#is that even an ao3 tag yet. are they going there before ao3

[runninriot]

If You Want It Good, Get Yourself A Bad Boy

written for @steddiesongfics april prompt and as fill for the @steddiebingo main card prompt: high

song inspo: Backstreet Boys, If You Want It to Be Good... | rated: E | wc: 6.037 | tags: recreational drug use, drinking, sexual content, pre steddie, hook-up, Eddie is a little shit and Steve falls fast and hard for it | full tag list and fic on ao3

Tommy’s party sucks, as usual. They can never compete with the ones Steve throws at his house but at least that means Steve isn’t the one in charge for once.

It’s nice not being responsible for what goes on, not having to stay somewhat sober in the likely case the cops make an appearance. Or having to deal with the aftermath of the party – waking up in a trashed house, having to clean all the mess by himself, hoping to God his dad won’t notice the fancy liquids missing from the cabinet in his office.

Tonight, he can let himself go without having to think about tomorrow. He can get wasted and maybe even repay Tommy for what he did to him last time, when he locked Steve out of his own goddamn bedroom just to let Carol fuck his brains out.

Wouldn’t take much to find a girl willing to go upstairs with him for some one-on-one time, that’s for sure. They never say no to him, are too easily impressed by his... reputation. But he’s not drunk enough yet, not in the mood for boring, meaningless sex just for the sake of it. And he might never be, not tonight, because the shit Tommy bought won’t get him far.

The cheap beer and that disgusting pink-coloured concoction Carol mixed into a big bowl earlier aren’t doing it for him; he needs something stronger. Something to blank out his mind and get him going. Something to counter the dull feeling inside.

He downs the rest of his drink, scrunches his nose in disgust when he swallows the too sweet punch that barely tastes of booze, and carelessly throws his plastic cup in the general direction of the sink (he knows where the trash can is, he just doesn’t care) before making his way from the kitchen to the living room.

There, he lets his eyes roam around the room, offering nods and fake smiles to anyone passing by doing the same. One of his team mates comes up to him and immediately starts talking his ear off. On the far end of the room, a girl catches his eyes – long legs peeking out from a tiny skirt, big tits squished into a tight shirt that looks like it’s barely holding on at the seams – and yeah, maybe she could be the designated one, later.

Later, because right now he doesn’t care about the girl or what Alex is talking about because he’s looking for someone else.

   “Hey, uh, have you seen Munson?” Steve interrupts Alex mid-sentence, doesn’t care that he’s being rude.

   “Munson? Don’t think he’s invited.” Alex snorts, seems proud of his useless comment.

Of course Munson isn’t invited. He doesn’t need an invitation, is the thing. Because while no one wants to be associated with The Freak, everyone’s always happy to shake hands with him when he shows up at parties. Selling his weed and the occasional pill or powder to anyone with a bit of spare cash in their pockets. And that’s exactly what Steve’s aiming for. He just has to find him first.

   “Sorry, gotta go. Talk to you later, man,” is all Steve offers before he leaves Alex standing there and makes his way to the back door.

The backyard is empty, no people loitering or one-night-couples making out, not like they would do if this party was back at his place. This backyard isn’t very inviting, so Steve gets it. No patio, no pool, no recliners to get cosy on - it’s nothing more than a sad patch of dry grass with a few bushes and a rose bed.

The Hagans might carry themselves like they’re part of the Hawkins upper class, but Steve knows they could barely afford a house in this part of town. Knows it because his dear old dad loaned Mr Hagan a nice sum of money for it. It’s none of his business and he couldn’t care less, but it still makes him chuckle every time he watches Tommy act like a like a wealthy brat, copying Steve’s behaviour to disguise his insecurities and play the role he inherited from his parents.

Whatever makes him feel good.

Steve doesn’t really give a shit about his parents’ money, although he does appreciate what it can buy him. Like drugs. To hopefully make this awful night worth his while.

-----

   “Do my eyes deceive me or is that really you, Harrington?” a voice comes from somewhere around the corner of the house, and when Steve squints his eyes to look at the moving shadows, he finally finds what he came for.

   “Don’t get too excited. One might think you’ve been desperate to see me.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh and when Steve steps closer, he sees him leaning against the wall, smoking.

   “Didn’t think his Highness would grace me with his presence tonight. Don’t you have your lap dog Hagan to do business for you? Wouldn’t get your royal hands dirty on a peasant like me.”

Steve bites his tongue to prevent the smile tugging at his lips from fully forming, doesn’t want to give Eddie the satisfaction of making him laugh.

The guy is always so… weird. Has these strange manners that often get him in trouble. Steve’s seen him more than once with a black eye or a bloody nose; he knows people treat him like shit sometimes and he never really understood why but again, none of his business. They’ve talked maybe a handful of times, never about anything deep, mostly about weed. Except for that one time where Steve helped him pick up his books after some childish asshole decided it was funny to shove him down the hall. People, man. Anyway, he’s not here to ponder about useless shit. He’s here for Eddie’s goods.

   “How much?” he asks, pulling out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.

   “Well, depends. How much you want?”

Eddie pushes himself off the wall, crushes the cigarette bud under his heavy boot, and pulls out the familiar tin box from his unzipped jacket.

   “Give me whatever. I just want to smoke, man. Hopefully that’ll get me through the night.”

   “Party’s not living up to your standards, huh?” Eddie asks with a teasing lilt to his voice as he opens the lid and pulls out a pre-rolled joint.

   “Party sucks ass, but what’s new.”

Eddie considers him with a look that is hard to read in the dark, and it makes Steve equally annoyed and impatient that the other man seems to be in no rush to get this thing over with.

   “Tell ya what. How about you put your daddy’s precious money away and let me light one up to share. My treat.”

Steve contemplates. It’s not like he has anywhere to be, so what’s spending a few more minutes outside. But something about the offer seems off. Not because he doesn’t trust Eddie – he’s got no reason not to – but Eddie isn’t exactly known for giving out free smokes. Especially not to the likes of Steve. Those, he usually charges double, which- he should, to be honest. They can afford it. Or, well, their parents can.

   “What’s with the generosity today?” Steve asks, but agrees wordlessly by putting his wallet back in his pocket. “Is it your birthday or something?”

Eddie scoffs, curls falling into his face when he shakes his head.

  “Nah, man. You just seem kinda bored. Thought I could lighten your mood.”

He flicks on his lighter. Orange light reflects in his dark brown eyes, illuminating his face for a short moment, and Steve only realises he’s been staring when the flame dies and Eddie hands him the joint.

   “Thanks. So, tell me something. Lighten my mood,” he quotes Eddie’s words back at him, smiling around the burning fumes slowly filling his mouth.

   “Oh, of course Mylord. I’m nothing if not a humble jester to the king. How would you like me to make a fool out myself for your entertainment?”

Eddie bows down before him, low and dramatic, and that’s enough to make Steve laugh and nearly choke on the lungful he was just inhaling.

   “Hah, fuck!“ he coughs, “You’re so weird, dude. Anyone ever told you that?”

He passes the joint back to Eddie, ignores the way their fingers brush and how that sends a warm tingle through him.

   “Every damn day someone tells me. And they’re right.”

Eddie smiles self-satisfied and Steve wonders if this is just an act or if Eddie is really this content with himself and how others perceive him. Wonders what that must be like, to just- be unpretentiously okay with yourself.

   “So, you like being called the Freak?” It comes out less jokingly than intended, but Eddie answers with a wide grin.

   “Oh, I am a freak. Just not the kind everyone thinks I am.”

They keep passing the joint back and forth and Steve already feels a little lighter, a little better. Not quite high but less tense, less bored. A little giggly, but maybe that’s just because of Eddie’s ominous words.

   “People sure have a lot of opinions ‘bout you. Are you telling me that none of the rumours are true?”

They’re side by side now, shoulders brushing where they are both leaning against the wall. Steve can’t remember when exactly they’ve gotten so close, but he doesn’t mind. It’s kind of comforting, keeps his slightly swaying body steady.

   “Which ones?”

   “I don’t know, man. All of them? Like-“ His brain is getting a bit fuzzy so it’s hard to remember the exact phrases written on the bathroom stall walls of Hawkins High or the things he’s heard people say, but he tries anyway. “Like, that you’ve been to prison? Or that you worship the Devil. Oh, and that you sucked Carver’s cock behind the bleachers! You know, those things.” Steve laughs, shakes his head at how ridiculous it sounds to say all that out loud.

   “Huh, well. One of those might be true.”

Steve snaps his head to the side so fast it makes him dizzy, wide eyes searching for the hint of amusement he fully expects to find in Eddie’s expression. But there is none. He’s still smiling but not in the ‘I’m just fucking with you’ kind of way.

   “You’ve actually been to prison? Fuck, man! What for?” His heart is racing, excitement mixing with fear-spiked curiosity at the thought of standing next to a real-life convict.

   “Ouch, Harrington! Out of all of those, this is the one you think is true? You’re hurting my feelings, man.”

Eddie clutches his heart and puts on the saddest puppy eyes Steve’s ever seen, even makes his bottom lip wobble like he’s abut to cry and- it’s stupid, really.

Munson looks like a dork with his big, round eyes and his softened features, his messy curls hanging into his face, giving off this sad and pathetic wet cat energy that makes Steve almost gives in to the urge to lift his hand and tuck Eddie’s hair back behind his ear. But thankfully, Eddie drops the act before he can make a fool of himself.

   “Nah, man. The only Munson in prison is my dad. And I’m taking much pride in being nothing like him.”

There’s a sincerity in his voice that Steve doesn’t miss, instantly feeling bad about the false accusation. He knows too well what it’s like not wanting to be like your old man.

   “Sorry, I didn’t mean to- Wait. Which one is it then?” Steve’s head is swimming; he tries to focus, looks deep into Eddie’s eyes trying to read the answer in them but comes up empty, so he resigns and asks again, “What is it, Munson. The dick or the Devil?”

It was meant to come out as a joke but something about the way Eddie’s eyes darken and his smile turns almost devilish makes him choke on his words. Makes his breath catch in his throat as he watches Eddie move closer, one shoulder pressing against the other.

   “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The low, teasing tone of Eddie’s voice sends a shiver down Steve’s neck and back, spreading through his entire body.

Steve must be high as fuck.

There’s not really any other explanation for how he feels right now. His arms and hands prickle like there’s an army of ants crawling beneath his skin. And what’s even worse is that all of a sudden his mind provides him with flashing images of Eddie with Devils’ horns kneeling in front of Jason, whose pants are down by his ankles, plush lips wrapped around his-

    Fuck.

-----

continue reading here

[kiwriteswords]

Wilted, Yet Wonderful [Aaron Hotchner x Florist!Reader]

Florist!Reader Masterlist|| Main Masterlist [I need to update this, sorry!]|| Ao3||Word Count: 2.3k|| AN:  I am in the midst of the craziest week of my professional life and needed to finish this because I haven't been able to stop thinking about it! Tags/Warnings: mentions of wine, alcohol consumption, Female!Reader, Florist!Reader, Non-BAU!Reader, pre-relationship, pre-established relationship, Sassy!Reader, Flirty!Reader, first dates, flirting, pining, fluff, pure fluff honestly Summary: Everything was set up for a perfect first date: the perfect dress, the perfect man, the perfect pairing...except the perfect schedule.

The thing about Aaron Hotchner was that he didn’t do anything impulsively.

Which made the way he kept “finding reasons” to stop by your shop all the more suspicious.

First, it was Jack’s teacher’s birthday.

Then, a condolence bouquet for a neighbor.

A “just thinking of you” arrangement for Jessica.

At one point, he even ordered a “Congratulations on Your New Dog” bouquet, which you were ninety percent sure he made up.

And every time he walked in--

Stoic, devastating, tie a little loose, eyes a little soft--

You felt it.

That pull.

That inevitability.

You flirted. You teased. You played it cool.

But the truth was, you’d bought a new dress two weeks after the first “chance encounter.”

A little over the top.

A little more extravagant than necessary for a first date.

Still hanging on the back of your office door.

Waiting. 

Waiting to be worn. 

Waiting for him to finally ask.

It was a Thursday afternoon when it finally happened.

