#i hope this is the correct use of submissions

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Alt Rock to the Rescue

[Inspired by this art]

"...Alright, I might have an idea," John Constantine, who was seemingly busy texting someone for the past ten - or twenty, no one really counted - minutes, puts his phone away and snaps his head up.

The room falls silent. Superman blinks in surprise, Diana frowns slightly, and Batman's mouth is pressed into a thin, stubborn line. Flash recovers first.

"You have an idea?" He huffs a short, disbelieving laugh, "No offense, but I'm not sure a magic trick can help us against, you know, an alien fleet." He gestures to one of the screens on the wall, where said fleet is approaching Earth on live.

The rest of the Leaguers present don't exactly agree with him, at least not verbally, but the mood in the room shifts from tense, anxious alarm to an almost palpable annoyance. To be honest, no one was even sure why or how John Constantine of all people ended up in the meeting. It's not like JLD could actually help with an ongoing, massive invasion that was about to happen in less than three- Correction, less than two and a half hours. Besides, it's John Constantine. The man that never shows up unless outright bullied into submission.

The magician winces briefly and starts rummaging through his pockets under the weight of everyone's attention.

"I said I might," he amends gruffly, getting a cigarette out of one of his pockets and sticking it in his mouth but not lighting it. Seems like it wasn't what he was looking for, though, because after that, the man keeps going through the various places on his coat, patting himself down. "I know someone who can deal with it. Granted, I already owe him a great deal, but he won't say no," he pauses and grimaces, "At least I hope he won't."

"I do not think it would be wise to call upon gods in our situation," Diana tries carefully, but John pays her little mind.

"Or demons," Green Arrow adds, crossing his arms on his chest, "I'm not selling my soul to get rid of some rocket ships or whatever they are."

Now, that makes the magician bark a laugh. Or, maybe it's the piece of lime green paper - a sticky note, actually - that he finally finds in the depths of his pockets.

"Oh, your soul's gonna stay where it is."

"Constantine-" Batman starts, but John cuts him off instantly.

"Mine will stay wherever it is as well," he reassures the man, "It's not that kind of entity." And with that, he promptly sets the green note on fire - green fire - and uses it as a lighter for his cigarette.

The next moment after the note is reduced to ash, there's a shift in the air in front of him, and, before any of the heroes have a split second to react, there are two people floating in the middle of the room, backs pressed to each other.

Two teenagers, to be exact. A girl and a boy, both of them so pale that their skin looks gray, and both dressed in grunge, like they just came from a rock concert. Yet, that's where the 'normal' parts of their looks end - the boy's hair is so white it looks blinding, and moves in the air slowly, undeterred by gravity, and the girl's hair is neon blue, her ponytail flickering up like a flaming torch.

The boy nearly topples over as the girl leans her back on him harder and kicks her feet up slightly. The movement is awkward, like both of them were taken by surprise by the sudden relocation, and maybe the guess about the rock concert was not so far from reality; there are drumsticks in the boy's hands, and the girl is holding an electric guitar in her hands.

"The fuck?.." The boy asks no one in particular, as the girl makes an annoyed groan and straightens up, still floating in the air. Her guitar makes an aborted sound. Meanwhile, the boy's eyes land on Constantine, and his whole face scrunches in disgust, "John, for the love of Ancients, I was in the middle of something."

The girl takes a look around while her friend is busy expressing his annoyance and elbows him in the side, "Oi, look, it's the whole Comic Con in the flesh here."

Green Arrow sputters. Flash makes a wordless but very offended sound. The floating boy looks around, taking stock of faces in the room, and the disgust on his face morphs into exasperation.

He turns back to Constantine, "Really? I thought I told you I want no part in your furry parade."

"Alien invasion," the magician decidedly doesn't address any of that, instead pointing his finger to the screen behind him. "Thought you ought to know," he adds, a bit of sarcasm bleeding into his tone.

"Ooh, is it my turn to be your world saving buddy, Phantom?" The girl perks up, turning around and draping herself over the boy's shoulders with a giddy laugh. Her guitar shifts to hang in the air on her side all by itself.

The boy - Phantom - rolls his eyes. Bright green, glowing eyes that definitely don't belong to a human being.

"If I had a nickel every time I had to save the world, I'd probably be able to buy myself my own guitar," he grumbles and looks back to Constantine. "Do I, like, have to? Right now? You know, I don't get paid for this bullshit, and the studio we rented for rehearsal has an hourly rate, so if we can postpone this for about an hour and a half, that'd be real nice."

"The fleet is only two hours away from Earth," Batman supplies suddenly, and, when both floating kids turn to look at him, adds, "I can pay for your next rehearsal. Or a few of them." Evidently, Phantom's comment about nickels struck a nerve. Or, maybe, the man just likes throwing money at any teenager he encounters. Who knows.

The boy blinks, taken aback by the proposition. But the girl grins, sharp and wicked, and shoves her drummer - if the drumsticks are to tell - in the side again.

"Hey, free studio. Better than the last time."

That snaps Phantom out of his stupor, and he groans, "Don't remind me." With a weary sigh, he runs a hand through his hair and leans back in the air, almost like reclining on it. "Okay, fine, sure. Do you want them, like, away from Earth- um, this is Earth, right?" He turns to Superman, surprisingly, looking for confirmation, and the man nods, thrown off guard. The boy nods back and continues, "Or you want them blasted into oblivion, or what?"

"Whatever suits your mood, kid," John waves his hand at the screen as if making a welcoming gesture, "But all the aliens gotta go."

Unexpectedly, that makes the girl's grin even wider, and she reaches for her guitar, floating around Phantom and looking him in the face. The look she gives him speaks of mischief, and the boy seems to understand what she's implying before she as much as opens her mouth.

"Ember, no," he pounts a drumstick at her.

"Ember, yes," she wiggles her eyebrows, "Come on, your wail is boring as fuck as it is, why not spice it up?"

"I'm not wailing," Phantom scrunches his nose, "My throat will hurt for weeks."

Ember runs her fingers over the strings of her guitar, and it makes a comparatively quiet, vibrating sound. A few cords shoot out of the bottom of her instrument, like ones used to plug an electric guitar to an amp. She raises her eyebrows, still looking at Phantom, a silent conversation between them.

Then, the boy huffs and rolls his eyes, twirling a drumstick in his fingers.

"Fine."

The cords fly at him like snakes, aiming at his neck. None of the Leaguers watching the encounter get to say even a word as the metal pins insert themselves into the boy's neck, acting like some twisted kind of collar. Phantom doesn't even flinch.

Ember's guitar, on the other hand, reacts to the connection quite violently: it makes a high-pitched sound all on its own and then changes color from black and blue to white and green, with lightning bolts instead of flames for design. The girl's ponytail flares up higher as she softly murmurs in delight.

Then, she turns to the people around them and smirks, "Which way is the evil alien fleet?"

Flash wordlessly points his finger to the right and up. The girl nods in satisfaction, turning in the air so her guitar is facing that way.

"You might want to cover your ears," Phantom advises, a sly smile on his face and a glimmer of anticipation to his eyes. John Constantine follows that direction immediately, and, taking his move as the best course of action, the other heroes follow as well. Except Batman, who only narrows his eyes and looks at both teens in the air apprehensively. Phantom shrugs, "Or don't, I don't hold any responsibility for your shattered eardrums."

"Pick up where we left off, then," Ember tells him, and the boy blinks:

"Wait, I thought you'd just-"

[For some wholesome experience, put your headphones in and listen to 'KULT' by Jisaiah, grandson, and Steve Aoki]

But the girl has already started a tune, nodding her head to the rhythm of it and slowly picking up the pace. Phantom huffs, but doesn't protest any further, floating up as much as the cords allow him and spinning a drumstick in his hand.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

That the world's a fucking circus

That my life feels fucking worthless," he spits the words out with a sneer, slowly rotating in the air until he is hanging upside down. His eyes are closed, and his voice becomes more and more staticky with every new sound. The volume of Ember's guitar gets up, higher and higher, until the walls and the floor of the room around them start to vibrate.

Then, Ember's voice joins Phantom's, and the boy brings his drumsticks down on thin air, mimicking the moves. Only, even with the actual drums not there, the air around him ripples like they are, and they all can hear the beat.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

When it all comes crashing down

We'll see who's laughing," both kids pause, just for a beat, and Ember uses that split second to spin the volume knob to the max before strumming her guitar in one wide, sharp move.

"NOW!"

The sound wave is not only palpable, it's visible. A wave of toxic green ripples through the air, knocking everyone present - sans the two kids in the air - to the ground, and goes beyond. The screens on the walls flicker and turn off, sending sparks in the air, and the comms give off loud, screeching noises, and-

The following silence feels almost deafening.

Batman, unsurprisingly, is the first one to stand back on his feet and see a few of the screens come back online.

Just in time to see that same green wave of... sound? energy? power?.. decimate the entire fleet like a wet cloth over a chalkboard. One moment, the spaceships were there, and the next they are gone, wiped out of existence.

Ember laughs, leaning back and almost doing a backflip in the air.

"That was nice, dipshit!" She shoves Phantom in the shoulder, and the boy snorts, plucking the cords out of his skin and grinning.

"Yeah," he agrees with a smile, not even looking at the screens around, "Maybe we should try rehearsing in space next time. Sing to the stars and all that crap."

"Sing to the stars?" Ember raises her eyebrows mockingly as the rest of the heroes scramble to their feet, bemoaning their ringing ears. "Na-ah," she clicks her tongue and turns to Batman, "You still up for paying for our studio?"

The man just grunts in a semblance of affirmation.

"Sweet," the girl grins and offers Phantom a hand for a high five, which he returns instantly. "Cheers to the world being saved once again!"

The boy just rolls his eyes and turns to Constantine, "Next time, be a dear and text me before summoning, or I'm going to sell your soul to Morpheus, and who knows what he'll do with you."

John Constantine grimaces. "I did," he offers grudgingly.

But both unearthly teenagers are already gone without a trace.

[Edit: I want everyone to know there's ART now!!!]

[Edit 2: There's more art!!!]

[writtendaydreamm]

The Hospital Gossip Mill

Summary: Y/n and Langdon try to keep their relationship a secret at work, but eventually get caught by their observant colleagues

Author's Note: Based on this submission. Had so much fun writing this, hope you guys enjoy! Let me know what you guys think!

*Just put out a sort-of prequel to this! Check it out here

Ding

The elevator doors opened to the ED, and Y/n took a deep breath, bracing herself before stepping out. 

Looking at the hospital as one entity, the ED could be seen as the belly of the beast - but really the department was a beast in its own right. It was chaotic, loud, fast-paced, unpredictable. It was madness to put it plainly. But the team down here harnessed all that madness and used it to fuel their ingenuity and creativity. Now she’d never admit any of this out loud, and certainly not to any of the doctors down here - that would sound too much like praise or respect. 

What she will admit however is that it definitely takes a certain type of person to go into Emergency Medicine. One rotation in the ED back in med school was all it took for Y/n to decide it was not for her. She felt much more at home in General Surgery. Intense in a different way, the OR was high-pressure and high stakes, it demanded precision and endurance. And she loved every second of it.

Making her way across the floor to find Dr. Mohan, Y/n’s eyes also scanned around for any sight of another resident in particular who forgot his wallet at her apartment this morning. She had texted him to come pick it up during his lunch break, but considering it was now the tail end of their shift and he still hadn’t come up, she knew this was probably one of those days he didn't get a lunch break. 

Contemplating bringing it down with her after getting called to consult on Mohan’s abdominal trauma case, ultimately Y/n decided against it. It would be too obvious. Their relationship was still under wraps and she wanted to keep it that way. They didn’t need the hospital gossip mill catching any wind of something going on between her and Dr. Langdon. 

Focusing on the task at hand, she went over Mohan's call. The younger resident didn’t exactly deliver the case on a silver platter for her. The patient had no reliable history, incomplete imaging and a vague exam. Not to mention the patient was being combative enough to need restraints. 

This’ll be fun, Y/n scoffed to herself. 

From what Mohan could tell her, the patient is a 30-year-old male, took a fall during a manic episode, they got a FAST that’s equivocal and a borderline soft belly. There was some free fluid, so it could be a possible mesenteric bleed or the spleen. It could also possibly be nothing, just some muscle tension and a new patient for psych not surgery. 

Y/n won’t know for sure till she gets eyes and hands on it herself. 

—

“Just to confirm, CT incomplete, guarding when touched, and free fluid but no definitive source?”

“Correct,” Mohan nodded, they stood just outside the room. 

“Oh, well don’t make it too easy for me,” Y/n quipped sarcastically, before stepping in. 

Inside, she got her first look at their patient - alert but clearly agitated and restrained to the bed rails. Around the room were a few nurses, more than normal for a case like this. Surely just here to help restrain if he gets combative or aggressive again. 

“Hi Mr. Harvey, I’m Dr. L/n,” she introduced herself, slipping on a pair of gloves. “I’m just going to check your belly okay.”

Before Y/n could take another step closer, Mr. Harvey had already begun recoiling, pulling on his restraints, not wanting to be examined any further. Playing it cool and calm, Y/n held her hands up non threateningly. She spoke slowly hoping to soothe him just enough to get her hands on him. 

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just trying to find out what’s hurting you from the inside after your fall.” 

“I didn’t fall, I flew,” he corrected her indignantly.

“Right, my apologies,” she said, taking tentative steps forward, continuing to try and build trust with him. “The exam I'm going to perform might be uncomfortable, even painful, but I promise I will try to be as quick as I can. It’s the only way we can check for any internal injuries you sustained on your, uh, flight.”

Despite his face still contorting in a mixture of pain and defiance, the tension in his body seemed to ease. With the belts on his hand restraints slackened now, she figured this was as good as it was going to get. 

“I’m going to start my examination, alright Mr. Harvey? You’re going to need to stay as still as possible for me though.”

He didn’t respond, but laid still now. Taking that as permission, Y/n gave the nurses a silent signal to be ready to restrain him should the need arise before she proceeded to assess his abdominal quadrants. 

She leaned over Mr. Harvey slightly, gently but firmly palpating each quadrant starting furthest away from the area with reported pain. He was definitely tensing with the applied pressure, even starting to mumble incoherently in his discomfort. As she moved closer to the area Mohan had reported his pain was centered, he began to writhe and twist making it harder for Y/n to continue. But she went on anyway, asking him to remain calm. He probably couldn’t hear her though, the sound of his own voice going from mumbles to shouts drowning her out. She was about to press against his left lumbar region, and just the feeling of her nitrile glove brushing against his skin set him off. 

Kicking and screaming, pulling at his restraints trying to break himself free, Mr. Harvey was about to be a danger to himself if he continued like this. Mohan and the nurses stepped in. All four of them tried to hold him down so Y/n could finish her exam, but it only made things worse. Mr. Harvey thrashed even more violently now. Somehow in the heat of things he managed to get a hold of the IV line he was hooked up to and yanked on it, hard. 

“Dr. L/n, look out,” Mohan tried to warn her but it was too late. 

Before she could even process what Mohan said, Y/n felt a hard, cold piece of metal fall on her head with a thud. Loud clanking followed as the IV stand fell on the floor in front of her. 

“Fuck,” she grunted, the pain sending a cold wave of shock all over her body. Immediately putting pressure on the wound, she instructed everyone to get him under control. Pulling her hand back to check for bleeding, Y/n cursed again seeing her gloves covered in red.

From across the bed, Mohan’s eyes widened watching a trickle of blood drip down the side of Y/n’s forehead. “Oh damn, you’re bleeding.”

“I’m aware,” Y/n snapped in her frustration and pain. 

“Maybe you should step out, get that checked. I’ll call down for another consult-”

“I’m fine,” Y/n shook it off, ignoring the pulsing on her forehead. “We need to finish this exam now. If he needs the OR we can’t waste any more time.”

“It looks pretty bad,” Mohan winced, imagining the gash that must’ve been behind Y/n’s hand. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Y/n insisted, growing annoyed at the concern. This was just a little cut, she’ll manage. “Just get him under control so I can finish. And get me some gauze, please. Now.”

 —

Dropping off one of the tablets back at the nurse’s station, Langdon heard Mateo and Princess speaking in hushed tones which could only mean one thing - new gossip. While he tried to stay above the gossip and rumors, he just couldn’t help himself from listening in.

“Is it true one of the surgical residents got headbutted by that psych patient that came in earlier. The one talking about flying and shit.”

“No, I think it was a piece of equipment that hit her head,” Princess said, correcting Mateo.

“Well whatever it was, I heard she’s getting stitches.”

A premature smirk spread across Langdon’s face as he assumed the aforementioned surgical resident was Dr. Garcia. For all the shit she gives, he wasn’t going to let her live this one down. Little Miss Knife-happy getting cut on the job? It was almost poetic. 

“Who was it?” Langdon asked smugly. 

“Dr. L/n,” Princess said.

That wiped the smirk right off his face. Curiosity turning to concern, he tried to get more information about what happened.

“Stitches huh?” he asked, trying not to sound too interested. “It must’ve been a deep wound.”

“Must be,” Mateo shrugged. “I heard Javadi saying she bled through her gauze.”

So Javadi’s on the case? Langdon didn’t want to assume the worst, but he immediately recalled the intern’s first day here. How she fainted about an hour in after seeing some blood. Sure Javadi had gained more experience and hadn’t fainted again since, but it still made Langdon a bit uneasy knowing she was handling Y/n’s stitches.

“Who’s Javadi with right now?” Langdon continued to press.

“Collins, I think,” Mateo said, nodding over to the examination room just opposite to the nurse’s station. 

Pretending to check the board for a new case, Langdon stood there at the nurses station for a moment tapping his fingers on the counter idly. Staring at all the columns and rows of patients on the screen, the only case he was interested in at the moment was Y/n’s. But as badly as he wanted to rush across the hall to check in on her, he didn’t want to look too panicked and give himself away. Not in front of Princes and Mateo - those two didn’t need anything else to gossip about. 

But the pair of nurses had already shot each other a quick, knowing look as they watched Langdon try, and fail, to slip away from the counter unnoticed towards the exam room Y/n was in. 

—

Y/n, Javadi, and Collins all jumped in surprise as Langdon barged into the room suddenly. 

Collins looked at him quizzically, not understanding what he was doing here. Despite the bleeding, this was a superficial, clean edge laceration. Closing with simple sutures should do the trick. They didn’t need backup nor did she call for it. 

“Collins, Javadi. Just, uh, checking if you needed, y’know any help in here,” he explained unconvincingly. 

“No, we’ve got it,” Collins said as she checked to see Y/n was properly numbed before they started suturing.

“Dr. L/n,” he greeted Y/n as casually as possible, trying to sound more snide rather than sorry to see her sitting there on the examination table. “What happened to you?”

“IV stand to the head,” she replied, averting his gaze as he stepped closer, taking a look at her laceration. 

She held her breath, ignoring the way her stomach fluttered as she felt his fingertips brush a strand of hair away from the area. It took all her self control to not start smiling like an idiot. This is exactly why she avoided coming down to the ED as much as she could, pushing most of the consults off to Dr. Garcia instead. She just couldn’t hide how she felt around him and it's not like he made it any easier for her - especially not now.

Eyes flitting between Y/n and Langdon, Collins could sense there was something going on there. Expecting some back and forth to ensue between the two, Collins was surprised, almost disappointed when she heard none. Not a peep from either of them. Aside from the sound of rattling tools as Javadi prepped to suture, the room was silent. Weird. A surgical resident was in the room and not a single insult was being thrown? Not even a bit of banter? That wasn’t like Langdon at all. And while Collins didn’t know Y/n quite as well, she knew she was from surgery. And anyone from surgery never missed a chance to take a friendly jab at the ED. Hell, just moments ago Y/n made a comment about wanting to stitch herself up rather then get botched on a rush job.

It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. 

As Javadi rolled her seat in front of Y/n, ready to start suturing with a P-3 needle and 5-0 nylon in hand, Y/n could not pass up the opportunity to give the intern a hard time.

“Careful with the bite size alright. This is my face, not a quilt.”

“Right,” Javadi said, forcing out a nervous laugh before swallowing the lump in her throat.

Watching tensely, as Javadi put in the first stitch, Langdon was shocked Y/n let someone aside from herself stitch up that wound, let alone an intern. Collins was right there. She was far more experienced than Javadi and could ensure each stitch would be identical, that the tension was distributed evenly, that the scarring would be minimal. 

“You sure you don’t want to do it yourself,” Langdon whispered as Collins stepped back to stand beside him. She shot him a side-eye at the unsolicited suggestion. With this being a teaching hospital and all, the whole point was to have the students learn and practice. The judgement and suspicion on her face had him quickly trying to explain himself. “To show Javadi the proper technique that is.” 

While that was a fair point, this wasn't Javadi's first time suturing and Collins was confident in the intern’s abilities to close up a simple laceration like this. Peering over Javadi’s shoulder for good measure, Collins nodded pleased with her work so far. 

“No need. She’s doing a great job,” she assured him, before eyeing him suspiciously. “We’re all good here y’know. You can go.”

Langdon opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, trying to string together a good excuse to stay. Taking too long to come up with something that sounded reasonable, Collins spoke up again. 

“Or is there a particular reason you’d like to stay?” she teased, cocking her subtly at Y/n. 

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head a little too hard. “You’re right, you guys got it all under control.”

Mhm, Collins nodded in agreement, watching him closely as he turned to leave. 

Langdon spared one last fleeting, but longing, glance at Y/n before finally walking through the door. And that was all Collin’s needed to validate her suspicions. Oh, those two definitely had something going she said to herself. Charging in here randomly, the uncharacteristic lack of snark, the worry in his eyes, his reluctance to leave. Such obvious tells. Was he even trying to be discreet? 

— 

The sun was just about to set as Langdon watched, from the far end of the parking lot, batches of the morning shift employees exit the hospital.

He didn’t usually wait for Y/n after work like this. Too many eyes around that might see them together. Although recently they’ve been spending most nights together, either at his or hers, they intentionally drove to work separately despite working the same hours for the sake of keeping their relationship private.

But today they slept in a little later than usual. Maybe her bed was comfier than his or maybe it was just the fact he was in bed with her, but he did not want to leave that bed. Needless to say those extra few minutes laying around together had him rushing out of her door forgetting his wallet on her dresser.

He planned on sneaking away to grab it from her over lunch like she had texted him to, but the ED was slammed. He was lucky that a very grateful patient sent them a few boxes of pizza as a thank-you, otherwise he probably wouldn’t have eaten anything all day.

So today, he waited for her and his wallet, leaning on the trunk of her car. He didn’t expect to be waiting this long though. Looking down at his wrist, it was already 5:19. Y/n was supposed to be off at 5. He was about to give her a call when he spotted her speed walking across the parking lot. 

“There you are,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “I was starting to worry you got into another fight with an IV stand.” 

“Not funny,” y/n said, shoving his shoulder playfully, smiling despite herself. “Sorry, I took so long. I just lost track of time trying to finish up this report.”

Langdon brushed off her apology. He would’ve waited any amount of time to see her. Especially after today. Since Collins practically kicked him out of the room while y/n was getting her stitches, he didn’t get to check in on her afterwards, to see how they turned out. 

“Can’t believe you let an intern suture your face,” he said. 

Y/n just shrugged. She remembered what it was like being an intern. Just starting out, wanting to glove up and scrub in on anything she could, trying to get someone to give her a chance to prove herself. And besides, the laceration wasn’t that deep and about 2, maybe 3 centimeters max. It was also, thankfully, close enough to her hairline so any scaring wouldn’t be too noticeable. Any intern should’ve been able to do it. But if she had to choose one from the ED, she was glad it was Javadi. 

“She’s Shamsi’s kid. I’m pretty sure she’s been practicing sutures since she was like 10,” y/n joked. Langdon laughed, having seen that mother-daughter dynamic first hand, he suspected there was probably some truth there. 

Cupping her face gently, he turned her head to get a better look at Javadi’s handiwork on her forehead. Not bad, he thought pleasantly surprised at how good they turned out. Swatting his hands away from her face, trying to get him to stop fussing over her, she turned the tables. 

“What I can’t believe is how you came bursting into the room like that.”

Langdon groaned. In hindsight it wasn’t the best idea, considering they wanted to keep their relationship a secret. But once he heard she was hurt, he couldn’t help himself. He needed to make sure she was alright, to see to it that she was being treated appropriately. 

“I was worried. Okay?” he admitted, resting his hands on her waist tenderly. “Mateo was saying you got head butted.”

Placing her hands on his chest, Y/n rolled her eyes at just how fast that news traveled around the hospital. The gossip mill truly never rests. While she was touched by his concern, this put their relationship at risk of being the next big story. 

“Collins is so onto us now, I bet-” 

A loud revving caught her attention, interrupting her train of thought. Turning around, a black sedan came to pull up right beside them. Immediately, the pair pulled apart as they waited for the windows to roll down revealing Mateo in the driver’s seat. 

“Okay lovebirds, when two of you are done making kissy-face, come meet the team at Mulligan’s for a round. You two have a lot of explaining to do,” he laughed, before speeding off. 

Y/n and Langdon turned to each other in disappointment - they’d been outed. It was hard to say by who or even when. It could’ve been Collins, today after Langdon came to check on Y/n. Or it could’ve been Perlah who caught the pair walking out of the on-call room the other day. Or it could've been Mateo, just now, as he drove by seeing them all loved up. One thing was for certain though, by tomorrow morning everyone will know. From the OR, to the ED and all the departments in between.

Resignation set in as they accepted their fate. It was inevitable after all. The fact they’d managed to conceal it for this long was quite the accomplishment considering how nosy and chatty everyone they worked with seemed to be.

With sigh, Y/n looked at the bright side. At least now they didn’t have to worry about being seen together. No need to sneak around to hang out during their breaks. She didn't have to keep avoiding come down to the ED. They could drive to work together now too, save some gas and take the carpool lane. 

Also trying to find good in all this, Langdon wrapped his arms around her from behind, placing a comforting kiss on the side of her head.

“Hey, at least that Dr. West will stop hitting on you once he knows you’ve got a boyfriend down in the pit,” he said lowly in her ear. 

“Oh please,” Y/n turned in his arms to face him, “You’re one to talk! As if all those new travel nurses aren’t throwing themselves at you.”

“Jealous?” he teased, pulling her tighter against him. 

“Are you?” she challenged, arms resting on his shoulders naturally,m.

With their faces now just inches apart, drawn together like magnets, there was no fighting the pull between them. Their lips met eagerly, having yearned for this feeling since they last kissed this morning.

So caught up in one another, the only distraction around that pulled them away from each other was the loud, obnoxious emergency alert going off on both their phones. A chemical spill blocked off traffic on the busiest highway in the city - the exact highway both Y/n and Langdon took to get home. 

The roads were going to be backed up now that the highway was closed. Langdon hated sitting in traffic, just the thought got him irritated. 

“What do you say we take up Mateo’s offer?” he suggested.

“You’re kidding, right?” Y/n asked, thinking he couldn’t be serious. If they went, they’d be walking into a lion’s den full of scrutiny, teasing, and never-ending grilling. 

“I say that beats the traffic. It’s just a couple blocks walk. We could have a beer, wait out the traffic, make our debut as a couple?”

She thought about it for a second. He wasn’t wrong. And despite having hoped to keep their relationship private, the thought of walking in on his arm was kind of exciting. 

“Alright, your idea, you’re paying,” y/n said, fishing his wallet from her tote, and tossing it to him. 

Catching it smoothly, Langdon let out an offended pfft, draping his other arm around her as they walked out of the parking lot. 

“I always pay anyway.”

[chanelrolls]

kneel, caleb.

synopsis. your subordinate, caleb, has always been the ideal employee. but appearances deceive, don't they? there's no way your perfect junior is a massive perv... spoiler alert: he is.

content. afab!fem reader, office au, caleb pov, creepy & obsessive behavior, gaslighting, unsactioned spying, perverse actions, workplace malpractice, masturbation, p in v, oral (f!receiving), mouthspitting, desk sex, caleb is just an overall gross stalker, could be dubcon.

READ AT UR OWN RISK !

a/n. hi! just wanna give a heads-up that caleb might be a liiiittle ooc here since i wanted to try a powerplay dynamic between him and you, with caleb formerly being the bottom. basically, a pathetic yearning submissive!caleb :3 (but he'll dom in the end)

wc. 4k

The hum of the office printers and the soft taps of the keyboards were the routine background music to Caleb's workday. It was a monotonous cadence that had long since stopped to register in his head.

