#i know it comes in waves. i have the time of my life and then it crashes. i know. but knowing doesn’t make it easier

[manmuncher777]

Nanami basically has two personalities when it comes to your sex life. Sometimes you might behave certain ways to ensure you get the… treatement you want

Nanami is always a gentle and loving partner, his first priority being you and you well being. This is his soft dom side, pleasure dom even. He loves to worship you, and has no problem doing so. So on those evening where you’ve been so sweet for him, he cant help but lay you out on your shared bed, and give you everything you’ve ever wanted.

“Let me have you darling” he whispers against your neck, kissing the word into your sensetive skin. He’s memorised your skin like a map, permanently burned into his mind. He knows every little spot that makes you shiver and whine. Nipping gently on the spot just against your collarbone that has you quivering under his touch.

“You have me ken.” Your hands clinging onto his skin, trying to tug the shirt off of his toned body, needing to feel him.

“Eager darling?” He chuckles at your rushed hands, pulling the shirt over his head. He’ll let you do that, but other than that, he does all of the work. All for his pretty girl

Stripping you down, laying you on the bed. Eyes trailing over you like it was the last time he was going to see you like this. Savouring every inch of perfect skin he could see.

Wasting no time in kissing his way up you legs, never taking his eyes off of your beatific face, loving to see how he was making you feel. Making his way to where he needed to be.

Planting gentle kisses over your dripping pussy as you mewl beneath him.

“More ken~ please.”

Oh how well mannered you were, who was he to deny such a polite request?

No need to say anything, no wasting time. His tongue quickly finding its way through your folds, slurping up your juices.

Pretty nose bumping against your clit as he fucked you on his tongue, letting you buck your hops and tug on his hair in any way you needed

However, you soon found that Nanami had the ability to change, like the flick of a switch. Of course you were an angel in his eyes, but there were certain occasions where you would push your luck, and he needed to remind you that you were meant to be his well mannered wife, not a little brat.

“Ken~ m’ sorry” you cried out, begging. You had been begging him for hours now, the was no room for you to worry about how pathetic you were being, you didnt care. You just needed him.

“Too late for that my love.” That stern look forcing you into silence.

You had gotten a little bit too spoilt today, and Kento wasnt going to put up with your attitude. So here you were pathetically grinding against his thigh while he had his hands on your hips, stopping you from cumming every time you came close

You were quivering from the overstimulation of being brought to the edge so many times, tears streaming down you pretty face as you husband cooed at you. You had no idea he could be so … harsh. But there was something about his unforgiving attitude that had you craving him even more

“Please ken, m’so sorry. Please- let me cum” You cry out, hips rolling again and again, those waves of pleasure never stopping. The faint build of your orgasm once again.

You couldn’t keep up any more, pausing your hips to give your soaked cunt a moment to recover.

“I don’t recall telling you to stop darling.”

[yeoningz]

CAUGHT BETWEEN THE PAGES ⋆˚࿔ 최수빈

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

⧼ 📖 ⧽ 一 pairing ⸝⸝⸝ professor!choi soobin ✗ student!fem!reader includes ⚬ ⚬ ⚬ beomgyu and yeonjun of tomorrow x together, dino of seventeen, giselle and karina of aespa

genre ⚬ ⚬ ⚬ smut, fluff, porn with plot, comedy

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

[notes.] a rewrite of my first ever fic on tumblr, study night! this is a romanticization of student/teacher relationships where both parties are consenting adults, but it is important to note that these relationships can be problematic in real life due to one parties authority over another's and unstable power dynamics. thank you to @jellymochii, @biteyoubiteme and @beomiracles for proofreading! reblogs and feedback are very appreciated <3 i hope you enjoy!

YOUR LINGUISTICS PROFESSOR embodies everything you find detestable in a teacher. His classes are a monotonous drone of information, devoid of anything exciting or engaging, though that might not be entirely his fault with how boring the subject he teaches is. He rarely deviates from whatever script he had thrown together— no doubt just the night before, from the way he rambles and stutters— and he absolutely refuses to entertain any questions or foster any interesting discussion. He never accepted late assignments or gave any extensions, his tests are ridiculously hard, and he’ll dock points off your assignments for the tiniest, stupidest reasons. Sure, it’s a difficult course, and it’s important to your major, but you swear he seems to take some kind of pleasure in making his students miserable. Each class feels like an eternity, and often you find yourself counting down the minutes until you can escape the insufferable, suffocating atmosphere of his classroom.

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

Maybe it was because you spent your time in his class focusing more on him than any of the words that came out of his mouth. His irritatingly handsome, angular face and his pouty, kissable lips, how he turns red and gapes like a fish out of water when he’s talking himself into a corner or is asked a question he doesn’t know how to answer. His big veiny hands and how they look when he waves them around animatedly, filling your head with thoughts of how they would look caressing your body. His tall, fit body and how he towers over you whenever you come up to him, the way he has to lower his head to look you in the eye, a soldering heat bubbling in your belly from the way he makes you feel so small. The way he loves to pepper his lectures with painfully unfunny dad jokes, and the way he gets all blushy when no one laughs. It makes you cringe, but in some odd way you also find it incredibly endearing. Sometimes you even catch yourself giggling quietly, stupid and u lovesick puppy. You can’t stand to be his student, but you dream at night about being something else to him entirely— it’s a paradox that drives you to detrimental distraction. How can you be so obsessed with someone you loathe? His perplexing combination of qualities was like some kind of mystery you felt compelled to unravel, at the very least to put your own mind at ease.

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

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

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

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

“Miss L/N, what are you doing?”

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

“You keep looking at your lap.” Professor Choi remarks, peering up at you from his spot at the podium with an unamused frown. His thick-rimmed glasses made his pretty brown eyes appear even larger than they already were, blinking up at you like he was studying you through a magnifying glass. “You’re not on your phone, are you? You know I have a no-tolerance policy when it comes to electronics.” [GU1] 

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

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

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

Professor Choi blinks, his magnified eyes raking over your sweating face before trailing down to your bag, clasped protectively in your lap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whoa, what’s up with you?” your friend Beomgyu asks when you walk by him in the hall, backpack and skateboard in hand without a care in the world. “You look live you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Professor!” you yelp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Professor, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”  you reply honestly.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s… it’s about Professor Choi.”

“Our linguistics professor?” Karina cocks her head. “Isn’t he the one you have a massive crush on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Karina and Giselle stare at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something odd flashes in Professor Choi’s eyes and he jerks his head to shoot his friend a deathly glare. He doesn’t seem to notice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Apologize?” Professor Choi’s friend— Yeonjun— butts in, raising an eyebrow. “What happened?”

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

“Wait, Professor—!”

“Have a good night!”

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

“Are you okay?”

“Did you get lost or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Um… alright.” He finally says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Professor—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“T-three!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cant help but giggle at him.

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

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

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

“Will you give me that TA position then?”

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

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

“I know I won’t.”

𝒯O𝔐ORROW X 𝒯O𝒢E𝒯HER 𝒯A𝒢L𝒾S𝒯 ⪼

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[verridaiya]

—Dream Blooms

"I've seen you there, before."

This fic was born from watching Sylus's Abyssal Blossom card and watching my heart break into a million pieces. It hurt, but then I realized you know who hasn't been hurt by it? Sylus.

Based on the prevailing theory/my headcannons that the Abyssal Blossom card was just a dream, brought on by MC's yearning for a normal, quiet life after the events of Beyond Cloudfall chapter 7.

Synopsis: Sylus invites himself over to take care of you while you're sick. You tell him about a pleasant dream of yours and proceed to break his heart. (Or, you dream of something you've dreamt before, and Sylus hears about it for the first time.)

Contains: Spoilers for Sylus's Beyond Cloudfall myth and the Abyssal Blossom card, Sylus x MC/reader, gender neutral MC/reader, angst/hurt (the comfort will come later), current timeline Sylus & MC

Word Count: 1.7k

“I had a strange dream again.”

“Another one, sweetheart?”

Sylus’s voice is a soft murmur above you. You open your blurry eyes to a darkened room and a pleasantly warm body under you, wrapped around you. Your head feels as hazy as the moonlight filtering in from the cloudy night sky through the window. Half-awake and half asleep, you can still feel the sensations of your dream like phantom memories. You hum an affirmation, shaking off the vestiges of a medicine-induced sleepiness.

You’re not quite sure how you found yourself in this position: sprawled out on your couch, nestled between a warm blanket and an even warmer Sylus, breathing in the scent of him through your admittedly stuffy nose. The last thing you remember was you laying collapsed on your bed, trying to convince yourself that you’re not sick, you’re just tired from a long week at the Hunter’s Association, and to muster up the energy to find something to eat. And then, suddenly, there was Sylus, filling your doorway as he had filled every part of your life, your thoughts, and now your dreams.

You’ve been having more of those recently, ever since you absorbed the power of another Aether Core almost a year ago. Reality intertwining with illusions, the people in your life woven intricately into a tapestry of dreams. Fragments of memories, glimpses of things that could never be, or never was. Flashing scales underneath glistening waves. Zayne, in a flowing robe you’ve never seen on him before, but looked so right on him. A silent forest, illuminated by starlight. You would wake up yearning for something just out of reach, hands outstretched to capture the essence of something that slips, incorporeal, through your fingers.

This dream was gentle, though. And this time, your hands didn’t need to reach far to grasp the heart of your dreams.

“You were in it this time, Sylus.”

“Oh?” he says, sounding intrigued. “Do tell, kitten.”

You hear him place something on the coffee table—his phone, probably—his attention shifting solely to you. He carefully moves to his side, extricating himself from under you, a large hand propping his head up so he can fully face you.

The soft moonlight illuminates on his face, throwing it into relief. Silvery hair threaded with shadow, a pale complexion half shrouded in darkness, eyes like banked hearths warming you with its glow. Through the haze of your fever, you can almost envision what you saw in your dream. You lift a hand pat his soft hair, as if searching for something that wasn’t there, before trailing your fingers down the side of his face.

“You had something on your head.” No, not exactly on his head. You can’t quite remember. The you in the dream was certain that the something was more a part of him than anything else. You frown slightly. The more you strain to remember the details of it, the more awake you became, and the more it danced out of your grasp. “Something sharp and twisting. Rough. It was beautiful, though. You were beautiful.”

Sylus stares at you with wide eyes you couldn’t decipher in your current state. There’s a spark of something foreign in his eyes.

“And?” he urges on, his deep voice uncharacteristically eager to your ears. He reaches to grab the hand that was holding his face, pressing it gently to him. His thumb rubs against the back of it in small soothing motions. “Can you tell me more about this dream of yours, kitten?”

You grasp at the cotton inside your head, stuffy from sleep and sickness. It takes so much effort, to tease apart the strands and find the wisps of fading dreams. It doesn’t help that you were also fighting off the drowsiness. You try, though, to give him what he’s asking for, as he always does for you.

“We were standing in a lovely field of flowers. They were breathtaking, Sylus. Such a vivid, dazzling red. There was a black spire in the distance, I think.” The spire had stood tucked away in the backdrop of rolling hills, but it was a small detail your mind was stuck on for some reason.

Thinking about that spire again, your mind can almost conjure a clear image of your dream. A lingering feeling of déjà vu washes over you, settling heavy on your chest. You’ve dreamt this before; you feel this with every bone in your body as an unshakeable fact. You’ve seen this obsidian spire before, this sprawling flower field. You know with startling certainty that you’ve had this exact dream before. But when you try to recall when, the feeling dissipates and leaves behind only a phantom sensation and an absence in your memory you cannot comprehend.

Sylus watches as you shake away the remnants of déjà vu. Your brow furrows. You’ve come to be accustomed to his intense stares through the months you’ve known him, but this one was… strange. It was as if he was trying to look deep into the fabric of your soul, even without the use of the Aether Core in his eye. His face remains a blank and indecipherable mask, leaving you with no indication of what he’s thinking of. You wanted to know what was going on in that unfathomable mind of his.

Longing. Trepidation. Yearning, a yearning that aches and makes you want to answer its call. You become distantly aware of emotions trickling into you that weren’t your own. You didn’t realize you were resonating with Sylus until he severed it, the hand holding yours shifting to catch your wrist instead. He leans down to brush his soft lips against it before letting your hand rest gently on your stomach.

“How about you recover from your fever first before you use your evol, sweetie.” He laughs softly, the red-gold brilliance of your evols intertwined fading from your hands.

“Oh, sorry.”

His presence in your mind and by your side was so natural that you weren’t even aware of when you began resonating with him. It seemed like your body responded to your desires even while your mind lagged behind. That brief glimpse into him enabled you to decipher that emotion in his eyes, though you struggle to make sense of it.

It was hope.

“Never apologize to me. What else do you remember?” he asks quietly, before you can puzzle over it further.

You close your eyes, willing the memories of the fleeing dream forward. The golden light of a setting sun. The crisp cold of mountainous air. The feeling of being the only two creatures in the world. And, inexplicably, the feeling of home.

“We were up in the air flying, somehow, before we landed in that blossoming. It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I felt like I was in a whole other world. When I turned around to look at you, I saw you sitting there amongst the flowers. Red, like shining rubies. Red like-” you pause, the words at the tip of your tongue. A silhouette appears in your mind’s eye, before it sinks back into the void.

“Red, like rich wine,” you finish, though you know that’s not what you had wanted to say.

When he said nothing, you continued on. “I decorated you with those flowers. We were so carefree, unworried and relaxed. It was just us, no one else, in the valley that was our playground. I think I was teasing you, or maybe you were teasing me. You said something about seeing the other side of things, something taunting. We ended up play-fighting, rolling around and sending petals up in the air.”

You smile, the warmth of the dream enveloping you.

“It felt so real.” You wanted it to be real, this lovely lush field and this gorgeous, monstrous Sylus.

Monstrous?

Startled out of your reverie, you blink open your eyes. No, there is nothing monstrous about Sylus. Not anymore, not since those first few nights that you’ve met him so long ago. Shaking your head slightly to dispel the thought, you turn your head to glance at him, realizing he hasn’t spoken in a while.

His eyes are closed, brows furrowed and drawn tightly together. You’ve seen this expression on his face before, briefly, when he struggles to heal a particularly nasty wound. His body is so tense when you reach out to him, muscles taut and rigid beneath your fingers. You’re not quite sure he’s even breathing.

“Sylus?”

At your prompting, Sylus sucks in a breath through his teeth and exhales. He opens his eyes and your breath catches. Rich garnet eyes glow in the darkness, twin wine-dark seas drowning in sorrow, regret. Agony.

It is so at odds to the sweetness of your recounted dream that alarm shot through you, temporarily driving away the sleepiness. Seeing the pain in his eyes unsettled you; it didn’t belong on his face at all. Your sluggish brain tries to make sense of what you could have said to have garnered this reaction. Did you say something wrong? Your chest tightens at the thought of hurting him with your words, somehow. You begin to prop yourself up.

Sylus stops you with one gentle hand, pushing you to lay back down. He silently regards you, the silence between you stretching into something delicate.

There are so many things you want to say, to ask and to comfort. Sylus was never one to let his emotions show as openly as they are right now. You want to ask what was wrong, take back your silly little story if all it gave him was pain, even if you didn’t understand why.

But through the jumble of your fever, all that came out of your tired mouth was, “It was just a dream, Sylus.”

He quietly watches you for a few breaths longer. Slowly, he lifts a hand to gently caresses your cheek, holding you as if you were something as fragile as a memory. Leaning down, he brushes his lips against your forehead, soft as a butterfly’s wings, as the petals of a phantom flower.