You were elbow-deep in a last-minute baby shower arrangement when the bell jingled, and you looked up, expecting another frantic client.

Instead--

Hotch.

Tie loosened. Jacket slung over his arm. Eyes darker than usual.

He crossed the floor with more purpose than usual, stopping just short of your workspace.

You arched a brow. “Forgot another fake dog birthday?”

He smiled--

Small, genuine. “No.”

You wiped your hands on a towel. “Then to what do I owe the honor?”

He hesitated. Just for a second. The kind of pause that meant something. Meant something for a man like Aaron Hotchner: calculated. 

Then he said, steady and low, “I was wondering if you’d let me take you to dinner.”

You froze, towel halfway across the counter.

Your heart did a weird, hiccuping thing in your chest.

You managed--barely--to keep your voice even.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The catch, of course, was this:

You were a florist. 

He was a federal agent.

And life, as it turned out, had other plans.

You cleared a Friday night. Even closed early.

Your hair? Perfect. That dress? To die for.

Five minutes before you locked up, a funeral home called.

Emergency casket spray needed. Tonight.

You guessed there really was some weight to the “to die for dress” since someone really had to die before you could even wear it!

You texted him, fingers flying: I’m so sorry. I have to save a funeral. Rain check?

Hotch replied almost immediately: Of course. Go save the day.

You melted a little. Okay. Not dead yet. (No pun intended.) 

New plan: Sunday brunch.

You pulled the dress out. Smoothed it. Stared at it like it owed you money. At this point you did. And a goodnight kiss from those lips you just couldn;t keep thinking about. 

Twenty minutes before you were supposed to meet him--

Your shop’s phone rang.

Biggest wedding you’d booked all season?

Thousands and THOUSANDS of dollars hanging on this one? 

Canceled.

Needed every arrangement reworked into “congratulations on the divorce” bouquets. “Too bad you already got legally married before the big day, now you need a lawyer” arrangements.

You called Hotch, mortified.

He answered on the first ring.

“Go handle it,” he said, so gentle it made your throat burn.

Most men would have already written you off as uninterested, problematic, or too much to handle (rightfully so). 

Third time’s the charm, right?

Right? 

…right?

You rescheduled. Thursday night. You did your hair. Your makeup. Even slipped into the dress, heart hammering against the zipper.

Then your phone buzzed.

You didn’t even have to look.

This dress was bad luck, you assumed. 

Sure enough--

Hotch’s name.

A voicemail.

You pressed it to your ear.

“I’m so sorry. We caught a case out of state. Jack’s with Jess, and the jet leaves in twenty minutes. Rain check? Please? I want this. I just--"

You shut your eyes. Listened to the strain in his voice.

The honesty.

You texted back: Stay safe. I’m not going anywhere.

You weren’t. You really, really weren’t. 

You hadn’t felt butterflies like this in…in…well, ages. It had been so long, and something in your gut (which was annoyingly always right) told you that he was so worth it. 

So, the dress stayed on the hanger.

You walked around the shop that night barefoot, music low, half arranging, half daydreaming.

You thought about him--

Exhausted, fighting monsters across state lines.

And you thought about you--

Fighting your own quiet battles with petals and grief and celebration and apology.

You thought about how love--real love--wasn’t about perfect timing.

It was about showing up.

Even if you kept missing the mark.

Even if the universe threw every damn wrench it could find.

Because eventually?

You were going to meet in the middle.

It had been a day from hell.

The kind of day that made you seriously consider shutting off your neon OPEN sign and fleeing to some remote corner of Maine where no one would ever ask you for "something simple, like a dozen custom corsages" twenty minutes before their event started.

First, it was a man in khakis and a Bluetooth headset trying to mansplain carnation symbolism to you.

("Tacky," you muttered the second he left, slamming the register shut.)

Then, it was a woman with sharp nails and sharper words, complaining the "white" roses for her late husband’s memorial were "too cream-colored." (As if you could bleach the petals yourself.) 

You wanted to ask if the dead knew the difference between stark white, cream, and ivory. There was none! Not in flower-land. Maybe at the Home Depot picking out paint swatches, but not in garden roses.

Then, a six-year-old threw a full-blown war tantrum over bouquet ribbon colors, knocking over two display vases and turning the aisle into a slip-and-slide of glass and gerbera daisies.

And to top it all off?

A corporate client cancelled a $700 custom standing order after you'd already made it--

Costing you precious materials, time, and, arguably, pieces of your soul.

By mid-afternoon, your hands were cut and sticky from thorns and tape, your back ached, your head pounded, and your patience?

Nonexistent.

Gone. Out the freaking window!!

You were halfway through re-tying a sympathy bouquet (at this point, you needed a sympathy boquet) when your phone buzzed on the counter.

You sighed, ready to ignore it--

But the name flashing on the screen stopped you cold.

Aaron Hotchner. 

Your heart did a little stutter step in your chest.

You wiped your hands on your apron and answered, trying not to sound as drained as you felt.

“Hey, you,” you said, voice lighter already. Ah, there it was. The little beacon of peace he brought you. 

“Hey, yourself.” His voice was warm, low, steady. Like a hand on your back.

You leaned your hip against the counter, closing your eyes for a second. Just listening.

Rough day?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“The kind where you consider setting the shop on fire and starting over,” you deadpanned.

You could hear the faint smile in his voice when he said, “Need backup?”

“Only if you have a riot shield and a bottle of wine.”

There was a pause. A shift.

Then--

“I was calling to tell you,” he said, “I can see you tonight.”

You froze.

“What?”

“I’ll be back by seven. No cases. No cancellations. Nothing standing between us this time.”

You swallowed hard, heart hammering.

“I--” you laughed a little, breathless. Looking over to yourdress hanging in your backroom, “So, I have this dress.”

“You mentioned it once.” His voice got a little quieter. A little rougher. “You said it was a little much.”

You bit your lip, your cheeks heating. “It’s covered in sequins and flowers.”

There was a low, amused exhale through the phone, “That sounds very you.”

You smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear automatically. “You really want to see it?”

“I really want to see you.”

Your chest ached in the best way.

You leaned harder into the counter, as if your body needed the support against the sudden weight of happiness.

“I’ll make sure I’m there,” he said.

“Promise?”

“I swear.”

You closed your eyes, the tiredness in your body sinking a little, but the excitement thrumming harder.

You talked for a few more minutes--

Nothing urgent, nothing critical. 

Just… normal. Him asking if you’d eaten. You teasing him about his inability to distinguish between peonies and garden roses. Both of you dancing around how much you just wanted to be in the same room already.

When you hung up, the shop still smelled like roses and regret.

The vases were still broken.

The sympathy card still needed signing.

But it didn’t matter as much.

Because in the back room, on a hanger above your workbench, there was a dress waiting.

Sequins and silk.

Wild and beautiful.

Just like the way you felt when you thought about seeing him tonight.

And for the first time all day--

You smiled.

You still had chaos to deal with.

You had no business wearing the dress.

By the time you dragged yourself into the back room, every part of you ached--

Your lower back, your ankles, your wrists from tying bows too tight, your pride from one too many cranky customers.

But you’d made a promise.

You slipped the dress on slowly, sequins catching the overhead light like they were mocking you. It felt heavier than you remembered--

Maybe because your limbs were made of cement today. You pulled on your heels, gritting your teeth as your poor, abused feet screamed in protest.

At the mirror by your desk, you dabbed concealer under your eyes. It barely made a dent in the dark circles hollowing your face. So you swept some glitter across your eyelids too, because screw it, maybe they’d distract from everything else.

You looked at yourself for a long second.

And then laughed, a little breathless, a little defeated.

You looked like a raccoon who’d crashed a New Year’s Eve party.

Perfect.

The bell over the shop door jingled.

You didn’t even have the energy to call out. You just grabbed your purse and stumbled toward the front.

And there he was.

Aaron Hotchner.

Leaning in the doorway like he had the weight of a thousand worlds on his shoulders. His dress shirt was rumpled, tie hanging loose around his neck, hair tousled like he'd run his hands through it a dozen times. His eyes were rimmed with exhaustion. He looked like someone had physically dragged him through the worst day imaginable.

You stopped short, blinking at each other.

Two poster children for a sleep aid commercial.

You snorted before you could help it.

He smiled, slow and genuine, like seeing you was the first good thing that had happened to him in days.

And then--

Hotch actually blinked, taking you in fully for the first time.

The dress.

The glitter.

The heels.

You shifted on your aching feet. “This was supposed to look..better.”

He shook his head, slow and certain. “You’re perfect.”

You scoffed, walking past him and locking the door behind you. “Liar.”

He grabbed your hand before you could turn back, lacing his fingers through yours with a firm squeeze.

“I mean it,” he said, voice low. And wow. Could you believe it. 

You turned to him fully, heart flipping over despite yourself.

“You look good too,” you said, grinning. “Very ‘FBI agent whose soul just left his body.’ It’s a strong aesthetic for you.”

He laughed under his breat--really laughed--and you felt his hand tighten around yours.

You tugged him toward the door. “Come on. I’m not wasting this dress on a bunch of dead hydrangeas.”

“Where are we going?” He looked at you confused, “I have reservations for us at that tiny italian place downtown?”

“Do you see us right now?” You raised an eyebrow at him, “My place. Wine. Couch. Mutual commiseration.”

“No kidnapping involved?” he teased.

You grinned over your shoulder. “Not unless you ask nicely.”

You barely made it inside your apartment before both of you were kicking your shoes off like they were instruments of torture.

You plopped onto the couch, dress flaring around you, head falling back against the cushions with a groan.

Hotch followed, loosening his tie and dropping it on your coffee table like a white flag.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” you said, reaching for the bottle of wine you kept in your emergency stash, right on bar cart that was just within reach of your sofa, “but you look like shit.”

“You’re not far behind.”

You giggled, handing him the corkscrew.

He popped the bottle open with military efficiency, pouring two glasses without even sitting up fully. You clinked your glass against his and muttered:

“To almost dates.”

“To surviving another day.”

You drank. Deep.

Halfway through the first glass, you shifted closer, curling your legs up under you.

Hotch turned his body toward you, watching you over the rim of his glass, something soft and fond blooming in his eyes.

“I think,” you said, swirling your wine lazily, “this is the best first date I’ve ever had.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying that while we’re both dead on our feet, covered in floral debris, drinking emergency wine?”

You nodded, smiling up at him. “Exactly.”

“High standards.”

God, he was so quick and smooth. Always. You were almost a little envious. 

You leaned your head onto his shoulder, feeling him chuckle quietly against you.

“Maybe I just like the company,” you murmured.

You felt him shift, felt his hand find your knee, steady and warm, “I do too,” he said, softer now. “More than you know.”

You didn’t even make it through the second glass.

Somewhere between laughing about the angry carnation guy and ever the dramatic, Hotch pretending to die of exhaustion across your couch, you both slid lower, lower--

Until you were lying tangled up in the same blanket, your dress half crumpled, his shirt wrinkled beyond recognition.

No funny business. (not yet anyway.) 

Just warmth.

Steady breathing.

The occasional brush of fingertips.

And the unspoken truth humming louder than anything:

You’d found each other.

Even when the world made it impossible.

Even on the worst days.

You’d come to know, especially then. 

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016 @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy @stilestotherescue @midnghtprentiss @thebestqueenoftheworld @Bookaddictlatina @superlegend216

[boolger]

The science of love 🌙 ch 4

Call of Duty AU ✨ Poly!141 x Nikolai x hybrid!Reader ✨ MDNI ✨ Explicit ✨ ao3

<- last chapter x next chapter ->

Tags: F!reader, hybrid reader, description of former torture, dubcon and noncon, rape, hybrid!people being kept as pets, Call of duty alternative universe, dark, angst to comfort, kinda in a fucked up way ya know, punishments, spanking, mistreatment and abuse to hybrids, the dove is dead, or at least its close to death, heat/mating cycles (no omegaverse), no pregnancy, reader knows how to stand up for herself, anger issues, animal tails and ears, trauma, violence, angst, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, threesome, orgy basically, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, piss kink, reader has a pussy, chubby!reader, hurt!reader, pet names, a couples of OCs here and there, gotta add some extra backgrounds character ya know, vague mentions of a character’s death in the past (it’s Roach. Sorry Roach lovers.)