Today, though, those sounds felt like a mocking grate.

He sat at his desk, trying to silence the pounding of his heartbeat. His crisp khaki shirt clung to his broad shoulders down to his back from a sheen of sweat. Then, his fingers, usually so precise, trembled over the keyboard.

He had meant to print the latest client proposal for his superior, you, to review. Such a simple request, and yet, he had fucked up. In a catastrophic lapse of his usual meticulousness, a single, misplaced keystroke had sent his most lewd and explicit writings to the communal printer. Pages upon pages of detailed smut that featured him splitting you wide open on his cock. The printer that everyone, including his manager, used. Sheet by damning sheet were now spilling out for the entire world to see.

Fuck. How could I mix up the damn files? Why didn’t I double-check?

He berated himself internally for the slip up. Propelled into action by sheer panic, Caleb shot up from his chair. His typically measured stride broke into an uncharacteristic sprint, each urgent step towards the printer room amplifying the dread that clutched at his throat.

Throughout, his mind was ablaze with the potential fallout; the scandal would be career-ending, soul-crushing. His perfect professional image, the one he had so carefully constructed, was on the brink of shattering.

All because of a fucking misclick.

As he neared the doorway, time seemed to contort, stretching the seconds into lifetimes. His only hope was to snatch away the filth before any eyes, especially those of his superior, could take it in.

But as fate would have it, the universe conspired against him. Just as he was about to lunge for the papers, a silhouette appeared in the doorway.

You.

Oh, fuck me.

With no time to think and everything to lose, Caleb settled for a risky plan. His stride slowed, attempting nonchalance. "Ah, Y/n, just the person I was hoping to catch," he blurted out, his voice a strained mimicry of casualness.

"There's been a slight hiccup with the proposal I was printing for you. It seems the printer has pulled the wrong file from the queue." The lie was a gamble, a last-ditch effort to deflect from the horror of the situation. "I'll sort this out and bring the correct one to your office shortly. My apologies for the inconvenience."

His plea to the deities was silent, desperate: Take the bait. Please, for the love of God, take the fucking bait, don’t question it, and walk away.

There was just no plausible explanation for why he had multiple pages describing you as his pathetic cock sleeve, stupid cum rag, bitch in heat, and other similar obscene names.

Caleb refrained from allowing his eyes to dart towards the incriminating evidence hanging from the printer tray like a sordid tapestry, not wanting to draw further attention to it. Standing rigidly, every fibre of his being willed you to accept his words, to leave the room without a second glance. His future, his reputation, his very sanity hung in the balance, suspended by the slender thread of a hastily conjured lie.

You paused at the doorway, brow furrowing slightly as you take in Caleb's flustered state. His shirt was a bit rumpled, hair slightly disheveled, and his eyes had an oddly unusual stern look. It was a far cry from his usual put-together demeanor. You couldn't help but notice the way his gaze darted nervously to the printer and back to you.

Something's not right here.

"A hiccup?" you asked, arching an eyebrow. "I don't have time for printer malfunctions, Caleb. I need that proposal on my desk within the hour." Your voice came firm, a subtle undercurrent of warning beneath the professional tone.

Caleb swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your gaze like a physical pressure on his chest. Fuck, she's not buying it, he panicked internally.

"Of course, I apologize for the delay. I assure you, it will be resolved shortly," he replied, his voice strained. He was wracking his brain for a way to salvage this situation. He couldn't let you see the depravity spilling from the printer, the explicit details of his obsession with you splayed out for all to see.

Desperate, he took a step closer to you, his hand outstretched in a placating gesture. "Perhaps we could discuss the changes you wanted to the proposal in your office? I have a few...notes I jotted down earlier that I think you'll find useful," he said, his tone a careful balance of deference and subtle manipulation.

If I can just get her out of here, away from the printer and those fucking papers, I can contain this disaster.

You hesitated for a moment, eyes narrowing as you studied Caleb's face. You couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something, that there was an undercurrent of desperation in his manner. But the mention of the changes you had requested gave you a pause. You did need the proposal, and if Caleb had the notes, then perhaps it was better to hear him out in the privacy of your office.

"Very well," you said finally, turning on your heel. "But make it quick, please. I have a meeting in thirty minutes that I can't miss."

As you walked out, Caleb felt a wave of relief wash over him. That was too fucking close. He turned to the printer, his hands shaking as he gathered up the incriminating pages, stuffing them into his briefcase. I can't let her see this, I can't let anyone see this, he repeated like a mantra.

You settle into the plush leather chair behind your desk. You watched as Caleb hurried in after you, his movements hurried and frazzled. He was acting even stranger than before, eyes darting around your office nervously.

He's up to something. But what?

"Alright, Caleb, let's see these notes you mentioned," you hold out your hand expectantly. You leaned forward, elbows on your desk, and fixed him with a penetrating stare.

Caleb swallowed hard. His mouth suddenly felt dry. Think, you fucking idiot, think. He berated himself. He couldn't show you the real notes, not with the depraved shit he'd written about you splashed all over them.

"Ah, yes, of course," he stammered, fumbling with his briefcase. In truth, he was buying time, trying to come up with a plausible lie.

I can't let her see those pages, I can't let her know how I've been fantasizing about her, he thought desperately. But I need to give her something to keep her off my trail.

In a moment of inspiration, he pulled out a sheet of paper, scrawling a few generic notes about the proposal. It was thin, but it would have to do.

"Here," he hands you the sheet. "I thought we could lead with the data analysis section, highlight the key insights that drive the strategy. And perhaps emphasize the cost-saving initiatives on the next page to frame the financial benefits..." He droned on, his voice taking on a professional cadence. But inside, his mind was becoming a whirlwind of panic and lust.

Even during such a moment, Caleb couldn't help himself but to trail his eyes down the perfect curve of your neckline, and then to the flawless skin of your cleavage that had let itself expose through a few undone buttons. I just want to bend her over this desk and fuck her until she screams. Show her who the real boss is. His gaze continued to rove over your form, before swallowing. He couldn't act on those urges, not now. Not ever. He had to keep up this charade, had to maintain the illusion of the perfect, dedicated employee.

Play it cool, Caleb, he told himself. Don't let her see how crazy you are about her.

You listened to his suggestions, expression inscrutable. You, again, felt like he was holding something back, that there was a hidden agenda behind his words. But the notes, flimsy as they were, could work.

You lean back in your chair. "Those are...adequate," you set the single sheet of notes down on the desk. "But I seem to recall you mentioning you had more than just this. Hand them over please." your tone left no room for argument, and you fixed him with a stare that dared him to disobey.

Caleb felt his stomach drop as you demanded the rest of the notes. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She's not letting this go.

He knew he should refuse and make up an excuse, anything to keep you from seeing the depraved writings that filled the rest of the pages. But the words stuck in his throat, and he found himself reaching into his briefcase once more, fingers brushing against the paper.

Maybe if I just give her a little taste, she'll be satisfied and wouldn't question further. Maybe she won't look too closely.

With a shaking hand, he passed some of the papers to you, his heart hammering against his ribs while you took it from him. He watched you flip open the cover and began to read.

At first, your expression remained impassive, eyes merely scanning the lines of neat lines of words. But as you turned another page, he saw a flicker of confusion cross your face.

You blushed.

Oh god.

Cute.

But, wait, fuck, she's seeing it, he thought, a wave of nausea rising in his throat. She's seeing all the filthy things I've written about her!

"Caleb...what're these?"

No.

Kill me.

"Did you write these...?" You breathed, holding up the paper with trembling fingers.

No, I didn't. Well, yes, I did. But, no.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He was frozen, paralyzed by the sheer, gut-wrenching terror of being exposed. He had crossed a line, and he knew there was no going back. His career, his reputation, everything he had worked so hard to build, was about to come crashing down around him.

I'm fucked, he thought, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. I'm so fucked.

Just as the tension between you reached a fever pitch, the office door suddenly swung open, and a co-worker pokes her head in. "Excuse me! I have that report you asked for," She announced, oblivious to the charged atmosphere. She breezed in, setting a folder on your desk. "Sorry for the interruption, but this is really urgent."

You blinked, startled by the interference. Then, you glanced at your watch, cursing under your breath when you realized the time.

"I have to go," you stood up from your desk, not sparing Caleb a glance. The papers were already slipped into one of the compartments of your worktable.

Caleb stood frozen as the two women exited the office, leaving him alone with his racing thoughts.

Later that night, as you sat in your dimly lit condo, unwinding from the stressful day, Caleb was hunched over his laptop in his own apartment. His fingers trembled as he clicked through the surveillance feed, and watched you.

He had installed a small camera inside the teddy bear he had gifted you months ago, a "joke" present that you had accepted with a polite smile and a strained laugh. At the time, he had told himself it was just a harmless prank, a way to make you smile. But deep down, he had known the truth - it was a way to invade your privacy, to make you his in a way that you could never know.

Now, as he watched you move around the room, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows across your face, he felt a thrill of excitement and fear. You were so close, so real, and yet so utterly unaware of his presence.

He zoomed in, the image blurring slightly once he focused on your face, on the way your lips moved as you read a book, oblivious to his gaze.

Mine.

Caleb shuts his eyes for a second.

You aren't here for that, Caleb.

He still couldn't forget the look on his manager's face upon stumbling over the depraved fantasies he had long since kept hidden. He swore he saw a blush forming across your cheeks when you did. Did she like it? Could there have been a chance?

No, weirdo.

He had been told by you to talk in your office by tomorrow morning, and he didn't need any further explanation. Because he knows he's about to get reprimanded for what he had done. But watching you through the camera, fingers resting against the philtrum of his mouth, a flicker of hope sparked in his chest.

You wouldn't dare fire him. You needed him.

As Caleb watched, transfixed by the scene unfolding on his laptop screen, you suddenly paused in your reading. Caleb curiously leans back. You reached into the leather bag on your nightstand, your fingers rummaging around before emerging with a familiar-looking set of pages.

Oh.

Caleb's heart leapt into his throat as he recognized the documents, it was the very same set of perverse writings he had given you earlier that day, the ones you had left in your desk before being called away to the meeting. Somehow, you had taken them home with you, and now you were reading them in the privacy of your own bedroom.

Caleb studies your reactions. She must think I'm a sick, twisted freak.

You sat down on the edge of your bed, crossing your legs and biting your nails while you scanned the lines of his obsession. The expression on your face was hard to decipher, but it didn't show any hint of revulsion nor disgust. If anything, you looked quite... interested. And it made Caleb squint his eyes into a pair of half-lidded ones. Or could she be enjoying what I wrote for her?

He knew he shouldn't do this, especially when his career is already on the line. But he found it hard to resist when you're there.

You're there, sitting cross-legged on the bed while being confronted by the true depths of his desire. Showing the skin of your legs by wearing a pair of short shorts, showing that supple fucking skin he had been longing to touch.

Caleb reached down.

Your hair is so perfect, it falls on all the right places. Your neckline, one of his favorites, seemed to tease him a little more right now than usual. Not in a dramatic, romantic way, no. In a suffocating, painful way, as if his ribs constricted each time you tucked a strand behind your ear. Your lashes, long and curled like they belonged in oil paintings, cast shadows over your cheeks that Caleb studied too often. He knew the exact angle at which the light struck your skin to make it glow. He’d memorized it, hoarded it.

Caleb's breathing grew ragged palming himself through the rough fabric of his pants.

You weren't just beautiful. You were specific. A kind of cruel perfection stitched together from his glances, the curve of your shoulder in a nightgown, the slight press of your lips as you read. Hell, your voice, too. Your voice wasn’t just soft, it was a sound that haunted him long after meetings. It echoed inside him with maddening clarity.

She's mine. Caleb unbuckled his belt, adam's apple bobbing down out of guilt. Guilt and excitement. She doesn't know it yet, but she's mine.

With a strangled groan, he kept his eyes on you, stroking himself faster, stroking himself with urgent movements.

"Fuck," He sighs, rolling his head back. One hand squeezing the base of his cock, the other folded above his forehead. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, just like that..." It was so wrong. He knew he was gross for acting like this, but the indecency of it all only seemed to heighten his arousal.

Leaning forward, Caleb opens the first compartment of his table, grabbing something from the inside. He quickly pushes it back close, holding up the item in his hand before bringing it to his nose. Your red, laced panty.

Smells so fucking divine.

He takes his time sniffing it, eyes shut. How and where'd he get it? That's a different story. Right now, the focus lies on how Caleb brings the piece of fabric in the other hand he used for stroking, wrapping it around his shaft. And then, he jerks himself off with your panty.

Caleb moaned.

"Fuck me." He stares at you on his laptop screen through half-lidded, lust-filled eyes. You had already stopped reading, standing up to do your self-care routine that Caleb had gone used to by watching it every single night.

First, serum. And then, moisturizer. Then, face gel.

You dropped the tube on the floor, and you had to crouch down and bend over to reach for it when it rolled down your bed.

Caleb tensed. Shit.

He picked up the pace, grunting and moaning, a sheen of sweat forming in the pits of his clavicle, rolling down to wet the neckline of his shirt. "I'm gunna cum, baby—" And he did. He came hard, his body shuddering as he watched the juices spill out from the tip, shooting out to the laptop screen, to the keyboard, everywhere.

He lets his head finally fall back in a dramatic swing, chasing his breath.

Even as he masturbated to your panty every night, to you through the camera, he would never be able to satisfy himself entirely unless it's your pussy squeezing his dick.

Caleb sighed. Now that you've found out about the smut that he'd been compiling, he wonders how long would it take before you find out the categorized files in his USB drive, filled with pictures he'd taken and stolen of you without consent. How long would it take before you see the altar of your printed photographs across his wall, scribbled by a red marker of hearts. And to the lockbag of your hairstrands he'd find when he cleans your office.

There's no way you'd suspect him further. After all, Caleb had always been the model employee. Everybody in the corporate looked up to him, admired him.

There's no way he was actually a massive pervert who stalked you and obsessed with you to death.

Caleb felt like a man walking to his own execution as he crossed the threshold to your office. He adjusted his tie, then smoothed his shirt. His hands were sweating, so he wiped them down on his slacks before stepping in furthermore. And every step felt like a countdown to combustion.

There you were, a figure sculpted by dominance and grace. You didn't look up right away, just gestured toward the seat across your desk, as you slowly closed a folder in a deliberate manner.

Caleb sat frozen.

He could barely feel the chair under him, only the thundering echo of his heart in his ears. Somehow, the room felt too warm. No, maybe, it was you. The way you moved around the desk, unhurried, and impossibly close now.

He kept his eyes down.

Don’t look at her. Don’t make it worse. Don’t ruin this.

But his body betrayed him, as always. Every sense strained toward your presence- the soft scuff of your heels, the faintest trace of your perfume- it pulled at something in him that he had tried to suppress for months. No, years.

She knows.

God, she knows.

The fantasies, the language he used, the devotion pressed into every word of those wretched pages. You had seen it all. There was no salvaging his image now. Not the image he had so carefully constructed. The polished, respectful, reliable subordinate. The ideal employee who never overstepped, never strayed, who served you with silent loyalty.

Tch. As if you didn't jerk your cock off to her last night.

A fraud.

And yet, even as shame licked at the edges of his chest like fire, part of him thrilled in it. Because you knew, and you had read it. And you called him here.

"Did you enjoy writing them?" You finally spoke.

His throat tightened. "…Yes."

God, he hated himself for it, but he meant it. Every line was a prayer. Every fantasy was a cathedral built in your image. He’d written them in the quiet of the night, behind locked doors, whispering your name in a confession. And now, he sat like a sinner at your altar, awaiting judgment.

"Do you fantasize about me often, Caleb?" Your voice came quiet- careful not to pique any curious ears from outside your office- but it pierced right through him.

He looked up, and it was a mistake.

Because one look on your ravishing beauty was enough to make him feel his pulse throb in his neck, enough to give him the bold will to admit everything he had ever kept.

"I—" he tried, then paused. Of course, he couldn't lie. Not to you. "Yes."

Caleb dropped his gaze once more.

Say something. Apologize. Beg, Caleb!

But his mouth wouldn't open. His thoughts were nothing but swirled, messy, undignified: Touch me. Destroy me. Just don’t send me away.

What frightened him most wasn’t your punishment, but the possibility of your indifference. That you might turn cold, dismiss him, begin to look at him like he meant nothing.

He would rather burn than having to endure such a thing.

"I understand if I need to be...reassigned," he said at last, breaking through the silence like glass. "I’ll submit the request myself." But even as he said it, his chest screamed don’t go. Don’t let her push you away. Please.

Caleb didn’t move when you circled back to your desk and sat down slowly, with all the calm of someone entirely in control. You reached into your desk drawer.

Instantly, he recognized the sound of the papers before he saw it. Those cursed, damning papers. The one that held every word he'd bled onto the page in a haze of desire and delusion. You placed it neatly on the desk, right in front of you, then tapped it once with your finger.

"Read it."

What?

Caleb’s head snapped up, eyes wide. He blinked. "I’m sorry?"

Your gaze didn’t falter. “Out loud. All of it.”

Silence expanded like smoke. He couldn’t breathe.

The humiliation hit him first- a visceral, gut-wrenching kind. His entire body recoiled at the thought. Every word in that set was an exposure and a betrayal of all the control he tried so hard to keep. The fantasies weren’t gentle. They weren’t clean. They were obsessive and creepy and dirty.

But beneath that terror...

Oh god, he wanted to obey.

To surrender.

To give you everything you asked for, even this.

His hands moved slowly, hesitantly, before he took the set of pages. Caleb licked his lips. “I…”

Your voice cut through him like a blade. “Begin.”

He inhaled shakily. The words clung to his throat. "...'I don’t remember the last night I slept without h-her shadow on my ceiling. I think about her every morning before I put on this mask. The perfect subordinate. She doesn’t know I would burn this entire company down for five minutes alone with her in a room where I’m not beneath her title. Where I-I’m not just her assistant. But that’s just fantasy... isn’t it?'"

His voice cracked on the last line, hands gripping the paper tighter. Don’t stop. You can’t stop now. She asked for this.

“…‘I watched her pour coffee in the break room once, and my hands clenched so tight I left nail marks in my palm. Because I thought, uhm- what if she told me to... kneel? I would, without shame. I would even thank her for it.” He could feel his own face burning, chest tight with breathless exhilaration.

You still hadn’t interrupted. You were listening intently.

And that, somehow, was the most unbearable part.

Caleb swallowed again. “…‘S-Sometimes I pretend she’s already mine. In my head, I undo her buttons. One by one. I trace the hollow of her throat with the same precision I use to format her spreadsheets. I press my mouth to her skin and whisper everything I’ve never said aloud.’”

The words hung in the air, and Caleb's voice had stopped trembling. Rather, it had settled into a lower tone, as if he had crossed an invisible threshold and found himself oddly unafraid.

You sat back in your chair, as if reclining into a throne you’d claimed without effort. You let the silence stretch, then reached for it like a violinist would a bowstring. “Well,” you began, “That was almost poetic, Caleb. I wasn’t expecting you to be such a romantic.”

No response.

So you talked again. "But that was only the second page, wasn’t it?" You gently tapped your nails on the papers. "There are more. Many more, much more explicit and... less reverent."

Caleb's eyes finally lifted, cautiously, like the weight of them had to be managed.

Gone was the nervous boy you summoned into your office. Because in his place stood a man unraveling at his own pace.

"I wonder," you mused, tapping a finger to your chin, "were those written before or after the one where you wrote about bending me over my own desk with your belt around my wrists?"

To your surprise, Caleb didn't flinch.

Instead, he reached forward, closed the pages with a definitive sound, and slid it across your desk- never once breaking eye contact.

Fine. If you want more, I'll give you more.

Then he smiled.

But you won't come out of your office untouched.

Not the polite, warm smile he usually shows you when you walk past each other, no. It was something colder, sleek. Like the moment a knife catches light. "Would you like me to read that one too, Y/n?"

You arched a brow, mildly amused by the sudden shift. But you didn't speak. Not yet.

Caleb moved to stand up, a single deliberate action that suggested something had changed between the two of you. "I can recite it from memory," he says, "If you prefer."

It was your turn to swallow.

"I wrote those pages to survive you," Caleb lowered his lashes. "To avoid myself from doing something... irresponsible." and then, he stepped forward. "Now, you're asking me to read them and revisit every word. So if this is what you want, Y/n-" he rests both of his hands against your desk, leaning forward. "Then you don't get to act surprised if I stop playing the nice guy."

There was a long pause, and you didn't fill it.

But Caleb noticed the way your throat moved when you gulped, the way your hands began to clench themselves.

You were wavering.

And he, who had once trembled under the weight of your attention, now stood taller. Still bound by his shirt and tie, yes- but no longer leashed by fear. "I won’t read them."

Your eyes narrowed a fraction. "Excuse me?"

"I don’t need to," Caleb slowly began to circle your desk, approaching you closer, and it made you unconsciously back away. "The ones you’re thinking of… I know those by heart."

He had grown into his obsession.

Into yours, apparently.

This was utterly inappropriate and absurd. You knew better. And yet, you stared up at him like you were the one caught, like you were the one awaiting permission. And Caleb... Caleb merely looked down at you, head slightly tilted.

With a measured grace, Caleb dropped to one knee, eyes never leaving yours.

And you, to your own horror, didn't look away. Because you should've stood up, said his name in a warning. You should've reprimanded him in a professional way. Not whatever this is. But instead, you sat still.

Caleb's palms slid, languidly, up the length of your calves. He inhaled softly. God.

"I rememer writing about this one," His fingers paused just below your knees, and you could feel how long they were through your stockings. The sheer audacity of him, touching you with that same calm he used in reports and presentations, made you pick up your breathing. "You leaned back in this very chair, and you parted your legs. Just a bit. Enough to make me desperate and beg."

You stopped breathing.

"You watched me as I touched you," His index finger teased the hem of your thigh-high. "Slower than I wanted to. And when I couldn't take it anymore..." He smiled faintly, cruelly. "I took your skirt off, I took your panties off, and I took your virginity."

Then, he presses his lips against your knee, inhaling your scent once more. I want to fuck this woman already. God, please let me. He shuts his eyes, then slowly, made his way to the upper area of your thigh with his mouth.

You almost whimpered, fingers gripping tightly on the armrests of your chair.

"I went with eating you out. I licked your pussy, sucked your clit, and you moaned, Y/n, you grabbed my hair and-" Caleb opens his eyes, and looks up at you. "You came right into my mouth."

You grabbed his necktie and pulled him closer, which catches him off guard.

He stared at you, stunned- for once, without something ready to say. His chest rose and fell with the quiet force of someone whose fantasy had just collided, violently, with reality.

Caleb swallowed.

Nonetheless, his voice returned low, strained with a trembling thrill. "Do you want me to recreate it?"

You didn't respond.

So he reached out, his hands trembling slightly as they slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt up to reveal the lacy edge of your panties. He leaned in, burying his face against the soft fabric, inhaling deeply the scent of you, a heady mix of your natural aroma and the faint perfume of your lotion. Fuck.

Unable to resist any longer, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly dragged them down your legs. As they fell to the floor, he tossed them aside carelessly.

You told yourself it's just this once, and though you knew that it's a weak attempt of justification, you repeated it inside your head. Just this once. Then you'll end this madness.

Caleb seemed to sense your hesitation, and he pressed his advantage, bruhing his lips against your bare folds in the lightest of kisses. The touch was electric, sending a jolt of sensation shooting up your spine. "Please," he breathed, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your pussy lips, teasing the sensitive flesh. "Let me taste you."

Just this once, he thought, just this once and then I'll end this. I swear I will.

"Then do it," you commanded. "Show me what a devoted servant you are."

Oh.

Caleb didn't hesitate. He immediately buried his face between your thighs, his mouth covering your most intimate area as he began to eat you out with desperate hunger. His tongue delved between your folds, stroking and probing at the slick, heated flesh.

"Mmm, s'good-" he groaned into you, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your core. God, she tastes even better than I fucking imagined.

He sealed his lips around your clit and suckled hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud. His hands gripped your thighs while at it, pulling you harder against his face as he feasted on you, his moans growing louder and more wanton by the second.

God, help me or I'm going to lose control.

Caleb's cock throbbed almost painfully in the confines of his pants, the intense taste of your arousal making him harder than he had ever been in his life. He ached to free himself, to stroke his aching flesh while he pleasured you, but he resisted the urge. This moment was about you, about worshipping your body and bringing you to the heights of ecstasy.

That's it, baby. Come for me.

When Caleb looked up at you, he looked like a boy lost in a dream, looking wholly out of place in his loosened tie and undone collar.

You had come into his mouth within a blink of an eye.

Thick vanilla streaks now clung to the corner of his mouth, a smear just beneath his bottom lip, the pale sheen catching the lights of your office.

His lips parted slightly, face flushed. He looked up at you like he wanted you to see how the haze within his eyes strayed farther from innocence. Like he knew exactly what he looked like, mess and all.

Your fingers reached out and brushed lightly against the corner of his mouth. One soft sweep. Then another, slow and deliberate, catching the trail that had slipped down toward his chin. Your thumb dragged across his lower lip last, then paused at the center.

Caleb didn't move.

He only exhaled shakily, lashes fluttering once as he stared into your beauty. His mouth stayed slightly open, as if daring you to go further. Then, in the heat of the moment, he rises up to gently grab your chin with all of his fingers. "Will you let me do anything to you?"

You nod, wordlessly.

"Open your mouth then." He whispers, and when you did, he spits into it. You shut your eyes, breath hitching. Caleb sighed at the sight of his own saliva pooling in your mouth, this time he's the one wiping away the drool with his thumb. "You're gonna be the death of me, woman."

It didn't take long before the two of you agreed on fucking in your office.

You're bent over your own worktable ridiculously, struggling to get a better grip on the edge while you could feel the cock of your subordinate incessantly piercing through the slit of your pussy. "Caleb, slow down-"

"I can't hear you." He slams it deep that it pounds against the flesh of your womb. The pleasure elicits a whiny moan out of you, and in response, Caleb behind you grabs your face to cover your mouth. Of course, you wouldn't want your co-workers hearing you. You wouldn't want them exposing a scandal between the manager and her own subordinate, right? "So goddamn tight."

Like she was made for my dick.

And then, he increases the pace.

Caleb lifts your ass up higher to angle himself better, before repetitively pounding you down the table with a mind of a machine that focused on an objective to cum in your sex.

He pulls out, and in again. Again, and again, and again, and again.

Faster, deeper, harder, he shuts his eyes and rolls his head back at the feeling of being squeezed by your very walls. Oh, he could get used to this sensation for decades. He could feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his pistoning cock while he fucked you with wild abandon. He knew you were close, because he could hear it in the desperate, keening cries that spilled from your lips with each brutal thrust.

With a sharp cry, your body convulsed beneath him, your pussy clenching down on him like a vice when you came undone. He felt your juices gushing around his shaft, soaking his cock and balls as you rode out the waves of the intense orgasm.

I can't stop.

But even as he felt you spasming around him, he didn't let up. He couldn't bring himself to stop the relentless assault on your pussy. He was driven by a primal need to keep you in a state of constant, mindless ecstasy, to make you forget about everything except the feeling of his cock splitting you open again and again.

I can't seem to stop.

Caleb hooked one of your legs over his elbow, the new angle allowing him to plunge even deeper into your still-quivering pussy. He could feel your slick walls fluttering around his pistoning shaft, trying in vain to adjust to the relentless invasion.

Fuck, I'm so deep inside her...

He could hear the obscene, wet sounds of your coupling filling the room, the slap of skin against skin and the squelch of your arousal with each brutal thrust. I'm going to fuck her hard like this everyday. He bit his lip, then opens his mouth to exhale desperately. So hard, and deep, that she can't look at another man without thinking of me.

He could feel his orgasm building to a crescendo, his balls drawing up tight as he slammed into you faster, the force of his thrusts shaking the desk beneath you. He could tell he was close just from the telltale tightening in his gut that signaled his impending release.

I'm going to cum.

With one final, savage thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you. I'm cumming in this perfect fucking cunt. His cock pulsed and throbbed as he exploded inside you. He could feel his hot seed gushing forth that painted your insides with thick, virile ropes of his essence. "Take that all."

