#i think i need to open conquest again. for them.

[sieglinde-freud]

everyday i wake up and cry about the laslow/nyx support chain

[daemour]

Pairing: roommate! San x f! yn

Word Count: 10,664

Warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, smut warnings under cut

Genre: Angst, fluff, smut, f2l au, college au, M for mature audiences

Summary: As the resident fuckboy San's best friend, you're legally obligated to be his hype man. It's only fitting as you're one of the few who can resist his boyish charms. But when he's set his sights on someone you cannot stand, perhaps you need to dig a bit deeper into your feelings after all.

Smut Warnings: masturbation (f), voyeurism, sexual fantasies, oral (f), missionary, protected sex, very slight breast play, overstimulation, cowgirl, some cumplay, dirty dirty talk, fingering, slight body worship ig?, praise, I literally have no idea I wrote it at a time when I should've been in bed so lmk if I missed anything

-

this is for the jackson wang party fic collab finished with @mingsolo (hella good) @flurrys-creativity (Pygalgia, Effervescent, and Abience) and @sanjoongie (trouble) <3 I still have one more to go but we'll ignore that LMAOOOOO I added too much plot :') flurry was a dear and helped me sort out my thoughts and I managed to write 8k of it in one day lol.

hope u all enjoy and sorry I'm a professional yapper there's no shutting me up

“Going out again?” you ask your best friend and flatmate, San, as he walks past where you’re seated at the kitchen counter, suffering through your essays.

“Yep,” San answers easily, popping the ‘p’ and leaning over to take a peek at your laptop screen. “You misspelt ‘dextrorotatory’, you wrote it as ‘dexrotatory’.”

As your eyes find the typo, you groan and plant your head on the table. “I give up,” you declare dramatically, “I’ll drop out and become a taxi driver.”

San laughs. “First of all, you can’t drive that well. Second of all, you’d make more money as a stripper.” He dodges your smack with ease. “Third, you’re smart and you’ll ace these like always. You’re just a little mentally constipated. Why don’t you join me tonight?”

You think about it for a minute. While you probably do need a break from staring at your laptop, you know how wild the parties San goes to can get from personal experience. And you don’t think it’s a good idea when it's the end of your semester and the final year of your master's program. You just can’t afford to do that. “I’ll pass this time,” you sigh. “Maybe after exam season.”

San hums. “All right. Make sure to take a break, though,” he reminds you, dropping a quick kiss on the top of your head. “See you later.”

He soon disappears out of the door and you turn your focus away from your best friend to your homework. You feel bad for whoever his new conquest will be at the party.

In your opinion, it’s best to keep San at arm’s length when it comes to a romantic relationship. Not that you like him, but you also don’t want to be another notch on his bedpost, and you most certainly do not want to ruin your eight-year-long friendship. It’s not hard to see that San isn’t interested in a long relationship, not right now at least.

You honestly find it amusing that so many girls and guys still throw themselves at him and then get upset when he doesn’t give them a second glance after the initial night. His reputation precedes him, especially in your small town, and yet there will always be a line out the door for him. You don’t even know how he knows so many people.

With a sigh, you clear out your thoughts and refocus on your organic chemistry work. You’re lucky your job offered to pay for your master's classes, but the workload is killing you inside. You’re incredibly happy you’re almost done, and with newfound motivation, you hunker down and start writing out your notes again.

It’s almost two in the morning when you finally yawn and start putting your books away, and it’s almost three when you hear the front door open and the sound of San stumbling into the shoe rack as he always does. “You’re home already, Sanah?”

“YN!” San stumbles his way into the bathroom where you’re combing your hair, wrapping his arms around you and tucking his flushed face into your neck. “You’re still up?”

You laugh, tapping him on the head with your brush. “Yes, but I’m about to go to bed. And you should too, you know.”

San groans, his hold on your waist tightening and his words slurring together. “I don’t wanna,” he whines, “the bed's too cold.”

You sigh fondly. This happens almost every time he drinks, and usually, that’s why he doesn’t drink too much when he’s by himself. He gets too cuddly with people and you’re usually the one to keep him from bedding everyone he sees.  You suppose he somehow didn’t end up with anyone in bed and he’s disappointed now. “Do you think you’ll ever ask to sleep with me nicely, or will you just settle for wrestle-cuddling me into my own bed?” you ask, rolling your eyes as San does not answer, just pulling you towards your room. “There’s my answer.”

You’re too used to his drunk antics and just let him move you around. It’s comforting in a way, that he’s comfortable enough around you to do this with you, and it makes your heart warm whenever he throws his arm around you and presses his face in your neck.

You’d never admit it, but it’s nights like this when you sleep the best. With his warm breath tickling your neck, you let your body relax and your eyes flutter shut.

-

“God, I’ve got a raging headache,” San groans when he sees you enter the kitchen with a mess of bed hair. “I went so crazy with the soju last night, I think I’m going to die.”

You laugh, reaching for the pot to make some oatmeal for him. “Don’t be so dramatic. Why did you even drink so much anyway? No bitches?”

San snorts but immediately whines from the sharp pain that probably shot through his skull. “You’re so mean to me! No, I got no bitches, but that was from my own choice anyway. I don’t want to fuck around anymore.”

Both your eyebrows raise into your hairline. “No? What changed things, hm? Finally decided your one true love is Byeol?” As if on cue, your shared cat meows and curls around your ankles, and you bend down to scratch behind her ears.

“Never had to decide that, we all know she’s the real number one in my life. No, I think I’m interested in someone.” You stop your petting of Byeol, who meows in protest and runs off to pout somewhere. “Come on, don’t act like you just saw a ghost.”

“Who?” is the only question that comes out of your mouth. Of course, San has had a crush before, but he’s never stopped screwing around unless he was actively dating that person. He’s a fuckboy, but he’s not a piece of shit at least. This is new.

“Lee Yeseul. I met her yesterday at the party, and she’s so sweet. She was so out of place at the party, and not in a mean way. She just…has such an aura around her.” San’s voice is soft even just talking about her and you get the feeling he’s being serious. “We’re meeting up for coffee today.”

“That’s…amazing, Sanah. I really hope it goes well for you,” you smile at him, pushing a bowl of oatmeal over to him. “Don’t forget to let me make a speech at your wedding.”

San chuckles, rolling his eyes at your jokes. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t you have study group today? Go there and stop bothering me.”

You ruffle his messy hair before planting a kiss on it and pinching his cheek. He blindly reaches around to smack at you but you dodge him easily, laughing as you head out to grab your keys. “See you later, Sanah. Have a good da-ate.”

San grumbles at you but ultimately returns to his food. You think you can hear him muttering about you being a pain in the ass and you smile to yourself. You don’t have the heart to tell him you know Lee Yeseul…and she’s a major bitch. You sincerely hope she’s sweet to San at least—he deserves the best. But you find her absolutely draining, especially with how often she talks about herself and doesn’t pay attention to anyone else ever. If she cries in your class one more time you think you might smack her yourself.

You still remember the time you had gotten a call that your grandfather had died, and after overhearing your conversation, instead of comforting you, she started talking about how “so many of my family members died in the past ten years.” Sure, maybe she was trying, but you’ve known about her antics enough that it was clear she just wanted to make it about her.

But if San likes her, who are you to interfere? He has a pretty good eye for who has a good personality so maybe Yeseul has changed. You’re not one to stop him. Not that you ever could. When he first started going out to party, you would tag along to make sure he wouldn’t make any bad decisions, but your efforts seldom paid off. You’re pretty sure he must be blessed since he somehow hadn’t pissed off anyone majorly enough to have them call a hit on him.

Shaking your head, you rid yourself of these thoughts and go to the library. There’s no use dwelling on it, the more you think about it, the worse your feeling about his crush on Yeseul gets. He’s a grown man, he doesn’t need you to parent him.

“Woah, who pissed in your cereal?” You should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to hide your bad mood from your study buddy, Hongjoong. Although you only see him for studying, you’re confident enough to call him your closest friend other than San. “Are you okay?”

You sigh, dropping your books on the table. It earns you a harsh ‘shh’ from the librarian which you apologise half-heartedly for. “Do you remember Yeseul? Lee Yeseul?”

Hongjoong’s brows raise high into his hairline. “The professional bitcher? What did she do now?”

“San’s into her, and with her personality, she’s probably loving the attention from the professional heartbreaker.” You groan, glaring at the cover of your organic chemistry textbook. “It’s none of my business if he cares for her, but damn, I wish he could’ve picked anyone else.”

Hongjoong hums, leaning forward and poking at the top of your head. “Look, you’ve been his friend for years. I think you have a bit more of a reason to poke your nose into his business than most. Give it a few weeks, and if it truly bothers you, then you can bring it up to San.”

You sigh. “Maybe.” You say nothing else on the topic and Hongjoong knows not to broach it anymore. Sometimes you wish he wasn’t so smart.

-

“YN, I didn’t know you knew Yeseul!” is the first thing San says to you one week after he returns from one of his many dates with her. “When I mentioned you being my roommate she told me you were in the same class as her.”

You wince to yourself as you take a long swig of your coffee. “Mmh, I didn’t think it was that relevant,” you say. You can practically hear Hongjoong rolling his eyes at your excuse. You know you should tell him your qualms about Yeseul, especially since the gross feeling in your gut has only gotten stronger. But you’re not sure you want to tread those waters. San’s sweet, but he’s loyal to a fault and probably wouldn’t like you talking badly about Yeseul.

San narrows his eyes, clearly suspicious but not willing to pry. “Well, maybe if we ever find you a date, we can go on a double date.” He moves on pretty quickly, though, walking over to lean over your shoulder and look at your laptop. “Still going on that paper?”

You hum, cracking your knuckles. “Yeah, it’s due tomorrow so I need to pump it out today and then get Hongjoong to look it over.” You lean back, letting your head rest on San’s torso as you yawn. “I can’t wait for this to be over so that I can graduate already.”

San laughs, leaning down to rest his chin on your head. “You’re smart. You can do this. And when you’re done, I’ll take you to a party and we can celebrate.”

You groan, shifting forward and putting your hands back on the keyboard. “Well, in that case, I should get back to writing this.” As you start typing again, you hear the buzzer ring and the warmth of San’s body leaves you as he goes to check who it is.

“Oh, hey, Yeseul! Come on up!” Your eyebrows raise into your hairline and your head snaps up. Why would Yeseul go to all this trouble of coming here? Didn’t they just see each other?

You close your eyes and take a couple of deep breaths before facing the dragon herself. You can hear the tell-tale sound of her voice pitched up to sound more sweet, although it’s grown to be grating on your ears. “Hi, Sannie,” she purrs and you have to refrain from retching. “I was on my way home but I realised it went right by your apartment so I figured I could come say hi. It doesn’t look like you’re too busy, right?”

“No, not at all,” San replies, and you hate how sweetly he talks to her. “YN is in too, she’s writing her final paper. Wanna say hi? She could probably use the distraction.”

No, I don’t need the distraction, is what you want to scream out, but your mother did not raise you like that although you wish she did. Instead, you just smile politely at the girl entering your kitchen. “Hello, Yeseul. Good to see you again.”

“Hey, YNie!” Her cheery nickname for you has your eye twitching. “How’s the paper going? I finished mine a few weeks ago so I’m home free. Just need to submit it.”

“That’s great, Yeseul,” you say, tone slightly more monotonous than you wanted it to be and San shoots you a look. “Hopefully you get a good grade on it.”

“Hey, would you want to join us for dinner?” San cuts in and you can already feel a headache starting to pulse behind your eyes. “I was going to order pizza since it’s my turn today and I’m not nearly as good of a cook as YN.”

“Oh, that would be lovely! I don’t mind whatever toppings,” Yeseul claps happily. The urge to punch her in the face increases bit by bit for you. San nods happily, stepping out into the living room to place the call. After a moment, Yeseul turns to you with puppy eyes and you brace yourself for whatever she has up her sleeve. “Could I trouble you for a glass of water, YNie?”

You try your best to keep your composure as you get up to fetch her a glass of water. She takes it without even a thank you and you decide you’d much rather die than deal with her any longer so you close your laptop with a sigh. “I’m actually meeting with a friend for dinner, but you definitely should stay and have fun,” you say, smiling as plausibly as you can. You do not have dinner plans but you’re sure you can figure it out.

When you go into your room, you’re drawing blanks. You’re still going out, but you’ll probably just end up calling a friend to complain. As you leave the room and grab your keys, San meets eyes with you and frowns. “Where are you going?”

“Ah, I promised to have dinner with a friend so I’m heading out. Enjoy your time with Yeseul, though.”

The furrow between San’s brows deepens. “But I already ordered the pizza.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I can bring the leftovers tomorrow for lunch. Sorry, I just forgot to tell you, but I really have to go now. Bye!” Before he can say goodbye as well, you slip out the door. The suffocating feeling that is encompassing you lifts and you sigh in relief, but then you somehow feel worse at the idea of San and Yeseul having fun and giggling and cuddling.

You shake your head again, trying to clear your muddled thoughts before setting down to go find your dinner. Fast food was the easiest option, and you figured you could at least sit in your car and wallow in self-pity.

-

After you receive your order you park and pull out your phone, scrolling through your contacts. You don’t want to call your family because as much as you love them, they can be a bit over-protective and probably will offer to help you find a different apartment and that would be a bit dramatic. In the end, Hongjoong is probably the next best option.

He doesn't pick up immediately, and you’re just about to hang up when the phone crackles and Hongjoong’s voice comes through. “Why are you calling me?”

You can’t help but bark out a laugh at his disgruntled tone. “Hongjoong, it’s a perfectly reasonable hour to call, don’t blame me for your shit sleeping schedule. Are you actually free though?”

Hongjoong sighs and if you focus you can hear the sound of him rolling over in bed. “What’s up?”

“It’s about Yeseul again. She came around today, and it was just…so suffocating. Like, why did San have to pick her? There’s so many girls, and out of them all he picks her? The most bitchy one I know?”

Hongjoong hums. “Why does it annoy you so much?”

You groan, leaning your head back and taking a long sip of your drink. “She’s self-centred, bitchy, and she’s just so fake. I don’t think this relationship will end well, Joong. Clearly he’s just blinded and she’s so manipulative.”

“But why are you so bothered by this specifically? I mean, sure we’ve had bad interactions with Yeseul, but you’re pretty nonchalant about the shit San gets up to and you like to let him deal with the consequences himself.”

You frown glaring at the phone although you know he can’t see it and you pop a fry into your mouth. “I don’t know. It just feels different. I feel like I should interfere this time. I mean, he’s a lot more serious this go around.”

Hongjoong hums, rolling once again as he yawns. “YN, be totally honest with me. This is a shot in the dark, but I think this is pretty important.” You hold your breath in anticipation. “Do you like San?”

“Oh sure, he’s a good friend–”

“You and I both know that’s not what I meant.” You bite your lip, stiffening in your chair. “YN, you need to be honest with yourself. The way you talk about San, you interact with him, it’s not how just roommates, just friends interact. You kiss each other's heads, YN. And it can be platonic, but I’ve rarely seen San do that to his female friends, and I’ve never seen you do that, period. You don’t even kiss me.” His voice turns teasing on the last bit but you’re too shocked to register.

Do you like San? You love him like a friend, of course. But when you think about him being with anyone else, even if it wasn’t Yeseul, something in you aches. When you think about San’s smile being directed to anyone else, you can feel a burning in your gut. The answer is clear, whether you like it or not.

“I…yes. I do.” The confession comes out quietly. “But I don’t want to do anything about it. Like you said, it’s up to San whether he likes Yeseul enough. I can’t interfere.”

You can practically hear the look Hongjoong would be levelling at you. “Why not?”

You shrug. “When San likes someone, nothing can stop him from liking someone unless he wants to. I’ll just let it run its course and hopefully my own feelings will vanish in the process.”

“That doesn’t sound very healthy, YN.”

You let out a despondent laugh. “Sure, probably not. But who knows? Maybe I can find someone else in the process.” You let out a sigh before glancing at your now-cold sandwich. “I gotta head out, but thanks for talking, Joong. I’ll see you in class.”

Hongjoong can barely say goodbye before you hang up the phone and lean back. This is going to be difficult. The more you see Yeseul, the more you know you’ll accidentally slip up and something will tip her and San off. Your headache is pulsing behind your eyes and you take a small bite of your sandwich, your appetite diminishing. You miss being a child and your biggest worry is that San sneezed on your lollipop.

With another groan, you wrap up the sandwich and just go for a late-night drive instead to clear your head. It’s something that has never failed to calm you down and keep your mind level. San always berates you for driving alone at night, but you’d like to say you’re pretty safe. Plus, even he has agreed that it’s pretty calming when—you frown, forcing thoughts of San to leave your brain.

You don’t really know how long you’ve been out, but it’s surely long enough that Yeseul has left. As you carefully open the door, there’s a long silence, and you sigh, happy you made it home free. But as you’re about to call out for San, you hear a high-pitched moan come from his bedroom. And it certainly is not San.

You almost turn tail and head right back out of the apartment when you hear San’s reverberating moans fill the house. Against your better judgment, you take off your shoes and step closer towards his bedroom. His bedroom door is cracked open and curse him for putting his mirror right in view where you can see him leaning back on his bed, his lower half hidden off the edge of it and you can only see Yeseul’s knees.

And in your head, you know it’s wrong. But your heart is beating out of your chest and you can feel heat building in your core. And, well, you’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve. You keep yourself pressed against the wall, staring at the way the muscles in San’s neck strain and the way he moans with every snap of his hips. You’re sure your panties are soaked through by now, and your teeth sink into your lower lip to keep yourself quiet. The taste of copper enters your mouth but you couldn’t care less.

It’s only when San sits up, probably to fuck into Yeseul better and he disappears from the mirror that you rip yourself away and escape into your own room. Not another thought enters your brain as you strip your leggings and underwear off, flopping on your bed and closing your eyes as you let your hand trail down to press against your slick pussy. It doesn’t take long for you to sink your fingers into your sopping cunt, turning your head to bury your face into your pillow.

The guilt in the back of your mind is quickly sent away as you imagine San’s hands fucking you instead. He’s always had well-worn hands, and your brain fogs up as you imagine him leaning forward to mouth at your neck as he fucks you.

Your brain flips back and forth between the idea of him eating you out so well and fucking so many loads into you with his thick cock that your stomach swells and you whimper into your pillow as your core tightens and you come onto your fingers. You feel tears prick your eyes as you get up to wipe your hands of the cream coating your fingers and toss the tissue in the trash. You’re not sure how you’ll be able to face San or Yeseul again after that.

You can feel the shame burning inside of you and you close your eyes and cry yourself to sleep silently.

-

Waking up is disorienting, your eyes red-rimmed and your bottom lip raw and blood dried on it. You feel like death and you’re pretty sure you can’t attend class like this. You lean over and grab your phone, yawning as you send your professor a text with a weak excuse. You don’t really care how plausible it is, Professor Jeong usually is quite understanding so you don’t worry about that for too long. San had texted you an hour ago, asking if you had come home, and you choose not to answer it.

You can hear mumbling in the other room, probably Yeseul and San sharing goodbyes, when you hear the door shut behind her. Unlike you, she’s probably happy to go to class and tell all her friends about her night with the campus fuckboy.

It takes another thirty minutes for you to finally roll out of bed and put some lotion on your face, hoping for the traces of the questionable night you had to erase from your face. Once you’re satisfied with your appearance, you venture out into your living room where San is standing by the door. “When did you get back?” he asks without even turning around. “I texted you like, an hour ago.”

You shrug, avoiding his eyes as you move into the kitchen to find breakfast. “I only just woke up, San.”

Your roommate gives a short huff, following close behind you. “Don’t you have class? Yeseul just left so you could walk with her.”

You try not to roll your eyes at the idea of that. “I’m not feeling well so I don’t think I’ll go.” “You’re not feeling well?” San’s voice deepens in concern and as you grab a yoghurt, he places his hand atop your forehead. “You are feeling pretty warm.”

At his touch, too many memories of last night flood through your brain and you shake away his hand. “Yeah. I’ll just go lie down for a little. Have a good day.”

Before he can say anything else, or realise your suspicious behaviour, you dodge past him and head off back into your room to hide. “I left your pizza in the fridge,” he calls after you and you just grunt in thanks before barricading yourself in your room.

You lean against the door for a minute before you realise you didn’t even grab a spoon. Unwilling to go back out there, you’ve resigned yourself to licking it out of the container like a cat when you hear a gentle knock at the door.

“I got you a spoon,” San’s unsure voice filters through the wooden door, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Thanks, San,” you murmur, turning to open the door a crack and take the proffered utensil. “Sorry for being short with you.”

His lips quirk into a half-smile, a silent acceptance of your apology. “I get it. Just get some rest, YN.”

You close the door again, this time a warm heart in your chest mixing with the guilt you still feel in your gut. You’re not sure how on earth you’re going to get over your feelings for San.

-

Avoiding San goes well for the most part. You are in your finals week anyway, and you’re spending most of your time at the library or in class. Your college’s library stays open for 24 hours during the last week of school anyways so some nights you’ve just been staying there until morning. Hongjoong disapproves heavily but doesn’t say much about it and you appreciate his support either way.

Avoiding Yeseul proves much harder. She seems to always find her way to wherever you happen to be, interrupting you and Hongjoong’s study sessions with a perfect smile and narrowed eyes. You don’t know what she wants from you, and you aren’t pleased with her presence.

But one evening, you’re about to leave the library to have some dinner when she corners you. “YN, let’s talk,” she says in that sickeningly saccharine voice of hers, looping her arm into yours and pulling you down the street. “I have some things to ask you.”

Unwilling, you try to tug your arm out of her grasp, but the girl is stronger than you expected. She pulls you all the way to her dorm on campus, sitting you down on her leather couch. “What is your relationship with Choi San?”

Her question comes so suddenly you need a minute to register. To her credit, Yeseul waits patiently for you to gather your thoughts. “He’s my friend and roommate?” you say as truthfully as you can muster, although you know it’s an absolute lie, and judging from her expression, Yeseul doesn’t believe you either.

“Don’t take me as a fool, YN. The way he talks about you is undeniable.”

“That seems like something you should be talking to him about,” you say, attempting to get up from the couch but Yeseul just pushes you back down.

“I’ve tried. He just tells me there’s nothing to worry about and I don’t believe that,” Yeseul grits through her teeth.

And you have to give it to her. She did try to come to San about her worries. But the way she refuses to trust him grates on your nerves. He stopped his fuckboy activities to be with her, and yet she’s worried about you, one of the few girls who isn’t all over him at any moment. You arch a brow. “Do you not trust him?”

Yseul scoffs. “Of course not. He’s a fuckboy. But I like the status I get with him. I just don’t want to end up embarrassed.”

Well, that will be inevitable, you can’t help but think to yourself. No matter how much your relationship with San is strained, you’re not about to let Yeseul talk shit about him like he isn’t genuinely trying for her.

“That’s where you come into play,” Yeseul’s smirk turns sharp. “I’m going to call San. Ask him to choose between us. If he chooses you, then I want you to stay far, far away from him.”

You shrug. No matter the outcome, it’s not like you’re not already keeping your distance from San. In the end, you’ll just tell him to break up with her and let him deal with the chaos himself. “Go ahead,” bitch.

San picks up on the first ring. “Yeseul?” He’s cheery and your heart aches at the thought of Yeseul breaking his so easily. “What’s the occasion?”

“Hey, babe, I just have a quick question, and I need you to answer truthfully for me, okay?” At his pause, she takes that as a go-ahead. “Who would you pick? Me or YN.”

There’s a long silence on the phone. “Yeseul, we need to break up.”

Only one thing unites you and Yeseul in this moment, and it’s your shared confusion for San’s reaction. “What do you mean?” her voice turns panicked. “Isn’t that a little far?”

“You’ve been stuck on this, and I don’t know how much I have to reassure you, Yeseul. I haven’t even seen YN for the past two weeks. And she’s my closest friend. I’m not dropping her for a two-week relationship. I hope you have a good time, Yeseul.”

Before you can react at all, Yeseul screeches and points an accusing finger at you. “This is all your fault, YN!”

Your jaw drops at her absolute audacity. “My fault? What are you on? I was just trying to live peacefully when you dragged me into this plot ignoring my advice. I told you to talk to him, to just fucking trust him. God, you’re an idiot. And I’m going home.”

Without another word, you leave, still fuming over that interaction. Couldn’t she just have made the call without you? You’re happy you don’t have to do all the convincing for San to leave her, but that just complicates things for you. Would he really so easily drop Yeseul just for you? From what you’ve heard, he was practically head over heels for her.

With another sigh, you head back to the library. You need to finish that exam.

-

“Pens down, and turn in your exams,” you hear the professor call, and you don’t think you’ve ever gotten up so fast. You’re so, so fucking happy that you’ve finished your last year and now you’re free.

As soon as your professor accepts your paper you race out of the lecture hall, only stopped by the cafeteria when you hear someone call your name. Lee Juyeon, someone you’ve started growing closer to, waves you down. “Hey, YN, congrats on finishing!” he smiles at you and you can’t help but smile back, the giddiness contagious.

“Thanks! You too,” you say, pulling him into a hug. “It’s so nice to be done.” Practically nothing could dampen your mood, especially seeing Juyeon. He’s sweet, and you have an inkling he likes you. And you’re not opposed to it.

“It really is,” Juyeon agreed cheerfully. “Look, I have to go celebrate with my family, I just wanted to say hi. But hey…there’s this end of the year party on Saturday, and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me.”

And your suspicions were right. You think about it for a moment. You’re not the biggest party person, anyone knows that, but Juyeon is sweet and just what you need, so you accept eagerly. It doesn’t take long for the two of you to exchange numbers and for him to promise to send you more details before he runs off. And through your excitement, you know you still have to go meet with San who’s probably waiting for you just outside. He wanted to see you as soon as you finish your exams, and you didn’t have the heart to decline.

“Congratulations on finishing your last exam, YN!” San cheers as soon as you exit the college building. “I’m so proud of you!”

You’re too tired to complain when San sweeps you up into a hug, just letting yourself relax in his firm arms. After all this work, you think you’ll let yourself indulge in his affection. “Thanks, Sanah. I appreciate it.” You let your chin rest on his broad shoulder, closing your eyes and letting the exhaustion take over you. “Can I go to bed now?”

You hear him chuckle, the vibrations from his chest comforting you. “Yeah, yeah. We can celebrate later. Come on.”

He tugs you all the way to your apartment, dropping you on the couch and quickly curling right up next to you. You can’t bring yourself to care. “I’m proud of you,” he repeats into your hair as he tucks your head into his neck. Your eyes flutter shut.

When you reopen them, it’s bordering on evening. San is no longer wrapped around you, and you can hear him moving about in the kitchen. “San,” you call out, voice raspy from having just woken up. “What are you doing?”

“Ah, I’m making dinner,” he responds, his voice too warm for your liking, your heart beating just a little faster. “Come and eat.”

With a bit of difficulty, you rise from the couch and move to the kitchen, taking a seat at the counter. “Japchae? When did you learn how to cook this?”