A/n: ahem, this one is angsty, remember the tags. Also Angus Macgyver and Jack Dalton from Macgyver 2016 kinda appears in this chapter and i have no other excuse than the fact that i love them. Mwah.

💫✨💫✨💫

“How did you learn all of this?”

“You mean how can I be smart and be a hybrid?” You asked back sarcastically, watching the woman who in return looked back at you like she was bored, so you added a snappy “are you also amazed by the fact that I can read and spell, lady?”

By the look that grew on her face, you were pretty sure she was as annoyed at you, as you were with her.

“Behave.” It was a simple word coming from the grim reaper in the corner, yet it was a strong warning. You were honestly relieved that you were still too beat up to be actually punished… because you were pretty sure it might involve a spanking or perhaps running rounds on a field, as if you were one of their small privates.

You let out a tired sigh, tipping your one good hybrid ear towards the woman, who had introduced herself as Kate Laswell a little earlier.

You had seen her before, yet you hadn’t really cared about her - you tried not to care about any of them. Despite the collar still resting around your neck, you were not going to stay around.

As for Laswell, you had a suspicion that she wasn’t going to leave without any answers - and you didn’t really have any urge to spill many secrets.

“I learned it the way everyone learns things. From being taught and through trial and error,” you finally replied, crossing your still bandaged hands, “but I assume you want to know who exactly taught me?”

“Yes.”

“A scientist.”

“Kitty.” The warning tone was back. It was still an awful name, chosen without your consent. As always. You gave him a nasty look, rolled your eyes before continuing.

“Fine, fine - when they first took me, there were several scientists around. I knew how to read beforehand, so I was their assistant for a while, learning how to do certain things.”

“Did your owner sell you to them?”

You snapped your mouth shut again. You leant back in the bed some more, ears tipping backwards a little. Some things were better left in the past. Your tail rose a little, but you knew there was not much scary about you right now.

“Listen, we cannot help you wi—“

“With what? I’m not going back to any of my former owners and I don’t really wanna stay with Jack Skeleton either.”

“You are walking the line—“ said skeleton man began but you merely ignored him, cutting him off.

”They’re dead - all of the scientists are dead! What good will it do for me to tell you?” You snarled at the woman, ears tipping backwards in anger, “You knowing who they were, can never bring them back! I lived with them for ten years! Do you have any idea what it’s like to be the last one standing now? And I’m not even a human, I’m not even considered a person! I’m even less than they ever were, even when captured!”

The room was silent for two heartbeats and the anger that made you growl out the truth, disappeared again.

You closed your mouth, immediately regretting everything you had just said, all of the details you had let slip. A deep growl left you, as the woman took a couple of notes; the urge to jump up and take the notebook was big, rip the pages about you apart with your teeth, while snarling like a feral dog.

Maybe even swallowing a couple of the pieces, just for good measure. You could feel saliva collecting in your mouth, teeth baring, your body beginning to tense up, ready to jump and-

”Behave,” Ghost took a hold of your collar, giving it a little tug towards him - when the fuck had he even moved? - his hand didn’t hurt you, instead it moved to gently run along your shaved head, making you freeze as he scratched the spot behind one of your ears, “thank you for telling us, Kitty, but no growling.”

”Go fuck yourself.” You muttered, making the giant huff.

”So, you’re at least 20, I presume?” She asked but you looked away, down at the duvet and then at your bandaged ankle. You had let too much slip. Much of the information they would figure out along the way, but still. You didn’t like this.

She turned a few pages in a file, then spoke again, as if you hadn’t fully ignored her question.

”There are mentions of a Dr. B. Agerdrup - a biologist and chemist - together with a Dr. K. Peko, a surgeon and described as an expert in blood experiments,” Laswell said and you stared down at the duvet covering your lower body, “Did you meet them?”

You ignored her. Ignored Ghost as he gave your human ear a little tug, in an attempt to get a reaction from you

Laswell took a file from beneath her notepad, rummaging through a couple of pages.

”Throughout the years of the files, a person appears regularly, only going by the name Dog, sometimes just D,” Laswell continued, her voice calm, “Am I right to assume that this is you?”

You tried not remembering their faces, yet they flashed by as you closed your eyes; you remembered their names, their ages, their voices. The way their hands felt when they stroked your cheek or how they would all attempt to keep the guards from you.

You still knew how they liked their coffee or tea and their different, preferred ways of taking notes.

It was the memories of them smiling, when they had told you about their life outside, about how they had all been promised to let go after you all finished the project. The moment they could create the serums together, and finish the weapons, they would all be free - you included.

Angus, sweet and kind Angus, had promised he would bring you with him, so that you wouldn’t just be sold to somebody. That he would make sure you could get a nice life with him and his longtime boyfriend, who was out in the world somewhere, no doubt still looking for his fiance. He had proposed, just before they took Angus.

He promised you a life with them, a promise and a dream that kept you going, both of you, throughout the years. A life with love, without pain. A life where you could be happy, maybe go somewhere else in the world together with him… have your own room, your own safe space. Never be chained again. A life where you could love who you wanted, touch who you wanted, be loved, be…

The two people in the room kept talking, but you weren’t hearing them, not really. In your mind you were together with Angus and the other scientists, walking on a beach in Italy, like one of them, one of the sweetest women you had ever met, had talked about. Going to her hometown, a small Italian village, enjoy the warmth of the sun. You would all have sand between your toes, Agerdrup would grumble about it, Kenny would try to push Angus into the water, his fiance trying to save him, Beatrice almost falling over with laughter, and you would chase seagulls all day long.

Hands cradled your face and for a moment, a short moment, you were convinced it was Angus, who did so; that he was alive, that it was his hands, warm and gentle, touching you while telling you something completely meaningless, so you didn’t get too lost in your thoughts.

Even when Angus had been dying, he had kept promising that all of you would leave together, voice shaky and weak; by then you had known they were all lies, not malicious ones, but desperate ones. He believed in those lies himself, in a self soothing way to survive and continue. Even into death. You had lied too then, hoping it would ease his fears and pains, so you had promised Jack, his fiance, would be there any minute to save them, and he had seemed to believe you, even though, deep inside, you had both known it wasn’t the truth.

The guards had let you and Agerdrup hold Angus as he passed away, blond hair sprawled across your lap. The two of you had attempted to make sure Angus wasn’t in too much pain. You hadn’t been sure whether he was, but he looked relieved when he took his last breath.

Now, was he cradling your face? Had you died?

You blinked, confused over the tears in your eyes for a second; then the voice of the man cradling your face in his big hands, returned. The smells of the rooms in your prison for a decade disappeared, replaced by a scent of gunpowder and cigarettes.

”Breathe for me, Kitty,” Ghost’s voice was gentle, even though he told you as an order, “C’mon, Kitty, be good and take a deep breath, yeah?”

You let out a whine, your mind desperately trying to get back to Angus, claw your way back to Italy with your scientist family, to live in a daydream where none of them died. Desperate to hear their voices, desperate to find a way back to them.

”Do it,” He kept his voice gentle but the command was stronger, and your inner hybrid was screaming at you to be a good girl and do as told.

Your lungs burned painfully when you finally managed to take a breath; it created a painful chain reaction of burning gasps and whines, your lungs filling up with warm embers, unable to cool down. The breaths almost hurt more than you felt worth it.

Pain. So much pain. Who was going to save you from that? Who would take away your precious memories, that haunted you deeply, and help you survive without them?

It took you a good couple of minutes to get your breathing under control, to be able to see the skull wearing man in front of you, to no longer attempt to go back to Italy; he was softly cooing, whispering praises.

Laswell was gone. You weren’t sure when she had left, but you didn’t really care. Ghost kept telling you it was alright, that you were a good puppy.

You didn’t feel like one.

You bit his gloved thumb. It was a pathetic attempt at gaining some power. There was barely any force behind it really and Ghost hardly acknowledged it. Just made a couple of clicking sounds with his tongue, keeping eye contact with you. You were the one to give in, letting go of his thumb, licking your lips, looking away as your ears tipped down.

Ghost patted your head.

💫✨💫✨💫

Simon stared up at the ceiling of the bedroom. Nikolai crawled over Johnny who let out an annoyed sound, then Ghost, he could lay next to Ghost, pressed against the wall. He let out a pleased groan as he settled and out of reflex, Simon turned, leaning forward to him, meeting the older man’s lips in a kiss. The Russian man let out a pleased hum.

“Still thinking about Kitty, da?”

“She disappeared into her mind.” Simon knew what it was like. To suddenly stop breathing, stuck somewhere in the past, but the change in you had been so sudden, that it caught him off guard. He had sent Laswell away, so he could help you himself.

The sooner you got out of that bed, the better.

“Whether she wants to admit it or not, she has been through some hard things, ” John said from the other end of the bed, looking up from his book, reading glasses resting on his nose, “ you’re helping her, Simon. Even if she doesn’t know it.”

Simon looked at his boyfriend for a moment. He knew the older man was right, knew that the moment he could get you up and going, things would become easier. Then he looked away again. What if it didn’t become easier?

What if you ended up spending most of your time in the kennel on the base? Surrounded by working hybrids who you couldn’t relate to. Without some sort of goal, without proper relationships, would that be worse than the place you had been held captive at for a decade?

Simon was itching to give you a routine to follow, to give you simple rules and watch you flourish. To help you not hate every single human being you came across. He wanted to kiss you, and show you pleasure when you behaved and, gods, if he didn’t want to spank your arse sore from your constant snapbacks.

He wanted to show you that they weren’t like your captors. That they would not let your fur turn into matts or let you become weak and sick. They would take care of you.

“She is gonna bite your fingers off, Si,” Gaz muttered, face pressed against the pillow, as if he was ready to be knocked out. Like a philosophical thought before bed.

“Ach, as if Simon will let ‘er,” Johnny answered before Simon could say anything, “nah, wee thing is gonna bite yer arse off, Garrick.”

“Not his ass,” Nikolai muttered into Simon’s skin, rather dramatically, “I am fond of said arse.”

John gave Kyle a couple of pats on the ass, as if to silently agree with the last statement .

Simon huffed at their talk. He wouldn’t let you bite Kyle’s ass - not unless he asked, of course - but he would help you learn not to bite, unless when told to. A muzzle. He should probably order a nice muzzle, one that wouldn’t be too uncomfortable to wear.

“I’ll make sure your ass stays safe,” Simon dryly noted.

Simon hadn’t been able to save Roach. He had been a real struggle too, especially in the beginning, but he had ended up as a really good boy. Devoted. Kind. Perfect. Simon hadn’t been able to save him, but he was going to save you.

Whether you wanted to or not.

💫✨💫✨💫

You growled, forcing yourself harder into the corner of the room.

They weren’t here yet, but right now, escaping didn’t seem like a likely possibility - sadly. The nurses were all speaking, trying to calm you down, though they all looked afraid of you; in truth, you didn’t like the idea of people fearing you, but if that was the price of escaping, then you would pay it.

One of them, a bigger guy stepped forward and you tipped your ears even further back, snarling loudly at him. You had already bitten one of them, you liked to think that they didn’t want to get bitten too.

Your foot in the cast hurt a bit, but it wasn’t worse than some things you had tried before. It was odd to be fully up and walking, even if you hadn’t walked long.

As you took a step forward, they all took one back. Good. Good, maybe this was your chance.

The moment you heard one of them mentioning sedatives, you snapped. You had tried being shot with a dart of sedatives before - it wasn’t a pleasant feeling, but even worse, it meant you would lose consciousness, then go back to square one. If not with worse possibilities of escaping, since they would probably up the safety around you.

You had forced some of your claws out - the ones you had left - proving and though your fingers hurt from the mere idea of them getting stuck in something, you didn’t care.

Filled with momentarily courage, you charged towards the little group of nurses. You had no actual intention of attacking them, but you weren’t going to tell them that. In all honesty, you were surprised by the fact that they stumbled backwards, out of the room, almost falling over each other.

You used the moment to dart out, running rather awkwardly, trying to get as far away as possible.