Caleb collapsed against you for a moment, his sweat-slicked chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He could feel the aftershocks of his intense orgasm still rippling through him.

You weren't sure anymore if you could resist seeing this man each day.

You feel his fingers tucking the wet strands of your hair behind your ear, before placing a kiss on your temple. "You think we're done already?" He chuckles deeply, rising back up and grabbing your hips. "I'm still about to fuck you against that window."

And after that, in the elevator. Then, in my car. And then, in the public restroom. All of those, in one day.

[daycourtofficial]

You two are dancing in a snow globe round and round

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 8.2k | warnings: needles/requiring stitches

Summary: four times a trope fails to bring you and Azriel together, one time it prevails. This is my submission for @sjmromanceweek day 5: favorite tropes (and yes these are all elite tropes, argue with the wall 😤)

Author’s note: this is for my You Are in Love by Taylor Swift girlies. Also on the fence about the ending but ya know it felt right and @ninthcircleofprythian loved it so her opinion is the correct one

Fake dating

The streets of Velaris are quiet. A sleepy morning after the holiday excitement of Starfall has died down. A week past it and the fae are still holed up in their homes, only going out when necessary. The cobblestone streets are mostly empty, you, Nyx, and Azriel passing the occasional fae as they move in the opposite direction. They would nod or wave at the three of you, but never linger to talk, eager to get on their way. 

A light tugging on your scarf brings you out of your daze. Looking down to find Nyx’s blue eyes looking up at you, his tiny hands pulling on your scarf. “Az, can you help undo my scarf?”

The two of you stop, moving over to the side of the street to avoid being in anyone’s way. Azriel’s scarred fingers reach out, unwrapping the scarf from your neck, and rewrapping it to include Nyx. The babe has been doing this all week to anyone wearing a scarf - tugging incessantly until he was also tucked into the scarf. If he was after the scent or the warmth, nobody knew. Cassian had even bought him a scarf, a little thin knitted piece of black wool, thinking the boy would be delighted. Nyx cried and pulled on the scarf when Cassian wrapped it around his neck before spitting up on it. 

The princeling is still holding a slight grudge against Cassian, in turn causing the general to try desperately to get Nyx’s affections back - holding him constantly, playing with him, trying to slip him some sweet treats. Cassian’s antics have led the three of you here, walking the streets of town instead of being in the River House. 

You usually watched Nyx in the afternoons and after a week of Cassian’s antics you had quickly grown tired of his need to get back in the heir’s good graces. As soon as Azriel returned from training and bathed, you had rushed the two of them out of the house with you before Cassian could come looking for Nyx.

Nyx settles in your arms, enjoying the comfort the scarf brings him. His head rests against your shoulder, the slightest bit of drool permeating your jacket. You sigh, cursing yourself for wearing your favorite coat when you know just how messy Nyx is.

“He’s quite fond of you,” Azriel’s deep voice is laced with affection. You look down at Nyx, finding it difficult not to coo over how cute he looks snuggled up to you.

“He better be - I spend more time with him than anyone save for Rhys and Feyre. Hopefully he remembers that when I begin my plans to take over the world.”

Nyx’s little giggle comes from underneath the scarf, immediately bringing a smile to your face. One of Azriel’s hands lingers around the small of your back, gently helping guide you down the near empty street. 

“When you take over, will you spare me? I hear a shadowsinger could be very useful in world domination.” He leans into your ear, his voice soft as to not disturb the silence of the road.

You start moving down the street again, Azriel just a half step behind you. His left wing was open around your back, offering protection to you and the princeling. You wanted to sink into it, let his wing envelop you fully.

“You'll have to submit an application, I already have quite a few offers.”

“I’d expect nothing less, but I am hoping some favoritism can move my application forward.”

“Mm, does favoritism come with perks?”

“I’ll buy your lunch and any pretty things you find on the way back to the house.”

“Oh, I like your methods of persuasion, shadowsinger.”

The two of you walk into the bakery, Azriel holding the door open for you and Nyx to walk through first.

“I’m just saying, but if Cassian really expects to keep disrupting my plans with Nyx, the least he could do is make me a smoothie.”

Nyx babbles in your arms, and you look into his violet eyes, the same color as Rhys’s, but they held the same twinkle to them as Feyre’s eyes, “yes, that’s right. I’m right.”

You all get in line, five fae in line ahead of you. Azriel unwraps the scarf from around Nyx, the warmth of the bakery causing him to want to be out of the confines of the fabric.

“But if you woke up a little earlier, you could make one yourself without Nyx there to watch over.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” You ask, your finger tickling Nyx’s side to get him to giggle with you.

Azriel rolls his eyes at your obvious tactics to get the toddler to agree with you, but he can’t help the soft smile he has as Nyx giggles at your poking and flaps his tiny wings.

The older female in front of the two of you turns and gasps at Nyx, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

“Well, if this isn’t the cutest babe in all of Prythian.” Her face lights up as Nyx flaps his wings harder at the attention he’s getting, hiding his face in your shoulder, hiding his big grin.

“He’s just darling, you two must be thrilled to have such a sweet babe.”

“Oh we’re not-“ Before you can disagree with her, Nyx has made his own decision.

“Mama!” He calls to you, putting his chubby little hands on your face, squishing your cheeks together. You move one of your hands back towards Azriel’s stomach, stopping him from speaking further, deciding to just roll with it.

You crinkle your eyes, “He’s just darling, isn’t he?”

Nyx gives you a toothless grin, and you shoot him a look he mistakes for pure affection, preening under your withering gaze. It is nearly impossible to stay mad at him, his chubby cheeks the ultimate ‘I can do no wrong’.

“How old is he?” You pale, having a hard time keeping track of Nyx’s age. You dig through your mind, trying to remember when Nyx was born. Azriel answers much quicker than your brain could. “He’s fourteen months old.” The female squeals at Azriel’s words, the shadowsinger slightly wincing.

“Wow, what a great age! My boys were little monsters by then, each of them would love walking around at night, they’d always manage to escape their cribs somehow. I can’t imagine how I’d deal with one of them with wings!” She continues, her eyes lit up talking about her kids when they were young. You find it incredibly sweet, until she continues on and on until it’s her turn to order.

Her back to you both, you turn toward Azriel, widening your eyes slightly and looking at her. He shrugs, a soft “what can you do” coming from him. After she orders, the two of you step up, ordering your sandwiches and something sweet for Nyx. The woman gets her sandwich right after you pay, telling you, “it was nice to speak to you - you and your family are beautiful.”

Nodding and smiling, the two of you find a table and sit, Nyx still in your arms. You lightly kick Azriel’s foot underneath the table. “Thanks for paying.”

He sips his coffee, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t want her to think I was a poor father.”

You laugh, the sound causing Nyx to laugh too. The light hit the pair of you, giving the two of you a sort of glow. If Azriel squinted, he could feel the edges of fantasy grasp hold of the image - you holding a winged babe, laughing at something he had said. He wished he had some way to capture this moment, knowing he would return to it over and over in his mind when he couldn’t sleep. He smiled, unable to keep your joy from infecting him. 

One bed

“That’s not funny,” Cassian pouts, looking to you for support. You shrug, taking a sip of your wine to avoid speaking, opting to look towards the portraits on the wall rather than meet his gaze.

“You’re right - it’s hilarious,” Feyre responds, looking at her mate, seeing the comparison. “The last female you hooked up with looked just like Rhys.”

“She did not!” Cassian bellows, slamming his hand on the table. All of you howl in laughter, the revelation of Cassian’s recent hook up bearing quite the resemblance to his brother an endless source of amusement.

Cassian, Mor, Feyre, Rhys, Azriel, and yourself were all nestled into the dining room of the townhouse. The fae light in the room produces an incandescence that provides a stark contrast to the brutal snow storm outside.

You’re all trapped here, none of you brave enough to step far enough outside of the wards to winnow away. The six of you piled into the townhouse earlier in the evening, where you lovingly made a three course meal. It was a monthly tradition - you liked getting everyone together, you loved cooking for your friends, and they loved eating your food. It was a win all around. 

Dinner was just starting to be served when the snowfall took a turn for the worst, coming down in massive heaps of white. 

“Good thing we have a feast right here - I was starting to eye Azriel’s legs.”

Mor rolls her eyes at Cassian, “you were eyeing his legs because you can’t keep your eyes to yourself.”

Cassian smirks at her, a charming grin many females have fallen victim to. “You’re just upset it wasn’t your legs I was looking at.”

“Can we stop discussing my legs?” Azriel grumbles, passing the bowl of mixed vegetables to you. You nod in thanks, scooping a serving for yourself. “At least they’re being kind to you - last week Cassian was making fun of my arms.”

You pout your lip dramatically, but Azriel ignores it, his scowl still on his brother. “I wouldn’t call being the first to be eaten a kindness.”

“It’s not my fault you have short arms. How do you reach anything?” Cassian’s mouth was somehow already full of food, despite one of the platters just making its way to him.

“I believe she reaches things by scaling countertops and climbing shelves,” Rhys adds, plating himself some dumplings before serving some to Feyre’s plate.

“Hey! We were not talking about me, we were discussing Azriel’s delicious thighs!”

“He didn’t specify thigh.” Rhys points out, his fork pointing toward you.

“Oh, but I meant his thighs.” Cassian chimes in, his arm outstretched for another serving of potatoes.

“I’d start with his arms - he has a lot of meat on his bicep.” Mor doesn’t look up from her plate as she states it so casually.

“This conversation has taken a turn for the worse,” Azriel mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose in his fingers. You rub his arm soothingly, and he softens a bit at the feel of your touch.

Until you start squeezing the muscle beneath your hand. He immediately glances at you from the side of his eye, a stony and cold look.

“Flex for me, please.”

“I will not indulge this!” He starts trying to pull his arm away, but your fingers are surprisingly strong.

“Hmmm,” you hum, your hands still wrapped around his bicep, squeezing as you contemplate. “They’re a decent contender, but my vote is the thigh.”

“Not you too!”

You squeeze his arm lightly, “I’m sorry, this is a worst case scenario! I promise I’ll only eat you if you were already dead from like a freak accident.”

“What are our thoughts on someone being run through with my sword as a freak accident?” Cassian muses, licking his fingers dramatically. Azriel scowls at him as everyone around the table giggles.

Azriel turns back to you, “you only picked my legs because you wouldn’t be able to reach my arms.”

You drop your hands from his bicep, mock exasperation on your face. “How dare you! I was complimenting you. Being able to feed a family from your lifeless body is a compliment!”

“I can think of many families more deserving of my meat than you lot.”

He huffs, rotating his body to look at his brother before adding, “don’t you dare, Cassian.” 

Cassian scoffs at the finger pointed in his direction. “You’re the one who said you can feed a village with your cock.”

“That is not what I said! And it was a family, not a village.”

“Whatever.”

The two keep bickering until Cassian throws a green bean at Azriel, who quickly moves his head. A shadow comes and quickly pushes the leftover food on Cassian’s plate into his lap in retaliation.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

Rhys looks equal parts amused and equal parts annoyed, likely at the mess that was made of his chair lining. He looks towards the window, the snow coming down even heavier than before. He sighs.

“I’m assuming we’ll all be staying here tonight?”

Everyone nods, no one wanting to brave the cold, wet snow. Not even Cassian or Azriel volunteer to leave, their bodies tailor made for this kind of weather.

“Right,” he nods, looking at Feyre. “Feyre and I will stay in the big room. You two,” he points to you and Azriel, “can stay in the room with the mirrors. You two,” now pointing to Cassian and Mor, “can stay in the room with some of Feyre’s paintings.”

Your heart picks up, its beat erratic and echoing through your ears. This would hardly be the first time you and Azriel shared a bed, but each time turned you into a bundle of nerves. You spent the entire night doubting each movement you made, uncertain if you were making Azriel uncomfortable until your brain eventually shut down, allowing for sleep to overtake you. 

Every time your worry was for nothing - each night full of nerves brought forth a morning of tangled limbs and warm cuddling. Waking up in his arms did nothing but cause your feelings for Azriel to soar, spending several extra minutes in bed pretending to be asleep, trying to imprint the feel of his arm around your waist to memory.

“No,” Cassian bellows, “she has that painting of Bryaxis in there. Creeps me out. I won’t be able to sleep.”

Rhys breathes through his nose, uncertain when becoming High Lord meant delegating his friend’s fears. “Put it in the closet.”

“I’ll know it’s there.”

“Fine, we’ll take the painting out of there.”

“Maybe Cassian will be who we eat if a simple painting puts him on edge this much.” You whisper conspiratorially, Azriel making a soft hum in acknowledgment. If he can hear the loud beating of your heart, he doesn’t let on. 

You look at him, his face not giving any apprehension away. It was hard not to fall further for Azriel with each look he gave you, each night you two shared a bed just sinking you deeper and deeper into your feelings.

He is beautiful, a detail impossible for anyone to ignore. You have heard countless fae mention it over the years. Most of them only see him from a distance - the cold, mysterious front Azriel wanted the world to see him as. But you have the privilege of seeing him up close, getting to take in every small detail about him.

The exact angle of his nose, how his jawline curves. How his shadows move languidly around his face, almost wanting you to pay attention to his eyes. You’re certain you could draw an exact replica of how his tattoos litter his chest, the design close to Cassian’s, but not quite the same. Azriel’s tattoos were looser, as if his shadows acted as stencils when the tattoos were made. 

You can even tell when his hair gets to the length he finds too long, the black curls getting into his face, his shadows sweeping the hair off his forehead when he trains.

You treat knowing him as if you’re a scholar writing an encyclopedia of Azriel, needing to know every little thing about him.

The weather doesn’t leave much lingering, everyone turning in quickly, seeking solace under a warm comforter. You follow behind Azriel, making your way to the room allocated to the two of you.

‘Room with the mirrors’ was an understatement. Mirrors of all sizes surround the both of you - more with ornate frames, intricately carved figures and plants decorating each one. One mirror even had detailed Illyrian wings on the bottom. You could see yourself and Azriel from every angle, every movement meant for observation.

“Why do they have so many mirrors in here?” 

Azriel’s eyes sweep across the room, counting at least two dozen mirrors. He knew exactly what Rhys used them for. It was impossible to know the High Lord for centuries and not know his bedroom preferences. “Do you really wish to know?”

Shivers go down your spine at his whispering voice. You have the whole room to yourselves, but his proximity is difficult to handle knowing exactly how Rhys and Feyre use this room. 

“It’s obviously because Rhys tries out mirrors until one shows him a flaw.” You watch Azriel grimace through a reflection.

“They’re a bit unnerving.” Several of his shadows dance around the mirrors, almost watching themselves as they slither and writhe. They are putting on quite the show, causing you to nearly miss Azriel’s statement.

“I guess.” You shrug, not really caring too much. In truth, you like the mirrors. It meant there was nowhere for Azriel to hide from you in here. 

A shiver ran up at the thought that you couldn’t hide either. 

A room of truths and being seen.

“I could just winnow back home.” You startle from your thoughts, Azriel’s tight lips and tense shoulders giving away just how uncomfortable he is. Is it your shared company? Or is it the thought of staying in his brother’s spare sex room that’s putting him on such edge?

“But that’s not fun. Besides, you can’t leave me here with Cassian. He’s already disaster planning. I need someone to protect me.” You sit down on a settee, unlacing your shoes. A small part of you doesn’t want Azriel to leave, hoping if you get comfortable, it’ll help him relax. 

An even smaller part doesn’t want to recognize how large that part actually is. You don’t want to be left alone tonight, and you certainly don’t want to have to explore exactly why his absence has such an effect on you.

“You were saying I’m dinner earlier and now I’m your protector. Which is it?” His wings are loosening their stiff hold and from the corner of your eye you see a few shadows nestle beneath the duvet.

“Whichever suits my needs. And tonight I need you to protect me from Cassian.”

Azriel shakes his head, unable to keep the smile off his face as he sits next to you, unlacing his own boots. He nearly takes up half the settee, but you don’t mind as his wing gently drapes around you. He places them neatly next to yours, the domesticity of it lingering in your mind. 

Shoes at the end of the bed, getting ready for bed.

Romance in its simplest form: routine.

He’s gone much too quickly for your liking, his hands quick as he searches drawers for some kind of nightwear. A few shadows help him in his search, pulling out various folds of silk and lace.

“Would you prefer a shirt or one of Feyre’s nightgowns?”

You’d prefer a nightgown, but knowing Feyre’s taste in clothes you know it’d likely leave little to the imagination. Azriel’s already a bit hesitant to stay, and you don’t want to push him further away. 

“Shirt, please.”

You thought he was offering you one of Rhys’s shirts from the drawers, but you’re pleasantly surprised when he unbuttons the front of his shirt, his shadows undoing the ties at the back, before the dark wisps carry the shirt over to you. He’s half turned away from you as he digs through the drawers, but you can still make out the contours of his body, the muscles in his arms moving with him.

You thank the shadows for their help, slipping away to the attached bathroom to change and get ready for bed. This isn’t the first time you’ve shared a bed, but it feels different. More serious somehow. You slip into Azriel’s shirt, the fabric practically melting onto your skin. 

It smells divine. You want to just drown in the fabric here and now.

Instead you go back into the room, finding Azriel in comfortable sleep pants. 

He turns his back to you, doing a sweep of the room to ensure every crevice is shut and locked. When he turns, you can’t help the squeal that leaves your lips at the sight of the words printed on the rear of the pants. 

Azriel looks back around at you, only to find you pointing and giggling where his ass had been a few seconds before.

“Your pants say juicy!” Sure enough, the purple plush pants had the word ‘juicy’ in rhinestones and all capital letters. “No wonder Cassian wants to eat you, you’re practically advertising it!”

Your laughs are practically bouncing off the mirrors, Azriel’s body surrounded by your joy. He wants to be annoyed at these ridiculous pants Rhys clearly wears, but as your laughs continue, his annoyance is all an act. He tries his best to keep a neutral expression, but he’s certain some forlorn look of longing is in its place.

“Ha ha, very funny. Can we go to bed?” You’re still a ball of giggles as you make your way to the bed, awkwardly shuffling, a bit unsure. This part is always confusing and awkward - the two of you shuffling, waiting to see what the other would do. 

Azriel is well-versed in loving from a distance. He was convinced for so long that if Mor only saw him, acknowledged him, it’d be enough. And then he met you. And Mor became nothing more than she had always been - his friend. 

Tonight. Tonight he would not love you from a distance. His legs carried him to the bed, taking the initiative as his wings spread out against the mattress. He pulls back your side of the duvet, his hand patting the bed. An invitation.

Your cheeks turn a shade of red he wanted to paint the walls with. He could see himself in the mirror behind you, one of his wings twitching in delight that he found himself attractive.

Maybe just being in your gaze did that to him - opened him up to see who he could be. Maybe your gaze made him preen like a male bird, putting his best self on display. Or maybe it was the tattoos of his chest on full display, his sweatpants hidden beneath the duvet already.

“Are you going to hog the blankets?” Your words come out a bit shaky, trying to shift your focus from his warm body as you get in next to him. His wing curls back up, tucking in close to his body to make room for you. You shimmy into bed, pulling the duvet back over your body. For several minutes you lay there, practically stock still trying to avoid moving or disturbing Azriel, until he twitches lightly. You turn and notice his pinched brows, trying to hide the discomfort from his furled wings.

“I could- sleep on top of you? So you can spread out your wings? I just want you to be comfortable.” You add hastily, turning on your side to see him better. The bed was large enough for Illyrian wings, but you’re lying right in the middle of the bed, making it impossible for his wings to stretch out.

He’s silent, clearly thinking you’re question over. He’s taking longer than you expected, hesitance in your words as you speak again.

“Or I could sleep on the floor.” Your last word comes out as a gasp, his fingers quickly wrapping around your hips, pulling you on top of him. One of his hands moves around your head, tucking you into his chest. The other moves to your back, his fingers rubbing soothing strokes down your spine as he adjusts to be laying right in the middle of the bed. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” His fingers keep moving, not stopping their soothing patterns. His wings drop dramatically onto the bed, practically yelling at you to accept the space you gave away to them.

“Somehow, I think I’ll survive.” You let out a breath, finally letting yourself relax and breathe normally again. You burrow your face in his chest, the piney scent of him making your eyes droop. His fingers are soothing against your skin, each movement gently guiding you closer and closer to sleep. 

“Now if Cassian comes looking for a midnight snack he’ll have to get through you first.” You pinch his side, a squeak hitting your ear as a shadow pulls your hand away.

Blind dates and nosey friends

Your hands tear the bread in half once again as you see the waitress heading straight toward you. An awkward smile is on her face as she approaches your table. 

“Miss, are you ready to order?” You sigh through your nose, shredding the roll in your hands. She is just doing her job, you don’t have to take your frustrations on this male out on your server. You start to ask for a menu, when out of the corner of your eye you see large wings you would know anywhere. The shadow that branches off from him, heading in a direct path to you, is the confirmation it was him. 

“One moment, please.” You don’t wait for her response before practically sprinting over, grabbing the shadowsinger’s arm before even thinking about it. He jerks his arm back, a scowl on his face before he realizes who it is. 

Azriel’s defensive stance slackens as he takes you in, his eyes lingering long enough on your dress that heat creeps up your chest. A few shadows start curling around your bare legs.

“What are you doing here, Az?” His eyes finally look back up at your face, something hidden deep in his gaze.

“I was supposed to meet someone, but they never showed.” Your stomach falls at his words, the hypocrisy impossible to ignore. He was supposed to be on a date? But they didn’t show up? 

You take the chance to look at him, his usual leathers exchanged for more formal wear. An all black tunic that shows a glimpse of his chest. It is a gorgeous fabric - a deep black with dark blue embroidery along the edges. His clothes are looser than his leathers, but they still show off his chiseled body.

You were a fool to not take in the back of the outfit when you had the chance earlier, certain he fills out the seat of his pants quite nicely.

Whoever didn’t show up for Azriel was a fool. Your jealousy at that fact is undeterred by remembering you are also supposed to be on a date right now.

“Same here.” Your date not showing up didn’t bother you too much. You were disappointed by how highly Feyre spoke of him, but you hadn’t been too thrilled to be going out anyway. 

“Are you hungry?” Azriel gives you a bewildered look, and you cross your arms feeling so exposed before him. You gesture to the table behind you, hoping Azriel will pick up the hint.

He just continues looking at you blankly.

“Would you like to have dinner with me? I have a table, and the waitress certainly thinks I made up having a guest to eat with.”

He looks down at your outfit once again, goosebumps trailing where his eyes land. Just because you hadn’t been thrilled to come didn’t mean you took picking out your outfit lightly.

“It would be an honor.” He follows you to your table, long legs making it to your chair before you do. He pulls your chair out, helping you sit before he takes his own seat.

“Who were you meeting tonight?” His voice is low, nearly a growl as he asks the question. Before you can answer, your waitress comes back, two menus in her arms. You thank her as she hands them to you both.

“A nice merlot, please.” Az holds up two gloved fingers to her, wanting the same. 

“Feyre wanted to set me up with some male from the Rainbow. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.” His eyebrows pinch together, a shadow curling his ear conspicuously before his face softens.

“And he didn’t show up?”

You shake your head, not wanting to voice the disappointment at being stood up. You weren’t giddy about the date, but it still stings of rejection.

“His loss.” Azriel is so sincere as he says it, his face opening in a way that only really happens when you’re alone with him. “Truly.”

You open your menu, unable to linger in his sincerity. “Maybe he was the great love of my life and now I’ll never have that.”

“I truly doubt that.”

The waitress comes back with two glasses of red wine and a fresh basket of breadsticks that she places between you two before heading off again.

“What are you doing here - who were you meeting?”

“Cassian’s been trying to get me to go out with him more. I got tired of waiting for him.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, he probably got caught up with Nesta and I’d rather not smell them in a public restaurant.” Azriel grimaces, and you remember him telling you last week about finding them on the training grounds and immediately turning around.

“So, did Feyre tell you anything about this guy?” You look up from your menu, a bit confused at him circling the conversation back to a male you’ve never met.

“Not really. Just said he’s good looking and a nice male.” You shrugged, reaching for a breadstick to tear apart, giving your hands something to do.

“She didn’t give you a name?”

You think for a moment, replaying the odd memory over again. How Feyre had come into the room, a crazed look about her as she asked if you had any plans this evening. Details of the restaurant reservation flying from her lips, getting a promise that you'd be there before she ran off again.

“No.” You pop some bread into your mouth, finally able to enjoy the softness of it now that you have Azriel looking at you instead of the waitress.

“Do you always go out with nameless males?”

You stop chewing and throw your balled up straw wrapper at him. A shadow catches it before it can hit his face, a smirk taking root, brightening his face. He looks so boyish, so smug. 

It was one of your favorite faces he wore.

The shadow throws the wad at Azriel’s face anyway, leaving him speechless at the defiance. You try to stifle your giggles, your hand hardly stopping the sound as you watch the shadows around him also appear to be laughing.

“It’s not funny.” Azriel tries to slip his face back into the cool neutrality he wears so well, but it’s nearly impossible as your giggles grow. You have to look away, the absurdity of the evening making you want to laugh harder.

A few fae turn their heads to look at the pair of you, quickly averting their gaze once they see who you were seated with. Your laughter dies down, and you know Azriel won’t let the topic die until you give him all the answers he desires.

“No. I hardly ever go out with males.” Azriel stops his teasing, his whole body going still as if movement could impair his hearing. Even his shadows stay still, watching and waiting over his shoulder. 

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I’ve only been out a handful of times the past few years, none of them were right.” It’s the truth. Each date felt like a chore, ill-fitting shoes that never quite gave you what you needed. Mor had he annual attempt at setting you up, but you were quite happy to have a quiet love life for the time being. You’re much happier spending your free time with your friends, on your work, or with Nyx than with random males to learn their favorite colors and what they did for a living.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Have you been seeing anyone?”

“No.” His reply is curt, clearly not wanting to further the discussion. His eyes are cold, the gold not shining how they usually do when he speaks to you.

“Okay.” You’re at a bit of a loss for what to say. Conversation between the two of you is usually so easy.

But the two of you never discuss your love lives with each other. How could you talk about some male to Azriel without saying well he’s not as kind or as attentive as you?

“Come on, Az. Take a breadstick. It won’t kill you.”

You shake the basket at him, trying to get him to splurge a little. His rigorous diet is well known amongst your friends, teasing comments accompanied most meals about Azriel’s strict dietary choices.

That’s all it is when you say it - a deflection, a joke to ease the slight awkwardness that accompanies your question. To your utter delight, he picks one up, taking small bites, savoring each taste. 

It’s nearly sinful how he eats it.

Once it’s gone, he pats around his chest, looking around the room.

“Look at that.”

“What?”

“I am still alive.”

“Oh shut up.”

“All these years, I thought bread would kill me.”

You roll your eyes at him, picking the menu up to finally look over what you want for dinner.

Who did this to you?

It’s easy to forget Mor is first and foremost a warrior. Her chosen wardrobe is curated to draw attention to her other assets, but her muscles still shine.

“Ow.” Mor’s hand is quick as she jostles your face, clutching your jaw tight. Her grip gives away her true strength - focusing all of it on your face. 

You pity anyone who comes in her way on a battlefield.

“Hold still.”

“I’m trying, you’re hurting me.”

“Shush. You’re fine.” 

A lone shadow creeps through the crack beneath the door, making its way over to you. It slinks through the shadows of the room, slithering from the shadow of the bed to the shadows beneath the dresser. 

You notice it halfway through its journey, but Mor remains ignorant. It moves up your leg, gently swirling your hand in comfort. It works almost instantly, the cool touch of it enough to distract you from Mor’s ministrations.

For a moment you almost forgot where you were.

“Ow!” It comes out louder than you intend, scaring off the shadow. The disappointment of losing your shadow friend took your mind off the pain momentarily before scowling at your friend again.

“Are you sure you don’t want Madja?”

“Yes.”

“Then stop complaining.”

You groan, unable to stop yourself despite Mor’s withering look. You suck in a breath through your teeth, nearly biting your tongue as she continues stitching your face.

“What are you doing?” You didn’t hear Azriel come in, didn’t hear a sound from him. But now he’s impossible to ignore. His shadows swarm you, their soft caresses welcome and wanted. They brush against any open skin they can, a few tickling against the open wound on your face. A few find the bruises littering your legs and hips, their cool caress not stinging like pressure would.