San chuckles. “Wooyoung taught me the other day because he was bored. I figured it’d be a nice surprise for you after all your hard work.”

Your lips twitch, unsure if you should smile or pout. “That’s sweet. Thank you again, San.”

As you start eating the noodles (there’s a little too much sesame but you don’t have the heart to tell San that), San clears his throat. “So…I promised to take you to a party.”

You vaguely remember this conversation. “Ah, yeah. What did you have in mind?”

“There’s this end of the year party, it’s supposed to be the biggest one, hosted by Jackson Wang.”

“Ah–” you shake your head, eyes apologetic. “I promised someone else I’d go with them. I didn’t know that was the party you wanted to take me to. Maybe we can do something else on a different day?”

San’s lips turn downward the slightest bit. “That’s okay. There are other parties. Who invited you, by the way?” His tone is casual, and yet you still feel like you’re walking into the lion’s den.

“Ah, Lee Juyeon from college. I think he’s in Hongjoong’s philosophy department, but he’s a year behind. He’s cute so I figured I’d give it a try.”

“It’s a date?” Your brows furrow at the heaviness in San’s voice but you pay it no mind and nod. “I see. Well, have fun.”

The rest of the dinner is filled with silence, San picking at his food and you in no mood to try and dissect his mood. He takes your empty bowl and starts doing the dishes, and you mumble out a thank you before running back to your room. He’s clearly not willing to talk more and it’s best to give him space.

As you lay in bed, you can’t help but worry about what is so grating on his mind after you mentioned your date. You can’t think of anything that would cause him to be angry—as far as you’re aware he has no grudges against Lee Juyeon, much less met him. Shaking your head, you try and fall asleep. It’s best not to dwell on it, you can just ask him tomorrow.

-

It’s Saturday, and you’re in a foul mood. San hasn’t spoken to you in the four days leading up to the party, avoiding you like there’s no tomorrow. The only saving grace comes in the form of Juyeon’s excited texts, telling you all about his outfit for the party, and you respond with matching enthusiasm. When you meet with Juyeon in front of the large house where the party is held, the thought of San isn’t even on your mind. Instead, you just take Juyeon’s offered hand and follow him into the party.

You weave through the bodies, reaching the counter where shots are being passed around. “Want vodka or tequila?” Juyeon asks, his voice pitching higher to be heard over the bass. Without answering him, you just reach for the bottle of tequila, pouring the two of you shots. “Good choice,” Juyeon laughs, throwing his head back as he downs the alcohol, you following suit shortly.

“You know, I never pegged you for a college party fan,” you lean in, laughing. “Maybe I should hang out with you more.”

Juyeon chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Maybe you should. I know great party-throwers. Although I’ve heard you’ve been to your fair share, what being San’s friend and all.”

You shake your head, a smile on your face. “Maybe at first, but you know, organic chemistry isn’t an easy major to balance with a party life.”

Juyeon laughs loudly, bumping you with his hip. “I understand the pain. Philosophy falls into that category of majors too. Another shot?”

You take the second shot happily, letting the alcohol burn through your veins as you stumble alongside Juyeon’s wandering through the crowd. Whatever you’re doing is a blur, all you can focus on is Juyeon’s smile and his warm hand holding yours.

It feels like barely a moment has passed when Juyeon pulls you into a nearly empty room of couches, only a few other couples lingering in the corners. “I hope you’ve been enjoying yourself,” Juyeon starts, his eyes sparkling as he takes in your appearance. “It’s been fun hanging out.”

“I did too,” you agree with a small smile, looking up at him through your lashes.

He leans in, and you lean in, and your lips brush. It’s a sweet kiss, one that you lean into as Juyeon wraps his arms around your waist. It’s warm and you smile into it. And then a familiar face pops into your head. You wonder to yourself how San would kiss you, if he would do it as sweetly as Juyeon or if he would devour your lips like it was his last meal.

When Juyeon pulls away for air, you feel guilt burning in your stomach again. Why would you think of other men when Juyeon’s right here in front of you? As Juyeon leans in to kiss you again, you almost move back before a hand grips your shoulder and pulls you into a broad chest.

“Hey, man, I’m going to have to talk to YN if you don’t mind.” You’d recognise your best friend’s voice anywhere, and it only serves to fill you with annoyance. Sure, you weren’t as into Juyeon’s kisses as you expected, but it doesn’t mean you’re thrilled to be interrupted by the man who’s been ignoring you.

Juyeon takes one look at San, and something changes in his eyes. A mix of reluctance and acceptance, and with a short nod and smile towards you, he slips away from you. You turn to San, frowning at the sharpness in his narrowed eyes, not one you’re used to seeing or enjoy seeing. “Why would you kiss him?” he spits, and your annoyance grows with confusion being added to the mix.

“What do you mean, ‘why kiss him’? I told you, San, I was on a date. Why the fuck did you interrupt us?”

“I like you.” Those three words would be a dream for you to hear from his mouth…if you weren’t so pissed.

“No, fuck that. I do not need to hear that from you right now. Not when I was enjoying my night with Juyeon. What was confessing supposed to do for you, San? It’s too late now. I wanted to enjoy this party, and now I have to go apologise to Juyeon for you.” San opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head, pushing him away from you.

You leave San standing by himself as you search for Juyeon, your mood immediately souring. Why would he fucking do this to you? You can feel tears burning your eyelids and you abandon your search for Juyeon, searching instead for some liquor to take away your embarrassment.

As you pour yourself another shot of tequila, you notice a familiar face, Hongjoong talking to a girl you recognise as someone he hangs out with sometimes. They look like they’re getting it on and you feel a little bad, but you need his advice. “Hey, Kim Hongjoong!” you call out to him, waving him over. Hongjoong’s eyes brighten and he makes his way over, leaving the girl staring after him longingly, but her attention is soon taken away by two other guys. You recognise one of them from the cafeteria but you don’t remember his name.

“Hey, YN, what’s up? I didn’t expect to see you here, did San take you?” Your face falls and Hongjoong realises he stepped into dangerous territory. “Okay, what happened?”

-

“I can’t believe San is mad at me for kissing someone at the party,” you groan after explaining to Hongjoong the events leading up to now. “Sure, maybe it wasn’t the best move on my part but he’s had like, twenty million one-night stands, and yet I can’t kiss someone else? He hasn’t even talked to me after I mentioned going on a date. And yet he looked positively murderous after he saw me kissing that other guy.”

Hongjoong tilts his head, confused. “Isn’t that what you wanted, though? You like him.”

“I did! I do! But I’m so sick of waiting around for him, and I could’ve had a chance at liking someone else. He’s all over the place, and I don’t know if that’s what I want in a man.” You’re lying to both Hongjoong and yourself, and Hongjoong knows it, raising an eyebrow.

“Honestly, YN, it just sounds like you need to talk to him.” Hongjoong crosses his arms, tapping his foot and eager to back to the girl was with, but also not wanting to ditch you in your time of need. You feel a little bad for pulling him away, but your mind is swirling with so many thoughts, you don’t know if you can sort them out by yourself and drinking to erase those thoughts is not something you like to do. You’re not San.

And speak of the devil, you smell his familiar cologne before his hand lands on your shoulder and pulls you into his chest. You whirl around out of his grip and glare at him. “Get off me,” you snap. “I’m in the middle of a conversation right now, Choi San.”

With one glance at Hongjoong, he raises his hands and winks at you. “Have that talk, YN. It’ll do you more good than harm.”

Oh, you’re going to kill that traitor after the party. You turn your attention back to San, your mouth twisted into a frown. “You make this quick or else.”

San has the decency to look a little ashamed as his eyes shake. “Can we talk on the patio? It’s too loud in here.”

With a dramatic sigh, you grab his wrist and pull him through the crowd to the back door, practically slamming it behind you. You can see the eyes of people interested in the drama through the windows but you pay it no mind. “Speak. You get five minutes before I go back in and you don’t talk to me again for the rest of the night.”

San’s face falls and his lips pull into a pout. But no matter how subconsciously adorable he is, you refuse to fall for his charms this time. The heat of anger is still curling in your gut when you think about the argument from earlier. “YN, come on, I had a good reason.”

You shake your head, ignoring the strands of hair that fall into your eyes. “No, San. Confessing to me is not a good reason to fuck up my night. You didn’t even apologise. You’ve been ignoring me for days after I mentioned my date, and the moment I kiss Juyeon you get all angry and jealous? Be for real.” You pause for breath, glaring daggers into his eyes. “You are not owed my time, especially after that shit you pulled. Yeseul’s jealousy is why you broke up with her, so why are you like this to me?”

San’s gaze intensifies and you can see him actively trying to reign in his temper. Although he does his best to remain calm, if tempers are rising, he can be intense. “YN, what was I supposed to do? Watch you go out with him? Watch you slip from my fingers just like that?”

“Yes!” you all but scream at him. “If I could sit by and let Yeseul take each little bit of your heart, you could’ve done the same! I was going to be happy, San! I wouldn’t have to sit behind and watch you from the sidelines with my heart slowly cracking. But I don’t get that same courtesy.”

You step forward, poking his chest with a finger as you let loose your storm of thoughts. In your anger, you don’t even notice San’s arm moving until it wraps around your waist and pulls you into him. The action shocks you enough that you stop mid-sentence, your finger still pressing into San’s flesh. “You love me?” San leans in, his nose brushing against yours.

You can feel heat flare up in your face as you stare wide-eyed at him. It takes you a moment to register your compromising position and you stumble back, pushing at his chest. “Don’t do that,” you hiss, turning your eyes away. “I don’t like you, San. Not anymore.”

“You’re lying.” San’s voice is firm. “Look at me in the eyes and tell me you don’t like me anymore.”

You don’t know where you got it from. You’ve never been good at lying, not to San. Maybe it was the alcohol burning through your system, mixing with the shame and anger you feel. But this time, you stare him directly in the eye and say the four words that might’ve been the biggest lie in your life. “I don’t like you.” San’s brows furrow and he shakes his head.

“No–”

“Yes, San. You cannot just waltz around and expect me to keep the patience I had for you. I’m sick of being pulled around like a puppet. Maybe at first you didn’t know. But refusing to give me space when I asked for it?” You shake your head, glancing back at the party. “I’m going back in. We can talk about the apartment lease later.”

Without glancing back, you re-enter the house. And maybe it hurts a little that he doesn’t go after you, but at this point, you’re too numb and all you want to do is go home and cry. But home is not an option, not when it would probably be the first place he would look for you. Fighting back the tears threatening to fall from your eyes, you slide into your car, staring blankly at the wheel for a long moment until you feel composed and sober enough to drive.

And drive you certainly do. You’re not quite sure where you’re going, and you’re plenty aware that this is a bad idea, but you just let yourself go around and calm yourself down first. The crisp breeze paired with the warm spring air does wonders to clear your head and paired with the late times, there are not too many cars out. It’s peaceful.

You’re not too sure how long you were out, but it’s long enough for the blurry memory of the argument to clear and you groan, pulling over to park by the side of the road and let your head hit the steering wheel. You went too far. San had always been the more emotional of you two, always wearing his heart on his sleeve. He must’ve had a hard time with Yeseul, and although it doesn’t excuse him, you never gave him a chance to properly apologise.

With a sigh, you check your phone to see five missed calls and twenty texts from San asking where you are. He somehow even got your neighbours (a sweet couple in their twenties who babysit Byeol sometimes) to ask you if you’re okay. As your finger hovers over the call button, debating whether to call him back, bright headlights shine behind your car and you stiffen. Your hand hovers over the pepper spray you keep in the dash as you press the call button in a panic. No matter what the disagreement was about, you know San would still come to your aid if you needed it.

“YN, open the door. I’ve been worried sick!” San’s voice crackles through the receiver and you spin around in your seat, squinting at the figure standing behind your car and your shoulders sag in relief.

“God, San, you scared the shit out of me!” you scold, leaning over to unlock the passenger seat and push the door open while hanging up the call. “Get in here.”

A haggard-looking San slides in, his eyes red-rimmed and mouth pressed into a thin line. The car that drove him turns and you look back in confusion before San starts explaining. “I wanted to give you space so I stayed at the party,” he starts explaining after a moment. “But I got worried and went to the apartment to find you. But you weren’t there, and I asked all your friends. I’m lucky you left your location on, and my friend gave me a ride.”

You wince. You forgot about turning off your location, although you’re glad you didn’t as it would’ve been more dangerous otherwise. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, turning your eyes to look out the windshield. “I just needed to clear my head so I went for a drive.”

There’s a long period of suffocating silence between the two of you when San finally speaks, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry,” he starts and your head snaps towards him, eyes wide. Of all the things you expected to fall from his lips, an apology is not one of those things. Not tonight, at least. “I was too pushy. I shouldn’t have ignored you, or interrupted your time with Juyeon. I should’ve talked to you like an adult.”

You laugh, resting your head on the steering wheel. “What an astute observation, San. However did you come to that conclusion?” Your exasperation is evident in your tone and San sucks in a breath at how done you seem. “Look, San. I’m sure you didn’t mean it to be that bad. But I’m just…tired. I’m tired of always wondering what is running through your mind, where I am in your list of importance. You date Yeseul, but break up with her over me. You give me the cold shoulder when I go on a date, but suddenly me being on a date is unacceptable. I just don’t know how to take anything.”

Against your will, tears start to drop onto your thighs, streaking down the skin and you sniff. “Shit,” San panics beside you. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He hands you a tissue and you take it with shaking hands, pressing your face into it as San tugs you closer, guiding you to lean against him.

He repeats soft little ‘sorry’s and leans his head atop yours, his tears falling onto your hair. The two of you stay in this position for a long while, no words are needed to understand the emotional moment.

“Let’s go home, YN,” San mumbles, his voice vibrating deep in your heart. “Let’s go home and we can talk tomorrow.”

You sniff again, tears run dry as you sit up and wipe your eyes. “Okay,” you whisper out. “Let’s go home.”

San stays attached to you throughout the drive home, his hand gripping onto your own hand whenever he can, and quickly wrapping you into a back hug as you walk up to the apartment. “I…cuddle with me tonight?” you ask, eyes flitting away from his face, missing the brilliant smile that spreads across it.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he hums, walking with you to his room, and he lets you slide in first, the smell of his detergent filling your mind and your eyelids flutter shut already. San crawls in next to you, pulling you close.

“Good night, YN,” San mumbles as your breathing evens out. As you drift off into sleep, you swear you feel his soft lips on your forehead but you dismiss it as wishful thinking.

-

When you reawaken, San’s still curled up, your body covered by his, his breathing slow and gentle. You can’t help but blink a couple of times to make sure it isn’t a dream when his arms tighten around your waist and he shifts. “YN?” His morning voice is as rough as always, rumbling low in his chest.

“Hey, Sanah,” you greet him quietly, leaning up to meet his eyes blinking slowly at you like a cat’s. “Good morning.”

“Hi.” He dips his head to nuzzle into your neck, breathing in your scent. “I should probably explain myself.” His voice vibrates against your neck and you giggle softly at the ticklish feeling.

“That would be nice.”

San huffs, but he can’t complain about your snark. “I like you, YN. I don’t know when I started to, and I definitely didn’t realise I did until I started dating Yeseul. I did like her, but not as deeply as I thought I did. It was so easy to break up with her as soon as she made me pick between you and her. The answer came to me without a doubt in my mind as soon as the question left her lips, and yet I still didn’t realise my true feelings.” He laughs self-deprecatingly, and you stroke his hair comfortingly. “I didn’t realise why I was so pissed about you going out with Juyeon, and that’s why I was avoiding you. It’s a stupid reason, I know. But I just didn’t know why, not until I saw you at the party kissing him. I just wanted to be there instead of you. And I’m sorry, and I understand if you don’t like me anymore, but–”

“I love you.”

His head snaps up to stare at you after your sudden declaration, and after he registers your words a smile spreads across his face. He puffs out a breathy chuckle and you know his answer before he even says it. “I love you too.”

His eyes shine like you’ve hung the stars in the skies, and when they flit down to your lips, you know an unspoken question when you see it. You lean forward slowly, letting your eyes close once more when your lips meet his.

And damn, you were right about how San kisses. In a second, he deepens the kiss, bringing his hands up to cup your face while his tongue swipes at your lips. Shyly, you part your lips and he dives right in, licking into your mouth and biting at your lips.

“Sanah,” you gasp into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his plush lips. “Sanah–”

You repeat his name like a prayer as his lips travel down to your neck, littering wet kisses and bite marks all over your sensitive skin. “Fuck, baby, you’re so sweet to me,” San moans against your body. “Please, please, let me treat you right, make it up to you. Let me worship you.”

You whine as he laves his tongue over your breasts spilling out of the crop top you had worn last night. Any other time you would’ve stressed at how gross the clothes were but right now you could hardly even think about it. “Fuck, yes, please,” you beg when San nips at your cleavage, leaving a mark.

“Ah, already begging for me,” San groans, his hips pressing into your legs. “You’re so perfect.” His voice grows whiney as his sucks on your nipples, making your back arch.

His kisses move down your body until his breath is ghosting over your stomach and his hands are pawing at your pants, shoving them down as quickly as he can. He doesn’t have the same amount of minimal patience for your panties, and before you can react, he’s ripped them off your legs. “Choi San!” you scold, shifting to try and sit up but his grip on your hips stops you from moving too far.

“I’ll buy you a new pair,” San promises before diving right in and sucking at your clit without another moment’s hesitation. Your hips jerk and your core tightens at the sudden feeling as you throw your head back and moan so loudly it’s bordering on a scream

His ministrations on your dripping cunt have you wordless. His fingers are pressing into your hip bones, the sensation making you squirm. As soon as his tongue breaches your clenching hole your hands fly down to grasp at his hair. “Fuck–” you squeal, your legs attempting to close but San just pushes them apart again, busying himself in your folds.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” San groans, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine as he lets his teeth scrape against your clit. You can hardly focus on anything at the barrage of sensations filling you up, San fucking his tongue into you so well. Your thighs are shaking as you can feel yourself grow wetter and wetter against his face.

When you tilt your head down, he meets your eyes as he moves one of his hands to push a finger into your hole. “Shit–” your grip on his hair tightens impossibly. “Sanah–”

“Come for me, love,” San groans, and you let the dam break, screaming out his name until your voice is hoarse, and San licks up your release through it all.

When he finally pulls away from your twitching and sensitive core, his lips are covered in your glistening slick, thick globs of it sitting pretty on his chin. Without thinking, you pull him down and crash your lips against his, tasting yourself on his tongue. San groans as you lick his face clean, shoving your tongue deep into his mouth.

“Fuck, I need to fuck you right now or else I think I might go insane,” San growls, blindly fumbling in his nightstand to pull out a condom as he shoves down his sweats to reveal his hard, red cock. Without another thought, he opens the pack with his teeth, rolling the latex down his length with ease thanks to the precum dribbling down it.

He lines up, the tip of it kissing your hole, when you groan. You’re much too impatient for this, reaching down and holding him steady as you shift your body to sink onto his thick cock. “Shit, YN,” San grits out as you take him deeper and deeper until your cunt kisses his crotch. “You’re too much.”

You pant, shifting on his cock as you try to get used to the stretch. He’s not the longest you’ve had, but he’s thick and the stretch is almost too much. “You’re fucking talking, you fill me up so fucking well, Sanah.” You hiss as you throw your head back, the stinging melting into pleasure. “Fuck me already, San. Or should I go and find Juyeon to–”

You’re cut off by San thrusting into you so violently that you swear the bed shakes. “I don’t want to hear that fucking name out of your mouth anymore,” San commands, leaning forward until his body weight pins you down and your eyes roll back as he starts fucking into you with short, quick thrusts.

With every movement, you feel like you may break apart. You can hear every slick sound, the sound of it obscene, and yet all you want is more. Your previous release coats his cock so well, thick strings of it attaching to his hips.

His arms wrap around your waist, and before you can protest or do anything, he hoists you up until you’re sitting in his lap. You swear this angle makes him impale you even deeper, his cockhead kissing the perfect spot deep inside you. Your head drops to San’s shoulder, moaning against the fabric of his shirt. “Fuck, San, you’re so deep,” you moan high-pitched. “You’re so fucking good for me.”

San growls, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “You’re so tight for me, so much better than Yeseul. I saw you in the mirror, you know,” he whispers conspiratorially and you gasp and clench, snapping your head to look at him. “You’re not as sneaky as you thought, love. Did you touch yourself to the thought of me fucking you so well?”

You whine, words failing you, and San’s hips slow to a stop. You try your best to grind against him but his hands grip your waist, keeping you still. “Please–” you try to beg but San chuckles and nips at your earlobe.

“Answer me, YN.”

“Fuck– Yes!” you cry out, so eager for him to start moving again. “Wanted you to fill me with your cum so well until it was spilling out of me. Please, please, please, fuck me.”

“Hm.” And without any warning, San jerks his hips up into you, biting into your neck like a fucking vampire and you scream, hips stuttering as you come on his cock. You don’t think you’re making any coherent noises, just babbling into his neck as your bones become jelly from the overstimulation.

If you thought the sounds were obscene before, you swear they’ve become ten times worse as you lay limp against San’s body. He’s moving you up and down his cock like a doll and you pant, squeezing your eyes shut as you still feel aftershocks from your orgasm.

“Shit, you’re so warm around me, I’m gonna come,” San moans in your ear, his rhythm breaking as he drops your weight on his cock. You can feel him twitching inside you as his teeth sink into your neck once more. “God, I want to fill you up so badly, but that’s just going to have to wait, my love.”

After a long moment, he pulls out, groaning at your come coating the condom and his thighs. Without thinking, he dips his fingers in the mess and brings it to his mouth, licking it off like it’s the most delicious thing in the world to him. “Come here, baby,” he says in that beautifully raspy voice, and you lean forward, meeting his lips in another kiss.

This kiss is sweet and soft, but the lingering taste of your shared releases still permeates your taste buds. You sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder as he lays against the wall with you in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises again, pressing another kiss to the top of your head and it’s almost like he hadn’t fucked you like it was your last day on earth. “I won’t ever leave you again.”

You hum, turning your head to pepper kisses over his neck freckles. “I should be the one saying that. I love you, San. And I’ll always run to you with no hesitation.”

[beckyninja]

Relief

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemReader

Warnings: talk of periods, sexual content, MDNI

Description: Titus "helps" his serf lover through a particularly painful time of the month.

Forget whatever I said about my last fic. This one is definitely the spiciest thing I've ever written! I had planned on something entirely different, but then "that time of the month" reared its ugly head. And suddenly all I could think about was having a strong, handsome Astartes to help me through it.

Titus didn’t sprint, though he wanted to. 

After enduring the ominous warnings of the Chaplain, the disdain of Captain Acheran, and the incessant prying of his new squad (not to mention the small matter of a tyranid invasion), he longed for the solace of your presence.

Your touch.

Rage still burned like promethium within him when he remembered entering his quarters to find you half-starved. 

“You’re alive.” You’d whispered upon seeing him. “You’re alive.”

When I find the one responsible for her suffering….

His growl sent several serfs darting out of his path. He walked faster and, at last, the door to his quarters came into view. Soon, he would have you in his arms.

Saliva pooled in his mouth at the thought. 

The first time he lay with you, before Kadaku and his remaking, had been beyond his imaginings. Baseline anatomy lessons from his neophyte days supplied the rudiments. But he had the Space Wolves and a solitary Salamander he’d met in the Death Watch to thank for the rest.

He’d encountered the former boasting of their conquests one evening in the dining hall after one of them had smuggled in a few barrels of foul-smelling mjod. As they grew more intoxicated, they delighted in shocking the more puritanical Astartes in the Watch with detailed descriptions of “fraternization”. 

Titus remembered being repulsed at first. Though, against his better instincts, that repulsion soon turned to wary curiosity. 

While the Wolves howled about conquering and claiming, a Salamander Apothecary had taken a seat next to Titus and shaken his head.

“Not all baseline females are the wild she-wolves of Fenris.” The old drake had rumbled quietly. “If an Astartes is blessed with the affections of a woman, he should cherish her with gentleness, for she is rare and precious.”

Titus remembered a sorrowful look in the veteran’s red eyes as he spoke, and the way he stroked a bone reliquary tied at his waist. 

He had tried to incorporate all he’d overheard into your union. You’d been so fragile in his hands, so vulnerable. And when your body welcomed him inside. When, amidst the white heat of his own ecstasy, he saw you gaze up at him….

Throne of Terra, I would slaughter every tyranid in the Hive Fleet to have you look at me like that always.

He punched his code into the access panel. He only had a few hours of leisure to spare, and a third of that had already been taken up in removing his armor. But he needed to feel your skin upon his again.

The door hissed open and-

Blood.

Every enhanced sense he possessed sharpened to a razor’s edge as the metallic scent filled his nostrils. Unlike before, when his mind had been clouded by sleep, he knew with absolute certainty this blood came from your body. 

The room was empty. Half the candles lit. One smoking tapir on its side by the cot. Indents on the mattress the size of small baseline hands. Drops of red on the floor. The sharp taste of stress and pain chemicals. Soft whimpers from the lavatory.

All this came to him in the time between heartbeats. Another heartbeat and he stood before the closed lavatory door.

“Little Healer?”

The medicae had said you would be fine. An injection of nutrients, a high calorie meal, and rest. You already looked better when he left you in the infirmary. They said you would be fine.

He’d had to leave. He had no choice. They said you would be fine!

“Demetrian?”

Conscious and able to speak. He leaned his forehead against the cold metal of the door.

“I am coming in.”

A sharp gasp. “No! Just, just give me a moment, please.”

He heard pain in your voice. His instincts screamed at him to tear through the metal to reach you.

The door slid open.

Pale skin. Sweat beads on your forehead. Hunched shoulders. You smiled up at him, but reeked of misery.

He scooped you into his arms. “We are returning to the infirmary.”

“Demetrian-”

“You are still unwell.”

“Demetrian, please-”

He strode toward the door of his quarters. “Or did you injure yourself?”

“No, Demetrian! Listen-”

“I should not have left you alone.”

A tiny fist bounced off his jaw. He stopped mid-stride and looked down at you in shock. You looked back at him, then down at your clenched fist, seemingly stunned by your own actions.

“I…I…,” you closed your eyes and breathed deeply, “I’m sorry, my lord. I don’t know what came over me.”

“My lord?” He muttered. 

“Please put me down. I’m not unwell. And I’m not injured.”

He scowled. “You reek of blood, woman.”

Throne, has whatever hurt she suffered affected her mind as well?

“I know, but it’s…it’s natural, Demetrian.”

The Warp it is. “Explain.”

She sighed. “Can you put me down first? Please?”

“No.” 

He tightened his grip. If her mind was unbalanced, who knows what she might do if he released her.

Another sigh. “Fine. Once a month, a woman’s body undergoes a certain process….”

He remained silent during her entire explanation. When she finished, he carefully set her upon his cot.

“And this…cycle…causes pain?”

“Every woman experiences it differently. Some only ever feel mild discomfort, for others it’s little short of agony.”