However, your success was momentary.

Big arms circled you from behind, fully lifting your chubby body off the ground, seemingly with no effort at all. You snarled and twisted in the grip, claws digging into any exposed skin you could reach, barking and screaming. While kicking the man, who let out a grunt of pain from the claws in his skin, you attempted to twist enough to bite his face. It was all out of instinct, of anger and desperation.

You recognised the voice, the strong Russian accent, but you refused to give up.

One of the arms around your chest let go, and in the next moment a hand curled around your face, fully covering your eyes. He kept speaking, telling you it was okay, to calm down, as if you couldn’t smell his blood, feel it wet your fingertips.

It wasn’t going to be okay - you wouldn’t be free, you wouldn’t…

Much to your confusion, your body just…

Calmed down.

You let out a frustrated growl, but you stopped kicking - or at least kicking as hard as before. His breath tickled the little fur that was growing on your dog ears. His grip around your waist became gentler.

Darkness overwhelmed your mind. Somehow making you more calm and you hated it. Hated how you barely fought as he pulled you back towards the room.

A needle pushed into your arm then. Growling seemed meaningless. You whimpered instead.

💫✨💫✨💫

A groan left your lips. Your head was pounding, your lips dry. You let out a yawn, only to blink tiredly when the movement felt restricted.

There was something on your face. You felt like you were underwater as you raised a hand, touching your face.

Leather. Metal.

You blinked a little harder, forcing your eyes to remain open this time. Only to meet the stare of your so-called new “owner”. Quite an angry, cold stare, the big mountain of a man. He had crossed arms, one of his balaclavas with a skull painted on - yet it was easy to see he was upset - as well as a pair of leather cuffs in his hands.

Shit. You were in trouble. You had known you would be from the start, as soon as the nurse grumbled that you were an annoying mutt - that she didn’t understand why they hadn’t put you down instead - because then your teeth had sunk into her hand. The blood had tasted like bitter, metallic victory, even if you had essentially proved her right.

Perhaps they should have put you down. But they hadn’t. You had made that her problem. Had you been more awake, you might have hoped the bite would get infected.

Finally your mind caught up with you. The leather and metal on your face, well head really, was a muzzle. The metal in front let you breathe freely, but kept you from biting anyone.

You let out a little whimper, ears tipping down as Simon just stared at you. Disappointment. It had been a while since that had affected you, but as the two of you almost had a silent conversation, you actually felt ashamed.

“Care to explain yourself?” Finally, he broke the silence, even if a part of you would have preferred to keep it. You were in a different bed, but still in the medical wing. The bandages on your hands were gone. Your fingers were sore, but they seemed to be doing alright.

You weren’t really sure what to tell him. You were too busy fearing what the punishment would be. All the time, the man had promised he would punish you when you weren’t as sick. He had been clear when he had told you his rules. You misbehave, you earn a punishment.

“Well?” You flinched at his word, casting another glance at him, ears still down, tail thumping pathetically against the mattress, hoping he would be a little nicer.

“You’re going to be punished no matter what, Kitty,” he pointed out when you still didn’t say anything, seemingly not softening up at all, “So you might as well give me a good reason.”

You swallowed hard. Your throat felt dry, but you doubted he was in the mood to help you drink water.

“She - the nurse,” you managed, unsure of how to make him understand, understand the frustration and anger that had overwhelmed you, her words flipping a switch in your mind, “She said I was a mutt… that.. that you should just have put me down.”

Simon stared at you, brows furrowing for a moment, before tipping his head to the side.

”So you decided to prove her point, then?” His words were harsh, “Do you think that gives you an excuse to bite her?”

You looked away. The guards in the base had always been mean to you. Snarling all kinds of shit while forcing themselves upon you. Calling you all kinds of things, just to see what would make you snap.

You found yourself nodding, still refusing to meet his gaze, until a deep sigh escaped him. You dared to peek over at him, watching him pinch the bridge of his nose. You didn’t say anything, though you really wanted to repeat your point. Why should you be nice to her when she said that?

”One thing was biting her, Kitty,” Simon finally said, before he looked up again, anger visible again as he all but hissed, “another fuckin’ thing was biting Nikolai. What the fuck makes you think you can hurt my partner?”

You let out a little whimper. You knew something was up with the two of them - with all of them really. You hadn’t really thought that much about it. Whether they all were fucking or not didn’t matter. You just wanted to be free.

“I’m sorry.” You actually meant it. Genuinely, you felt a little bad for biting Nikolai. Even if he had caught you and stopped you from escaping. Bastard. Still.

”You will fuckin’ be,” he stood up so suddenly it almost made you jump, “move so your on your stomach.”

You blinked for a moment at his request. Whatever he wanted to do, you already knew that you didn’t want to be a part of it.

Your ears tipped more backwards, a low growl leaving you, a wordless refusal.

”It wasn’t a fuckin’ offer,” he snapped, “It’s a command. Roll over.”

”Fuck you.”

”You’re not making it better for yourself.”

”I’m gonna —“

You didn’t manage to say anymore, because the next moment, the mountain of a man was on the bed, manhandling you. Biting him was not possible thanks to the fucking muzzle on your head and he barely gave you a moment to scratch him.

In the matter of seconds he got your arms behind your back and pulled over his lap on your stomach. You had almost forgotten about the leather cuffs in his hand, but as they were close around each of your wrists, you let out a scared whine.

”No, no, no, I'll be good, I’m sorry—“

“Too fuckin’ late, you brat,” he hissed - and then to your horror, he easily pulled down the sweatpants you wore, your eyes widening. You trashed with renewed energy, letting out a panicked howl, but it was no use.

His big hand collided with your soft, exposed, bare ass, the sound almost echoing in the room, while you let out a howl of pain.

You could barely distinguish the words that escaped you, as you desperately begged him to stop.

Slap.

Slap.

Yet, Simon was merciless, repeatedly spanking your ass. Each hit was hard, never landing the same place as the former, somehow hurting more and more each time. He ignored your angry growls, your pitiful howls of pain and then, the loud sobs as you cried. No, you almost wailed, as the man continued to spank you.

Slap.

Slap.

Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.

Your skin felt afire. It was like you were stuck in a nightmare, constantly looping around, pain ever present; you heard him grunt, whether from anger or exhaustion you didn’t know, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. He kept going.

Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.

At some point, it was like your mind left your body. You could hear yourself whimper and whine, hear his hand colliding in another spank.

Slap. Slap.

You were hiding your face in the bedsheets, tears and snot soaking the inside of the muzzle, sliding through the metal bars and onto the fabric beneath you. Your body had gone fully lax, no longer tensing up with each hit. A part of you had given up, accepted that you had no control over the moment, that he was the one to decide whether you would receive pain or not.

It took a good few seconds before you registered his soft voice. Felt his short nails scratch your still quite short hair, still looking so close to buzz cut. It felt good. Better than you wanted to admit.

The spanks had stopped. You sniffled, letting out another little sob, the big man shushing you. His other hand moved to your ass again and for a moment you expected him to hit you once again. Instead it rested against your burning skin, which somehow felt nice. You felt yourself whining, but accepted it.

”Took it so well,” he said, “just had to get into it, yeah? Understand who is in control?”

You nodded, face still pressed against the bed. You almost felt like you were floating.

“You’re not going to bite Nikolai again - or any of the others. Is that understood?” His voice turned a little harder.

You nodded again. His hand stopped petting your arse, instead one of them dug into your skin, grabbing a handful of your burning flesh, making you cry out.

”Is. That. Understood?”

”Yessir,” you hurried to say, wincing at the pain, the feeling of his nails digging into your poor skin, “yes sir, i understand, im sorry, im not gonn’ bite ‘im or any of the others.”

His grip loosened. Then his hand went back to petting your ass.

”Good girl,” he muttered.

[justanotherlifeff]

Frayed Threads of Fate

Scaramouche/Kabukimono/Wanderer x Reader

Read full fic at AO3

(Kitsunes fall in love only once. It is said that the legend of the red string of fate was born from this very notion—a bond so absolute that neither time nor destiny could sever it. A tale of destined lovers, woven into the pages of Inazuman light novels, romanticized and reimagined, yet so far removed from human experience that it was dismissed as mere fantasy.

And yet, the frayed red string hanging loosely from your pinky told a very different story.

[The story will take place in two different timelines. First, timeline 1 where Scaramouche was still the 6th harbinger, though it will begin from much before his Kabukimono days and go from there. There would be more of timeline 1 than timeline 2, and a lot of character interactions as the fanfic is more based on the relationship between Y/N and Scaramouche in his Kabukimono era, Kunikuzushi era and ofcourse, Scaramouche era. Second, timeline 2 which is Sumeru during in-game canon era after Wanderer got his memories back and tries to reconcile with the past he had with Y/N. There will be angst. Lots of angst. And a lot of triggering material as mentioned by the tags so be warned. Reader is a kitsune yokai and Yae Miko's half sister.])

Prologue

Godhood—an illusion, a meaningless ambition that he had once chased with relentless fervor. For centuries, he had believed in its promise, in the idea that divinity would grant him purpose, significance. And yet, in the end, it had amounted to nothing. No throne, no reverence, no grand design had awaited him at the finish line. Just the same cruel, indifferent world that had never once bent to his will.

Even erasing himself from Irminsul had done little to change the course of fate. He had thought—perhaps naively—that by vanishing, he could grant a better future to those whose misfortunes had been intertwined with his existence. That by severing himself from history, he could unmake the past, untangle the suffering that had taken root because of him. But the world did not grieve his absence. It did not stumble. It merely shifted, adjusted, rewrote itself to accommodate the void he left behind. And still, the same tragedies unfolded. The same people suffered—not by his hand this time, but by coincidence, by fate's own cruel design.

So what had he accomplished?

When the Dendro Archon returned his memories, when the Traveler stood before him under the shade of that sunsettia tree and told him that his life was not meaningless—that he had been a villain, yes, but a villain desperate for meaning—he hadn't known whether to laugh or to cry. What a pathetic joke. He had struggled, fought, abandoned, and betrayed, all in pursuit of something that had never existed in the first place. And even when he had given up, even when he had tried to rewrite his own story by erasing himself, the world had simply continued on as if he had never mattered.

Wanderer exhaled sharply, an almost bitter chuckle escaping his lips. Nothing had really changed. Or so he thought.

"Unfortunately, your place was taken by another lost soul."

Nahida’s words made him pause, his brow arching in faint curiosity. Another lost soul? Who could possibly take his place? Had another puppet been woven into the fabric of this timeline, doomed to walk the same miserable path he had barely escaped?

"Who took my place?" The question left his lips before he had fully processed it, driven less by concern and more by a detached, lingering curiosity—who else could be unfortunate enough to inherit the burden of his existence?

Nahida’s gaze was gentle, yet her words carried the weight of inevitability. "She goes by the Harbinger title 'Trouvère.' Though her true name is Y/N. Does the name ring a bell?"

For a moment, the world stood still. Then, the ground beneath him may as well have shattered. Y/N. A name he had buried, a presence he had long since abandoned to the past for the sake of moving forward—no, for the sake of severing all that made him weak. And yet, here it was again, spoken aloud with the finality of a cruel joke. Fate was merciless. He had sacrificed everything, erased himself from history to grant others a future untouched by his shadow. And in doing so, he had unknowingly condemned the only woman he had ever loved. Condemned her to his existence.

The weight of it settled like iron in his chest. She had inherited his suffering, his mistakes, his path paved with ruin. And he had been blind to it, believing that nothing had changed. But everything had changed. In the worst ways possible. The God of Wisdom had an irritating habit of reading minds.

"Come on," Nahida urged, a knowing glint in her eyes. "She’s staying in one of the chambers of the Sanctuary of Surasthana. You could meet her—perhaps talk to her—since she hasn't exactly been cooperative." She offered a sheepish smile, as if her words weren’t about to upend what little composure he had left.

The Wanderer exhaled, still attempting to process the revelation that, in another timeline, his villainy had persisted without him. And now, this—an echo of the past given form in the present. How difficult could this be? So he followed her.