Mor merely rolls her eyes at him, annoyance flickering in her brown eyes as she looks to him. “I’m playing healer because I thought it would be fun, what does it look like I’m doing?”

Several of the shadows leave you, circling around Azriel’s ears conspiratorially. His wings flare out, almost casting a wall between you and the rest of the world. One of the shadows tries to swat Mor away, a huff of annoyance leaving her.

Azriel has been different ever since your dinner together. The two of you are spending more time together than ever - now you see him at most meals, he gives you his weekly schedule and warns you whenever he’ll be gone, and the two of you always slink off and spend the evenings together.

It’s been strange lately.

Despite the shadows whispers, his scowl only deepens. His eyes assess your face, scanning for every injury. Hazel eyes go straight to the bruise covered by your shirt, as if he can see beneath the fabric to the purple skin beneath. Azriel’s face tightens, disapproval clearly evident.

“What happened? Who did this to you?” His voice is deeper, some deep anger taking over his face.

Mor is quick to step in, to calm the shadows that are swirling around you, making it difficult for her to continue her stitching.

“Calm down, she fell down the stairs.” 

His breathing starts slowing again. Catching Mor’s eye, she tries not to laugh at the intense display. She even mouths his words back to you, an impish look on her face before she focuses again on your cheek, purposefully ignoring the Illyrian practically breathing down her neck.

You try to laugh but wince as she brings up the needle to your cheek, threading it through skin, slowly closing the wound. An intake of air gives away your true discomfort, no matter how hard you try to hide it.

“You’re being too harsh.” Mor groans at Azriel’s admonishment before reaching for his hand, gently handing over the needle to him before standing. She dusts off her dress before getting to her full height. Azriel bends down, trying to keep the needle from pulling too far, allowing Mor to slightly tower over him.

“If my stitching isn’t up to your standard, you may finish it.” She huffs, waiting for his response. Hands meet her hips waiting until he concedes, nodding silently. She’s quick to turn on her heel, muttering about overprotective males before shutting the door behind her.

“She should have taken you to Madja.” Azriel clicks his tongue as if Mor could hear his complaints through the wall. His shadows seem to nod in agreement poking out over his shoulder before making their way back to you. 

“I didn’t want to go to Madja.”

“Why not?” 

It took a moment to find the words, to vocalize it out loud. It was silly - your arms were full, trying to carry too much at once. Foolishly you thought the stairs were a few feet away, missing the top step and falling face down the stairs. 

You had hit the walls with each tumble, causing a loud enough raucous to startle Mor, who immediately helped you up and fussed over you.

“I was embarrassed.” Your arms cross over your chest, trying to hide into yourself. Azriel gently cups your face in his hand, bringing the threaded needle back up. You wince, shutting your eyes tight to avoid seeing it. 

Azriel was right - Mor had been a bit rough in her stitching, but not enough for you to say anything. 

His thumb gently strokes your cheek, the delicacy enough to have you slowly crack open an eye only to find him looking right back at you.

“Why were you embarrassed?” His voice is softer now, less amusement as he holds your gaze. His gaze is strong, impossible to turn or hide away from. 

Maybe that’s why you open up completely, the cowardly parts of you on full display.

“I didn’t want to bother Madja with something I got because I tripped over my own feet.” You watch his face, waiting for him to understand how silly this situation is and to drop it completely. To continue his stitching and leave you with a bruised ego.

That understanding never comes, his face nearly shriveling in confusion.

“I’ve watched Cassian go to Madja for paper cuts.” 

“Yes, but-“

“Do you think Cassian’s pain is more deserving of healing?” Azriel is quick to cut you off, his words fast to stop the shame spiral you were gearing up to begin. His gaze is hard and unflinching, pinning you in place. 

Truth-Teller isn’t a weapon, it’s a title you feel he deserves. One look from him unspooling all of your secrets.

“It’s different.” Your shoulders slump a bit, finding it hard to find the right words for how you feel. Embarrassing is the best one, but it still feels light. 

“How?”

“I’m not… fighting the good fight. I’m not a warrior.” A few shadows wrap around your shoulders in a comforting embrace, almost as if they are holding you up. “Cassian deserves to be babied a bit when he’s constantly throwing himself into danger.”

A more cross look overcomes his features, a hint of agitation lingering.

“I didn’t realize civilians didn’t have healers.”

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“Then tell me what you mean.”

“Madja has more important things than tending to my falling down the stairs.” 

“I think you’re right. She does have better things to do.” You blink. You’ve never heard Azriel concede in an argument so easily. You’ve watched him argue with Cassian until he was blue in the face just to win.

“But I don’t. So if you’re done…” he trails off, his hand that holds the needle going a bit higher to get into your eyeline. A reminder to both of you that he needs to finish the job Mor started.

You nod, accepting his kindness. The fight eases out of you, slowly leeching from your pores, unable to stand against the softness in his face. Your eyes close more gently this time, the weight of the shadows easing your nerves a bit.

“Just don’t tell me when you’re going to do it, please.”

“Okay, I won’t.” He rubs his thumb along the scar, not applying any pressure. You lean into his touch, unable to stop yourself. The stitch Mor made prickles a bit, but the two of you continue to sit there in a calming silence. Both of his hands now cradle your cheeks, his large palms so comforting you nearly muzzle into them. 

“Azriel, are you ever going to stitch up my face?”

“I’m already done.” 

Your eyes relax, blinking at him. You bring a hand up to your face, touching where the long gash was to find it stitched. 

“I guess that tonic Mor gave me did stop the feeling. Thanks, Az.”

One of his hands gently grabs yours, pulling it from your cheek. He holds it delicately in his own, his thumb swiping across the back of it.

“Stop messing with it. You’ll undo my hard work.” 

“It’s like picking at a scab.”

“Don’t do that either.”

Friends to lovers

A fire crackles in the library, casting a warm glow over the room. Of all the libraries in Night, none of them compare to the one nestled in the Townhouse. It’s smaller than the others, allowing for a more quaint and cozy feel.

The shelves are a bit haphazard, you and Azriel using it as a personal library most of the time. Most books continue notes in the margins from either or both of you - quick scrawl to dictate something for the other or something one of you enjoyed.

The Townhouse is where the two of you spend most of your time - the tighter quarters being enough space for the two of you.

The last few weeks were a blur of Azriel - spending most nights in each other’s beds, 

A blanket’s folded behind your head. You’re tempted to cover your legs with it, but you lean a bit closer into Azriel instead. You are practically draped against his lap, your torso half over his body, a book perched in your hands. He’s using your back as a rest for his book, one hand woven in your hair, the other one making circles in your lower back. 

His shadows flip his pages for him, allowing his hands to lazily wander on their own. It was so domestic and easy, each movement a thrill.

You’re trying to read your book, but if Azriel even asked what it was about you wouldn’t be able to answer. An earlier conversation with Cassian keeps replaying in your mind over and over again, each return to it an attempt to further your resolve.

“Going so soon?” Nesta had pouted, her gray eyes turning pitiful trying to get you to stay longer. “I’ve hardly seen you the past few weeks.”

You started to answer, telling her you hadn’t become that unavailable, when Cassian’s voice boomed through the living room.

“She has to get back to her boyfriend, Nes. He’ll be upset if she’s gone too long. He’ll get broody.”

You had scoffed, nearly jumping at his voice.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know who I’m talking about? I didn’t say a name.” Cassian came into the room now, amusement on his face as he wiped his hands with a dish rag. 

“Shut up, Cass.”

“He’s not her boyfriend.” Nesta spoke up from the couch. 

“Thank you!”

“You just spend every minute with him, you reek of his scent, and you’re always considering what to do next for him.”

Cassian rounded the couch, plopping down next to Nesta.

“You're his girlfriend without the title.”

“Am not.”

“You sleep in his bed.”

“Not every night.”

Nesta and Cassian looked at each other before turning back to you, almost in unison saying, “or he sleeps in your bed.”

Heat began creeping up your neck, your emotions feeling so violated. You knew the two of you had been close, but was it really so obvious to Cassian of all people?

 “Fine, if you two aren’t dating, I’m sure you won’t mind in two years when Azriel’s dating someone else.”

The words clank through your mind like a dropped bell, the same notes hitting over and over again. Someone else.

“Az?” His name comes out as a whisper, your fear only half wanting him to hear you, the other half begging to be heard.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up, his attention still mostly on his book as he tries to finish the paragraph he’s reading.

“Are we dating?”

Azriel looks away from his book, looking down at you in his lap. Even his shadows drop the book onto your back, their attention moving toward their master’s response. He takes a moment, clearly thinking over your question, giving you his full attention. You turn slightly, angling your body to fully see him.

“I suppose we are.” He answers you so nonchalantly, as if this was a well known fact. You sit up now, taking the spot next to him, your book falling off the couch but you don’t care enough to even look at it. His book falls as well, a soft thump onto the carpet. 

“Are you… happy about it?” A million questions race through your mind, but that’s what comes out first. His hands had followed you as you moved, one of them still resting on your hip, lazily dragging his thumb in languid strokes.

“Delighted.” You take the moment to really look at Azriel, his face mere inches from your own. You hadn’t noticed the gradual change over the weeks, but sitting here now, it is impossible to ignore. His face is brighter, eye bags having shrunk to a regular size. He’s been smiling more, a few laugh lines making their ways onto his cheeks. 

Even his clothes are different - looser, more casual attire covered his body, his leathers getting worn only for training and official duties.

Azriel looks like Azriel. Not the spymaster, not the shadowsinger. Not a thing of legend.

But the male you love.

Your hand reaches out, softly cupping his jaw. Your other hand pushes some of his hair off his forehead, the soft curls bouncing back into place after the attempt to tame them. The smile on his face matches your own: full of possibility, love, and hope. A shadow glides across your lips before moving across your whole face, as if imprinting this moment to their memory.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Your mouth is splitting your face in two, too large to contain your smile to just your lips, it reaches the corners of your eyes.

“Once your questions end, I would like to.”

“Do you love me?”

“So much.” You feel how much he does in his gaze, in his hands, in his words. Everything about him - every interaction, every touch, every moment, it all led you here. You’re grateful for every moment of it as his hands gently pull your face to his, his lips warm and gentle as they meld into yours.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

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[nyxvuxoa-writes]

Hello, may I request a #15 with Sergei Kravinoff from the prompts?

Thank you.

You got it hon. I hope this hits the spot for you. ★

𝙈𝙞𝙣𝙚

Sergei Kravinoff x Submissive!F!Reader

◢ Genre: Prompt Request — Suitable For Adults Only. Minors will be blocked.

◢ Warnings: 18+ only, please. AFAB Reader. PWP (maybe slight plotting, mostly smut). Angst. The reader is referred to as a property of sorts. Submissive reader. Reader being defiant. Being dominated by Sergei. Manhandling of the reader. Sexual Choking (don't try unless you know what you are doing). Ripping clothes off reader. P-in-V. Dirty Talk. Orgasm denial. Internal ejaculation.

◢ Word Count: 1.6K

◢ A/N: Gif was made by me, please credit me if you use it. Likes are enjoyed. Reblogs are always greatly appreciated. And I am always down to hear what you think.

2K Follower Prompt List

"I'm not your property." You spit at him, an anger in your voice that continued the argument that was already going on. Sergei turns to look at you. There was confusion on his face. His brow furrows heavily. The tension in his shoulders spreads through his body. He lets out a heavy breath, and you can see the way his muscles move heavily with movements. The Russian was taken aback by your words.

"Since when?" He growls at you. "Since I say so. I'm in charge of me. Not you."

Sergei blinks, his head tilting slightly. He was trying to process your words, and they weren't sinking in. Since the start of your relationship with him, it had been clear where your place was with him. He was in charge. He says jump and you are supposed to say 'yes sir, how high'. But today, he might have struck a nerve with you that sent you into this state. Maybe you just needed a good reminder of how this relationship with him worked. Reaching up, Sergei runs his fingers over his lips, thinking.

"You have one chance to correct yourself." He says.

Those were words you had never heard out of his mouth. But your arms crossed in defiance. You stand your ground, putting your foot down on the matter. He could read the brat in your body language. It would be a lie to say that a part of him wasn't turned on by it. You were normally such a good girl, and here you were with your big girl panties on thinking that you could call the shots simply because you were frustrated with him. Angry even. Eventually, he might realize that he was an asshole, but right now the only thing he could focus on was putting you back into your place. To hear you moaning and pining for him like the simple creature you are.

It's a matter of seconds and his left hand is around your throat. He catches you off guard and you reach up, grabbing at his arm. Your eyes go wide, but you don't feel unsafe. You have never felt unsafe with the man, and truthfully he'd never hurt you. Not in a way you didn't enjoy, anyway. You can feel his fingers pressing into the sides of your neck. He's limiting the blood flow, causing you to feel a weirdly euphoric feeling. You tense and relax at the same time. His eyes meet yours with an intense stare and before you have the chance to respond, Sergei is gripping your shirt with his free hand. You hear the sound of ripping fabric from your body. He shreds it with ease, removing it from your body, and exposing your upper half.

A slight smirk comes to his face. You can see the corner of his mouth twitch slightly at the sight of you like this. He likes it, feeling the authority over you coursing through his veins like a slight adrenaline high. He backs you up against the wall, his hand pinning you by your neck to it. His free hand goes to your panties, ripping the sides of them and removing them from you. You feel as thin fabric slides down the inside of your legs and to the floor at your feet. For that brief moment, you both stare at each other.

It wasn't the first time you had been manhandled by the brute, but it was the first time in this situation. You feel your mind slipping into a state of submission, realizing that he was about to correct the poor choice of words that came from you. The hand against your throat loosens slightly before it tightens again. His free hand moves to his black pants, freeing himself from it. Sergei's hard, already at attention, and aching to remind you exactly where you belong. You can feel your mouth water in anticipation and you're already becoming slick between your legs. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest. The emotions went from angry and frustrated to, utter desire to feel that correction. All it took was the simple actions of a hand around your throat and that piercing gaze to lock with yours.

His movements are quick as you feel the hand go from your throat to your hips. He lifts you up with ease, positioning you quickly so that he can thrust himself up into you. You feel a wave of heat wash over your body as your skin becomes sensitive. He fills you quickly, bringing your hips to his as his entire length presses into you. He slams you against the wall slightly, growling as he feels the way your body flexes around him. You let out a moan that causes Sergei to growl against the crook of your neck. This wasn't about you, but he still wanted to hear those moans. They fueled him to start pumping into with an aggressive nature.

Your hands go to brace themselves, but you feel like you don't know where to put them. They grip his arms, his shoulders. You try and hold on as he starts to pump away. The sound of flesh meeting flesh fills the room. You can't contain the noises coming from your lips as you start to moan louder, and louder with each almost slightly painful thrust between your legs. He was using your hole for his own pleasure, making sure you were aware that it was his. Your body is his. Your mind is his. He was going to do with it as he pleased. You weren't going to stand there and tell him that you weren't his. You brought out that deeply primal dom in his body, he was making sure you felt it and knew it.

The louder you became, the harder he started to thrust. You could feel the base of him meeting at your swollen cunt, that tease of sensation that caused your body to tremble in his strong grip. He noticed it, growling at you slightly. His fingertips pressed into your thighs and lower ass with every intention of leaving little painful bruises for you to remember later.

"Don't you dare cum." He growled into your ear. "You haven't earned that." He added.

"But..." You went to plead with him as your tone whimpers for him. Were you even going to be able to stop yourself from doing that? He growled again, pressing you against the wall a little more. His head shakes with a no.

"Whose hole is that?" He asks deeply, groaning slightly. "Y-yours!" You cry out, feeling a hard thrust up into you. "Say it again." He snaps at you. "It's yours! My hole is yours!" You say, your fingers pressing into his skin as you continue to try and brace yourself.

He growls again, moaning at the end of it, almost as if he was approving of what was said without having to say it. He adjusts himself slightly, moving your weight so that he can stop thrusting. He moves your body for you, bouncing you along his length with such ease, his hand bracing you with your thighs a little more. He was using you, every bit of you for his own satisfaction. You could feel the tension in his shoulders and arms. You can tell there were bruises already starting to form from his fingers.

You do your best to hold off a finish, feeling as sweet spots were hit. Your body can't help but tremble, which adds fuel to his fire. He bounces you faster, harder, using how he moved your body to milk himself into you. Being with him long enough made it easy to read his body language, and he was starting to reach that finish with a goal in mind. You wanted so badly to finish with him, to finish at all, but the idea of him telling you that you weren't allowed sent a need through your mind. Let him use you, let him get that point across and maybe, just maybe you can earn a finish later.

Sergei's growling and moaning become more intense, becoming more frequent as he feels that building pressure. He wasn't holding back. That wasn't the point of any of this. He was going to be clear about where you stood in this relationship with him. He felt that heavy twitch in his cock, and his fingers press even harder into your skin as he braces you against the wall once more and buries himself deeply in between your legs. Your fingers press into his skin, nails digging into him as you fight off the urge to finish with him. You can feel his seed start to fill you, the warmth of it seeping out between the flesh that met his. He pressed as deeply as he could, twitching heavily as he made sure you took every last drop of him.

A hand moves back to your neck as he pulls from you. There is a mess between your legs, you can feel it. He lowers you back to your feet, the hand moving to grip your jaw and he forces you to look deeply into his eyes. At first, there is silence. You both stare at each other as he observes the way you are going to react to him, to all of this. There is no negative reaction, maybe a slight look of shock, but you can feel this deeper connection with him. That frustrated brat mode had faded away, and you're putty in his hands.

"You're mine." He says, making sure that the words are loud and clear. "You're mine in every sense of the term. Don't think I am done correcting you. I'm not."

Extra Tags: @voxmortuus

[hexhomos]

little random but i really appreciate your dissections and analysis of Mel mainly bc the fandom either adore her and won't admit she is a flawed character and get over defensive when you call her out, or straight up hate her and make her out to be completely evil.

Mel is written as morally grey for a reason and when ppl try to act like she was morally correct in everything she did, it goes against the whole plot. yes, she regrets most of her actions by the end of the series and is left to deal with her family's leagacy and the weight of her actions, but that doesn't undo anything she did. and her eventually starting to care about Jayce doesn't just cancel out that she manipulated him (you'd think this would be obvious)

what bothers me the most i think is meljay shippers who say Jayce mistreated her and that Mel only ever helped and care about him and aided him in rising to power politically, and how she was so understanding of Jayce's and Viktor's friendship. yes, encouraging methods of political corruption in order to gain more power is so caring and kind of her! ❤️

Mel might've told Jayce to go spend time with Viktor after finding out he was ill, but the one time in the show she interacted with Viktor was... prejudiced to say the least. she never directly spoke to or answered Viktor, and the expression on her face any time she looked over at Viktor was so clearly full of dislike. it shocks me ppl still believe Mel and Viktor could get along and respect one another, especially romantically. no way.

anyways, sorry for the rant. just tired of how many bad takes there are in this fandom and very fond of your account lol

you are right and you SHOULD say it re: that oft repeated argument about her "only wanting what's best for him" bothers me so much. Its just... weirdly patronizing and spousing pro-piltover nationalism every time i see it being brought up. "She's doing what anyone would do/what is best for the city!" IDK MAN I AM NOT ROCKING WITH THAT. Im not an ubercapitalist. I don't think any of that was the good option actually lol. Probably I hate piltover too much to humor these arguments but from day 1 we are shown this is a city of immense class inequality in which the elite few holds all the power and all the profit gains at the cost of everyone else's submission and humanity. (Not for nothing: these are also the classic old guard Noxian tenets of supremacy. That's how they do colonization.)

The interactions Mel has with Jayce for majority of the series, before she watches that bomb come in and has her rapid onset change of heart, are her talking about how investors want his work and how she can use his discovery to advance this city (which is already built on exploitation!) or instigating his rise to power as a new ringleader for the council's rigged mercantile operations, and this is just not good or heroic in any way to me. This isn't love either, it's industrial convenience. The fact that she's conflicted by the end doesn't cancel these actions out! Jayce realizes that he's been used in ways he strongly disagrees with and any the affection in that dynamic vanishes instantly. The time he spends in isolation replaying his mistakes in that cave has an emphasis on mel/heimerdinger's voice on the council too, all of his regrets with blindly following someone else's vision or disappointing an idol he held in high regards.

And Jayce DOES care about the state of the cities, or he did before the writers forgot: He's the one who pleads for Zaun's independence at the end of season 1! He's the one who spent all his life trying to work towards improving the lives of common people, giving them the miracles they've been denied!

Viktor is a fucking nobody. He is extremely worthless in the eyes of the piltovan upper crust, only kept around on the merits working with Jayce have afforded him; and they still don't care. They're probably hoping he dies quicker. We *SEE* him being singled out and alienated during that weapons discussion where Mel is pleading for Jayce to think about "protecting his people" (only piltovans, never, ever zaunites- protecting piltovans against the zaunite menace.) and Viktor is set off at that whole exchange because it doesn't matter how loud he screams, these people can just tune him off and pretend he doesn't exist anyway. It's what they're used to doing. It drives me insane!!!!! His indignation is extremely under-explored and very inline with his act1 speech of feeling like an undesirable presence in piltover and having to push through with the grit of his teeth. It's open faced classism and I still see people pretending it didn't happen. Fandom makes all of these characters FAR less interesting by defanging them. The heart is in the friction and in the ugliness of them fucking up because they have very, very different conceptions of "utopia" - and some of those utopias require the death of the other characters present.

A lot of the Arcane character arcs have to do with realizing the above, and weighing if the sacrifice is worth the risk. Sometimes it turns out their utopias were shit.

[slytherinsmuse]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ Domestic Chaos | Draco Malfoy ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem! Reader

Warnings: I guess mention of sexual activity and condoms

Summary: Fluff, Comedy | Draco navigates through muggle life with the love of his life.

Word count: 8966

author's note: I am so sorry that this request took so long. But work has been hell before the holidays. Now that I have some time off I managed to finish it. I hope you like it! @malfoy-mrsdracomalfoy

The first week of living together with Draco Malfoy had been… an adjustment, to say the least.

You smiled to yourself as you wandered down the stairs of your new house, recalling the mix of chaos and charm that came in the start of sharing a home with Draco. Moving in together had been a big step, one you hadn’t expected to take so soon. But after months of navigating your relationship between your cozy Muggle world and his pristine magical one following your graduation from Hogwarts, it only made sense to create a space that was truly suited for the both of you.

Granted, the transition had been smoother for you than it had been for him.

Draco, for all his poise and pure-blood grace, had little to no experience with Muggle life. Your enchanted house—a quirky blend of his velvet armchairs and your mismatched cozy furniture—reflected that perfectly. It was a home where magical portraits coexisted with photo frames from your favorite vacations, where your television and laptop shared a shelf with his collection of ancient spell books.

It was perfect. Except for the moments where Draco had done his best to interact with Muggle appliances.

The faint sound of muffled clattering pulled you towards your kitchen, curiosity outweighing your desire to get yourself a hot mug of coffee. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you padded down the hall toward the kitchen. As you stepped through the doorway, you froze, your grogginess instantly replaced by disbelief at the sight before you.

The dishwasher, a seemingly harmless Muggle machine, stood wide open. Inside, dishes were arranged in what could only be described as abstract art. Draco stood in front of it with his wand drawn, muttering incantations under his breath. A suspiciously green, bubbling potion had been poured into the detergent slot, and—Merlin help him—a set of silver goblets that were very much not dishwasher-safe glinted proudly from the bottom rack.

“Draco.” you said carefully, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe, “what are you doing?”

He didn’t flinch, though his wand froze mid-air. “Using this infernal contraption you insisted on bringing into our home.” he replied, his tone clipped.

You couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips. Our home. The words still gave you butterflies.

“This ‘infernal contraption’ is a dishwasher,” you corrected, stepping closer. “It cleans dishes. Without magic. That’s sort of the point.”

Draco huffed, a faint pink tinting his pale cheeks. “Well, it’s doing a poor job of it so far.”

“Probably because you’re trying to curse it into submission.” You peered into the dishwasher, your eyes widening. “Wait. Is that—oh my God, Draco, is that the antique goblet from your mother’s dining set?!”

He glanced at the goblet, then back at you, feigning innocence. “What? It needed cleaning.”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s over 200 years old! You can’t just throw it in a dishwasher!”

“Well, I certainly can’t hand wash it,” he said indignantly, crossing his arms. “Do you know how much trouble the preservation charms require? It’s exhausting.”

“Then maybe don’t drink wine out of a priceless artifact?”

“Then maybe don’t serve wine in cheap glass cups,” he shot back, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “It ruins the wine taste…”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, fine. Touché. But seriously, what is this… potion?” You gestured to the green, bubbling mess in the detergent slot.

“It’s a universal cleaning tonic,” he said proudly. “Far superior to whatever chemical nonsense Muggles use.”

“It’s not even liquid! It’s oozing! You can’t put that in a dishwasher!”

Draco frowned, glancing back at the machine as if it had betrayed him. “So what’s the proper way, then?”

You sighed, grabbing the small box of dishwasher tablets from the counter. “Watch and learn, Pure-blood.”

With a sigh you carefully removed the bubbling mess he had poured into the detergent slot. Draco watched with a mix of curiosity and mild indignation as you wiped it clean with a paper towel.

“This,” you said, holding up one of the tablets from the box, “is what you’re supposed to use.”

Draco tilted his head, eyeing the tablet skeptically. “That tiny thing? How could that possibly clean anything?”

“It’s designed for this, Draco. It dissolves in the water and works its magic—well, not literally, but you get the idea.”

You slid the tablet into the designated compartment and snapped the dishwasher closed, pressing the buttons to set the correct cycle. “And this,” you added, pointing to the buttons, “is how you actually start it. No wand required.”

Draco’s expression was unreadable as the machine hummed to life, its rhythmic sounds filling the kitchen. After a moment, he muttered, “It still seems unnecessarily complicated.”

“Complicated? You were about to duel the dishwasher,” you teased, crossing your arms.

Draco smirked, his signature smugness returning. “And I would’ve won.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you leaned against the counter. “You’re hopeless.”

Before you could say more, you felt his arms snake around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, and his breath tickled your neck.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice softer now, “but I’m learning, aren’t I?”

You snorted, tilting your head slightly as you felt his lips brush against the curve of your neck in a featherlight kiss. “Barely,” you teased, though your tone lacked the bite to make it convincing.

Draco chuckled, the vibration of it humming against your back. His kisses trailed lazily along the side of your neck, his hands tightening ever so slightly around your waist. Just as you began to melt into his warmth, a sharp, electronic beep shattered the moment.

Draco froze, his lips pausing mid-kiss. “What in Merlin’s name was that?” he asked, his voice tense and laced with suspicion.

You laughed, turning in his arms to face him. “That’s just the washing machine.” you explained, finding his baffled expression entirely too adorable. “It beeps when it’s done with a cycle.”

Draco frowned, glancing over at the machine as if it were an intruder. “Why does it need to announce its accomplishments? It’s not as though I announce every time I complete a task.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You sure about that? Because I distinctly remember you declaring victory the last time you hung up a picture frame.”

Draco scowled, though the faint pink creeping back into his cheeks betrayed his embarrassment. “That frame was enchanted to repel nails. It was a triumph,” he muttered defensively.

You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair out of his face. “Draco,” you said, still grinning, “the Muggle world is going to kill you at this rate.”

He grumbled, tightening his hold around your waist and resting his forehead against yours. “Life is unnecessarily complicated without magic,” he muttered, his tone dripping with indignation. “Why would anyone willingly choose this… process over a simple charm?”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Maybe because some of us didn’t grow up with the luxury of a wand to fix all our problems?”

Draco pulled back slightly to look at you, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “You’re saying you willingly endured this madness? What kind of resilience do Muggles possess that I’ve clearly been deprived of?”

“Patience!”

Draco scoffed, stepping back just enough to look at you. “Patience is for people with time to waste,” he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.

You rolled your eyes, slipping out of his arms and heading toward the counter. “Come on, your Highness,” you said over your shoulder, pulling open the breadbox. “Let’s see if you’re capable of making toast without burning it.”

Draco followed you with a mock-offended expression. “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of operating a toaster,” he declared, though his hesitation as he glanced at the machine suggested otherwise.