You bit your lip. The pain smell spiked and, with it, his concern. 

“Why have I not noticed before?”

You breathed slowly now, in through your nose, out through your mouth. “You’ve always been on mission during this time. And…agh…in the Watch Fortress, Lord Apothecary Nev’ran made sure to set pain suppressants aside for us female serfs.”

The old Salamander always had a soft spot for the baselines, Titus remembered.

A low moan drew his attention back to you. You folded on his cot, arms wrapped around your midsection. 

His fingers twitched, automatically seeking a weapon. The instinct to destroy whatever caused you pain surged. He needed to fix this.

“Did you request pain suppressants from the medica?”

You started rocking slightly. “I…tried. He said they were unnecessary and dismissed me. I didn’t dare argue. In the Fortress, there were serfs I could go to for help during this time.” You looked up at him with a tight smile. “But I’m beginning to think I’m the only woman on this ship.”

Titus thought back over the last few days, and all the baseline crew he’d encountered.

She may be right.

“Oh Emperor….” 

Your whimper felt like another Carnifex talon through his chest.

“There must be something I can do.” He knelt before you, cupping your face in his hand. “Anything.”

You pressed against him. “Heat. Heat sometimes helps.” 

He let you move his hand to your lower stomach. You opened your robes and pressed it against your skin. 

“And, on my back, please?” 

Before you’d even finished asking, he slipped his other hand in and around. You gripped his arms and whined.

“Oh, oh yes.” 

He shouldn’t be aroused by this. You were still in pain. But your soft sounds of helplessness, the feel of your skin beneath his hands, the way you trembled. All of it called to a primal part of him only recently awakened.

And when you looked up at him in wonder and said, “You’re…you’re so much bigger now.”

Throne damn it.

Titus yanked you to him and took your mouth. You yelped, but did not struggle, instead throwing your hands around his neck and digging your fingers into the hair at his nape. He snarled at the sensation, pushing his tongue past your lips like you’d shown him that first night.

This time your moan sounded of pleasure.

He pressed his body against you, lowering you to your back on the cot. Your hands left his neck and fluttered against his chest. You pulled away from his kiss.

“Demetrian….”

He pressed his mouth to your throat, laving it with his tongue and tasting your sweat. He searched for a spot he could bite without leaving a visible mark. 

“Demetrian, stop!”

The magnitude of his selfishness crashed upon him.

“Throne. Forgive me, Little Healer.” Reeling back, he searched your face for any sign of pain. “I…I did not think, I…,” he raked a hand over his face, desperately trying to rein in his baser instincts.

“It’s all right. It’s just, now might not be the best time.”

“Would it cause you more pain?”

A blush spread across your cheeks. “Um…no, that’s not it. In fact, some women say…this…actually helps.”

“Truly?” 

Desire welled within him once more, washing away any lingering guilt. He bracketed your small body with his hands and loomed over you. 

“Then why should I stop?” You turned your face away, but he gently grasped your chin. “Look at me, and tell me why.”

“It, it,” he heard your heart beating wildly, “it could get a bit…messy.”

He blinked, then allowed a slow smile to spread across his face. “Woman, when has an Astartes ever shied away from the sight of blood?”

A new smell met his nose, one he had only recently become familiar with. He lowered his face close to yours and inhaled deeply. 

“You want this as much as I.”

You nodded frantically, hands suddenly pawing at his collar. “Yes! I want this. Please, Demetrian. Please, please, please!”

He tore his robe open and flung it to the floor. Your clothing swiftly followed. The scent of blood and arousal maddened him. He tried to pull your thighs around him, but you winced at the stretch.

For the first time he cursed the Primaris surgery. Grasping your hips, he turned you on to your front and settled behind you. He ran his hands down your back and sides, loving the way you trembled.

“Are you ready for me, my love?”

You pushed back against him. “Please, Demetrian.”

He thrust and your wet heat welcomed him in. His eyes rolled at the sensation, still so unlike anything he ever thought he’d experience. You cried out far louder than you had the first time. 

“Demetrian! S-so big…!”

Again. Again. Again, he thrust. In this position he felt powerful, primal. Like a beast claiming its mate.

The Wolves were right, damn them!

All at once, you tightened and screamed. With a growl he followed you over the edge. 

You collapsed onto your front. “Please…more….”

The first time, he’d only taken you once, denying his satisfaction for the sake of your overwhelmed little body. But now you begged him to continue. Who was he to refuse?

Three more times he released deep within. He pressed himself to your back, hand fondling your breasts as he pounded relentlessly. He lost count of how many times you shook apart around him. His own blinding pleasure paled in comparison to the knowledge that his actions relieved your pain. 

A tool designed to inflict suffering on others, but he brought you ecstasy.

“D-Demetrian…,” you whimpered. 

His fingers dug into the bruised flesh of your hips. “One more.”

You wailed as he filled you one last time, arching his spine to sink his teeth into your shoulder. Then he collapsed on his side.

He caressed your sweat-streaked back, allowing himself a brief moment to revel in the haze of pleasure. You lay still and panting next to him. 

“Are you well, my love?”

“Mmmm.”

By now, he recognized the sound of bone-deep satisfaction. He smiled down at you, already feeling his own body recovering. 

“You were right about one thing.”

“Mmm?”

“That was rather messy.”

You turned your head and attempted to glare at him. He chuckled, rose, and fetched a wet cloth from the lavatory. Ignoring your reaching hands, he cleaned the both of you. Then he sat on the edge of the cot and lifted you into his arms.

“Better?”

Your dreamy smile answered him. An entirely different kind of heat warmed his hearts as he cradled you. He ran a thumb over the imprint of teeth on your shoulder.

“I was not too rough?”

“You were perfect.” Your hands traced his new scars. “Throne of Terra, I came so close to losing you, didn’t I?”

He heard tears in your voice and held you closer.

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled. “Another side effect of this time. I tend to turn into something of a weepy, clingy mess.”

“I enjoy your clinging.”

“But you need to go.”

“Yes.” As always, your respite, brief as it was, left him better prepared to handle the weight of his duty. “Will you be alright?”

“You have enough trouble without worrying about me, Demetrian. Human women have endured since our species began. I’ll be fine.” Your smile flickered. “Please, be safe. I love you.”

“And I you.” He pulled his robe back on and leaned down to kiss you once more. “I will return.”

And, I swear, I will find another way to ease your pain. 

***

An hour passed. You rested for a bit, then dressed and cleaned yourself more thoroughly. You stripped the sheets from the mattress and prepared for the trek to the laundry and then the serf’s dining hall. Not only had Titus's attentions eased your cramps, but you thought you might actually have an appetite again.

Just as you were about to leave, a few sharp raps sounded at the door.

“Who…?” 

You opened it to find a slight young woman with a face full of freckles and a satchel over one shoulder. Her robes marked her as a serf and a medica.

“Thank the Emperor!” She gushed. “I was afraid I’d gotten the wrong room!”

“Um. Hello?”

“My name is Vesta. I was just transferred here alongside my Lord Callistus. He’s supplementing the Apothecaries already in residence, you know. I was afraid I’d be the only woman! There are so few of us serving on the battle barges.”

You blinked, head-spinning from the rapid-fire chatter. “I see?”

She continued, stepping straight past you into the room. “I was just on my way back to the infirmary, when this massive Primaris Lord Angel barreled down on me. How fearsome he was! I don’t need to tell you I was terrified I’d done something wrong, and on my first day on a new ship, too! But he said you were experiencing some difficulties and needed assistance.”

Oh, Demetrian…. You fought a smile.

Vesta plopped the satchel on the cot. “I have pain suppressants, cleansing cloths, sanitary napkins. I do hope I brought enough.”

“This is incredibly kind of you.”

“Us women have to stick together, right?” She smiled cheerfully. “I hope we’ll be great friends!”

You found yourself warming to her effervescence. “I would like that.”

“You’re so fortunate to have a Lord Angel who’s attentive to your needs!”

You turned away, suddenly all too aware of the pleasant ache between your thighs. “Yes. I am.”

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus @lemon-russ

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith @noncon-photobomb @sinistermojo @b-rabbitboss @vyzz-undercover

@missmannequin @rivalriotrenegade @iloveoutlinesiswear @jaghatai-khock

If you enjoy my writing, check out the rest of the stuff on my Masterlist.

[irrelevantwriter]

An Emperor's Devotion

Pairing: Emperor Geta (Gladiator 2) x Female Reader/You

Warnings: NSFW, Ancient Rome type shit, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of bodily fluids, necessary floor sex and injury (for the plot)

Word Count: 2734

Summary: Part 3. Emperor Geta feels the need to prove a point.

A/N: Part three finds our favorite deviant emperor doing what he does best...serving cunt. And eating it. As always, there are liberties taken with Ancient Rome. We're all here for the smut anyways. And there might be a part four in the works. Maybe. Feedback is that good shit.💗

*Read Part One here

*Read Part Two here

*Masterlist

***********************

The uproarious cheers of Rome eclipsed your husband’s greeting as General Marcus Acacius made his way up the palace steps. 

You stood dutifully behind him, taking in the spectacle. The General and his army defeated another colony, expanding the Roman Empire once again. Another state of slaves for your insatiable lover. 

“General! Welcome home! Rome celebrates in your honor,” Geta announced, taking the General’s hand. Like a good soldier, he kissed the jewels bestowed upon the Emperor’s hand. 

“My greatest thanks, your highness,” Marcus replied, eyes shifting to you. “And the Empress,” he added, moving to take your own hand in his. 

You let him. 

He placed a stubble-laden kiss on your skin, something akin to desire crossing over his rugged features. 

You smiled, accepting his greeting, though you kept your composure. You could feel Geta’s eyes on you. At the slightest indication of disloyalty, the Emperor would have Marcus’ head. 

And perhaps yours. 

“Welcome home, General,” you responded, taking your hand back. 

Geta offered the General wine and a toast, to a new Rome. You remained at your husband’s side, watching the men talk of bloodshed and conquest. It made your stomach sour. 

“A feast will be held tonight. For your victory,” the Emperor announced, jolting you back into the conversation. 

“As you wish, Caesar.”

“And,” Geta started, a mischievous tone taking hold of his words. “Perhaps you might find yourself seeking the pleasures of the flesh? I offer you the best Rome has. Though I am aware you know that already. The whores love to speak of their dalliances with the finest of our Roman army.” 

Marcus stiffened, gaze darting to you. You could see he was embarrassed by the Emperor’s lewd offer though he tried to hide it. 

You were not naive to the thirst for women that most men held. The women of Rome did what they had to, and that often meant making themselves accessible to the men. The higher the status, the better for her. You were no better. You just happened to reach the top before anyone else. 

Your husband was playing a game you were very much aware of. You tried hard to keep your amusement concealed. Seeing a usually stoic man like the General become nervous was an entertaining sight indeed. 

Geta looked proud of himself. As if humiliating the General was his goal. It appeared he had succeeded. 

“I-I thank you, your highness. Your generosity is astounding. Though I do not think I will need…such services,” Marcus clumsily replied, eyes landing on anything but you. 

“Well, as you wish General. The offer stands,” Geta acquiesced, finally done playing with his toy. “My queen and I would love to entertain the masses, but we have business to attend to.” He reached for your hand, signaling your departure. 

“Of course, your highness.”

“We will see you at dinner, General.”

And with that, Geta led you away. You followed silently, finding it strange that he was headed to your chambers and not his own. 

Guards and maidens followed behind, but once you’d reached the doors of your quarters, he dismissed them. As he often did these days. He was not fond of the extra company.

He opened the door for you, letting you through. You breezed past him, making your way to the chaise and table near your balcony. As expected, wine and food awaited. 

“Nearly a years time we have been married,” he started, voice deeper than just moments before. “And you are still so difficult to read.” 

You smiled at that, removing the deep green palla from your shoulders. The material fluttered in the wind as it floated down to the chaise beside you. 

“That amuses you?” Geta questioned, coming forward to pour you both wine. His eyebrow was raised, eyes lined with coal. They pierced you, searching for the answer to his query. 

“No, Augustus. I am simply trying to understand why that bothers you so,” you replied, reaching for a grape dipped in honey. 

Juices exploded in your mouth, the flavor sweet yet bitter. You took another. 

“The General appears quite fond of you.”

You met your husband’s gaze, accepting the wine he offered. He stared down at you, testing you. He was playing a fool’s game.

“Most men are quite fond of me, Imperator. It’s why you chose me, is it not?”

You sipped from your glass, eyeing the man you’d married. He remained emotionless, as if thinking over your words. You, knowing where this tirade was surely headed, took matters into your own hands. 

“It is rather warm.” You placed your wine down, fanning yourself against a nonexistent heatwave. “Will you bathe with me?”

Geta, stunned by your sharp change in subject, scoffed, “My conversation boring you, wife?”

You stood, meeting him where he was rooted to the ground, as if one of many statues. You reached for his mouth, surprised when he let you. You could feel how rigid he was. Something had him wound tight. 

“I would rather have a different kind of conversation, my love,” you whispered, seeing surprise on his features when you rubbed honey into his lips. His tongue darted out to taste the sweetness, catching your fingertips as he did.

His eyes turned molten, his shoulders softened. His hands, as if of their own volition, grasped at you. 

“Distraction is a weapon. One you seem rather fond of.”

You laughed at his words, leaning in so that his breath mixed with yours. “I am only what you want me to be. If you want me to be a distraction, then I shall do what my Emperor desires.”

He kissed you. Long and slow and sticky with honey. Your bodies pressed against each other, heat bubbling to the surface. His rings caught in your hair, yours pulled at the gold embellished tunic he wore. Frankincense and jasmine collided as you indulged in all you both had to offer. 

“Dulcis distraction,” Geta breathed, chest heaving as he took in your kiss swollen lips. 

“You think me sweet, my love?” You teased, making him laugh.

“The only thing sweet about you is your taste. My queen does not have the capacity for sweetness.” 

He spoke with a reverence that made you shiver. And as his hands reached for your stola, you knew he was right. To be at his side, in front of all of Rome, was not for the faint of heart. You understood that. You became what was necessary to survive. You made Rome love you. You made your husband fall in love. You made him fall to his knees in pleasure. 

He was at your mercy. And so was his empire. 

“Come,” you beckoned softly, leading him towards your private bathing quarters. 

He followed, fawning after you out of sight of prying eyes. 

Steam billowed off the pool of milk and water. Flowers of every kind danced across the surface. Canisters of various oils and herbs lined the steps. One of your maidens waited in the corner and you dismissed her. 

You could hear your husband start to undress behind you. You followed suit. 

The water swayed as Geta walked into the warm bath. You heard him hiss, the sting of heat making him react. You laughed, letting your stola fall to your feet. He raised a hand toward you as you moved to the steps. You accepted the gesture, letting him help you into the inviting waters. 

“You keep your bath much too warm for my liking,” Geta gently admonished, taking in your nude form as you submerged yourself, rose petals clinging to your skin.

“You accuse me of being a relative of Pluto. Perhaps it is true,” you teased, letting him pull you towards him.

“I say that in jest.” 

He steadied you against his bare chest. Your nails raked over the muscle, tangling in the hair that rested there. It matched the trail leading down his taut stomach. A path you’d become well acquainted with in the last several weeks. 

“My Emperor jests? A shocking revelation,” you mocked, enjoying the way his eyes narrowed. 

His hands, while gentle at first, became demanding in their touch. He gripped your hips, releasing and then squeezing once again. 

A warning.

“What has you so troubled?” You dared to ask, seeing his jaw clench. A tell.

“You.”

You cocked your head at his reply, not understanding. 

“Many people covet what I have as the Emperor of Rome. I relish that,” he paused, fingers tracing up your sides. He moved in close, lips hovering over yours. “But I do not like to share.”

A shiver, a real one, ran up your spine at his words. It was a well known fact that Geta assassinated his brother Caracalla for the throne. Many agreed that his brother was unfit for such power. He was struck with a disease that affected his behavior. Behavior that had become quite outlandish. Even for the brothers. But there had been rumors. Rumors that Geta had killed him in front of their mother. A ruthless act. And for that reason, their mother had been sent away. Or so the rumors said. No one had laid eyes on her since. 

It appeared, it was all true. 

“Have I frightened you?” He whispered, a lone finger now tracing one of your nipples. The flesh budded at his touch. 

“No, Augustus.”

“You understand my position? Why I must watch men like Marcus Acacius closely?”

You nodded, biting your lip when he moved his ministrations to your other nipple.

“Men like that would kill me and take what’s mine in an instant,” he growled, suddenly taking hold of your chin. “Would you let them?”

“No. I wouldn’t,” you breathed. For the first time since marrying him, you were afraid. But beneath the surface of that lay the quicksand of arousal that always threatened to take you down. It sat heavy in your belly, accompanied by that familiar pump of blood between your thighs. 

Geta laughed at your words, as if not believing you. That didn’t stop him from taking your lips against his. His tongue invaded your mouth, twisting in invitation with your own. You desperately tried to keep up, feeling him harden beneath the water against you. 

“Follow me,” he breathlessly commanded, ushering you to the steps. 

You went, moving to sit at the stones edge when he gestured to do so. A chill made your skin prickle. You looked on in jealously, wishing to be back in the bath’s warmth with him. 

“Do not look so sorrowful, wife. I mean to take care of you. To remind you just how generous of an emperor I can be.”

He moved closer, forcing your legs apart. You resisted at first, unsure of the angle, but he didn’t seem to care. He pressed on, hands roaming up your thighs, catching wayward petals as he did. 

“Relax, my love.”

His mouth closed in, hot breath fanning over your damp curls. You struggled not to move, anticipating his touch. Needing it. 

The moment his lips laid upon your skin, you cried out. The strength in your arms gave way, your hands instead tangling in his hair. His tongue wasted no time in finding your opening, sliding in easily. 

He moved as you’d shown him weeks ago, his nose every so often bumping your bundle of nerves. Your nails scratched at his scalp and in return, his teeth lightly scraped over your sensitive flesh. Your thighs trapped his head, pleading with him to show mercy and praying he never stopped.

“Sweet like the honey she teased me with,” Geta murmured, adding his fingers to his torture. 

You writhed, the chill no longer felt on your skin. Lust now heated your veins from the inside out, making you feel as if you were being burned alive. 

“Geta…” you moaned, feeling him double his efforts at your call. 

Bursts of light began clouding your vision. Your limbs convulsed as if you were possessed, cries of passion echoing off the bath walls. Geta did not stop. 

“I-I cannot,” you whimpered, feeling overcome. You went to push his head away, but he was quicker, snatching your wrist.

“You can, my love. You’ll do as your emperor desires. Remember?”

His mouth and fingers took turns punishing you, pulling pleas of mercy from your lips. Geta’s name became a prayer. A prayer to the gods. 

When you had thoroughly soaked his hands and chin, he relented. You felt boneless, hardly more than a corpse. Geta’s roughened laughter touched your ears, his warmth suddenly enveloping you. 

Your eyes fluttered open, trying hard to focus as he wedged himself between your legs. He was hot and hard, seeking your body for relief. 

His mouth found your neck and suckled, paying no mind to the stone digging into the flesh of your back.

“My name on your lips is what undoes me. It is the sweetest sound to fall from your lips.”

Without warning, he pushed himself into your flooded walls. He grunted, seizing your mouth and making you taste your release. His chin smeared it across yours, giving you no choice in the matter. 

Your nails embedded themselves into his back, piercing the pristine skin. He growled, thrusting his hips that much harder. Your breath caught as he reached your depths. Depths that were once hollow but now remained full of him. 

“Pleasure yourself,” he commanded.

His movements were becoming unsteady. His heart pounded against yours. He was fast approaching his peak. And since you’d shown him what it was to please you, he’d been obsessed with having you join him. He claimed it felt different. Better. Tighter. Sweeter. 

Who were you to deny such a request?

Your fingers fumbled between your bodies, seeking the swollen bud just beyond your opening. Your touch caught his cock as he sheathed himself and you both moaned, the intrusion unfamiliar but welcomed. 

You could sense the tension mounting in your husband. See his brow furrowing and his biceps flexing. He was the sun god above you, red tresses making a halo of light.

Your fingers found the spot you so desperately needed, circling the bud. You met his gaze, opening yourself up to him. He lunged forward, taking a nipple into his mouth. You cried out when he tugged at the appendage. His thrusts quickened, the force causing your back to scrape against the ground. 

“Give yourself to me, Enchantress.”

And you did. 

Geta called you his enchantress, but if anyone had magic on their side, it was him. Time seemed to stop as you both plunged headfirst into the heavens. You clung to each other, waves of ecstasy washing over you. Your skin slid against each other, limbs tangled in an orgasmic mess. Warmth filled you as his spendings made a home in your womb. 

He collapsed atop you, head resting on your breasts. You welcomed the added weight, feeling grounded after you’d soared so high. Your heartbeats began to sync as your breathing slowed. Aches began to make themselves known at your back, but you paid little mind. 

“Did you prove your point?” You teased, your voice raspy with latent lust. 

Geta chuckled against you, shifting when you began to play with his hair. 

“I think I did if your backside is any indication,” he quipped, reaching to grab what he could of said backside.

You let him touch and grope you as he pleased, feeling him go soft inside you. Even then, he didn’t remove himself. He was superstitious about such things. Like every emperor before him, he yearned for an heir. He made sure you were aware of that fact. 

“I would not let them harm you, Augustus,” you finally said. 

He stiffened, understanding the meaning behind your words. He raised himself above you, smears of coal painting his face. 

“Out of fear or love?”

“Both.”

He accepted your answer.

“And you? Would you let them harm me?” You bravely pressed. 

He was silent for a moment, taking in your body beneath him. A small curve of his lips was the only indication of a smile. 

“I spend most days ensuring no harm comes to you, my love.”

You cupped his cheek, feeling wayward drops of his seed begin to leak from your depths. 

“Out of fear or love?” You countered.

“Devotion.”

And looking into his eyes, that’s all you needed. Empires and men alike had fallen for less. 

Part Four

[satoshy12]

I am going to beat you UP BOOSTER GOLD!!!

In the future, all of the earth will be conquered. In a pretty easy way. Without wars and similar situations, and while under tyranny, it was actually a good place. A true utopia without heroes, villains, and similar. +++ In the past, It had been a normal day in the Justice League as Portal opened and a group of heroes and villains came out: Just looking around, and all of them tried to jump Booster Gold and Flash. As the Justice League after stopping them asked why the time traveler wanted to beat them up that badly, all of them wanted to do it. It was funny to see Lex and Superman working together after all. +

They began to explain. ____ It all began with the introduction of young Dr. Daniel Fenton, a true child prodigy and self-made wealthy boy dedicated to helping others. Everything was going smoothly until Booster Gold decided to share his unconventional thoughts. He Suggested! That the child could potentially conquer the world using the current setting. And then told him a range of bizarre ideas, including a communications jamming system, missiles, traps, self-activating lasers, and even an indoor lagoon filled with piranhas.

Danny: "Piranha. Why ever would I want… piranha?" Booster Gold: To eat the heroes And also think about a secret underground grotto with a speed boat for escape purposes. And-and-and gigantic Moving Weapons of doom, they'd be huge and destroy anything in their path!"

The Flash intervened, urging Booster Gold to leave, and Danny bid them farewell, expressing gratitude. The Flash: Come on, Gold, we should leave. + As they departed. Danny pondered the peculiar suggestions, acknowledging his abundant wealth and free time and contemplating the need for a new and interesting hobby. ++ Danny had come to this world to be a hero. But he never tried to pull a Vlad. And when he is done, he can show that he is better at it than him! All he needed was to plan to not fail.

++ So after 5 years of planning, at the age of 19, he started his Conquest of the World, which was pretty successful in his victory speech. He thanked Booster Gold and the Flash for telling him he could change much more and much better if he were a villain and just took over the world! And he did! ++ While in the Justice League and Legion of Doom, who were in hidding, all at once slowly turned their heads to the duo. Like in a Horror Movie.

++++

Back to the present/Past

Both groups are happy that Flash and Booster Gold didn't meet the child prodigy; it turns out he was still at least 10 or 9 years old at the moment. A few years before he became famous, he was just living alone somewhere on Earth.

But that means a new plan!

Lex, like Veronica Cale, was pissed that the boy was able to take over their company, but then again, the boy was able to take over all the companies in America at the same time.

But now, in the past, they can think of plans—good plans! With their Guiding they can do so much! Same with Heroes.

[mahoushojo-chan]

Astarion x Tav || bed sharing

one forever won't be enough

synopsis: it's a habit they picked up from travelling together. every so often, astarion came to tav at night. it turned into something that he needs sometimes, even if he'd really rather not admit it. instead of lying in his old bunk, astarion chooses not to be alone.

an excerpt of "'cause my love (is mine, all mine)"

word count: 1203

pairing: astarion/tav

other tags: f!reader, bed sharing, tooth-rotting fluff, hurt/comfort, non-sexual intimacy, romantic tension, late night conversations, friends to lovers, song inspo: where do i begin by Egg

ao3: here

concept: bed sharing

At night, Astarion lies in his old bunk. It’s rough, grating, and it creaks every time he shifts, and he’s pretty sure he couldn’t enter trance even if he tried. It’s telling that he would rather lay on a bedroll laid over hard rock than ‘his’ own bed, but the last time he laid in this bed, he was still a slave. Just Cazador’s spawn.

Somehow, it feels even emptier than back then. He doesn't have Petras sleeping in the top bunk, snoring loud enough for him to kick the mattress above. He doesn't have Dalyria in the bunk beside him, hiding a light underneath her sheets while she dove her research into the next topic. There isn't Leon in the corner, whispering sweet comforts to his little girl, Victoria. It’s too quiet all on his own.

Then, even with his new companions, he can't hear Gale patronizing Wyll about this or that kind of magic, he can't hear Karlach playing with Scratch or the Owlbear, and there is no occasional thump of Lae’zel’s late-night training. He had gotten used to all of it as some kind of white noise for the next dawn.

Besides, he thinks, he should get used to his nocturnal schedule again, so staying awake wouldn’t be too bad. It would keep the nightmares away, at least. He had enough of Cazador. He thinks of Tav, who he hopes is sleeping peacefully away.

In the dark, he has to confront the reality that he and Tav are worlds apart. He wonders if she’ll be able to adapt to this schedule.

The door to the Favoured Spawn room opens, the room that Tav had taken, with a quiet creak that only Astarion would hear. Then, the mattress dips, and a hesitant arm wraps around her waist and pulls Tav in as someone nestles in close.

“Mm… still awake, Star?” She mutters, though he’s more surprised to hear that she’s still awake.

“Yes.” Astarion replies in a whisper, because it feels like the night calls for whispers, even when the entire palace is empty.

It’s a habit they picked up from travelling together. Every so often, Astarion came to Tav to sleep. Tav knows that it first started after he first drank from her and she found herself exhausted enough to slip unconscious; but it turned into something that he needs sometimes, even though he’d really rather not admit it. Tav thought it would end after Astarion made it clear that he wasn’t ready for a relationship, and she decided to be friends, rather than lovers. It seemed to be what he needed at the time, but she also knows that this—whatever this is, lying in bed together, in the dark, holding each other and whispering—isn’t really something friends do. Astarion has never had any friends, but even he suspects this is something that is beyond friendship.