To see her again. The woman who, despite everything, would have followed him to her death. No matter how many times he pushed her away, no matter how many times he abandoned her, she had remained. Devoted. Unwavering. What would she be like now? He had once heard a saying—kitsunes love only once. And in that other life, she had given that love to him. Had dedicated herself to him entirely, with a faith so unshakable it bordered on foolishness.

But without him, without the man she had once chased through storm and fire… Who had she become? The Sanctuary of Surasthana was as serene as ever, its halls steeped in quiet reverence. The air carried a sense of stillness, undisturbed, as if the world beyond its walls did not exist. Yet, for all its tranquility, peace was the last thing in the Wanderer’s heart. Was he even ready to face you? You, who had given up so much. You, whom he had already shattered once—perhaps beyond repair—only to somehow find a way to wound you again, even in a world where he no longer existed.

Did he even have the right?

The question settled heavily in his mind, an echo of doubt and guilt. Yet, despite everything, his feet carried him forward. Whether it was curiosity, obligation, or something deeper, he did not know. All he knew was that soon, he would see you again. And he was terrified of what he might find. The Wanderer had crossed many thresholds in his lifetime—or perhaps, in another lifetime entirely. Doors that led to places he was never meant to enter, boundaries he had shattered, choices that had shaped him into the person he was now. And yet, standing before this one, he hesitated.

Crossing the threshold of your chambers felt different. It was suffocating. A part of him wanted to turn back, to disappear before you could ever realize he was there. But he owed the Dendro Archon—owed her enough to see this through, even if every fiber of his being screamed at him to leave. So he stepped forward. Not for himself, not for you, but to ease a debt. And there you were. Sitting at a desk, your back to him, unaware—or perhaps unwilling to acknowledge—his presence. For all his apprehension, for all the ways he had braced himself, he still wasn’t prepared for this.

"I have no intention of cooperating, Buer. It doesn’t matter which one of your little followers you’ve dragged along this time."

Your voice cut through the chamber like a blade, sharp with exhaustion, laced with irritation. You weren’t speaking to him. You hadn’t even spared him a glance. No, your words were directed at none other than the Dendro Archon herself. Nahida, ever patient, merely sighed. "You may want to speak with him, Y/N," she said, unshaken by your hostility. "He has a rather interesting story—one that heavily relates to you."

And at that, you finally turned. Your gaze met his. For a fleeting moment, there was nothing. No flicker of recognition, no sign that his presence meant anything at all to you. Your eyes were empty, hollow—disinterested, as though he were no more than a stranger in passing. Then, in the space of a single breath, something shifted. Your expression flickered—widened—not in recognition, but in something far more visceral.

Your gaze dropped, fixating on his hand. On something unseen to anyone else in the room. And then the air snapped taut with killing intent. The shift was instantaneous. Before he could react, before he could so much as breathe, you moved. A blur of motion—then impact. The world tilted. His back hit the ground, breath ripped from his lungs as fingers clamped around his throat, pressing just enough to burn. Sharp nails dug into his skin, and your grip was ironclad, unyielding.

Fox ears flattened against your head, your pupils blown wide, wild with something between rage and fear. The unmistakable aggression of a kitsune yokai.

"Who the fuck are you?"

[circle--of--confusion]

In Dreams I'm Always There

Summary:

Sarah has come home from work absolutely exhausted. She along with the rest of the studio have been working around the clock to finish Copia's papal costumes for his ascension and feeling guilty, Copia decides to treat Sarah to a pleasant evening when she falls asleep. The POVs switch between what Copia is doing in reality and what Sarah is dreaming.

A/n: Saw a horny post on tumblr and it made my brain go brrr. So here you go!

Paring: Cardinal Copia [Dracopia] X OC [Sarah]

Words: 8.7k

Tags: EXPLICIT/MDNI; established relationship, smut, fluff, somnophilia, dual POV, dubcon, masturbation, blood/blood drinking, dreams, clit stimulation, edging, non penetrative sex, inappropriate use of a cane handle, squirting

Read on AO3

Masterlist

What would you like, amore mio? What do you need?

To relax.

Anything else?

Your fingers touching me. Your lips on my neck.

And?

And my blood flowing past your lips.

◇

Sarah comes home in the evening with a heavy sigh as she closes the door. Trudging through the living area back to their bedroom, she feels on the verge of a collapse. Her conveniently timed lover grabs her from behind with a secure pair of arms.

He clutches her body to his, swaying them side to side.

“You look exhausted, amore mio. Feel exhausted.”

He can sense her heart beating wearily. Can feel how Sarah's muscles are aching.

“Work's been busy,” she mumbles.

Copia knows. It’s his fault. He’s given new requests for the ghouls and his performance attire as the ministry gets ready to announce his ascension to the role of Papa. The chasuble he’s designed is very elaborate and requires a lot of meticulous hand stitching and beading.

The studio is close to completing the first set of costumes but it’s taken many, many grueling hours to get them done in time. Copia observes how his beloved comes home every night looking weary, massaging her hands. Everyone has been working hard to complete the project but seeing the tired look on Sarah’s face makes him hurt and he feels responsible for her pain.

“Come eat, Sarah. Then we can relax,” Copia responds softly. A small kiss is pressed to her temple before they part.

Their dinner is quiet, save for a few comments about the flavor. She eats slowly but he makes sure Sarah gets enough to nourish her. Copia sips his blood “wine” and takes a few bites of the meal in-between.

He decides it’s a quiet night for them and they retire to bed after going through their nightly rituals. Copia queues up a couple movies on the bedroom TV and they change into their sleeping clothes. He wears his softest sweats and a worn t-shirt he knows Sarah loves. She changes into her green chemise nightgown.

He notes the choice to himself for later.

Copia sits in bed, spreading his legs for her to sit in-between. Sarah rests with her back to his chest and there’s a small pillow for her lower back. She smells the detergent in his shirt and inhales deep, sighing when she breathes out and leans further into him.

His strong arms circle around her waist and Sarah rests her hands over his clasped ones. She leans to one side and feels a soft, feather light kiss from Copia’s lips to her neck while she lazily rubs her thumb on his hand. He’s takes off his gloves for her when they’re home and she revels in the feeling of his bare hand under her fingertips. His hands haven’t cooled off yet from being snug in the leather all day so they’re still a bit warm.

Sarah hums softly, “I’m so tired today, love. I think I went cross-eyed at one point with the beading.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Just relax into me, dolcezza.” He kisses further up her neck, his nose brushing along with his trim mustache along her skin. Copia rises his lips to her ear and says with a low voice, “Let me help you feel better.”

One of his hands leaves her stomach and makes its way under the covers to nudge the hem of the nightgown up. He moves his palm over her thigh slowly, changing his rhythm every little bit to squeeze and rub Sarah’s inner thigh. Copia can sense the change in her blood, the rush of it pumping through her veins along with the smell of a growing arousal. She shifts her hips and he lifts the nightgown further up.

“I love how you touch me,” Sarah sighs. A sleepy smile spreads on her face.

She can feel his fangs graze along her shoulder when he pulls the collar to the side to press a few kisses over more bare skin. As the movie plays, they whisper to each other occasionally. Copia is checking in every now and then to see if Sarah has drifted off into whatever gothic dreamland she can conjure.

She’s gone limp in his hold and is practically dead weight in his arms. Copia chuckles to himself at the idea. She’s the one he’s describing that way despite the fact that he is the one with a barely-there heartbeat. His hand strokes softly up her thigh as he hugs Sarah closer.

“Enjoy your sleep while you can, dolcezza,” Copia hums playfully, dragging a fingertip along the soft inner flesh. “When I turn you, that sleep will be no more."

They’re going to have to find things to do together through the night. He wonders if she likes puzzles. Sex and then a puzzle, that should do the trick.

His hand on her thigh squeezes once, an action to signal the beginning of his plans for the night. Copia pauses the movie he truly didn’t care about; it was more for Sarah to fall asleep to. The exhaustion must be heavier tonight because she drifted off before the first movie could finish. She breathes even, calm breaths. Her eyelids twitch as the REM cycle takes over.

Copia moves closer, up to the warmth nestled between her legs. He smiles, pressing his middle finger into the damp cotton.

“Was stroking on your thigh for a while all that did it?” he laughs low and rubs slowly. “What’s going on in your brilliant brain to get you so worked up for me?”

◇

Sarah’s vision goes black when she drifts to sleep and it then a few seconds later, it fades back in. She’s sitting in the sewing studio. It’s dark but she seems to be lit from above by an unseen source like a spotlight. Sarah sits at the sewing machine in front of her, working on a garment.

She’s in her nightgown.

A sharp taptaptap on the glass window of the door alerts her from her work. She stands and waits nervously for the person on the other side to either leave or open the door. Sarah’s breathing comes in and out quickly, nervous from the anticipation.

The door opens slowly to reveal a cardinal. Cardinal Copia!

“What are you doing up so late, Sorella?” he hums. He walks forward with slow, measured steps after closing the door. The handle of the cane he walks with manages to shine beautifully in the dark room. A squeak of his leather gloves tightening around it feels as loud as a scream. He’s wearing a leather version of his black suit and a black suede cape lined with red satin.

“I was sewing, Cardinal. I guess I lost track of time.” She’s quiet and barely heard herself but Copia picks up on it, still.

He walks closer to her, raising an eyebrow as if she said the wrong answer. Sarah starts to move to the side towards the break corner. His slow stalking towards her makes Copia look like a predator hunting for it’s next meal. His fangs poke out from his lips like an omen, like he intends to devour her. Sarah steps backwards slowly and he follows after.

Copia chuckles, “Sewing in your nightgown?”

Her eyes open wide in shock. “I, well, I like how it feels-“

“In your nightgown, Sorella, with nothing else?” He gifts her with a sinister grin when she has nowhere else to go, back pressed up against the wall.

“I-“

“In your nightgown, late at night when you know I typically work well into the evening in my office just down the hall.”

Sarah babbles out an attempt to answer him, too overwhelmed by his proximity. She stares ahead at the clasp of his cloak because she’s too scared to look into the piercing miss-matched white and green gaze. They always seem to be lifeless yet full of intensity towards her.

“I’m tired of this stupid fucking dance we have, Sorella.” He uses the handle of his cane to nudge her chin up, making Sarah look into his eyes. “I’ve grown annoyed now with your glances, your teasing.”

Her lower lip wobbles slightly and it captures his attention. “I’m sorry, Cardinal.”

Copia looks from her lips to her eyes. “I don’t think you are.” His hand rises to gently drag his fingertip along the neckline of the nightgown. He stops down in the middle of it and just barely touches the skin of her chest. Copia pokes at the top button.

“Cardinal,” Sarah breathes.

“I think you wanted me to find you here.” He pops the button open, looking down over her body. If it’s not the small tremble in her body, or her now hard nipples showing through the fabric, it’s the smell of her scent flooding with lust that confirms his suspicions.

She closes her eyes when he leans into her, his nose pressing to the inside of her neck. “Oh…”

The handle under her chin leaves its spot but she doesn’t dare move. His fangs press lightly into her skin, a small threat to what he can do if she makes the wrong move. Her nightgown is slowly unbuttoned and more of her warm skin is exposed to the cool air of the room. Goosebumps riddle her flesh and the small tremble in her body continues.

“Cardinal, I-“ Sarah tries to say something but her thoughts are broken when his gloved fingers roam the new expanse of skin with his soft leather gloves.

The nightgown is fully unbuttoned and Copia uses it to his advantage, caressing here, dragging his fingers there. He brushes a knuckle over her nipple a few times, delicately rubbing over the bud and she has to bite her lip to stifle the whimper she wishes to set free.

He can smell her arousal, can almost taste it on his tongue.

He rubs his palm over Sarah’s hip. Her blood rushes faster through her body the closer his hand gets to her core. When his middle finger slides through the slick lips of her labia, there’s practically no friction.

“I have a small correction, Sorella.” He smiles against her neck. “I know you wanted me to find you.”  

Sarah’s lips betray her and a small moan escapes while Copia strokes gently below.

◇

Copia takes his time rubbing over the fabric of her underwear, feeling over time how wet the gusset becomes where he could easily feel her, stroke her through it. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder before changing positions slightly. His legs bend so his feet can rest on the bed, caging her in a bit and her legs are spread open enough to give his hand more room.