“Uh-huh,” you replied, smirking as you slid a couple of slices into the slots. “Here, I’ll start it for you. You can handle buttering them when they’re done. Think you’re up for the challenge?”

Draco leaned against the counter, folding his arms. “You’re underestimating me again, love. I’ll butter the toast so flawlessly you’ll weep.”

You snorted, turning to grab plates from the cabinet. “Sure, let’s call that your triumph of the day.”

As the toaster clicked and the smell of warm bread filled the kitchen, Draco busied himself setting the table—his version of setting the table, which involved summoning everything with a flick of his wand and arranging it with the precision of a dinner party.

“You do realize breakfast doesn’t require formal presentation, right?” you teased, sitting down as he placed a perfectly folded napkin by your plate.

Draco smirked, sliding into the seat across from you. “Just because it’s breakfast doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be elegant.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as he reached for the now-popped toast, applying butter with such deliberate care you half-expected him to use a ruler for even distribution. Shaking your head with a soft smile, you rose from your seat and quietly grabbed a mug from the cabinet, filling it with fresh coffee from the pot on the counter.

The warm aroma filled the kitchen as you set the pot down and returned to your chair, savoring the first sip in comfortable silence. Across the table, Draco finished buttering the toast and waved his wand casually, sending the coffee pot floating over to his side. It tilted gracefully, pouring a perfectly measured amount of coffee into his mug before settling back in its spot on the counter.

You raised an eyebrow at him over the rim of your cup. “So, pouring coffee is too much effort, but you’ll put on a show buttering toast?”

Draco looked up, his expression far too smug. “Presentation matters, darling. Coffee is utility. Buttering toast is an art.”

You snorted, biting back a laugh as you leaned back in your chair. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee and giving you a sly smile, “you can’t seem to get enough of me.”

“Debatable,” you shot back, though the way your lips twitched betrayed the truth.

As the two of you ate, the quiet hum of the dishwasher filled the air, mixing with the faint clinking of dishes and the comforting warmth of the morning. You couldn’t help but think that, chaotic as it was, life with Draco had its charm.

Halfway through breakfast, Draco cleared his throat, setting his mug down with a deliberate clink. “By the way,” he said nonchalantly, brushing a nonexistent crumb from his sleeve, “my parents have asked to visit for dinner this evening.”

You froze mid-sip, glancing up at him.“Tonight?” 

This wasn’t the first time Draco had invited his parents over since you’d moved in together, but it never got easier. The Malfoys had made their opinions about his choices abundantly clear. The arguments had been frequent and heated when Draco first announced his decision to move into the Muggle world. Dating mudblood, as Lucius had so delicately put it during one particularly venomous conversation, had been a sore point from the start. The disdain in their voices, though carefully masked in your presence, was never far from the surface. Still, Narcissa had tried to keep things civil, at least outwardly. Her maternal instincts, perhaps, outweighed her prejudices. Lucius, on the other hand, had never fully hidden his disapproval. The sideways glances, the veiled barbs—it all painted a clear picture. They saw your relationship as a deviation, something temporary that would inevitably pass. And yet, they remained fairly cordial in front of you, no doubt for Draco’s sake. Tonight’s visit felt like yet another test, one you were determined to pass—though it always left you walking on eggshells.

Draco nodded, as if this were the most natural announcement in the world. “Yes, tonight. Around seven, I believe.”

You blinked, setting your coffee cup down carefully. “Right,” you murmured, your mind already racing. “I’ll need to go shopping today before the shops close, then.”

Draco frowned slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Shopping? Whatever for?”

“For dinner, Draco,” you replied, standing to gather your plate. “We don’t exactly have a stocked pantry suitable for hosting your parents.”

As you moved toward the sink, he waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll just send a house-elf to take care of it.”

You froze, staring at him over your shoulder. “Draco,” you said slowly, turning back toward the table, “We don’t have house-elves.”

He blinked, as though the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. “We don’t?”

“No,” you said firmly, placing your hands on your hips. “They don’t exactly come with Muggle homes, you know.”

Draco leaned back in his chair, a look of mild bemusement crossing his face. “Strange. Well, no matter—I’ll ask Father to send a couple over for the day.”

You stared at him, momentarily speechless. “You’ll what?”

He shrugged, as if this were a completely reasonable solution. “I’ll write him after breakfast. It’s hardly a problem.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again as you tried to formulate a response. Finally, you shook your head, rubbing your temples. “Draco, we are not borrowing house-elves from your dad.”

“Why not?” he asked, genuinely baffled.

“Because,” you said, sighing as you sat back down, “this is our home. I’m not dragging house-elves into it every time we have guests over. I’ll just go shopping, make a nice meal, and that’s that.”

Draco looked at you as though you’d just suggested cooking dinner over an open flame. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” you replied, sipping your coffee again. “This is how Muggles do things. Welcome to the real world.”

For a moment, Draco looked as though he might argue, but then he sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “Fine,” he said, his tone begrudging. “But I’m coming with you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “To the grocery store?”

“Yes, to the grocery store,” he said, his expression a mix of determination and distaste. “If I’m going to endure this… experiment, I might as well see how it works.”

Smiling, you leaned over and gave him a soft kiss. “Alright then. I’ll go get ready.”

When you returned a short while later, Draco’s gaze immediately fell on the several empty shopping bags you were holding. His brows knitted together in confusion, but to his credit, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he simply followed your every movement with the intensity of someone trying to solve an unspeakable mystery.

You set the bags by the door and reached for the keys to the house, slipping them into your pocket before pulling on your shoes. Draco’s confusion deepened. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready to leave,” you said, nonchalantly tying your laces.

Draco raised a perfectly arched brow. “And how exactly are we planning to get there? Apparition or Floo Powder?”

You snorted softly, shaking your head. “Neither.”

“Neither?” he repeated, the word dripping with disbelief.

“We’re walking,” you said matter-of-factly, straightening up and grabbing the empty bags.

Draco blinked, his expression torn between incredulity and exasperation. “Walking? Why on earth would we walk when we could be there in seconds?”

“Because,” you explained patiently, “the shop is close by, and it would be weird to just appear in the middle of it. Muggles don’t take kindly to people popping out of thin air near the frozen food aisle.”

Draco stared at you as if you’d just suggested climbing a mountain for fun. “This is madness,” he declared.

You laughed, patting his arm as you opened the door. “Consider it part of the full Muggle experience.”

Still grumbling under his breath about the absurdity of it all, Draco stepped outside with you, his silver hair catching the sunlight as he scanned the street. “Walking,” he muttered again, shaking his head. “What will they think of next?”

You only smirked, knowing the real fun was yet to come. Draco laced his fingers with yours as you stepped out into the crisp winter air, the snow crunching softly beneath your boots. He pulled you closer as you walked, his warm breath visible in the cold. The streets were lined with houses adorned with twinkling lights, wreaths on doors, and the occasional snowman standing proudly in a yard.

“I could’ve taken the car,” you said casually, glancing up at him, “but I don’t think you’re ready to experience traffic yet.”

Draco gave you a pointed look, though his lips twitched with faint amusement. “If it’s anything like the stories you’ve told me, I’d rather not risk my sanity—or my temper.”

You laughed softly, nudging him with your shoulder. “That’s probably for the best. One honking horn, and you’d be out of there faster than you could say ‘Pure-blood.’”

He sighed, his gaze drifting to the bustling scenery around him. The sidewalks were busy with people bundled in coats and scarves, some carrying shopping bags, others chatting cheerfully. There was a warmth to it all—a vibrancy that was so different from the cold, quiet grandeur of the Malfoy Manor.

“For all the stupidity the Muggle world has to offer,” Draco murmured, his voice thoughtful, “I’ll admit… I do enjoy how lively it is.”

You glanced up at him, surprised by the rare vulnerability in his tone. “Lively?”

He nodded, his icy eyes catching the glint of the snow-covered streets. “The manor was… beautiful, I suppose. Grand. But it was so isolated. Mostly empty land, save for the occasional visitor or house-elf passing by. There was nothing like this—” he gestured to the people around you, the soft hum of life that filled the air. “—no life, no… warmth.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you squeezed his hand gently. “Well, you’ve got that now,” you said, smiling up at him. “Even if it comes with grocery shopping and dishwashers.”

Draco smirked, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “It’s a compromise I’m willing to make,” he said, his voice teasing but sincere.

As the two of you continued walking, the snowflakes began to fall again, dusting the streets and your hair in a light layer of white. Draco tightened his hold on your hand, the moment between you quiet and peaceful as the world around you bustled with life.

As you approached the grocery store, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a coin, flipping it between your fingers before sliding it into the lock on a row of shopping carts. With a satisfying click, the cart popped free, and you grabbed it, turning to Draco with a smile.

He stared at the cart, then at you, his brow furrowing. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing?”

You laughed softly, gesturing to the coin slot on the cart. “It’s how you unlock them. You put in a coin, and when you’re done, you get it back.”

Draco’s confusion deepened as he examined the contraption with a critical eye. “Why would you need to pay for a cart? Isn’t that the store’s responsibility? Do you lose the money if you don’t return it?”

“Yes, you only lose the money if you don’t return it.” you explained, suppressing a giggle at his baffled expression. “It’s just a system to make sure people don’t leave the carts all over the parking lot… or steal them”

He tilted his head, considering this. “So, Muggles have to bribe themselves to do the responsible thing?”

“Pretty much,” you said with a shrug, trying not to laugh at the sheer disdain in his voice.

Draco narrowed his eyes at the cart as if it had personally offended him. “What a pitifully inefficient system,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Why not just enchant the carts to return themselves?”

You snorted, wheeling the cart toward the entrance. “Because not everyone has magic, Draco. This works just fine.”

He fell into step beside you, still looking slightly affronted. “I should write to the Ministry. There has to be some sort of international wizarding intervention for this level of absurdity.”

You smirked, patting his arm as you entered the store. “You do that. In the meantime, try not to hex anything while we shop.”

Draco grumbled something under his breath but followed you inside, his sharp gaze taking in the bright fluorescent lights, the neatly stacked shelves, and the bustling crowd. “This is going to be an experience,” he muttered.

“You have no idea,” you replied with a grin, steering the cart toward the produce section.

You wheeled the cart through the store, stopping in the produce aisle to grab fresh herbs and vegetables for the roast dinner. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Draco wander a few steps away, picking up various food items and squinting at the labels like he was deciphering ancient runes. It was adorable, really, but you couldn’t help but focus on your shopping. As you mentally ran through your list, you zigzagged through aisles, tossing essentials into the cart—seasoning, potatoes, stock, bread. Before you knew it, you were in the snacks aisle, debating between crisps and popcorn.

That’s when you realized it. Draco was gone. You glanced around, craning your neck to see if you could spot his silver-blond hair anywhere in the sea of shoppers. Nothing. You sighed, silently praying he hadn’t decided to duel the automatic doors or try to interrogate the self-checkout machine. Just as you picked up a bag of crisps, you heard his unmistakable voice behind you.

“Look at this!” he said, sounding thoroughly impressed.

You turned around, and there he was—holding a bright yellow plastic broom.

“They have brooms here!” he said, turning it over in his hands as if he’d stumbled upon the latest innovation in flying technology. “Never seen one like this… must be a new model.”

You froze, staring at him, your lips twitching as you struggled to keep it together. “A new model?” you repeated, barely managing to suppress a laugh.

Draco nodded, completely serious. “It’s so lightweight. And this handle… not wood, but some kind of sturdy Muggle material. I’ve no idea where the charms are hidden, though.” He ran his fingers along the bristles, frowning slightly. “Odd design, but maybe it improves aerodynamics?”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, fighting to keep your laughter under control. “Draco… that’s not… it’s not a flying broom.”

He blinked, his expression shifting from curiosity to confusion. “What do you mean? It’s a broom. What else could it be used for?”

“It’s for cleaning,” you managed, your voice trembling with suppressed laughter. “Muggles use it to sweep floors.”

Draco stared at the broom, then at you, then back at the broom. “You’re joking.”

“Nope,” you said, finally letting out a small giggle. “That’s about as far from a flying broom as you can get.”

Draco’s face twisted into a mixture of horror and disappointment as he looked at the broom again. “They’ve completely ruined it,” he declared, setting it back on the shelf with a level of disdain usually reserved for cursed objects. “What’s the point of a broom that doesn’t fly?”

You couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing, earning a few amused glances from other shoppers. “Oh, Draco,” you said between giggles, grabbing his arm. “Come on. Let’s get the rest of what we need before you find something else to ‘improve.’”

You couldn’t stop grinning as you watched Draco hover near the cleaning aisle, his gaze fixed on a row of mops. He tilted his head, his brow furrowing as he gingerly poked at the mop’s sponge end.

“What’s this for?” he asked, holding it up like it was a weapon he needed to disarm.

You chuckled, wheeling the cart closer. “That’s a mop. Muggles use it to clean floors—specifically, to scrub them when they’re wet or dirty.”

Draco’s lips parted in disbelief, and he blinked at you as if you’d just told him people used quills to sew fabric. “You’re telling me… they manually drag this thing around on the floor instead of just casting a Scouring Charm?”

“Pretty much,” you replied with a shrug, struggling to keep a straight face.

He shook his head slowly, muttering under his breath, “Primitive. Absolutely primitive.”

After returning the mop to its place like it had personally offended him, he stuck closer to your side for the rest of the trip, steering the shopping cart with surprising enthusiasm. At first, he pushed it tentatively, testing its movement, but before long, he was zipping down the aisles like a child with a new toy.

“Draco,” you called after him, trying not to laugh as he gave the cart a small push and watched it glide forward. “It’s not a racing broom.”

“Of course not,” he said, smirking but not stopping. “It’s much slower.”

Despite his antics, he peppered you with questions as you continued shopping, picking up random items and holding them out for inspection.

“And this?” he asked, holding up a box of instant pudding mix.

“It’s dessert. You mix it with milk, and it thickens into pudding.”

He frowned. “No wand required?”

“No wand required,” you confirmed, tossing the box into the cart.

He sighed dramatically, moving on to the next item. “And this?”

“A tin opener. It opens cans.”

Draco’s expression fell further. “What’s wrong with an Opening Charm?”

“Not everyone has one, Draco,” you said patiently, biting back a laugh as his disappointment deepened.

Item after item, his curiosity turned into sheer disillusionment. “Muggles really have to work this hard for everything, don’t they?” he muttered, picking up a manual whisk and giving it a dubious glance.

You smirked, taking it from him and placing it in the cart. “It’s not all bad. You’re surviving, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” he replied, pushing the cart forward with a little more flair than necessary.

By the time you made it to the checkout line, Draco had perfected his ‘long-suffering Pure-blood enduring the trials of the Muggle world’ expression, but you couldn’t help but notice the occasional glint of fascination in his eyes as he took in the bustling store around him. You were focused on unloading the cart, placing items neatly onto the till conveyor belt while Draco hovered a safe distance away from the machine. His cautious glances at the moving belt made it clear he wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t alive. Out of nowhere, he called your name, and you turned just in time for him to shove a small box into your face.

“What is this then?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and bewilderment.

You froze, your eyes widening as you recognized the box of condoms he was holding with an almost clinical detachment. Your face turned scarlet in an instant.

“Draco!” you hissed, snatching the box from his hand and glancing around to see if anyone had overheard.

“What?” he asked, genuinely confused, tilting his head as he looked down at you. “What are they for? Some kind of… candy perhaps?”

You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words without alerting the nearby cashier or the couple in line behind you. Pulling Draco closer by the sleeve of his coat, you whispered urgently, “They’re… for, um, protection. During, uh, intimate moments.”

Draco’s brows furrowed, his confusion only deepening. “Protection? From what? Are Muggles frequently attacked during—oh.”

The realization dawned on his face, his pale cheeks tinging pink as he took a slight step back. He cleared his throat, glancing at the box still in your hand. “I see. That’s… efficient, I suppose.”

You groaned, pressing a hand to your burning face. “Can we please not discuss this here?”

Draco, however, seemed more intrigued than embarrassed now. “Do they… work reliably? Or—how do you even put it on?”

“Draco!” you hissed again, cutting him off as you stuffed the box back onto the shelf behind you.

He smirked at your reaction, leaning closer and lowering his voice. “You’re blushing, darling. It’s adorable.”

“Because you just asked about condoms in the middle of a grocery store,” you muttered, turning back to continue unloading the cart, your face still burning.

Draco chuckled softly, clearly finding your embarrassment far too amusing. He stayed quiet for a moment, but out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him lingering by the shelf where he’d found the box. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he examined the options: strawberry, ribbed, ultra-thin. Before you could say anything, he plucked one off the shelf and, with exaggerated caution, tossed it onto the conveyor belt from a distance, as if it might attack him.

You blinked at him, your confusion only growing as you stared at the box sitting innocently amidst the rest of your groceries. “Draco… what are you doing?”

He avoided your gaze, suddenly very interested in straightening his coat. “What? I want to try them,” he mumbled, his voice almost innocent.

You bit back a laugh, shaking your head as you leaned closer to whisper, “Draco, you do realize these aren’t, like, some kind of Muggle novelty item, right?”

He finally glanced at you, his pale cheeks tinged with pink. “I’m perfectly aware,” he said, straightening his posture. “I just… want to see what all the fuss is about.”

You covered your face with your hand, torn between exasperation and laughter. “You are unbelievable.”

The cashier began scanning the items, and Draco, determined to prove himself useful, did his best to place them into the bags you had handed him. His movements were deliberate and almost comically precise, as if packing groceries was a skill to be mastered.

You watched with quiet amusement as he gingerly placed eggs into a bag, his face a mask of concentration. He only paused when the cashier announced the total and you pulled out a card to pay.

Draco’s eyes widened, his gaze darting between you and the small machine where you inserted the card. “That’s how you pay?” he murmured, half to himself.

“Yup,” you replied, suppressing a grin as the machine beeped, signaling the transaction was complete.

But what truly left him speechless was the receipt. The small slip of paper emerged from a hidden compartment with a faint whirring sound, and Draco stepped back slightly, his brow furrowing in suspicion.

“What now?” you asked, noticing his confusion.

He pointed at the receipt, his voice low and serious. “Is it enchanted?”

You chuckled, taking the receipt and tucking it into your pocket. “No, Draco, it’s just a record of what we bought. No magic involved.”

He said nothing, though his expression suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced.

Once outside, with the shopping bags evenly distributed between you, Draco slid an arm around your waist, pulling you close as you walked through the snowy streets. His grip was firm and grounding, but his face was set in a deep, pensive frown. You glanced up at him, his furrowed brows and slightly parted lips betraying the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. Deciding not to interrupt, you pressed yourself closer to his side, letting your head rest lightly against the side of his chest. The walk home was quiet, save for the crunch of snow beneath your boots. Draco remained silent, processing the bizarre journey into Muggle life. You didn’t push him, knowing he’d speak when he was ready—or maybe not at all. By the time you reached your house, his frown had softened, though his eyes still had a far-off look. As you unlocked the door and stepped inside, you caught the faintest glimmer of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Next time,” he said as he set the bags down, his tone a mix of humor and resignation, “I’ll handle the receipt.”

—

You busied yourself in the kitchen, determined to make a flawless roast dinner for Draco’s parents. You knew they weren’t particularly fond of you or the fact that Draco was immersing himself in the Muggle world. Still, you were set on showing them that you belonged in Draco’s life, no matter how many raised eyebrows they threw your way. Draco leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed as he watched you work. His silver hair caught the warm light of the kitchen, and though his expression remained neutral, you could tell he was intrigued. You chopped, seasoned, and kneaded everything by hand, and it was clear he wasn’t used to such a process.

“You really do all of this without magic?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

“Yup,” you replied, sprinkling some herbs over the potatoes. “From scratch. It’s not so bad once you get the hang of it.”

Draco hummed in response, clearly not convinced but unwilling to argue. The quiet shuffling of aluminum caught your attention, and you glanced over your shoulder.

What you saw nearly made you drop the salt shaker.

Draco stood there holding an unpackaged, rolled-up condom in his hands, a deep frown etched on his face. He was holding it between his fingers like it was a particularly slimy slug, his lips curling in disgust.

You bit back a laugh, trying to focus on the potatoes as you replied casually, “You have to unroll it.”

“Aha,” Draco mumbled, clearly no less confused, as he turned and disappeared into the other room.

You shook your head, unable to stop the grin spreading across your face. For a moment, the kitchen was quiet again, save for the sound of the roast sizzling in the oven. Then came muffled grumbles from the other room.

It didn’t take long for Draco to reappear, still holding the condom. His face was a mix of defeat and lingering disgust as he held it up. “I have no idea how this thing works,” he admitted, his voice low. “And why does it feel so… disgustingly slimy?”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing, clutching the counter for support as tears sprang to your eyes. “Oh my God, Draco,” you managed between fits of laughter.

He scowled, tossing the condom onto the counter as if washing his hands of the whole ordeal. “It’s not funny!”

“It is!” you replied, wiping at your eyes. “You look like you’ve been wrestling with it!”

Draco sniffed, clearly unimpressed. “I don’t understand how Muggles deal with this nonsense. Magical contraceptives are far less… revolting.” He glanced down at the discarded condom with a look of pure disdain. “It couldn’t even go on.”

You bit your lip, barely holding back your laughter as you stepped closer to him. Reaching up, you cupped his cheek gently, guiding his attention back to you. His silver eyes softened slightly, his frown easing as you leaned in and kissed him softly, your lips lingering against his just long enough to distract him from his frustration.

When you pulled back, your voice was low, your tone teasing. “You need to be… excited for it to work, Draco.”

Draco blinked, his cheeks immediately flushing a soft pink. He straightened, his usual composure cracking for a brief moment as he processed your words. “Excited?” he echoed, his voice slightly higher than usual.

You grinned, brushing past him to check on the roast in the oven. “That’s right,” you said casually, as if you hadn’t just sent his mind spinning.

Draco stood frozen for a moment, glancing back at the discarded condom as if it had betrayed him yet again. Then, he turned to you, his voice laced with indignation. “You could have told me that earlier instead of letting me wrestle with it like some kind of fool!”

You laughed, glancing at him over your shoulder. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Draco huffed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter once more, his pink cheeks still betraying him. “Muggles,” he muttered under his breath, though there was a faint, reluctant smirk tugging at his lips.

“Alright, Malfoy” you teased, brushing your hands off on a towel. “Go set the table before your parents get here, and I promise no more surprises. For now.”

Draco gave you a mock glare before turning to do as you asked, his mutterings about Muggle nonsense fading as he left the kitchen. You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head as you returned to your cooking. Living with Draco was chaotic, but moments like this reminded you just how much you loved having him in your world—even if he’d never quite understand all of it.

The table was set perfectly, as if Draco had spent as much time arranging it as you had cooking. You took a deep breath, smoothing your hands over your clothes as the knock on the door echoed through the flat. Draco opened it with his usual composed grace, greeting his parents with a stiff nod.

Narcissa stepped inside first, her expression polite but guarded as she glanced around the house. “Draco,” she said softly, pulling him into a quick hug. Her gaze flicked to you, and she offered a small, tight smile. “Y/N.”

“Mrs. Malfoy,” you greeted, doing your best to keep your voice steady.

Lucius followed behind her, his sharp features betraying nothing but disdain as he surveyed his surroundings. He inclined his head slightly toward you, though his lips never moved to form a greeting. It was clear that he was only here under duress, likely at Narcissa’s insistence.

“Do come in,” Draco said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the dining room.

As everyone settled at the table, the tension was palpable. Narcissa sat with perfect posture, her delicate hands folded neatly in her lap, while Lucius sat rigid, his cane resting against the table. His icy gaze swept the room, his disdain evident in every furrow of his brow.

Draco, however, seemed unbothered. He stood proudly, bringing out the food you had spent all afternoon preparing. He set the dishes on the table with a flourish, clearing his throat. “Dinner is served,” he announced, his voice filled with pride. “And before you ask—yes, it was cooked entirely without magic or the help of house-elves.”

Narcissa’s brows lifted slightly, a spark of genuine surprise in her eyes. “Really?” she asked, glancing at the dishes. “That’s quite impressive.”

Lucius, on the other hand, let out a scoff, his lips curling into a faint sneer. “Why anyone would willingly endure such a process is beyond me,” he muttered, earning a sharp glance from his wife.

You bit your tongue, focusing on serving the food as Draco sat down beside you, clearly unfazed by his father’s comment. The meal began in awkward silence, the only sounds coming from the clinking of cutlery and the occasional scrape of a chair.

Finally, Narcissa broke the quiet, turning to her son with a warm, curious smile. “So, Draco, what did you do today?”

Draco sat up straighter, his face lighting up as he launched into an enthusiastic recount of the grocery store trip. “We went to this… Muggle establishment,” he began, his voice carrying a mix of awe and incredulity. “You wouldn’t believe it, Mother. Rows upon rows of food and supplies, all sorted into sections. It was fascinating.”

Narcissa listened intently, her eyes softening as he spoke. “That does sound rather intriguing,” she said, her tone genuine.

Draco continued, describing the shopping cart, the conveyor belt, and the curious beeping machine at the till. “And did you know they have these tiny coins you put into the carts to unlock them?” he added, gesturing animatedly.

Lucius let out a low groan, pinching the bridge of his nose as if Draco’s enthusiasm was physically painful. “I fail to see the appeal,” he muttered under his breath, casting a glance toward the window as though contemplating apparating away.

You stifled a laugh, watching the stark contrast between Draco’s animated storytelling, Narcissa’s interest, and Lucius’s clear misery.

“I even packed the bags,” Draco added proudly. “It’s a ridiculous system, but I managed.”

Narcissa smiled warmly, her pride evident. “I’m glad to see you adapting so well, Draco. It’s important to understand how others live, even if it’s different from what we’re used to.”

Lucius muttered something unintelligible, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his cane.

Draco turned to you, his eyes bright with satisfaction. “See, love? Mother appreciates it.”

You smiled back, your heart warming at his excitement. “She does,” you said softly, glancing at Narcissa, who nodded in agreement.

Lucius, however, simply sighed, leaning back in his chair with a resigned expression. “Let us hope this… experiment of yours doesn’t last too long,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain.

Draco’s jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his composure, reaching for your hand under the table. His fingers squeezed yours briefly, a silent reassurance that he didn’t care what his father thought. The rest of the meal continued with a mix of awkward small talk and Draco’s detailed observations of the Muggle world. Though Lucius remained unimpressed, Narcissa’s quiet encouragement made the effort feel worthwhile. As the conversation wound down and the plates were nearly cleared, Draco suddenly leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table. His sharp blue eyes glimmered with something unreadable, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I have something to show you,” he muttered, his tone casual but with a hint of mischief.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “What is it?” you asked cautiously, your brow furrowing as you tried to guess what he could possibly be up to now.

Draco stood up, strolling out of the dining room with the air of someone retrieving an important artifact. Lucius and Narcissa exchanged puzzled glances, while you felt a flicker of dread creeping up your spine. He returned a moment later, holding a familiar box in his hand.

Your heart sank as your face turned beet red. No. No, no, no, no.

He placed the box of condoms on the table, directly in front of you, and tilted his head with a curious smirk. “You never explained properly,” he said smoothly, though the faint pink on his cheeks betrayed his nonchalant demeanor. “I think it’s time I fully understood how they work.”

The silence in the room was deafening.

Lucius froze mid-sip of his wine, his expression a mixture of horror and disbelief. Narcissa’s lips parted slightly as her eyes darted between the box and her son. Meanwhile, you felt your soul leaving your body as your entire face burned hotter than the roast in the oven earlier.

“Draco,” you hissed, your voice a mix of mortification and desperation. “Not now.”

“Why not?” he asked innocently, his smirk widening as he clearly enjoyed your discomfort. “You said it was important to understand Muggle things if I am living here.”

Narcissa cleared her throat delicately, clearly trying to suppress a laugh. “Draco, darling, perhaps this is a… conversation better suited for another time,” she said, her voice calm but tinged with amusement.

Lucius, on the other hand, looked like he was ready to sink into the ground. “For Salazar’s sake, Draco!” he snapped, his pale face turning an uncharacteristic shade of red. “Have you lost all sense of decorum?”

Draco shrugged, unbothered. “I was merely curious, Father. Isn’t that what this move is about—understanding?”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “I’m going to die,” you muttered under your breath.