“You’re right,” he says, with a grief you cannot fathom.

“It was just a dream, sweetheart.” His voice is barely a whisper. “It can be nothing more than a dream.”

[bluetooththereptile]

The original

(Yandere batman x male reader)

( English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes in the following text.)

Idea from this post.

"Alfred, you never mention why the fourth bedroom is always locked" Dick commented as he helped chop vegetables, the young boy had yet to adjust to life in the large Manor and was curious about everything, the kid was too busy to notice the shoulders of the older man tensing at the mention of the locked bedroom, yet he didn't reply, maybe if he pretended to not hear what the boy had said he'd drop the question?- "I mean it's so random that a master bedroom on the second floor is locked out of nowhere" Well apparently the answer was a no.

Alfred sighed as his grip on the pan's handle tightened "You know, master Richard..." he started, his voice faltering as he looked at the sauce simmer "Sometimes we can not let go of the past" he continued, unsure how to explain this "Is it Bruce's parents bedroom?" Dick asked, now feeling rather awkward "No, it is not..." but before Dick could ask something else about the bedroom the old man quickly added "I will tell you in time"

"Thank you Alfred" You grunted softly as your trembling fingers flipped through the piles of papers before you, not turning back to see the older man put a warm cup of tea on your large desk. You sniffled, the clogged nose giving you a headache and your sore eyes throbbing as you sifted through the never-ending bank notices were no help. With a sigh you blew on your injured knuckles to soothe the ache in them, the ointment was making the wounds itch more, looking through the papers "Good lord, when will it end?" You groaned, rubbing your eyes.

"Give it some time master Y/N, you can not bear the calculations of everything when you are battling the flu right after a fight" Aflred spoke as he put his hand on your sore shoulder "Why don't you go and stay with your aunt? I'm sure master Bruce will appreciate the change of scenery, he needs it, you need it" after your parents death you two had become reclusive in your own ways, Bruce had locked himself up in his bedroom, and you had drowned yourself in work and fighting off criminals.

"I can't Alfred, not when the bank notices are pouring in, I need to save this sinking ship or we'll lose everything" Your frustration was evident as you drank the whole cup in one motion, not caring about the burn that slid down your throat "But if it helps I'll send Bruce to her, he can play with Elijah or his cousins" you waved your hand in the air, not looking back. "Master Y/N?" "Hmm?" You finally looked up to meet the butler in the eyes, taking in his worried gaze "What is it?" You asked again as you tapped your foot against the hard cold floor of the study that once belonged to your father.

"Master Bruce had the chance to ease himself by being vulnerable" the older man started "He cried and spent days in his bed holding your mother's blanket, and I can say he feels better after doing so, the initial grief has washed out of his system if only a little" "Well that is good news" your gaze went back to the papers "But what about you?" At hearing that you flinched.

"What do you mean by that?" You spoke, your hoarse sickly voice taking a sharper edge, you were more anxious these days and it didn't help that others could see your vulnerability. "You haven't been able to come to terms with your loss Master Y/N." You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose "Alfred please-" "No, listen to me for a moment Master Y/N, for the past year you haven't been able to sit down for a moment and take everything in, you only have been on the run from your own emotions-" "Alfred!" "Your parents died when you were away for college-" "I said-" "And now you come back to an empty home with a reclusive brother and a mountain of your parents' debt and their legacy barely keeping up" "You-" "You have been doing nothing but leaving late and coming back bloodied and bruised, God knows what you do at night!-" "I said stop it!-" "You are killing yourself like this!" "STOP!"

Frustrated, you stood up from your chair, the familiar sting of tears "Just let me be" Alfred sighed as he watched you storm out of the office, following the familiar route of your bedroom, slamming the door behind yourself only to slide down behind the door, looking to the corner where the bin of your bandages sat and let out a shaky sigh "What have I done to deserve this?" You mumbled to yourself, at 19, you were not even old enough to drink, and yet they had shoved the titanic legacy of the Wayne family in your arms, with the responsibility of caring for a traumatized child, with your parents being gone, it was too much, your body ached, your skull throbbed with each heartbeat, you hoped you'd die that night, or else you'd end things by the morning, "Someone help me..."

"So...Bruce had a brother?" Dick asked as he ate his food in the kitchen as Alfred skinned the apples he'd use for the night's apple pie. It was their routine when Bruce would leave for work on the weekends and with the dining room being too large for just a boy eating on his own, Dick had come to eat by the kitchen island, plus being with Alfred wasn't that bad either.

"Yes," Alfred replied with a nod as he moved the knife against the skin of the red apples in his grip "Oh so that explains the picture of the lanky tall teenager in the family photos..." Dick paused mid-chew before he asked, "What happened to him?" "We don't know" "Did he die or flee or-" "We don't know" "Oh..." Dick knew from that glare from the old man that he was treading on thin eyes. So he sipped on his orange juice to muster up more courage as he wetted his throat "Uh...how was he like?"

"He..." Alfred trailed off as he stopped using the knife, staring at the bowl of the dough, his gaze trailing to the towel on top of the resting pastry "He was an intelligent boy" "More than Bruce?" A soft sad chuckle left the butler "Bruce was more analytical than him, he...he was more of a hands-on matter person, I can say they were geniuses in their own ways, he was an aspiring engineering student, most of the structure of the cave beneath the Manor was designed by him"  "Wow" Alfred sighed as he continued "He was rather hot-headed, and sometimes needed guidance managing his emotions, but he was a very responsible person...Master Thomas was proud of having such a son..." his voice shook a little.

"Oh..." Dick looked outside the window as the birds flew by "Did Bruce love him?" "A lot, we all did" he sighed as he went back to skinning the browning apple's flesh "He was a lively boy, in fact, Master Bruce's interest in martial arts came from interacting with him for the first years of his life" the two of them fell into a charged silence, Dick wanted to ask more but he could not.

"You have changed haven't ya?" The old man smirked as he was pinned to the wall by the powerful dark hand of the dark knight himself, blood dripped from his nose as he chuckled, his gray eyes narrowing "When we first met your punches hurt more, maybe it's because of getting older or something?" Batman didn't reply as he held up the oldest thug of the group he had just tackled, usually, he would have knocked him out with a punch and retreated to shadows as the police would come to collect them but this one, this one had struck a very raw nerve that he had thought was left untouched for a long time "Eh? Maybe you changed places or something? I remember you were taller? I mean who forget the silhouette of the asshole that sent me to change 20 years ago?" He sneered before he scoffed "What you are going to do then? Lock me up for another 10 years or something?" But before he could taunt the dark knight again he was thrown onto the ground of the dark alley as Batman heard the sound of the sirens coming, meeting his fate in the hands of the police officers.

"A taller...more aggressive Batman..." Bruce mumbled to himself as he looked down the city as the never-dying stream of cars moved beneath his feet as he stood by the gargoyl of the building he was upon, his lips tight "Batman..." he repeated "Without robin" his gaze fell to his empty gloved hand, watching as the droplets of rain fell onto the material of it and slid down "Alone...", the sound of the old gramophone in his father's  study filled his ears from the depth of his memory, Chopin, it was, he could easily remember, the form of the young man humming to himself as he tapped his ruler on the desk while he looked at the details before him "Y/N..."

"Y/N-" "GET OUT!" Your pained shout startled Bruce as Alfred pushed your dislocated shoulder into place "Master Y/N, he only wants to help-" you turned to Alfred with a scowl "If he hadn't interfered none of this would have happened! I told you to stay inside the car, I told you to not come out! He could have killed you!" You slammed your fist on the table to stop yourself from yelping in pain as Alfred put the bone back into its socket, you were sure you were drawing blood from how much pressure you were applying on your lips, the coppery taste of blood was a testament to it.

"I told you to stay inside Bruce, you pleaded with me and I let you come, you were going to lock the doors from inside and stay PUT!" You hissed "Damn this bloody idea of Robin!" He turned to Alfred "You put this idea into his mind!" Your head snapped back towards the shrinking boy behind your cape on the table "I work alone, remember that Bruce, I don't need your help! The best you can do right now is study and don't cause trouble! Fuck! Why does it hurt so much?!"

You didn't know this moment was engraved inside the young Wayne's memory, the sheer helplessness, guilt, and frustration of it all, it all engraved into his mind.

"I think the scowl runs in the family" Jason teased with a chuckle before he shrugged carelessly when Damian scowled at him "Are you making fun of my uncle?" The boy crossed his arms "No, I'm making fun of you, Bruce and your uncle" Damian was about to punch Jason in the face when Tim finally looked up from his computer "Found it!" Everyone leaned in as Tim started speaking "Weirdly, I couldn't find an article on him since he was a Wayne and the media ate up anything related to families like that..." he hummed as he tapped his chin, before looking up at everyone who were curious about this revelation.

"I shouldn't have said that" Dick groaned as he paced around, already regretting the fact that he had told everyone about Bruce's older brother, which was a very sensitive topic for both Bruce and his butler, but he couldn't help himself, not when everyone was worried about Bruce being broody every year on this particular day, everyone knew when it came to the old bat's yearly anniversary of his parents' death he'd get broody and would be alone on his patrols, but it was strange for them why he'd be like this in this day as well, and Dick had opened his wide mouth and had told them about the lost Wayne and the original Batman, DAMMIT!

"So, basically we have a taller Bruce?" Stephanie shrugged as she checked out the picture in the old magazine article "No, actually, he seems different, I mean, sure the general Wayne scowl and stuff are there but..." "He seems of bad reputation" Duke continued Tim's explaining as he read the article "Unlike the image  Bruce portrays today, you know, the careless playboy, this one had a reputation for being a "snappy brat" Duke continued "I mean I'd snap at the paparazzi if I were him too" Jason shrugged "Oof there is even an account of him being charged with assault on a person when he had literally ripped the camera off of a journalist and had broken it" Duke winced "Like uncle like nephew" Jason sang which made Damian narrow his eyes. "But it seems he at least had a very good sense in buying stocks, 60 percent of the shares Wayne Corp now has had been bought by him" Tim hummed as he typed.

"But what happened to him?" Cassandra finally spoke, "No one knows, some people say he fled to an island like most bratty rich boys do that don't like to be in the eyes of the public, some say he died of overdose, and yada yada..." "That's strange...I mean, why doesn't Bruce speak about it though?" "I don't know...."

"Don't let me go!" You pleaded urgently as you tried to hold onto the hands of the young boy who had come to help you in one of your patrols, albeit let's be honest Bruce had snuck into your vehicle wearing a dark body suit, "I'm trying!" Bruce replied as he desperately held the hand of his brother, but his grip was weak compared to the powerful suctioning wind of the blue whirlpool of energy that had opened out of nowhere when a thug had thrown an ancient vase at them.

"Bruce!" You panted as you desperately tried to move to hold onto something else before suddenly a pole that had come out of its place swung in your direction with full force "Oh shit-!" You let go of Bruce's hand to save him before the pole hit you, rendering you unconscious. Bruce's scream of despair was lost through the commotion of everything happening, watching your bloodied face for the last time as your body went into the eye of the energy field before it died down. "Nooooo!" Bruce fell to his knees, without his family, in an alleyway, for the second time. 

"So you are telling me this artifact is actually an alien portal field?" Batman tapped his finger on his arm as he heard what the Martian Hunter was explaining about the remnants of the vase he had gathered decades ago. "Where did you find this Batman?" The alien asked the dark knight but received no reply as Batman contemplated something "You know how they work?" Batman asked "Well, I do not know myself, but I know someone who knows how these work, it's a very ancient method, not so many people use it"

So there was a way!

Tags:

@presleyamos @skullcrawler

[dulcescorderitas]

05

parings: married!deanwinchester x married!reader (+ sam)

synopsis: cooking

the kitchen was already a disaster. flour dusted the countertops like a crime scene outline, and a bottle of olive oil had tipped over, creating a slick, shimmering puddle on the wooden surface. the smell of garlic and onions filled the air, mingling with the sharp tang of burnt something—probably whatever dean had been in charge of.

"i told you, babe, this is why takeout exists," dean grumbled, flicking a piece of raw chicken at you. it hit your arm with a cold, wet slap.

"jesus, dean!" you yelped, shoving him in the chest. he barely budged, just grinning like an idiot, dimples and all.

"you two are impossible," sam muttered, rolling his eyes as he expertly diced an onion. his knife skills were alarmingly precise, which only made dean more suspicious.

"yeah, okay, gordon ramsey, we get it, you know how to cut shit. but can you do this?" dean attempted to twirl a knife between his fingers, only for it to slip and clatter onto the floor. you sighed. sam sighed louder.

"real smooth," you muttered, picking up the knife before dean could impale himself. "if we actually wanna eat tonight, maybe we should focus."

"focus is for nerds," dean declared, leaning over to steal a sip from your beer. you smacked his hand away.

"you have your own, dumbass."

"yeah, but yours always tastes better. kinda like how you always steal my fries."

sam ignored the both of you, setting the chopped onions into a sizzling pan. the butter hissed, and for a moment, it actually smelled promising. that moment passed quickly.

dean, having been left in charge of seasoning the chicken, had apparently gone feral with the spice rack. the second the pieces hit the heat, an acrid, eye-watering cloud of burnt paprika and chili powder filled the room.

"oh, hell no," you coughed, waving a hand in front of your face. "dean, what did you put in there?"

"i dunno, some of that red shit," he answered, barely concerned, peering into the pan as if offended that his creation wasn’t behaving properly. "it looked right."

"you just threw in spices like you were summoning a demon, didn’t you?" sam accused.

"hey, if i was summoning anything, it’d be a pizza delivery guy, ‘cause this ain’t workin’." dean grabbed the pan handle, but immediately hissed and dropped it back onto the stove. "son of a—who the hell made this pan lava-proof?"

"it's called heat, dumbass," you snorted, but the joke was cut short when the smoke alarm started blaring.

"aw, come on!" dean groaned, grabbing a towel to fan the smoke away. "we got this under control!"

"do we?" sam asked dryly, as you rushed to open a window. the sound was piercing, and it was only a matter of time before someone (probably a very annoyed neighbor) complained.

"alright, screw this," you said, tossing the ruined pan into the sink with a dramatic clatter. "i'm calling it—pizza and beer."

"now we're talkin’," dean grinned, already reaching for his phone. "see, this is why i married you. you get me."

"yeah, yeah, just order before i change my mind and make you eat the chicken."

sam just shook his head, stepping around the mess as if it personally offended him. "i swear, cooking with you two is like watching a disaster movie in slow motion."

"yeah, but we make it look good, right?" dean winked at you, still smug despite the failure.

"you know what else looks good?" dean leaned in, voice dropping into a husky murmur. "you, bent over this counter, covered in flour, with me showing you how to properly handle raw meat."

"oh my god," sam groaned, throwing down the spatula. "can we go ten minutes without you turning everything into a porno?"

"hey, i'm just saying, cooking’s a very sensual activity. lotta kneading, lotta poundin—"

"i will stab you," you deadpanned, brandishing a fork. "not in the fun way."

sam rubbed his temples like he was reconsidering every life choice that led him here. "i don't get paid enough for this."

"you don't get paid at all," dean shot back. "you just hang around, all tall and judgy, pretending you don’t enjoy our company."

"it's not pretending if it's true," sam muttered.

"see, babe?" dean turned back to you, grinning. "this is why you gotta appreciate me more. i'm the fun brother."

"you're something, alright," you muttered, shaking your head.

finally, after much more unnecessary bickering, the pizza arrived. beers were popped open, and the three of you collapsed onto the couch, the kitchen a war zone of spices, flour, and regret.