But this isn’t sexual, either. He can't think of a single conquest who he had done this with because this felt too vulnerable. This felt like a different reality, reframing what it meant to find comfort in the dark.

With a sigh, Tav turns around to face Astarion. He sees her eyes, heavy-lidded with sleep, and he brushes some hair out of her face. It’s never as awkward as it should be.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready to face them.” Astarion whispers, truthful and defeated, because holding Tav in the darkness brings about a whole different world around him; one where he can tell Tav anything.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Star.” She says, and it does something to his chest when she whispers his nickname in that tone, with that softness of sleep tinging her voice.

Astarion huffs out a whisper of a laugh. “I do want to. They’re… something like family, after all. They’re the closest thing I have to love.”

“I love you,” she protests, her voice still quiet. He knows this is not what friends do. They are in bed holding each other, now declaring love for each other, in the comfort of darkness. Astarion has never had anyone he had been this intimate with, even in the throes of passion, and he feels that he should think more about what this means.

“Fine, then. They’re the closest thing, other than you.” He drawls affectionately, feeling a tug at his lips even as he rolls his eyes. “But still, they’re not like you. I’m not like you. I can’t be good like you, and I’m afraid they know that. It feels like I’ll have to solve all of this world’s problems to be worthy of forgiveness, and even then, they would be right not to give it to me. They might never forgive me.”

“Then they’d be fools, the lot of them.” She says, and though she still sounds asleep, her eyes look at him with a sincerity he knows. If there’s one consistency about Tav’s behaviour, it’s that she has no patience for fools, and he can’t help but laugh.

A silence passes through them for a moment. “Do you think I’m evil?”

“No.” She says. “Even I’m not nearly as good as you think I am. Out of the two of us, you’re far more special. You make me think anything is possible.”

It’s odd because he can imagine saying the exact same thing to her. He wonders if she was just reading his thoughts and saying the words out loud, and if it was some sort of byproduct left by the mind-reading tadpole. But then again, he can’t at all understand why she would think he was special, and if they did still have the tadpoles, he would wish to see himself through her eyes. He wants to see what she sees in him—this brave, dashing, kind, supportive, heroic man, capable of love and goodness.

He wonders what would happen if he kissed her. 

Not that he was particularly sexually attracted to her, though he admits that objectively, she is attractive. He has a working pair of eyes and a good sense of taste, after all. And honestly, he doesn’t even know if she’s attracted to him—he thinks she might be, because Astarion hadn’t met many people who weren’t, but she also never asked him for anything sexual. Even their first night together, he always wondered if she had truly wanted it, or if he was just taking advantage of their desperate, life-or-death situation. All her intimacy seemed strictly… well, not exactly platonic, but not sexual, either. And it didn’t feel quite romantic, either.

But he wonders what she would do. What might she see? What might she feel?

He compromises by resting the crown of his head on hers, and quietly, he whispers, “Thank you for loving me.”

“Of course I would.” She replies, sounding fond, before closing her eyes. He can tell that sleep is about to take her again as she sighs, “Don’t worry about who you think you’ve got to be. Just be Astarion. It’s good enough.”

Her breaths even out, and he does his best to match her, taking in the air she exhales. He runs fingers through her hair again as she drifts to sleep.

[space-cowboys-and-aliens]

At Your Immediate Discretion

Rating: Mature

General Acacius x Reader

Word Count: 700

You meet General Acacius under the cover of night, revealing what you've been hiding from him.

"I have something weighing on my spirit. It seems that it needs your attention."

"What is it?"

"Over the last several weeks, I've realized…there are developments that have made their presence known to me."

"Developments? What is it you speak of?"

"Sir, my apologies. There is something horrible happening inside of me."

He laughs. "Horrible?"

"Yes, wicked and vile and ugly and…"

His face grows serious.

"Gods. We must get the doctors in at once. Fetch Brenan, he will see you to them."

"No! Sir, it’s more than what doctors’ minds alleviate."

The general, still confused, sits on a stone protruding from the ground.

"The feelings I have…the thoughts in my mind…you would think I’m growing mad. The worst kind, brought on in massive quantity by your presence. Forgive me. I cannot wash myself clean enough. I have tried. Gods, I fear the worst."

"My…"

He takes your wrists in one massive hand, holding them in a firm but grounding embrace.

"You are not…unclean, as you have said. You, of all, have the least to feel shame for. Who told you this was necessary to believe?"

"But never in my life have I felt so indecent, so exposed. It’s unnatural for a young woman of high nobility to entertain, allow, such deviancy! I throw shame upon myself. Forgive me. Depravity echoes through my soul."

"My lady. It’s very natural. Very mortal to feel…such a way."

You look up.

"It is?"

"It is."

"I say again, General. I have horrible, deeply troubling thoughts. Every day. Every night."

"Every night?"

"When you pace by in the corridors. I sense you from gait alone. Across the gardens in the mornings. In the cathedral. Every fiber of my being attunes to yours. I’ve been alone most of my life. I’ve never had anyone teach me the ways in… what I can only describe as carnal lust. The sins of the flesh. Cartha and Tom run through the streets in the night, scheming for their next conquests. Their company has surely infected my nature. I plague you now. I must…"

"Please look at me."

You can’t.

"There is something horrible happening inside of me..."

"There is nothing horrible happening."

"And it hurts."

"You don’t have to hurt, my star. Where does it hurt? Tell me."

"Here."

"Here?"

"Yes."

"And you say I am the cause of your impure thoughts."

"Dear gods, how to control it? This fire within, wreaking havoc and destruction wherever I turn. Please."

"Would you like me to show you…?"

His hand warm as he spread his touch across your waist.

"Please, let me touch you."

"Oh, my gods."

You lean forward, arms winding around his neck, bringing your foreheads together.

He holds onto you by your waist.

"Hey. Shhh, it’s okay. You make the sweetest sounds. Are they for me?"

You nod.

"Answer."

"Yes," you breathe.

"I’m going to take care of it, okay?"

You nod.

This is the first time you have ever felt anything like this. Your face contorts at the faintest hint of pleasure.

He slowly pulls your body closer until it’s pressed flush to his own.

"Does it feel good?"

"Yes, yes, it feels so good."

"You’re so sensitive…"

"So sensitive…," you repeat.

"So needy…"

You stop rocking your hips. Looking down at him,

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, no. Come here. So good for me…"

"…you…"

"Turn around."

You obey, and he kisses your neck as you stretch the skin. You feel your head tilt up, up, towards the heavens. His laving attention increases as your impatience towards relief grows, drawing a slight whine from your core. He grunts, a heavy sigh upon your open back. Another kiss presses to the nape of your neck. Your breathing turns to pants, mouth open, gaping at the worlds above.

[arminhug]

lame first dates || armin arlert x reader

read it on ao3 here!

synopsis: on a warm spring day outside, your close friend armin tells you his ideal first date. if only it could be you on that date…

notes: gn! reader, friends to lovers, one-shot, mad fluff, loosely implied college! au if you really squint, armin and reader being bookworms, just some cute friends to lovers with a healthy dose of awkwardness, also you're vegetarian in this bc i couldn't think of another way to make cooking for someone more awkward, but this is only alluded to once

song rec: bleached by video days

。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫

“That’s lame!”

He blinks at me, doe eyes wide and brows furrowed in almost comical confusion. Blinks again. Pushes his hands back into the plush grass. “How is it lame?” he inquires.

“Why did you agree to get coffee as a first date if caffeine makes you anxious? God, as if first dates aren’t already stressful enough!”

“Look, okay!” Armin is grinning, and I breathe out in relief, knowing I have not actually upset him. His animate face is bridled by the April sunshine, and I am struggling to take my eyes off him. Oh God, am I staring? I hope I’m not staring. “They were really pretty. I mean, out of my league pretty. I was in no position to start negotiating.”

“Why not? There’s nothing wrong with both having input in a first date. If anything it’s telling.”

“How?”

“If they get angry at you for negotiating the date, that’s a red flag.” I say definitively.

“Well, that’s you,” Armin emphasises, lying back into the grass. His left hand rests lazily against his button nose to shield out the clear sky. “You’re more assertive than me. I was just thrilled they actually wanted to go on a date me.”

“So where did that go?” I ask tentatively.

“It didn’t work out. We went on a few dates, but they told me it just wasn’t clicking. That’s fair enough, I guess, but I still felt… bad. Like I obviously wasn’t good enough for them. Why would I be?” he turns to me, pursing his lips. “Sorry, I know I’m being a little melodramatic.”

“No, I get it. I mean, you definitely are good enough. But you’re always gonna feel shitty after being rejected.”

“Yeah.”

“So, when was this? I don’t remember you seeing somebody.”

“Start of the year. But it was a few dates, not a wedding plan. I just don’t feel the need to broadcast if I’m going on a couple of dates to the entire group. Unless they ask, of course.”

“Well,” I start, meeting his eyes with a smile. “I was expecting at least a little change in behaviour, surely? Maybe a spring in the step, a little bit more energy, high on life and love and all that jazz?” I enunciate with a flair of my hands.

“Not really. Maybe that was telling that there was nothing there. After all, the dates were all standard… kind of awkward at times, but like I said, I was grateful somebody that pretty desired me.”

I’m trying not to cringe at how much he is saying this person is attractive. Seriously Armin, I get it. They were a god of aesthetic desire, no need to rub it in. Change the subject, I tell myself, teeth on my bottom lip. “Define standard dates.” I state.

“Oh, you know… dinner, a movie, coffee shops. I like the time I spend to be more imaginative and personal.”

“So what’s an imaginative date, then? What’s the ideal first date for you?”

Armin groans emphatically, shaking his head. “If you think coffee shop is lame, you are going to hate my ideal first date.”

“Bet I won’t,” I shoot back, leaning forward.

“Well,” he starts, then immediately rolls over, hiding his face with a groan, which is so cute it makes me want to burst. “You are seriously going to think I’m so lame!”

“I could never think you are lame, Arlert! I only thought the idea of you going to spike your anxiety levels on a generally very anxiety inducing conquest was lame, that’s all. Tell me!” I emphasise the last two words with a tentative shake of his shoulder, a feather light touch, hoping the contact will get him to open up.

“Fine! My ideal date is a day like this. Sometimes I imagine it at the beach, but we live nowhere near one, and they’d be busy anyway. I want a quiet spot in nature, somewhere me and my date can be alone–”

“Ooh, you’re gonna get freaky!” I jibe.

“Not like that!” his head shoots up, and as I suspected, his cheeks are already slightly flushed. Although I tease him about it, I find how easily he goes red to be one of his sweetest quirks. “I just want somewhere we– my date and I– would have some quiet.”

“Interesting, so we’d– you’d find somewhere like this,” I motion to the undisturbed corner of grass we have secured on the green, where fronds of tallgrass and milkweed encircle our undisturbed patch of greenery against young trees. The picnic bench, heavy with peeling green paint and student graffiti dating back years, is unused by us as we opt for the floor to vantage the serene lake. “Why do you need quiet?” I continue, genuinely wanting to know more.

“Well, yeah, here would be an ideal location. It’d just be nice to have the solitude, I guess. Plus, I’d bring a picnic–”

“Oh my God!”

Armin buries his face once more. “See? I knew you’d think it’s lame!”

“No, no! That’s so cute! I would never forget it if somebody made me a picnic,” I sigh dreamily, lying down next to him with just enough space between us for it to not seem flirtatious. As much as I want to flirt, to let him know how lovely I find him, I can never quite gauge if it would be reciprocated. He’s currently one of my closest friends; if he’s not willing to take it any further, I would rather let the feelings die, albeit painfully, on their own, and resume our friendship, rather than make him uncomfortable. The trouble is, Armin is painfully shy. If there is anything between us, he does a great job of hiding it, and judging by the recounts of people always asking him out, I wonder if he would ever make a move on me even if he did feel the same way.

“So nobody’s ever made you a picnic? I find that hard to believe.” he mumbles, peeking one eye towards me behind messy tufts of honey blonde hair and daisies.

“No, they have not!” I state dramatically, crossing my arms. “I got cooked dinner once, but they made it with meat. I literally told them I didn’t… hang on, what do you mean it’s hard to believe? Am I royalty who deserves picnics made for them on every date I go on?” A beat passes from my inquiry, and my heart skips. While only meaning it as a joke, I am more curious than ever to know what he is thinking right now.

“I just find it surprising that someone like you… I mean, it’s just weird. I thought you would have been taken on a lot of lovely dates.”

“Not really, actually. There’s been some nice ones, but none that I’ll remember for the rest of my life. Anyway, enough about my dates, I want to hear more about this ideal picnic first date!”

“Okay, so I’d prepare a picnic. Nothing too extravagant, just some berries, sandwiches. Maybe I’d make some cookies, or maybe ask if there’s anything they’d like to bring along. Before we arrived, I’d ask them to bring their favourite book, and I’d bring mine. Then, after we got comfortable, we’d swap books and read. I think it’d just be a lovely way to get to know the other person. You can tell a lot about a person by their favourite book.”

Oh my God. He’s so cute. I can’t stop myself smiling, instantly fantasising about how much I want to be the person who he takes on this picnic date.

“Your silence speaks volumes.” he shoots, his voice muffled.

“Armin!” I shout, louder than intended. “If somebody did that for my first date, I’d ask for their hand in marriage. That’s such a romantic idea! My silence is speaking the volumes of ‘holy shit, I wish I could have a first date like that’.”

“You think so?”

“Yes! You could get anyone you wanted if you planned that as a date. You should ask the next person you find cute what their favourite thing to bring on a picnic is, you'll be married by the end of the day." I assert hyperbolically.

“I seriously can’t asking people out. If I could… well.” he falters, furrows his brow and sighs. “Hey, what’s your favourite book?”

My body shoots full of adrenaline. Is he coming on to me? Or am I reading way too much into this? That's got to be a come on, right?

“Well, I have a few favourites, but the best I’ve read recently is Circe by Madeleine Miller.”

“Oh!” he exclaims with the sweetest grin, his eyes wide. “I loved Song of Achilles, but I never got round to Circe.”

Shoot your shot, shoot your shot, shoot your shot. I cannot stop my mind running, daring to ask if he’d like to read it, insinuating the date.

“What’s your favourite?” I enquire. I decide to test the waters. “What book would you bring to this picnic date… if I brought Circe?” Was that a bit too much testing of the waters? Oh, God. He shrouds his head with his bare arms, and I am weighing up whether this is because I’ve pushed it too far or if he’s blushing.

“Uh… well I have a lot of favourites, like you. But I’d most likely bring Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood. It’s something I read when I was young, much too young to fully understand the depth of the nuances, but it always stayed with me. As I got older, I reread it over and over and I was more immersed each time. It’s one of her best works, I’d even say it’s on the level with The Handmaid’s Tale.” During his rambles, he pokes his head up, clearly lost in the world of the book he describes to me. That’s when I am shot through with another course of adrenaline, desperately fighting any visible tells of excitement. He is blushing!

“Huh,” I muse. “Not read that one, only The Handmaid’s Tale and The Testaments.”

“So… we’ve both not read each other’s favourite books, huh?” he says quietly, pushing himself up onto his forearms and turning his head. He begins to bend his fingers against each other. I am absentmindedly biting my thumbnail, wondering if either of us might ask.

Fuck it.

“Um… no hard feelings if not–”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to, but–”

We both start in unison. Pause. Make direct eye contact.

“You go.” Again, in unison, before laughing nervously.

“Seriously, you can go first!” I gesture, wondering if he will really ask me.

He shakes his head shyly. “You go.”

“Well… if you’re going to ask what I think you are, then I want to hear you say it!” I tell him.

“So, what do you think I’m going to ask?”

“If you wanted to do that date together!” I blurt, then reel. Oh, that sly bastard. He’s gotten me to say it first.

“Yeah… I’d like that, (y/n).”

“Okay, cool.” I respond, internally smacking myself. Okay, cool? Who says okay, cool? “I mean,” I rectify, fidgeting. “That’d be really nice. When? Is here okay? Wait, I’m totally rambling, aren’t I? Sorry, I just…”

“No it’s okay! I… I was nervous too. Are you free tomorrow? Or is that too soon–”

“No, not too soon! What about a time?

“Noon okay? I mean, it doesn’t have to be, but–” We are both stumbling over words, rebuttals, speaking quickly and correcting ourselves on our own words. But we are also both grinning uncontrollably. I sigh, taking a moment.

“Noon would be great. Would you like me to bring anything? Drinks, or snacks?”

“Well, I can take care of sandwiches and fruits. If you could bring any drinks you like or some other small snacks, that’d be lovely.”

“No problem! But I have one question… are you really going to make me cookies?”

Armin exhales through his nose, shaking his head. Then he does something uncharacteristically bold; takes my hand and squeezes it briefly.

“For you, I think I can do that.”

[missnxthingg]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 - 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Lando Norris x Actress!Reader (Enemies to Lovers & Fake Dating AU) 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Lando Norris really messed up on the first time meeting one of Hollywood’s newest and hottest stars, Y/N L/N. But when his reputation gets too bad, she might be the only one who can save his career from being completely doomed. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 - 4.6K | 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - Swearing, mentions of sex, angst 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 - Very very sorry for the delay! Life was a mess and I needed to get things in order. It's coming to an end 🥺 last one will be the last chapter, but let's enjoy while it lasts. Also, this one is for all of us Lando girlies who love to see him succeed in Interlagos!

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𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 - 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐃𝐎 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

The morning after the fight was a rollercoaster of emotions for Y/N. She woke up feeling cold, the covers kicked to the bottom of the bed, and no one lying next to her. By now, waking up next to Lando felt familiar and too comfortable for her liking. She had grown fond of having him pressed against her every morning, his arms draped around her waist and his nose buried in her neck. It felt weird to not have him next to her when she opened her eyes. And then she remembered why he wasn’t there.

She really wished she could go back to sleep and pretend the previous night hadn’t happened.

Y/N wrapped herself around the covers once again and groaned, feeling almost like a truck ran over her body the previous night. She could blame it on the only margarita she had the night before, but she knew she could only blame the fight she had with Lando. The memories of them confessing their feelings for each other was almost too painful. It was killing them; and maybe it was for the best to call off their “relationship”, if they could even call it that.

As most days in November in Brazil, it was bright and sunny outside, but Y/N was convinced it was for the best if she stayed in for the entire day. Maybe she could catch up on her watching list on Netflix, order junk food and cry her heart out while no one was watching. After all, she was only required to go outside tomorrow, when her PR team asked her to accompany Lando to the paddock during media day.

She managed to not cry just fine so far that morning, but the universe was making it really hard to keep it together. If the emotions weren’t enough, Y/N found out that day that she was nominated for an Emmy Award. It was all over social media, with everyone congratulating her and posting clips of her performance on her latest show. Her phone was blowing up with calls and texts, but she didn’t have the energy to celebrate it.

Suddenly, it all felt too lonely. Y/N had just acquired the biggest conquest of her career, one that she has dreamed of her entire life, and she had no one to celebrate it with. The person she wanted to celebrate with the most was nowhere to be seen. So she cried alone in that hotel room, because there was nothing more she could do. She should’ve been out there celebrating that conquest, but she was weeping for the loss of Lando Norris, of all people in the world.

He wasn’t having the best days himself. After she left, Lando couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep even if he wanted to. He could only think about Y/N leaving their room crying after saying she didn’t trust him; after telling it all went wrong because he could only think about himself. All the work he did to try getting to her heart gone to waste, only because he forgot to apologize. 

After a couple of hours after finally getting some sleep, Lando was woken up by knocks on his door. Max had come for him after he didn’t answer his phone for the entire morning. His best friend understood what happened almost immediately when he opened the door, his eyes blood shot from crying too much. Lando sighed before crying more, feeling completely powerless with the situation he was trapped in.

“I fucked up”, Lando admitted, completely defeated. “And fuck, I love her so much. But she’s gone”.

Max tried to cheer him up, attempting to get the pieces back together before he was required to be on track, talking to countless journalists about his job. Lando didn’t want to talk about anything with anyone at that moment, only to Y/N if he could. In the end, with all the suffering he was going through, she was the only person he wanted to talk with to make it better.

“It’s not her fault. It’s my fault. All me. I’m always the problem”, he thought, all day. Everybody knows that Lando can get himself down a self depreciation hole, but now he actually knows it was all entirely his fault. So it was a little harder to get him out of there.

He heard of her Emmy nomination later that day, while they were waiting for breakfast at a bakery. Lando felt a boast of energy in his body, feeling so proud of his girl’s achievement. But when he remembered she didn’t want him there to celebrate it with her, he felt sad once again. He had to retreat back to his hotel room, because it was too painful to pretend nothing had happened while he was outside. People were starting to recognize him, and they could all see the sadness painted all over his face. He couldn’t do it anymore.

The first time Y/N and Lando met again after the fight was on the Thursday morning, as they were waiting for a car to pick them up at the hotel to drive them to the track. He felt uneasy to be around her, not getting to exchange a single world to her. She had grown into his best friend over the past couple of months, him always wanting to share everything with her all the time. So when she avoided his eyes like the plague, it hurt him too much.

Still, he wasn’t one to give up so easily. Lando approached her as she was distracted and said what he was dying to say the entire day. “Congratulations on your Emmy nomination. I’m very proud of you”, he kept his voice low, almost as if he was afraid to say those words. Y/N was looking away from him, but her eyes met his once she heard the words. It was as if she was trying to figure out if it was a figure of her imagination or if he was really saying it to her.

He finally got to see how bad she was as well. Lando knew her like the palm of his hand by then, so he could see that she was suffering too. But he saw a little bit of the light come back to her eyes with his words. But as much as she wanted to throw her arms around him and give him the tightest hug, she knew she had to be tough. So she toughened up and gave him the coldest response. 

“Thank you”, she nodded, looking the other way the second after. If Y/N stared into his eyes for too long, she would give into him. Only a few words from him were enough to ignite the fire on her heart once again.

“I would like to talk to you eventually”, he said, still facing only the side of her face. Lando watched her close her eyes and hold her breath. She was trying to not cry again. “If you want to, of course”.

“Not now, Norris”, she walked away without even looking him in the face.

It was hard to pretend everything was fine as they walked together in Interlagos, especially with the whole media surrounding them and ready to fire questions if they noticed something wrong. Luckily, since there was no racing happening, Y/N got to stay buried inside the McLaren motorhome until it was time to go back to the hotel once again.

Everybody noticed something was wrong, especially with the look on Lando’s face. His mood was so down that even Zak Brown noticed it. And judging by how Y/N hid herself in the McLaren hospitality until the whole thing was over, he put two and two together. He tried talking to Norris, but Lando kept assuring everything was fine. No one in the team, specially those who knew the relationship was fake, knew what was going on. How did the lovey-dovey couple go from posting cute pictures on social media to no talking in a couple of days?

Impressively enough, the whole thing that happened between Lando and Y/N didn’t affect his performance at all. He secured P2 in sprint qualifying and maintained the position on the sprint race. And if that wasn’t enough, he got pole position for the main race on Sunday. Yet, he couldn’t feel happy about it enough. None of that seemed to matter, because he couldn’t feel joy at all without Y/N.

He could’ve finished in any position – he could’ve won, for that matter – and he would still feel nothing. It hurt too much to receive nothing but an empty “congratulations” and a lifeless hug, just for the cameras to capture. Lando wanted to punch a wall, and he wanted to punch himself for what he did.

Later that day, when he was back at his hotel room with Max, Lando couldn’t control his crying anymore. He had been excellent at not bursting into tears through the past few days, but it was getting too hard to bottle in the feelings, especially when Y/N’s hands felt cold on his as they walked with fingers laced in public. His best friend had to hug him in order to hold him up and not crumble to the floor.

“Come on, mate. You need to stop crying and go get some rest for tomorrow”, Max pleaded, now having Lando sit down in his bed. “I know this whole thing is hard, but I can’t stand to see you this sad when you should be celebrating the perfect weekend you’re having”.

“I think I lost the love of my life, Max. So of course I’m crying”, Lando wiped off his tears, but they kept streaming from his eyes. “I can’t feel happy without her. She’s everything to me, and knowing I fucked her up makes me feel so stupid. I’m so fucking stupid to not apologize to her.  I did everything, but forgot the most important part of it all”.

“Have you tried apologizing again?”, Max asked and Lando nodded.

“I said I wanted to talk to her whenever she was up to talking, but she ignored me”, Lando sighed, throwing his back against the bed. “I would do anything to go back in time and fix this”.

“You don’t need to go back in time to fix this”, Max said. “Look, mate, she has admitted having feelings for you, right? So find the right words, put your pride aside and get her back”.

“You don’t know her. She is as hard-headed as I am. No simple apologize will make her forget the dickhead that I am”, Lando said. “And maybe I really don’t deserve her. She needs someone who has never treated her less than the amazing person that she is”.

“Lan…”, Max tried talking again, but his friend needed to vent more than hearing more advices.

“I would do anything to see her happy again, you know? It’s even worse to know she’s suffering too, because I can never get out of my head that it’s my fault. And I could make her so happy if she gave me another chance. I just know it”.

“I’m not the one who’s supposed to be hearing those words. Talk to her, tell her everything bottle inside you. This time, remember what I said: find the right words. And if it doesn’t work out, well… you already have nothing. You have to at least try”.

Lando went to sleep that night with Max’s words in his head. Months ago, he vowed he would do anything to make Y/N trust him, and he’s yet to try everything in his sleeves. There’s still one more chance, and he would take all the chances he had to have Y/N back.

When Sunday morning came around, Y/N felt almost hungover with the exhaustion from that week. She dragged herself out of bed for the fifth time that week and put on a sundress to enjoy the nice and warm weather outside. Then after breakfast, she waited at the meeting place in the hotel to get to the paddock, ready to put on her best acting and pretend everything was alright. Today would be crucial, because all the eyes would be on her and Lando through the main event of the weekend.

Through the night, before he fell asleep, Lando thought of a thousand ways to get Y/N to talk to him. And if she was finally going to listen to him, he knew what to say. But all his plans were lost when he saw her standing at the hotel lobby, waiting for the car to take them to the track. He thought of a lot of ways to approach her, but he simply rushed into her encounter. And as if their eyes were magnets, she turned to look at him just a few seconds before the collision. Before she could protest, Lando had her engulfed by his body.

She was taken by surprise with the action, but she was even more surprised to how her body reacted to it. Y/N immediately melted into his touch and let her arms around his shoulder, feeling her chest burning into flames and feeling easy to have him so close. She buried her face in his neck and let all the tears she was holding in for days finally fall in relief.

“I’m so sorry about everything”, he whispered in her ear, holding her a little tighter. “I have so much to apologize to you and the right words to say everything, but so little time right now. I don’t want to go one more second without talking to you, because it's been too much for me. I miss you, Y/N”.

“Lando”, she leaned back and looked between his eyes. Y/N could see how this entire thing has impacted him as well, and it hurt to see him hurt too. So she softly ran one of her thumbs though his cheek and smiled, tired of fighting.