Draco leaned closer to you, his smirk softening into something almost endearing. “Don’t be dramatic,” he said quietly. “It’s just a box. Besides, you’re the one who said they’re important.”

“Not during dinner with your parents!” you shot back in a harsh whisper.

Narcissa stood gracefully, reaching for her wine glass and glancing at Lucius, who was visibly seething. “Perhaps we should take a moment to admire the décor in the living room,” she suggested, her tone light but firm. “Give them a moment to… collect themselves.”

Lucius rose quickly, eager to escape the situation, and followed her out without another word.

As soon as they were out of earshot, you turned to Draco, glaring at him through your lingering embarrassment. “What is wrong with you?”

He grinned, his pale cheeks still faintly pink. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Draco,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. But despite your mortification, a reluctant laugh bubbled up, escaping your lips.

Draco chuckled softly, nudging you playfully with his elbow. “Hey,” he said, his voice laced with mischief. “It looks like my parents knew exactly what the box contained.”

You groaned louder, shaking your head as you peeked at him from between your fingers. “Why are you like this?”

“Because it’s more fun than I had ever experienced in my life,” he replied, smirking. “And because your reactions are priceless.”

You swatted his arm lightly, biting your lip to keep from laughing again. “You’re going to pay for this later.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Draco said smoothly, leaning back in his chair with an infuriatingly smug expression.

You shook your head, standing to start clearing the table. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, though the corners of your mouth twitched despite your best efforts to remain stern.

Draco stood as well, grabbing a plate and following you to the kitchen. “For what it’s worth,” he said, his tone softening slightly, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mother look that impressed. You’re winning her over, you know.”

You glanced at him, your irritation melting a little as you caught the sincerity in his eyes. “Maybe,” you said with a small smile. “But your dad looks like he’s ready to disown you.”

Draco shrugged, setting the plate down on the counter. “He’ll survive. I’d say this visit is going better than expected.”

You arched an eyebrow, gesturing toward the box still sitting on the table. “Even with that little stunt?”

He smirked, leaning closer to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “Especially because of that,” he whispered.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered as you turned back to the dishes. Life with Draco was unpredictable, embarrassing, and absolutely worth it.

After a while, with the kitchen cleaned and dessert plates neatly arranged, you rejoined Draco’s parents in the living room. You placed the cake and a small pot of tea on the coffee table, smiling as Narcissa complimented the presentation. “It looks lovely, dear,” she said warmly, her eyes lighting up as she tasted the first bite. “And delicious.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy,” you replied, feeling a small wave of relief at her approval.

Meanwhile, Draco stood by the TV, flicking it on with the remote. The screen lit up, filling the room with sound and color. He had been obsessed with it ever since the two of you moved in, constantly exploring its features and marveling at the variety of channels.

“And this,” he began, gesturing to the screen, “is called a television. It’s a Muggle device that streams moving pictures and sound. There are different stations—some show plays or sports, others music or news.”

Lucius, who had been seated stiffly on the sofa, cast the TV a disinterested glance at first. But as Draco flipped through the channels, his gaze lingered, his eyes narrowing in a mixture of curiosity and intrigue.

Draco settled on a music channel, where a pop song played over vibrant, fast-moving visuals. Lucius leaned forward slightly, his cane forgotten at his side as his eyes remained glued to the screen.

Narcissa, meanwhile, sipped her tea and turned to you with a soft smile. “The cake is truly wonderful, Y/N. You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, glancing at Lucius, whose face was now bathed in the colorful glow of the TV. Draco was explaining the concept of music videos, his voice carrying a mix of excitement and pride.

“And these stations,” Draco said, pointing to the remote, “play music continuously. The visuals match the songs—like this one, see?”

Lucius didn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the screen as if he were analyzing every detail. Eventually, he gave a slow nod. “Remarkable,” he muttered under his breath, clearly fascinated despite his obvious disdain for anything muggle.

Narcissa glanced at him with a knowing smile but said nothing, letting her husband enjoy his unexpected discovery.

After a while, Narcissa stood gracefully, placing her empty teacup on the table and smoothing the fabric of her elegant robe. “It’s getting late,” she said gently, her tone warm but firm. “We should be heading home.”

Lucius didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on the television, where a lively music video was playing. His normally composed expression was slightly softened, his eyes darting between the screen and the remote in Draco’s hand.

“Lucius,” Narcissa prompted, her voice holding a hint of exasperation. “It’s time to go.”

He finally tore his gaze away from the screen, his brows furrowing slightly. “Yes, yes, in a moment,” he muttered, waving a hand dismissively as if he needed just a little more time to understand the contraption.

Draco smirked, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. “I think he likes it,” he whispered to you, his voice filled with amusement.

Narcissa gave you a knowing glance, her lips twitching into a faint smile before turning back to her husband. “Lucius,” she said again, a bit more firmly this time, “we’re leaving. Now.”

Lucius sighed dramatically, rising from the sofa but casting the TV one last, reluctant glance. “I suppose,” he said, his voice tinged with regret, “we can continue exploring this… device another time.”

You exchanged goodbyes at the door, Narcissa giving you a soft pat on the arm and a smile that felt almost maternal. Lucius remained as formal as ever, though there was an unusual glint in his eye as he glanced at the living room one last time.

As the two of them stepped outside, you lingered by the door with Draco. The crisp night air carried the faint sound of their voices as they walked toward the apparition point.

“You know,” Lucius muttered to Narcissa, his voice carrying just enough for you to catch, “we should consider getting one of those televisions for the manor.”

Narcissa’s laugh was soft but unmistakable. “I’ll make the arrangements,” she replied, her tone indulgent.

Draco closed the door, leaning against it with a triumphant smirk. “See?” he said, turning to you. “It wasn’t so bad.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I think you just converted your father into a TV enthusiast.”

“Not bad for one evening,” Draco said, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Though I’d say the real victory was your cake. Well done, love.”

You smiled, leaning up to give him a gentle kiss. “Thanks, but I think your TV demonstration might’ve been the real winner tonight.”

He smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Of course. I am rather persuasive.”

Shaking your head with a laugh, you turned off the living room lights—a concept Draco still found mildly perplexing. He mumbled something about how inconvenient switches were compared to a simple wand flick as you guided him upstairs to your bedroom.

By the time you finished washing up and changed into your pajamas, Draco was already tucked under the covers. The glow from his nightlight—a softly enchanted orb you’d insisted on for his comfort—bathed the room in a warm, golden hue.

You paused at the vanity, applying cream to your face while sneaking a glance at him through the mirror. He was sitting upright, his brow furrowed as he read the label on the back of the box of condoms. His lips moved faintly as if he were trying to work out some sort of  instructions.

Biting back a laugh, you shook your head and turned off the main lights, leaving only the dim glow of his nightlight. Crawling into bed beside him, you couldn’t resist teasing him.

“Still trying to figure that out?” you asked, propping yourself up on one elbow.

Draco looked over at you, holding up the box with a faint smirk. “The instructions are absurdly detailed for something so… basic.”

You chuckled, resting your head on the pillow. “I’m not sure what you expected. Magic?”

“Honestly, yes,” he replied, setting the box on the nightstand and settling under the covers. “Everything’s unnecessarily complicated without it.”

You leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Well, if it gets too overwhelming, just remember—I’m here to guide you through it.”

Draco turned to you, his smirk softening into something warmer. “I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured, brushing a thumb lightly over your hand before pulling you closer.

As the nightlight cast its soft glow over the room, you snuggled into his side, grateful for the quiet comfort of the moment. Life with Malfoy was a whirlwind, but here, in the stillness of your shared space, everything felt just right. Draco was silent for a while, though you could feel him thinking, his body slightly tense beneath yours. Finally, his voice broke the quiet, soft and hesitant. “Could you show me how to use them? Tonight?”

You lifted your head to look at him, his silver eyes meeting yours, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. Leaning in, you placed a soft kiss to his lips, lingering just long enough to reassure him. When you pulled back, you smiled gently, your voice a quiet whisper.

“Of course.”

The room fell into a quiet calm, the only sounds the faint rustle of the sheets as you moved closer to him. Draco’s arms wrapped around you, his touch steady and warm. Life in the muggle world had turned out to be far more surprising than Draco had ever expected. It wasn’t as grand or as effortless as the magical life he’d always known, but there was something about it—something real, unpolished, and oddly comforting.

Though, as he discovered later that night, the condoms were nothing special after all.

Likes, reblogs and comments are always very much appreciated! ♡

© slytherinsmuse. please do not copy, claim, translate or steal any of my works as your own.

[orphicsun]

Hi! I love all your work sm I just had to say that first 💕💕

I wanted to know if I could request something nsfw with sevika disciplining the reader, sevika is Silcos second hand and the reader messes up a mission or something and silcos sends sevika to correct the behavior🤭🤭

Content: Fingering (R! receiving), edging / slight orgasm denial, Sevika and her trusty cigar (I personally hate smoke but I had to make this accurate), spit kink, dom! Sevika and submissive reader, Sevika is rough with reader but it's all consensual, degradation + praise we love to see it

HII THANK YOU!! Your support means sm to me as a writer<3 This is my first time writing for Sevika which surprises me because I literally love her so much but I hope it's good:) Everyone thank anon for suggesting this

Sevika had you completely nude on her lap, pussy dripping down onto the thigh you were straddling. Three of her fingers were deep inside you, filling you to the brim. The thing was, she just wasn't moving them.

"S-Sev!! Please, just fuck me.." You whine, sounding almost comedically pathetic.

Sevika doesn't budge, though. You can only see the slight tug up-ward at her lips, a slightly cocky smile as she takes a drag off of her cigar to bluster smoke onto your unfortunately tortured face.

"Nuh-uh, baby. Only good girls who do the one thing they were told to do get fucked by me." She only curls her fingers upwards towards you g-spot, teasing you before once again not making a single movement. You practically sob at the sudden jolt of heat that her action sends through you, grasping onto her even more tightly than you already are.

It's pathetic how she so effortlessly has you screaming from just her fingers being inside you. You know you can't cum from that alone, and you can't even move because you know that if you do, you'll have no chance of redemption from her at all. You hate this more than you'd hate regular punishments. Maybe if she had you disciplined like Silco intended, then you wouldn't be so goddamn embarrassing, walls tightening around her fingers, your body involuntarily begging to be given release. Instead, you're tortured in the best way possible. You wish she'd just send you to do some dirty job instead of this.. but you still feel so filled up.

Sevika kills the cigar, putting it out on the table so that she can grip your face tightly in her metallic hand. "You fucked up today," her voice is suddenly more less teasing and more actual scolding because as much as she'd like to just fuck you as a punishment, you won't learn from it. "You could've had us all jeopardized, you know that?"

You wince as her grip tightens and try to nod, to focus on the suddenly serious conversation even with her warm, calloused hands sending slight spasms of pleasure throughout your pussy every time there's a slight movement. "I know, and I promise I won't do it again!" You try to get the rest of your speech out without any unnecessary noises, "Please, Sev.. It was a mistake."

Her eyes soften just slightly, but her grip remains. "Open your mouth. Right now." You oblige so quickly, opening wide and sticking your tongue out because you know what's to come. Sevika spits directly onto your awaiting tongue and you swallow without hesitation. She finally smiles with a the warmth of satisfaction showing through the lines, and you feel so much relief.

Sevika may be harsh with you and intimidating, particularly hot, but she still cared about you. She was worried about you, to put it plainly. She saw you as her girl to take care of, and if Silco was the one disciplining you, it wouldn't be sexy. It'd be actual physical torture. She had to keep you safe from that, and meant making sure you fuck up less. It meant at least trying to get you to listen, even during these intense sessions.

"Good girl. You wanna cum now, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. Please.." Your body is begging to cum, after all the talk and lecture portion of this 'punishment', what you really need is the reward part. Sevika is so gracious, giving you a small smack on the ass with her shimmer-powered arm to get a cute squeak out of you.

"Ride my fingers, baby." And like the good girl that you are, you quickly make sure to grasp onto her shoulders for support grind against her fingers as they pump up into your drenched cunt on their own, curling so perfectly against your walls to make you see stars.

"F-Fuck!! Sev-" You can't even moan out her whole name, your body feeling so much relief all at once and yet not enough, "Fuck, you're fillin' me so nice." You know you should have some dignity and not let yourself scream say such lewd things, not hump her hand like a desperate dog, but you can't help it. She's watching your expressions, listening to your words and you can't disappoint her. You need to cum all over her knuckles.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Her voice, so deep and lovely just sends you right over whatever cliff was in your way of cumming.

"I'm cumming, Sev!!" Your walls clench and squeeze at her fingers as she pounds them knuckle-deep into your hole, causing your thighs to quiver and almost threaten to give out. Still, all you can focus on is the revelry she sends through your entire body which each wave of pleasure. It's almost mind-numbing and all you can think to yourself is, "I am never gonna fuck up another mission again." You'd be sure not to if it meant that Sevika would fuck you like this anytime you wanted to until your orgasm finally left your body, until your cunt that was so greedy for her was finally satisfied.

Maybe that was the point, though. Sevika wasn't stupid. If she withheld from you long enough, you'd eventually break. This was your break. And she was proven to be right, because the next few missions following were smooth sailing, and every time you needed some encouragement, she'd just fuck you senseless until you remembered to be more careful.

[talkbycolor]

john doe game headcanons . . . ↷

A/N; i'm actually really sensitive about john doe JHSAJHSAJAS

Pairing; "John Doe" x GN!Reader

CW; Just doe being the weirdo we love / PISSPISSPISS / implied cannibalism? not so much tho / ew stinky gay / sex with a hairball

john doe as a partner.

His love for you is pure, but the lack of understanding in humans makes it complicated, he doesn't know how to express it in a "correct" way.

He has little interest in humans but all his interest in You, do you want to learn to play an instrument? Doe too, he would learn to use a phone to call you although it would be useless since in the end he would follow you to work, he can't stand having you away for even a second!

He tried to eat you (unfortunately not in a sexual way), he wanted to bite, pull your teeth, and tear them out of your cheeks to eat them, you had to use a lot of patience to explain to him that this was painful and you could die

He likes your fluids, your sweat smells so good, it tastes great, your tears, he knows that tears mean something is wrong but he can't help but want to lick them, at least he's like a puppy in that way and that will make you laugh, Doe wants to help! your urine, he will drink it all without a problem, if you are both having a loving session in bed and you want to go to the bathroom, forget it, he will open your legs and help empty your bladder, he loved being your personal toilet, your blood is the sweetest of his paradise, be careful with accidental cuts or his mouth will stick like a leech to your wound

Ideas for romantic activities will probably come from television, be careful what he watches

At this point, Doe lives by and for you, he will adapt to your lifestyle and tastes, although he cannot understand most of them, the idea of "breaking up" does not exist in his head, you can walk away, even stop talking to him and he will continue behind you

But he has feelings, why don't you talk to him anymore? Did he do something wrong? He no longer leaves rats in the kitchen, he no longer tries to make You dinners with raw meat, is that the way he looks? Tell him your standards! Doe will change everything for you, even reality

He can definitely purr, he's more like an old, ugly, stray cat that will rest on your lap, but he's YOUR, old, ugly, stray cat.

He doesn't know how to give compliments, it's more like observations or comments about how you make him feel "You're wearing a big hat!" "A red dress!", "I'm so happy to see you!" but it's adorable that he reminds you that you are his whole life…somehow

It's like having a child at home, in the strangest way possible, he will try to make horrible crafts for you and help with housework without much success.

If you demand sex, Doe would probably do his best to make a nice cock, just for you, or a pussy depending on what you like, he will be submissive but if you ask him to take control he will try

And that will probably be the messiest and hardest sex you've ever had in your life, Doe always adores you like it's your last day on earth so in a sexual sphere it would be ten times worse

If you put on a movie at night, he will fall asleep halfway through, no exceptions, the sound of the television and your smell will be enough

Doe would definitely kill for you, he doesn't understand jokes so please don't say "Ugh I hate that guy, I hope he's dead" because yes, the guy will be dead.

In case You doesn't like the smelly boy, Doe will try to take showers regularly, at least to not smell like something out of the sewer, the pain doesn't matter if it's about you

Loves physical contact and quality time

Surprisingly, Doe has a driver's license, he would be your personal chauffeur, you may think it's an adorable gesture but he just wants to be sure where you are at every hour of the day… and help, of course.

Aside from adoring you, Doe actually has his own tastes and hobbies, he HAS feelings! He has tried knitting since the technology is very confusing, he really is like an old man

He tries to have a good relationship with your friends and family, if you have a big family he will probably feel overwhelmed but that doesn't mean he will stop trying to show that he loves you and wants to be with you.

Your younger nephews love it, they think of Doe as a weird-looking uncle who lets them play with his hair

Doe shirt always has hearts when he looks at You.

♡

[artemisiasmuse]

always known | CH.4

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem! kook reader

CW: 18+ mdni, smut eventually, angst, mean rafe, jealousy, possessive rafe, kook typical classism (not from y/n tho), abusive family dynamics, not really canon/au, swearing, drinking, no coke tho, ward cameron

SUMMARY: rafe’s childhood best friend y/n returns to figure eight by herself and finds rafe hates her for some reason, their friendship has gone down the drain and they can hardly remain cordial, and there’s one thing causing all of it: why can’t rafe just move on?

TROPE: childhood best friends to enemies to lovers

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

< previous next >

there was no ignoring your festering affection to rafe cameron when a girl is in his face, very obviously flirting. you’d stepped away for a few moments to greet your college friends when she took your place, well much more than just your place. jealousy flares in you hot and omnipresent and you can’t pretend you don’t recognize it so instead you try to dull it. you drink more than you should and none of the boys at the party look anywhere near attractive compared to him. even at school you had staved off the advances of anyone approaching you because no one seemed to cut it. not when your best friend was becoming your ideal man, he always had been if you were honest. if anyone looked at your ex’s next to him they would’ve realized it before you did. You hated how easy it was for her to make her intentions known, how he seemed to be enjoying the attention, when you couldn't even own up to your own feelings. topper noticed your continued return to the kitchen and eventually cut you off in your warpath.

“hey easy there, ‘can’t have you drinking us all under the table.” you stumbled into him, not really watching your steps and his hands steadied your shoulders, retreating like it burned him, in case rafe saw of course. the thought made your frown grow deeper, even if rafe shared an inkling of your feelings you couldn't make him jealous, you’d been off limits for as long as you or anyone else in figure 8 could remember.

“move topper, i flunked an exam okay?” it was a lame excuse, one that would’ve worked had you not known topper for the majority of your life. you’d never failed an exam, that still hadn’t changed. clearly your excuse didn’t work because rafe found you in the kitchen moments later, you relished slightly in the absence of the girl on his arm.

“hey kid, how much ‘you drink?” it was a nickname from your childhood, that and “baby” which now was also tarnished by your desire. you had constantly reminded him he was only five months older but in elementary school that meant a world of difference. you stopped correcting him, you would never admit it but the nicknames rolling off his tongue in that earth-shattering deep voice of his made your brain a bit foggy. he would never admit that he had long since learned the implications of calling you “baby” in public and it only spurred him on more. standing across the island from him, you took a few seconds to respond, walking yourself down from the jolt of need in your core. at least you could blame your slow reaction on the alcohol.

“i lost count.” rafe made his way around to you, an eyebrow raised at your response. by the looks of it you were already drunk. unfortunately you weren’t drunk enough to black out and ignore the eventuality of him leaving with the pretty blonde, not yet at least.

“let’s stop hmm? i know you’ll be mad at me tomorrow otherwise.” he took the cup from your small hands, fingers grazing against yours and it jolted you. his voice was low and smooth against your senses, lulling you into submission, you were sure you’d do anything he asked if he said it like that. you looked up at him with crossed arms, rafe did his absolute best to ignore how your breasts propped up from the action, but really he couldn’t. you were too drunk to notice. you hoped you weren’t obvious when you looked at how his fingers wrapped around the plastic effortlessly, so much bigger and thicker than yours. he was too distracted to notice.

“it’s fine, go back to blondie.” your words slurred off at the end, you shouldn’t have said that out loud. again you could blame it on the alcohol.

“you jealous?” rafe found himself smiling at the notion, despite the glare you were fixing him with, he couldn’t pretend to be even slightly upset with you drinking yourself into a stupor if it was over him. he was sure that was unhealthy, whatever, you could lecture him later. you were always so good at telling him off, and he’d listen.

“what? no.” your immediate denial gave you away easily and rafe smiled wider, he felt too close all of a sudden and you stepped back, your back hitting a counter. rafe watched you try to make a distance between you two, adorably failing. he scanned your body for any sign that it actually hurt but from the way you were still trying to avoid his eyes he could see you were too preoccupied.

“it’s okay baby, i was jealous when you were hanging with top and kelc without me.” he practically purred the nickname, your hand clenching by your side. rafe wouldn’t tell you that he had purposefully been stringing along ‘blondie’ to make you jealous. your glares weren’t exactly subtle after a certain point. your heartbeat picks up at the pet name, at his honeyed voice lowering just for you. your fingers twitch at the urge to pull him close, as close as she had him, maybe even closer.

“okay yeah i am, but it’s not the same.” you huffed out, proud of yourself for sounding coherent. you really should be better at holding your tongue but rafe looked too good today and you burned with jealousy that another girl had been able to ogle him all night. not to mention he was wearing the cologne he knew was your favorite, you’d even said so when he hugged you goodbye before class. the scent alone was making your frown deepen.

“what?” rafe couldn’t believe how transparent you were, he hoped you’d remember this tomorrow or at the very least you’d feel the same tomorrow. there was no way you were being serious though, you were just fucking with him. either way he really hoped he was understanding you right because he couldn’t let this go.

“forget i said that i’m drunk.” you looked away, embarrassed by how little rafe was reciprocating.

“no no, what do you mean?” he stepped closer, an inch away from you, sandwiching you between the counter and his body. you had to look at him, your expression cracking, you couldn’t pretend much longer, your eyebrows pinched and rafe recognized that you might be about to cry.

“rafe please-“ a plea whispered into the space between you two and rafe’s heart skipped a beat. the sound of you so desperately calling his name would haunt him forever but despite his mind fracturing into a million pieces, he still had to know.

“it is the same, it’s the exact fucking same, baby.” he leaned down to your height, his palms flat on the counter on either side of you, blue eyes bore into yours, commanding you to listen. he wasn’t teasing you. he was being sincere and you couldn’t believe it.

“are you sure?” there was barely any space between you two and the way he was looking at you should’ve been your answer but your vision was hazy.

“of course i’m fucking sure, did you think i cut contact with you cause i was tired of you? i did it cause you got a boyfriend.” he looked upset, you almost cupped his face with your hands, your fingers itched to press down the crease forming on his forehead from frowning. he watches the words sink into your pretty little head, how can you be so insanely adorable even now? he didn't plan for them to come out like this, in fact he had rather assumed it would be better if you didn't know the reason but it slipped out before he could stop himself.

“that’s fucking stupid rafe,” you say without any malice, your lip is jutted out in a pout and your eyebrows pinch together, god he wants to kiss you so badly. he’s a bit tipsy but not enough to think your first kiss should be at a party where anywhere can walk in while you’re struggling to stand.

“i know sweetheart, just-let’s do this when you’re sober yeah?” rafe worries you might not even remember this tomorrow.

“yeah…can you take me home?” he knows you mean tannyhill, you’d been staying there ever since your place flooded and he wonders sometimes why you don’t just move in. one time out of sheer curiosity, and maybe the fact that you were passed out on his bed, he looked up how much rent you’d get for your place.

“sure.” you lean into his side, his arm curling protectively around you as he moves you through the party, your eyes flutter closed cause as stupid as it is you trust him to get you out safely. the room spins around you but even if you stumble he holds you upright. you must have fallen asleep at some point cause the next thing you remember is being coaxed out of rafe’s car to get inside. the next twenty minutes or so are a blur as the sequence of shots hit you at once, you remember relaxing into rafe’s bed, the scent of him and his cologne lingering on the sheets and it soothes you enough to sleep.

your headache is the first thing that you feel before you can even open your eyes, you groan as you shoot up and see that you’re for some reason in rafe’s room, with him nowhere to be seen, in his shirt with no pants on. you’re greeted by the framed picture of you two in middle school, pimply and greasy but somehow still adorable.

you pray to god that you didn’t embarrass yourself too much with him as you pull on a pair of sweats you find in his closet. there’s a glass of water and a bottle of pills next to you and you know who left it there for you. you text him asking if he’s awake, you can’t wait to see him, can’t wait to confirm if you dreamt your conversation in the kitchen. rafe knocks at his door before entering and you’re still sat up on his bed, he still can't get used to the sight. he’s wearing a plain white shirt and sweats, his chain peeking under the collar and you think he might be the hottest man alive. he sits down across you on his desk chair swiveling it to face you, adjusting his hips as he does it. you might just pass out.

“i didn’t do anything too embarrassing right?” you ask while trying to ignore how good he looks. rafe looks up at you with a grimace and you groan.

“you really wanna know?” he asks with a glimmer in his eyes and you massage your temples in anticipation for the oncoming headache.

“oh god…kill me now.” rafe laughs at your expression, your eyes are closed and he can’t help but appreciate how you drown in his clothes. that coupled with you sleeping in his bed makes his hands itch to take a picture. he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be this fortunate again.

“i’m messing with you, you were pretty sweet actually, makes me kinda miss it now.” your pretty eyes snap open to meet his and you grown at the vague comment. sweet could mean a lot of things and most of them would be embarrassing.

“fuck off, you gotta give me more than that rafey, im going crazy.”

“how much do you remember?” he’s giving you an out, one that you won’t take. rafe holds his breath, there’s no going back from your answer.

“i remember getting out of the car after we left the party and then it’s kinda fuzzy.” he breathes out in relief, nodding at your words and blushing at the realization that you were actually owning up to the conversation. he can’t meet your eyes for a few seconds as he responds.

“okay so you insisted on sleeping in my room, you actually kicked me out.” he said and you winced, forcing his gaze to yours.

“sorry-“ you start but he waves you off.

“something about you always sleep better there, but i made sure you washed your face and stuff before sleeping.” you already feel hot from embarrassment but this can’t be the worst of it, you’d told this to rafe sober.

“i can tell you’re holding back.” rafe should realize that you know him as well as he knows you. you’re too observant for your own good.

“fine okay, you may have been repeatedly telling me i’m pretty.”

“yeah okay so i’ll see you in a week.” he couldn’t help but laugh at your reaction. you got off his bed to leave, far too embarrassed to hear the rest, but he caught your wrist from where he sat near the door. he looked good looking up at you, you could get used to the angle.

“hey come on, i didn’t finish, i'm the one who started it for what it’s worth.” the hand around your wrist smoothly drifted to your hand, fingers intertwined with yours. you start to think crazy things like why was he was smooth? how many girls had he-rafe short circuits your brain as he brings your interlocked hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your ring finger. you like to think it’s an accident for your sanity, it’s not.

“really?” your voice comes out small, nearly a squeak. you hardly notice it because you’re so entranced with his actions, by how small your hand feels and looks in his, how large his fingers are and the cold press of his signet ring against you. all the embarrassment flushed out of your system by a thrumming of need, of adoration, of-

“uh huh you look pretty right now too.” your gaze snaps to his, narrowing at his words, rafe hasn’t stopped smiling since he’s seen you today. how can he? he’s finally getting everything he’s ever wanted. you look so stunned by his words, mouth slightly agape and he’s relishing in the fact that for the first time in your lives he has the upper hand. he lightly tugs you closer by your hands and there’s zero resistance in your steps, you think you might be under a spell. it’s a miracle you can even respond.

“i definitely do not, i'm a hungover hot mess.” you know you look bad, you’re not fishing for compliments. you’re pretty sure you still have mascara smudged under your eyes and your hair is a whole other entity. but rafe doesn’t see any of that, he sees the girl he fell in love.

“nah you’re the prettiest girl i know.” he’s practically grinning up at you and the blue in his eyes is just right. he’s not lying to you and there’s a thick haze of feelings and unspoken words between you two. you know it’ll take a few words to change everything forever, the thought scares you, and you can’t handle the label you know you’re avoiding. the word that perfectly encapsulates what you already should’ve known for twenty years.