"y'know," dean said around a mouthful of pizza, "we should do this again sometime."

"we absolutely should not," sam and you answered in perfect unison.

and that, of course, just made dean laugh harder.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @sunnyteume

[malewifeharem]

ok but imagine sylus with a tongue piercing... why havent i seen any posts on this mdni nsfw. not proofread. fem mc

your breath hitches as you feel the cold metal of his piercing come into contact with your inner thigh. your legs are gently but firmly kept in place over his shoulders. "fuck... sy, quit teasing already..." your body feels like its been set on fire. you can feel your juices pooling between your legs and dripping onto the sheets below but you couldn't care less right now. all you can think of is the heavenly sight before you - the way you have the most wanted man in linkon - the leader of onychinus, looking absolutely debauched and feral all for a taste of you. "patience, kitten." his voice is deep and commands your obedience, and you find yourself holding back from pushing his head down nose-deep into your cunt already. he lets out an amused chuckle at the way your hips jerk up - desperate and mindless, your body betraying your mind. this is torturous, even for him - but good god, seeing you all pliant and squirmy had to be the hottest thing he's ever seen. one of his hands lets go of your thigh to slowly trail up your torso before finally giving your breast a squeeze. at the same time, sylus's head dips down to give your clit a lick, relishing in the way you immediately make your relief well-known with a loud moan. "f-fuck... oh- sylus!" your hand grabs a fistful of his hair and tugs it towards your pussy - unable to hold back the hunger for more pleasure. more of him. ever eager to please, he doesn't deny it to you. he plunges straight in - lapping up your juices as if his sole purpose in life was to satisfy you. (it is) if you weren't lost in ecstasy right now, you'd be able to see the small smirk on his face - so smug at the way he has you unraveling all for him. the contrast between the feeling of his smooth, chilling ball piercing and warm, wet tongue sends you reeling. his sharp and thick nose kisses your poor swollen clit perfectly, rubbing it just the way you needed every time you grinded against his face. "i can feel you tightening around my tongue, sweetie... does my piercing feel good, hm?" sylus says in between bated breaths - unintentionally blowing hot air onto your sloppy messy cunt. "f-fuck, sylus...! ohmygod-"

you feel an all-too familiar knot in your stomach creeping up rapidly, ready to burst at any moment.

through your teary vision and hazy mind, you notice your boyfriend's own fucked-out look - with your slick coating his entire mouth, dripping down his chin - as if he could care about that when he had a feast splayed out right in front of him. "gonna hah- c-cum... sy! 's too much- ngh- i...!" when your legs start to shake and you subconsciously move away from his tongue, you feel the constricting strings of his evol pull you back down - not letting you escape. "where do you think you're going, kitten? ngh- don't run away now..."

your eyes squeeze shut and your jaw hangs wide as you feel your orgasm crashing over - so hard and violent - you think you might not make it out alive. spurts of syrupy cum gushes out of your pussy and sylus is there to lick it all up - letting you ride out the waves of pleasure.

only when you push his head away does he stop, letting you catch your breath. when you finally come to, you notice the wet splotch on the crotch of his pants - did he really...?

"sweetie... if you keep staring, i won't be able to control myself anymore. can you bare the consequences?"

"haah... yes," you almost whine - your own hunger to please him not satisfied.

the clinking of his belt followed by the sound of his belt unzippping has you anticipating for what comes next even more - sending tingles of excitement straight to your greedy cunt.

"let me know when you're too tired to go on, pretty girl." he coos gently despite his filthy words.

"because we still have a long way to go before my hunger for you is satiated."

[girl-lostconnection]

Hello!!!

I’ve been reading your works for a while and I’m hyperfixating adore you’re writings! So I saw this Red Bull ad during the Super Bowl and the penguin reminded me of Soap. Could I please humbly request hybridpenguin!Soap x reader fluff/comfort/romance/head canons anything really. I think you can bring this idea to life :3

It’s your lucky day cause I’ve been watching “Good luck Chuck” and there are some penguins that caught my eye. So I’ve been thinking about it whole day, googling penguins because I honestly don’t know much about them.

I chose Adelie Penguin for Soap because the blue-eyed stare this birds have is perfectly uncanny (I urge you to google them, they stare right in your soul) and also, they have very interesting courting rituals.

Also the wiki page for them said, I quote: “Despite their size, Adélie penguins are known for their bold and boisterous personality and will challenge other animals, including predators far larger than them.” And that reads like canonical Soap, because yeah, he would. Bold personality is right up this man’s alley.

But imagine hybrid Adelie Penguin!Soap and human Reader where he tries so fucking hard to court you properly but you don’t know jackshit about courting methods.

Male Adelie Penguins offer female penguin the perfect stone, polished to perfection, they spend quite some time looking for the best one and once found — they present it as a courting gift. It depends purely on the female penguin whether to accept courtship or not.

But if she does they can start mutual courting involving leaning closer to each other, grooming each other, familiarising with how each other sound — it helps them later to find the mate in the big crowd.

So Soap knows that maybe it would have been better to go with flower or something more conventional but he likes you, god, he really does. So there’s no harm in looking for a pretty stone for a pretty you, right?

Right?

Man spends his whole leave on Scotland’s shores, practically on all fours as he picks up decent stones, washes and polishes them at home before throw them all out because no. All wrong. Not prettty enough, not smooth enough, not shiny enough.

No mate would accept a shite like that, why would he even bring this ugly thing to your attention? What kind of potential mate would he be?

He returns to his searches even more determined. Soap will be damned if he comes back and he still doesn’t have a perfect stone for you.

And finally, luck smiles at him and dedication pays off — the perfect prettiest little stone he has ever seen. Smooth from cold waves, shiny in a way that makes you want it touch again and again, perfectly round. No ridges or bumps, no sharp edges or cracks.

Perfect stone for perfect you.

He returns feeling victorious and on top of the world and presents you with a stone without a second word. Quite literally he just extends his hand and there lies the stone. He doesn’t say anything, he’s just waiting for your reaction

And you have no fucking idea what’s going on, because the man is staring you in the eyes with his ungodly blue eyes and a little stone on his palm and you’re like…okay?:,) alright?🥹

So you take the stone to look closer (Soap tenses up like you have his heart in your hands, eyes hungry on you, still waiting for your reaction) and truth be told, it is a really nice stone. Shiny and smooth and perfectly polished. The kind of stone you’d want to fumble with all day, just rolling through the palm, massaging the center of your palm with it as you work.

It is a bloody lovely stone. You really like it.

But Johnny is not saying it, still watching you with the same hungry look, it’s just that now his grin is widening slowly because you look like you really like the stone. He did a good job, right? There’s no way you found his courting gift lacking.

And it is a perfect stone but the thing is…you don’t know if it’s a gift to you or if penguin part of Soap is simply showing off (crow!Simon does similar things when he brings you shiny stuff). So you don’t know if you are at liberty to keep the shiny pebble.

And Johnny is still completely fucking silent watching you with bated breath.

You carefully place the stone back in his palm, murmuring softly that it’s a very lovely stone, it looks incredible and you think it is absolutely gorgeous.

Soap stares at the stone for a few very long moments, his grin slowly fading because…don’t- don’t you like the stone, hen? You just said it’s gorgeous, but you are giving it back. Why are you giving it back?

He stares at the stone, absolutely crest-fallen in the face because he was so sure you’d like it. He was so proud of it and so excited to give it to you and of course there is no pressure for you to take it, after all it’s gift for you and you shouldn’t just settle for things.

But still.

What was wrong with it? Was there a crack he didn’t notice or is the texture of it not to your liking? Maybe you prefer sharper stones, maybe you like some roughness to them?

He looks back at you, feeling upset and anxious, stone still in hand while you try to gauge what the hell caused the reaction. Because Johnny is looking at you like you just kicked him in the stomach and you don’t know why.

“Ye didnae like it, hen?”, he swallows his pride and asks because obviously, you didn’t, what kind of fucking question is that. Mate just returned his gift back to him, means that gift is not up to standards.

You blink at him slowly, because what is he even talking about.

“I liked it. It’s really pretty. Where did you get it?”, you try to steer conversation away, since maybe there’s something you don’t seem to get about the stone.

“Why- ye didnae take it”, Soap’s voice is unusually soft, as he tilts his head to the side, stone clutched in his hand as some anxiety bleeds out of him.

Maybe he can still salvage it.

“Was it for me?”, the question leaves him now being the one who gives you a slow blink, before his gears kick in, realisations slowly creeping up his head. So that’s what was wrong.

“Aye”, stone returns to your palm, gets pressed into it by Johnny’s — warm and smooth — your heart skipping a beat. “If ye like it, Ah’d be happy if ye took it. But ainlie if ye like it, hen”

There’s a weight to this moment that you aren’t sure you capture fully but there’s something in Soap’s eyes that makes your fingers intertwine with his, head leaning closer to him. You are so close you can see the tiniest freckles on his cheeks.

Pretty.

“I really like it”, admitting it feels like you are ten again and sharing a silly secret with a boy you like, but Johnny looks at you like he couldn’t be happier.

His throat bobbing when you lean in closer, small shiver going down his spine because it’s really happening. His gift is accepted, his mate is accepting him — holding his hand, leaning into him, looking at him like that.

Best day of his life, truly.

So he presses a short tight kiss to your temple and nods at you like there is a shared understanding between you two now. Like you are partners in crime.

Soap practically jogs away, excitement evident in every step, shoulders spread out proudly. He fucking did it. He got the perfect stone for perfect you and you accepted it.

Now, the courting can really begin.

(It will take you an evening of google searches before you understand the meaning of the stone and why the hell, Soap is helping with your hair routine/skin care routine/nail polishing and even offers to “wash with the penguin, save the water, hen”)

[littlelamy]

hi hi im the one who sent in this request and it was soooo cute and amazing!! 🫶🏼 https://www.tumblr.com/littlelamy/774574917885870080/thinking-about-rafe-being-more-involved-with

thinking about how rafe comes up with excuses to come and pick up his niece from school too nervous to ask reader out (which is rare for him) maybe his niece teasing him when he comes to pick her up and says something like “do you have a crush on my teacher?” (insert rafe nickname that sarahs niece has for him) and maybe reader overhears and the next time he sees her he has the courage to ask her out for coffee or something

lamy's note: i'm thinking of making a moodboard for teacher!reader 🤔 lmk if you want to see that!!!

the school parking lot is full of minivans and suvs, parents lingering in small clusters, making conversation as their kids race toward them, backpacks bouncing. rafe cameron stands out.

not just because he rolls up in his truck like he owns the place, but because he’s here. again. picking up his niece when he knows damn well sarah and john b could do it. hell, even kiara had done it once. but here he is, gripping the steering wheel, heart hammering against his ribs like he’s about to do something much more dangerous than escorting an eight-year-old home.

he spots her before she spots him. his niece, grinning ear to ear, waving wildly as she skips toward him. rafe barely has time to step out of the truck before she launches herself at him.

“you’re early this time!” she says, hands on her hips like she’s scolding him.

rafe smirks, ruffling her hair. “yeah, yeah. figured i’d beat the rush.”

she eyes him, suspicious. “you figured or you wanted to see ms. y/l/n?”

rafe freezes. caught.

his niece giggles, eyes gleaming with pure mischief. “do you have a crush on my teacher, uncle rafey?” she sing-songs, loud enough to make his stomach drop.

rafe glances around like it might save him. and of course—because the universe clearly hates him—you’re standing a few feet away, close enough to have heard every damn word.

shit.

he watches as you bite back a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. his niece is still grinning up at him like she’s just won the lottery. he clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “uh, go get your stuff,” he mutters, nudging her toward the car.

she skips off, still giggling, and then it’s just you and him. rafe exhales, shaking his head. “they don’t teach these kids anything about privacy, huh?”

you laugh, and god, he thinks he’d embarrass himself every day if it meant hearing that sound. “she’s got a good intuition, i’ll give her that.”

rafe huffs out a breath, gathering every ounce of his usual cocky confidence. “since i’m already outed, might as well make it count.” he looks at you, really looks at you, and lets the words come out before he can talk himself out of it. “you wanna get coffee sometime?”

there’s a pause, not long enough to make him sweat, but just enough for his heart to stutter. then you smile, tilting your head slightly. “are you asking, or is your niece asking for you?”

rafe laughs, shaking his head. “i’m asking. promise.”

“good,” you say, crossing your arms. “because i would’ve said yes either way.”

rafe grins, and he swears he’s never been this nervous for anything in his entire life. not even when ward used to look at him like he was nothing. not even when he thought he’d never be good enough. but right now, with you smiling at him like he’s already won? yeah. he thinks this might be the best risk he’s ever taken.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx

[mxrtixnzwrld]

What's Wrong w/ Nanami?

Synopsis! you've working for Jujutsu Tokyo for a while now as Nanami's secretary and you're sick of how your schedule leaks into your personal life. you go to quit and nanami isn't havin' it.

Pairing! kento n. x fem. reader

Content. MDNI! office au, ceo. nanami, jealousy, 'work wife' usage, series, piv, proposal, petnames, gojo mention, higuruma mention, intern itadori + more

Word Count! 2.1k

Authors Note! this story is very loosely inspired by 'whats wrong with secretary kim' and it kinda gave cocky nanami so i decided to write my own little version of it as my first series of this page. i'll add tags as i post more chapters of the series but please let me know if you have any recommendations for the series.

You have been working for Mr. Nanami for a couple of years now and finally understood why he was so feared respected by his coworkers. You were hired as an assistant secretary and bound to replace his current secretary.

-

"He's not that bad once you work here long enough.." Shoko mumbled as she exhaled the deep breath of smoke from her cigarette.

"I'm not too worried about it, but what'd Miss Yuki get fired for?" You asked, looking at her as you took a bite of your lunch. Her eyes met yours as she chuckled.

"She had relations with President Gojo, and Nanami found out," Shoko answered for you to pause.

"As long as you keep your head down and do your job, you should be good-" Shoko continued before the door swung open to reveal Kiyotaka.

"I'm sorry to interrupt Miss (name); Nanami would like to see you in his office." He says, walking up to you and Shoko's table. The umbrella above you rustled with the small gusts of wind as you looked at Kiyotaka, annoyed.

"Can it wait a bit? I wanted to finish-"

Before you can get the sentence out, Nanami walks out the door with an irritated look on his face, coming straight towards you. Kiyotaka shrunk and silently snuck away as Nanami got to your table.

"Miss (name). You clearly didn't understand your job description if you are 4 minutes late to a meeting as important as this one." Nanami huffed as he stood before you and Shoko, who mirrored the same look of surprise.

"But sir, my scheduled break is-"

"I can move it back to later. Please pack your things and follow me; it wouldn't look good if I had to fire you your first couple months here for your incompetence." He stated in a calm, chilling tone, making you straighten up and throw your belongings in your bag before standing and waving back at Shoko as you followed Nanami to his meeting.

-

Now, in your years here, you have his schedule down to the letter. You come early to meetings, and he doesn't even have to ask you for daily documents. But the longer you work at Jujutsu Tokyo, the more you realize that your life revolves more and more around your CEO. All of which brings you to your current moment now.

"You're quitting?" Nanami asked as he looked at your resignation letter.

"Sadly, yes, Mr Nanami." You answer, bowing silently as he stares at you in disbelief. You had been the best secretary he's had in a while. Always on time: punctual, you had even stopped to do the little things like fix his suit and run and get his lunch no matter how big the order. All while staying on top of your work with your intern Yuuji Itadori.

