look good. I’m positive whatever you pick will be perfect.”

She nods and starts pursuing the various styles of rings staged and offered. He steps behind her, watching over her shoulder as she pursues. He lets his body press into her back slightly, carefully, to see if she will jolt away from him like she does sometimes, but instead she presses her ass into him further and undulates her hips against him.

He’s pleasantly surprised, allowing her to continue until he can feel himself hardening, and then his hands slip down to halt her. He would love to bend her over this stall, vendors and patriars be damned. She catches his thoughts and shoots him a heated look over her shoulder that almost looks like a challenge.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I might just do it,” he projects into her mind. “To Hells with them all.”

She doesn’t miss a beat, asking the jeweller to show her something more unique and answering him back at the same time. “You want all these people to see me come?”

He snorts, answering back with an immediate. “No!”

“I didn’t think so.”

Illyria turns around. “Try this one on, will you?”

Astarion is pleasantly surprised when she holds him an obsidian-coloured band with a fire-opal inlay that glitters underneath an intricate pattern etched into the center of the ring. He slips it on, eyeing the ring now wrapped around his finger. The cool metal feels strange between his fingers, but also right, as most things do when it comes to her.

“I like that one. What do you think?”

“I… I love it,” he glances back at her with soft eyes to let her know that his sentiment is genuine.

Illyria smiles carefully and returns to speaking to the jeweller about alterations, with her main focus on engravings. Astarion loses himself in thought while she speaks, and his fingers smooth over the metal. What will he do if they cannot complete their objective in the Hells? Is marrying her truly fair to her? Is he dooming her by tying her to him in this way? If he cannot be saved, he will have to force her to get away from him before he loses his sanity entirely.

“Ai armiel telere maenen hir, Syolkiir, salen thiramin,” Illyria recites what she wishes be engraved into the inside of the band.

His mind translates his mother tongue into common. “You hold my heart forever, Wild Star, my soulmate.”

Thiramin. Not even merely a soulmate. Not for Elves, at least. A thiramin is someone you are intertwined spiritually with. It’s a love that’s prewritten into the stars and promises eternal devotion. Though it’s not often unrequited, when it is, it’s disastrous. Elves often go mad, ending their lives if they lose their thiramin.

Astarion is too stunned to speak as he takes the wrapped earring box, and they walk away from the little stall. He did not even hear when the jeweller estimated the ring would be done and ready to pick up.

“You don’t have to say it back, Astarion,” Illyria whispers, interlocking her fingers with his. “You don’t even have to feel it back. It won’t change anything.”

He swallows hard. “When did you know?”

“Before the tadpole linked our brains together,” she admits casually.

“I felt it too,” he confesses. “… I feel it too.”

She gives his hand a squeeze, looking at him with concerned eyes, and he shakes his head to dispel his whorling thoughts. Thiramin. Gods. He stands to lose so much; they stand to lose so much. It’s a terrifying prospect.

“There’s one more stop we have to make,” he says, finally coming back to himself. Shoving the panic and fear somewhere deep. He can worry later. Right now should be a happy time for them. “Are you alright, or would you like to go home and have a snack?”

“You’re a very generous juice box, Astarion,” she taunts, trying to lighten his mood.

“I am feeling rather gracious today, thiramin,” he teases back, watching her eyes light up at the word, and the affection she feels spreads through him like sunshine through his veins. “Is that a yes?”

She smirks. “How could I say no?”

Astarion removes his chemise as soon as they enter the manor and ascend the stairs to their room. His consort, no, wife, he reminds himself, is typically good at not spilling as long as she’s not ravenous, but blood hardly ever comes out of white, so it's better to be safe. He throws the shift over the back of the lounge in their room and sits on the bed with his back pressed against the headboard.

He grabs her hips as she crawls up on him and settles in his lap. She places her hands on his shoulders, and a shiver runs down his spine. “Gods. You’re cold.”

“I’m dead, genius,” she laughs lightheartedly.

It makes him smile, but it also sends a shock of remorse through him in equal measure. Where this used to be a sore topic for her, she seems content with the fact that he killed her. Astarion cannot say he regrets doing it, because that would be a heinous untruth, but it does not stop him from feeling a little bad. Even if she did give him permission to do it, he hadn’t exactly given her much of a choice in the matter. It was either be turned or end the relationship, and he was pretty sure she loved him too much to do that.

Which means he really didn’t give her much of a choice at all.

“I’m sorry I did not give you much of a choice,” he says, though it pains him to do so. Sorry is not something he is particularly good at saying. “I look back on it, and I am ashamed of the way I acted.”

She cups his face tenderly with a small smile. “I wanted this, Astarion. We talked about this when you were a spawn, and we had no idea what would come of the Rite.”

“I could have at least given you the choice to wait until you were sure you were ready,” he laments. “As it stands, I did not."

She sighs. “You could have, but my choice would have been the same regardless. I’ve only ever regretted becoming a spawn—“

“Bride,” he corrects quickly. “Spawn is an ugly word.”

“Fine. Bride,” she acquiesces. “I only ever regretted it when you weren’t you. If the Rite had no consequences, I would never have looked back, and I don’t look back on it now. I am fine with what I am. Plus, it’s a little amusing to be the one making you cold now.”

“Cheeky,” he tuts, clicking his tongue. “You do not make me cold. I can just cool my body temperature down on a whim.”

“Bragging, are we? Confidence looks good on you,” Illyria giggles, running her fingers through his hair. “You are magnificent, Ascendant. I will concede that much.”

“Feed, little love,” Astarion instructs, offering his neck. “Or we will be late.”

Illyria rains kisses down his neck, earning her a whine from him. The tingle runs straight to his cock, and he grinds into her involuntarily. Her fangs find their mark, popping through his skin with an icy pinch that dulls quickly into a rather arousing ache. He glances at the window, trying to judge if he has enough time to take her before they must go. To his great disappointment, there is not enough time to make love to her properly.

Even though they’ve decided on having a small affair, there is still some planning that needs to be done, and Astarion does not have a lot of experience in this sort of thing. Where does she want to get married? Certainly not a church. Perhaps the villa where he proposed to her? He purchased the property some time ago on a whim. Who can they get to marry them? Should he invite her friends? He knows she said just them, but is that truly what she wants? Elven marriage ceremonies typically go on for weeks with poetry recitations, musical performances, and a host of other theatrical events.

Is she embarrassed by him? Scared he will lose himself and hurt or kill them at their wedding? If this is what being nervous feels like, he fucking hates it.

She unlatches from him rather abruptly. “Hells, Astarion. You know you can simply ask me these questions, yes? The villa would be perfect. As for who, we can just hire someone. It matters not who officiates as long as, by the end of it, we are married, and not in this weird vampiric way. Our friends, not mine, ours,” she accentuates. “Can come to the great soiree I am sure you will throw as soon as we return. It is not because I am embarrassed or I think you might kill them.”

She pauses for a second, contemplating how to word whatever is coming next. “I want it to be you and me, because that’s how we are going to spend the majority of our lives. Our friends will grow old and die. It is just a fact. Once they are all gone, it’s just us. There might be other friends along the way, and they too will die. In the end, it will always be us for eternity. That is the reason I want it this way.”

Astarion smiles, thumbing some blood away from the corner of her lips and popping it in his mouth before kissing her with an ardent passion. He coaxes her lips to part and tastes himself on her tongue. “As you wish, little love, so shall it be,” he breathes. “What about your parents? Would you like them there or to at least let them know you’re getting married to a very handsome, powerful, and influential lord?”

She giggles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “We’ve never discussed my parents, have we?”

It's true. Despite spending all this time together, they’ve rarely spoken of her past. When he was attempting to seduce her, he did ask her the typical insipid questions one would ask to appear genuinely interested in a person. They were always met with an offhanded comment or her using her silver tongue to cleverly switch topics so seamlessly he did not realize she was avoiding the questions.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “We have not discussed much of your past before the nautiloid.”

“I’m an orphan,” she finally says, her gaze dropping to her hands pressed against his stomach as if using him to bolster herself. “I don’t have any parents to invite or inform.”

“I’m sorry,” Astarion coos, taking her hands in his. “I did not know.”

“You couldn't have known,” she shrugs. “I didn’t tell you. My childhood was not… good. It’s not something I like to think or talk about. Truthfully, if I thought you would, I might request you compel me to forget it entirely.”

Alarm bells go off in Astarion's head. She would request that he compel her to forget large parts of her life? He could. He could do that for her, but it would be to her detriment. He sincerely hopes she never asks him for this, because he would find it difficult to say no. If only because he would do anything for her.

“I would not do it even if you asked,” he lies. He would do it if she begged him to, because he can deny her nothing. “Your past made you who you are, and I love who you are. I will not pry, but I do hope you will tell me more someday.”

“Thank you for not prying.” She leans down and licks the last bits of blood off his neck. Astarion’s wounds are already healed over to pristine ivory skin.

“Now that you have had your snack, we really must be going.”

“Where are we going that you’re in such a rush to get to?” She arches a brow at him.

“You’ll see, little love. Indulge me once more for today.”

The Lower City is much busier than the Upper City, and it makes sense to you now why Astarion offered to stop and give you a snack before heading down this way. He seems to know exactly where he’s going, pushing through the crowds with purposeful steps, but you decidedly don’t. You allow him to drag you along through the torrent of bodies that are brimming with blood.

Astarion opens the door of a shop for you, bows shallowly with a sly grin, and ushers you inside. “After you, my love.”