“Shall we see what I’m working with?” Copia chuckles darkly.

His hand slips smoothly into her comfortable cotton underwear. He breathes a sharp breath in when his finger presses into her soaked core. An excited smile graces his face, fangs bared. There’s a giddy rush in his chest.

Copia kisses the bend in her neck and slowly pets over her. A gentle mewl comes out of Sarah and his thumb of the hand holding hers rubs over the skin, soothing a circle around and around.  

He toys with her exposed neck, pressing his teeth just enough not to draw blood. Sarah makes a high-pitched hum in the back of her throat. Her pussy feels wetter now and Copia almost thinks the squelch he hears is cute.

◇

Sarah feels hot. Her Cardinal spent as long as he wanted stroking her below. Her knees now feel wobbly.

Copia stops and she sighs at the relief. The now wet, shiny finger is brought to his lips and he hums, almost groaning at the taste.

“You taste better than I could’ve imagined, Sorella.” He smiles. “Nothing I’ve had in my life has been this good.”

His eyes flick to her neck then, making Sarah’s legs wobble.

“You,” she wets her lips, “you thought about me?”

Copia returns his eye contact to hers, putting every ounce of truth into his response. “Every time I indulged, I imagined it was with you, instead.”

That seems to have an effect on her neither could’ve predicted. Sarah slips down the wall a few inches as her legs start struggling to hold her up. He quickly positions his knee between her thighs to keep her from slipping down further. The extra pressure of her weight against the leather of his pants creates a smooth glide for her pussy to move over his sturdy thigh.

A pained mewl comes from Sarah and Copia tuts, “Now, now, Sorella. I can’t have you making a mess just yet.”

She whines, frowning while her body regains enough strength to keep herself up.

“If you want something to rub against, cara, here.” Copia presses the handle of his cane between her thighs and the cool metal touches the warm wetness of her pussy.

“Oh, Cardinal. Thank you,” Sarah sighs and it earns a satisfied humpf from Copia when her hips rock back and forth over the engraved metal.

The texture of the handle creates enough friction for her to move smoothly. She moans for him, her head hitting the wall to lean back and just feel.

Copia leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek. She gasps lightly at the touch and he smirks.

“Good, good. I want it soaked, Sorella. I want to be able to smell your essence for weeks after.”

He can’t wait anymore, not while she bites her lip and scrunches up her face in anticipation of intense pleasure. Copia leans in and kisses her, swallowing the moans and whines directly from her mouth. Sarah’s hips stutter briefly when she feels the touch of his lips on hers. It’s almost too nice, to sweet for how he’s treated her so far but she sighs all the same.

When he pulls away, Sarah tries to follow after him to no avail. Her eyes are closed and she can’t see the soft look in his as his free hand rises to drag his fingertip delicately over her face.

“Forgive me, Sorella. Not knowing the touch of your lips has haunted me,” he whispers.

Copia removes the cane handle right before she can fully crest over into her orgasm. Sarah whines, frowning before she opens her eyes to protest.

“If we are to continue, I’d like to do it, and you, properly.” Copia takes her hand into his with a gentle hold. She nods to him and he begins to lead the way.

Her vision goes black again as they exit the studio and walk down the hall. When she sees light again, Copia’s firm hand holds hers while a fully lit candelabra is in the other.

◇

Sarah shifts under his hold. Even fully asleep, he manages to make her flustered. There’s a warmth emanating from her skin and Copia can see a red hue spreading from her cheeks outward.

He angles her head to kiss the side of her jaw and starts to press a trail there, down her neck, to her shoulder. Copia never feels like he’s had enough of her. Everything about Sarah sets him alight; her attention, her touch, her body, the feeling of her skin on his, her come, and most of all her blood.

The idea of sinking his teeth into her in the beginning of all of this had him starting to fill out his bottoms against the pillow he placed. Occasionally he'd rut against it for relief as he touched Sarah and the smell of her slick core nearly had him finishing.

The small breaths from Sarah starts to grow faster and she huffs out. She’s close, so very close and right at the last second as he kisses her warm skin, Copia stops his ministration below. Sarah’s hips sleepily nudge once against his hand involuntarily and she pouts.

He pulls his hand out to clean his fingers and a satisfied hum comes from deep in his chest. Copia strokes his thumb across her jaw. “I have all night to play with you, amore mio. I intend to use it.”

◇

The candelabra is held high to illuminate the hall they walk through. Copia leads them confidently up a set of stairs to where she knows not. Sarah’s nightgown is buttoned up again and she’s not sure when that happened.

Finally, they stop at a large hardwood door. He unlocks the door with an ornate key and the room that reveals itself isn’t what she expected.

The room is lit with more candelabras and a roaring fire that burns at it’s hearth, ready for them. An entire wall is filled with bookshelves made of a black painted wood and a desk sits in front of one. There are a handful of stained-glass windows along the dark wall-papered walls with depictions of Lucifer’s fall from grace in Heaven. In one corner a red velvet couch and chair, and a few wooden tables make a small resting area.

The centerpiece of the room, however, is the massive and opulent bed. A four-poster bed, made of similar black hard wood, with ornately embellished red curtains pulled back at each corner pole. The bedding is full of a black plush comforter and pillows outlined with gold fringe and she suspects even the sheets are a fine satin she could slip into easily.

The space screams decadence and Sarah eyes the bed curiously before looking back up to Copia.

He almost looks hesitant, nervous now. His slightly furrowed brows and worried lips betray any air of control he might seem to possess now.

“Is it… too much?” he says, gesturing to the room.

Sarah tilts her head a few degrees and smiles sincerely. “I think it’s perfect.”

Copia nods and guides them over to the couch to sit. He offers her a drink from the cart to which she declines and he refrains himself from anything in return, moving to sit next to her then. He angles himself on the couch to face Sarah more and she mirrors him. Copia crosses one leg over the other and extends his arm along the back of the couch towards her. He taps the back of the couch a few times with his finger.

“I need to confess, I don’t normally have visitors.”

“Not even when you’re indulging?”

He fidgets in his seat. “Those are typically quick, fleeting rendezvous when I need something fast.”

Sarah scoots closer and points between them. “So, what’s this then, Cardinal.”

“A chat for now.” Copia holds her eye contact before dropping to glance at her mouth. “We can see where the night decides to take us.”

Neither one musters up the courage to speak first for a few minutes. Their eyes drift off to look around the room as they figure out how to get the ball rolling and few times, they catch the other one staring.

The first one to crack is Sarah and she sits up before saying, “I’ve seen you around the ministry grounds when I don’t have to be working in the studio. Mostly in the library.”

“How do I look?” Copia raises an eyebrow.

“Tired,” she chuckles softly and she catches a quirk of his lips. “And lonely.”

“Why didn’t you ever come give me company?”

Sarah breathes out a resigned breath. “I thought you might not want anyone bothering you because you were busy. Sometimes you’d catch me staring and I always assumed you thought it was unwanted.”

It wasn’t. It never was. He shakes his head and reaches out for her hand. Copia gently holds it between them.

“I’m sorry. I liked when you would look at me. It never felt like it came from disgust.”

She frowns and wonders how cruel members of the ministry could be towards him. “Why would anyone look at you poorly?”

“Probably my sermons when it’s my day for Black Mass.”

Ah, yes. His speeches tended to veer into the angry side. While the brothers Primo, Secondo, and Terzo’s themes were in chaos, defiance, and self expression, Copia’s would often read differently to the clergy.

Sarah always thought they didn’t get it like she did. His words rang with passion, with an emotion one could only tap into if they were fully in tune with themselves. While others saw anger, Sarah saw conviction. To not let anyone claim they know anything more about you than you, yourself. To ignore any naysayers.

“I give speeches like the Papas because I’m one of the highest-ranking members of the organization but I don’t feel like I could gain the trust of the clergy to be enough of the leader they need,” Copia admits.

He could be so much more, she thinks. He could even take the whole ministry to new heights.

“I believe you could. I believe you have the power to make history.” She cradles his jaw in her palm and rubs softly over his cheek. “I have complete faith in you.”

His head leans into her touch and closes his eyes with a soft smile.

“You know, I have the second most employee of the month awards?” Copia puffs a laugh through his nose.

“Second? Who has more?”

He sits up and they both quickly begin to miss the touch of the other’s skin. “I have no idea.” Copia looks off to the side in wonder.

Sarah uses the opportunity to admire his profile. Her eyes take in his beauty, admiring the sprinkling of freckles over his face, the enticing slope of his nose and now it points at the end. His fangs poke out casually from his teeth, pressing down on his lip on one side as he thinks of anyone in the ministry who could be better than him.

Copia comes up short.

When he turns back to Sarah, she’s caught staring again. Just like the other moments in the past when he felt her eyes over him, she doesn’t look scared or disgusted. He senses intrigue with a hint of attraction.

A knowing, coy smirk spreads his lips. “Got you.” Copia raises an eyebrow and tilts his head.

Sarah’s cheeks grow warm and a blush spreads from there down to her chest. Her lips twitch into an embarrassed smile and she looks down.

◇

He spends an hour without touching her. It was hard but he needed to know Sarah was calmed down enough before he went at it again. Copia grabs around her inner thigh and he already began to sense an uptick in her heartbeat. Its as if her body just knows when his touch is less than innocent even in her sleep.

The top buttons of the nightgown pop open with little force from him. A devilish grin spreads on Copia’s face and his fingers gently glide over Sarah’s breast. Her warm, soft skin under his along with her presence in his life feels as close to a blessing he can imagine. She always looks at him, holds him like he’s the most important thing in her world and he will forever work on returning the favor.

In the meantime, however, a little bit of teasing is fine, right?

Copia makes a trail around her chest, raising goosebumps in his wake. She huffs a breath once when he drags part of the path near her nipple, just outside the areola. The cool air hitting her flushed skin combined with his touch are a dangerous combination for Sarah’s resolve.

“Too much already?” he whispers. A light touch runs over her nipple and he kisses just under her ear as a shuddered whimper floats out of Sarah’s lips.

Time for another break.

◇

Copia tilts Sarah’s chin up with two fingers and he notes it’s the second time that night. He’s going to have to change that habit. Her eyes don’t waver when they make contact, though. She feels like she can sink into his green and white hold and live there.

He taps at her chin a few times. “Why do you always stare at me? Is your memory not good?”

Sarah moves closer and at this point, if she moved any more, she’d be in his lap. She shakes her head. “No, Cardinal. I think you’re enchanting. You’re… beautiful.”

A look of surprise washes over his features. Copia doesn’t want to believe her at first but she doesn’t appear to be joking. She’s sincere.

The playful grin on his lips confuses Sarah when he says, “Would you like a closer look?” He brushes his fingers in her hair to smooth it back.

“How?”

Copia moves his leg over his knee and puts both feet to the floor. “Come, sit.” He pats his lap.

She freezes for a few seconds as she takes in the request. He moves to squeeze her hand into his and she takes it, letting him help her settle over him. Sarah’s nightgown bunches up between them when she sits down, straddling his lap comfortably.

“I don’t bite, Sorella,” he says softly.

She might want him to do that, actually.

Copia keeps her in place with a firm hand held on her lower back. His fingers splay and press into her. He slides Sarah forward towards him and her now exposed and still wet and sensitive clit drags deliciously over the leather at his crotch.

“Oh!” she gasps lightly.  

“Are you ok, dolcezza?” He breathes in the scent of new slick spreading over his pants, fully aware of what’s happening.

She closes her eyes, biting her lip. “Mhm.”

Sarah regains her composure enough to look at him. She shakes slightly on him and Copia looks at her with furrowed brows.

“What’s happening, cara? Are you nervous? Cold?” He cups her jaw in his palm.

She’s not sure which it is so she nods either way. Copia shifts under her and brings his cloak off of his body to wrap over her shoulders. He fixes it around her, bringing it around her arms and she’s enveloped by the scent of his cologne on the fabric. “Thank you,” Sarah whispers.

“Anything for you, Sorella.”

He runs a finger down her cheek to her jaw and she settles her hands on his shoulders. Sitting closer to him now, Sarah can see more of his freckles. She smiles and brings a finger up to make constellations. His fingertips on her back tap against it a few times and it brings an end to her trance.