“Y/N”, he encouraged, still too nervous with her response. But he felt a little better to see the smile on her lips once again.

 “Go in that car and win this race. For me”, she held his face between her hands and squeezed it carefully, assuring him that they were okay, at least for now. Lando was so happy that he pulled her back to the hug.

“For you, anything”, he kissed her forehead, knowing a proper kiss would be too far. “I promise that after the race, I have so much to talk to you about”.

“Don’t worry about it now, okay?”, she searched for his hands and gave it a squeeze. “We’ll talk later”.

Lando couldn’t let go off Y/N after that. They still were very quiet around each other, but it was a relief to have her hands laced with his all the time. Even better to have his arms wrapped around her as they cuddled in his driver’s room during his break. And you can bet he felt amazing when she pressed a kiss to his cheek before helping put on his balaclava.

“Good luck, Lan”, she whispered in his ear as he pulled him for a hug. “I trust you”.

And with the words he has been waiting for months to hear, Lando went into his car with the boost of confidence he needed. So far, he hadn’t won a race in Formula 1, but he had been so close for a lot of weekends. Always P2, never the winner. But now he had the confidence who could make him pass anyone in front of him. He was going to win for Y/N, just because she asked him to. So when he crossed the chequered flag before any other driver, he felt his entire life flash right in front of his eyes. Every sweat and tears dropped for this moment, who had been a long time coming. All these years had finally paid off.

Once he parked the car, everything moved in slow motion for him. The mechanics pulling him in for a hug, and all the other drivers who came to congratulate him as well. It could be a scene taken out of a film, quite easily. And when Lando saw Y/N standing right next to Zak Brown behind the barricade, he could feel his heart at his mouth. She was drowning in proud tears, applauding him with all of her strength. So he didn’t care about anyone else who was calling his name; he simply approached her and gave her the biggest kiss they ever shared. 

It’s been only a couple of days since he had last kissed them, but Lando missed her lips as if it had been a year since he last did it. And with that, he felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders, knowing everything was finally alright. His reputation was saved, he had a race win, and he had his favourite girl right there with him. It couldn’t get better than that.

Lando chased her lips once she tried to break off the kiss, not wanting to let go off her yet. But she managed to separate them between giggles. “My P1. I’m so proud of you, Lan, congratulations!”

“I love you”, he mumbled against her lips. “I love you so fucking much”.

Y/N didn’t say it back right at that moment, because there’s still a lot that needed to be said between them before those three words. But she kissed him again, and it said it all. She didn't have to say she loves him because Lando knew it. Looking into her eyes, tasting her on his lips, he knew she felt the same. So he didn’t care about getting no response, because he knew it all in his heart.

“I’ll be back in the blink of an eye. I promise you”, Lando pressed another quick peck to her lips before proceeding with everything he’s required to after the race.

Lando stood on the tallest step of the podium and raised his trophy as high as he could. He splashed his champagne bottle to make a mess on everyone, spotting Y/N on the ground and spraying the liquid far enough to reach her downstairs. He was glowing, and anyone could see that. It showed through the pictures, the interviews, the small talks with people from his team. McLaren made sure the debrief was short so they could all go celebrating the moment that has been a long time coming.

He was ready to party, but there was one more thing left to do.

“You stink of champagne”, Y/N was giggling between his arms. He was spinning her around as they walked into his hotel room, finally having some time along after the race. Nothing could kill the big smile he had stamped on his face.

“Smell it. It’s Chanel”, he joked, pulling Y/N for another kiss. Lando had her pressed against the door once it was close, and it felt too good to have his breath taken away once again by her kisses. He wanted to touch her everywhere just to know she was really there, but once his hands darted under her dress, she stopped him there.

“Not now, Lan. We still have a lot to talk before all of this”, she broke off the kiss, and he agreed with a nod. Suddenly, he was nervous once again, knowing the talk they needed to have had the potential to fix or fuck everything. “Hey, where’s that big smile you were giving me before? I miss it”.

“It is terrified of losing you”, he admitted, making Y/N’s eyes soften for him. She rubbed her thumbs on his cheeks and pouted, making him open a small grin once again. “But you’re right, we need to talk”.

“We don’t need to do this right now, Lando”, she said as he pulled her to sit in bed. He cut her before she said anything else.

“But I want to”, he said, pulling her hands to entwine with his. “Listen, I don’t think any amount of words can fix what I did to you in the past, but I'm very, very sorry. For every bad thing I said about you and every time I mistreated you. Y/N, you never deserved to hear those words from anyone, and I'm sorry I took too long to realize that”.

Y/N nodded and waited quietly while listening to what he had to say. But she could tell that he was nervous, so she encouraged him by rubbing her thumbs on the back of his hand. Lando looked down and smiled at the gesture. It showed how much she cared about him, even though he keeps fucking her up.

“You jumped into this crazy idea just to help me in the blink of an eye, and I never showed you gratitude. Even when I didn’t deserve, you were kind, and you took care of me. And I kept breaking your heart over and over again”, he admitted. “And I regret all of that. I'm so sorry, and I promise you, I'll change”.

“You already have changed”, she ran her fingers through his curls and looked between his eyes. “I know you have, Lando, or else I wouldn't have opened up to you. I just couldn’t bring myself to believe that it was really happening. So I tried to shield myself as much as I could from falling in love with you”.

Lando nodded, a little sad to know that he hurt this relationship so much that she tried not to feel anything for him. But it was nice knowing she felt the same all along, even though they needed some healing.

“And I know you're not the idiot you used to be with me. I understand that you changed and, for you, I would do anything. I would do it all again if I had too”.

“I'm sorry for being so selfish. I was so busy thinking about myself that I forgot how much I had hurt you in the past. I forgot to apologize, and I thought that giving you flowers and kisses would be enough to mend a broken relationship from the start. I was willing to do anything to make you trust me that I forgot the most important part of it all”.

“You understand my point, right?”, she asked, and he agreed with his head. “You showed me that you’re someone worthy of loving, but I just couldn’t trust you at all, because you never showed regret. But now, looking you in the eye, I know that you truly are sorry”.

“I regret every bad word I ever said about you”, he assured. “I think I made my point very clear, but I want to assure you that this thing we have, with sex and the ‘enemies with benefits’, was never just that for me. I would always have that tingle in my heart whenever I was intimate with you and with all the little nice interactions we had, my ice heart started melting for you”.

“Trust me, I know the feeling”, she assured him between giggles. “I also have to apologize to you. The insults weren’t one-sided. And I know you might think it’s all your fault now, but we both know I was a bitch to you as well. So to start in the right place, I have to say, I’m sorry too”.

“Well… I deserved it”, he shrugged, hanging his head down, but Y/N softly brought it up by taking it between her hands.

“No, you didn’t, Lando. You filled me with compliments, and now it’s your turn to take them”, she said. “You also have the kindest heart in the world. You take care of people, and you’re always the energy in the room. You’ve taken care of me on times I needed, and you brought light into my days. You taught me the purest form of love. You make me laugh, and you make me feel like a princess whenever I feel like I'm a monster. You're a good person, Lando. So if anyone is a bitch to you, they better apologize”.

“I used to be so scare of love, but you make it so easy”, Lando looked at her with adoration in his eyes, feeling so great to have his face between her hands. “I love you so much”.

She smiled at him, knowing for sure that now it was safe to say it back. With her eyes filled with tears, she admitted: “I love you so much too, Norris”. 

Y/N pulled him for a sweet kiss, finally pouring all the feelings she had for him into her actions. And he savoured every single second of finally having his dream girl all to myself. Lando slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her even closer.

“I thought I had lost you”, he whispered against her lips, feeling his eyes welling up with tears of relief. He felt it all too hard in his chest. “I'm so glad you're here with me”.

“Yeah, I thought we were doomed”, she admitted too, lacing their fingers together and giving his hand a squeeze. “But love always finds a way”.

“For you, I'll hang the stars in the sky, only to bring them back down if you want them back”, he confessed, now pulling her face between his hands. “I hope we can finally stop with the PR thing, or the friends with benefits thing, or whatever other stupid label between us, and properly be a couple”.

She giggled with him and nodded in agreement. “I want it all with you, Lan. You and me, to the end of times”.

“Forever, my love”, he pulled her for a hug and pressed countless kisses to the top of her head. “Also, now that you’re finally talking to me, congratulations again on your Emmy nomination. I’ve never been so proud of you”, he poked her sides and she laughed with his actions.

“Thank you, love”, she kissed his nose, making him blush a little.

“I’ll never get enough of praising you for this. I was so happy when I heard the news. I knew you were extraordinary, and it was just a matter of time until they recognized it”, he affirmed. “I almost exploded for not getting to celebrate it with you”.

“To be fair, I celebrated it crying alone in my room”, she confessed between laughs. Lando's heart faltered at the confession and his smile dropped. Y/N deserved a proper celebration to this incredible achievement in her career.

“You're kidding, right? So we have three things to celebrate tonight”, he said, making Y/N frown in confusion.

 “What's the third thing to celebrate?”

“My grand prix win, your nomination and our love, now very much official”, he cracked a smile, making her laugh with his statement. Y/N just had to pull him for another hug and lots of cheek kisses.

“You’re so adorable”.

“Come on, let’s get ready. We have a party to go to”.

As she watched him waltz into the bathroom for a shower, all smiley and happy, Y/N felt her heart lighter again. Everything was exactly where she wished for it to be, and she could finally enjoy it all with him. Love is weird, and sometimes it blossoms in places you would never expect. But it’s good to know you’re loved back, especially by someone as amazing as Lando. In the end, love always makes it right.

⋘ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 // 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⋙

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[magical-reid]

The Joke's on Us

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Ravenclaw!Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none?

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: Fred Weasley agrees to pretend to be Y/N's boyfriend to help her fend off the advances of an unwanted suitor, Adrian Pucey, only to find his own feelings for her growing stronger with each passing day. As their fake relationship deepens, Fred finally admits his love for Y/N, and to his delight, she feels the same, leading to a genuine romance that leaves Pucey behind.

The air in Diagon Alley was brisk, a remnant of autumn’s grip before winter claimed it fully. Fred Weasley stood at the entrance of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, grinning broadly at the stream of witches and wizards entering their shop. Business had been booming since they opened the shop, and he and George couldn’t have been prouder.

But tonight wasn’t about Puking Pastilles or Extendable Ears. Fred had his sights set on something—or rather, someone—else entirely.

Y/N Y/L/N.

She had been their friend since Hogwarts, though Fred had always known his feelings for her extended beyond mere friendship. She’d been a year behind them in school, a Ravenclaw who managed to balance being book-smart with a mischievous streak that rivaled even the Weasley twins. Fred had noticed her laugh first—bright, unrestrained, the kind that echoed in his chest and refused to leave.

Now, as adults, they’d grown closer. Y/N worked for Flourish and Blotts, managing the rare books section, and often popped by the joke shop after her shifts to unwind.

Tonight was no different.

Fred spotted her easily as she navigated the crowded street, her brown hair loose and catching the faint glow of the shop’s enchanted lights. Her eyes darted around, scanning for him, and his heart did an embarrassingly Gryffindor-esque leap in his chest.

“Y/N!” Fred called, waving her over. She smiled in relief and quickened her pace.

“Fred, thank Merlin,” she said breathlessly, stepping into the shop and out of the chill. She glanced around at the shelves of colorful chaos, then back to him. “You’re my last hope. Please tell me you’ll help.”

Fred’s grin faltered. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N let out a frustrated groan and ran a hand through her hair. “Adrian Pucey. That’s what’s wrong.”

Fred stiffened at the name. Pucey had been a Slytherin a few years below him and George—a smug git who had grown into an even smugger man. He’d apparently decided Y/N was his latest conquest and had been making her life miserable for weeks now.

“Has he been bothering you again?” Fred asked, his tone sharper than he intended.

Y/N nodded, her eyes flashing with irritation. “He won’t take no for an answer. He keeps showing up at the bookshop, sending me owls—yesterday, he cornered me in the Leaky Cauldron during my lunch break.” She shuddered. “He’s relentless. I don’t know what else to do.”

Fred’s jaw clenched. He hated the thought of her being harassed, especially by someone like Pucey. “What do you need? Name it, and I’ll make it happen.”

She hesitated, biting her lip. “I was thinking…maybe you could pretend to be my boyfriend. Just for a little while. Pucey might back off if he thinks I’m taken.”

Fred’s heart thudded loudly in his chest. He forced himself to stay calm, though inside, his thoughts were a cacophony of disbelief and hope. Pretend to be her boyfriend? He’d been wanting to be her real boyfriend for years.

“Of course,” he said, keeping his tone casual. “Happy to help. Let’s make Pucey regret ever looking your way.”

Y/N’s shoulders sagged in relief, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. “Thank you, Fred. I owe you one.”

Fred gave her a lopsided grin, ignoring the warmth spreading through his chest at her touch. “No, you don’t. But I will expect you to play along convincingly. No half-arsing it, Y/L/N.”

Y/N laughed, the sound lighting up the dim corners of his heart. “Don’t worry, Weasley. I’ll sell it.”

The plan went into motion the very next day.

Y/N had arranged to meet Pucey for coffee—a ruse to confront him once and for all about his behavior. Fred, naturally, insisted on coming along.

As they approached the café in Hogsmeade, Y/N slipped her hand into Fred’s. It was a small, almost absent-minded gesture, but it sent a jolt of electricity through him. He glanced down at her, but she was focused ahead, her expression determined.

Inside, Pucey was already seated, his polished robes and slicked-back hair a stark contrast to Fred’s more casual style. The Slytherin’s smirk faded when he saw them enter hand in hand.

“Adrian,” Y/N said briskly as they approached the table. “This is Fred. My boyfriend.”

Fred couldn’t help but grin at the way Pucey’s face darkened. “Evening, Pucey,” he said cheerfully, sliding an arm around the girls waist. “Hope we’re not interrupting.”

Pucey’s gaze flicked between them, his smile brittle. “Didn’t realize you were seeing anyone, Y/N.”

“Well, now you do,” she said, her tone firm. “And I’d appreciate it if you stopped…whatever this is you’ve been doing. It’s making me uncomfortable.”

Fred tightened his grip on her waist, silently daring Pucey to argue.

Pucey’s eyes narrowed. “This is a joke, right? Weasley’s your boyfriend?”

Fred’s grin widened. “Don’t sound so surprised, mate. I’m a catch.”

Y/N bit back a laugh, but Pucey didn’t share her amusement. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“This isn’t over,” he said, glaring at the girl before storming out of the café.

Fred felt Y/N relax against him, and he looked down to find her smiling. “Well,” she said, “that went better than expected.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “Better? He looked ready to hex me.”

“He won’t,” she said confidently. “Not with all these witnesses.”

He chuckled, but his amusement faded as he realized their plan might not have worked as well as she thought. Pucey didn’t seem like the type to give up so easily.

Still, he pushed the thought aside and focused on the present. “Come on,” he said, tugging her toward the door. “Let’s get out of here before he changes his mind.”

Over the next few days, Fred and Y/N continued their charade. They held hands in public, exchanged exaggerated smiles and whispers, and even staged a kiss in front of the joke shop when they spotted Pucey lurking nearby.

But the more time Fred spent pretending to be Y/N’s boyfriend, the harder it became to separate pretense from reality.

He loved the way her face lit up when she laughed, the way she wrinkled her nose when she was thinking, the way she trusted him completely. He loved her, plain and simple.

And it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide it.

One evening, after a particularly long day at the shop, Fred invited her up to the flat above the store for a drink. She accepted eagerly, collapsing onto the worn sofa with a sigh of relief.

“Long day?” Fred asked, handing her a glass of wine.

“Understatement,” she said, taking a sip. “Some bloke spilled ink all over a first edition of Fantastic Beasts. I nearly cried.”

Fred winced. “Tragic. Though I imagine you set him straight.”

“Oh, he won’t be making that mistake again,” she said with a wicked grin.

Fred laughed, settling beside her. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came with years of friendship.

After a moment, she turned to him, her expression serious. “Fred…thank you. For everything. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Fred met her gaze, his heart pounding. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/N. I’d do anything for you.”

Her eyes softened, and for a moment, Fred thought he saw something more than gratitude in her expression. But before he could say anything, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Goodnight, Fred,” she said, standing and heading for the door.

Fred watched her go, his cheek still tingling from her kiss. He knew he couldn’t keep pretending much longer.

It was time to tell Y/N how he really felt.

——

Fred didn’t sleep that night.

He lay on the worn sofa in the flat above the shop, staring at the ceiling as the minutes turned into hours. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Y/N—her eyes, her soft smile, the way she’d kissed his cheek before walking away.

He needed to tell her how he felt.

But what if it ruined everything? What if she didn’t feel the same way? They’d been friends for years—he couldn’t bear to lose her because he’d let his heart get ahead of him.

Still, the thought of watching her fall for someone else—watching her go back to her life once their fake relationship was over—was worse.

By the time the sun rose, Fred had made his decision.

Y/N, meanwhile, was having a morning of her own.

She’d been awake since dawn, pacing her small flat above Flourish and Blotts, replaying the past few days over and over in her head.

At first, the plan to fake-date Fred had seemed like a brilliant solution. Pucey had mostly backed off, and the sense of safety she felt around Fred was priceless.

But somewhere along the way, something had shifted.

Fred wasn’t just her funny, reckless best friend anymore. He was the man who held her hand like it meant something. The man who kissed her on the forehead when they were “pretending” for Pucey’s benefit, only to linger a moment longer than necessary. The man whose laugh made her stomach flutter in ways she couldn’t ignore.

The truth hit her like a Bludger to the chest.

She was falling for him.

Y/N groaned and buried her face in her hands. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Fred was just helping her out. He didn’t really want to be with her.

Did he?

That afternoon, Fred found Y/N at the bookshop.

She was kneeling behind the counter, sorting through a stack of new arrivals, and didn’t notice him at first. He took a moment to admire the way her hair fell in loose waves around her face, the way she bit her lip in concentration.

“Oi, Y/L/N,” he called, leaning casually against the counter.

Y/N looked up, startled, then smiled when she saw him. “Fred! What brings you here?”

Fred grinned. “Can’t a bloke visit his fake girlfriend without an ulterior motive?”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t falter. “I suppose. Though I doubt you’re here to browse rare books.”

“Caught me,” Fred admitted. He hesitated, suddenly nervous. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk. Privately.”

Her smile wavered. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Fred said quickly. “Just…come with me?”

Y/N nodded, her curiosity piqued, and followed him out of the shop. Fred led her to a quiet corner of Diagon Alley, far from the bustling crowds.

Once they were alone, Fred turned to face her, his expression more serious than she’d ever seen it.

“Fred, you’re starting to worry me,” She said, her green eyes searching his face.

Fred took a deep breath. “Y/N, I’ve been thinking about us. About this whole…fake relationship thing.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “What about it?”

Fred ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I agreed to this because I wanted to help you. And I don’t regret it—not for a second. But…”

“But what?” She prompted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Fred met her gaze, his brown eyes earnest. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Y/N blinked, her mind racing. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I don’t want to be your fake boyfriend,” Fred said, stepping closer. “I want to be your real one. I’ve wanted that for ages, Y/N. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “Fred…”

“I know this might come as a shock,” Fred continued, his voice rushing now. “And I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same way. But I had to tell you. I couldn’t keep pretending, not when—”

Y/N cut him off by pressing her lips to his.

Fred froze for a split second before kissing her back, his arms wrapping around her like she might vanish if he let go. The world seemed to fall away, leaving nothing but the two of them in that quiet corner of Diagon Alley.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N was breathless, her cheeks flushed.

“I’ve been falling for you too, Fred,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I just didn’t think you felt the same way.”

Fred’s grin was so wide it could have rivaled the shop’s flashing neon signs. “Are you kidding? I’ve been in love with you since Hogwarts.”

She laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. “Well, you took your time telling me.”

“Better late than never,” Fred said, pulling her close again.

Their relationship shifted after that, but in the best possible way.

Fred still made her laugh until her sides ached, still teased her mercilessly about her love of books and her habit of muttering to herself when she was nervous. But now there were stolen kisses in the stockroom, late-night cuddles on the sofa, and whispered promises of forever.

As for Pucey, he didn’t stand a chance.

The next time he approached her at the Leaky Cauldron, Fred was by her side, his arm draped possessively around her shoulders.

“Pucey,” Fred said cheerfully, his grin bordering on dangerous. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Pucey glared at him, then at Y/N. “So it’s true, then? You’re really with him?”

She smiled sweetly, leaning into Fred. “Yes, Adrian. I’m really with him. So if you’ll excuse us…”

Fred smirked as Y/N grabbed his hand and led him away, leaving Pucey fuming in their wake.

“That was brilliant,” Fred said once they were outside.

Y/N grinned up at him. “Well, I did have an excellent fake boyfriend to practice with.”

Fred laughed, spinning her around before kissing her soundly.

“You’re stuck with me now, Y/L/N,” he said when they broke apart.

“Good,” Y/N replied, her eyes shining. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

[wholoveseggs]

Hey,could you do a fic with elijah where she is riding him, but her legs kinda give out, and he needs to take over with daddy and praise kink and maybe a little overstimulation,please 🙏🏻🥺🥺

Pop Quiz - Part Two

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Its been a few weeks since you last saw your professor, and you are feeling insecure about the nature of your relationship. You decide to make a grand gesture to capture his attention. Hopefully it doesn't blow up in your face...

♡♡ Thanks for the request anon! I finally got around to putting out pop quiz 2, I hope you all enjoy ♡♡

9.5k words (whoops) - Warnings: smut, angst, blowjobs, riding, Klaus being an absolute menace, dom!elijah, daddy!kink, teacher!kink, tinsy bit of roleplay... I even threw in a bit of ancient Greek history...

{Part One}

You were late for class again, and you knew Professor Mikaelson would not be happy about it. You rushed down the hallway and snuck into the classroom, slipping into your seat next to the window.

You could feel his eyes on you, and when you glanced up at the front of the room, his gaze was burning into yours. You shifted in your seat, heat flooding your cheeks, and not just from the way he was looking at you.

The last time you had seen him, he had fucked you so hard you couldn't walk straight for hours afterward.

That was two weeks ago, and you couldn't stop thinking about it.

You couldn't stop thinking about him.

The way his lips felt on yours, the way his cock stretched you, the way his fingers dug into your skin, his low moans echoing in your ears.

"Miss Y/L/N." His deep voice snapped you back to reality.

"Hmm?"

"Perhaps you could answer the question I just posed?"

Shit. You hadn't been listening at all.

"Can you repeat the question, sir?"

"Why don't I just repeat the lesson plan from today instead? Since you clearly weren't paying attention." He raised an eyebrow, and you could feel the heat of the room rising.

"I'm sorry, sir," you murmured.

"See me after class, Miss Y/L/N," He said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You nodded, and tried to focus on the lecture, but it was impossible. Your mind kept drifting back to that night, to the way his hands felt on your body, the way his lips trailed across your skin.

The class seemed to drag on forever, but eventually the other students were packing up their belongings and heading out.

You sat there, staring down at your notes, which were mostly just doodles, waiting for the rest of the class to clear out.

You were trying not to look at him, but you could feel his eyes on you, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine.

When the room was finally empty, he stood and locked the door, closing the blinds on the window.

"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the desk.

You walked over to it and hopped up, your legs dangling off the side.

He moved between them, his hands sliding up your thighs, his eyes locking with yours.

"What am I going to do with you, Miss Y/L/N?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Well, let's start with you answering my question. What significant event marked the end of the Viking Age in England?"

"The Norman Conquest in 1066."

"Good girl." He praised, his thumbs rubbing circles on the insides of your thighs, his voice making you clench around nothing.

"Tell me, how many times have you touched yourself since the last time I had you spread out on my desk, moaning and begging me for more?" He asked, his dark eyes fixed on yours.

"Too many to count." You breathed, your thighs tightening around his hips, trying to pull him closer.

"Show me," he growled, his hands moving to his belt, unbuckling it and letting it fall open.

You swallowed hard, heat pooling between your legs as you watched him pull his cock free from his pants, stroking himself. He pulled up his chair, sitting down in front of you.

"Sir?"

"Show me how you touch yourself when you're thinking about me, sweetheart."

You licked your lips, reaching up under your skirt and pushing your panties aside.

"Good girl," he said, his voice thick with lust.

You rubbed your clit, the pad of your finger pressing into it. You bit your lip, trying to keep quiet, but the way he was looking at you made that nearly impossible.

He continued to stroke his cock, his eyes never leaving yours. You teased yourself, your fingers dipping into your pussy, your wetness coating them. You could see the muscles in his jaw clenching as he watched you, his hand moving faster.

"You look so beautiful, sweetheart," he said, his eyes fixed on yours.

You gasped, slipping two fingers inside yourself.

"That's it, let me hear those pretty sounds."

You moaned, your hips rocking, your pussy clenching around your fingers. You were getting close, and he could tell.

"Come here," he said, his hand dropping to his side.

You removed your fingers and moved forward, dropping to your knees in front of him.

"Yes, sir." You breathed.

He brought the tip of his cock to your lips and you eagerly licked and sucked at the head, your eyes locking with his. You loved seeing the flush on his cheeks, his lips slightly parted, his dark eyes hooded.

He slid a hand into your hair, gripping it tightly, pulling you forward. You sucked harder, taking as much of him as you could. He hissed, his fingers pulling your hair.

"You're so good to me, sweetheart," he murmured, his hips thrusting slowly.

You relaxed your jaw and his thrusts became deeper and harder, but not too rough. You moaned around him, your hands resting on his thighs, gripping the fabric of his slacks. He was completely dominating you, and you loved it.

You'd never seen this side of him before, and you were drunk on him. He was filthy, dirty talk falling from his lips, his hand in your hair pulling your face closer to his crotch with each thrust of his hips.

He wasn't the stammering mess he was the first time. He was in control, and you were completely his.

You loved the feel of him in your mouth, the way his hips would jerk whenever he hit the back of your throat, the low growl that came from him as he did.

He pulled his cock out of your mouth and you took the opportunity to catch your breath. You looked up at him, his face flushed, his lips swollen, his cock glistening with your saliva. He looked almost feral and it was a sight to behold.

"Fuck, you are so beautiful," he growled, one of his hands gripping your chin as he dragged his cock across your lips. You stuck your tongue out, licking the underside, looking up at him through your lashes.

"Good girl," he praised, sliding his cock back into your mouth. You moaned around him as you moved your tongue along the underside of his cock. He thrust into your mouth over and over, not letting up. He was close and you could feel his legs beginning to tremble.

You met his gaze, letting him see how much you enjoyed doing this, how much it turned you on. That was all it took for him to come undone. He slammed into you, his grip tightening in your hair. You moaned around him, your mouth flooding with his cum.

He slowed his thrusts, his hand loosening in your hair, gently caressing your face as you gave little swallows. His hips stopped moving, but you weren't finished with him yet.