"I don't see the issue, sir. You have Itadori to help you with your tasks and-"

"He isn't as experienced as you."

"Well, whip him into shape the same way you did me." You huff, maintaining your tone of respect, causing him to sigh and rest his head in his hand.

"Can you wait until after the company's art gallery opens?" He pinched his nose as his room filled with thick air.

"I suppose.. but after that, I must take my leave." You sigh as he looks up at you.

"Of course; you have until then to train Itadori to be your work clone." He says for your eye to twitch. Getting in your position with Nanami took years, and he expected you to do that all in 6 months?

"I will try my best, sir."

"Good."

You exited his office and softly closed the door before returning to your desk to text Shoko and the Marketing Manager Tsuki about what had just happened.

Nanami slouched in his office. He had just gotten used to you, and you just want to quit? You were the best candidate for the job, but something else pulled at him. You were completely right; he had Itadori, so why couldn't you leave?

He didn't want you to leave.

You were too important to the company.

Too important to him.

No! He sat up in his chair and sighed, focusing back on the pile of paperwork on his desk that seemed to pile up with upcoming events and meetings. Although well spaced out, it was all still so stressful.

His mind wandered and wandered before he reigned it back in. He couldn't think of you as anything more than an employee. An asset to his company... a big asset that he was going to lose if he didn't convince you to stay, and he would have to figure out how. And quick.

–

“Shoko, Mr Nanami would like to see you.” You walk up to the cubicles as eyes turn to you. Childish oo's went over the desks as she stood and chuckled.

“Did he say what for?” She asked for you to shrug with Itadori following you in toe. Ever since that meeting, you made sure to keep Itadori around at all times possible to make sure he got the most information about her job as he could.

You walked through the hallway with sounds of clicking from heels, shoes, and typing, filling the silence as you led Shoko to Nanami’s office, which was covered by a huge door. 

“Good luck, soldier.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m good.” Shoko chuckles as you knock on Nanami’s office door. He replies with a quiet ‘come in,’ causing you to open the door to see Nanami sitting at his desk writing, not even making eye contact with you. Shoko stepped through the door, and you swiftly closed it, sitting back at your desk.

“He seems real intense.” Itadori sighed as you nodded and opened your tabs on the two monitors on your desk to pull up Nanami’s schedule along with your emails.

“He is. That’s kind of the reason I’m leaving..” You sigh as you look at him.

“You seem so good at your job, though! And it seems to pay well.” He says, watching your screen as you go through emails, swiftly replying and occasionally sharing emails.

“The pay is good, but I heard Higuruma is hiring a new secretary for his law firm, and since Jujutsu Tokyo and his law firm are in good connections, I thought it’d be better to move over there.” You explain.

“Is your job hard? I’ve only been here for a month or two, but it doesn’t seem that busy.” Itadori asked. The two of you sit in silence as the sound of your computer fills the area. Nanami wasn't horrible to you when it came to your office. If it was empty, you could snack on something small before your lunch, and your desk was decorated and even had a humidifier that sat on the edge of your desk.

 “It’s not too hard, but it gets in the way… I haven’t been out anywhere in a while, and I don’t like using my PTO unless it’s an emergency. Especially since I’m so close to Mr. Nanami at all times, I usually just go to work and sleep because of his overtime. If he’s in a good mood, I can go home early, but my schedule doesn’t clear up at all.” You rant lowly to the younger man.

“Higuruma’s past secretaries have said that he’s not as bad when it comes to scheduling since his law firm isn’t as big as Jujutsu Tokyo overall.” 

“Do you think I could live up to that? The expectation, I mean.” Itadori asked before you rested a hand on his head. You ruffle his hair and smile at him comfortingly. The job was hard, but with encouragement, it was manageable. The only difference is that when you started, there was no encouragement unless it came from Kiyotaka or Shoko, and it took a while for one of them to even speak to you outside of regular work conditions.

“Of course, you could. If he selected you as an intern, then he sees enough potential for you to be his next secretary.” He smiled and lifted his arm to flex, pulling back his sleeve to show his muscle.

“For you; I’ll do my best!” His optimism always made you smile. It was so infectious. 

You chuckle and make small talk, asking him how he even ended up applying here to this dead-end job.

–

“You asked for me, Nanami?” Shoko asked for Nanami and looked up at her with tired eyes that could pierce someone's soul. He had stayed up the night before, making sure everything was perfect for the concept of an art show. Making sure his pitch and tone were perfect for the upcoming meeting.

“Jeez, you look stressed,” Shoko said with a lopsided smile as Nanami pushed up from his mahogany desk to stand tall. His suit perfectly highlighted his muscular body.

“You’re close with Ms.(name) correct?” He asked, ignoring the informality due to their high school years.

“Close enough.” 

“How would I stop her from quitting?” He asked for Shoko to pause. That was out of the ordinary for him. Nanami, to everyone else, was the type to fire someone at the drop of the hat. Even in scenarios where good secretaries left the company, he was never usually caught up on it and just hired another one. 

“Why, if I may ask, are you concerned about her quitting? Don’t you usually hire a new one?” She asked as Nanami walked around his desk and leaned on it so they could speak face to face. 

“Well… I’ve noticed before she resigned that she was already unmotivated, and she shows a good amount of talent that I haven’t seen in any of my past secretaries.” He explained, knowing that it was only half of the full truth. 

“Well, she doesn’t get out much. She probably feels the way you do since you two basically have the same schedule.” She sighs for Nanami to respond with a pinch of his nose along with a frustrated sigh. 

His office sat silent as the two talked. He knew that he was stressed, but she didn’t do much when they were in the office together. At the most, she fetched paperwork missing from his pile and made sure to inform him of any meetings that were added last minute to his schedule.

“So, give her more days off? She could’ve asked for that any time before that.” He huffed.

“The last time she did, you had an attitude about it, so I guess she decided not to do it after that.” 

“So what should I do?” He asked again

“Well, you can try being more lenient with her. Try to be more nice. Like if I didn’t know you, I would have thought that you’re a no-shit CEO who won’t tolerate any mistake.” She sighed.

“Hmm, I think I came up with something. Thank you for your information, Shoko, please make sure to give Ms.(name) her documents before the end of the work day; I’d rather not have her stay longer than she usually does.” He nods as she nods back. She leaves with a bow, being met with you and Itadori giggling at your desk as the two talk amongst eachother. 

“Ok! Ok! I’ll organize the files the way you showed me.” He laughed as you put him in a playful headlock. 

“What are you two doing?” Shoko asked, getting a gasp from you before you moved away from Itadori.

“Shoko! You scared me!” You say, straightening up in your chair.

“Ms.(name) was just showing me where each file goes, but there are so many I lost track,” Itadori replied.

“Well, you two should tighten up. Nanami seems irritated.” Shoko said for you to nod. She walked back to her cubicle before Nanami came out moments after.

“Itadori, are you good with notes?” He asked Itadori for the boy to scramble to his feet and enthusiastically nodded.

“Good. Ms.(name) take the rest of the day off. I will teach Itadori anything he needs to learn while you are off.” He says calmly, for you and Itadori to look at eachother as if the sky started falling.

“D-Did I do something wrong, Mr.Nanami?” You asked him to shake his head in response.

“Of course not, Ms.(name). You have seemed stressed as of late, so I would like you to take a day off to recuperate; take some time for yourself.” He said for you to look up at him amazed without a sound.

“Wait, Ms.(name)! Before you go, can we exchange numbers, just in case?” Itadori asked for you to smile and hand him your phone. After you exchange numbers, you begin to pack your bag to leave.

What's going on with him?

©mxrtixnzwrld. do not copy, modify, translate, repost any of my work! reblogging is greatly appreciated!!

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[writeriguess]

Omg, your Bakugo fic Heart of Dynamite was so good!! Had me all up in my feels lol.

Here's an idea for you: Fem!reader and Katsuki are good friends and they have undeniable chemistry, but neither have acknowledged it or what it means. But reader get severely injured in a villain attack and ends up in the hospital fighting for her life. Katsuki finally admits to himself that he does in fact love her and desperately pleads for her to wake up so he can tell her.

Happy ending of course, and first kiss? ♡

author's note: Thank you <3

What It Means

The city was in chaos.

You barely had time to catch your breath before another wave of civilians came at you, their eyes glazed over, movements jerky yet disturbingly determined. Their screams echoed through the ruined streets, a mixture of agony and forced rage, as they lunged at you with makeshift weapons—bricks, pipes, even their own bare hands.

It was all because of him.

“You heroes are so predictable,” the villain sneered, his voice dripping with amusement. He stood on a crumbling rooftop, the tattered ends of his coat fluttering in the wind. “All this power, yet you hesitate. You can’t even fight back properly, can you?”

Your grip on your weapon tightened. He wasn’t wrong. That was the worst part. The civilians—these people—were innocent. You couldn’t just cut through them like any other enemy. The hesitation, the careful dodging, the constant effort to subdue instead of hurt… It slowed you down. It slowed everyone down.

And the bastard knew it.

“I could end this right now,” he continued, stretching his arms behind his head lazily. “One little command, and they all turn on each other instead. Imagine that… You wouldn’t even have to get your hands dirty. They’d do all the work for me.”

A furious blast of fire shot past your shoulder, barely missing your head. Katsuki landed beside you, his palms still smoking, teeth bared in a vicious snarl. “Why don’t you come down here and say that, freak?”

The villain laughed, a grating sound that made your skin crawl. “Oh, Bakugou, Bakugou, Bakugou… Always so brash. So explosive. But even you know you can’t just blow them up. That’d make you no better than me.”

Katsuki’s growl was low and dangerous, his body tense like he was barely holding himself back. You knew he was struggling, just like you. Every hero in the field was. The battle was turning into a nightmare.

More civilians attacked. You moved on instinct, twisting around a woman swinging wildly at you with a crowbar, disarming her with a precise strike to the wrist. She crumpled, unconscious but unharmed. A man charged next, screaming incoherently, his pupils blown wide with unnatural bloodlust. You dodged, swept his legs out from under him, and knocked him out with a quick chop to the back of the neck.

But the numbers didn’t stop. For every one you took down, three more surged forward.

Katsuki blasted them back with controlled explosions, never enough to burn, just to incapacitate. But even he was breathing harder, his usual reckless abandon curbed by the damn situation.

“We’re getting nowhere like this,” you muttered, shifting into a defensive stance as more enthralled civilians surrounded you.

“No shit,” he snapped, glancing at the rooftop. The villain was still there, watching, smirking.

Then he moved.

A blur.

Before you could react, a force slammed into you like a freight train.

Your body was airborne.

The world spun.

The impact knocked the air from your lungs as you crashed through a shattered storefront, glass slicing through your hero suit and biting into your skin. You barely had time to register the pain before the villain was on you, his hand around your throat, yanking you up.

“Tch,” he scoffed, tilting his head. “You’re pretty, you know that? A shame you’re on the wrong side.”

You struggled, gripping his wrist, but his strength was monstrous. His fingers tightened, and the edges of your vision blurred.

A roar—familiar, raw, furious—pierced through the haze.

Then boom.

Katsuki’s explosion sent the villain flying, his grip loosening just enough for you to suck in a ragged breath. You collapsed to your knees, coughing, the taste of iron heavy on your tongue.

“Oi,” Katsuki was at your side in an instant, gripping your arm. His hands were trembling. “You okay?”

You nodded, barely. Lying. You felt like you’d been hit by a truck.

The villain was already back on his feet, dusting himself off like he hadn’t just been blown halfway across the street.

“You two have chemistry,” he mused, cracking his neck. “Unspoken tension. How tragic it’ll be when one of you dies.”

Katsuki moved before he finished the sentence, his explosions roaring through the air. The villain dodged at impossible speeds, weaving through Katsuki’s attacks like water slipping through fingers.

And then—

Pain.

Blinding.

A scream tore from your throat before you even understood what had happened.

Blood.

It pooled at your feet, warm and sticky, seeping through your fingers as you clutched your side. A deep, jagged wound carved into you, muscle torn apart. Your legs gave out, and you collapsed.

Your vision blurred, darkened.

Distantly, you heard Katsuki roar your name.

More explosions. More screams. A battle raging on without you.

You were lifted. Strong arms cradled you against a warm, trembling chest. The familiar scent of smoke and sweat and him wrapped around you.

Katsuki was running. Running like the world was ending. His heart thundered beneath your ear, fast, erratic.

“Stay awake,” he barked, his voice raw, desperate.

You wanted to. You tried. But the pain was so much. The darkness pulled harder.

“Damn it, don’t you fucking—” His voice cracked.

You swore you felt something warm drip onto your cheek.

The last thing you heard before everything faded was him whispering your name, over and over, like he could hold you together just by saying it.

Then—nothing.

The world was cold.

Distant.

Muted beeps echoed through the silence, rhythmic and steady. The scent of antiseptic filled the air, sharp and clinical. Soft murmurs, the shuffle of footsteps, the quiet hum of machines keeping you tethered to life.

You didn’t feel the pain anymore. Not really. Just a dull, distant ache that existed somewhere far away from where you were.

But outside of the void swallowing you whole, the world was still moving.

Katsuki hadn’t moved from his chair in hours.

His elbows rested on his knees, his hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles were white. His eyes—red and rimmed with exhaustion—stared straight ahead at the unmoving form on the hospital bed. At you.

Wires and tubes. Machines and bandages. Bruises and pale, lifeless skin.

He felt sick.

It had been two days. Two fucking days since you collapsed in his arms, since he carried you out of that nightmare, screaming at the paramedics to do something. Two days since he watched them work frantically to stop the bleeding, saw your heartbeat nearly flatline before they finally stabilized you.

Two days since you slipped into a coma.

The doctors said you were strong. That you had a chance. That you just needed time.

But every second that passed without you waking up felt like another piece of him was being ripped away.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. His fingers trembled, but he clenched them into fists before the shaking could take hold.

He wasn’t going to lose you.

The door creaked open. He didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge the quiet footsteps that entered the room.

“Bakugou.”

It was Kirishima. His voice was soft, careful, like he was afraid of setting Katsuki off.

Katsuki didn’t answer.

“You should eat something,” Kirishima tried again. “Rest. You’ve been here since—”

“I’m not leaving.”

A pause. A sigh. “She wouldn’t want you to—”

“I said I’m not leaving.”

Kirishima didn’t argue. He just pulled up a chair and sat beside him, resting his arms on his knees as they both stared at you.

“…She’ll wake up,” Kirishima said, voice steady. “She’s too stubborn not to.”

Katsuki swallowed hard, his jaw tight. He wanted to believe that. He needed to believe that.

But the longer you lay there, motionless and silent, the more the fear sank in.

What if you never opened your eyes again?

What if the last thing he ever said to you was yelled in the heat of battle, instead of—

His hands clenched. His throat burned.

He hadn’t said it. Not once. Not even when he wanted to.

And now, you might never hear it.

The days blurred together.

Katsuki refused to leave. The nurses tried, Kirishima tried, hell, even Deku had the audacity to show up and tell him to take care of himself. But none of them mattered. The only thing that mattered was you.

He stayed by your side, watching, waiting, silently willing you to wake up.

You didn’t.

Your body healed. The doctors were hopeful. But you still weren’t there.

And it was killing him.

He wanted to hear your voice. To see you roll your eyes at one of his grumbled complaints, to feel you nudge his arm when he was being too much of an ass. He wanted you to fight back, to argue with him, to be you again.

But most of all—

He wanted to tell you.

It had been clawing at his chest for days now, twisting and burning, suffocating him with the weight of everything he’d been too much of a coward to say.