“Having fun?” Copia says.

“I like your freckles. They’re like stars in the sky.”

She would count them, kiss each one if she had the time. Especially the one on his lip. That one she’d kiss several times.

Copia follows her eyes and smirks when he connects the dots. “Find another thing you like?”

Sarah looks away then, overwhelmed by how he’s watching her. “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

She furrows her brows briefly and he guides her back to him. “There’s a freckle on your lip.”

“What’s special about that one?”

Copia parts his lips. Sarah slowly brushes her pointer finger over them and it feels like they’re both holding their breaths. His lips open wider and a tantalizing thought forms in her head. Sarah slides her finger further into his mouth.

He closes his lips around her and hums. They both close their eyes when Sarah strokes softly over his tongue, getting her finger wet with his spit. He moans when Sarah’s ring ringer joins the other inside. Copia sucks around her nimble digits while she slowly pets his tongue.

She feels a small ounce of power course through her body as the vampire submits to her. His drool drips from his mouth while her fingers start to slowly move in and out. A steady throbbing begins deep in Sarah’s core and she slips free to descend upon herself. Her two fingers, wet with Copia’s spit, collect the globs of slick on her labia. She has barely any resistance while her fingers grant her some relief.

Sarah rubs over her clit, screaming to be touched, and she brings him out of his haze when she softly exclaims, “Ah!”

Copia watches her, mesmerized. Her eyes are closed tight in bliss. The hem of her nightgown is bunched up enough he can see the smooth glide of her fingers. His mouth waters again in anticipation of possibly getting another taste. Sarah rocks forward and it applies a small bit of pressure from the back of her hand over his lap where his hard cock lays too snug in his pants.

He groans at her touch and then again when she nudges at it again. “Cara, please.” Another nudge makes him sit up and stop her. “Sorella.”

She hums and slowly opens her eyes. “Cardinal…” Sarah’s body feels alight with a burning need.

“Did you get so frustrated just from my mouth around your fingers?”

“Mhm.” Sarah nods. She paws at his chest and leans in. “Take me to bed, Cardinal. Please.”

His lap quickly loses the weight of her body as she moves off of him to stand up, holding out her hand for him. It’s a short walk to his extravagant bed and they pause on one side. Copia raises the hand she had rubbing over herself to his lips to lick her essence from them. He moves his lips up to then press a kiss on her knuckles, his nose brushing against it.

Sarah’s face is cradled in his hold. He strokes a thumb over her cheek and before they can begin indulging in each other, he leans in for a kiss. It doesn’t lead to anything, its simply given to her as a gift for being there with him. Copia brushes the tip of his nose over hers and drags it along her cheek as he moves away.

Feeling bold, Sarah makes the move to begin undressing by fiddling with the top buttons of his shirt. Little by little, more of his chest is revealed for her as Copia lets her discover more. She slips off his shirt and jacket, raking her fingers through his soft, gray chest hair on the way down to his leather pants.

Copia’s chuckle fills the room when Sarah looks back up at him with shock.

“They’re too tight for underwear.” He shrugs.

Nonetheless, she continues and soon he’s kicking away the garment with his foot. He feels much better without the stifling leather around him. Sarah notices the way he’s breathing heavy, how his cock looks aching and hard against his stomach, flushed red and wet around the head from his precome dripping out through the night.

He stops her hand before she could touch him. “Not yet, dolcezza, hm?” Copia’s fingers run down his cloak around her. “Let me?”

Sarah nods. The comforting embrace of the fabric is lifted from her shoulders after he’s unclasped the front brooch. Copia rests it over the back of a nearby chair and then slides his fingers down her arm for the nightgown. Sarah, not wanting to wait for the buttons to be undone, pulls it over her head.

Copia brushes his gloved hands through her hair to have it back in order, for now. A delicate trail of his finger runs down from her cheek, down her throat and sternum, taking a small detour around the curve of her breast to stop and hold her waist. His other hand brings them together for another kiss, one he couldn’t help but want after witnessing her fully nude body for the first time. Sarah brushes her fingers up his stomach through his chest, remarking his swirled 666 tattoo. She squeezes her hand on his shoulder before they pull apart.

It feels as if there’s a charged energy between them. It feels like a pleasant static and it excites them. She runs her fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Lie back for me on the bed,” Copia whispers.

Sarah hates having to leave him if only for a minute. She sits on the covers and positions herself in the middle of the bed against the pillows. She reclines and the comforting plush under her feels lovely against her skin. Copia watches her get accustomed to the bedding feeling like she’s meant to be there. When she’s settled in, his knee presses into the mattress and he leans in to press a kiss to her forehead, her temple, then her cheek.

His leather-clad hand roams over Sarah’s warm skin while his kisses travel down her body. He presses into her breasts, pausing for a moment to take her nipple into his mouth and lick the hard bud. Sarah cries out in pleasure, a sound he wishes he could physically devour and live off of.

He wants to wrap himself up in her soft mewls. He’s quickly becoming addicted to the way she responds to his touch. Copia’s cock throbs and drips more precome as her small reactions overtake him already.

Copia settles between her spread legs when he lies down to his stomach. Love bites sprinkle her plush inner thighs, barely enough pressure applied to not draw any blood but enough to leave a mark. Copia doesn’t have to even try to smell how drenched Sarah is. Every time she fidgets her hips or spreads her legs open more, his eyes flick up towards Sarah and he licks his lips.

Copia sucks a red mark into her thigh, licking to soothe after when he lifts his mouth away. His mouth waters the closer he gets, his cool breath hitting over her wet folds. Sarah whines softly when she becomes keenly aware how much she’s affected by what Copia’s done.

“Dolcezza, I need to taste you.” He looks up to her, pleading with his eyes.

“Yes, oh please!” Sarah shouts.

He wastes no time and licks up her soaked core. The flood of her essence on his tongue makes Copia groan in delight and the vibrations shoot deep into her cunt. His mouth worships Sarah, building up the pressure in her, waiting to be released.

She stops him and Copia looks to her with a furrowed brow. “I need you up here, Cardinal. Please?”

As much as she would let him have her on his mouth, she needs Copia up by her. She needs his lips pressing and licking over hers, his hands caressing and grabbing at her body. Sarah wants the press of his weight fully over her.

She feels the drag of his body on hers as he inches his way up. She feels like a live wire already. The entire evening has done nothing but drive her mad with want. Copia kisses random spots of her skin while moving up, continuing his teasing with light nips.

When he’s slotted between her legs, chest to chest, Copia presses down with his weight over her and there’s a small drag of his cock to Sarah’s sensitive pussy. He nudges her clit and they moan into each other as their bodies react below.

An involuntary rock of her hips towards him has heat pooling in her stomach.

◇

Copia spends what feels like an eternity toying with Sarah with his fingers and mouth. He’s already come once in his pants, lost in a haze of her scent and the feeling of her breast in his palm. The delicious rub of fabric on his needy cock had him rutting his hips into the pillow between them. He spilled in his underwear and no-doubt soaked through both layers for the pillow to become defiled immediately.

He was only satisfied for so long until the thought of drinking his beloved’s blood entered his mind. Copia felt himself twitching to life once again.

They found a rhythm throughout the night and when Copia noticed a particular scrunch of her face or heard her sweet “uhn”s as she got closer and closer, he’d pull away. The gusset of Sarah’s panties are drenched as more and more slick pools; Copia forms a proud smile every time he checks to find more to collect on his fingers.

The morning grows closer and her alarm is set to go off soon. He already plans to make sure she stays home for a much-needed day off. Her boss Amelia got a text last night from him asking to grant Sarah a day to rest and recharge.

He wouldn’t have done any of this tonight otherwise.

He kisses the side of her neck for what feels like the millionth time and he’ll never grow tired of it. Instead of leaving the spot, he settles around it, bringing his fingers down to her incredibly sensitive core. Just the slightest touch from Copia’s fingers is enough to have her wiggling and huffing out a breath.

There’s a small twitch of her clit and he almost pets it, softly tapping once, twice, just enough to send tingles through her body. He holds up her jaw to keep Sarah’s neck and head steady for his bite and his other hand is poised below, ready to have them cresting over into ecstasy.

He bites as delicately as he can muster but she still winces in her sleep; it’s his least favorite part of an otherwise beautiful act between them. The blood flows onto Copia’s tongue and he groans into her. The taste is divine, overcome with hints of her arousal he’s stoked like a fire through the night. Her mouth makes an “O” while he drinks and Copia takes the opportunity to slide his middle and index fingers up to her mouth, slowly sliding them past her lips.

Sarah’s chin is cradled in his palm and she sucks away at his fingers, humming softly, content. A loud “mmm” is heard in the back of her throat when he finally applies enough pressure to her clit. Her hips roll forward and back and Copia barely has to move his hand while she subconsciously takes what she needs. His body follows her rhythm and he’s rutting into the pillow again.

It’s almost too much for him; the pressure to his lap, the frictionless slide over her pussy, the way she sucks on his fingers and makes them nice and sloppily wet. He removes them from her mouth and brings them down to her nipple, circling his fingertip to further build up her pleasure.

Everything happens so fast; he almost misses it.

Sarah cries out, scrunching up her face as an overwhelming force rolls through her body. She gasps, hips stuttering to a stop and Copia feels the flood of her come drench her panties. She twitches against his fingers and he makes a “V” shape around the sides to slowly rub around her labia with his fingers, soothing her enough to cause a long, bone-deep second orgasm when he gives attention back to her alarmingly sensitive clit. There’s a split second where Copia thinks she might wake up and it sends a chill down his spine.

He feels a gush following after, soaking through the fabric to drip into the bedsheets. The taste of her orgasms course through Sarah’s blood and Copia whimpers at her neck as his own hips stutter once again for his cock to spill into his pants. At this point he’s going to have to throw out the pillow entirely. It’s not salvageable.

His tongue licks over the puncture marks of her neck when he’s finished drinking from her. Next, he brings his wet fingers coated in her release up to his mouth to clean and savor the taste of her. Sarah breathes in and out steady and he places a hand over her heart to check when it’s gone back to her normal rhythm. Copia whispers “I love you, ti amo” repeatedly like a prayer while he keeps his hand pressed over her heart.

◇

Copia grinds into her as they kiss, humming their delight. Sarah brushes her fingers through his hair, tugging when she gasps, closer to her end. Both have their eyes closed as they savor everything they’re feeling.

She sighs against his lips, “Cardinal…”

He hums, slowing down over her and Sarah looks at him, confused.

“Cara, if you would like, please, call me Copia. No more Cardinal. I don’t think of you as anyone under me.” He looks down at her, laughing at the playful smile on her lips. “Well, metaphorically speaking.”

She giggles softly as his lips flatten to a nervous line. “Call me Sarah, then,” she pauses before smiling wider, “Copia.”

His name from her lips, in her voice, sounds like a birdsong. The soft, happy way she said it makes him awestruck and he’s leaning in to kiss her. Copia wants to hear her say it forever.

A need for more sparks between them when the kiss develops into something heavier. Sarah is panting, poking her lip over to his to lick into his mouth. The room fills with the wet smacks of their kisses in-between whimpers and throaty groans as they start rolling their hips into each other. Copia’s stiff cock slides perfectly through her warm wetness. Sarah opens her legs wider to feel him closer and the press to her clit makes her think she’s seeing stars.

Copia pulls away from her lips, missing them already. “Could I bite your neck, cara? I need, oh,” he moans, “your blood. It’s calling to me.”

She nods quickly and his lips latch onto her neck before she’s answering him with a “yes”. He licks at her neck, inhaling her scent and it makes him twitch. Precome leaks out from his tip to spread on her lower stomach. Sarah mewls at the soft nips to her sensitive skin and he warns her what’s to come next.

The bite sends a sharp sting to her neck and she cries out. Copia tries to soothe her as much as he can with his thumb rubbing softly over her cheek as she’s cradled in his palm to stay in place. Soon after, thankfully, the venom from the bite spreads through her body and she feels a soft buzz to all of her nerves.

“Copia…” she sighs, bringing a hand up through his hair to thread her fingers through his soft, silky strands.