You kept your lips around the head of his cock, lapping at the sensitive tip until you'd licked every last trace of his release away. You released him with a small pop, and looked up at him, hoping you hadn't overstepped.

He was looking at you with nothing short of pure awe, his hand gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"Where did you learn to do that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Nowhere. Just doing what felt good." You blushed.

"Such a natural, such a good girl."

He stood, reaching out to help you up. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into him, kissing you. You melted into his kiss, your hands gripping his tie, as his slid down your back to cup your ass.

"I have another class," He sighed, pulling back. "You should get to class, too."

You smoothed your hair and sat back down on his desk, watching as he fastened his pants.

"I missed you," you admitted, a blush creeping across your cheeks. You probably shouldn't have said it, but it was the truth. "I feel like we haven't seen each other in so long."

He smiled, his dimples sending a pang of desire through you. He moved between your thighs, brushing his lips against yours.

"I had business to attend to in New Orleans," He explained, peppering soft kisses along your jaw. "I thought about you constantly."

You blushed, reaching out to tuck his tie back into his vest.

"Will you come by my dorm tonight? My roommates won't be home, and we can continue this."

He sighed, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"I have a department head meeting tonight, but I'll swing by after."

"Okay," you smiled, then you leaned in and whispered in his ear, "I can't wait."

He growled softly, his lips capturing yours, pulling you close.

"Fuck, I have to go," he rasped, his cheeks flushed as he reluctantly pulled away.

You hopped off the desk, and moved over to the door. You opened it, but just before you could exit, he stopped you, pressing his lips against yours once more. 

"Sir, someone could see us," you groaned, breaking the kiss, peeking down the hall.

"That is part of the fun, sweetheart." He smiled, giving you a wink before disappearing down the corridor.

You bit back a laugh, running a hand through your hair, trying to appear at least semi presentable before heading down the hallway towards your next class.

The rest of your day flew by in a blur, and by the time you were getting ready to meet your friends for dinner, the sun was starting to set.

You had all agreed to meet at a small pizza place, the one down the street from campus that always smelled like fresh baked bread.

You pulled on a jacket and started to walk over there, smiling and laughing as you spotted your friends standing in front of the building.

You jogged up to them, giving each of them a hug before you ducked into the restaurant.

The place was bustling and it took you a while to get your food, but you managed to find a table in the corner of the dining room.

The wine was flowing and everyone was chatting and laughing, sharing stories about their spring break and complaining about their classes.

"Do any of you have Mr. Mikaelson for Ancient History this semester?" Beth asked, pushing a curl away from her forehead.

"I do!" Caitlin chirped, waving her wine glass around animatedly. "He's kinda hot. I mean, I love you Soph’, don't get me wrong, but damn, that man."

"It's okay Cait, I'll allow it," Sophia snickered, wrapping her arm around her girlfriend's waist. "Maybe he's interested in joining us for a night? What do you think?"

"Hmm. Yeah, I'm in," Caitlin nodded in agreement, and they both looked at you.

"What?" You blinked, raising your brow.

"Don't you have his class? Isn't he single?" Beth asked.

"I do have his class," you laughed. "And I'm not sure, we don't exactly talk about that stuff."

You were suddenly feeling warm, the temperature in the room seemed to shoot up about 20 degrees. You pressed your thighs together, trying not to think about how you were on your knees for him that morning.

"Are you interested in him?" Caitlin teased.

"Uh... I'm not sure, he's..." you blushed, shaking your head, trying to rid yourself of the dirty thoughts swirling in your mind.

"Ooooh y/n has a crush," Beth chided, playfully hitting you with a napkin.

"Maybe," you squeaked, squirming uncomfortably in your seat, you took a long sip of wine, ignoring their giggles. "He is really hot," you admitted, hoping to shift the subject.

"Mhmmm," Caitlin nodded, sipping her wine.

Your phone buzzed on the table, and you snagged it, grinning to yourself. You excused yourself from the table, rushing off to the bathroom to answer the text.

Professor M: I'm sorry sweetheart, but I won't be able to make it tonight.

You stared at the text, trying not to let your disappointment get to you. You were a little annoyed he gave no explanation, but maybe something came up, he was busy enough with school.

You wiped the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks and walked back to the table, clutching your cell phone in your hand. You threw on the best fake smile you could manage and tried to focus on your friends. But unfortunately they were still on the subject of Elijah, and they would not shut up about him.

"Y/n, seriously, he's gorgeous, why not go for it?" Caitlin teased, a smile stretching her lips.

"Nope. Not interested," you lied, biting into a piece of crust. "He's my teacher, it would be inappropriate."

You didn't want to admit that you were actually spending time with him. Well, apart from fucking each other senseless, you had only hung out once, so it wasn't exactly a relationship, right?

"It's only a little unethical, how old is he... Like, 26? You're 21, it's not like the age gap is insurmountable. Plus, teachers are just so sexy," Caitlin drunkenly rambled.

"Shut up, Cait," Sophia laughed, playfully nudging her girlfriend. "Do you want me to dress up as one of those naughty school girls? You seem awfully obsessed with this teacher thing."

"That's so hot, please do," Caitlin giggled, nibbling on Sophia's earlobe.

Beth narrowed her eyes at you, her expression morphing into one of concern. She had always been able to read you like a book, and you tried to steer the conversation towards anything other than Elijah.

"Are you okay?" Beth asked quietly, ignoring Caitlin and Sophia, who were practically tongue-fucking each other over the dinner table.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just a little stressed," you mumbled, tucking your phone into your pocket. "I've been talking to this guy and I don't think he's as invested as I am."

"Aww, what an asshole," she said, pouting.

"He's probably just not that into you," Sophia added, grabbing one of the chunky slices of pizza and waggling it in your direction. "Don't waste your time on men like that,"

"Maybe he's shy?" Beth countered. "What's his name?"

"It's fine, I'm just worried he is losing interest…maybe I should ... I don't know... make a grand gesture?" You stalled, reaching for your wine glass, taking a quick sip.

"Like what?" Beth asked, narrowing her eyes at you.

"I'm not sure yet... Our relationship is very sex heavy," you blushed.

Beth chuckled, refilling your wine glass.

"Why don't you take control then, do something he hasn't done, I'm sure he'd be down for it," she winked.

"Yeah, surprise him! Maybe you two could roleplay or something. That's hot." Sophia added.

The rest of your dinner was spent discussing their own romantic escapades, and you couldn't help but feel a little envious that none of them had to juggle a very complicated, at best, situation with a professor.

But they had sparked an idea in your mind, one that you didn't dare share with any of them, one that involved Elijah and yourself.

Once you got back to your room, you began rifling through a pile of clothes, looking for the perfect outfit for your idea. After tossing about twenty options on your bed, you decided on a white button down shirt and an extremely short plaid skirt, with knee-high socks and Mary Janes.

You took some scissors to the shirt, cutting off the sleeves and neckline, turning it into a sexy crop top with only a single button doing the job of keeping you decent.

You curled your hair into huge ringlets and even added a pencil to the side of your head in a very Breakfast Club-esque fashion.

You studied your reflection in the mirror, hoping it would work, looking like the perfect naughty school girl.

You grabbed a large trench coat from your closet, tying its sash tightly around you. Just as you were about to leave you decided to take off your panties. If everything worked out you wouldn't be needing them.

The walk to his loft didn't take long, you were in front of his door faster than you could process it. You quickly adjusted your curls and knocked, trying your best to be patient. It was only then did you realize how stupid this was, he might not even be home, he canceled on you, what if he didn't want to see you? What if you crossed a line? But it was too late to back out, someone was now opening the door.

You felt your cheeks heat up, as Elijah's tired brown eyes found yours. He was wearing just a pair of navy blue sweatpants, his hair messy. You noticed immediately that his glasses were a little askew, perched on the bridge of his nose, he looked like he was sleeping and you felt guilty for bothering him.

"Hi," he choked out. He looked you up and down, clearly taken by surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I..." You bit your lip and gave him a meek smile. "I wanted to see you."

He looked over his shoulder and then stepped out onto the hallway, his hands went to your waist, moving you out of view of his doorway.

He seemed anxious and nervous, his eyes blown wide behind his glasses, and he quickly captured your lips, then pulled away just as quickly.

"I'm sorry, but you can't be here. You shouldn't have come," he said, letting out a sigh, pressing his forehead against yours.

"O..Okay." You huffed, feeling more stupid by the second. You took a deep breath, forcing the tears back. He was definitely seeing someone else, probably in his loft, someone better, less complicated. The thought of him touching another woman like he'd touched you made you sick.

"Elijah! Who are you hiding out here?" Said a man's voice from inside the loft, laughing.

You felt a swell of anxiety rising in your chest, and Elijah looked pained. He gave you a sympathetic look and then turned to face the man.

"Niklaus, this young lady is one of my students. She just had questions about an assignment," he said to the man, who appeared in the doorway.

He was beautiful, blonde curls and brilliant blue eyes, angular cheekbones and a sharp jawline. But he gave off an odd aura that you couldn't quite describe, there was something wild and untamed about him.

"Well come on in and have a drink with us, tell me all about how bad of a teacher my brother is," the man, Niklaus, teased, giving Elijah a playful shove.

"That's okay, I don't want to intrude. Thanks, though. I should probab-" you were in the middle of excusing yourself when you were cut off by Niklaus.

"Come now love, don't be shy. I never get to meet Elijah's students," Niklaus grinned, his eyes darting mischievously between you and Elijah. "And call me Klaus,"

You blushed and awkwardly shrugged, then turned and walked into the loft, Elijah behind you.

"Can I get you a drink, darling?" Klaus offered, pointing towards the well-stocked bar in the corner of the loft, his eyes focused on the pencil in your hair.

You nodded, panic rising in your chest. What the fuck were you doing? You were about to have a drink with his family and you were dressed like a slutty school girl under your coat. This was not going as planned.

"I'll take a scotch, thanks," you managed, glancing over at Elijah, who gave you a sweet, yet subtle wink.

You sat down awkwardly on the sofa, pulling on the edges of your coat, making sure it didn't expose your stockings.

Elijah sat down next to you, placing a warm hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze before moving it away. He was trying to be sweet and reassuring, he thought you were just nervous around his brother. Little did he know that the real source of your anxiety was what was underneath your coat.

You accepted the scotch from Klaus and took a large sip, the familiar burning sensation in your throat was calming. He sat down on a chair across from you, not so subtly checking you out.

You weren't sure what to do, Elijah was staring at you expectantly.

"So you're in my brother's class? How are his classes going?" Klaus asked, looking like he was trying to conceal a smile.

"Um. Yeah, it's going well," you answered, the heat in the room increasing.

"What's your major?" He questioned, leaning forward.

"Psychology," you replied, biting your lip.

He chuckled, shaking his head, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Cute. You want to study minds then?"

"Something like that, yes," you mumbled, staring at your scotch glass, tracing the rim with your index finger. Your other hand holding the front of your coat closed, afraid it might fall open.

"So you don't really need to learn much about ancient history for that, huh? Why even bother taking the class?" He prodded.

"It's a requirement to fulfill some general education credits and I'm in need of those, so," you offered, awkwardly tapping the toe of your shoe on the wooden floor, silently praying for a change in subject.

"Hmm... Well, Miss Psychology, tell me something about myself," he teased, eyes narrowed and alight with mischief.

"You want a diagnosis based on? What exactly?" You asked, glancing over at Elijah who was watching his brother curiously.

"What is your first impression of me," he grinned, looking at Elijah and wiggling his eyebrows.

"My first impression is that you're playing a game," you smiled coyly, relaxing a little, letting the alcohol calm you.

"What else?" He smirked, crossing his leg over the other.

"You enjoy teasing others, perhaps even humiliating them, you have a strong desire to stand out, even if it means tearing others down," you said confidently. You could've kept going, but you wanted to see what he would say.

He gave Elijah a wide smile, clapping his hands, seemingly impressed.

"That was spot on, love, you do know your shit," he laughed.

"Elijah, did you know your student was such a clever little thing," Niklaus taunted, his eyes raking up and down your exposed legs. "I bet your boyfriend goes crazy for that mouth."

You felt your cheeks turn crimson, blood rising to your face like flood waters rushing down a valley. Klaus was openly leering at you now, with no shame.

"I.. I'm not dating anyone," you muttered, beads of sweat forming on the back of your neck.

Elijah cleared his throat, a chuckle threatening to spill past his lips, he placed a possessive hand on your thigh, moving his thumb in soothing circles. Klaus' eyes flickered to where his hand had landed, his lips twitching into a satisfied smirk.

"How do you feel about older men? With accents?" He teased, cocking his head slightly.

"Niklaus, stop bothering her," Elijah scolded.

"Me? I'm not doing anything," he feigned innocence, holding up his hands in surrender, making a show of sprawling himself on the chair. "You know me, Elijah, when I see something beautiful I want it for myself,"

"Niklaus," Elijah repeated with a groan.

You were blushing and uncomfortable, but their sparring was cute, they clearly loved each other.

Klaus smiled at you and raised an eyebrow.

"Why aren't you seeing anyone?" he asked curiously.

You shrugged, sipping your scotch.

"I'm dating, but it's just casual. School's kind of a priority." You replied, avoiding Elijah's gaze, knowing damn well that you two were a contradiction to what you just said.

Klaus snorted, and your eyes landed on Elijah's, who was pouting slightly. You bit your lip to keep from smirking.

"Hm... Maybe you'll let me take you out sometime," Klaus suggested.

"Klaus... She's not interested," Elijah interrupted, his pout deepening.

You were beginning to sweat from the coat, you needed to change the subject, you were flustered and excited and terrified, all at once. Klaus noticed how red you had gotten.

"Why are you still wearing your coat? Aren't you warm? It's hot as hell in here," he observed, his blue eyes fixed on you, curious.

"Oh..." You blushed, taking a quick look over at Elijah, your anxiety multiplying tenfold. "I'm actually a little cold," you lied, your face burning hot.

Niklaus' eyes moved from the pencil in your hair downward, his gaze lingering on your legs for a moment, then his face broke out into a grin.

"How interesting," he sang, quickly switching his eyes back up to your face. "Would you like to borrow one of Elijah's sweaters?" He offered, clearly onto you.

You wanted to die on the spot. This was ridiculous, why were you here? What were you doing? 

"No it's okay, truly." You mumbled, trying to think of an excuse to get the hell out of there.

"No please, allow me to fetch one," he nodded, but he didn't make a move to go find one, he was waiting for you to remove your coat.

"It's okay. I should go actually, it's late, I don't want to impose-"

"Don't be silly," he scoffed. "Here, let's trade," he offered, a cheeky gleam in his eyes. He removed his hoodie, leaving him just in a tight white henley.

"It's fine. I'm going." You stood up, but as you did the sash of your coat unfastened, causing it to gape open, exposing your entire outfit to him.

Klaus burst out laughing, looking from you to Elijah and then back to you, making no attempt to hide his obvious enjoyment.

"Very, very interesting," he sniggered, raising an eyebrow at you, his lips curled up in a way that bordered on sinister.

Elijah wasn't helping, just sitting there, open mouthed, gawking at you like a teenager.

You wanted to dissolve into thin air, the confidence you had walked here with completely gone. A rush of shame washing over you. You held the coat shut, trying desperately to keep yourself modest.

"Well brother, it looks like you finally took my advice and seduced a student. How's she in bed? I bet she loves learning from the professor, eh?"

Elijah was now giving his brother a scathing glare. You were utterly mortified and no words were coming out of your mouth, you wanted to say something to justify it, but nothing was coming to mind.

"Now, don't look so upset. I see nothing wrong with this," he grinned, winking at you, and then turning his attention back to his brother. "I always suspected you had the ability to have some fun, deep down,"

"You should go," Elijah said to you, his tone stern, his expression oddly disappointed. You didn't realize until that moment that he was pissed.

"Have you gone mad?" Klaus chuckled. "She is utterly sinful, I would spend hours between those thighs if I were you,”

Your cheeks were so hot now that it was painful, Elijah's intense stare not helping matters. You turned and practically ran to the door, hating yourself for this stupid idea.

"Don't leave so soon love," Klaus called out to you, laughing when he heard Elijah mumble 'fuck off' to him.

When you exited the loft you wanted to cry, hot tears welling up in your eyes, you were so stupid. What were you thinking? A mixture of desperation and lust had overcome you. You had completely humiliated yourself in front of not only Elijah, but his brother too.

"Y/n, wait."

You turned to see Elijah standing just outside the doorway, looking a little guilty, though the corner of his lips were threatening to rise into a smile.

"I'm so sorry," he apologized, rubbing the back of his neck, looking disheveled and impossibly sexy with his ruffled hair.

"It's fine. I have to go." You said, heading towards the elevator as fast as you could.

You tried pushing the down button, but he came up behind you, pressing himself against you, his head dipped into the curve of your neck, kissing gently.

"You look incredible. I want you right here, bent over, that skirt hitched up around your waist," he whispered.

"Maybe next time, Professor." You said, harsher than you meant. You felt disgusted with yourself and him. You shoved him off and got on the elevator, without a single glance back, not allowing his intense gaze to halt your departure.

You cried all the way home, cursing yourself for being so shamelessly naïve. The entire time you walked back to your dorm the only thing you could think about was the way Klaus looked at you. It made you feel sick and tainted, made you feel like everything Elijah had ever done to you was a charade, it was all purely transactional. You probably came off as desperate and pathetic. There was no way a guy like him was truly interested in you. You were just a twisted fantasy to him, and tonight you played into it. You didn't know how you were going to face him on Monday.

The weekend came and went faster than you hoped, dragging yourself to class on Monday was grueling. Seeing Elijah after your humiliation on Friday evening would be the most mortifying thing in the world.

You barely slept and left for class early, hoping the walk would help clear your head, but even the fresh spring air couldn't ease the pain of how stupid you'd been. Elijah had probably laughed about it with his brother over the weekend. You were a joke to them both.

What hurt the most was that you truly cared for him, you adored him. He was your dream man. He was smart and passionate, handsome, charismatic and insanely sexual. He made you feel wanted in a way that no one had ever made you feel before. He made you feel beautiful and he challenged you intellectually.

When you were with him, everything felt perfect. Until the consequences of your feelings for him began to outweigh the logical side of your brain.

The sound of a car horn pulled you from your thoughts, you looked around for the source, and saw a fancy sports car pull up next to you.

"Get in, love,"

It was Klaus, casually leaning across the passenger's side, his sharp features arranged into a maliciously charming smile.

"I have to get to class," you said, staring straight ahead, picking up your pace.

"No you don't. Class doesn't start for another 40 minutes," he noted. "I couldn't possibly allow my brothers star pupil to walk across campus when I have this fine automobile at my disposal. My mother, rest her soul, would turn over in her grave."

You sighed, biting back a smirk, and decided you didn't have any energy to argue. You let him open the passenger's side door and got in.

"Stunning," he whispered, his lips twitching upwards, winking at you before closing the door and then rushing over to the driver's side. "Did I tell you, you looked ravishing in that outfit?" He smiled, clicking on his seatbelt and then backing out of the parking lot.

"Thank you," you mumbled, holding onto your backpack tightly, hoping that this car ride wouldn't take long.

"You didn't strike me as the kind of girl who goes to other people's apartments wearing... a getup like that," he said conversationally, driving faster than necessary with one hand on the wheel, the other running through his hair.

"I didn't expect anyone else to be there, truthfully," you admitted, staring out the window.

"My apologies for ruining your evening," he stated dryly.

"You didn't ruin it. I did that on my own, quite spectacularly," you noted, chuckling bitterly.

"How so? Worried you won't pass his class now?" He teased, pulling over just outside of the building.

You sighed, averting your eyes. "No, I'm not worried about passing. Thank you." You muttered.

Klaus stared at you, his blue eyes narrowing in contemplation.

"My brother doesn't get out much, he's a workaholic dedicated to his students, usually more concerned about their future rather than his own. That being said, he hasn't had many relationships." He paused, glancing over at you with an amused smirk. "He's so very traditional and clean cut. Old fashioned, even. Though, he might not be so wholesome underneath that prim and proper persona," he grinned.

"Klaus-"

"He is a passionate person, and I don't want to see him get hurt," he said quietly, the lighthearted expression suddenly replaced by a warning. "I care for him, probably more than I should,"

You swallowed the lump that was rapidly growing in your throat.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" You asked curiously, anxiety coiling in your belly.

"Are you fucking him for the grades? Or are you fucking him because you like him?" He challenged.

"I like him," you admitted, your face burning with shame.

"You like him, or you like fucking him? Because if the latter is the case then I will be more than happy to take my brother's place," he smirked.

"I like him," you repeated, emphasizing the ‘him’ and narrowing your eyes.

"Do you sleep with any of your other professors for good grades?"

"Oh fuck off," you said, and opened the car door, grabbing your things before climbing out.

"Come on, we're practically family now," he laughed. "After last Friday,"

"Goodbye, Klaus." You told him firmly.

"One last thing, love, before I go..."

"What?" You spat, turning back to him, the last thing you wanted was this dude running his mouth. He seemed to love the sound of his own voice.

"I really meant what I said before. Elijah is a good man, and he doesn't need his heart broken,"

"Neither do I," you muttered, slamming the door shut and walking away as fast as you could.

You hid in the back of the classroom, burying your face in your notebook, listening to the class file in. Mr. Mikaelson was ten minutes late, which was very unlike him.

"My apologies class, I had to take a cab today. My car was borrowed without my permission,”

You looked up to see him adjusting his tie, his dark hair slightly disheveled, his glasses askew. He looked a little annoyed and stressed.

"Today we will be discussing the role of women in Greek society, specifically the Spartans and Athenians. Miss Y/L/N, I don't have a TA today, can you come help me with the presentation?" He asked, his eyes flickering over to yours.

"Of course," you replied, getting up and making your way to the front.

"Everyone, please get settled. This is very important information and should be used for your essays," he warned.

He motioned for you to sit at his desk, pointing to his laptop, opening the projector for the screen.

"Just click here when I tell you," he instructed, his face so close to yours that you could smell his cologne. You could sense that he was a little on edge, and that made you nervous.

You could feel him watching you intently, so much so that your hands were shaking as you moved the mouse. He moved away to begin the lecture, but his eyes were always fixed on you, even when he wasn't speaking directly to you.

The lecture passed agonizingly slow, it felt like hours instead of a few brief moments. You could barely concentrate, the only thing on your mind was Klaus' words echoing in your head.

"An important difference between the Spartans and the Athenians is the role that women played in society, specifically their role in politics. Now, the Spartan woman was not allowed to take part in politics, they were only permitted to raise the children, while the men served in the military..."

You followed along on screen, reading the sides, occasionally sneaking a look over at him. He was so captivating, so confident and knowledgeable. You had fallen hard for him, there was no denying it.

You noticed something else on his screen. An email notification from the dean titled: Request to Transfer.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, bile rising in your throat.

"Now, in contrast, Athenian women had the freedom to learn, they were given the right to divorce, and they were allowed to serve as priestesses, which was a very esteemed position. Women were respected, not treated like property. It's a very interesting contrast, and one that is often overlooked."

You opened the email, reading it over quickly.

To Mr. Mikaelson, I've received your request to transfer to the University of Cambridge in England. This is an exciting opportunity, and I understand why you have chosen to accept. It is unfortunate, however, that we will be losing you. I will discuss this matter with the board, and be putting in my recommendation for a new instructor. I will also contact Cambridge as a reference for you. We are truly sorry to see you leave. Sincerely, Dean Williams.

You were frozen, unable to move. He was leaving.

"Thank you, miss Y/L/N, you can return to your seat,"

You blinked, looking up at him, his eyes were fixed on you, a look of concern and hesitation. But he didn't say anything, and continued his lecture.

It was a blur. The whole thing. You didn't remember packing up your things, or walking out of the room.

"Y/n, wait," his voice called out from behind you. But you just kept walking, the tears were threatening to fall, and the last thing you needed was him seeing you cry.

You skipped the rest of your classes, and walked to your dorm, ignoring the buzzing in your pocket, the phone vibrating incessantly. It was him. You knew it was him, but you couldn't speak to him.

Beth was hanging out in your room, laying on your bed, browsing her phone.

"Hey, babe, you're back early," she greeted you.

You nodded, sniffling, dropping your backpack on the ground and then going to lay down beside her.

"Are you okay?"

"No," you shook your head.

"Talk to me." She nudged you.

"I think I've fallen for a very unavailable man." You whispered, your voice breaking.

"How unavailable?"

"Like, leaving the country unavailable,"

"Oh," she said softly, reaching over and pulling you into her chest. "Is this the guy you were telling us about on Friday? The one you were going to do a grand gesture for?"

"Yeah, I went to his apartment, I was dressed in a way that would make a street hooker blush, and his brother was there. It was humiliating."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I'm embarrassed, Beth. I'm humiliated. I was just a joke to him, I mean, how can a guy like him, who is older, and successful, and has his shit together, really want a girl like me?" The tears were really starting to flow now.

"Stop. Do not do that to yourself," she chastised.

"And on top of that, I'm a fucking cliché! Fucking a professor, thinking I'm special. Thinking I was more than just some stupid kid with a crush." You said, suddenly realizing you let slip the identity of the man in question.

"Wait, you're talking about... One of our professors?!" Beth asked, her mouth hanging open.

"No," you lied, getting up out of the bed, wiping away the tears.

"Who is it?"

"Doesn't matter. He's leaving, probably going to get tenure at some big university overseas. He's never coming back," you whispered, hating the way your voice sounded so small.

"Oh. My. God, who is it!!! Tell me!!" Beth was practically begging now, but you just shook your head.

"If this information gets out it could ruin his career, please, just forget I said anything,"

She nodded, but her eyes were narrowed, "Is it Mr. Salvatore? I've heard he sleeps around with the girls here. Some even say he likes it rough," she winked, and you had to laugh.

"Definitely not, I think his wife has enough of his dick," you joked, rolling your eyes.

"Does he know about your... Feelings? Why doesn't he like you back?" She pressed, brushing your hair back.

You considered lying, but after your night of embarrassment and idiocy, you decided you had nothing else to lose.

"I think he does, but this is complicated. It's highly inappropriate and he's leaving. Which is probably for the best. Our time together can only ever be temporary," you said sadly, getting up and going to the bathroom to freshen up.

"If you love him, you should tell him, whether he's staying or not. Sometimes temporary is what's necessary to feel deeply, and that feeling should be worth the pain of his inevitable goodbye," she stated knowingly.

You walked over to her and kissed her on the cheek. She was always the friend that gave you the best advice, even if you didn't want to hear it.

"You are right, I'm going to go talk to him," you said determinedly.

"Can you pleaaasseee tell me who?" She begged as you got dressed, pulling on a skirt and some thigh high socks.

"Fine, but you can't tell a soul, and I'm borrowing your boots," you muttered, bending down to grab them.

"Okay, Jesus, it's like pulling teeth!" She exclaimed.

"It's Mr. Mikaelson," you admitted, putting the boots on and blushing, straightening out the tiny skirt and fumbling with the buttons on your cardigan. "Elijah,"

Beth let out a squeal. "Elijaahhh," she said dreamily, mocking the sound of your voice when you said his name.