You arch an inquisitive brow at him, but enter the shop as instructed. The outside appeared rather nondescript. A small, worn sign was all that indicated it was a shop at all. It didn’t strike you as somewhere Astarion would frequent. Once you get inside, the space opens up to an opulent foyer that is empty except for the two of you and, to your great surprise, Shadowheart.

She comes up to you slowly with a guileful grin. “Fancy seeing you here.”

When you look at her, all you see is her blanched, chalky complexion, the only colour afforded to her by her own blood smeared and leaking from her neck. You can hear her pleas gurgling in her throat, feel her hands raking across your skin, and feel her tugging on your clothes. You grimace, remembering the sweet succour of her blood circulating through your veins, easing the coils in your stomach and the webs of confusion in your brain. Without realizing it, you start taking steps backward, away from her as she nears, and jolt when your back bumps into Astarion. His arm wraps around your chest in an almost protective gesture, while his other hand gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Shadowheart,” he says formally. “I see you got my summons. Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice.”

“Summons?” She snorts, crossing her arms. “Am I even able to counter that haughty attitude anymore, Astarion? Or will you go lose your mind and kill us all?”

Astarion doesn’t show it, but there is a sting that prickles through the bond as her barbed words settle. You nearly scold her, but he’s quick to riposte her cheek. “Darling, don’t be silly. I would be more than happy to kill you. I needn’t lose my mind for that.”

Shadowheart laughs jovially, and Astarion’s grin is crooked and boyish.

“It’s good to see you, Astarion.” Shadowheart says warmly.

“And you,” he replies coolly.

Your brows pinch as you look between them. Have you slipped into some alternate dimension where they actually seem like friends, or is it you who’s losing your fucking mind?

“And it’s good to see you, Illyria.” Shadowheart smiles. “You look much cleaner than when I saw you last,” she teases.

“Shadowheart,” your voice comes out in an uneven croak. “I… Gods. I don’t know what to say. I…”

She waves her hand flippantly, as if almost draining her dry is so minor that it’s not even worth your apologies. “I did offer to help, though next time, could you perhaps waste a little less?”

Hells below. You don’t know if your body wants to pale or flush. Thankfully, it’s incapable of both.

Astarion waves over a woman, who you didn’t even realize was waiting in the wings of the establishment. “Expense my account for whatever she decides on, Lorne, and do not tell her the cost,” he instructs while giving you a small shake. You grumble under your breath at him in a slurry of elven curses that makes him chuckle.

“As you wish, Lord Ancunín.” Lorne replies tonelessly, shrinking back to wait for you.

He presses a kiss on the top of your head. “Have fun, my sweet. You know how to reach me when you’ve finished up.”

You whirl quickly, grabbing his arm before he can leave, panicked. “You’re not staying?”

“No, but I will remain close by. You need not worry.” The rest of his message is in your head. “About the sun. You’re safe. I will keep you safe. Always.”

It’s not the threat of your sun protection that has you terror-stricken. It’s being in the presence of two living people without him around to stop you should your restraint fail again.

“Compel me,” you say, but make sure it’s loud enough that Shadowheart hears it. You want her to know that you’ve asked for this before she gets any bright ideas about scolding him. “Compel me not to drink the blood of thinking creatures.”

Astarion’s eyes widen, his smile failing as he processes your request. His discomfort is noticeable in the tense set of his shoulders. “I would really rather not.”

“Astarion,” you grab his coat, tugging on it slightly. “You know I can’t be trusted with them, but I trust you. Please.”

He sighs, shaking his head slightly, but you feel the order come through in your head as clear as day, but he adds another in. “You do not feel hungry. You will not feed on the blood of thinking creatures.”

Relief.

Relief from that unrelenting itch in your throat and the ache in your stomach as soon as the order is passed. It’s been so long since you haven’t felt hungry that it feels strange. Why haven’t you been asking him to do this the whole time? Because it makes him uncomfortable, you remind yourself, and you quickly feel sick for making him do something he told you he didn’t want to do.

Astarion nods, though the look on his face is rather grim, and he kisses your forehead and walks out without another word.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Shadowheart says. “Gods. Why didn’t you tell me he asked you to marry him? I’m so happy for you!”

Her genuine mirth is a surprise. A welcome one, but a surprise nonetheless. “I… You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Shadowheart smirks. “I do wholeheartedly believe you could do better, but alas, you were always sickeningly in love with him. The way you two used to eye-fuck each other in camp. Gods.” She makes a dramatic expression of disgust, pretending to shudder. “You could have been more subtle about it.”

It’s the first time you’ve been able to be around her without wanting to eat her in a long while, and you rush up to her quickly, but stop short when you realize she might not want to get this close to you. She scoffs and closes the gap, wrapping her arms around you.

“Gods. You’re as cold as you are pale,” she laments mockingly. “Come on. Let’s find you an atrociously expensive dress, shall we?”

The woman fitting your dress seems unconcerned that you have no reflection. Did Astarion compel her to completely miss that? Likely. The woman brings in dress after dress, which Shadowheart helps you into because you don’t want Lorne to see the scars on your back. Every dress is beautiful, you suppose, but nothing you would actually wear.

As Shadowheart undoes claps and places pins in yet another one, she asks, “Why didn’t you tell me, Illyria?”

You sigh. “I should have. It just seemed like a bad time to say something. At best, I was worried you might try to talk me out of it. At worst, I thought you might go down there and try to stake him.”

“That’s surprisingly accurate, actually,” she laughs, standing and turning you around.

You’re letting Shadowheart be your eyes for this. Her brows pinch, and she rotates a finger to make you spin, but it only makes her nose wrinkle up worse.

“I take that expression as a no.”

“Definitely not,” Shadowheart snorts. “That woman is bringing up the worst of the worst. I am sure of it. I’m going to go back there and pick some for you, okay?”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to do that, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart winks. “I have my ways.”

She disappears while you snicker and ease out of the bulky fabric. You stare into the empty mirrors, letting your fingers crawl over the surface. If there was one time you wanted to be able to see yourself, it’s now, but you will never see your reflection again. You couldn’t possibly have understood it at the time — the sorrow and anger he felt, the mourning of his reflection — but you understand it now.

You understand him now.

Shadowheart steps in with an armful of dresses she’s procured. Lorne squalls in the background, scolding Shadowheart, saying that this is extremely unorthodox.

Shadowheart waves her out of the room with a grin, and she giggles hysterically. “I hope she complains to Astarion.”

Shadowheart helps you slip into a few more dresses, which are vastly better than the ones Lorne was bringing, but it’s not until you slip into the last dress that you think you feel something other than a desperate need to get back to Astarion.

The gown defies the boundaries between clothing and art. The champagne-coloured bodice shimmers with a constellation of the finest diamonds. Each stone sparkles like a thousand stars, casting your form in an ethereal light. The neckline plunges temptingly low, giving you a generous allure.

As the bodice meets the hip-hugging skirt, a cascade of lace descends in a mesmerizing train, as if a waterfall of gossamer had been captured in time. The pattern of the lace is reminiscent of swirling firestorms, and the edges are adorned with a delicate trim of moonstones that appear to glow as if imbued with silvery moonlight.

“I think I like this one,” you say, but glance up at Shadowheart.

Shadowheart’s eyes look wet. “You look otherworldly, Illyria. It’s perfect.”

Shadowheart helps you out of the dress, and Lorne comes to collect it, her face still screwing up into a scowl when she looks at Shadowheart, who smiles politely at her.

Before you can leave the dressing room, Shadowheart stops you and asks tentatively. “Do you think marrying him is a good idea?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s a good idea or not. I’ve dreamt of it since I met him. Even in his darkest hours, I could never bring myself to stop loving him, and I tried, Shadowheart. I tried to let him go, begged for love to turn into hate, but he’s far too tangled in my soul. For better or worse, I love him, and this is what I want.”

Shadowheart squeezes your shoulder. “As long as you’re happy, I support you. Always. But I think you need to be careful. Astarion will always do what it takes to survive.”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As with most fic writers, I am a WHORE for comments. We appreciate even just an emoji. Please feed your fic writers the sustenance of comments 🥰

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

Sorry I've been MIA guys. Life has gotten in the way, and my writing time has been significantly cut down recently. I'm hoping that it will recover, but it might be another month or so of spotty and shorter updates. Also, when patch 7 releases, you know I am DIVING head first into it

[g4ymer4rtist]

ask ddlc girlies and the batim/batdr cast questions but, crossover,

you can TRIPLE DOG DARE natsuki ddlc to KICK baby bendys head like a FOOTBALL

( please read the example thingy and rules )

(PLEASE SEND ME ASKS PLEASEPELASPEELASPELEPALSEPLAPELAPLEPALSPELEPALPELAPALSPELPLSAPALAPSLSLEPALSPEAPALSPEALLAPPELWPAPLPALPPAPALPELPALSELAPLEPWLAP)

"monika look another person who can play piano!" ( i assume sammy can bcus he has one is the music room )