“can i shower and then maybe i’ll agree with you?” rafe lets you pull back, he knows he has you, and you know you have him. you just need a bit of space to catch your breath. he imagines these feelings sprouting up after so long can be overwhelming, they’re still overwhelming for him but he’s gotten used to relinquishing any rational thought when it comes to you. you just need time to get used to it too. you return to the guest room and hop in the shower. rafe put a set of his clothes next to yours and you don't even hesitate, they feel comfier on your skin and they smell like him, you wear his clothes and dry your hair before seeking him out. you feel more like a human, the sins of last night washed off you, and now you can finally give in.

you lean against his doorframe, his eyes already on you, as you say, “you’re gonna make me say it first aren’t you?”

a/n: i was geeking writing this (don’t hate me for the cliffhanger)

taglist: @clar2aa @ggraycelynn @rafestoothbrush @woweewoowa @mattyskies @always4tuesdayss @ashy-kit @chalahyung01 @rafeysslut @beabogsims @someoneisreading @rlalliehayes @artbymin @pogueprincesa @crvcified-kinx @ltristessedureratoujours @lilithblackkk @pluviophilis

[papayacinnabun]

one ticket for whack a mole with Lewis Hamilton and a degradation kink please

(Hope this is correct)

- LR

cinnabun’s carnival 18+

whack a mole - lewis hamilton + degradation kink

a/n - i LOVE writing for lewis, hope you enjoy :)

you couldn’t get enough of him.

lewis was one of those people who could be exactly in tune with your emotions and your body at the same time.

that's how you found yourself on your knees in front of him, his tattooed hands tightly gripping your hair as he fucked your face.

"gotta put that dirty mouth to use, teach you how to behave properly." he knew you liked it rough, liked it when he was mean to you.

“such a fucking slut, choking on my cock like this” he spat out at you, tightening his hold. tears stung at your eyes as you took him deeper, his tip hitting the back of your throat again and again. you could feel the heat pooling between your legs, making you whine with need.

"you like it huh? you better, its the only thing you're good for anyway." you looked up at him through your lashes, tears spilling out fast.

you moaned around his dick, sending vibrations through him that only spurred him on further. he picked up his pace, vigorously snapping his hips into your open mouth, saliva sloppily coating your lips. you tried to slip your hand into your shorts for some release, but lewis notices and stops abruptly. he pulls out of your mouth and yanks you back by your hair harshly.

"don't be such a greedy brat. you're mine. only i tell you when to cum." he pauses for you to nod in agreement before resuming his thrusts into your waiting mouth. his moans grow louder as you take him deeper, breathing through your nostrils. the wet heat of your mouth, your plush lips, your submissive willingness, it all sent him into overdrive.

his breathing grew ragged, and his hips stuttered. he pushed your head all the way down, disregarding how you gagged on him. hot cum filled your mouth, the salty taste coating your tongue.

"look at me when you swallow it, whore. every last drop." you look up at him through cloudy eyes, drool and tears covering your face, cum spilling from your lips. you stare up into his eyes, making a show of how you swallowed his seed. lewis' eyes glinted with desire as you licked your lips, sticking out your tongue to prove there was none left.

"hope you learned your lesson slut," he said lowly, gently stroking your puffy lips with his thumb.

[mommyameliestorycorner]

Do you have any tips for new Mommies? My boy friend recently came out to me about his fetish and wants to start incorporating it into our lives every now and again. Though… I’m quite submissive in my own right and not sure how I should go about acting or feeling about any of this. He showed me your blog and loves how enthusiastic about the kink you are. I want to be as well, I think I just need some help. Thank you in advance 🧡

Hi there! 🧡

First off, let me just say how incredibly proud I am of you for reaching out and being so open. That takes courage, and it's honestly so heartwarming to hear that your boyfriend felt safe enough to share this part of himself with you and that you responded with curiosity instead of judgment? That’s already a huge step in the right direction. Also, it really means a lot to hear that he enjoys my blog — that kind of enthusiasm and connection between partners is what makes this kink space so special!

Now, onto the good stuff: tips for new Mommies

The first — and probably most important — thing I want to tell you is that there is no one way to do this. Every dynamic is unique, because every person (and every little) is unique. Some relationships lean silly and playful, others tender and nurturing, and others still a bit firmer or more structured. There’s room for your way, and that’s something you and your boyfriend can discover together over time.

This might sound obvious, but really talk to him. Ask him what being a little means to him, what he hopes for from a Mommy figure, what parts feel comforting, exciting, or vulnerable. And just as importantly, share how you feel. You being uncertain or submissive in your own way isn’t a problem — it’s something to explore and play with, together.

You mentioned being submissive yourself, and I think this is where a lot of new caregivers get tripped up. There’s a common idea that you have to be this super strict, confident domme to be a Mommy — but that’s not true at all.

Many caregivers would describe themselves as service-subs. We take care of our littles because it fulfills us to do so. That might mean preparing bottles, tucking them in, checking diapers, talking gently, or even teasing them in ways that make them squirm and blush. You don’t have to be “above” your little — you just have to be the one offering the care. Think of it more like guiding a toddler through their world, not ruling over them.

You don’t need to leap into full-blown regression scenes right away. Try little things:

Referring to him as your “baby” or “little boy” in casual moments

Offering a paci, or picking out clothes for him

Asking, “Does someone need their diaper checked?” even just playfully

Reading a bedtime story together, or cuddling after calling it “nap time”

Small, low-pressure rituals can be incredibly meaningful and help you both ease into the dynamic.

You might find your strength as a Mommy in being nurturing and cuddly. Or maybe you discover you love teasing your little boy until he's red in the face and hiding under his blankie. Or maybe you find it’s about giving structure, praise, and gentle correction. You don’t need to become someone else, you just need to find the version of you that enjoys caring for him in this special way.

Also it’s okay to laugh! This kink is silly and sweet and sometimes awkward. There will be trial and error, and moments that feel weird or clumsy. That’s normal. The best part is that you’re both learning together.

And lastly… you’re allowed to have needs too. Just because he’s the one regressing doesn’t mean you stop being a partner with needs and limits. Your comfort matters just as much as his joy. Don’t be afraid to say, “That part’s not for me,” or “Can we do more of this?” Your dynamic will thrive when you both feel safe and seen.

So welcome to this gentle, squishy little corner of kink. The fact that you’re already asking questions and showing up with love and curiosity means you’re going to be great at this.

I’m rooting for you both.

[bassmars]

Sub! Neuvillette x Dom! GN Reader

Was bored at night and wrote this, pretty OOC but decided to post it since I haven’t posted anything since last time.

————————

The Chief Justice’s Punishment

submissive neuvillette nsfw

warnings: light bondage, dom/sub dynamics, humiliation kink, orgasm denial/ edging, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, office sex, authority kink, also names like slut and etc

The soft scratch of quill against parchment filled Neuvillette's private chambers, his elegant handwriting flowing across yet another legal document. You watched him from across his massive oak desk, remembering how it all started months ago – one small error that led to discovering the Chief Justice's deepest desires. Since then, these "private corrections" had become your little secret, each session leaving him more obedient, more desperate for your control.

"My, my..." you purred, standing slowly. "What do we have here, Chief Justice? Another mistake?"

His breath audibly caught – he knew what that tone meant. After all your previous encounters, Neuvillette's body had become finely tuned to your dominance. Sometimes you wondered if he made these small errors on purpose now, craving what would follow.

"Is it that time again?" he asked softly, his formal demeanor already beginning to crack. His fingers twitched on the desk, remembering how you'd bound them with his own sash last time.

You circled the desk, document in hand. "You know the drill by now, don't you, pet?" The nickname made him shudder – he'd earned it after the third time you'd reduced him to begging.

"Yes..." he breathed, already rising from his chair without being told. Months of training had taught him well.

"Yes, what?" you prompted, eyes narrowing.

"Yes, Your Honor," he corrected himself quickly, cheeks flushing. The title had started as a joke during one of your sessions, but the way it made him tremble had quickly turned it into a requirement.

You reached out to trace his jaw with one finger. "Look how well you've learned. Remember when you used to protest? Now you're practically quivering for it." Your hand slid down to his ceremonial sash. "Should we add another lesson to your education today?"

Neuvillette's eyes darkened with familiar need. "Please..." he whispered, already losing his composed facade. "I've been... waiting for you to notice."

"Oh?" You yanked him closer by his sash. "Did someone make mistakes on purpose? Has my strict Chief Justice become such a needy little slut for punishment?"

The whimper that escaped him was answer enough. Months of these encounters had stripped away his inhibitions, revealing the submissive creature that had always lurked beneath his authoritative exterior.

"Strip," you commanded. "And tell me exactly what you hoped to achieve with your little... error."

With practiced grace, Neuvillette began removing his elaborate robes, each layer revealing more of his pale, perfect skin. His fingers trembled slightly – not from nervousness anymore, but from anticipation.

"I... I may have misplaced those documents intentionally," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "It's been a week since our last... session."

You clicked your tongue disapprovingly, though heat pooled in your core at his confession. "So desperate you'd risk court efficiency? My, my... you've become quite the needy little dragon, haven't you?"

Now down to just his fitted undergarments, Neuvillette's breathing had grown heavy. The obvious bulge in his pants betrayed his arousal. "I apologize for my... impropriety."

"Oh, you will," you promised, grabbing his sash from the discarded robes. "Hands behind your back."

He complied immediately, shivering as you bound his wrists with practiced efficiency. The silk sash – a symbol of his authority – now served to strip him of control.

"Look at you," you purred, walking around him slowly. "The mighty Chief Justice, bound and trembling. What would your subordinates think if they saw you like this?"

A desperate whine escaped his throat. "Please... Your Honor..."

You grabbed a fistful of his silky hair, yanking his head back. "Please what? Use your words properly, or you won't get what you need.

"Please use me," he gasped, dignity crumbling. "I've been thinking about it all week – your hands, your commands, how you make me... make me..."

"Make you what?" You bit his exposed neck, marking him just below where his collar would hide it.

"Make me lose control," he moaned, hips jerking helplessly. "Make me beg. Make me yours."

Your free hand slid down his chest, toying with the waistband of his undergarments. "And what makes you think you deserve it? After deliberately sabotaging court documents?"

"Because," you growled into his ear, yanking his underwear down roughly, "you're already dripping for me." Your hand wrapped around his length, already slick with precum. "Such a needy little dragon."

Neuvillette's legs trembled as you stroked him slowly, teasingly. "F-fuck," he cursed, a rare break in his usual eloquent speech that made you grin wickedly.

"What filthy language from our Chief Justice," you taunted, squeezing harder. "I think that deserves some punishment, don't you?”

You pushed him forward until he was bent over his desk, important documents scattered beneath him. His bound hands flexed helplessly as you spread his legs wider. The sharp sound of skin meeting skin filled the room as you landed blow after blow on his perfect ass, watching it turn a beautiful shade of pink.

His moans grew increasingly desperate with each strike, cock twitching against the expensive wood of his desk. The mighty Chief Justice, reduced to rutting against his own furniture – the sight made heat pool between your legs.

"Please," he begged, voice cracking, "I need..."

You leaned over him, pressing against his bare back. "What do you need? Tell me exactly what you want."

"I need you inside me," he moaned, abandoning all pretense of dignity. "Please, Your Honor, I've been empty all week, thinking about you filling me, stretching me open..."

You reached around to stroke his leaking cock again. "Such a slutty dragon, begging to be filled. Should I prepare you first, or have you been playing with yourself, thinking of me?"

His answering whimper told you everything you needed to know. You pressed yourself against him, letting him feel your arousal through your clothes. "Tell me. Did you fuck yourself with your fingers, imagining it was me?"

"Y-yes," Neuvillette admitted, his voice trembling with need. "Every night, but it wasn't enough... never enough compared to you..."

You smirked, reaching for the vial of oil you knew he kept in his desk drawer – another sign of how these encounters had become routine. "Show me then. Show me how desperate you are."

Releasing his bound hands, you commanded, "Spread yourself for me. Let me see how badly you want it."

Despite his usual composure, Neuvillette didn't hesitate. He reached back with both hands, spreading himself open, his hole already slightly loose from his earlier preparations. The sight made you groan with desire.

"Such an obedient" you praised, drizzling the cool oil over his exposed entrance, watching him twitch at the sensation. "Look how easily my finger slides in..." You pushed one digit inside, feeling barely any resistance. "Did you do this before our meeting? Were you sitting in court all day, stretched and ready for me?"

"Yes," he gasped, pushing back against your finger. "Please, Your Honor, I need more..."

You added a second finger, scissoring them inside him. "The mighty Chief Justice, reduced to begging... what would your subordinates think if they could see you now? Their composed leader dripping and desperate?"

His cock twitched violently at your words, a stream of precum leaking onto the scattered documents below. "Please... please..."

You lined yourself up against his entrance, teasing him with just the tip. "Beg properly for what you want, neuvillette~. Tell me exactly how badly you need it."

"Please, I need you to fuck me," Neuvillette begged, his usual eloquent vocabulary reduced to desperate pleas.

"Tsk, tsk," you teased, still only letting the tip press against him. "And here I thought the great Chief Justice was supposed to be perfect. First those sloppy mistakes in your paperwork, and now you can't even beg properly?"

You pushed in just slightly before pulling back out completely, making him whine. "Your Honor, please! I need you to fill me, to punish me for my careless errors..."

"That's better," you praised, finally pushing into him slowly. "But I don't think you've learned your lesson yet about being thorough with your work."

Once fully seated inside him, you remained still, watching him try to squirm back against you. His usually perfect hair was disheveled, face flushed as he panted against the desk.

"Every..." you pulled out slowly, "single..." thrust back in sharply, "detail..." another slow withdrawal, "matters."

Each word was punctuated by your movements, keeping him on edge but never giving him the hard, fast pace he craved. When he tried to reach for his own neglected cock, you grabbed his wrists.

"Did I say you could touch yourself?" you scolded. "Such poor impulse control. Maybe that's why you made those filing mistakes? Too distracted thinking about this?"

"I'm sorry," he gasped, "I'll be more careful, I promise, just please... please fuck me properly..."

You leaned over his back, biting his ear. "Oh? Like this?" You snapped your hips forward hard once, then returned to the torturously slow pace. "Or maybe you haven't earned it yet. Should we review all your mistakes first?"

His cock twitched beneath him, dripping steadily onto the very documents he'd mishandled. "I'm close," he warned, voice breaking.

"Oh no," you pulled out completely, making him sob with frustration. "You don't get to cum until you've recited every single error you made today. And they better be accurate..."

Neuvillette's perfect composure shattered as he struggled to focus, his voice trembling. "The... the case files from the merchant district were... ah!" He broke off as you pushed back in torturously slow.

"Go on," you commanded, stilling your hips. "Every. Single. Detail."

"The timestamps were... were incorrect," he gasped, trying to push back against you but your firm grip on his hips kept him still. "And I mixed up the... oh gods... the witness statements from—"

You pulled out again, making him whimper. "Careful now. Accuracy is everything in court, isn't it?"

"The witness statements from cases 347 and 348," he corrected himself quickly. "Please, Your Honor, I'm trying..."

"Not good enough," you tsked, running a finger down his spine. "What else?"

His cock throbbed desperately as he continued, "The... the evidence logs were filed in the wrong sequence... please, I'm so close..."

"And?" You pushed back in painfully slow, watching him fall apart.

"The dates! I switched the dates on the final verdicts!" He was practically sobbing now. "Please, I've admitted everything, I need to cum so badly..."

You established a steady rhythm, but still not the pounding he craved. "Such careless mistakes from someone so important. What would your subordinates think?"

"They'd be... ah... disappointed," he moaned, his thighs trembling. "I'm supposed to be... perfect... flawless..."

"But you're not, are you?" You reached around to grasp his leaking cock. "You're just a needy little dragon who makes mistakes just to get punished..."

"You're right," Neuvillette sobbed, past caring about his dignity now. "I'm not perfect, I'm just a needy slut who needs to be punished, please Your Honor, I'll do anything..."

"Anything?" You squeezed the base of his cock hard, preventing his approaching orgasm. "Then you won't cum until I say so, will you Neuvillette?"

He shook his head frantically, tears of frustration streaming down his face. "No, Your Honor, I'll be good, I'll wait..."

You increased your pace finally, pounding into him mercilessly while keeping a firm grip on his cock. His whole body shuddered, caught between the intense pleasure and the denial of release.

"Look at you," you panted, "the mighty Chief Justice, drooling on his own desk, begging like a common whore. Should I make you cum? Or should I keep you on edge all day? Make you sit through court later, desperate and aching?"

"Please!" he cried out, his usual composed voice completely wrecked. "I need it so badly..."

You leaned down to bite his shoulder hard. "Maybe I should make you cum over and over until you're oversensitive and crying, until you can't remember any of those legal codes you're so proud of. Would you like that better?"

His cock twitched violently in your grip at the suggestion. "Yes! Yes, please, anything you want, just please let me cum!"

"Hmm," you pretended to consider it, never slowing your brutal pace. "I don't know... have you really learned your lesson about being careful with your work?"

“Let’s see how much you can take” you purred, finally releasing your grip on his cock. "Cum for me. Show me how desperate you were."

Neuvillette came with a broken cry, his whole body convulsing as he spilled over his precious documents. But you didn't stop – instead, you increased your pace, hitting his sensitive spot relentlessly.

"Did I say you could stop?" you growled when he tried to squirm away. "We're going to make sure this lesson really sticks."

"Too much," he gasped, his softening cock already twitching back to hardness. "Please, I can't—"

"Can't?" you mocked, reaching around to stroke him roughly. "The great Chief Justice giving up so easily? What happened to that famous endurance of yours?"

His second orgasm hit him even harder than the first, leaving him trembling and incoherent. Tears streamed down his face as you continued to fuck him through it, his oversensitive body caught between pleasure and pain.

"Look at you," you whispered, "coming apart so beautifully. Should we go for three? Make sure you never forget this lesson?"

"Please," he sobbed, not even sure anymore if he was begging for mercy or more. His cock was hardening again despite his protests, his body betraying how much he loved being used like this.

"Color?" you checked, making sure he was still okay to continue.

"Green," he gasped out immediately, "so green, please don't stop..."

[concretejunglefm]

a request made by @somebodyels3 where by you have priest sub!noah cuffed to a st. andrews cross 💕ps. thank you for the collar line hehe

Pairing: Priest sub!Noah Sebastian x dom f!reader

CW: includes mentions of unprotected sex (p in v), edging, overstimulation, corruption kink, religious themes, sub/dom dynamic, kind of power dynamics, blasphemy, priest kink, slight manipulation, use of bondage equipment, dirty talk, men begging and whimpering, ruined orgasms, includes moments of aftercare.

Names: pup/puppy.

WC: 3.6k.

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

There’s a room full of people Noah is expected to address, yet he finds himself struggling to keep his eyes from being drawn towards you. He’s delivering a sermon about God and loyalty, all while wearing a collar, concealed beneath the one signifying his unwavering promise to God, which promises him to you.

As he speaks, everyone is attentively listening to every word, but his eyes are fixed on you, eagerly awaiting any subtle change in your expression. While he has a congregation that eagerly seeks his approval and, by extension, the approval of God, he yearns for yours.

The thin black material of his long-sleeved shirt sleeves is tucked up a quarter of the way, revealing the intricate array of tattoos adorning his skin. His fingers discretely stroke across the thin strap of the thin pink harness he wears beneath, and he’s acutely aware that you’ve noticed it.

You share a glance, and for a fleeting moment, his breath catches in his throat, his voice quavering as he regains his composure. Because that’s what wearing it does now—it grounds him, primarily to you. Before you entered his life, he was genuinely devoted to God, but he had no idea what he was truly doing. It’s strange how he’s suddenly discovered a newfound purpose in serving you.

As the sermon concludes, murmurs of appreciation begin to rise among his congregation. They approach him, offering generous and kind words in exchange for his praise. Some hold his attention briefly, but never long enough for his eyes to not stray from the crowd and find you. You, standing across the room, eagerly await his approach, as if he were an eager puppy waiting for its owner’s call.

“Father,” you address him as he approaches, and he almost corrects you before remembering his present position over you.

The grin that spreads across his lips widens with a warmth that radiates from his chest at the sound of your name being uttered by him, as if it belongs there in his mouth and on his tongue—the way you do, even though he would much rather be falling to his knees before you and addressing you as ‘Domina’. However, he will settle for a polite 'ma’am' in public, the most appropriate way to address you, while still maintaining that sense of dominance over him.

“That was a beautiful sermon today,” you say, and he wonders if you noticed the parallels in his words.

He contemplates how expressing loyalty and devotion to God mirrors his own feelings for you, how you’ve become the central focus of his life.

“Thank you.”

You step forward, and his breath catches in his throat as your fingers brush over the front of his black shirt, tracing the exact spot where the straps of his harness sit. Your fingers sweep higher, adjusting his collar like a caregiver would a dependent, or like a dominant does their submissive.

“I hope to see you later, Noah,” you whisper, lowering your voice to ensure that no one nearby overhears your private conversation. Despite the inappropriate setting, his ears perk up, and he stands at attention, almost as if he’s drawn to your presence. “I believe my good boy deserves a reward.”

How close he is to losing all composure and surrendering to his submissive state for you, right here, right now. The presence of everyone around and his current duties are all that prevent him from completely falling into the subspace you guide him into. The temptation you’ve allowed him to succumb to.

Before leaving, Noah receives your one final word, a final instruction, and you know he will willingly obey. “Mine. Tonight. 7 o’clock.”

He watches you intently as you slip through the rows of people, but the faint scent of your perfume lingers—intoxicating. He has to remind himself where he is and that he currently has a job to do, lest he follow after you like the obedient puppy you’ve turned him into.

As he stands there, his eyes still locked onto the space long after you’ve left, he realizes how uncomfortable his slacks have become. The dark fabric makes it easy to conceal the growing bulge, but it’s discomfort is now glaring, and all he can think about is slinking back into his private office and fisting his cock while tugging on the collar you gifted him. Though he doubts he’d actually succeed in freeing his cock before he spills his seed everywhere.

An hour ago, you sat across from him, sharing an intimate dinner—one you had prepared together, though Noah had taken the lead, being the better cook. Now, his long limbs are spread out and restrained against the St. Andrew’s cross, his body completely open to you in trust.

This isn’t the first time an evening has led you here, fulfilling desires whispered between shared glances and lingering touches. But tonight is different. Tonight, you’ve brought him into a space that’s entirely yours—a sanctuary of quiet control and devotion. Here, there’s no need for words—just the steady rhythm of his breath, the warmth of his skin, and the soft clink of metal as you fasten him in place. He trusts you, watching you with that quiet, unwavering gaze—the one that speaks of surrender not out of obligation, but out of love.

Securing him had been a challenge in itself, his amusement evident as he allowed you to struggle with the restraints, his lips twitching with each minor setback. When he finally showed mercy, cuffing one wrist himself, you reciprocated with a kiss—several, in fact, soft and sweet, pressed against his lips, his jaw, and the hollow of his tattooed throat. It was a promise, a thank you, and a silent declaration of how much this means to you—to have him like this, not just restrained, but willing, trusting, and yours.

His heart had pounded in his chest all evening, a steady rhythm of anticipation, but now, it has settled. His body is relaxed, and his expression softens as he watches you secure his second wrist. You have to stand on a stool to reach him, pushing onto your tiptoes, and the fondness in his eyes is undeniable. It’s not just obedience or desire—it’s adoration.

When you finally step back, taking him in—bared before you, waiting and trusting—he exhales, a slow, contented sigh.

Noah is yours. Entirely. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

There’s a poetic irony in a priest being tied to a St. Andrew’s cross. A man of restraint willingly restrains himself. A man who preaches purity and self-control embraces vulnerability and relinquishes control in a way that is carnal, succumbing to desires of that nature.

You’ve transformed from his temptress, luring him in temptation, to his divine being, the sole object of his worship, the center of his devotion, and the subject of his prayers. That’s how he speaks now, whispering your name between breaths as he silently pleads for you. A strained ‘domina’ escapes his lips in a gasp as another moan follows.

He appears ethereal, suspended from your wall like a revered religious figure. You worship him in your own unique way, pulling him apart at the seams as you encourage him to embrace his desires and strive to bring him pleasure.

You can’t help but admire how handsome he looks, his skin flushed so much that even his tattoos can’t hide it. Your fingertips gently caress his stomach, and he arches his back as he tries to push into your touch. The sounds coming from his throat are desperate, and you feel your clit throbbing. Every moment of teasing him is teasing you, yet you can’t resist prolonging the anticipation. You haven’t even reached your initial plan yet, having too much fun building him up to it.

Noah has no idea how long he’s been suspended here, your hands exploring every inch of him, his cock twitching even with the slightest touch. He was fully hard the moment you freed him, but now his cock stands painfully hard, throbbing with anger and redness as it leaks another trickle of precum.

Every time you bring him closer to the edge, he believes this will be it, that you’ll finally let him fall over. Instead, you watch, marveling at the way his body trembles, his stomach muscles clenching before rubbing your hand against his sensitive tip, ruining any chance of a genuine orgasm, any chance of a release that doesn’t push him higher than he already is.

Pained whimpers escape his lips, forming a soft, whispered plea. He’s begging for release, for you, for something, because that’s what he needs right now and he knows you’re aware of it—that you’re choosing to tease him and prolong the pleasure.

“What is it, puppy? What do you want?” You coo, your voice laced with a playful undertone of condescension.

You’re aware of his desires, and Noah is too. He understands that you’re hoping he’ll use his words to express what he so desperately wants, but he can’t because he’s struggling to find the right ones outside of a repetitive string of soft “please,” hoping you’ll take pity.

“Please what?” Your mock pout captures his attention, and he whimpers in response. You’re taunting him so much that he can barely think clearly.

“Fuck… fuck me…” Noah stammers, his cock twitching, throbbing, and yearning for release, for you.

“You want to fuck me?”

He gazes down at you, his hair cascading around him. He nods eagerly, hoping you’ll give into his request.

As you step closer, his eyes widen as he watches your hand reach out and wrap around his shaft. He twitches in your hand at the touch, another moan escaping his lips. His overly sensitive state has pushed him to the brink already.

“Beg for it.” You command. His eyes widen as he lifts his head, tilting it like a puppy questioning its owner’s command. “You heard me, you want to fuck me, then beg to.”

Noah, utterly wrecked with desperation, begins to whimper and beg, “Please—just let me fuck you. I can’t take this anymore. Please, I’ll be good, I’ll be so fucking good for you, just let me—please—”

As you approach, he watches your thighs parting as you widen your stance to bring his cock between them

The contact against your folds makes him hiss, his head lifting and pressing back against the leather of the cross behind him. His hips jerk as you push the tip between your folds, allowing him to feel the wetness of your pussy as you begin to slowly rub yourself along his shaft, coating him further with a mixture of your arousal.

Soft moans escape your throat as the pressure of his cock against your clit finally begins to alleviate some of your own aching need.

As Noah pushes forward, he feels the tip press against your entrance, enticing you to make more needy sounds. He yearns to be inside you, to feel you wrapped around him.

“Come on, pup, fuck me then.” You tease, and Noah feels the growing frustration as he tries to buck and angle his hips, but he fails to get anywhere near what he wants. Instead, he falls to rutting between your thighs, desperately seeking his release.

He manages to get it, just slightly, before you stop him. His entire body trembles as ropes of cum splatter between your thighs and fall between you to the floor, adding to the mess from his already dripping precum.

“Oh, you’re a very naughty puppy!” Your voice barely reaches Noah’s ears, drowned out by the throbbing in his body. His orgasm is a slow, tentative growth, barely able to fully blossom, yet it keeps him in a haze, as he clings to this moment with desperate intensity.

“You’re lucky I don’t drag you down from there and make you get on all fours to clean up your mess.” You try to scold him, but it only elicits a moan because it sounds like a wonderful punishment if you expect him to clean your thighs. He’s already felt how slick they are with your arousal, and his tongue even licks across his lips at the thought.

How he wishes he could be between them right now, worshiping you how he loves to the most.

“Maybe I will let you fuck me.” That pulls him back, as does the sensation of your hand stroking along his twitching, sensitive cock, your palm squeezing him and causing his hips to jerk in response. “You look so needy, so desperate.”

He is. God, he is, and all he can think about is finally being inside of you.

Noah watches intently as you position yourself, turning your back to him before spreading out your legs and leaning forward, offering yourself to him. He can see the way your pussy glistens, so warm and inviting, that it makes him let out a needy breath.