So he finally did.

It was late, the hospital quiet except for the beeping of the machines and the distant murmur of night-shift nurses in the hall. The room was dimly lit, casting long shadows across the floor. Katsuki sat hunched over in the chair beside your bed, his forehead resting against his clasped hands.

He exhaled shakily. “This is bullshit.”

His voice was rough, hoarse from lack of sleep, but he kept going.

“You’re just laying there, like some weak-ass extra, when I know you’re stronger than this. It’s pissing me off.”

Silence.

Katsuki sucked in a breath, his throat tightening. His fingers curled around the edge of the bed.

“I—” He hesitated, gritting his teeth before forcing the words out. “I can’t do this shit without you.”

The admission made his chest ache. But it was true.

He’d spent so long ignoring it, shoving it down, pretending the pull between you was nothing more than friendly chemistry, that his need to be around you was just habit.

But the truth had been staring him in the face this entire time. He’d just been too damn scared to see it.

“I should’ve said it sooner.” His voice was raw now, unsteady. “I was a fucking coward. Thought if I ignored it, if I just kept things the way they were, it’d be fine. But it wasn’t fine. And now you’re here, and I—”

His hand found yours, warm fingers curling around your still ones.

His grip tightened.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words barely more than breath.

He bowed his head, pressing his forehead against your hand. “So wake up. Please.”

Another pause. Another silence. Another beat of the machines.

And then—

A twitch.

His breath caught. His head snapped up, eyes locked on your fingers as they twitched again, just barely, but enough.

His heart slammed against his ribs. “Oi,” he rasped, standing so fast the chair scraped against the floor. “Oi.”

A flutter of eyelashes. A sharp inhale.

Then, finally—

Your eyes opened.

Dazed. Confused. Blinking sluggishly against the dim light.

But open.

Something inside Katsuki broke. Relief hit him like a punch to the gut, so intense it made his knees weak.

“About damn time,” he muttered, voice rough with something he refused to call tears.

Your gaze slowly focused on him, and the second recognition flickered in your tired eyes, he was done for.

You opened your mouth, but your voice came out cracked, barely there. “Did I—”

“You almost died.” His grip on your hand tightened. “Don’t ever do that again.”

A weak smirk tugged at your lips. “Wasn’t exactly my plan, Bakugou.”

His heart clenched. He hadn’t heard your voice in so long.

He should’ve said something witty back, should’ve snapped at you like normal, but his body moved before his brain could catch up.

His hand cupped your face, and he was so close, warmth radiating from him, breaths mingling. His thumb brushed against your cheek, lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

Then, carefully—almost hesitant—he kissed you.

Soft. Gentle. Uncharacteristically tender.

You exhaled against his lips, fingers weakly reaching up to tangle in his shirt.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breaths still uneven.

“You better not make me say that shit again,” he muttered.

You smiled—tired, but real. “Say what?”

His lips twitched. “You know what.”

You closed your eyes briefly, still exhausted, but when you spoke again, your voice was warm.

“I love you too, dumbass.”

Katsuki let out a sharp exhale, relief and something softer settling deep in his chest.

“Damn right you do.”

[skzdust]

You Love It When I'm Bringing You Hell

SMUT. MINORS DNI.

To the person who inspired this: hope you like xx

Hope the rest of you like too ;) This is a sequel to I Want You To Want For Me

Title from "Complex" by Xana.

Summary: You and Minho have another day where you're entirely his.

Pairing: Lee Know x Reader

Includes: free use, shower sex, kitchen sex, fingering, clit stimulation, chef Minho, riding, begging, EDGING, sharpies teehee

Word count: 1.5k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife,

@hyunjinsjeans, @somethingkindazainy, @silverstarburst, @atzlordz, @jeonginsleftcheek

Network:@mirohs-aurora-society

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

-----

You tested the shower with your hand, feeling how hot it was. You were satisfied with the scorching temperature, so you got in, closing your eyes and letting yourself relax.

Your shower was your favorite part of your morning routine. You loved feeling clean to start off the day, and the hot water felt so nice.

Your eyes flew open as the bathroom door opened. You peeked past the curtain. “Hello?”

“Hi, baby.” Minho was standing there, taking off his shirt. Your eyes went wide as you saw his chest.

“Joining me?”

“Yeah.” He looked at you, his smile falling. “You’re mine today, remember?”

You had, in fact, remembered. You’d been counting down to it, in fact.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be right there.” He waved at you, and you got back into the water, trying for about two seconds to breathe and ignore the sensations rushing to your pussy at the thought of what was about to happen. But then Minho stepped into the shower, his cock already hard, and you threw that idea out the window.

You met his eyes, and he put a hand behind your head, stroking the hair behind your ear for a second. His face was tender, and you were almost fooled for a second that he wasn’t going to rail you within an inch of your life.

Minho’s hand slid down, behind your neck, and he pulled you into a kiss. You moaned softly, opening your mouth so he could lick into it.

His other hand moved to your waist, then started to trail further down until he was gently circling your clit.

“Ugh, Minho.” You moaned. “Need more.”

“The way I see it, I get to set the pace.” He said with a snicker. “And you’re gonna be patient for now.”

He continued to kiss you, his hand tangling in your hair, pulling at it harder until your moans had grown from soft to desperate. “Minho…”

“Calm down.” He murmured. “Be a good girl for me and be patient.”

Your body was growing hotter and hotter, and it got even worse as he pushed a finger inside you. You felt so tightly coiled that perhaps just the right motion from Minho would have you coming. You hoped it would, you hoped he’d send you over the edge, holding you close and continuing to kiss you. You’d moan into his mouth as you came, and he’d stroke your hair, and—

He pulled his fingers out of you, smirking. “You were close, weren’t you?”

“Shut up and let me cum!” You whined.

“Ah-ah, that’s not what an obedient slut says.” He licked his fingers off, then held them up to the water to wash your remaining juices off. “A good girl doesn’t talk back.”

“I—”

“No.” He said firmly. “No. You don’t disagree with me.” He stepped out of the shower, and you were worried for a second he was genuinely mad. You bit your lip.

“I’m gonna leave a sharpie here. Put a tally above your left hip.” He said, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“What’s that for?”

“The amount of times you’ve been edged today.”

You shivered, despite the heat of the water.

—

You were sitting in the living room, reading your book, when an amazing smell began to waft out of the kitchen.

“Minho, what are you making?”

“Come in here!”

You walked into the other room, smiling as you saw your chef of a boyfriend stirring something on the stove. “Ooh, what’s that?”

“Pasta recipe of my own invention. Can you do some dishes for me real quick?”

“Yeah, of course.” You rolled up your sleeves and went to the sink, noting a few bowls that had already been stacked in it.

A few minutes later, you heard the burner click off, and the clink of metal as Minho moved the pot.

“Is it ready?” You looked over at him.

“It just has to sit for a second.” He smiled. “So we should do something for a second.”

You knew exactly what Minho wanted. “You know, I think I should try to get these dishes done.”

He shrugged. “Fine by me.”

You returned to the sink, but soon there were arms encircling your waist, and Minho was kissing up your neck. “Just because you want to do dishes doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun.”

You sighed as he bit a hickey into the soft skin of your shoulder. “Fuck, Minho.”

He continued to tease you for a little longer before you could feel his cock at your entrance. “Please.”

“Please what?” He teased.

“Please fuck me.” You whispered.

“Oh, well, we wouldn’t want the food getting cold, and the dishes seem to be done.” You could feel him pull back, and hear the zipper of his fly.

“I hate you.” You groaned.

“No, you don’t. Come on, lets’ have lunch!”

You rolled your eyes, but joined him at the table.

“By the way,” he said as he set down your bowl, “put a tally for that one. I know it’s not quite edging, but close enough, right?”

—

“Minho!” You called into the other room. “Help me pick the movie, I don’t know what to watch.”

He walked in, holding a bowl of popcorn. “It’s your night to pick, I can’t help you.”

“Yes, you literally can.”

“No, I literally can’t.” He laid down next to you, propping the popcorn between you.

“Please?”

“Just put something on, baby.”

You sighed and picked something from your watchlist that looked vaguely interesting, some fantasy art heist thing.

As the opening credits started, you snuck a glance at Minho. He looked alert, like he was waiting for something.

You reached for the popcorn, and suddenly he was on top of you, his knees on either side of your hips.

He reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up to reveal the two tally marks on your left hip: one from the shower, one from the kitchen. “This is too few.” He mused.

“No, actually, I think it’s too many, don’t I deserve to come?” You raised your eyebrows.

“And that is exactly why you don’t deserve to come.” He smirked. “Someone hasn’t learned anything.”

He got off of you, laying down on his back where he’d been before. “Ride me.”

You didn’t have to be told twice. You hurried to pull your skirt up, and you hadn’t bothered with underwear all day. Minho unzipped his pants, but left you to do the rest. Your hands shook as you pulled them and his boxers down.

He was hard, as he had been all night. You sank down on his cock with a loud moan. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, that’s a good slut.” He breathed. “So tight around me, fuck.”

You began to move up and down, fucking yourself on his cock. He reached so deep inside you, you whined and moaned with each movement.

“Feel good?” He asked, reaching over to touch your thigh.

“Yes.” You panted.

“Good, tell me when you’re close.”

You continued to ride him, and he continued to comment.

“Good little slut.”

“Pretty thing, keep going for me.”

“So fucking tight for me.”

You were so into it you were on the edge before you knew it. “Minho, I’m going to come.”

“Stop.” He said, and you paused where you were.

“What?”

He looked at you like it was obvious. “You’re not allowed to come.”

“Aw, please?”

He laughed. “You’ll have to beg better than that if you really want it.”

“Please.” You whimpered. “Please, Minho, can I cum? Please? I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

He considered for a moment. “Hm, fine, I’ll let you come if you can edge yourself five times.”

“Five?”

He nodded. “Anything, right?”

You whined. “Fine, five times.”

By two, your knees were dead, so Minho flipped you over and began to fuck into you himself, biting your neck and shoulders as he went. You moaned and shivered under his attentions, pushing your hips up into him. “Jesus, Minho, more…”

He made a tally himself on your hip every time you lost an orgasm. It felt like an eternity, but you got up to five, making seven total.

“Please, can I cum now?” You begged, shaking under the duress of being edged five times.

“Yes, you’ve been so good for me.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead, and you smiled.

“Thank you, Minho.”

“‘Course, baby.”

He fucked you even harder than he had before, his hand coming down to play with your clit.

Your orgasm hit quickly, washing over you like a tide. You moaned and writhed on the bed, and it felt like fireworks were going off all through you.

You fell limp. “So good.”

He kissed you gently, still inside you. “Beautiful girl. I’m glad you feel good.”

You felt him draw a mark on your right hip, and then he pulled back and kept going. “Now, we’re going to see if we can get those numbers to match.”

You moaned as he began to fuck you again.

[bitchinbarzal]

Misunderstood | B Faber

summary: you guys haven’t made it official and it comes back to bite brock when he is pictured out at dinner with a friend.

-

The cold Minnesota air nipped at your skin as you wrapped yourself tighter in your blanket, sitting on your couch with a cup of coffee in hand. The warmth of your apartment contrasted the harsh chill outside, the streets dusted in fresh snow. The quiet morning should have been comforting, but instead, you found yourself scrolling aimlessly through Instagram, the flickering glow of your phone screen somehow amplifying the restlessness gnawing at your mind.

Then, you saw it.

Your thumb froze on the screen as you stared at the image before you. Brock. Your boyfriend—or at least, that’s what you thought he was.

He stood at a table, smiling like he always did, the one you adored and couldn’t get enough of. But this time, it wasn’t just his grin that caught your attention. Standing next to him was a woman—blonde, beautiful, and clearly too comfortable with him. She had her hand resting on his arm, a look of fondness that made your stomach twist. The caption read: “Dinner date with my favorite guy.”

The words blurred in your vision as you stared at the picture, trying to make sense of it. You blinked, trying to calm the rising panic inside you. Your fingers swiped quickly to refresh the feed, hoping this was some kind of mistake, some social media glitch. But no, there were more photos—more pictures of Brock and this girl, the two of them enjoying dinners, laughing at something only they seemed to understand, posing close in a way you hadn’t even been able to get Brock to do with you.

And suddenly, all the confidence you had in the relationship seemed to disappear. Why hadn’t he told you about her? You scrolled through the rest of the posts, each one more intimate than the last. It hit you in waves—the jealousy, the confusion, the bitter taste of betrayal. You had always kept things casual with Brock, no pressure, no expectations. But these pictures… They didn’t look casual. Did he think you were just another option?

A pang of hurt ran through you. Had you been nothing more than a placeholder while he figured out what he really wanted?

You set your phone down, hands shaking slightly. You tried to calm yourself. It could be nothing, right? But then the doubts crept in, taking over your thoughts like an uncontrollable storm. Maybe this wasn’t a casual thing for him after all. Maybe he was just too scared to tell you. You were only ever a backup plan, an afterthought. That’s how it felt. You had no idea where you stood in his life, and that was the worst feeling of all.

The next few days were nothing short of torturous.

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond to his texts. He’d sent a few asking how you were, if you were okay, but each time you read his messages, all you could feel was the knot of jealousy and confusion tightening in your chest. You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that you had no right to be angry. You had never set any official boundaries, and he had never made any promises to you.

But it didn’t stop the gnawing feeling inside.

When he called you on the second night of the silence, you debated not answering. But you couldn’t bring yourself to let it ring out. “Hello?” you said, your voice more clipped than you intended.

“Hey, it’s me. You’ve been quiet. Is everything okay?” Brock’s voice came through the phone, sounding concerned but also confused.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the tears you’d been holding back threatening to spill. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” You could feel your chest tightening as the words felt like lies in your mouth.

“Are you sure? You’ve been distant. I just want to know if something’s wrong.”

The frustration hit you suddenly, and it slipped out before you could stop it. “What, you want me to just pretend everything’s fine? Pretend like I don’t see all those photos of you and her?” The words were out before you could catch them, and the silence that followed was deafening.

“Wait, what?” Brock’s voice cracked slightly “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” you spat. “I’ve seen it, Brock. All the pictures. All the dates. Why didn’t you tell me about her?” Your voice trembled now, the anger laced with hurt.

There was a long pause, and you could almost hear him processing what you were saying. Then, a sigh. “Listen, I didn’t think it was a big deal. She’s just a friend. She’s one of my teammate’s sisters. We’ve hung out a few times with the team, but there’s nothing going on. I swear.”

But the doubt lingered in your mind. “You didn’t think it was a big deal? You didn’t think it was a big deal to mention that you were hanging out with another girl? That’s what you’re telling me?” You could feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears now. The more he explained, the more it sounded like an excuse. And the more it hurt.

“I didn’t think it would bother you” Brock added quietly. “I thought we were just…having fun, you know? I didn’t think it would cause any issues.”

“Well, it’s causing issues now,” you snapped, cutting the conversation short. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Brock. I just need space.”

And with that, you hung up, not giving him the chance to say anything more. The silence after you ended the call was suffocating. You hated that you had let your emotions spiral like this, but the damage felt done. Your heart was heavy with bitterness, and no amount of reasoning could make it feel right again.

Days passed, and the tension only grew. Brock tried to reach out—texts, calls—but you ignored them all. You felt justified in your anger, but the truth was, the silence was killing you both. Each time you saw his name pop up on your phone, your heart wavered, but you couldn’t bring yourself to open the messages. You had decided that if he cared, he’d come to you. He’d fix this.