"oh cool! bring them in- .....😨"

a hour later on yuri's fountain pen was out of ink despite the fact she hadnt even used it that day (iykyk (if you dont know sammy fucking drank the ink (i had to clarify because of the yuri pen incedent and so people would get the joke) ) )

or like, you could ask yuri and alisson to switch knive and sword idk,

ask the ddlc mc and henry what eternal loops of fictional hell are like

EXAMPLE THINGY AND RULES

it can be joke it can be random it can be silly, this isnt really a serious thing im just doing it bcus i desperatly crave a crossover

no shipping btw please, even if the two characters in question are in the same fandom! i just dont rlly wanna write ships and i also dont really want shipping questions, (unless its me x natsuki ( thats a joke dont take it seriously ) )

i also wanna say it can be non-canon characters but only really on occasion, like the ghost dokis will be considered seperate, and the dokis ( not including monika and sayori ) can switch between the act two versions if you specify, meaning you can specefically ask a question to yuri or natsukis act two version, the chibis are also considered seperate characters, the mc is a option as well, in the case of bendy i dont really need to cast a large net for a good cast of characters, so basically pretty much any character in bedy, other than any really insagnificant workers who only get a audio log and no actual ink form, if you want a specefic searcher or lost one like the patron or the sammy searcher please specify, bendy and the ink demon are still in the same vessel like jeckyl and hide like the actual game, however you can also choose to ask the batim ink demon witch is kind of just a past version of the current ink demon from before they got "seperated", audrey, wilson, the storylines are kind of interchangable, ask for buddy boris you get buddy boris, ask about buddys opinion on being replaced by tom in chapter 5 after dying hes suddenly aware of what happened, ask brute boris and buddy is dead for a ask unless the ask contains both characters, ask something insane like "ghost menu natsuki as a referee while the batim ink demon attacks the batdr ink demon completely SHATTERING every peice of bendy lore in a 5 mile radius" i also wanna say the advertised/cartoon versions depectid in comics, cardboard cutouts and cartoons of bendy characters arent available for asks sadly, neither are the sidestory versions of ddlc girls, you can make sayori PAINT BENDY so he has COLOUR and make yuri ddlc STAB WILSON ARCH

it might not always have the characters respond bcus i might go "im so fucking cringe" and write something that i think theyd say or how theyd react

for all i know my dumbass would be like "wait how would they respond to this" then ask then the same thing in cai so i can try and write a response better, im not great at this i think

anyway now to add 1000 on topic tags about bendy and ddlc so ALL the bendy and ddlc fans in a 500000 mile radius run to my ask box and i get flooded with asks and my autism goes "yay!!"

[fear-liath]

i may have fallen victim to the curse of the Bad Aziraphale Take with this post, so i'd like to right my wrongs:

i still agree with this, however i would like to add some insight: the metatron is definitely orchestrating their falling out. he knows exactly what he's doing & he knows that he can't control aziraphale as long as he has crowley on their side--that's emotional abuse 101. the victim is isolated from their real support systems, and the only place they have left to turn is their abuser. i believe that aziraphale knows what he's doing, and that he's just going along with heaven as far as he can in order to protect his demon, but from the metatron's perspective things have to look like they're going according to plan.

i think... maybe this is only half true? not sure what i was thinking when i wrote this; it was late. whatever.

crowley is an optimist, but he clearly had his doubts about how aziraphale would respond, which is indeed based in reality. aziraphale doesn't have a great track record as far as assuming the best of him in the moment (which, i must add, isn't his fault. it is one of his flaws, however). i think the important thing is that he trusts aziraphale to do the right thing in the end.

i still agree with this. however, i want to acknowledge that i felt this was unfair at the time, but in retrospect i was ignoring aziraphale's dependency on external validation that crowley does not have. crowley is far more independent than aziraphale, and i acknowledged this, but i framed it originally as "crowley has an unfulfilled need," rather than what i now think it really is, which is that AZI has an unfulfilled need.

yeah, there it is. different people, different needs.

as far as it being strange that aziraphale didn't pick up on what crowley needed in that moment right away, i do still feel that way--sort of. i honestly at this point just want to pin it down to him being excited.

whatever you have to say can wait--we have all of eternity to say whatever we want, in complete security. we won't have to hide. we can be together. and he wants so badly to be together. that's literally all he wants. he wasn't even a little interested in returning to heaven until the metatron told him that crowley could tag along. this is manipulation 101, people! the metatron knows, or at least can intuit, that crowley wouldn't want to become an angel again. he knows exactly what he's doing to them. this is not a good faith offer.

most of the rest of that post is me rambling about my interpretation of aziraphale's actions and the reasoning behind them. feel free to read the full take if you'd like, but i don't believe it's necessary to break down the whole thing. it mostly boils down to aziraphale needs to see people as people before he can respond properly to their needs. i may or may not still agree with that, i'm on the fence, but if that is the case, it's 100% because heaven has conditioned him to be that way. you need to earn salvation, you need to earn love, you need to earn humanity.

i originally used job as a counter example, but he may actually be a paragon of this interpretation. if anyone deserves salvation, it was job--righteous job, level-headed job, job who lost everything but never, ever lost faith in the Almighty. if anyone has earned aziraphale's sympathy, it's him.

this is just a wonky take. he does care, or else he wouldn't be making the offer. interrupting crowley might have been selfish in the short-term, but to aziraphale, the long-term result is eternity together unhindered. they will have all the time in the world to be an us if they can only get out from under the watchful, dangerous, probing eye of heaven.

i think i was getting close to the point here, but i was still framing it from the perspective that aziraphale had woefully wronged crowley, and that he's not also a victim of the system here. i was in far less certain terms falling into the "aziraphale is naive" trap, when in reality he just wanted to be safe. as archangel, he can do as he pleases without fear of retribution. he has never, ever felt safe before--not safe to ask questions, not safe to be seen with crowley, not safe to run off to alpha centauri with him. blaming him for prioritizing crowley's safety is more than a little silly.

this is just... the ick. it feels like a whole other person wrote this. i am trying so hard to give myself grace for this absolutely rot-gut take.

yikes. yikes yikes yikes. i'm not sure anymore if crowley has ever expressed a pointed distaste for being an angel again; that may just be misguided on my part. somehow i'm victim-blaming both of them here, while also completely misrepresenting aziraphale's intentions. i'm falling into the "he doesn't love crowley enough/the way he deserves" trap, painting him once again as naive, blind, and selfish. oopsie daisy.

i still believe the kiss was an offer akin to the ox rib, extremely alcoholic breakfasts, what have you. it's possible crowley doesn't feel seen--i might even go so far as to say that that's likely--but not in the way i stated originally. he's heartbroken. he's devastated. he might even feel betrayed. but just because he feels that way doesn't make it the truth, and i think a mistake i've made throughout this particular text is mistaking how aziraphale's actions look from the outside for his actual intentions.

i think this was mostly right up until the part about azi being selfish. he's far from selfish, he's not even close to naive. assuming he made a mistake in the f15 at all, he absolutely knows it now. he will do anything it takes to be with crowley.

at the time of this addendum i think he's made a Plan™ and is trying to convince himself he's made the right choice. all will make sense in the end. or maybe it won't. we'll figure it out--some things take time, and we don't have all the information.

i do believe that about covers it. in summary, they are both victims and treating either of them like they're naive or stupid for making the choices they did is unfair because they're both doing the best they can with the information they have available to them. it's heartbreaking, gut-wrenching, and really, really unfortunate. but it's neither of their fault. it's literally all the metatron. if heaven and hell were out of the picture, crowley would've been free to confess and aziraphale free to reciprocate--but that's just not their reality. everything aziraphale does is in order to keep crowley safe, in the interest of us long-term. crowley knows he has a hard time expressing himself, and so he wants to get it out fast, and that's valid; aziraphale having reservations due to safety concerns is just as valid.

it's neither of their fault.

[lanterns-and-daydreams]

SECRET SANTA EXTENSION!!!!

@eternal--dream I promised headcanons, therefore I will give u headcanons

"This is gonna be so lit!" Leo grinned, his lips pulling back to reveal sharp teeth as mischief danced in his eyes, a clear indication that he was up to no good, and neither was the boy next to him.

"Lighting it on fire on 3... 2..." Xander Hawthorne began the countdown, holding the lighter near the emerald green leaves of the Christmas that was set up and decorated in the middle of Camp. They'd noticed Hayley being a little sad, her usual demeanour dulled. This was their first Christmas without Carlos, and it had been the heaviest on Hayley's heart. Xander and Leo had decided to add an extra flair to the event this year, hoping it would cheer up their friend, and ease her grief, even if just a little bit.

"...1!" Xander exclaimed, extending the lighter and watching the tree go up in flames, making it look a little devilish, yet giving a stark contrast to the otherwise snowy surroundings.

What they hadn't expected, however, was their plan to fail. The tree was supposed to shoot up some tiny fireworks high enough for Hayley to see, and hopefully smile at, but instead, balls of fire shot up instead, landing on many other decorations and setting them on fire, as the devilish flames continued to eat away at everything and worked to conquer land faster than Genghis Khan

Both Xander and Leo stood there, watching it happen with parted lips and wide eyes and screams of panic and fear arose throughout the place.

"We're cooked, aren't we?" Leo mumbled ,low enough for no one but Xander to hear

"Burnt and roasted more than Camp." Xander replied in the same tone, right before spotting Hayley running over, her quick feet breaking through the treeline of the forest.

"It was nice knowing you, Xan. You were very sigma." Leo dramatically saluted to the tree.

"Thanks, Leo. I worked hard on my Ohio rizz. May our gyatts rest in peace." Xander placed a hand over his heart and closed his eyes.

-The trouble they got into after that could've made even Percy swear to be good.