"Shut up!" You replied, blushing like an idiot.

"He's sooooo hot," Beth crooned, lifting her arm and pretending to fan herself. "How did it happen?!? Is he..." she looked around the room dramatically, before leaning over and whispering, "Is he a good lay?"

You smacked her with a pillow, making her burst into a fit of laughter. "You are the fucking worst, I knew I shouldn't have told you,"

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry, but please tell me!"

You chuckled and bit your lip, reminiscing on all the things he'd done to you. "The first time it happened was in his office and I... made the first move," you admitted, smiling when you saw the look of shock on her face.

"Professor Mikaelson?"

You nodded.

"Mildmannered, broody, sexy as fuck, Mikaelson?"

"The one and only," you agreed, hugging her. "Please don't tell anyone,"

"Wouldn't dream of it," she whispered, before shoving you out the door, which resulted in you tumbling onto the hallway floor. "Don't come back until you guys have made up and made a mess of his office!! Love you babes,"

You flipped her off, laughing and adjusting your stockings and shoes, the last thing you needed was running into another professor with your ass literally out.

You sent him a quick text, hoping he was still at school. He didn't reply, which made your stomach lurch uncomfortably. This felt almost like a replay of your disastrous encounter Friday night. But this time it was going to be different, this time you were determined to talk to him and clear the air.

The school was quiet, classes were long over and everyone had left, so when you rounded the corner to Elijah's office you sighed with relief, seeing that his door was ajar, a light flickering under the frame. 

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you and leaning up against it, staring at him. He didn't say anything, so you spoke up.

"Did you mean it?" You asked softly, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Mean what?" He replied, leaning back in his chair.

"The email,"

He sat in silence, his eyes lingering on yours, and you quickly looked away. "I didn't want you to find out that way, I was going to tell you soon."

"That you're leaving?" You whispered, but somehow the words got lodged in your throat, your tongue refusing to cooperate.

He nodded, leaning back in his chair and pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes, sighing loudly, almost as though he was in pain.

"I didn't even know you applied," you said hoarsely.

"I didn't tell you because I didn't think I'd be accepted. But that job is a chance of a lifetime. I can't pass this up." His tone was even, but you could see the pain in his eyes. You felt nauseous. He was really leaving you, this was really happening.

"You must be excited," you said, cursing the way your voice shook. The lump in your throat threatening to burst.

"It's my dream job," he admitted quietly, not quite meeting your eyes.

"That's great," you felt like the world was collapsing around you, everything was crashing in on itself, suffocating you.

"Come here," he said softly.

You shook your head. "I'm fine right here."

He gave you a sad look, and you held back a sniffle, the emotion bubbling up in you, but you couldn't let it out. He wasn't yours to begin with.

"This was a mistake wasn't it?" You said sadly, remembering your conversation with Klaus, wanting to sob, bury your face in a pillow, and sleep for the rest of the year.

"Come here," he said again, this time more assertively, gesturing with his finger, beckoning you to come to him.

You bit your lip and walked over to him, your hands and knees weak, tears threatening to fall. You stood next to his desk and before you could sit down in the chair, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into him, so that you were straddling him.

"I love you," he murmured, taking you by surprise, cradling the back of your neck, running his fingers through your hair.

"What?"

"You heard me," he insisted, kissing your forehead, pulling you closer so that you were flush against his chest, close enough to hear his heartbeat, the steady rhythm soothing you.

You sighed and shook your head, this wasn't real. You would wake up at any moment and find out this was all a horrible dream.

"I'm sorry for what happened on Friday. I... didn't handle it well," he admitted. "My brother humiliated you, and I let it happen. I am truly sorry."

"Doesn't matter," you murmured, curling into his shoulder, shutting your eyes, trying to hold onto him for as long as possible.

"It does matter, you were making an effort, putting yourself out there and the last thing I wanted was for you to get hurt. And when you left I could tell you were distraught," his voice was soothing, his hands gripping your thighs, tracing gentle circles on your skin.

"I was being a horny idiot, I kind of deserved it," you snarked.

He chuckled, his chest vibrating with amusement. "You were embarrassed. My brother likes to… push people."

"Remind me never to meet your parents then," you muttered, still refusing to open your eyes.

"The rest of my family is just as bad," he admitted, moving your legs so that they were wrapped around his waist, his large hands gripping your ass. "Are you going to open your eyes for me, my sweet girl?"

You opened them slowly, tentatively. His face was so close to yours, you could feel his warm breath, and see all the stubble on his jaw.

"Hi," you whispered shyly, biting your lip, meeting his molten brown stare, the pools of chocolate almost hypnotizing.

"I love you," he repeated, never breaking eye contact, pulling your hand up to his mouth, giving it a soft kiss.

"Y-You can't say things like that," you stammered, your heart melting at the sound of his declaration.

"Why not? It's true," he challenged you, a smirk playing at his lips, his dimples even more pronounced.

"Because you're leaving, and I... like you a lot," you said hesitantly, hating that you were being such a coward about it.

"So come with me," he murmured, his thumb tracing small circles on your thigh. "Let me take you with me."

"Cambridge is... It's your dream job, I couldn't possibly-"

"Please come with me," he said passionately, intertwining his fingers with yours. "There are lots of universities in England you can transfer to... just not Cambridge, please," he chuckled.

"I don't exactly have the money to move countries right now," you lamented, kissing his knuckles, studying the way your hands looked against his, hoping you could memorize every detail of his, in case it was the last time you'd be able to touch him.

"I'll take care of all that, love. Just please say yes," he pleaded, kissing your neck, and lifting up your cardigan, stroking the bare skin on your waist.

"O-Okay," you said timidly, gasping when you felt him lift up your tank top, his fingers skillfully removing it, tugging at your bra, making your nipples peak in excitement.

"I want an enthusiastic yes, or not at all," he ordered, kissing down your chest, hovering over your breasts, licking at the soft tissue, his warm mouth suckling the tip of your nipple, while his hand played with the other one, rolling and pinching.

You had no doubts that you would follow him to the ends of the Earth if he asked. "Yes, yes, Elijah, yes, I'll go with you," you gasped, as he nipped at your breast, his teeth pulling at the tender flesh, sending jolts of electricity through your body.

"Good girl," he praised, reaching down and unbuttoning your skirt, almost tearing it off in his rush to get you naked.

"I love these," he said softly, his fingers grazing along your thigh highs. "If Klaus didn't ruin our Friday, what exactly was your plan in that little outfit?" He wondered aloud, grinning, and you found yourself blushing despite the whole situation.

"I... wanted us to roleplay," you muttered, "B-But if you don't want to, it's fine! We don't have to. It was dumb,"

"Shh," he soothed, nuzzling your neck. "Tell me, what were you planning?"

You gulped, not expecting him to get on board so easily. "Well, I was going to pretend to be an innocent school girl and, um, you'd be my very strict professor," you admitted, completely ashamed. It sounded even worse out loud.

He let out a genuine laugh, his dimples more prominent and the twinkle in his eye entrancing. "So just a more extreme version of what we've already done in my classroom?"

You nodded and bit your lip.

"Very well, repeat after me, darling: Yes, Professor Mikaelson," he ordered, his voice dropping an octave lower, setting your soul on fire.

He looked so different right now. His demeanor changed from the sweet man who professed his love for you to someone powerful. Dominant. Hot.

"Yes, Professor Mikaelson," You almost squealed, letting out a yelp when he slapped your ass hard.

"Undress me," he instructed, sitting back against the chair, spreading his legs wider, making himself comfortable.

"Oh, okay, yeah, yessir," you mumbled, you were clumsy and uncoordinated, desperate to remove his clothes.

He was wearing suspenders today, and you playfully pulled on them, a smirk spreading across his face as you did so. You unbuttoned his shirt slowly, pulling it off, momentarily pausing when you saw how tense and wound up he was, how much he wanted you.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, running his hands through your hair, tugging slightly, and forcing you to meet his gaze. "Keep going, darling."

You nodded, and undid his pants, his erection springing up. You stroked him a few times, before sliding the pants off and straddling him once again, grinding against him, loving the way he hissed in response.

You positioned your legs, ready to sink down onto him, but he stopped you, his hand gripping your waist tightly.

"What's my name?" He growled, his jaw clenched.

"Elijah,"

"Not what I'm looking for," he tutted, spanking you again, the sting making you whimper.

"Daddy," you murmured, and he hummed in approval, gripping your waist and guiding you down onto his cock, his shaft stretching you open.

"Now ride my cock, sweetheart," he ordered, and you started moving, up and down, grinding into him, your hips bucking forward. Pressing yourself against him, feeling the delicious friction of his pelvis against your clit.

He let out a soft moan and buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing and biting, leaving tiny bruises all over you, marking you as his.

"Good girl, use my cock, baby, come on," he groaned, his breath hot and ragged.

You whimpered and picked up the pace, riding him harder, faster, chasing the delicious pleasure. Your eyes locked with his, your eyebrows knitted together in concentration.

Your thighs burned and you could feel the sweat trickle down the back of your neck, and yet you never felt better, the feeling of him inside of you was heavenly.

You braced your hands on his shoulders, trying to find leverage, his fingers digging into your ass, and his tongue slipping into your mouth.

The kiss was hot, and messy, and desperate, a complete contradiction of the slow and sensual movements of his hips, the way his cock slid in and out of you, the lewd squelching sounds of your bodies colliding filling the air.

"Are you getting tired?" He teased, breaking the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip.

"No," you denied, panting heavily, but he noticed the slight tremble of your legs, and the beads of sweat rolling down your face.

He stopped moving his hips, letting you take control, smirking at you.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" He demanded, raising his eyebrow at you.

You blushed, and slowly started riding him, trying not to whine. Your thighs burned and you were exhausted, but you couldn't stop. He wouldn't let you.

You bounced up and down on his cock, and he smacked your ass, the stinging sensation making you hiss.

"Come on, my love, you're not doing a very good job, are you?" He chastised you, his voice low, and teasing, and taunting.

"S-Sorry, daddy," you mumbled, your legs started to shake, your muscles hitting the point of no return.

He didn't answer, and kept spanking you, watching you try to keep a rhythm. Your legs suddenly gave out and you fell onto his chest, burying your face in his shoulder.

He chuckled and moved his arms underneath your legs, lifting you up, and slamming into you. You cried out in surprise, and moaned, clinging onto his neck for support.

"Tired, are we?" He teased, his mouth next to your ear, his lips trailing down your neck, and biting hard, making you wince. "I've got you,"

He kept fucking into you, his hips snapping back and forth, pounding into you, the chair creaking beneath him. He began bouncing you up and down his shaft, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Oh fuck," you moaned, burying your face in his neck, breathing him in.

"Language, Miss Y/L/N," he growled, and you let out a loud yelp when he smacked your ass.

"Sorry, Professor," you apologized, your climax creeping up on you.

Your eyes met his, and you saw a flash of desire, his jaw clenching, the vein in his forehead protruding.

"Elijah, Elijah," you whimpered, grinding into him, desperately chasing your orgasm,moaning and gasping when he kissed you again, his lips warm and soft against yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth, swallowing your whines and whimpers.

"Cum for me," he whispered, his voice low and gravelly, his hands cupping your ass, kneading the flesh.

You did just that, a few more thrusts and you came undone, screaming his name, clutching onto him. He groaned and buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body stiffening as he filled you with his cum.

You stayed seated on him, not wanting to be separated. Wanting to live in this moment forever, his glistening skin, warm and inviting, and yours pressed against his. Him inside of you, the warm connection between you two.

He grinned lazily at you and swept away the hair plastered against your forehead.

"Professor Mikaelson, that was..." You began in a teasing tone, but trailed off when you realized you didn't know what to say. It felt like it would be impossible to fully encapsulate the experience with words.

"I love you too," you said breathlessly, finally wrapping your head around his declaration.

"You don't have to say it back," he murmured, "I know it's all a bit sudden-"

You cut him off with a desperate kiss. "I love you," you repeated, the words becoming easier. "I love you, and I'll come to England with you, if you'll have me."

He smiled, resting his forehead against yours, cupping your face in his hands. "Sweet girl, I wouldn't have it any other way."

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[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Let’s talk Saurondriel Season 3: Predictions

The last episodes of Season 2 kicked off the “War of the Elves and Sauron” plot from Tolkien canon. The rings of power have been created, and Eregion has fallen. At the end of 2x08, we see the survivors from Eregion arriving at a hidden valley near the Misty Mountains: this will be Imladris (more known as Rivendell).

(Why is Gil-galad looking at them like that? Is this foreshadowing for something?)

What is most likely to happen in Season 3: 

Forging of the One Ring; 

Sauron conquest of Middle-earth begins; 

Sauron finding the Nine ring-bearers, and creating the Nazgûl; 

Sauron trying to get the Three Elven rings of power back;

"Days of Flight": Sauron tries to attack Lindon, and Rivendell is founded;

Sauron gets captured by Ar-Pharazôn at the end, or this will be only in Season 4 (Fall of Númenor).

1) The door isn't "shut". It's wide open, now.

If the blood binding hypothesis is correct (and I think it is, because Morgoth’s crown was the Chekhov's gun of Season 2) Sauron and Galadriel, now, have an open line of communication into each other’s minds and souls. And we already saw a preview of this in 2x08:

With them being bound together, Sauron doesn’t need to “tempt” Galadriel anymore (to be his queen): he’ll probably try to actually bring her to his side, this time. Or even act as servant to him, since he wants to bind the Elves to his will, too; and so trying to make Galadriel hand over the Three to him would make sense with Tolkien canon. Sauron probably transferred some of his powers into her, and all of this will most likely kick out Galadriel’s “magical arc” (“elf-witch”).  

How will this play out? Probably dreams, visions and illusions, because, depending on where Galadriel will be (and I’m betting Rivendell and Lindon), he can’t actually go there himself, in the flesh.

Which leads me to the next point: 

2) Will Sauron use another character to get into Galadriel's head, again? 

In Season 2, we saw Sauron using Celebrimbor to get into Galadriel’s head, on two different occasions (2x02 and 2x08): "Are they not the seeds you planted?"

Elrond (2x02): There is no navigating it. The labyrinth is his. As long as you stay in it, you've already lost. He may well want you in Eregion... Galadriel (2x08): All this... was your design from the beginning.

Galadriel’s vision in 2x02 proved that Nenya doesn’t block Sauron’s interference (as many assume), and he pretty much confirms this in 2x08: the ring isn’t free from his influence and power (the same as in Tolkien canon). 

This makes me wonder if he might use Elrond next season for his “evil theatrics”, because this gentle spirit has been acting kind of shady in 2x07 and 2x08, already. And this mystery box might transition to Season 3, and it would be more effective than any other character, really (Gil-galad, for instance). And Season 3 will be a major season for Elrond, too, as he will create Rivendell and become a Elf Lord of his own right.

2) What consequences will the wound from Morgoth’s crown have on Galadriel?

Sauron (2x08) : Galadriel, surely you of all Elves must understand that to find the light, we must first touch the darkness.

This wound will probably be similar to Frodo’s in “Lord of the Rings”, but worse, due to the blood binding. It will never actually heal, either, which means it will have eternal effects on Galadriel herself.  

Galadriel: Sometimes to find the light, we must first touch the darkness. Halbrand/Mairon: What do you know of darkness? Galadriel and Halbrand/Mairon at Númenor forge (1x05)

This wound can’t possibly be ignored by the plot, and I think that the choice of having Galadriel all dressed in white after her healing is intentional, to mislead the audience into believing she emerged “victorious” and “all light” from her showdown with Sauron.

We can’t forget the red herring ending of Season 1, with Sauron arriving at Mordor, appearing victorious himself, as if he was taking over the place. This makes me believe it will be the other way around: I think we will see Galadriel struggling with the Darkness way harder than before, in Season 3 (embodied in her desire for Sauron and power).

A penitent: in her youth a leader in the rebellion against the Valar (the angelic guardians). At the end of the First Age she proudly refused forgiveness or permission to return [to Valinor]. She was pardoned because of her resistance to the final and overwhelming temptation to take the [One] Ring for herself. Tolkien, Letter 320

In Tolkien canon, Galadriel is only able to truly and finally resist Sauron when she refuses Frodo’s offer, and is pardoned by the Valar. That's her (true) last temptation. Thousands of years later. Which means, Saurondriel is far from over in “Rings of Power”. It has just begun.

First: Galadriel will have to face the truth about “Halbrand” and “Sauron” being the same, and that the "Halbrand" she fell in love with was, in fact, repentant Mairon (he was real). Only this can explain why she’s still pining after Mairon’s offer in 1x08 thousands of years later with Frodo (if she believed him to be just an illusion, she would probably have got over it, eventually).  

However, since Galadriel will be probably spiral down into darkness in Season 3, actual Sauron will most likely be seductive and appealing to her.

Galadriel can’t “close the door” of her mind to Sauron on her own. She doesn’t know how. Her “elf-witch arc” hasn’t even begun, yet. Her magical arc will start on Season 3.

3) Gandalf the Mentor

Galadriel will need a mentor to help her with her new-found powers and keep her in the Light (and for her to be able to "close the door" later on) and the only character that can, truly, be up to this challenge is Gandalf. Not sure if this will happen in Season 3 or Season 4.

Both Sauron and Gandalf are Maiar, which means only Gandalf’s power can be a match for Sauron’s. Gandalf was sent to Middle-earth by the Valar to help the Free people fight against Sauron. However, and pretty much like Galadriel herself, he never actually faced him, working against him, indirectly.

Círdan also gives Gandalf his ring of power, Narya, at the start of the Third Age. In one draft is due to his good services to the Elves, but Tolkien never provided an actual explanation concerning what these “services” actually were. Helping Galadriel could offer an actual explanation.

This would explain why Gandalf has the absolute trust and friendship of the Elves (and of Galadriel, above all), why he became a member of the White Council and why Galadriel went to her only known confrontation with Sauron (in Tolkien canon) because of him. 

4) Celeborn’s return?

I don’t think the showrunners should have Celeborn returning before Galadriel is able to actually “close the door” of her mind to Sauron, because (1) it would be kind of weird for Galadriel/Celeborn relationship, and (2) create a rabbit hole of problems for the narrative. And having this happening in Season 3 is a bit premature, and I think they are aware of this too.

It’s been established that Sauron is obsessed with Galadriel, to the point of possessiveness (if “blood binding theory” is correct), and he will remain so for thousands of years later. Meaning: having Celebrían conceived before the “door is closed” could truly mess with Tolkien’s genealogies because there is no way Sauron would allow that to happen without his interference (Half-Maia Celebrían, anyone?).  

At this point, Celeborn has to return to Middle-earth alongside Glorfindel. It’s the only scenario that makes sense (and Sauron already talked about the Fall of Gondolin). In Tolkien canon, Glorfindel is sent back to Middle-earth by Manwë somewhere in the Second age (around the time Sauron forged the One ring), and as an emissary from the Valar. However, he only had any significant role to play in the story after the War of the Last Alliance (when Sauron is defeated). And since “Rings of Power” has already changed some of Tolkien’s timelines, they can have Glorfindel arrive at the very end of the Second Age instead, in Season 5 (the “epilogue” of the show).  

There is no way Celeborn is alive, or being held captive anywhere, at this point. He has to be dead and in the Halls of Mandos “resurrecting” until he’s re-embodied later, and allowed to return to Middle-earth.

[daydreamtofiction]

Malicious Compliance // Surgeon Strange x Reader

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Summary: After a brief meeting with the world renowned neurosurgeon Doctor Stephen Strange, he plans to make you his latest conquest. He’s only interested in one thing, but that’s okay, because so are you. (female reader)

Word Count: 4.6K

Warnings: Strong language, explicit sexual content, pre-sorcerer Strange (arrogant, cocky). Smut: no strings attached, dominance & praise, oral sex (receiving), light choking, unprotected sex (sort of?). Readers must be 18+

A/N: Just a quick lil oneshot for you all. I literally thought of this today and the whole thing poured out of me in one sitting lmao. I like it though, hope you guys do too!

His eyes are glaciers. Cold, hard, yet always moving. They flit towards the window, sunlight turning them the crispest blue, then back down to the notebook on the table in front of him. They warm slightly when he looks over to Doctor Palmer, roll languidly whenever Doctor West speaks. But in the end, they always seem to settle back on you.

He’s as hubristic as you’d expected; leant back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, taking up as much space as his body will allow. He corrects a colleague when they call him Stephen. It’s Doctor Strange, he says, voice so deep and rich it’s almost tangible. 

He watches as you press your finger to the inner corner of your eye, trying to rub away the tired itch beginning to take root there. You wonder how offended he’d be if he knew you fell asleep reading one of his published papers last night, how you woke up in your hotel room this morning with your cheek pressed to page seventeen of The Strange Palmer Method. It would make his blood boil, you think, to know his work had been used as a pillow. You resist the urge to tell him. 

Coffee burns the roof of your mouth. You wince and place the cup back down on the boardroom table, sift through the pile of papers in front of you as the room waits for you to speak again.

“Honey,” says Doctor Strange. 

“I’m sorry?” you reply. 

He points to your mouth. “It’ll help with that burn.” 

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head. “Oh I didn’t- It was just a little warmer than I expected. Thanks, though.” 

The corner of his mouth curls and he turns to look down the length of the table, the flecks of silver at his temple catching in the light.

You clear your throat as you find the document you were looking for. “So, pending approval from the ABMS, we would like to roll out training for the Strange Palmer Method in all of our hospitals.”

“What about my new technique for stent placement?” asks Doctor West. 

“Oh please, Nic,” Strange scoffs. “We’re talking about actual revolutionary surgical procedures here.” 

Doctor West’s back straightens, you open your mouth to speak but he gets there first.

“Excuse me, my stent technique could drastically cut down the amount of time a patient’s brain is open on the table! Do you even realise-” 

“Mhm, why don’t you go win some awards and make national news, then maybe we can talk.” 

Doctor Palmer’s head falls into her hands as the other surgeons groan and shift uncomfortably in their seats. You’ve met your fair share of asshole surgeons in this job; travelling up and down the country stroking egos and exalting god complexes. But this man sitting across from you is, without a doubt, the victor of them all. 

“The stent technique is very interesting,” you say, easing the tension in the room. “But we would need to see the results of a study or trial of some kind before taking it any further.” 

“Very diplomatic of you,” says Strange. 

“Not diplomatic. I just know a promising procedure when I see it.”

“Hm. Are you a doctor?”

Your gaze turns to a glare. “I am.” 

“Where do you practice?”

“I don’t anymore. My job is to keep other doctors at the top of their game. Hence why I’m here right now with all of you.”

He’s almost smirking, head cocked slightly, twiddling a pen between his fingers. It’s fitting, you think, to see a surgeon take such pleasure in getting under people’s skin. 

You hate that you find him attractive. That you’ve managed to fall victim to a charm buried so deep beneath layers of pure arrogance that you have to dig to find it. If he wasn’t so beautiful on the outside, you’re almost certain you wouldn’t bother fighting to find something redeemable within. But the way your body reacts to him; the warmth, the buzzing deep in your belly, it must be there. 

The meeting finishes and you remain at the table, straightening the wad of papers in front of you and slotting them back into your binder as everyone filters out of the room. When you’re alone, you stand and walk to the large window, taking a moment to gaze out at the view. Your eyes skim New York City, admiring the blend of old and new; small stone buildings wedged between tall skyscrapers, the late afternoon sun glinting across metal and glass, pockets of green peppered amongst brick and mortar. You wish you got to come here more often. 

You pick up your briefcase and drape your jacket over your arm as you make your way out of the boardroom. The corridor is bright and quiet, but the bustling of the hospital is a low hum. You close the door behind you and begin to walk, unfazed by the sight of a figure leaning against the wall up ahead. 

His arms are folded over his broad chest, dark blue scrubs doing little for his tall, robust frame. His legs are crossed at the ankles as he rests his weight back against the wall, head stooped slightly, but his eyes are on you. 

“Doctor Strange,” you say with a polite nod as you continue past him.

He smiles, allows you to pass, but you feel him move behind you. 

“You don’t really think Doctor West’s procedure holds any merit?” he asks, catching up to walk at your side. 

“I do.” You furrow your brow. “You don’t think there’s merit in improving the efficiency of existing surgeries?” 

He shrugs. “Just not all that exciting when you compare it to what I’m doing.” 

“You mean what you and Doctor Palmer are doing…” 

There’s a chuckle deep in his throat, like he enjoys the back and forth, watching his opponents fight for their lives while to him it’s just a sparring match. He quickens his pace to slip in front of you, turning to face you and forcing you to halt in the middle of the corridor. 

“Be honest,” he says. “You’re impressed.” 

“Of course we’re impressed. Why else would the board have sent me here?” 

“No I mean you, specifically.” 

You glare up at him, hiding your amusement with an eye roll. “Yes, Doctor,” you say slowly, your words empty and biting. “I am very impressed.” 

His cupid’s bow deepens as his lips curve into a self satisfied smile, lines forming in his cheeks and the corners of his eyes. He knows you find him infuriating, but it only seems to encourage him. There’s a moment of silence, long enough for his gaze to trail the length of you, just once. 

“You know, I’d love to talk more with you about it,” he says, looking down at his obviously expensive watch. “Maybe over dinner. Have you eaten?” 

You draw in a deep breath through your nose, letting it out in a sigh as you begin to speak. “I don’t need your superficial attempts to woo me, Doctor.” You reach into your briefcase and pull out a pen and a business card, scrawling on the back of it and handing it to him. “This is where I’m staying. Come by around eight.” 

You’re certain he’s going to protest, pretend he actually wants to go to dinner, talk, that he was ever interested in anything that didn’t involve the removal of your clothes. You wait in suspense as his eyes flit down to the card in his hand, then back up to your face.

“I prefer to fuck in my own bed,” he says bluntly. 

A wave crashes in your stomach, rushing down into your core, the sensation so strong and unexpected that your knees almost buckle. This isn’t the first time one of your work trips has ended in you going home with a surgeon, but the way this one doesn’t try to feign the ‘nice guy’, doesn’t pretend to want anything more from you than your body, that’s new.  

“Unless I’m on vacation, of course,” he adds with a cocky smile. 

“Of course…” 

He flips the card over and plucks the pen from your hand. You watch as he scribbles on it and hands it back to you. 

“So this is where I’ll be tonight,” he says. “You said eight works for you?”  

You press your tongue to the inside of your cheek, unsure if you’ve ever met anyone as imperious as this. You slip the card into your pocket and move to walk past him, stopping as your shoulders brush and looking up at him. 

“I hope your dick is as inflated as your ego.”

He smirks to himself, remaining quiet as you continue to walk away. 

Your skirt is riding up your backside. You reach back to yank it down for the hundredth time before pressing the buzzer on the wall of the apartment building. The setting sun is just a glow beneath the horizon but the streets are still busy, the air warm with a pleasant breeze. You lean back to stare up at the building, the mirrored windows stretching so high you can’t see an end to them. You wonder which one is his. 