But it didn’t happen. Not the way you expected, at least.

Instead, you found yourself standing in your apartment on the fourth day, staring at the door as if it might be a dream.

The sound of soft knocks broke through your thoughts. You slowly opened the door, almost dreading what you might find on the other side. But when you looked up, it was Brock—holding a bouquet of wildflowers, his face a mix of anxiety and determination.

You stared at him for a moment before the anger bubbled up again. “What are you doing here?” you asked, trying to hide the pain in your voice.

“Can we talk?” His voice was quiet, almost pleading. “I know I messed up. I should’ve told you about her, but I never meant for any of this to happen. I care about you. I don’t want this to end because of a misunderstanding.”

Your breath hitched, emotions swirling inside you like a tornado. “You should’ve told me” you whispered, the hurt creeping into your voice. “I saw those pictures, Brock. I felt like you were hiding something from me. And I—” You broke off, looking away, your face flushing with embarrassment.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Brock said, stepping closer, his voice full of regret “I never wanted to make you feel like you weren’t important to me. She’s just a friend—nothing more. You mean everything to me.”

You shook your head, trying to hold back the tears. “I shouldn’t have ignored you. I should’ve trusted you, but I didn’t know where I stood.”

Brock reached out for you, taking your hands gently in his. “I should’ve explained sooner. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel second to anyone, especially not because of some misunderstanding.”

His apology, the sincerity in his eyes, hit you harder than you expected. Your walls started to crumble, and with them, the weight that had been pressing on your chest.

“I’m sorry, too,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Brock’s smile was hesitant but warm. He pulled you into an embrace, holding you tight. “Let’s promise no more misunderstandings, okay? I want this,us,to be real.”

You nodded, feeling the tension dissolve. “No more misunderstandings,” you repeated.

[gosuckseamonkeys]

Arid Melancholy - Chapter 4

Summary: Rafayel is captured and endures brutal torture at the hands of an agent of EVER Group intent on exploiting his people’s secrets.

Zayne, Xavier, Sylus and Rafayel must confront their deepest fear, losing you, and fight against an enemy whose ambition threatens their survival.

AN: Apologies in advance for the angst, I've been looking for similar heart wrenching fics on here for a while now before I decided to write my own. Then an evil little idea formed and pulled me reluctantly out of writing retirement.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4....

𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚

Chapter 4 - Hallucinations

Burning. He was burning alive.

He didn’t know how long he had been in this wasteland. Hours? Days? 

Time had unraveled, leaving him trapped in an endless cycle of agony. The heat gnawed at him—relentless, merciless—devouring him from the inside out.

His fingers, bruised and raw, clawed at his own skin. He could barely feel it. The pain had dulled into something distant, something worse than suffering—emptiness.

How many of us have they left here to rot?

He couldn’t move. Every attempt sent violent nausea rolling through his gut. His limbs felt like they belonged to someone else—someone broken, someone dying.

When will it be my turn?

Rafayel’s mind fractured under the weight of memories, hallucinations bleeding into reality.

The desert consumed him. The sun overhead turned his flesh to embers, his bones to dust. The sand beneath him was a graveyard of souls, and soon, he would join them—just another forgotten grain tumbling over golden dunes.

Still, he held onto the idea of you. The only thing keeping him from slipping into the void.

My bride…

You stood before him, veiled in gold and teal. His hands—adorned in jewels, stained with blood he could never wash away—trembled as he traced his thumb across your lips.

He pulled you into a searing kiss, one that barely satisfied the flames licking at his very soul.

My queen…

Your voice shaped his name, the syllables a sacred thing. Two broken souls abandoning their kingdoms, reaching for memories as you refused to let him slip away. 

He would choose you in every life, no matter how many times fate tore you from his grasp.  

My heart…

He could almost feel your tender hands cradling his face, the softness of your lips brushing against his. He had always held himself back, terrified of scaring you away with the depth of his hunger.

Beloved…please.

His lips parted, cracked and bloodied, to whisper a single plea—broken, desperate, wrecked.

“Please… don’t leave me.”

Underwater

The colors around you are spellbinding—a symphony of deep teal, lavender, and cobalt blue swirling and pulsing as though alive. They wrap around you like a liquid aurora, undulating in hypnotic rhythms that blur the line between sea and sky. You’re weightless, floating on your back beneath the waves, suspended in a dream where the ocean itself breathes.

The water cradles you, its currents a gentle lullaby that pushes and pulls, spinning you in lazy spirals. Above, faint rays of the setting sun pierce the surface, their golden beams breaking into soft hues of violet and pink that bleed into one another. The shifting palette dances across your skin, stirring something in the deepest corners of your mind—a memory, faint and just beyond your grasp.

The light shifts again, deepening into a molten orange as the sun sinks lower. Shadows stretch and twist, and a sudden chill creeps into the water, curling around you like a warning. 

Night is coming, its approach slow but inevitable, and with it comes a sense of unease. A faint urgency hums in your chest, intangible yet insistent. There’s something you’re supposed to do, somewhere you’re supposed to be—but what?

A glimmer below catches your eye, pulling your gaze downward. Fins—sleek and iridescent. They shimmer like molten silver, moving with a grace that feels both foreign and familiar. You flex them instinctively, and the water parts as you surge forward, exhilarated by the rush of cool liquid sliding past your skin.

But the ocean has gone silent.

The ever-present symphony of life—the whisper of currents, the distant calls of unseen creatures—has vanished, leaving behind an eerie stillness. A heavy quiet presses down on you, thick and suffocating. You stop, your movements halting as a prickle of unease dances along your spine. The silence feels alive, a presence lurking just out of reach.

Then, breaking through the void, a sound.

Faint at first, it ripples through the water like an echo of sorrow—a muffled cry, distant and distorted. You pivot sharply, your pulse quickening, every fiber of your being straining to locate the source. The cry comes again, sharper this time, tugging at something deep inside.

Your gaze snaps upward to the surface, where the fading light of the setting sun casts an otherworldly glow. A voice filters down through the water, faint yet unmistakable. Someone is calling.

You hesitate.

You’re not meant to leave this world, not meant to breach the safety of the sea. But the voice pulls at you, its tone laced with grief, a pain so familiar it feels like your own. Against your better judgment, you flick your tail and propel yourself toward the light above.

The water grows brighter as you ascend, each stroke faster than the last. The voice grows clearer, louder, and more urgent, wrapping around your heart like a plea you can’t ignore.

“Please,” it whispers, the word drenched in despair.

As you break the surface, the air rushes into your lungs, sharp and searing. You gasp, your chest heaving as your body struggles to adjust. The burn is unbearable, a cruel reminder that you don’t belong here. For a moment, the instinct to retreat pulls at you, urging you to sink back into the dark, forgiving depths.

But the voice holds you fast, breaking through the roaring of the waves.

It calls again, clearer now, the desperation in its tone slicing through your pain. “Please…don’t leave me.”

The words pierce the haze of your thoughts, their familiarity anchoring you. You cling to the sound, to the raw, unyielding emotion behind it. The world tilts, the ocean dissolving into fragments of color and light as the voice becomes your only tether to reality.

Consciousness 

The first thing you felt was an ache—a deep, relentless throb in your chest. It wasn’t just pain; it was a hollow, all-consuming emptiness that seemed to seep into your bones, leaving you fragile and broken. Even that ache, though, was muffled, as if your body couldn’t bear the weight of it all.

You tried to move, but even the smallest shift sent a wave of exhaustion crashing over you. Your head was pounding, limbs heavy and useless, and even behind closed lids your eyes burned with the effort of existing.

A hand tightened around yours. The sensation was grounding, but it sent a jolt of confusion through your addled mind. Your mouth was dry—parched to the point of pain. When you tried to speak, the sound that escaped was no more than a weak whimper, the cracked remnants of your voice.

With agonizing effort, you forced your eyes open, blinking against the harsh light. The blurred world around you slowly sharpened, though it still felt like a dream you couldn’t wake from. 

Sunlight poured through the windows, casting long shadows and fiery streaks of gold across the room. Against the light stood a dark silhouette, their form hazy and indistinct, a phantom watching over you.

Turning your head to the right, you saw you had a second guardian. His silver hair was disheveled, his shoulders slumped as he clung to your hand like it was the only thing keeping him afloat. When your gaze met his, beautiful blue-gray eyes widened in shock, glistening with unshed tears.

“Get Zayne,” he choked out, his voice trembling with urgency. His warm fingers brushed against your cheek, and you instinctively leaned into the touch, desperate for the comfort it offered. “She’s awake,” he murmured, as though saying it aloud would make it real.

“You’re okay,” Xavier said softly, though his voice cracked. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

The words pierced through the haze, and you exhaled shakily, letting go of the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Xavier?” Your voice was barely audible, raw and strained.

His lips twitched into a sad, fragile smile. “Yeah, honey. It’s me. Don’t try to move, alright?”

Your lips moved to respond, but they were dry and cracked, refusing to cooperate.

“Here, kitten.” The figure by the window stepped forward, his imposing form now visible in the fading sunlight. Sylus held a cup to your lips, his carmine eyes filled with worry. “Take small sips. Don’t overdo it.”

The cool water soothed the fire in your throat, and you gratefully met his gaze. “Sylus…” you rasped. “What happened?”

His hand lingered at your bedside, brushing loose strands of hair from your damp forehead. “You’ve been through hell, kitten. But you’re here now. That’s what matters.” His voice was gentle, but his jaw clenched, betraying the turmoil beneath his calm exterior. “What do you remember?”

You closed your eyes, grasping at fragmented memories that slipped through your fingers like sand. “I… we were at work…”

Xavier’s voice broke through, calm yet coaxing. “That’s good. What else, sweetheart?”

Before you could answer, the door burst open, and Zayne stormed in. His hair still damp from a rushed shower, shirt hastily thrown on, and face etched with desperation.

“Why didn’t you call me right away?” His voice strained as he stared at you, his hazel eyes brimming with worry.

“She’s only been awake for a few minutes,” Sylus said, stepping between the two of you as though to shield you from Zayne’s frantic energy.

Zayne ignored him, shoving past to kneel by your bedside. His hands trembled as he took yours, his breath shaky. “Hey…” His voice faltered, “How are you feeling? Are you… are you in pain?”

“Chest hurts,” you whispered, the admission barely audible.

“I’m sorry,” Zayne murmured. His fingers brushed over the back of your hand as though trying to anchor you—and himself. “I’ll fix it. Just give me a second.”

You watched in silence as he prepared an injection, the small syringe in his steady hands. “This will help,” he said softly as he pressed it into your IV. “You’ll feel better soon. I promise.”

“Do you remember what happened?” Zayne’s voice was gentle but urgent.

Images flashed through your mind: the warmth of a beautiful dress, the cold gleam of ivory statues, vibrant paintings. And then—purple hair, eyes like lavender and roses. 

His screams tore through your memory.

“Where’s Rafayel?” The words tumbled out in a frantic whimper, tears welling in your eyes.

The room fell silent, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. Sylus and Xavier exchanged a glance, and Zayne’s expression darkened.

“We’re close,” Sylus finally said, his voice soft but firm. “We’ll get him back.”

Your chest tightened with panic. “What do you mean? Where is he?” You tried to sit up, but agony erupted in your chest, and Zayne’s hands pressed you firmly back into the bed. 

“I need you to relax,” Zayne said, holding you steady. “You were shot two days ago. Do you remember the exhibit?”

“They took him from me,” you choked out, tears spilling over.

“We’ll get him back,” Sylus promised again. But even as he spoke, the fear for you in his eyes betrayed him. 

Sylus placed his hand on your other shoulder, his firm grip joining Zayne’s, while Xavier stood silently at the foot of the bed, poised to intervene if necessary.

“Sweetie, I promise we’ll tell you everything as soon as we know more,” Sylus said gently. “Right now, you need to heal. Your condition—”

“They’re hurting him,” you sobbed, your voice rising in anguish. “He’s so scared… I have to find him! Please!”

Sylus glanced at Zayne, shaking his head solemnly.

“Darling, stop,” Zayne begged, cupping your face in his hands. “You’ll hurt yourself. Please don’t make me sedate you—I can’t lose you again.” His voice was broken and pleading.

“He’s right,” Xavier said quietly, his voice heavy with unspoken grief. You turned to him where he was standing at the foot of the bed. His expression was strained, his usual stoicism fracturing, revealing a vulnerability that made your heart clench.

“When I saw you at the gallery…” He hesitated, his breath hitching as he struggled to speak. His hands trembled at his sides, and his eyes—those usually steady, composed eyes—shone with a sorrow that threatened to consume him. “They had to… you were dead.”

The word fell like a stone between you, cold and unforgiving. His voice wavered on the last syllable, shaking with the weight of the memory. “They had to bring you back. I watched them do it…” His voice trailed off into a haunted whisper.

Your breath caught as his words pierced through your chest, more painful than the lingering ache from your injuries. You shook your head in protest, but the truth loomed over you, undeniable and suffocating. Tears spilled freely down your cheeks as the enormity of it all pressed you into the pillows, leaving you hollow and defeated.

“Do you trust me?” Sylus’ voice cut through the suffocating silence like a lifeline. It was steady, firm, and unyielding—a single constant in the sea of uncertainty.

You turned your head toward him, meeting his crimson gaze. It burned with intensity, his resolve like a flame that refused to be extinguished.

“Always,” you sobbed, the word barely audible over your ragged breaths.

“Then let me do what I do best.” His tone was resolute, leaving no room for doubt. His hand rested on your shoulder, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the midst of your spiraling despair. Slowly, his thumb moved in soothing circles, trying to chase away the tension knotted in your muscles. “I won’t rest until we’ve found him.”

His promise hung in the air, but it felt as fragile as glass—one wrong move, and it would shatter.

Your gaze flicked between the three men standing around you, each of them carrying their own burden of guilt, fear, and desperation. The weight of their devotion left you breathless. 

With a faint, bittersweet smile, you shook your head in disbelief, tears still streaking your face. “I never thought I’d live to see the day you all agreed on something.”

Zayne lowered himself into the chair beside you, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. The raw love in his gaze made your chest ache all over again. “For you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I think we’d do just about anything.”

And in that moment, the truth of his words was undeniable. What terrified you most wasn’t their willingness to fight—it was the growing fear that it still wouldn’t be enough.

“Rafayel…” you whispered your lover’s name under your breath, willing your intentions into the bond that stretched between you. “Hold on, we’re coming. Don’t you dare die on me…”

Double Trouble

The twins tore down the highway in the sleek black Aston Martin, Kieran at the wheel, pushing the engine at least fifty miles over the speed limit.

“We’ll have to ditch it about five miles from the facility,” Luke muttered, eyes glued to his phone as he scrolled through the details the boss had sent that morning. “We should’ve picked something less conspicuous.”

“Does the Boss even own anything inconspicuous?” Kieran snorted, his grip tightening on the wheel as they blew past the sign for their exit. “Besides, he never lets us take the fun ones out. He said to get there fast, so… I picked something fast. We’re almost there. What are we walking into?”

Luke glanced up briefly before returning to his screen. “Looks like an abandoned agricultural processing plant that EVER Group repurposed a few years back.” He scrolled further. “Actually, scratch that—they bought out the whole damn town. Whatever they’re running, it’s big.”

“What kind of resistance?” Kieran asked, his voice shifting to something sharper as he veered onto the off-ramp.

“If it’s EVER, expect the unexpected. For an operation this size, I’d guess at least a hundred employees, maybe a fifth of them security.” Luke tilted his head toward a cluster of distant buildings. “That’s it up there. There should be an old farmhouse on the right—we’ll stash the car there and walk the rest.”