-Despite getting yelled at for what felt like several hours, Leo and Xander still snuck glances at Hayley as they all say in the Big House, subtly making faces at her when Mr. D and Chiron's backs were to them, trying to make her laugh.

-She nearly laughed when Mr. D was talking, a snicker escaping despite her best efforts at suppression, making Mr. D glare daggers at her.

-Since she found it so funny, she could take part in the hilarity of their punishment, Mr. D announced, his kind person immediately telling her to shut up when she tried to explain.

-One of their punishments was to scrub the dishes and both Xander and Hayley had to stop Leo from trying to eat the lava.

-Its experimental, he swears on his foot's pinky!

-But that wasnt the only mischievous or troublesome thing they've done. They have a record, of course.

-But aside from being the Camp Gremlins, they were inseparable. Often sneaking to sit at each other's tables, having sleepovers, or seen just playing tag and hide and seek in the strawberry fields.

-You want gossip? These guys definitely know a bunch. The sideeyes are top tier, but unfortunately, all three of them suck at suppressing their laughter.

-Hayley likes to make fun of Leo for not being able to swim very well.

-Xander likes to make fun of both of them for being so short. He calls them his "little funky dwarves"

-Both Xander and Hayley know about Bunker 9 and Hayley often watches the boys build or listens to them yap about complex machinery and math.

-Girl tries her best to understand but wtf are they talking about, man.

-Everytime an argument breaks out between them, despite it's rarity, they all argue in gen alpha. Well, Hayley tries. It's impossible to not laugh mid argument.

-Leo is dyslexic, and Xander isn't very interested as Hayley is in novels and general reading. But both of them always try their best to read and understand the books they know Hayley likes so she can talk about it with them.

-They have friendship bracelets

-You can sometimes find all three of them sleeping in the fields, leaning on each other.

-Fights and harsh words are extremely rare, but no matter how upset they get with each other, at the end of the day, they always say I love you and goodnight before bed, coupled with a warm group hug.

[alittlebitofagoodperson]

Sympathy for the Devil

Accounts of war are written by the victor...

A discussion of why I, personally, think God is the villain, not the Devil.

I'm going to put this post under a cut, both because it is lengthy and it also contains discussion of domestic violence, alcoholism, self-harm and child abuse/neglect. Let me know if you want me to add any more tags!

This is a bit of a heavy lore drop, but the context is important.

Disclaimer: I am not religious, but I have an academic interest in religion. This is written under the assumption that Heaven/Hell/God/The Devil are real, but doesn't necessarily reflect my beliefs.

When drunken violence was a twice-weekly occurrence between my parents, and I was a lost, scared child hiding in my bedroom, I would sometimes pray.

Not for everything to be good. I didn't want it to be all sunshine and rainbows. I'm not sure it ever had been. I just wanted it to stop. I prayed for someone, something, anything. Whether that meant my parents splitting up, one of them going to prison, me getting taken away, or any other means of just making it all go away.

Nobody answered. Nobody came to help me. None of the adults who could have removed me. None of the professionals who should have helped me. I was left alone and scared to survive by myself. I've had people insist this was a test from God, and I proved myself to Him by surviving.

No "loving" God would test a child like that. I did, however, end up finding things to help me through. Things which I've heard countless times referred to as 'the Devil's work'.

Rock music, heavy drinking, self-harm, much later on I dabbled in drugs. The first time I got truly wasted, I was twelve, and in the company of my father (and many other adults who should have known better, but instead taught me how to open beers on a brick wall). It was all downhill from there.

Suppose you could say the Devil really got a hold of me in my most vulnerable moment., but if he hadn't, I'm not sure I would have survived it at all. So that gets me thinking.

God wouldn't answer my prayers, and the excuse I'm given is that it's because He wanted me to suffer. The things that I used to cope with that suffering are temptations I'm supposed to resist. Part of the test, I guess, but it kept me alive. Don't we see this narrative a lot?

God is supposed to love me. Supposed to forgive me when I fuck up. Instead I'm supposed to accept that He would punish me preemptively to see how badly I fuck it up. If I don't make the grade...if I falter, then what? I get cast into Eternal Fire at the end, and that's NOT the villain of the story!?

Then I consider the Bible and it's messages. We've all read history books. Aren't they always written by the winners of war? So if there was war in Heaven...the Devil was cast out...and the winning side got to tell the tale...how accurate is it? How accurate is any of it? Is God loving and forgiving, or just a cruel manipulator vying for unwavering loyalty?

Is the Devil out to set me astray? Or was he just the only one listening when I begged for something to help? Food for thought.

[forg-the-frog]

((( not quite sure how I'm supposed to tag things, what are the explanation point for??? I always see them everywhere )))

Fem reader, witch reader, SFW.

You ran for the muddled swamp. Pitchforks and torches followed behind you, you knew if one of them got their hands on you, you would be dead.

Paranoia had been brewing it the past months, maybe even year. Some townsmen planted the seed of uncertainty, initially starting as a rumor until it grew into more. The seed grew into a vine, a parasite upon the small town.

"Have you heard about the witches?"

You would accationally hear when you ventured out for food.

"She's always so.. dirty."

The comments grew and you held your head down on the rarer and rarer times that you would be desperate enough to visit the town.

"I heard the last town she lived in she had to run away from cus' she lured a child in and ate them.."

It was absurd. Everyone knew it, and yet, without fail, you would always see the glares of passerbys.

—

You tripped. Face planting directly into the wet, cold mud. You cursed the gods in a moment of anger, but regretted it immedietly as someone yelled that 'I found the witch!'. Getting to your feet, barely taking the time to wipe the mud off your face.

Your lungs stung each time you took a breath. It wasn't like you did anything wrong.. of course maybe you were a witch, and maybe you did curse a couple people- but it wasn't like you meant to cause harm.

You didn't dare look behind you; you could practically feel the breath against your neck even though they were likely at least a couple of yards away.

With a small muffled yip, you choked ever so slightly on your collar, a hand wrapping around your mouth to shut you up.

This was it.

You closed your eyes and quickly accepted your death, merely hoping that it would be quick.

"Quiet."

You heard a mummble behind you. You opened your eyes and found yourself in a muddy ditch. It was a surprisingly good hiding spot, yet you could help but twitch ever so slightly from the nervousness of being caught.

Loud footsteps just barely missed you, the yelling of the mob growing more and more distant as they got off track.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the man let you go.

"You okay..?"

He looked over you, and you quickly realized that he was.. not very strong. In fact you figured that if you weren't scared shitless you probably would've been able to escape easily.

( will add more parts soon )

[tinycatharsis]

IVE BEEN A NASTY GIRLL

YOUR FRENCH LITERATURE professor embodies everything you find detestable in a teacher. His classes are a monotonous drone of information, devoid of anything exciting or engaging, though that might not be entirely his fault with how painfully, mind numbingly boring the subject he teaches is.

blah blah blah.. proper name.. place name.. backstory stuff

He rarely ever deviates from his tight-lipped script, and he absolutely refuses to entertain any questions or foster any interesting discussion. He never accepted late assignments or gave any extensions, his tests are ridiculously hard, and he’ll dock points off your assignments for the tiniest, stupidest reasons.

no but real talk, I actually love these kind of teachers. let's stop being overly lenient and letting students walk all over you omg.

Each class feels like an eternity, and often you find yourself counting down the minutes until you can escape the insufferable, suffocating atmosphere of his classroom.

me in guitar class checking the clock every second dasjkhfkje

You can’t stand to be his student, but you dream at night about being something else to him entirely— it’s a paradox that drives you to detrimental distraction. How can you be so obsessed with someone you loathe?

HOLD AWN- U COOKED HERE icl

It was as if the author had plucked your deepest fantasies straight from your head and printed them out on paper, then planted the book in the perfect spot for you specifically to discover.

you to me bb <3

Everything he does makes your belly swirl with need, even something as simple as running a hand through his hair or adjusting his glasses— you can’t even bare to look at him, and instead try your hardest to focus on whatever boring tangent he was rambling on about… until you caught yourself fantasizing about how his deep voice would sound whispering dirty words in your ear.

THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH oh my god.

He has to pry it out of your hand with a considerable amount of force, because you can’t seem to loosen your fingers around the cover.

HELP

If it was Professor Park's intention to psychologically torture you, he wildly succeeded. And you’re absolutely sure it was, because the first thing you see once you step into his office is your professor lounging back in his chair reading your book.

THAT LIL BITCH OMH

“You, um… you wouldn’t like it.”

oh, but I have a feeling he would.

“I followed my professor to his office, watching with bated breath as he rounded his big wooden desk.”

WTF WHY DID HE START READING IT- I'd have to drop out and move states after that I fear.

“In today’s rapidly evolving global landscape, the integration of technology in…” and at the word “integration”, which I had misspelled, he— he… um… Oh.”

not him stuttering omg, also that i noticed you used colons I LOVE YOU

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

HE SAID I- dare I say, freudian slip

help why is hoon lowkey running away. I may or may not have came into this blind like I skipped all the tags and all dfjkash

You watch in abject horror as both she and Karina downed them one by one like they were water.

yk what else can be downed like water? Giselle and Karina's- *gunshots* mc can get hoon and I'll get a room with my girls PLEASEEE lord #manifesting

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

GIRL WE'RE SUPPOSED TO HIDE?!