There’s a scratching sound on the intercom, followed by a deep voice. “Yeah?” 

“It’s me,” you say, glancing over your shoulders as if you’re on some kind of secret mission, scared of being seen. 

He doesn’t speak again, instead there’s a quick buzz followed by the click of the heavy front door. You let yourself inside, heels clacking against the glossy marble floor as you hurry towards the elevators. When the doors slide open, you pull out your business card, punch in the floor number he’d scrawled in the bottom corner. It begins to ascend, making your already swirling stomach turn. 

You pull down the back of your skirt again as you step out into the hall, peering down the length of it in search of his apartment. The door is tall and wide, dark timber and a heavy metallic handle. You knock but your knuckles barely make a sound, the dense wood swallowing the echo. 

Still, he comes. You regard him quietly as you step inside, the snug sweater and tailored jeans, a pair of sneakers making you feel entirely overdressed. He’s already grinning; a smug, confident smile that reignites the ire in your chest. You ignore him and walk further in, eyes wide in awe at the vast, industrial space.

You walk over to the window that stretches the length of the apartment, floor to ceiling, wall to wall, framing a perfect snapshot of the city. 

“Now I understand why you make the women come to you,” you say. 

“Hm?” 

“This place. It’s impressive.” You glance over your shoulder at him. “That’s the point, right? You like to impress. To show off.”  

He laughs quietly and makes his way to the kitchen area, opening the extensive liquor cabinet. “You want something to drink?” 

“I have rules,” you say abruptly, turning around to face him from across the echoey room.

He straightens. “Go on…” 

“Nothing that happens here can be used for any type of professional leverage, good or bad, by either of us.” 

“Of course-”

“This isn’t a date. I don’t spend the night, I don’t keep in touch, I don’t call when I’m back in town so we can do this again. This is just tonight. And it’s just sex. Understood?” 

“Understood.” He returns to the cabinet and takes out a bottle. “So, about that drink…”

You’re already gone, wandering off through a door at the rear of the apartment in search of the bedroom. 

You find it. It’s a dark, cave-like space, large curtains draped across another huge window, only the faintest glow of the sunset fighting through the fabric. It’s clinical, just as you’d expect from a surgeon; sleek furniture void of any clutter or knick knacks, exposed brick walls with the occasional piece of art - no photographs. There’s a full length mirror, a small couch, and a bed so large you could sink into it and disappear. You wonder just how many women have delved beneath those sheets before you. 

He appears in the doorway, looking you up and down. “You’re eager, little one,” he teases.

You roll your eyes, watching as he closes the door behind him and approaches you. You reach up to touch him, to kiss him, but instead he takes your wrists in his hands and lowers them back to your sides. 

“Mm, not yet.” 

You scoff in dispute, eyes following him as he strolls across the room and switches on the wall sconces, illuminating the area above the bed in a dim, warm light. 

“Look,” you say. “If you’re just going to mess with me then-”

“Well actually, after you left the hospital this afternoon, I got called to consult on a patient and ended up having to stay late. I just got home around fifteen minutes before you knocked on my door. So if you don’t mind, I would like to take a shower first. Is that alright with you?” he finishes sarcastically. 

You settle down, composing yourself and relaxing your shoulders. “Of course.” 

“Make yourself comfortable.” 

He pushes open a door to the right and you catch a glimpse of the luxurious, marbled master bathroom as he steps inside. The door closes behind him, leaving you alone again. You stand there for a moment, listening to him whistling to himself, his belt buckle unfastening and hitting the floor. Water bursts from the shower, the sound like soft static, and you immediately rush over to the mirror. 

You examine yourself carefully; fix your hair, press your nose to your skin and clothes, shift your underwear so it sits smoothly and undetectable beneath your skirt. Then you sit down at the foot of the bed, knee bouncing impatiently. You change your mind shortly after, moving to the small couch opposite the bed instead. 

Ten minutes or so pass, but it feels like an eternity. You picture him drawing it out on purpose, working the lather into his skin one section at a time, scrubbing at his hair for much longer than necessary, just to make you sweat. The water shuts off and you listen to him singing to himself, the hum of his voice through the door. When the door finally opens, steam escapes into the bedroom, the rich smell of citrus and cedar filling the air as he walks out, still humming quietly. 

You glance over at him, mouth falling open slightly to find him completely naked, your gaze falling immediately to the pronounced length hanging from his body as he pads across the room. You look away quickly, rolling your eyes and huffing with indignation. Of course he’s naked, you think, he likes to spar, and you’ve willingly stepped into the ring.

Droplets sit on his shoulders and roll down his torso as he moves around the bed. He climbs on and lays down right in the middle, hands resting behind his head, propped up slightly on the headboard. His hair is still damp, half-coiffed, the grey at his temples darker than it was before. His body is solid, the mystery beneath the scrubs now revealed to you in all its glory. His arms are thick as they flex either side of his head, divots of muscle creating shadows across his torso, cock resting proudly on his thigh as he parts his legs in wait. He’s exquisite, and you can’t help but bask in the sight. 

“So,” he says casually. “Are you just going to stay over there looking at me? Or are you going to come and sit on my face?” 

You glare at him, unamused. 

“What?” he shrugs gently. “You’re the one that said this was strictly sex. Forgive me for abiding by your rules.” 

“There’s a word for that, you know,” you reply. “Malicious compliance.”

“Mm, is it really malicious if I’m offering to eat you out?”

“Depends how good you are at it.” 

“Come here and find out.”  There’s no humour in his tone, but it’s still playful, like he’s goading you. 

You stand up and take a step towards the bed. 

“Clothes,” he demands. 

You stop, pressing your lips together tightly. His eyes never leave you, remaining locked on yours as you kick off your shoes and untuck your top from the waistband of your skirt. 

“They should study you,” you say. 

“Study me?” 

“Yeah.” You lift your top over your head and throw it to the floor, reaching down to unzip your skirt. “Look into how one singular person could possibly be such an ass.” 

“Clearly there’s a part of you that likes it, y’know, since you’re here… taking your clothes off for me.”

“What can I say? I’m partial to a surgeon. Think it’s the hands.” 

The skirt pools at your feet and you step out of it, extending your arms as if to say ‘ta da’. He smiles. 

No one has ever looked at you like this. So intense, like he’s studying every inch; relishing in every freckle and blemish, every curve and crease, mapping out the places he plans to touch, taste, explore. 

You continue towards him but he raises his palm, halting you again. “You haven’t finished,” he says. 

You glance down at yourself, then back up to him, letting out a grumbling sigh as you reach behind you to unclasp your bra. It pops open, the release of pressure on your skin as soothing as a deep breath. His gaze darkens as you slide the straps off your shoulders, watching your nipples harden as you reveal your bare breasts to him. 

“These too?” you ask, hooking your thumbs into the waistline of your underwear. 

“Mhm.” 

You take them off as gracefully as you can, shimmying them over your hips and thighs and kicking them away. His cock is hardening, swelling and rising towards his stomach. Your mouth twitches with a triumphant smile, but you suppress it as you climb onto the bed, crawling up to meet him. 

You lean down and press your lips to his, feeling your skin prick, arousal kindling in your core. His mouth is smart, but it’s also divine. The feeling intensifies, spreading through your belly and pounding between your legs as you sweep your tongue into his open mouth, feel his restraint wavering as your hot breaths mingle. You let your chest press against his, the feeling of skin on skin making you burn with need. 

You bring a hand up to his face, he brings his to your throat, bracketing it gently and peeling his mouth from yours. 

“I didn’t tell you to kiss me,” he says quietly. “I told you to sit on my face.” 

You pull back a little more, making eye contact, breathless as a million comebacks shutter through your mind. But in the end you say nothing, letting out a soft huff and slowly shifting your body up the bed.

You hold the top of the extravagant headboard with both hands and swing one leg over him, straddling his shoulders as his fingers reach up behind you to the small of your back. His touch is electric, lips searing as they plant a kiss on your inner thigh. A soft whimper escapes you in a breath, as though anticipation is its own foreplay. 

He wraps his arms around the backs of your thighs and pulls you down onto his mouth. Your grip tightens on the headboard, fingernails digging into the soft, cushiony fabric as he parts his lips against your centre, sucking softly on your already throbbing clit. Your head falls back when his tongue drags up the length of your slit, moulding itself to every pucker and groove, lapping you up like he adores you, and you wonder how many women have fallen for him in these moments. 

You groan quietly, closing your eyes as you focus on the flicks and strokes of his tongue, the sucking and swirling, the hums deep in his throat and he devours you. Your clit is sensitive, making you shudder, the pleasure so intense you can barely stand it. Your body raises up instinctively, but he tightens his hold on you, spitting on your clit and returning his mouth to the place that both aches and sings, somehow at the same time. 

You gasp in response, eyelids fluttering as you swear under your breath. He releases one of your thighs and you glance over your shoulder to see his hand wrapping around his cock. He begins to stroke it forcefully, working himself to the rhythm of his mouth, and you almost fall to pieces. 

“Oh my god,” you moan, slumping forward and pressing your forehead to the headboard. 

Your thighs clamp around his head, but it only spurs him on, making him bury his face deeper, and you can’t remember the last time he came up for air.

“I can’t,” you whisper. 

The nerves in your clit are screaming, dancing on the precipice between pain and pleasure. He continues to lap at your centre, pushing you to the edge until you’re clinging on for dear life. Pressure swells in your core, flooding you with a tingling heat that softens your bones and turns you to liquid. Until finally you’re there, falling, melting. 

He growls as your body begins to shake, working his tongue over you one last time before releasing you from his grasp. You collapse next to him, sliding down the pillows until you’re lying at his side. You’re breathless, chest rising and falling heavily as you stare up at the ceiling. 

He rolls onto his side to face you. “You’re quiet when you come,” he says, placing a kiss into the crook of your neck, another at the dip of your collarbone.  

“I’ve spent the past two years practically living in hotel rooms,” you reply. “I’ve learned to be inconspicuous.” 

“Hm.” He props himself up on his forearm and leans over you, his other hand trailing softly down the side of your body. “Let’s see if we can do something about that.” 

Before you can reply, he’s kissing you. His mouth is slick, it tastes of you. Your body is spent, limbs heavy, yet still you find it responding to his touch. He shifts further onto you, spreading your legs with his hands and settling himself between them. You can feel his cock nudging your centre as he rocks his hips, sliding along the soaking wet mess he left there and brushing his head over your clit. It’s sensitive, raw, makes you gasp. But he swallows the sound with a heady kiss.

He’s big. Thick. Hard. Maybe that’s where he stores his arrogance. He continues to tease you, soaking himself in the mix of spit and slick as he wraps his hands around your neck, kisses you so deeply you can feel him drawing a moan from your throat.

He pulls away and looks down at you for a moment. “Condom?” he asks casually.

You’re on the pill. Have been since you were seventeen. But still, you know you should say yes. Yesterday, this man was a stranger; a face you only knew from TV and the medical articles you’d read.

“No.” You shake your head and reach down, gripping his cock and directing it into you.

He chuckles, the sound deep and low. “What a good girl.” 

You sigh as he teases at your entrance, pushing the head of his cock in and out but never breaking all the way through. 

“Were you thinking about this today in the meeting?” he taunts softly. 

You groan and buck your hips, desperate for him to take you. 

He eases back slightly and tuts. “I saw you squirming in your seat. How hot and flustered you got when I looked at you. Tell me how much you wanted this.” 

“What I wanted,” you begin quietly. “Was to wring your neck.” 

The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. “Really…” 

“Really.” 

He squeezes his fingers gently around your throat and you exhale softly. The desire is almost painful, your core throbbing, pussy aching. 

“Funny how things work out,” he says. 

You let out a stifled moan as he sinks into you, filling you so completely you’re certain you can’t take it.

“That’s it,” he mutters as he looks down, watching his cock disappear all the way to the hilt. 

You whimper and tighten around him. He sucks the air in through his teeth, returning his gaze to your eyes with a mischievous smile. 

“I’m gonna need you to not do that,” he says. “You’ll have me finishing in seconds.” 

“Are you telling me the great Doctor Stephen Strange lacks self discipline?” You contract your walls again, this time on purpose.

He bows, forehead resting on your chest, and growls deep in the back of his throat. Then suddenly, without warning, he draws his hips back and buries himself in you again. You gasp, fingers digging into the blades of his shoulders as he repeats his thrusts, building to a firm, steady rhythm. 

A small cry escapes you; a sound you’ve never heard yourself make before. He hums in response, keeping you pinned to the bed with his hands around your neck as he snaps his hips, punishing you from the inside out. 

“Wrap those legs around my back,” he demands. 

You do as you’re told, locking your ankles and gasping as he sinks further, the head of his cock kissing the deepest parts of you and sending jolts of pure electricity through your stomach. 

“You’re going to break me,” you whisper.

“Not this time. Maybe later,” he replies, still so arrogant it makes you want to reach up and slap him. 

But your hands are stuck to his back, nails digging into the smooth, taut flesh. Another unfamiliar sound falls from your lips, somewhere between a grunt and a hum. He likes it, you can tell in the way he closes his eyes to compose himself.

“Jesus,” he hisses.

His movements begin to stutter and he rests his forehead against yours. You feel his cock throbbing, your pussy growing wetter until it’s dripping. He lets out a long, satisfied groan and begins to slow down, every rock of his hips like the promise of another climax. 

“Don’t stop,” you whisper desperately. “Please don’t stop, I’m so close.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but still he obliges; continuing to stroke into you as you squirm beneath him.

“Oh god,” you groan. “Harder. I need- harder.” 

He grunts, screwing his eyes shut tightly, and begins pounding his cock into you with such force you can feel your body shifting up the mattress. You know he already came, you know how sensitive he must be. But somehow, knowing that makes this all the more delicious.

The electricity builds again, every thrust like a lightning strike through your core. Your legs begin to shake and you finally let go, giving in to the current and letting it course through you. Your orgasm is intense, sharp and tingly, making you shudder, body stiffening until it passes. 

He slows to a stop, resting his full weight on top of you. You welcome the pressure, like a weighted blanket; warm and grounding, soothing the ache beginning to settle in your limbs. 

After a few moments, he slides out of you carefully, rolling over to lie at your side. “You want that drink now?” he asks. 

Hair sticks to your forehead with sweat, you brush it back, sucking in deep breaths as you stare up at the ceiling. “No, I’m good.” 

Silence envelops you, neither one of you speaking again until your hearts stop thumping. 

“So… I guess this means you’re going to approve the training for my method,” he says. 

You turn your head, glaring at him in stunned silence. 

“I’m kidding,” he says with a smile, greatly amusing himself. 

“God, surgeons are assholes,” you mutter.

[thicc-ray-of-sunshine]

A clip from the beginning of my Ford X Reader fic "Roll of Initiative"

I had to take a break from writing it since I left my D&D stuff at work lol. Enjoy

Suggestive content below the cut

Minors DNI

Now here you were, it was well past any decent hour and you were flat on your back on Ford's bed. His weight was comforting upon you, keeping the chill of the night air from digging itself too deep into your bones. Although he did nothing to keep the rising goosebumps on your skin at bay; he himself being the reason for the bulk of them as his deft fingers ghosted across your skin.

The dice seemed to simply not be on your side tonight, having failed multiple charisma checks whilst Ford had succeeded. Leading you to be the only one naked in your shared bed while he was still fully clothed (sans shoes which you made very clear would NOT be allowed in the bedroom.)

You had a pretty established routine and ruleset for using dice in the bedroom. D20s stayed true to their purpose; all skill checks, attack throws and saving throws were calculated accordingly under Ford's watchful eye. Pace was determined by an attack throw and then a D6 was used to calculate all equivalent "damage." D8s occasionally surfaced into the foray when you insisted that Ford should be following proper protocol when assessing damage dealt with a "large weapon" but typically you tried to keep the amount of dice in the bed to a minimum to mitigate the risk of loosing them in the sheets during your related conquests. The fourth and final purpose of the D20 that you had implemented into your sexual roleplay was designating positions, finding 20 of them you could both feasibly do had been quite the task but Ford was never one to back down from an experiment.

So now you were here, silently blistering with impatience as Ford took great pleasure in ruffling your feathers. The pace had already been determined earlier on by rolling a 4 and damage had been assessed at a 3.

The D20 had seen a lot of action already tonight, having brought Ford through a miraculous persuasion check with a staggering 19. Thus giving him the ability to get you out of all of your clothes and be an absolute tease about it when you failed yours with a whopping 9; failure to charm him out of his respective clothing. You almost made a quip about him rolling for an armor check but felt as though you didn't really have the patience to do something that would shove his already slow pace into a crawl. You hoped in the back of your mind that he wouldn't think of it in the moment or he would simply find it in his heart to simply opt out.

As if being able to hear your thoughts Ford asked just that.

"Should I be doing an armor check my Darling?"

Ford simply couldn't hide the smirk that crawled it's way onto his handsome face as he went for the D20 beside your head. You were faster though, grabbing his wrist and bringing his hand to your mouth so you could press your lips against his knuckles.

"Could I persuade you not to?"

You batted your eyelashes dramatically at him, his breath catching in his throat as you licked between his two middle fingers.

"I don't know, can you?"

You snagged the D20 in your fingers, dropping it on your sternum and watching Ford's eyes follow the movement as it rolled between the valley of your breasts. A 16, perfect. You didn't bother with the dice, knowing you'd need them again sooner rather than later. Instead, you chose to snake your free hand up the back of his neck to tangle in his hair, bringing him in for a smarmy open mouthed kiss. Ford reciprocated passionately, tongue sliding against your own inside your mouth. He was slow and meticulous in kissing you, completely and utterly thorough in his exploration of you. His dexterous tongue dragged across the planes of your teeth, hooking behind your bottom lip before curling back around your own. Heavily lidded eyes and foggy glasses met your eyes when he withdrew, slowly making their way to yours as Ford took in your much more disheveled appearance.

“Persuaded?”

You smiled languorously at him from your position below, scratching gently at the base of his neck below his shirt. Ford's adams apple bobbed slightly, gulping down air; it made you want to bite at it. There would be time for that later.

“Thoroughly.”

His eyes flicked back to your lips, covered in a mix of each other's saliva and glistening in the soft light emitting from the lamp on the bedside table. Simply unable to resist, he went in for another searing kiss. Meanwhile you used your grip on the wrist of his right hand to guide him to a breast. His hand tapped out a small sinuous wave upon the skin there, making you feel each one of his fingers individually before squeezing the flesh there. Your lips left his with a lewd pop.

[utilitycaster]

To elaborate on this post specifically with regards to Worlds Beyond Number, well, Suvi says it all, really:

They love being on my tab, they love having fun, they love being protected by me, but they never listen to me and they don't care.

Because here is the thing. Suvi is of the Citadel, which is part of the Empire. We do not have a full understanding of the geopolitical system but as a rule an empire is participating in conquest; sometimes two empires both exist and attack each other and so the exact scenario gets very gray and complicated but I think we do all agree the Empire is not great.

Suvi is of the Citadel. She holds a position of great privilege within the Citadel. This is in part because her parents were, as far as we know, betrayed and murdered by an enemy of the Citadel (having themselves been, again, based on what we know, reformers and rule-breakers as well as extremely capable spies) and she was adopted by one of their closest friends, who became the Sword of the Citadel.

She is not the Citadel. She is a 20-year old who was primarily raised within it, with all of the above complications of her parents. She is not single-handedly responsible for every action the citadel takes. She is not personally trying to stop Ame or Eursulon, only saying that there will be consequences if they leave. Consequences that she has experienced after Ame ran into the kudzu and Eursulon went after Naram and they all attempted to break Ame's curse; consequences she knows will become more and more dire if she continues to disobey Steel, particularly a direct order; consequences that already resulted in Ame being in a coma for a month. (The court-martial, I will say, is entirely on Suvi; the rest is not).

And in all of those situations: Ame and Eursulon were, as Suvi says, happy to have Suvi's purse pay for room and board, and her wizard's staff open doors, and to be put up and fed at the Chantry, and take the skyships, and train at the Citadel and have a marvelous time there. It's been several days and they could have left sooner, and they didn't. It's very "no ethical consumption under capitalism, which means that I can do whatever I want" rather than like, attempting to make slightly less harmful choices from Ame and Eursulon. Their choices aren't coming from a principled stance against the Citadel and Empire; they are coming from a "well, thanks for all the fun and the safe place to stay and the resources for research but you told me not to do something I wanted to do and I won't wait an hour to try and see if we can come to a solution that works for everyone."

For that matter, they're making these choices in part because of what a wizard of the citadel is saying to them; and yet Suvi's presence was said by that very wizard to be crucial to Ame's survival, and they're still not waiting.

[stepping outside of all of the above and the below: I think all the actions being taken, as a listener, are fucking great because this is D&D and conflict is fun and also all of these characters are like, the equivalent of 20 years old and level 2; this is not me saying Suvi is right and Ame and Eursulon are wrong. Rather, Suvi is no less right or wrong than the others, and she is extremely justified in feeling hurt and angry and that her friends are willing to take and not give.]

Something I've found in a lot of sf stories but especially actual play is a pretty strong and frankly, weird bias within the fandom of exactly this nature, as the linked post said. Someone affiliated with an empire or a power is somehow, as an individual, responsible for every harmful action that power commits. They're brainwashed. They're evil. They don't get it. They just need to come around to the right mentality. And that right mentality is, of course, that of the good rural person with nature magic. They are a leader within their small community and hold an immense amount of power over them - and perhaps beyond - but don't worry, they use it correctly. They're wise and they're right about everything.

Except they're not. They are frequently either idealistic to the point of ignoring the realities of the situation, or very limited in their viewpoint, or do not realize the immense privilege of being in their position as both a person in nigh absolute benevolent power within a small domain and also the only person with that power. Those wise, provincial, nature-based characters rarely understand that to exist within a complex and yes, extremely flawed and even ill-intentioned system like the Citadel is to be, even as a person with privilege within that hierarchy, a cog.

Suvi cannot just leave. She exists within a vast system and she is not stupid or brainwashed for acknowledging the realities of it. I think that yes, a very possible path forward for her is one in which she grows to question the Citadel's practices. I also think that to treat her as the embodiment of this entire empire, or to expect that her only way to be a good person is via a sudden about-face at the cost of everything she has, when she is a level 2 apprentic, is not just overly simplistic but flat-out incorrect. And I think that to assume Ame is objectively correct for not waiting a very brief amount of time for Steel (when, in fact, one could argue she should have left immediately upon being contacted; she had been absent from her duties for months already) is similarly oversimplifying to the point where one's conclusions are no longer useful.

Recall that witches' familiars are said to embody the traits within them that, to be an effective steward of their position, they often must set aside. Ame has been letting hers lead her.

[welcometoneverland-98]

Fire of Venus // 𖥸 Chapter 6 𖥸

#Anna’s POV#

I had stopped counting the days. There came a time where it was just useless to do so so I just stopped. Sometimes it would take weeks, other times it would take much longer for my father to return from one of his conquests. 

Caracalla had told me that he had gone to Numidia and then proceeded to taunt me about him not returning from there, obviously this conversation had involved him carding a cup of wine on one hand a whore on the other while his damn monkey sat on his shoulder as usual. 

He loved to try and get some sort of reaction out of me, this I had already learned from my time being at the Palatine. Wherever I would go he would try to follow and to rile me up and this would often had to be stopped by Geta who seemed to almost always be at the right place at the right time. 

Ever since our encounter at the pond Geta had seemed more distant, even colder if that was even a possibility. He would spend his time in his chambers or at meetings or even at their parties, the very same ones that I had stopped attending. 

There was no point in partying and celebrating Rome or the emperors when all I could think about was the possibility that my father would be shaking hands with Pluto himself. And then there was Lucilla who also seemed as cold as our home without my father in it. There was no laughter, no color and no feelings surrounding that place, maybe that’s why I had been spending more time at the colosseum with the company of men who were deemed ruthless and deadly. 

They seemed more alive than anyone surrounding me at the moment, and that was were I was standing at the moment, sitting in the middle of a circle of men as they ate their meals and chatted to one another. 

“You gonna tell us a story girl?” Aulus asked. 

He had been eating silently from his plate for a while before looking at me intently. He had almost become a confident in these last times. There seemed to be no real difference in our age, but his face almost told otherwise as it was filled with dirt and scars from his previous battles. He was a survivor as he liked to remind me whenever I seemed to be showing any type of pity. 

Many times these men that I had grown fond of would stumble into their evening story time with fresh blood still on them, open wounds and a broken soul accompanying their broken bones. Aulus was no different. He had told me about how he was taken from his family many years ago, his father had died in this very same arena by hand of another gladiator and he had no word of his mother ever since. This far he had been lucky, and much like their healer, Ravi, they had earned my trust. 

“Which one do you feel like hearing?” I asked, straightening my back as more eyes feel upon us. 

“You know my favorite” he smiled at me, his top lip still swollen from his last fight. 

“I don’t think they wants to listen to Cupid and Psyche again” I frowned. By no means was I against telling this particular story, in fact it had been my favorite for as long as I could remember breathing. But it was romance and one thing I had learned is that romance, however nice and lovely, would not bring these people the strength they needed to fight. Most that fought for love ended up dying or with a broken heart. 

They needed stories of strength, courage and even about rage. They desperately needed it. 

“We all know it’s your favourite as well” Ravi said as he placed a hand on my shoulder as he sat next to me “ain’t that right fellas?”

Everyone cheered around me, some laughing and others starting to chant around for me to tell the story. 

“You’re all cheering now but you know once it gets all about love you’re gonna be nagging me to tell a different one!” 

And with a loud sigh and a look around the room I proceeded to tell my favourite story of how cupid had fallen for a mortal girl. 

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

#Hanno’s POV#

The gods were ruthless. I had learned many years ago and they kept proving me right at every turn I took. My feet had already grown tired from running away and my hands calloused from all the years of work. I could already breathe at times when I remembered the ghosts of my past but then I would look at her. My wife, Arishat, had taught me without even realizing that I could breathe from time to time. 

The fields were almost familiar from a ghost I once knew, the crops were finally coming in and I could hear the laughter of the people in the village. Life was good. The gods were not. 

There was a moment of peace, where I was holding my wife in my arms and kissing her lips as if I had never tasted them before and then the horns came, that blasting sound only meant one thing, it was time to fight. 

I had heard about the raids of nearby lands and there was only one name attached to all the massacre going around, Rome. That damned empire that no one could get away from was making its way back to me, to my home and my people. It was time to fight. 

Then it all seemed to happen so fast, the blood and screams. There were boats wrecking our walls and men clad in roman armor climbing inside and killing everyone around me. I fought. I fought hard and then I remember her falling, her body going limp and then mine being engulfed by water. 

It was cold. It was empty and brought me a fake sense of peace as I saw my now deceased wife standing near the water’s edge and leaving me. No trace of pain in her face as I tried to run and call out her name. She was gone and I was trying to reach her, but there was a voice. Some unfamiliar voice that called out my name and said the same thing over and over until everything went black again. 

“Come find me.”

A/N

Hanno has arrived

Thank you all for reading this so far, hope you enjoy it!