Kieran nodded, eyes locked on the road as they closed in. The farmhouse loomed ahead, a relic of a forgotten time, standing in the midst of overgrown fields. He pulled into the lot, gravel crunching beneath the tires.

“Get the barn door open,” he ordered. “I’ll tuck the car inside.”

Luke hopped out, yanking the rusted door aside. The Aston Martin purred forward into the shadows, disappearing from sight.

Kieran stepped out, checking his knives with quick, practiced movements before turning to his brother. “What time’s sunset?”

“7:15,” Luke murmured, glancing up at the darkening sky through the eyeholes of his mask. “We’ve got twenty minutes. Let’s move, stick to the fields. Boss said if we’re caught, we’ll be on our own until they come for the artist.”

“Race you?” Kieran grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Luke scoffed. “You know I’m faster. Why even try?”

Without warning, Kieran swept Luke’s legs out from under him and bolted for the cornfields. “Not today you’re not!” he called over his shoulder.

Luke swore, scrambling to his feet and taking off after him.

It took them twenty minutes to reach the edge of the property, the dense fields keeping them concealed. Luke pulled out a pair of binoculars and handed them to Kieran, who scanned the buildings for an entry point.

“Blueprints show Buildings A and B are mostly office space,” Luke whispered, scrolling through the plans. “C is for material drop-offs and sorting, D is for treatment—whatever that means—E and F are storage and loading.”

“So we’re looking at D or E,” Kieran muttered, lowering the binoculars. “My money’s on E.”

“Agreed,” Luke said. “But let’s check C to be safe. A and B are probably just paper-pushers.” He glanced up as the last sliver of sunlight faded, plunging the facility into shadow. The once-busy parking lot had mostly emptied, leaving only about twenty scattered cars and a handful of trucks.

“You take C and D. I’ll handle E and F,” Kieran murmured, crouching behind the nearest vehicle.

Luke nodded. “Meet back here in thirty?”

“Race you,” Kieran whispered, flashing a sly grin before melting into the darkness.

The twins split, slipping through the shadows—silent, unseen, and very much up to no good.

Arrival

“Sir, prepare for landing,” the pilot called over his shoulder to the passengers in the back of the Cessna.

The tall man, dressed in an immaculate cream suit, moved with practiced precision, folding his documents into his briefcase before retrieving a cell phone from his breast pocket. With a flick of his thumb, he dialed a familiar number.

“Marcus, I’ll be arriving within the hour.”

A voice on the other end responded, briefing him on the status of their latest acquisition.

He listened, expression unreadable. Then, with quiet finality, he cut in. “That’s all well and good—just make sure he’s coherent by the time I arrive. I don’t like being made to wait.”

Without another word, he ended the call, lifted his tumbler, and swirled the last remnants of amber liquid before downing them in a single motion. He handed the empty glass to his assistant, who took it without question, standing rigidly at his side.

“Are we sure it’s him?” the assistant asked, his voice measured, yet slicing through the thick tension in the cabin like a blade.

The suited man reached into his briefcase, retrieving a glossy photograph. Without looking at it, he passed it over, “See for yourself.”

The image depicted a man with tangled violet hair, chained to the cold floor of one of their facilities, stripped of dignity, of power. A rare specimen.

“We won’t know for certain until I inspect him myself.”

The assistant studied the photo for a moment before tucking it away. “Understood. I’ll prepare for landing.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread across the suited man’s face. “Either way, Marcus has proven himself a valuable asset. We should consider extending his contract.”

“And the brother?” the assistant inquired.

The suited man exhaled, a low hum of amusement under his breath. “As far as we can tell, he’s out of commission. That fire Evol is formidable.”

His grin widened, sharp as the edge of a knife. “If he recovers, he recovers. The blood has already done much to restore him.” He leaned back, folding his hands over his knee. “But leverage is a powerful thing. Now Marcus has a vested interest in ensuring our operation continues. Without further infusions, there’s no guarantee his brother will survive.”

He chuckled, dark and knowing, “Desperation makes men so very… compliant.”

Brothers

Marcus sat beside Bennett, who lay motionless on a pristine white cot. Half of his face was hidden beneath layers of sterile gauze, the bandages stretching down to cover his chest and left arm. He hadn't stirred since the incident at the gallery.

The artist had inflicted third-degree burns that should have killed him. By all rights, he should be dead. And yet, ironically, the very blood the Lemurian had unwillingly sacrificed was the only thing tethering the mercenary to life.

With a measured breath, Marcus rose, retrieving another vial of the life-sustaining substance from his pocket and pressing it into the nurse’s waiting hand. “Administer this at the top of the hour.”

She nodded, tucking the vial away before slipping silently through the door. It clicked shut behind her, leaving Marcus alone with the steady, mechanical rhythm of his brother’s breathing.

He hadn’t wanted to extend his contract. Hadn’t wanted to dig himself deeper into this web of blood and power. But with Bennett’s condition, he had no choice. His brother was the only family he had left, and worse—Bennett was here because of him. Marcus had convinced him to take this job. That made his survival Marcus’ burden to bear.

Exhaling slowly, he pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen flashing with an all-too-familiar name. Their benefactor was due to arrive today, but the firm’s impatience sent an uneasy weight settling in his gut. They wanted to inspect their latest acquisition sooner than expected.

He pressed the call button, bringing the device to his ear.

“Sir,” Marcus answered, his voice carefully neutral.

A brief silence. Then—

“Understood. I’ll have him ready for you.”

Bonded

Rafayel...Hold on, we’re coming.

Rafayel’s heart lurched violently, a raw, searing jolt as the bond pulsed awake for the first time since his capture. His battered body spasmed in response, agony carving through his ribs, his muscles seizing as the mark flared to life against his mangled chest. 

It burned—not just against his flesh, but deep inside his soul, a commanding force pressing its will into his own. For a moment, it was enough to push back the numbing weight of exhaustion, flooding him with a desperate, flickering resolve.

He sucked in a ragged breath, the air sharp and stale, scraping through his lungs like broken glass. His entire being trembled as he choked out a hoarse, disbelieving whisper.

“You’re alive….”

If his body had anything left to give, he would have sobbed. Instead, all he could do was curl onto his side, hunching over the pulse of warmth within him, clinging to it as if it was the only thing tethering him to existence. 

No matter what happened to him, no matter how much more blood he spilled onto these cold, metallic floors, at least he knew you were still breathing. For now, that was enough.

He was so consumed by that fragile, fleeting relief that he didn’t hear the footfalls until it was too late. The door wrenched open with a deafening clang.

Blinding fluorescent light sliced into the darkness, searing his retinas like fire. Rafayel recoiled, his body curling in on itself as a gust of cooler air followed the figures stepping inside. The scent of steel and sweat filled his nose—gunpowder and antiseptic. Footsteps. More than one.

His stomach twisted.

Marcus entered first. Behind him, a suited man moved with calculated ease, his presence heavier than the fleet of armed guards waiting just outside the threshold.

“Turn him over. I need to see his face.” The voice was smooth, clipped, accented. Distant, like a man giving orders at a dinner party.

Rafayel barely had time to brace before a boot came down on his arm, pressing—grinding—against his shattered ribs, forcing a broken, strangled gasp from his lips. Then, with effortless cruelty, Marcus rolled him onto his back.

A whimper slipped free before he could stop it. Shame curled hot in his chest, his body betraying him in ways he could no longer control. His vision blurred, unfocused, and his gaze dragged sluggishly over the faces above him, indistinct shapes against the burning light.

“Well done, Marcus. I’m impressed.” The suited man’s voice was a serpent’s hiss, oozing satisfaction as he clapped Marcus on the shoulder. His smirk cut through the haze.

“How do you feel about—”

Don’t you dare die on me…

Pain flared.

A violent, involuntary convulsion wracked Rafayel’s body, his back arching off the ground as the bond pulsed again, brighter this time. Then reduced to a dim, flickering glow pressed through the tattered remains of his silk dress shirt—what little was left of it after the gallery showing.

The suited man froze. His eyes narrowed, calculation flashing across his features before he knelt beside Rafayel.

“What do we have here?” Fingers prodded at his sternum—cold, invasive, prying. Searching.

Weakly, Rafayel tried to shove them away. He might as well have been swatting at the tide. A sharp backhand cracked across his face, snapping his head to the side. His vision blackened for a second, a high ringing filling his ears.

Then, hands gripped the edges of his collar, tearing.

The last few buttons of his ruined shirt pinged off the floor, the tiny sounds vanishing beneath the rasp of his own ragged breathing. The mark lay exposed now, its glow fading, but unmistakable.

Silence. Then, a slow, creeping smirk.

“You’re bonded.” The words dripped with triumph. A revelation. “That makes things easier.”

Rafayel turned his face away, pressing his cheek into the cold, filthy floor, hiding the raw emotion twisting in his expression. 

He couldn’t let them see.

Couldn’t let them know what you meant to him.

Couldn’t let them see how deeply he loved.

They would rip you from him piece by piece. They would use you, break you, and then dangle whatever remained before him like a noose, waiting for the moment he begged.

He would give them anything.

His life. His people. His last, tattered fragments of dignity.

He had done it before.

What did it matter if he drowned his soul in more blood?

A hollow, rotting sickness curled up his throat. He never should have fought so hard to find you. Never should have clawed his way into your life—your heart. 

“What is that?” Marcus crouched beside him, phone in hand, snapping a picture of the mark. The sound of the shutter was a gunshot to Rafayel’s ears.

The suited man stood, brushing off his hands like he had touched something unpleasant, “Was he with someone when you found him?”

Terror clamped down on Rafayel’s lungs.

No.

No. No, no, no—

Marcus exhaled, unconcerned. “His assistant. And a woman.” He shrugged. “A hunter.”

The suited man stilled. Slowly, he turned, glancing back at Rafayel’s broken form.

“The woman. Where is she?”

Marcus’ answer was careless. “I shot her. Could be dead for all I know. Left her at the scene—I had other priorities.”

“His bonded. His mate.” The suited man tsked and shook his head. “She’s alive.” 

Then, almost amused—almost pleased—he murmured. “Find her, and he’ll beg to tell us where the colonies are.”

Marcus cursed under his breath. Dragged a hand through his hair as realization hit him like a fist.

“Bring the footage of the capture to my office.” The suited man only chuckled. He was already walking away, but just before he vanished down the hall, his voice drifted back, casual, offhanded. “I want to see her for myself.”

Rafayel’s heart stopped beating in cold realization. 

They’ll know…your Aether Core….

He was a death sentence, a curse wrapped in warm flesh and whispered promises. He should have let himself fade years ago, let the sea take him back before it was too late.

He should have left you alone, kept his distance.

He deserved to be forgotten.

It was too late for that now.

With a guttural snarl, Marcus spun and drove his fist into the wall. Rafayel flinched, but the blankness in his expression never wavered.

Inside, though—inside, he was screaming.

Anguish. Rage. Horror.

Self-loathing so sharp it could cut.

Maybe if he pushed them hard enough, they’d make a mistake. Maybe if he gave them nothing, they would break him beyond repair. Maybe—

Maybe they would end him.

It would be better than letting them use you.

Better than letting them leverage his heart against him.

“Bring him to D for treatment,” Marcus ordered, his voice tight with barely contained fury. “I’ll meet you there shortly.”

Rafayel didn’t resist when they seized his arms. Didn’t fight when they dragged him away.

His mind had already slipped into the dark, spiraling abyss of possibilities.

All he could do was hope—pray—that Zayne and the others would protect you.

Because he had already failed.

𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚

Apologies for the delay, I had an extended work trip in Miami and I didn't have the chapter uploaded. I didn't feel right publishing it un-edited from my phone. I'll do my best to get the next one up over the weekend.

Cross posted on AO3 under "holywaterbucketchallenge" for those of you who prefer that platform.

Appreciate your patience! I hope it was worth the wait. As always, looking forward to your feedback :)

[darklove9314-blog]

A Shadow in the Ember: An Azris fanfic (NSFW)

Day 4 of SJM romance week. prompt: Moving In.

Synopsis: When Azriel is forced to move in with Eris as his protection detail, things between the two of them heat up.

NSFW: Hate Sex. Dom Azriel and Sub Eris.

"You can't be serious." Azriel growled out, feeling his shadows caress him, swirling around him in anger, prepared to strike as he forced them to temper, leaning back in his seat, gesturing Rhys to continue.

His High Lord took a deep breath, recentering himself for the conversation as Feyre sat beside him, observing the conversation

"I know the situation is less than ideal-" He started as Azriel quickly cut him off.

"You call wanting me to shack up with Eris Vanserra less than ideal, it's more than that, you'd be signing his death warrant, because if that smug son of a bitch says anything to me, i will kill him."

Rhys glanced to Feyre, a silent conversation passing between the two as Azriel tried to temper his frustration. Sometimes he wished Rhys would just talk to him fae male to fae male without calling on Feyre to mediate the conversation.

"Azriel, we understand that this situation is less than desirable, and trust us when we say this was the last thing that we wanted as well, but with Beron figuring out what Eris was up to and Eris escaping within an inch of his life, well, we feel we owe it to him after all these years of working with us to at least shelter him until he can come up with his own accommodations."

Azriel glared at her, he hated how she always talked to him as if he were a child, the last time he checked he was the oldest fae in this room and she barely had a couple decades of existence to her name.

“I understand why he needs a place to stay, what I’m trying to find out is why I have to babysit him.” Azriel sneered, adding as much disdain into his voice as he possible could making Rhys stiffen.

Azriel He growled inside his mind, a warning. Azriel waved it off.

Spare me the overprotective bullshit. You know I’m not going to do anything.

Rhys sighed making Feyre glance between the two, but she knew better than to press, instead she continued with their explanation.

“Eris may be an ally, but that doesn’t mean we willingly trust him. That’s where you come in.”

Azriel lifted his eyebrow waiting for her to continue as she explained,

“You are our Shadowsinger, our spy. If you are in the same house as Eris, he may be willing to…cooperate.”

Azriel’s brow lifted,

“What makes you think he’ll cooperate with me or even trust me? Did you miss the part of the High Lord’s meeting where I almost chocked him out?”

Feyre gave him an exasperated look.

“How could I ever forget?” She mused as Rhys cut in.

“This isn’t negotiable, Azriel. We need someone to keep an eye on him.”

“Why not have Nesta and Cassian watch him then?”

“Do you really want to subject them to that?” Feyre asked as Azriel shrugged.

“It might give them a nice break from their….mating.” Azriel said as Feyre sighed.

“If you think I’m getting involved with that, you’re delusional. You’re the only one who can watch him right now.”

Azriel let out a small growl of frustration, laying back in his chair and breathing out a sigh of frustration.

“Fine. I’ll get my stuff from the house and go to the townhouse tonight.”

Appreciation welled up in Feyre as she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. He let her even though every muscle in his body wanted to strike, to halt that touch that he dreaded so much. It happened when anyone touched him without warning, especially his hands.

As if Feyre could see that murderous look on his gaze, she snatched her hand back as Azriel stood, Rhys stiffening, a warning in his gaze.

Azriel took a step back, composing himself as he smoothed out the wrinkles in his leathers before he said,

“I’ll get packing.”

That had happened two weeks ago, two weeks of being in that obnoxious, intolerant little shits presence, making Azriel swear he was two seconds away from wrapping his hands around the princelings throat.

He was lounging on the love seat, one that Eris had showed his disdain and disapproval of as Azriel listened to the water running, steam billowing from the washroom as Azriel crossed his arms over his chest.