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

ykw I'M SIGNING UP FOR THAT ECON CLASS. the dead grippppppp jayke have on me is insane. I feel rabid.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over all of this noise! If you have a question, I’ll be in my office tomorrow afternoon. Go on and have a good night.” “Wait, Professor—!” “Have a good night!”

hoon's characterization here is so cute fdkjsah so far..

yk I never had wet dreams so this felt like my first experience with one because your writing is so vivid and evocative.

His hair is a mess and his clothes are disheveled, his tie half undone and his shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Anxiously he adjusts his glasses, the wide brown eyes behind them looking like a cornered deer’s.

mc a better person than me because I WOULD'VE POUNCED ON HIM.

“Oh. Um… alright.” He finally says.

stoppppp

"You’re to treat me with respect—” “Then you treat me with respect first!”

it reminds me of that one dialogue in this historical series, I forgot the name TT

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

oh, but isn't chasing something forbidden terribly enticing?

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

you really cooked with the dialogues.

“Then do it.” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He looks just as shocked at your proclamation as you were. “If you want to do it that bad, do it.” He moves in a flash, giving you no time to prepare— within seconds has you thrown over his lap on his office swivel chair, your hair hanging in your face as you blink wildly at the floor. Sunghoon brushes one of his big hands against you skirt-clad ass, barely a brush of his fingers, but you still gasp all the same. “Do you really want this?” He breathes, voice low, his breathing hard—the outline of his cock presses hard against your stomach through his slacks, making it considerably hard to focus on the words that came out of his mouth.

THERE'S SM TENSION IN THESE SCENES. god. I am not the strongest soldier.

“Is it okay if I take your panties off, bunny?”

no because how did you know this is one of the maybe two petnames that makes me

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

real asf.

“That’s my good girl.” You could hear your panties rip as he tears them off of you in one solid motion, the biting cold air meeting your hot soaking cunt and making both you and Sunghoon hiss.

I thought he was gonna slide those down but ykw pantie ripping will never not be sexy.

You relished pushing him as far as he would go; you relished losing.

oh my god. bruh. hell nah.

“And that’s… that’s for pushing me to put you over my lap in the first place. You couldn’t just leave it alone, could you? And now look at you, making me risk my job to teach you a lesson.”

the irony in this last line oh my god??? because his job is to teach.

wait- didn't he rip her panties away already and now they're back on 😭 issokie tho because I enjoy the sliding them to the side line so much fdajkshfk.

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

ANOTHER ONE, THANK YOU. adfjkahsfuihqeriufh oh my god. mc rn

THE DESCRIPTION OF HIS COCK- bro do u not want me to live

His thick, salty cum tastes like ambrosia on your tongue, the delicious bitterness quickly getting you drunk.

AMBROSIA. AMBROSIA??????? ykw this should be framed.

HOONIE IS CRAZY.

i giggle everytime the panties are mentioned because dfjksaho of the ripping line earlier 😭

I love the bunny petname sm, it does things to me istg.

You wanted nothing more than to yield to the tide, let it overtake you completely, and in turn pull Sunghoon down with you.

I LOVE IT WHEN THEY BOTH FALL. (in more layers than one)

His glasses were fogged up from his heavy breathing, his hair and clothes even more a mess than it was when he had first opened the door, his pink face so irritatingly kissable when he shoots you a nervous smile.

he's sooooo cute.

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

OUCH?????? but hey a win is a win.

The love-stricken grin he shoots back at you in return makes your heart soar.

we are so locked in 😼😼😼 !!!!

ROMANTICISM HANDLED WITH DISCIPLINE ── 박성훈

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

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

genre ༚ ༚ ༚ smut, fluff, porn with plot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Miss L/N, what are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Professor!” you yelp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Professor, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”  you reply honestly.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s… it’s about Professor Park.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Karina and Giselle stare at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, Professor—!”

“Have a good night!”

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

“Are you okay?”

“Did you get lost or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Um… alright.” He finally says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Professor—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“T-three!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cant help but giggle at him.

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

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

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

“Will you give me that TA position then?”

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

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

“I know I won’t.”

[my-whumpy-little-heart]

hey, so i've been wanting to make this post for a few days now just as a general note and apology.

content on my blog has been very slow for the past... while. as i'm sure you've all noticed. i keep thinking i'll finally get back into the swing of posting again, create content more consistently, find the creative drive i lost months ago. but i haven't done any of that. and i feel awful every time i finally post something and immediately fall back into a rut for weeks after.

the truth of this whole matter, as i'm slowly coming to realize, is that i'm really not well. in a multitude of ways.

i'll be working on it as best i can, but until i reach a point where i'm able to create more freely and easily again, expect the lack of content and posting here to persist.

again, i apologize for my general lack of presence. i promise i'm always hanging around, but my drive and capacity have been at an all time low, especially in these past weeks.

i'll do what i can when i can, and we'll just have to go from there. thank you to all of you that have borne with me thus far.

[ruiniel]

hi! may i request a short fic for fem!reader x alucard for if the reader was feeling jealous (for some reason lol)/feeling a little insecure and alucard... ;) ;) reassuring them there was nothing to worry about? thank youuu!

Oh look, I finally completed another writing ask. Everyone else, I got you, it's taking a while.

Anon I don't know if I got your ';) ;)' right, but this is an E rated fic. All heed the tags

Thank you for the prompt, hope you like this.

Its claws dig deep

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Alucard x fem!reader

Rating: E / 18+ only

Count: 2.9k

Tags: alternate universe, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy, vampire ball, drunk!Alucard, dom energy Alucard, profanity(from Alucard! gasp), arguing, emotional hurt/comfort, make up sex ig, thigh humping, bodily fluids, not in that order

Summary: Takes place in an AU where Alucard is more involved in the vampire side of his legacy after Dracula’s demise. Sometimes that meant attending events of more or less frivolous nature, and he would not leave his SO behind.

It’s late as you enter the ballroom, where already there is shine and humming beneath pale golden lights, and so many people.

Vampires, all of them.

“That’s a large crowd,” you add, biting your lip at the unfiltered thought.

Adrian looks down at you briefly, smiling. “We’ll navigate it together,” he says, and in comfort, presses his fingers over your hand when it digs into his arm. “But we can still turn back, if you want that. I can do this on my own. The ceremony is really mainly for show.”

“Aren’t they all?” you mumble. You want to take the offered lifeline, as being surrounded by a slew of powerful beings for the first time does sound daunting but... But, another side of you finally wants to come out of hiding. If you’ll be spending more time with their knowledge, you want them to see you as their peer, or foolishly hope they could. Whatever that means to them. And if you fail, at least you won’t regret not trying. 

“Let’s go,” you say, taking a step forward and then you’re entering the hall washed in rouge and gold, smelling of incense and heavy hyacinth.

The invitees look both lively and alive in their mirth, an illusion cast about their presence, and one would never guess they are anything other than merry revelers gathered together from all corners of the globe. 

“Adrian! Adrian, it is you, I cannot believe it!”

The words have you turning your head towards a tall figure of soft grace gliding over to reach you. Adrian ceases walking, and you inch closer to his side.

“Faena,” Adrian says, turning and smiling.

You do a double take at the first-name-basis. Faena?!

“How are you? I haven’t seen a whiff of you in what feels like years.”

“... you actually have not seen me in years, Faena.”

You’re standing there and gaping at them as they exchange pleasantries, both shining and youthful and eternal, wondering all the while who this is and why her hand is on his arm for the entire duration of this exchange.

Damnable heart, you’re so petty. 

“... and who… is this? A human, Adrian?”

You nearly miss the question, but look to find a pair of red-tinted irises assessing you. You tilt your chin upward. 

“Correct,” Adrian says, a hand long settled around your hip.

Faena flicks her bejeweled wrist, her flawless skin puckering in places as she grimaces. “I see. Do you own her?”

What?!

But then again, what did you expect? No really, what? 

The change in Adrian’s voice has you peeking up at his face; the warmth in his features has gone cold. “Nobody owns her. She is here of her own free will, as my partner.”

The vampire looks at you anew, a beautiful raven-dark eyebrow raised, perfect lips pursing in assessment as though a gold nugget were revealed to her in a pile of waste.

You’ve seen, heard, and listened to vampires for long enough to guess with some accuracy as to the meaning behind his words: ... and under my protection. You do your best to keep the physical proof of your unease at bay as you’ve learned to do around them for a while now (expression, heartbeat, posture). You’re not very good at it, you think. Adrian helped you practice, to give you a chance in keeping a shred of your thoughts and feelings your own.

“My apologies,” Faena says finally even as she leans in, and without another glance your way, kisses Adrian on the cheek. “Your father’s son, after all.” Her long, garnet earrings sparkle as she turns her head towards the entrance hall, where new guests are being admitted. “Excuse me, I see the Styrian sisters over there. Carmilla looks upset, which is always amusing. I leave you now, mind yourself tonight Adrian, you and your...” she waves a hand carelessly as she turns away “... human.”

You watch Faena melt, a graceful shadow slithering among the glittering, amorphous mass of underworld.

“Not all of them are this way, I promise.”

“No,” you say, wanting to believe him. “I suppose not.” 

~~

More of similar meetings follow. Most guests seem to know Adrian or at least know of him—not surprising. For you, however, the awkwardness continues. And you try, you really do; but soon it becomes clear just how different this is compared to whatever it was you’d hoped.

You watch him on that elevated platform, bowing to the Lady of this estate, a public expression of alliance in the face of leaderless covens running amok and savaging the lands. He brings a hand to his chest and speaks words in a language unknown, but you know it’s a part of him just as much as his human heart is. Adrian looks your way, briefly—or you think he does. You’re overrun with a need to be away from here, from the stares and side-eyed judgment of these people, away from seeing him so much in his element where you never will be.