“Show me how much you want to fuck me.” You purr, enticing him, glancing over your shoulder at him as his hips push forward and his tip just grazes your folds.

One wrong move sends him slipping away, and he whines before trying again.

A second time, you hear his frustration in the way he huffs before you take pity on him, returning his earlier gesture and reaching around to grasp him.

As you guide his cock towards you, you rub him between your folds with a soft moan and push back, allowing him to feel your wet entrance before he meets you with a thrust.

Just the tip of his cock pushes into your tight hole, drawing him in deeper and making him let out a moan of satisfaction. It’s a moan of relief, as though he’s finally found what he’s been seeking.

Such a desperate man, falling apart all for you, and he has no shame.

Sweat covers almost every inch of his skin, and his body still trembles from how sensitive he has become. However, he refuses to let this hold him back. His thrusts are erratic and desperate, mirroring his own state of mind, and he slips out easily, especially when it’s only past the tip he can push into you because you’re deliberately standing away from him.

“Come on, Noah, I thought you wanted to fuck me.”

The use of his name instead of a pet name makes him whine, his eyes pleading as you gaze at him, yearning for mercy once more. However, you remain unmoved and persist in coaxing him, rolling your hips and feeling his tip gently caress your folds with each of his attempts.

“Just arch your hips a little more,” you instruct him. He tries, oh how he tries. He pushes his hips out as far as the apparatus he’s restrained to will allow. Frustrated whimpers escape his lips as he bucks his hips and ruts into the air, as if that somehow magically brings him closer.

He’s so far gone that he doesn’t even care how desperate he appears in this state. He’s reduced to nothing, and all he needs and desires is you. He’s so close to achieving his own personal nirvana that it feels cruel that you’re holding it out of reach. Until finally…

Either you push back, or he manages to arch himself in a way that gives him enough reach, that finally feels himself sinking into you. Soft whimpers of gratitude escape him as he begins to buck his hips, thrusting himself deeply and erratically into you, completely disregarding the sloppiness of his movements, driven solely by his desire for you and the lust that has clouded his judgment.

When you throw your head back with loud moans, it makes his cock throb inside you. The warm, wet feeling of your cunt tightening and drawing him closer to the brink of his climax makes him let out choked whimpers. He barely manages to find his words as he keeps himself arched in the position as best he can.

The telltale signs are there as he feels the familiar sensation creeping up his spine, making him lightheaded after already being pulled to dizzying heights by your constant teasing and edging.

Just as he feels himself ready to fall over, you slip away, causing him to release a loud and needy whine, “Please… don’t stop. I need it. I need you to take me, to use me. Please, don’t stop.” He sounds so desperate, begging as his hips continue rutting in the air, his climax ruined once again.

At this point, he feels his body shuddering, unsure if he’s being held up solely by the willpower or the restraints. The dribble from his cock is pathetic, barely a release, barely actual cum. The sensation is heavy and tight in his balls, making him whine even more, needy and desperate. “Please—God, please—I’ll do anything, I’ll say anything, just don’t leave me like this. I can’t take it; I’ll lose my mind, I swear—please, I need you, I need it, I need—“ Tears are pressing to his eyes now, unable to control the painful need to cum, the need for you that has him teetering on the edge.

The moment you turn to look at him, the click of your tongue as if ready to scald him once more, makes his cock twitch.

“Please—I’ll beg on my knees, I don’t care—just…just don’t leave me like this. I can’t—I can’t—please—” at that moment, the pressure of your hand against his stomach makes him tense, gasp, and his muscles contract beneath it. He can’t help but rely on your touch to propel himself forward; his eyes, though heavy, tearful, and pleading, focus solely on you.

Faint whimpers escape as he repeatedly tenses his muscles until the sharp graze of your nails is enough to send him careening over the edge. Even without you wrapped around him, his body violently shakes with the intensity of his climax, a white-hot heat that surges through him and pulls a loud whining moan from his throat.

He hadn’t even had a proper chance to fuck you, yet here he was, cumming from just your touch on his stomach. He almost feels ashamed, but also proud of the profound influence you have over him, because there’s no one else he’d rather be under the control of more than you.

You’ve shown him heaven, Noah is certain of that. Every time you’ve come together, it’s been nothing short of a euphoric experience. But on this particular occasion, he experienced a whole new level of pleasure.

After a much-needed warm shower and some food, he’s nothing short of clingy, climbing onto you like an oversized lapdog as he rests his larger frame against yours. He sinks between your spread thighs, making himself at home. Despite his damp locks splayed out across you, he tucks his head against your chest.

The soothing sensation of your fingers against his scalp lulls him into a state of comfort during the comedown. It always felt like the most challenging part, where grounding himself becomes increasingly difficult.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes close, his head against your chest, listening to the soothing rhythm of your heartbeat, before your gentle voice draws his attention and his head tilts back, allowing him to peer up at you.

“You did so well tonight, sweetheart.”

He has the urge to hide his face from you, to seek solace in the embrace of your neck and inhale the floral scent of the body wash you both used during your shared shower. However, he resists, gracefully accepting your praise with a subtle smile that graces the corner of his mouth.

“Really?” He doesn’t mean to sound surprised; it’s mostly because this is all still so new to him. You’re exploring together, and while you’re the one teaching him, he can still sense that you’re still finding your footing with things. “As were you,” he adds, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks.

At your request, he tilts his head, allowing you to lean down and meet him for a kiss. The contact is needed more than ever.

In his mind, he believes he could cling to you here forever. He always does afterward, but especially tonight. There was something more intimate about what had transpired and the trust you shared, especially from Noah. He had already given his promise to you, wearing it in the form of his collar, which now lay on the bedside, ready for the morning. However, allowing you to have complete control, the way he had, was a new level of trust and devotion—one tied to his complete adoration of you.

His eyes close once more as your gentle fingertips trace the bare skin of his chest, following the intricate patterns of ink spread across his body.

“Desolate,” you murmur, and Noah shifts, his eyes barely open as he watches you trace the word. “Do you still feel this way?”

It’s as if he doesn’t feel the need to explain his reasoning behind the word. He doesn’t dismiss it as a meaningless word or share more than he’s comfortable with, because you don’t pry, and you never have.

For a moment, he contemplates the word, the weight of its meaning, and the emotions he felt during that time when it truly resonated with him. As his head tilts back, his eyes gaze up at you, filled with adoration, and he feels the warmth radiating through him once again.

“Not anymore,” he offers as his answer, turning his head and pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone. In return, you lean down and meet a kiss on the top of his head, nestling comfortably against him.

Closing his eyes once more, he finds a sense of peace as he melts against you, listening to the gentle, steady rhythm of your heartbeat, his own chest feeling more full of love than ever before.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke  @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens @i-love-the-smell-of-you-blood @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @courta13 @oobleoob @bluehairpunklol @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @bloody-spades @iluvmewwwww75 @limerinseme

[nyxvuxoa-writes]

Hello, my love... so okay... yes... would you kindly do.... Prompt #176. “I’m going to fuck you against the windows, i want everyone to see how good you are.” This prompt is for Roman Godfrey...

👉👈Thank you 👉👈

Imma go hide in a dark corner now...

Excited to finally write something for you that is tailored for you and not having you just appeal to my obsessions. I hope you like this.

𝑨 𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝑽𝒊𝒆𝒘

Roman Godfrey x Fem!Reader

#176. “I’m going to fuck you against the windows, i want everyone to see how good you are.”

◢ Genre: A touch of fluff, Kink, Smut ---- Suitable For Adults Only

◢ Warnings: PWP, dom!Roman, submissive!reader, exhibitionism, sort of window fetish, sort of public sex(?), some spanking, unprotected sex, p in v, sex from behind, hair pulling, biting, creampie, sexy time talk. slight praise kink, begging, mention of aftercare.

◢ Word Count: 2.6k

◢ A/N: Okay, so I have never written for Roman before, but I feel this will be pretty straightforward. I hope it hits all the right spots.

You have become accustom to how your relationship with Roman had grown. There was a sort of mutual understanding on how things are with him. He is in charge, and you had a 'place' to be in, for lack of better terms. In some small way you had control, but not in the normal sense of things; you had the control that a submissive in a bdsm relationship would have it.

This is your relationship with Roman. You are his submissive and he is your master. But when you are asked to strip down and stand in front of floor to ceiling windows, you hesitate slightly. Your eyes gaze to the window, watching as people walk past it. You would feel and be rather exposed to anyone who had possible wondering eyes.

After a moment though, and wanting to avoid correction, you slowly manage to strip down to nothing. Kicking your clothes to side, you look down at them like you had just lost your security blanket. Instinctually you want to cover yourself with your arms. It was natural for you to keep yourself covered, feeling rather unconfident, but you knew he would correct you. A part of you hated it.

Slowly you take in a deep breath through your nose, your fingers pressing into the palm of you hand. Roman was always one to push those boundaries with you. He like getting you to try something new, even if it made you a little scared or uncomfortable. He damn well knew this was going to make you uncomfortable. A part of him questioned if you would need to use your safe word. He hoped not.

Walking around you like an animal observing a cornered prey, he couldn't help but smirk slightly, a small chuckle escaping him. His finger reach over and the tips of them so gently graze your skin, moving from the side of your thigh and up around your body as he walked back around to stand in front of you. He fingers come to your nipple and he pinches and pulls at it slightly.

You tense a bit, feeling a small bit of pain. For a moment your lips push out and your brow furrows, almost as if you are pouting at him for doing that to you. At least he knows that he has your attention. You're focused and not zoned out, or withdrawing too much into yourself. This was going to be a big step for you.

“I’m going to fuck you against the windows, I want everyone to see how good you are.” He states, cutting straight to the point for the reason he had you here right now.

Your eyes go wide. "What?"

"I'm going to fuck you against the windows." He repeated, his tone slowing down slightly as he is allowing the sentence to sink into your brain for a moment. He licks at his lips as his hands reach up and he starts to take off his suit coat, laying it over the couch. He doesn't opt to take off his shirt, instead he loosens the tie and rolls up his sleeves to expose his forearms.

You could have used your safeword at that moment. You could have stopped him dead in his tracks and kept it from happening. The choice was right there and for a moment you considered it. But at the same time, there was something appealing about the idea. How many people would notice? How many people could stop to watch to see what was going on in the window.

Watching as Roman turned around and slid his hands into his pockets, watching you closely, you could feel as your heart started to pound in your chest. This wasn't how you were expecting your night to go. It was scary, but exciting. A small part of you remembered that you could stop this at any point if it became too much, and you mentally reminded yourself of that.

Letting your body relax, you looked at Roman with a small smile before you nodded your head, giving him that sort of consent that you were going to give it a shot. Roman smiles slightly, approaching you to cup your chin in his hand as he lifts your head to gaze up at him. He leans in and kisses you, pressing his lips roughly against yours before he spins you around to the window.

Gripping your arms, he brings your hands up to the window and presses your palms against it as he bends you over slightly. His hands move to your hips and he brings your hips out slightly, bringing you to that perfect level for him. His hand move gently over your lower back, grazing against your ass as he gently grips at your left cheek, his fingers pressing for a moment before brings his hand up and smacks it down against your flesh.

You tense and jump slightly. You had been expecting the motion, but it still had caught you off guard. This only caused your heart to pound in your chest a little more. Why did you have to face the window? Couldn't he have just lifted you up and pressed you against it? By his logic, sure, and maybe at some point he will. But this way people could see the faces you make as he presses his cock into the dewy folds between your legs. Bonus points if there happened to be an ex that walked by at that moment, but he doubt he would get that lucky.

A small chuckle escapes him as he steps back and takes a moment to observe you and the people that were already glancing into the window. This was going to be satisfying. His jaw clenches slightly, feeling himself starting to quickly stiffen in the restricting fabric of his pants. He starts to undo his belt, a sound that causes your ears to hyper-tune into it with clashing of the metal buckle. But he doesn't take it off, he simply starts to unbutton his pants, letting them drop just enough with his briefs to free his growing erect self.

Keeping his erect self in one hand, he reaches forward wit the other and bring his fingers to graze against your lower lips. Roman can feel the dampness spread as he presses his fingers into the folds slightly and runs them against your clit. This causes you to lift your hips slightly, a wave of excitement rushing over you with that feeling of anticipation and being nervous. It was a lot to feel at once and it caused goosebumps against your skin.

His finger press into your hole, as if he was preparing you to be ready for what would come right after them. He slowly pushes them deeply, reaching the full length of the fingers and starts to do a back and forth motion. You moan softly, your legs spreading a little bit as your juices start to coat them. Feeling satisfied with how wet you are becoming, Roman removes his fingers from you and positions himself behind you.

For a moment, your eyes glance up at the window and you can somewhat make out your reflections in it. Your lips part in a heavy breath as you watch, your vision going from his reflection and the people outside. A few stood by to watch, acting as though they were just leaning against something. Others simply shook their heads and walked on. This caused your heart to race further. Could you get in trouble for this? Technically speaking, yes.

Your toes curl slightly against the floor as you feel the head of Roman's cock pressing against your hole and then slowly sliding into you. He lets out a heavy groan, his hands quickly moving to your hips as he grips on and presses his entire length deeply into you. Your body grips at him, taking him deeply as your muscles felt around him slightly, almost as if to pull him in deeper.

Your slow moan and gasp for air felt louder than you intended, as if it bounced off the window in front of you and back at you. Your suck in your stomach a moment, feeling you body tense as his motions start in. First he moved slowly, bringing himself back to tip before he pressed his length into you again. He relished in the moment of how you felt around him. He was the reason you were tight. He was the reason you were wet. That is a satisfying feeling to him.

His hands travel against your body, moving from your hips up your side and resting against your ribs. For a moment his fingers dig into you, sending a little pain to mix with the feeling of pleasure, and that causes you to moan a little louder and press your hips back into his. When your ass met his somewhat open pants and flesh, he groaned, tensing slightly. You were letting that wall down, exploring something new, and he was eating it up.

Roman starts to pick up his pace as he grips at your ribs, allowing for just slightly quicker motions into your wet fold. He keeps himself buried a little more, no longer letting you feel the full length, but instead letting you feel the slightly faster, forceful nature of his hips. His breathing starts to pick up as he hears your moans and for a moment he leans forward slightly.

One hand reaches forward, gripping at your breast. He squeezes it in his hand as he presses his entire length into you, holding it for a moment as he allows his hand to fondle with your chest. His lips start to wonder against your shoulder-blade, kissing at your skin with a sense of passion. It hadn't been just a moment into hearing you moan more that Roman starts his motions again, pumping his hips into you.

"You feel so good." He mutters. "So wet. So tight. Are you my good girl?" He asks, while still leaning over slightly against your back.

You nod quickly, moaning and breathing heavily. You had forgotten what your hands were pressed against, the feeling of the glass more slick under your palms with sweat. He smirks against your skin slightly as he presses his teeth into your shoulder, biting at you a little, as his motions become more rough. Screaming out, your head drops a little more as your body tense out in both pain and pleasure.

Roman comes from the bite, lifting his lips and teeth off your shoulder-blade to see deeply purple markings and a faint bruise already starting to form. What's his, is his and he has no issues with marking his girl. Feeling pleased with himself, his cock twitches and hardens a little more inside you, which causes him to bring his hands back to your waist.

He started to give rougher, more forceful thrusts into you. Groaning and moaning loudly with you. The occasional fuck or oh god leaving someone's lips in a breathy moaned tone. The louder you became the rougher his motions started to get. Eventually, Roman's hands were in your hair and he was pulling on it. He pulled you back slightly, arching your back a bit, as his knees bent just enough to give himself a different angle.

He pressed himself into deeply, finding that right length to insert that would hit your sweet spot. He causes your legs to shake, trembling under you and you feel like your about to give way and lose your self of balance. He knew what that leg shaking meant, that tremble that ran through your body was something he had memorized. He learned how to work you, to help you achieve the finish that you craved from from.

"Good girl. My wonderful girl. Does that feel good?" He ask. "Y-yes Sir." You stammer, your fingers and palms red from how hard you were pressing them into the window. "Would you like to cum baby?" He coos at you, pressing his length in deeply as he says the word cum.

You moan and nod, hoping that he doesn't ask you to beg for it. But it was instinct, and before he could even say it, you were already begging for that sweet release.

"Please, can I cum? Please? I'm right there." You manage to get out between moans and heaving breaths. Roman looks amused, and rather proud of you.

"Ask me again." He mutters, almost growling as he's trying to contain his own moans for just a moment.

"Please. May I cum? Please let me cum." You insist. "Alright. Cum baby. Make a mess for me." He says, as both his hands go to grip at your sides.

You start to take some sort of small control as you rock your body back and forth a moment, starting to bounce yourself against Roman's length. He doesn't stop you and you cause his body to tense and the pressure to build more and more. "Oh fuck..." He manages to mutter. "Don't stop baby. Keep going. Keep going." He says, almost begging you. "You've got me right there baby."

You pick up the pace, feeling that release right on the edge there. And as he speaks, that begging and slightly needy tone coming from him, you find yourself trembling with a finish. Feeling like electricity was moving from head to toe, your body tenses and you start to have a heavy tremble work it's way through you. You cry out, moaning loudly as you keep yourself bouncing back and forth against him.

The feeling of your finish drove him. The way you tightened around him and moved against his length with desire and need, worked him to release that finish. He let go, his own legs trembling slightly as his fingers press into your skin. At first his head hung back in a moan before it drops down and he starts to give you short, hard thrusts, making sure to coat your insides with his seed.

For a moment, you both stood there, allowing yourselves to come down from the moment. He couldn't help but chuckle, feeling as you press back once more against him. Roman gives a small thwack at your ass and another grip at it for good measure, before he slowly pulls himself from you. It feels like you have lost your sense of legs, they shake under you with a heavy tremble and you wonder if you are even able to walk right now.

Roman smiles, helping you a moment as he turns you back to him and wraps his arms around your waist. His lips met yours and he kisses you deeply before pulling from it, allowing himself a moment to simply look at your features. This man adores you, with every fiber of his being.

"I'm proud of you." He comments. "Why?" You ask quietly, gazing up at him. "You didn't need to use your safe word. You went with it." He tells you honestly before he kisses you again. "How about we get you into a hot bath and I order some food?" He suggests, reaching up to touch the side of your face. You smile at him, feeling almost shy about being praised, but it felt good at the same time. Hearing that you have done good, that you have made him proud, it sort of drives you. It keeps you going. It gives you the motivation to care.

"A bath sound good." You state. It wasn't always easy to let someone take care of you, but right now, it felt right. It was going to be a good night and everything in your body told you that. Roman didn't hesitate, he takes your hand and helps you to the bathroom, making sure that you have fresh clothes and a big, clean, fluffy towel to dry off with. You are a good girl, and he was going to make sure you know it. After all, he's not the type of man to slack.

[tsandoll]

boynextdoor in subspace.

this is a post all about how each of the bnd members are when they reach subspace! i was kinda just yapping in this and looked online to see people's experiences with subspace and also just applied my own ideas to this. hope everyone enjoys!

warnings: 18+, sub bnd, subspace

park sungho.

sungho doesn't just submit to you sexually, he also partially submits to you in regular circumstances. he needs to feel very safe and like he can truly rely on you in order to allow this sort of vulnerability with you. honestly, the first time sungho reaches sub space it scares him quite a bit, but it's bound to happen. he reaches sub space randomly, in scenarios that are completely unexpected. it's hard to tell when it will happen because he's unsure also, everything is so new for him since he's used to being more dominant. i do think that sometimes he'll reach subspace if something already happened prior to the session. if he's had a rough day and he really doesn't want to think and he comes to you to make him feel good he may just shut his brain off and slip into subspace.

since he's so used to being dominant and putting himself second, being submissive is not usually in his mind. when he gets the opportunity to be submissive, he wants to give his all to it, he wants to try it fully, but he may get in his own way at times. he tends to fight it at times, when he feels himself getting floaty and dizzy, he’ll have you stop for a moment, telling you that he feels funny. it would be easy to begin to notice him slipping into a light subspace when he has you stop so he can shut his eyes and refocus himself. truthfully, he’s afraid to lose all control like that so he puts up a fight, trying not to give in.

when sungho reaches subspace i feel like he gets a lot quieter overall. he speaks to you in a hushed voice and sometimes he may not speak at all, instead just grabbing at you for support. he feels so euphoric that he can't form the correct words to express anything, so he doesn't really speak much at all. sometimes his subspaces don't only come on during sex and sometimes will be so unexpected that he may get floaty while cuddling up to you after work. i feel like he will often hold onto you in some way, needing to physically know that you’re by his side the whole way through. he keeps his eyes shut a lot during this, allowing himself to fully relax in this feeling. his subspace is scary for him in the first few moments, his feeling of arousal being so intense that he feels like he’s losing it, but it would fade into a sense of calmness very quickly afterward.

sungho can often sleep his subspace off during the night. he’ll enjoy his aftercare in your arms, feeling so much love for you before dozing off to sleep. he’ll wake up with that sense of dizziness still lingering but will almost immediately be almost back to his normal self. when he gets out of his subspaces, he’s always so grateful to you and i feel like he’s just so appreciative of everything that you do for him and for taking care of him a lot.

lee sanghyeok.

riwoo is a submissive person in general if i’ve ever seen one, he’s docile in nature, gentle and sweet at his core. he loves hard and wants to love to the point where he has no regrets. he’s openly willing to be super vulnerable and trusting with you. he can naturally take on submissive roles in every way and he feels very comfortable doing so. i think he slips into subspace quickly and easily; it really doesn’t take much for him to get there and to get there fully. it's rare or him to slip into subspace and it be light and surface level because he usually immediately goes in deep.

he’s devoted to you, outwardly willing to allow you to do whatever you desire to him. he wants to make you happy, and he wants to surrender himself to you as well. riwoo craves intimacy, loving to be close with you and wanting to feel deeply loved. he loves the kind of intimacy where you kiss his belly, kiss all over his face, and hold his hand during sex. he goes into sex fully vulnerable, straight off the bat he is giving himself to you.

riwoo slips so deeply into subspace that he usually goes fully nonverbal, getting floaty quite quickly. his subspace progression is fast, like a switch was flipped. having things set in place to help riwoo communicate during subspace is very helpful to the situation. asking him questions where he can just nod his head and questions that don’t require him to think very hard are so good for him. simplicity is key with him because he’s a simple guy in general. emotional support is also so important for him, praising him and doting on him and being ready to take care of him is so helpful. sometimes you need to ask him how he’s doing or if he needs anything multiple times to actually get an answer from him because he slightly zones out.

he goes into subspace very quickly and i feel like he also comes out of it just as quickly. usually for the rest of the night he isn’t talkative and may doze off quickly, feeling so cozy and safe. once he wakes up in the morning, he’s usually mostly out of it if not fully out of it. he’s pretty easy to deal with when he’s in subspace. he just gets very floaty to where it's like he doesn’t know a single thing, so you have to kinda be the brain for him. he trusts you to do that as well which is why he’s able to become as floaty as he does.

myung jaehyun.

jaehyun is a deeply intimate person, the type to love very hard. during sex he always craves intimate and romantic situations, holding your hand, gripping at your clothes, kissing you while his cock is buried past your walls, things like that. being submissive comes rather naturally to jaehyun so i would say he reaches sub space somewhat quickly. he reaches sub space during more soft and romantic scenarios where he feels like you and him are the only people on the planet. he also can reach subspace in scenarios where you push him to his limits, to the point where he's crying and begging for you.

sex is a vulnerable experience for him, requiring trust and deep companionship from his partner. jaehyun’s emotions also greatly contribute to the overall experience. he's sexually emotional, his heart feeling super full and bursting with love. just being near you and having you there take care of him heightens his feelings of euphoria. he fully gives himself to you, putting his all into you and each sexual exchange. he trusts you very deeply and relies on you heavily. he's given you his heart and allows you to control his pleasure and that's a big deal for him.

while in subspace he tends to babble a lot, his vocal tone being airy and soft. sometimes his behaviors in subspace are a bit hard to recognize because it's not drastically different to how he is with you normally. it's very important to pay close attention to him and check on him often. jaehyun may sometimes ask for things he wouldn't normally want, making requests that are out of the ordinary. he tends to word vomit quite a bit, he'll start talking and it takes a bit for him to stop, even if he's lost his original point long before. since he babbles a lot i feel like having very simple straightforward questions with him will be beneficial. being able to just ask, “what's your color?” to check on him will in a way refocus him while also letting you know how he's feeling. even with something like this though, it's important to pay attention to every part of his body because he may not fully understand how he feels because his feelings of euphoria are so intense.

usually once in subspace jaehyun takes a bit of time to fully get out of this headspace, slowly easing out of it as the time passes. he may be in it for the full day afterwards, the intensity of it slowly wearing off. during this time, he's often very clingy, relying on you more heavily during casual activities. he may need you to do a lot of things for him and to take care of him, but he is so so cute like this. he holds onto you tighter than normal and cuddles into you like he's afraid to lose you.

han taesan.

taesan craves attention and love but is also a guarded person overall. he’s not someone who’s easily very vulnerable, similar to sungho it will take him time to feel safe to be vulnerable. you’d have to slightly convince him and show him that it's okay to trust you and be vulnerable with you. once you convince him to give in, he craves you like never before. i think he’d find himself in subspace more often than expected but he would love the feeling of it.

although taesan may think he's able to fight it and he may think that he's keeping himself afloat he's really not. he's a romantic and he gets into sexual scenes deeply, completely zoning in and spending his time fully present in the moment. i see him entering a light subspace very often, whether wants to or not. he doesn't fall into a deep subspace very often though, that he is able to hold off on. he's needy and requires your attention as a sub, creating that space between the two of you where it's only you and him. when he feels his mind getting all foggy, he embraces the feeling, loving when he can fully zone in on you.

when taesan slips into his light subspaces he feels like he's losing his grip on reality. he feels dizzy, like he'll have a hard time holding himself up if he tried to sit up without help. he'll beg for you a lot, always feeling like he needs more attention from you. he's the most pliant like this, willing to take anything you give him, as long as you take care of him well. when he's in deeper subspace, while it's rare it does still happen. he slips deeply into his subspace, feeling like he's surrendered his life to you. his body grows weak, and all his movements become sluggish. he focuses fully on you, everything around him feels like it stops. if there are any sounds in the room, they'll no longer ring in his ears. he isn't the nonverbal type and also not the type to babble, he's somewhere in the middle. he'll beg and whine for you, sometimes for no reason. 

i get the feeling that taesan can usually pull himself out of his subspace pretty easily for the most part. the only time he really stays in it for a while is when he's gone into a deeper subspace, then he'll need lots of support to help coax him out of it. he needs help physically to do a lot of things and will basically live in your skin for a little while. 

kim donghyun.

leehan loves to give, he loves to take care of you and to be in a position of control. while this is true, i do also think that he is one to do anything for his partner. if it makes you happy then he is very willing to do what you like. on the standpoint of vulnerability though i do think he’d have some issues fully giving in the way that you may expect him to, needing to be guided a bit. he has a tendency to try to be dominant in every situation, so you have to turn him into the perfect sub for you. it's not necessarily easy to get him to slip into subspace, not because he’s guarded or anything, more just because he’s not particularly sensitive within his vulnerability.

he often keeps a sense of dominance with him through everything he does. it isn't impossible to get him to be very submissive, it's just that his mind doesn't ever lose that other side of him. he doesn't fully slip in like some of the other members might because his mind just doesn’t go there. his subspaces tend to be very light, but he goes into them easily because he loves letting you do what you want and letting you be happy taking care of him.

in his subspace leehan is just the cutest thing ever, his eyes telling a million stories. i feel like he talks during his subspace but sometimes it seems like he’s just talking to talk because he sounds so dopey and silly at times. his eyes are super expressive, going all wide and being full of love and adoration for you. he stares at you so much, the gaze in his eyes is almost like he’s never seen you before. he loves your praise and compliments a lot when he feels all floaty, every word that leaves your mouth hits him more intensely like this. he continuously smiles like a fool in love as well, he’s just so pretty and cute like a puppy.

i think the aftercare is pretty mutual with leehan. he loves to crack little jokes and spend this intimate time with you while you help him get all cleaned up. i feel like when he’s in this foggy mind space he’s so silly, laughing at everything and being super smiley. his subspace kinda goes away within a few hours but he loves to spend the whole night cuddling and being super close.