Vanserra sure lived to run up his High Lord and Lady’s water bill, but seeing as how they had forced him into this, he let it be.

He smiled at the thought of Rhys receiving the bill as he heard the water shut off, the door opening as Eris emerged, making Azriel growl in frustration as he averted his gaze and growled out,

“We have towels for a reason, Eris.”

“We’re both males here, Spy master, you think that you would be used to the male anatomy by now.”

“The last thing I want to see is your dick, Vanserra, do us both a favor and get dressed.”

“Why? Jealous? Intimidated by the fact that it’s bigger than yours?”

Azriel narrowed his eyes at him, lowering his hand as he glared at the prince.

“We both know that’s not true. Now get dressed before I make you.”

Eris crossed his arms, displaying the entirety of his whole body to Azriel, making him blow out a breath. Azriel knew that Autumn Court males were cocky, but this was all too much.

Azriel stood, making his way over to the infuriating princeling as he towered over him, extending his wings as Eris glanced up at him, refusing to back down. Fine. Azriel thought, two could play at this game.

Azriel had taken males before, had found pleasure in them as much as he had females, and he had to admit, despite how much he detested Eris Vanserra, The Shadow Singer would be lying if he said Eris Vanserra wasn’t attractive,

He let his eyes roam over his body, taking in the confides of his body, the fire in those eyes and those russet locks. He wondered if those strands were as silky as he imagined.

Shaking his head, Azriel tried to clear the fantasies of Eris Vanserra underneath him from his mind, only to see that Eris had been looking at him too.

“What are you looking at Vanserra.” Azriel growled as a smug smile crossed the prince’s lips.

“Don’t play coy, Shadow Singer, I saw the desire behind your eyes.”

“Then why did you allow it, Vanserra?” He challenged expecting Eris to do a lot of things, what he had not expected was for the kiss to happen.

A deep seething hunger and hatred intertwined in that kiss. He had no idea why he let it happen, why he had continued to let it happen when he loathed this fae next to him. But the idea of having Eris underneath him, the thought of showing him just how much he loathed him felt rather enticing.

Growling, Azriel threw Eris onto the couch, his back hitting the base as his gaze simmered with all the hate he could muster.

"What are yo-"

Before he could say anything, Azriel took the binding he used to tie up his enemies out of his pocket as Eris’s eyebrows lifted.

“Kinky, but what’s the occasion?”

“Get up.” Azriel growled out expecting Eris to stay in place. To not comply with Azriel’s commands, what he didn’t expect was for Eris to rise.

He stood there, the smug smile Azriel always hated staying planted on the face, Azriel wanted to smack that look straight off.

“Your wish is my command, Shadow Singer, if you’re brave enough to take it.”

Azriel bulked at that, resenting his words. Resenting those desires that pelted him, one after another. Desires for this male. The one he had always hated ever since he had beheld that vile face.

He strode over to the princeling, tilting his head back, and smashing his lips to his, his lips punishing as he grabbed a fistful of Eris’s auburn hair. Pulling it back if he could get every inch of that lucious mouth.

He spun Eris around, pinning his back, as Azriel pressed his erection to his ass, showing him exactly what he was dealing with.

“You sure you can take all this, Princeling?” Azriel taunted, his lips firmly pressed to Eris’s ear swearing he could feel the prince shiver in response.

“I’ve taken bigger.” Eris lied. Azriel could sense it. He knew that Eris had never taken a male as big as Azriel before this, and that made him feel…intoxicating.

He briefly let go of Eris, putting some distance between the two so he could bound Eris’s hands together, making sure that his bonds were tight before he put the princeling on his knees. His cock hardening at the sight.

Azriel growled, unbuckling his leathers so his erection could spring free before he wound his hand in Eris’s hair, titling his head up roughly as Azriel rasped out,

“You want my cock so bad, Vanserra, Why don’t you choke on it.

Azriel opened Eris’s mouth, thrusting his cock all the way to the back of Eris’s throat as the prince gagged on it.

“Too big for you, Vanserra?” Azriel mocked, “if your mouth can’t even take me, why do you think you can take me?”

Even though Eris’s eyes were covered, he swore he could feel the glare underneath their as Eris stiffened, sucking on Azriel’s cock as Azriel chuckled.

“Good boy. Now show me how well that mouth of yours can take me.”

Eris weathered him as Azriel thrusted his cock in his mouth. Pulling out his length as he thrusted back in, Eris’s salvia coating his cock as he swore tears ran down Eris’s face soaking through the blindfold from the effort.

Azriel’s balls tightened, his release coming close, as he groaned out.

“Swallow every last drop.” He commanded as the first spurts of his release shot ip in Eris’s mouth. Filling it with his cum as the prince followed instruction and swallowed Azriel’s release down.

“How does it taste, Vanserra? How does the cum of a lowborn Illyrian bastard taste?”

Eris hummed swallowing every last drop Azriel gave as Azriel jerked his cock from Eris’s lips, a few droplets of his release on Eris’s chin as he lifted his head up.

“Answer me.” Azriel commanded as Eris’s voice filled his ears.

“The best I’ve ever tasted.” Eris gasped out as a low cruel laugh fell from Azriel’s lips.

“What would daddy think about that? About you on your knees in front of a lowborn Illyrian bastard. Of you sucking his cock?”

Heat blazed from Eris.

“I could give less of a shit about what my father thinks.”

“Prove it.”

Standing up, Eris carefully made his way back to the couch, bending over and placing his hands on the couch so Azriel has a clear view of his ass as Azriel swore his breath caught.

“Ruin me Shadowsinger. Make me forget every other lover I’ve taken.”

A low primal growl rose out of Azriel as he spread the princeling apart seeing him bared before him like his own personal feast, and he was ready to devour him.

spitting on his ass, Azriel made sure Eris was nice and ready for him as he pressed his hands to his bare shoulder to brace himself, before entering inside of him. Hearing the princeling moan in delight as Azriel stretched him out, making him take all of him as he grasped his throat, gentle enough not to hurt as he growled,

“There we go, look how well you take me.”

“Bastard.” Eris breathed, clenching around him as Azriel pulled out, grasping Eris’s balls and stroking his cock before he slammed back into him again, warning a strangled cry from the prince.

“Brace yourself. “ he warned, giving Eris little chance to recover as he rode the prince, Eris moaning out his name as his hands clenched the couch in front of him, the force of their conjoined bodies making the couch shake as Eris bit the couch cushions to silence himself. Azriel grasping his throat to pull him back as he growled out,

“Oh no you don’t. I want to hear you scream,”

Hearing the prince’s moans of pleasure were delicious, the princling did not fight his basic urges as he lost himself. Surrendering to Azriel as Azriel stroked his cock, not leaving any part of the princeling untouched until he felt the prince’s orgasm. His seed coating his hand as Azriel surrendered to his own orgasm filling the prince so much that it leaked out as Eris let out a primal moan. Glancing back at the Shadowsinger with a promise in his eyes. This dance was far from over between them.

Azriel slipped out of him, a cocky grin forming on his lips as he gestured to the bedroom,

“Come Shadowsinger, we have unfinished business to attend to.”

And without a moment’s hesitation, Azriel followed him, wanting nothing but more from the Prince.

@sjmromanceweek

[multifandomwriter126]

Signet switch||Xaden and Ridoc x platonic reader

Summary— y/n finds a talisman embedded with a signet switching rune.

Word count— 883

A/n this is pure crack that’s all

It all started when you walked into the training grounds with a grin on your face and an old talisman in hand.

Xaden glanced up from where his shadows twisted and writhed at his command, curling like living creatures. He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “What’s that?”

You held it up. “No idea. Found it while we were patrolling. Looks cool though, right?”

Ridoc, lounging nearby, tilted his head. “Define ‘cool.’ Because to me, it looks like the kind of thing that screams cursed.”

“Agreed,” Xaden said, his tone clipped. “Put it down, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re both so dramatic. It’s just a hunk of stone with some runes. What’s the worst that could happen?”

The moment those words left your mouth, the talisman pulsed with light. Warm, golden energy surged outward, blinding everyone in the vicinity. You stumbled back, dropping it as Ridoc and Xaden’s yells pierced the sudden roar of magic.

When the light finally faded, you blinked and looked around. Ridoc was sprawled on the ground, staring at his hands as dark shadows flickered around them like they had a mind of their own.

Xaden stood frozen—literally. Frost spread from his boots, the temperature around him plummeting as he exhaled a puff of mist. His jaw clenched so tight you were sure his teeth might shatter.

“Oh, crap,” you whispered.

“Crap?” Xaden’s voice was ice-cold, much like the air surrounding him. “You didn’t just touch it, Y/N. You’ve switched our signets!”

Ridoc, who had been watching the shadows dance on his fingers, suddenly grinned. “Oh. Oh, this is going to be fun.”

“Ridoc, don’t—” Xaden started, but it was already too late.

Ridoc waved a hand, and Xaden’s shadows slithered toward one of the first years on the far side of the yard. A shadowy tendril coiled around their boot, yanking it off and sending the poor first year stumbling.

“Oops!” Ridoc said, feigning innocence. “Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

Xaden’s glare could’ve frozen fire. “Ridoc.”

“Relax,” Ridoc said with a laugh. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I mean, come on. You’ve had these shadow powers forever, and you don’t even use them for fun.”

“Because they’re not for fun,” Xaden snapped. He gestured sharply, and frost crept along the training dummy he’d been using moments earlier. He stopped himself just in time to avoid shattering it. “Y/N, fix this. Now.”

“I’m trying!” you said, fumbling with the talisman. “These runes are complicated.”

Meanwhile, Ridoc was having the time of his life. He created a massive shadow puppet of Xaden’s silhouette and made it stomp around like a rampaging monster, roaring dramatically.

“Behold!” Ridoc bellowed, gesturing grandly. “The terrifying Xaden Riorson!Fear his brooding and his inability to crack a smile except for when Violet compliments him.”

The first years, who had been watching the show from a safe distance, burst out laughing.

Xaden’s glare sharpened. “You think this is funny?” he growled, his breath visible in the frigid air.

Ridoc grinned, unbothered. “Absolutely. Lighten up, frosty. Oh wait, you’re already frozen solid!”

You glanced up from the talisman to see Xaden’s fists clenched at his sides, the ground beneath him coated in a fine layer of frost. He looked moments away from snapping—literally.

“Ridoc, stop provoking him!” you said, your voice high with panic.

But Ridoc ignored you. Instead, he conjured a shadow puppet of himself, dramatically bowing to the trainees. “And now, for my next trick…”

“Ridoc, I swear to every god in existence—” Xaden began, only for Ridoc’s puppet to place an oversized shadow crown on his head.

“All hail King Xaden!” Ridoc declared.

You buried your face in your hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“Y/N,” Xaden said through gritted teeth, “if you don’t fix this in the next sixty seconds, I’m going to—”

“Freeze everything? Yeah, we get it,” Ridoc cut in, waving him off. “But maybe focus that frosty rage at someone who deserves it. Like Y/N.”

“Hey!” you snapped, finally managing to decipher part of the runes. “I didn’t do this on purpose!”

Xaden’s glare shifted to you, and you swore the air got even colder. “I think you should take a chill pill and give me a second” you mumbled underneath your breath.

“What was that?” Xaden asked sharply.

“Nothing! Just—hold still!” you said, holding up the talisman. The runes began to glow again, and another wave of light surged outward.

When it faded, the shadows and frost had disappeared, replaced by the familiar, comforting warmth of the sun.

Ridoc let out a disappointed sigh. “Aw, no more shadow puppets?”

Xaden, back in control of his shadows, stalked toward you with an expression that could’ve killed. “Y/N.”

“Before you say anything, let me just say I’m really sorry,” you said, backing away. “And I promise to never touch random artifacts again. Lesson learned!”

Ridoc chuckled, clapping you on the shoulder. “Totally worth it, though. You’ve got to admit, that was hilarious.”

Xaden didn’t respond, but the murderous glint in his eyes said plenty.

You decided right then and there that it was best to leave the talisman buried in the deepest hole you could find. Far, far away from Ridoc who probably wouldn’t let you or Xaden live this down —and Xaden’s wrath.

[dulcescorderitas]

jensen proposes to 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

the air was warm, thick with the scent of salt and pine, the soft hush of the waves rolling up onto the shore breaking the stillness of the night. moonlight scattered across the water in shimmering ribbons, reflecting the pale glow onto jensen’s face as he stood there, watching you, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his board shorts.

you had talked about doing this all day—skinny dipping. a half-teasing, half-serious suggestion over breakfast, then again when you were walking along the pier, your eyes bright with mischief. and now here you were, shedding your clothes on the private stretch of beach jensen rented for the week, your fingers trailing slowly down your body as you let each piece drop to the sand, turning just enough to let him see the full curve of your bare silhouette under the moonlight. you grinned over your shoulder, biting your lip, eyes dark with mischief, daring him to stop you, to take control, to claim you right then and there.

“you just gonna stand there, or are you coming in?” you called, your voice light, teasing. the water lapped at your ankles as you backed toward the waves.

jensen huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “you are a goddamn menace, you know that?”

“yeah, yeah,” you waved a hand, dismissing his protest like you always did. “live a little, ackles.”

he watched you disappear beneath the surface, the water swallowing you whole before you broke through again, your wet hair, your laughter echoing in the quiet. you were weightless here, untamed, free. it did something to him, something he hadn’t been able to put words to until this very moment.

his heart was hammering. not out of nerves, but because he knew, without a doubt, that this woman—this wild, unpredictable, beautiful woman—was it for him. you had walked into his life like a hurricane, turning everything upside down in the best possible way.

jensen took a deep breath, reaching into the pocket of his shorts, his fingers closing around the velvet box he’d been carrying for weeks now, waiting for the right moment.

and suddenly, he knew. this was it.

he dropped to one knee right there in the damp sand, letting it sink beneath his weight as he called out, “hey, y/n.”

you turned, wading a few steps closer, brows raised. “yeah?”

jensen swallowed hard, shifting slightly. “come here for a sec.”

there was something in his voice, something that made you pause. you treaded through the water until you were close enough to see his face, your eyes flickering to the box in his hand. your breath hitched.

“jensen,” you whispered.

he let out a slow breath, gripping the box a little tighter. “listen, i—” he shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “this is all new for me. you know that. i haven’t—i haven’t really opened up to anyone since my divorce. everything since you has been... different. it’s been good, and scary, and more than i thought i’d ever let myself have again.”

your eyes softened, lips parting slightly.

he looked up at you, his green eyes steady, unwavering. “but the way you are with me, the way you are with my kids...i never thought i’d get this again. never thought i’d want to. but you make it easy. you make everything easy.”

you sniffed, blinking hard as you covered your mouth with your hand.

jensen opened the box, revealing the simple but stunning ring inside, the diamond catching the moonlight. “so, i gotta ask—will you marry me?”

for a moment, you just stood there, water lapping at your feet, staring down at him like you couldn’t quite believe this was real. then, before he could blink, you were moving, launching yourself at him, knocking you both into the sand as you kissed him, hard, deep, like you were trying to etch this moment into your bones.

“yes,” you breathed against his lips, laughing. “yes, yes, a thousand times, yes.”

jensen exhaled a laugh, his arms tightening around you. “you scared the hell outta me there for a second.”

you grinned, brushing your nose against his. “yeah, well, had to make you sweat a little.”

he laughed, pressing his forehead against yours. “God, i love you.”

“i love you too,” you whispered, and just like that, everything in jensen’s world finally made sense.

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