After five more minutes of listening to the words exchanged, you give in to the urge: retreat.

~~

You reach your chamber with little issue—somehow, apparently, other vampires knew how to make their abodes navigable, you think sulkily. You kick off your slippers once inside, breathing easier in solitude. Attempts at sleep fail, and an hour later finds you pacing around the room, checking a book or other, gazing out the window, repeat. 

Late, you hear the creak of hinges, the closing of a door; the call of your name. 

“I’m here, Adrian,” you say, currently turned to the window. The mountains are white-capped, shining like liquid mercury under moonlight. You feel his presence, know he’s staring at you though you’re looking away, arms crossed around your middle.

Oh, it might be one of those evenings. Arguing. Throwing hands. Adjusting to each other’s expectations again and again, for—

You can’t complete that thought as Adrian throws his gloves onto a tea table. “You disappeared,” he says. There’s something in his voice you can’t quite trace. Worry? That’s expected, though you realize you hadn’t given it a thought at the time; not one of your best moments. “It’s good I thought to search here after picking through the entire ballroom.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, closing your eyes. Clearly, not one of your best moments. You feel that tiny, growing weight that is guilt pressing down on you. 

A sigh. The barely audible sound of footsteps drawing near. A warm hand wraps slowly but firmly around your arm, and you’re being hedged to turn around.

Adrian looks you in the eye, seeking, wondering; he smells of incense and wine, and his cheeks are flushed. “Did something happen?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry.”

“Please stop saying that.” 

You look up at him, the sharper tone a surprise—not a good one, at that. “What do you want me to say?”

“I,” he frowns, sways slightly but just barely; you wonder if you imagined it. “I am merely asking about the matter, the real matter, with you.”

You look away, shrug out of his hold. “Why dwell on it? I told you nothing happened. We’re leaving tomorrow, we—I—survived the strangest event I’ve ever been to, you seemed to enjoy yourself, and no one fed on me, so what is the problem?”

His expression changes into one of… hurt, and the renewed remorse you feel is like a choking fist. 

“Was this your thought when you left without a word? Leaving me to search for you in the crowd, worrying and angrier by the minute?”

“You said I was safe.”

Adrian pauses, lips parted, baring his teeth in what can only be annoyance. “That is not the point.” His eyes narrow. “Are you upset with me about something? Something I’ve done?”

“No!” you cry, and can’t help but reach for him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You did nothing wrong. It… it’s something I need to get over. Adrian I—” you mellow at the concern on his features. “I’m embarrassed to tell you, it’s… it’s so petty, really.”

“Try me,” he turns away, removes his black cape, then wraps an arm around your waist, leading you to sit on the edge of the bed facing each other. 

You make a sound that’s something between a grunt and a groan, staring at how his wine-dark tunic bares his flushed chest, the soft skin cradling you at night. “You’re so beautiful.”

The corner of a smile. “Thank you,” he runs a hand down your arm, “We make a magnificent pair.”

You roll your eyes. “... and everyone was so… interested in you, all those gorgeous immortals and this society is so different to what I know but I try, I want them to see me as more than prey, I just… I couldn’t stay there any longer. And, that Faena…” you trail away. “So I left. I know it was selfish to walk off through the foreign vampire castle without telling you. I see that. Again, I’m sorry.”

What Adrian does next surprises you: his hand reaches to the nape of your neck, and bringing you in, he slants his mouth over yours.

You freeze at the suddenness of it, but melt almost instantly and just as you’re craving more, he slowly breaks away. You’d very much like to know what is happening, begging him with your eyes.

“Faena,” Adrian smiles, “was my governess. Well, one of them. She was also my trainer in specific types of combat during my brief adolescence. She has her moments, but would not cross a line. And she wanted to eat of you; badly.”

You groan, covering your face with your palms. “... can the dungeons open up and swallow me whole now, please?” 

You’re drawn closer as Adrian moves up onto the bed, pulling you into his lap. “I think it’s sweet,” he says, dragging his nose along your throat; he feels warm and hard against you, and you grip onto him as tightly as you’d wanted to all evening. “But I’m sorry you felt that way,” he says, unceremoniously pushing on your shoulder to lead you on your back. “I’ll do all I can to support you,” he says. His eyes convey something completely different to his words, and you can’t ask anyway between the nips and bites, and his hands covetously grasping your body. “Trust me?”

You sigh when he cups a breast, feeling it in his palm, bringing his lips over the nipple and breathing hot air through the thinness of your dress. “I do trust you.” You arch your hips up into him.

Adrian looks down at you, running his thumbs along your jaw. “Here you were too busy thinking this, that you didn’t notice everyone else staring at you,” he growls into your chest, and the vibration runs down between your legs, tingles through your clit. “... wanting to either eat you or fuck you or both,” he follows, and you’ve never heard him speak this way—

“How drunk are you, exactly?” you ask with a whiff of bemusement through your abject adoration. Then, “... wait, really?” You process his latter words.

“Drunk enough,” Adrian murmurs, pressing his cheek to one tit, nosing at it. “... but that doesn’t account for this. And yes,” his voice is lower, has a slur that gives his timbre an ever alluring warmth. “None of them could approach, only because you’re mine.”

“I thought no one owned me,” you deadpan, hands running up his strong back, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. 

Adrian scoffs against you, then raises his head. “You know I speak not of your personal freedom.”

He’s watching you so intently your barb dies on your tongue. “I know—mmm,” you sigh when he sucks on your lower lip. “You were… splendid up there. Regal… it suits you.”

Adrian snorts a giggle into you. “Yes… and do you know what I was thinking all the while? While I said the words?” his mouth finds your neck, and a soft bite, a graze, has you trembling.

“... do you actually…” you pause as his hands flex, fingers digging into your thighs. “What?”

“I thought of you,” his hands reach under your dress, lifting the folds and this time when he presses you against him you feel all of him. “Of having you, somewhere in this damn castle,” another nip, a lick at the curve of your neck as you melt and wonder if you heard wrong. “Remember that time in the woods?” he breathes, eyelashes fluttering sweetly.

How could you forget? The mere memory of it has you soaking wet. “... yes?”

“Like that,” he says, and you feel his smile, the curve of those soft lips on your skin, his hot, careful touch up your back and tracking your spine until he cups the back of your head. “It’s you, and I,” he gets to say as you hungrily begin kissing him back, all fears forgotten as Adrian repeats, “You and I…” he brings two fingers to your mouth; you lick them, suck on them, staring into the flare of his eyes as he drinks you in.

Adrian hastily withdraws his fingers and rises, taking you with him and the world is spinning; you end snugly in his lap at the edge of the bed, settled with your legs grasping his thigh. This isn’t how you expected the evening to go, but you’re not one to complain here. Your mind gives way to sensation so easily with him, you think through that stubborn need as Adrian works to unlace your underclothes but pauses as though struck, looking up at you. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Are you teasing now?”

He snorts. “I am asking, beastling. Whatever you wish.”

“Fine, then I don’t want you to stop,” you say, breathless, gazing into his now smiling eyes. “I want… I want you to hurt me.”

The smooth lines of his face change, nostrils flaring, features sculpted in amber from the golden candlelight. “Brave, little beast,” he reaches down, cups your mound; you squirm, hiding your nose in his shoulder. His other hand grasps your chin, tilting so you’re looking him in the eye. “Never disappear like that, ever again. I would’ve caused an incident to find you. I would have dealt death to find you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you sigh and tremble, and Adrian’s really, really not the impulsive type. And something about the way he grips you has you meaning it too. 

Adrian seems satisfied, kissing your forehead, his fingers still busy tracing along your silk-covered slit. “Shift your hips,” he says, and you do, feeling him guide you slowly back and forth onto his thigh. “You want me to hurt you,” he murmurs, gasping as your hand cups his hard cock, shapely through the soft material of his trousers. That, you want that.

“No… not so,” he grins, the fiend, pushing your hand gently away though he unbuttons his trousers, and you can only stare at the cock in his hand as he strokes it. “Move for me, will you move for me?” he licks the skin between your breasts before sucking on each, settling on one to nibble and tease, grasping your ass as you try to do what he asks: rubbing against his clothed thigh, feeling the sweet pressure building at each brief contact with that small bundle of nerves.

“I’ll… mess up your clothes…” you moan, but your hips keep gyrating, it feels too good to stop.

“I don’t care,” Adrian growls, and you get wetter watching him pump his own cock, that hot tasty cock in those beautiful hands, staring at you as you fuck yourself on him, timing his strokes with the shift of your hips.

You end with your face hidden against his neck, licking at his Adam’s apple as you move and watch and listen to him moan, as you reach and plunge two fingers into your cunt and desperately thrust. “Oh god Adrian please, I can’t, it’s not enough, please…” you cry into him—and are promptly tilted over onto your back, relieved as you feel his weight over yours; you both moan as he sinks into you, and it takes a mere three thrusts to have you creaming around the base of his cock.

“Fuck…” he feels it just as you do, and in your frenzy you’re both impatient, pulling and grasping at each other as he holds you down and each timed plunge pushes and pushes and floods your cunt with pleasure, the delicious feeling of the head slicking repeatedly inside. “You… are… perfect…”

You squeeze around him, gratified when he curses again and goes faster; and you? You’re riding a continuous high commanded by his hips snapping into yours, by the licks and kisses, of ramming into you so hard your head hits the wooden headboard as he suddenly pulls out and spurts warm cum all over your abdomen. 

You both pant, then laugh with him still hovering above you, licking into your mouth and falling to the side, dragging you to him. 

“What… just happened…” you feel up his shirt, realizing neither of you took your clothes off. You curl a leg over him, satisfied.

Adrian feels your pussy, sleeking fingers around the dripping lips. “I… believe we had a discussion; and then we ate into each other.”

“That’s a way to put it.” You run a hand through the sheen of his hair; he takes your wrist, kisses your palm.

“Mmmh… smells like you,” he licks at your finger, bringing you into him; careless of his disheveled (and excruciatingly charming) appearance: his tunic undone, his shirt crumpled, cock out and wet and drained and coated in you, as you are in him. “Feeling better?”

You nod.

“I need you,” Adrian says as you’re folded against him, his voice low and spent and grave. “I always will.”

“And I, you.” The truth.

“How fortunate,” Adrian smiles, snark whittling away at his tone as he cuddles into you. “How fortunate indeed.”

[oh-no-its-danger-gays]

emerging from the tags for once to actually add my thoughts onto a post:

this is why i don’t believe in the coffee theory. the idea is that metatron miracled the coffee in some way to make aziraphale say yes, because it’s hard to believe that azi would willingly up and leave crowley like that. and on the surface it IS hard to believe, given the things we’ve seen aziraphale do both for crowley and because of him.

BUT. when you actually deeply consider aziraphale’s character and beliefs, it make perfect sense!

for starters, aziraphale is a being of love! he is filled to the brim with love and goodness and hope and has seen first hand that crowley is too. he has seen crowley absolutely amazed and joyous at his creation. and he wants crowley to be able to feel those things again without fear of backlash. he wants to once again be able to see that sort of unrestrained joy on crowley’s face. because now we know that crowley feels those things, he showed us that when he was an angel, but has to stop himself now because he’s a demon. there’s no telling the kind of shit crowley has been through over the years because of his goodness. such as the laudanum incident. crowley did not fall because he was evil!!! he simply asked questions! it is made clear that crowley is still crowley whether he’s an angel or a demon. the difference is that demon crowley has been beaten down by centuries of abuse by hell and is no longer safe to show that sort of openness and vulnerability. in aziraphale’s mind, if crowley were an angel again, he would still be his crowley, he would just no longer have to hide those parts of himself.

(aziraphale also has incredibly black and white thinking when it comes to good and evil, and is fully convinced that heaven is the side of good, hence aziraphale’s refusal to cut ties with heaven like crowley suggests — but that has to do with heavens cult-like brainwashing and that’s not what i’m talking about here)

so along with that, crowley being an angel again means that him and azi could be together without repercussions. we have seen that they are both very afraid of the prospect of being found out by heaven/hell. they can’t be with each other in the way that they want because they can’t let their bosses know that an angel and a demon are friends (aka in love with each other). there is, as far as we know, no actual rules against angels being in relationships with other angels. and that doesn’t necessarily mean that it happens often, but that it can. does azi want to live eternity in heaven? no! he’s made it abundantly clear that he loves humanity and being on earth. but i don’t think that this was azi saying that he would rather live in heaven. this was aziraphale saying he would give up all his earthly possessions in order to be with crowley. because think about it. azi was incredibly hesitant to accept the offer until metatron said that crowley could be restored.

so. even after crowley makes his thoughts on the matter clear, aziraphale still says yes. why? because where crowley thinks the system (heaven and hell) shouldn’t exist at all, aziraphale just thinks it’s broken. and this once again goes back to the brainwashing of heaven and azi thinking it’s inherently the side of good. i believe that aziraphale feels that if he can reform heaven, he could convince crowley to join him.

i think that aziraphale saying yes is motivated entirely by his own feelings and beliefs, not by the persuasion of metatron.

now i DO think something was going on with the coffee. there was a weird amount of emphasis on it for it to be nothing. but i don’t think aziraphale was being miraculously persuaded. i saw someone say in a post that it could be like when someone asks you to hold a pen for them, and you saying yes to that makes you more receptive to saying yes to other things. and we honestly won’t know until s3 but i just don’t personally have a lot of faith in the coffee theory.

all of this incoherent babbling to say; my point is that crowley was at one point just as full of joy and wonder as aziraphale. and i think azi would do anything to get to a place where crowley is safe to be like that again.

(the issue is that azi can’t comprehend that crowley doesn’t feel safe in heaven either.)

I absolutely cannot stop thinking about the version of Crowley we get to see from before the Fall. He smiles differently, he speaks differently. There's so much oppenness in his expression. He loves what he does! Is genuinly mournful when he learns it will be destroyed.

Compared to the Crowley we see after years of solitude, abuse and treading on eggshells around his bosses. Closed off, furious, suspicious. I do truly believe that after he was called back to Hell in the graveyard that the next time Aziraphale saw him was in 1862, when he asked, in that feeble, broken down voice, for Holy Water. He has spent so much of his existence in survival mode, is desperate to cling to the peace he's found.

Nina describes him as the "hard bitten one" who can't trust anyone ever again, and it sort of gobsmacked me that she could see that!!! that Neil Gaiman would have someone say that!!!!! But, of course, she is in many ways the same.

Whatever happened to Crowley after the Laudanum incident certainly wasn't a one-off. He was certainly punished again and again for deeds seen as too good. Enough so that when he is called kind, when he is called good, when he is thanked, his response is violent panic.

It's easy for us to believe that maybe he's always been like that. But no. Gaiman gave us incontestable proof that there was a time where Crowley smiled freely, where he looked with wide and joyful eyes at the parts of the world he created. The difference from that, to the numb and deeply lonely Crowley that we see with Job, the anxious, repressed and angry Crowley that we see in the present day, is one of the biggest tragedies of all.

[tiredassmage]

can you tell us the general rundown about bounty hunter tyr for us unenlightened folks? :D (if ok to spoil what that's about)

EHEHEHEHE I have no self control when the question includes "Tyr," that's what slkdfnldsnfsd. Short version, @hyrohkaah (god bestie idk what blog to tag for this eheheheh) & I put Tyr & their Hyroh together for shenanigans and then, naturally, as you do when you play Barbies with you and a friend's blorbos, we said, 'what if Alliance era role swap,' and... then hold on I wrote a checklist about what happens but IN SHORT.

But, essentially, it begged the question of what does Tyr do for five years when Hyroh, the one safe place Tyr had found in the galaxy, is presumed dead, and the answer is, as everything with Tyr is: complicated.

In one sense, he keeps his promise to Hyroh: that he'll walk away, that he won't answer to either side anymore. He'll fight for himself first. For Hyroh, Tyr cut ties with Sith Intelligence after Ziost, using the chaos erupting across the planet as cover and only leaving ongoing contact with a select few - namely Vector, Theron, and Lana, though the latter is with a particularly sharp threat that if she tries to rope him back into Intelligence, his answer has a good chance of being violent. In another, Tyr's "coping" is... not coping and throwing himself back into work and the skills and methodologies of a Cipher like it's going out of style. He's just... not doing it for either side, exactly.

For a few months, then, life was... good. As good as it could be as they hunted a planet-eating force entity across the stretches of the galaxy and waited with baited breath.

[And then she proceeded without the checklist]

Then we more or less know how the big story goes; the Eternal Empire invades in retaliation for the fleet. The Sith Empire and the Republic both keep tight lips about what happened to Marr's expedition and their would-be heroes are quietly presumed killed in action. They'd barely had time to discuss what life was supposed to look like when they finished this. 'If' goes unspoken. Because it wasn't worth tearing up old wounds for both of them.

But if is what he's left with. He's cut ties with both sides and Tyr is tired of watching both of them kick each other under the table instead of ceding that Zakuul is a greater threat than both of them. So, Tyr does the only thing a Cipher could: crafts a new name, a new face, and slips himself back into the life of a hired killer, using his shared intelligence with Ardun Kothe and the Black Codex as an assassin's guide to the political intrigue of both sides. In between building a reputation as a ruthless, but quiet and effective hunter, Tyr hunts those he perceives as corrupt that remain rotting in the power structure - primarily in the Empire, though he's not above or below chasing down a few Senators of the Republic, either.

The internal unrest amongst the Mandalorians splits the titled Grand Champion of the Great Hunt off with Torian Cadera back into Mandalorian business, and such is, eventually, how Nine picks up Mako as a hunt partner and struggles to strike a balance between teaching her a Cipher's ways and "do as I say, not as I do."

She saves his life rather literally when one of his vendetta assassinations goes not quite to plan; he's missing for three days before she interrupts the interrogation trying to figure out who hired him to take shots at an Imperial minister. Tyr's done well to spin them in circles, even if it's nearly killed him to do so. Mako would've beat him over the head herself for being reckless if he wasn't half-way dead by his own doing. So "Kyranthe," as he's met her, reveals some (a very... mild and redacted version, mind) of his mired history with Imperial Intelligence as a former agent by way of explaining why he does these jobs someone may or may not be paying him to carry out.

The paint and ink hide the scars from the... "contract negotiations." And add something to the intimidating persona or whatever when he needs to conduct business in person face-to-face

So, when Lana Beniko comes snaking back into his life a few years into this odd war, he's mistrustful; she doesn't deny knowledge about his "activities," but claims she's not there on Imperial business. Mako's wary of him making any deals with more Sith. Andd... I was gonna save the ficlet it spawned for another day BUT. Since I'm now going. Stay tuned for how her "job offer" goes. ; D

Oh, and of course, I could have just. kept all of this hc and I didn't NEED to turn it into a whole thing. But then I said to myself, "Dot... You need to finish a BH on SF anyway."

And who am I to say no to Tyr?

[starglitterz]

cynosure. (ii)

─── chapter 2 ! ~ can i put my minecraft bed next to yours ?

summary; you and xiao are genmates under the famed streamer company genshin impact. the chemistry between the two of you is undeniable, and your fanbases absolutely love your collaborations. but when you both start meeting up offline more and more, your connection starts to deepen past just harmless flirting and playful banter. with these real feelings starting to affect both your job and reputation online, how will you two react when your relationship becomes the internet’s cynosure?

a/n; reading order is

1 2

3 4

hope you enjoy !! :D

HELP I FORGOT TO ADD THIS AND I WOKE UP TO DO IT ASAP BEFORE IT PUBLISHED 😭😭😭 BUT E/C STANDS FOR EYE COLOUR BTW

previous.┃masterlist.┃next.

please reblog ! it helps a lot :)

twitter !

groupchat (1) !

groupchat (2) !

facts !!

the first gc is from y/n's phone but the second is from xiao's phone

xiao and zhongli have been friends for a long time, since xiao graduated from high school and met zhongli while xiao was doing an internship, which coincidentally is also how he met childe! he became close with aether because they have a lot of mutual friends.

lumine and y/n have been friends since kindergarten, while y/n only became close with everyone else in the gc after joining genshin impact. in fact, you met keqing right after she finished your interview at the company headquarters.

yantao my beloved.

the blank space is bc i have to add four pics or the spacing gets messed up & the xingqiu pic was the most recent cute pic i had in my gallery LOL

a/n; RAWKRKWKFKEJ IM SO HYPED FOR THIS SERIES AAAAA i rlly hope you all enjoy reading this as much as i do writing it 🥺💞 laughs 2 hide the pain of editing in tumblr mobile,,, haha,,, hahaha x_x ahh its rlly late and my phone's at 10% im going to go sleep now LMAO ily guys <3

taglist (open); @noirkkat @bookuya @ohmykazuha @glazelilyy @oreoz-unfortunately @tiny-aroace @xiaophobic @test-tube @yanphobics @storytravelled @mirikusashes @ben6ett @oliviasslut @velionqs @bluexiao @lunachelly @aelatus @mimion @akiiyukii @angelhxneyy @give-xiao-almond-tofu @abyssheart @xuanya @normalisthenewnorm @viagiraffe @fuhuashandholder @astersg4rden @dilucbar @eternism @nachotrash @childe-support @kinekyuroo @axerrri

usernames in bold could not be tagged :(

fan accounts !

- noirrxiao → @noirkkat

- y/nisthenewnorm → @normalisthenewnorm

- abyssxiao → @abyssheart

- y/n-fortunately → @oreoz-unfortunately

© starglitterz 2021. do not repost or modify in any way.

[rynne311]

Pizza and Beer

Summary: When friends move, you help out in exchange for pizza and beer. Those are the rules, even when you don't like beer and you like your friend way more than just a friend.

Word Count: 1353

The offer had been simple enough. Jason offered you pizza and beer if you helped him move. You weren't sure how much help you could actually be, but you weren't about to pass up the chance to spend the day with your friend. Deep down, though, you wished this was a moving in together kind of move instead, but for as well as Jason knew you, he was no mind reader, especially when it came to your feelings for him.

You were surprised when you got out of the moving truck he'd rented to find all of the big furniture had already been moved in. You assumed that meant he'd already moved his gear to avoid any wandering eyes as well. Together, you spent all morning moving all of the smaller boxes in tandem. The time flew by as you both joked around with each pass in the hallway and stairwell.

Before you knew it, every last box was upstairs and you were busying yourself unpacking them while Jason took care of grabbing the pizza he'd promised you. This may not be your home, but you tried to add your personal touch to the apartment.

"Helping reward's here," he announced as he set the pizza box and a couple of beers on the empty coffee table. You made a mental note to grab some large decorative books for him to put there. With a smile, you got up from your spot in front of the bookcase and joined him on the couch for a well deserved break.

The two of you had finished most of the pizza, and were quite satisfied you'd found the best pizza spot in the neighborhood, before Jason noticed he was the only one with an empty bottle. When he looked a little closer he realized you hadn't even touched the beer he'd grabbed for you.

"You good over there?" he asked. You almost thought he might still be joking around and about to make some crack about some pizza spilled on your shirt. When you looked down and confirmed nothing had fallen onto your shirt, you couldn't hide the confusion that painted your face and furrowed your brows together.

"Yeah," you confirmed cautiously. "Why?"

"I mean you've busted your ass all day and now you won't touch your beer," he explained. "You usually go drink for drink with me and now you're not so it seems like something's wrong."

"I'm fine, I promise. I just don't like beer," you explained. His puzzled look begged you to continue. "When we're at the bar I always get mixed drinks or wine. Now if you'd made a pitcher of margaritas, you never would have had a chance to even try them. But a blender really isn't the top of the list to unpack."

You may have answered his question, but you left him with so many more. He brought his own drink to his mouth in an attempt to hide his visible confusion. It almost worked, but you caught the way his brows furrowed from above the bottle.

"It's probably safer this way anyway," you remarked, trying to inject a bit of humor. "You know me and tequila are a dangerous combination. Just like the song, sometimes it just means clothes start falling off."

Jason hummed in absent agreement, but you could tell you'd already lost him. He'd jumped down the rabbit hole of questions, and he wasn't going to be really listening, or at least processing what was said, until he reemerged.

"So why'd you come today?" he asked. "When I asked you, I told you I'd get pizza and beer, so you knew I didn't have anything else to offer, but you still accepted."

It felt like a now or never kind of moment. One of the ones where you could be bold or you could be practical. You mulled over your options for what felt like an eternity, and while you wanted to be bold, you didn't want to lose what you had. Instead of answering, you grabbed another piece of pizza to buy a little time. The eye roll you got in return told you Jason knew exactly what you were doing.

"I thought I could be helpful," you finally answered as you finished your slice.

"That doesn't feel like the whole answer," Jason scoffed.

"Maybe," you confirmed. "But it also begs the question why you asked me to come help today if you already had everything moved in up here but some boxes in a half empty moving truck, or why I'm the only person you asked to come help you?"

Taking a page out of your book, Jason snagged your untouched beer to avoid having to answer.

"You want a full answer? I'll give you as full an answer as you'll get for right now," you began. Now it seemed you may have finally found the courage to be bold. "I wanted to spend time with you. You're always off wrangling supervillains and drug lords, which don't get me wrong is great and all. It has dropped the number of break-ins in my building to almost none. But that doesn't mean I don't miss you, because I do. I always do. A lot."

He started to choke on his drink, telling you you'd given a little more of an answer than you'd wanted to give. You couldn't say you were a fan of this emotional vulnerability, but your chest did feel ever so slightly lighter. You tried to read his face for a moment for some sort of reciprocation, but feeling the heat rise in your own face forced you to turn back to your empty plate. Your eyes only darted back over to him once you heard the bottle connect with the table.

"Maybe I wanted to spend time with you too. Maybe I didn't want all of the noise with my brothers and Roy around, especially when they manage to break something." With each 'maybe,' his voice grew a little more pointed and defensive, and you thought you could see a vulnerability that mirrored your own in his eyes. "Maybe I wanted this place to have your touch and feel like you. Maybe -"

You cut him off, leaning across the couch and kissing him. It was too rare in life that you got a second chance on a now or never moment, and you didn't want to squander it. You could only describe the feeling as a wave of excitement followed by a rush of relief when he raised his hand to your face and pulled you closer, returning the kiss.

"Maybe," his voice was softer now, almost cracking, "Maybe I've wanted that to happen for a very long time."

You felt breathless, but that didn't stop the smile from growing across your face. This time when you looked in his eyes, they seemed to share your mixture of excitement and relief. You couldn't help yourself as a small chuckle broke through.

"You like me, you really, really like me," you teased in a sing-song voice, only pausing to make kissy noises in the air. "You like -"

Having had his own feelings confirmed, Jason cut off your teasing as he pulled you into another kiss. When you both finally let go, he kept his forehead pressed to yours, watching as your eyes shifted back into focus. He wore a self-assured grin as he said, "There's no maybe about that."

"No, I don't think there is," you agreed. You sat back a little, trying to sear this moment into your memory forever. "Who would've thought a stupid beer could make this happen?"

"I should have brought you some beer to not drink ages ago," he joked, pulling you into his side and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You settled into your contentment in his arms, knowing now you may never have to leave this feeling again. "Next time I'll have tequila, it sounded like those consequences are fun."

You rolled your eyes in response as you wiggled a little closer into his side. Yeah, some post-margarita consequences now sounded a lot more appealing.

Tags:

Everything: @societiesholyskittle @pickyblue12 @icycoldbeanieweanies @thoughtfullychaoticdreamer @bloatedandlonly @sakurafille @jason-todd-squad @childofposeidonforlife @webcraft4eveh @bookish-and-shy @dnarez @thirstiestpotato

Jason: @jason-todd-rh @princessowly1234 @manymanyenvelopes @drarrylov3r @axa-vega

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