Sarah comes first with a surprised gasp. The nudges of Copia’s cock to her clit as they grind their bodies together and the venom in her blood mix into a cocktail of pleasure. She’s slowing her hips to ride out the wave of warmth spreading through her body as she chants his name in praise, the only thing her mind can focus on. She smiles softly, closing her eyes to savor the moment.

Shortly after Sarah settles under him, Copia only has to roll his hips a few times to feel the coil in his stomach spring free, spilling onto her stomach. Her blood flowing past his lips is somehow sinfully delicious and heaven-sent at the same time. He’s drunk off her taste, his body too overcome to hold back as he humps quickly, desperate against Sarah’s dripping core. His come spreads on both of their stomachs.

“Oh, amore mio…” Copia breathes, licking and kissing her neck once the bleeding stops and his hips cease rolling into her. He’s making a bloody trail to her lips once again, mumbling against her mouth, “Stay with me.”

A soft, sleepy hum comes from Sarah. “Stay?”

“Ti prego, Sarah. Stay.” He watches her as she takes in his request. “Live by my side, forever…” Copia whispers the last word, leaning in to press their foreheads together and nuzzle the tip of his nose with hers

“Will you turn me? To be like you?” she asks quietly, almost not believing him.

He reveals a striking show of vulnerability to her. Copia reaches out for her hand, threading their fingers together in a soft hold.

“You are enchanting, Sarah. I feel pulled to you when I can feel the gentle touch of your eyes.” He smiles. “I’ve never felt this way. You have consumed my thoughts, amore.”

Sarah kisses him and its light, a blink-and-you-miss touch. “Yes.” She smiles wide and nods. “I’ll stay.”

Copia pulls back from her and he’s ecstatic. He drags his fingertip down her cheek and then moves to bite into his wrist.

“Drink, amore,” he whispers. He presses the bloody offering to Sarah’s lips and she obeys, latching on to accept his most unholy offering.

The gentle lapping of her tongue over his sensitive skin is almost too much for him to handle. She closes her eyes and smiles against his wrist.

There’s a smack of her lips as Copia removes his wrist and he finds her mouth delightfully bloody.

“You’re delicious,” Sarah gasps when his wrist is taken away.  

He grins, leaning in to peck her lips. “As are you, dolcezza.”

When he bites into her neck again, she barely feels anything. Copia’s blood in her system seems to have neutralized any pain he could’ve inflicted and she relaxes into the bed. He laps at Sarah’s blood, drinking all she has to give so he can gift her in return his eternal devotion.

She starts to feel lightheaded, hazy. Her eyelids feel heavy and her vision is spotty. Sarah tries to say something but Copia rushes to soothe her, keeping a reassuring hold on the other side of her neck. She takes desperate gasps for breath as her body attempts to cling onto the last remains of life he drains from her.

The world fades from her, the last words Sarah can remember hearing in his voice being a gentle “ti amo” over and over again as her vision goes black, everything turning silent and still.

◇

She wakes the following morning feeling floaty all over. Before she can open her eyes, her tongue runs over her teeth to check for any changes like newly grown fangs. Everything she dreamt felt too real, too tangible.

Her loving Copia spoons her, keeping a secure hold around her stomach and his face nuzzled into her neck from behind. Their legs are tangled together.

There are two thoughts Sarah comes to realize in that moment: she’s not a vampire and there’s an overwhelming wet stickiness down below in her underwear.

Copia’s gruff, sleepy voice surprises her. “Are you awake, amore mio?”

“Yeah.”

He somehow pulls her closer into him to whisper, “How are you feeling?”

For the first time in what feels like a long time, she can answer, “Relaxed. I’m completely at peace.”

The tension in her muscles that’d been a constant reminder to her for a month finally feels lifted away. Sarah turns around to face him, taking it slow. Copia brushes a lock of hair from her face to look at her without any obstruction. Her sleepy eyes look at him and she smiles.

“That’s everything I wanted to give you, dolcezza.”

They lean in, meeting in the middle for a kiss. A lingering copper taste on his lips has her smiling. If not for the carefully placed bandage on her neck, she wouldn’t have known he drank from her until this moment.

Copia falls to lie on his back and Sarah follows to rest over him. She’s quiet for a few minutes while she places her palm over his chest. He brought his hand down to rest over hers. Copia feels like he needs to be touching her in some way right now. He wants a soft morning for them, free from having to rush out of the door with only a kiss to last the whole day until they get another.  

“You’re staying home today, cara.” He rubs his thumb over her hand.

“But I have so much-“

“And you can get back to it tomorrow.” Copia raises a stern eyebrow towards her and brings her palm up to kiss it delicately.

“But Amelia-“

“She’s letting you take the day off. I texted her last night for the okay.”

Sarah rises to her elbow. She looks at him with a small awe in her eyes and he smiles back. His eyes are soft, tender. Copia brings Sarah back to press a kiss to her forehead before she lies back down.

Their hands stay together and he starts rubbing his thumb over it again. Now that she doesn’t have to go to work, Sarah relaxes next to him, humming.

“What happened last night? I think I fell asleep before the movie ended.”

Copia hums, laughing to himself. “Define what happened?”

“Like,” she looks up to him, “what’d you do to me when I passed out?”

“What you asked for, amore mio. Touching you. Drinking your blood and giving you sweet dreams.” He winks. “Your little sounds of pleasure were inspired. I played with you all night.” He considers himself to have played her a symphony of bliss.

“All night?” Sarah’s eyes open wide. “That explains parts of my dream…”

A coy eyebrow raise comes from Copia and he smirks as he switches their position in bed. Sarah lies on her back, blushing and refusing to look at him. He looks to the bandage and checks the progress when he peels back the gauze to remove it. A delicate press of his lips touches over the mostly healed puncture marks and Copia whispers affection to it.

When he looks back to Sarah, she’s looking at him with a soft smile. “So, this dream of yours. What did I do this time to captivate you?”

“Who said it was you I dreamt about?” She looks at him with a smug face.

“Very funny.” Copia frowns. “Tell me, cara.”

Sarah fidgets beneath him, scrunching up her face. Looking back, she thinks it might’ve been too indulgent.  

She shakes her head. “I plea the fifth! It’s too embarrassing.”

“The fifth?” Copia laughs, his hand sliding down to grab her hip so she stills. “Amore I’m going to be the Forth soon, remember? You’ll be pleading to the Forth every night.”  

He leans in to kiss her, nibbling briefly before pressing his lips to hers. Sarah hums, opening her legs so he can slot closer to her body. The wet smacks of their mouths together fill the room as the simple kiss evolves into something more heated. Something sparks between their bodies and she runs her fingers through his hair.

She feels like she’s back in her dream again except they’re wearing significantly more clothes and she can feel his bare hands. Copia like this over her is so much better than what she can make up in her head. He knows her, intimately, and she’s always surprised.  

“Something like this happened,” Sarah sighs. “You’d found me in the sewing studio late at night in my nightgown.”

“Odd thing to wear to work.”

She chuckles, “You thought so too… in a manner of words.”

Copia brushes a strand of hair from her face and slides his palm down to cup her jaw. “What else?”

Sarah blushes. “Things became heated. You might’ve had me grind on your cane handle.” She closes her eyes and winces. “And I wasn’t wearing underwear.”

“Oh. Oh! How naughty, amore.”

As if he hasn’t thought about something like it, too.

“Mhm.” Her eyes open and she sighs. “Some things are hard to remember. There was a part where you brought me to your room – it was very opulent, by the way – and we talked. I had my fingers in your mouth at one point?” Sarah fidgets at the reveal, looking away.

Copia raises his eyebrows at her. He wouldn’t exactly oppose the idea.  

“We ended up having sex but it really was just grinding into each other.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

She nods. “The last thing I remember was that you were asking me to stay with you forever. You… turned me into a vampire.”

They both smile knowing that’s in their future. Sarah doesn’t know when but she knows he wants it just as much as she does. Sometimes late at night with a movie on in the background, before she drifts off to sleep, they talk about ideas for the ceremony and what he’ll do to turn her. Ever since it became a sure thing for them, the idea can’t help but sneak into her fantasies.

Copia’s thumb rubs her cheek softly and he grins, fangs on display. “I think I can help some of these become a reality.”

Sarah pulls him down for kiss and mumbles against his lips, “I can’t wait.”

Thank you so much for reading!

[ghoulsverse]

Chapter Three: Subject 00-113

3.1k Words | [tags] PTSD, Mentions of abuse

Chapter Index | Ao3 Link

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“The hardest part isn’t pulling someone from the fire. It’s convincing them they aren’t still burning.”

The quinjet touched down with barely a whisper against the rooftop landing pad.

Wanda watched the skyline through the small window by her seat, still half asleep. The city wasn’t buzzing yet. No honking cars, no blur of lights. Just that strange quiet that clung to mid mornings when the world hadn't quite put its armor back on.

Fitting.

Behind her, she could feel Aliah shifting restlessly in the seat, wrapped tight in the silver emergency blanket like it could somehow make her invisible.

Natasha was already up, moving with that same catlike, unbothered grace she always had before a mission… or after one they hadn't expected.

The ramp lowered with a hiss.

Cold air flooded the cabin, sharp enough to make Wanda blink hard once, twice.

Aliah didn’t move.

"Come on. It’s okay." Wanda said gently, standing and offering her hand without expectation.

For a long beat, Aliah just stared at it.

Then, slowly, she unfolded herself from the seat and followed.

Not touching. Not grabbing. Just moving in the shadow Wanda made for her.

Bruce was waiting at the far end of the platform, arms loose at his sides, wearing a soft hoodie and sneakers like he hadn’t been briefed that they were bringing back a potential unstable asset.

Wanda appreciated that.

So did Aliah, if the way she didn’t immediately spark was anything to go by. She was still on edge, but she didn’t feel threatened.

Steve and Sam stepped off the jet behind them, staying a few paces back… clearly trying not to box her in. Natasha flanked Aliah's other side without a word, her presence solid and non-threatening.

It worked.

Aliah kept walking.

Small victories.

"Hey there." Bruce said when they got close enough. His voice was low, even. Like he was greeting a spooked animal, not a teenage girl wrapped in fear and static. "I’m Bruce. I’m not gonna poke or prod you, okay? Just wanna make sure you're feeling alright."

Aliah’s fingers twitched at her sides.

Wanda could feel the tension climbing her spine, that buzz of energy crackling just under her skin.

She stepped a little closer, not blocking Bruce, but standing between Aliah and the unknown anyway.

"If you're hurt." Wanda said softly. "Bruce can help. But only if you want."

Aliah’s eyes flickered between them… wide, calculating, too old for her age. Whatever her age may be.

Then, finally, she nodded once.

Tiny. Barely more than a dip of her chin.

Bruce smiled. Again, small victories.

"Alright." He said gently. "Let's get you somewhere quiet. No tests. Just a check-up."

Aliah flinched at the word ‘tests’, but Wanda caught it… and Bruce did, too. He didn’t push.

Just turned and started walking toward the door inside, slow enough that Aliah could set the pace if she wanted.

Wanda glanced at Natasha once as they followed, just a flick of her eyes. Natasha didn’t say anything, but the tight set of her jaw said plenty.

They both knew it.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

Wanda could feel it in the tightness of Aliah's movements, the way her feet barely made noise against the floor, the way her head kept snapping toward every creak and hum of machinery.

She was absorbing everything.

Aliah kept her eyes flickering. 5 exits. 7 people. 2 flights of stairs.

Not that any of this information was useful for her, but it was comforting. She could never escape with other people in the room who were powerful like she was. It's just what she was trained to do.

Catalog everything. Forget nothing. 

Bruce led them toward the temporary medical bay, repurposed conference room, wide open, sterile as a lab. No locks. No restraints.

But the moment they crossed the threshold, Aliah froze.

Wanda felt the shift in the air before she even turned.

Aliah’s body went rigid, her breath hitching sharp and fast. Her fingers twitched violently and some of the metal tools began to float. Sparks of white energy flickered uncontrolled at the tips of her hands.

Hydra Base: Hemlock - 2 Years Ago

Aliah sat bare, in nothing but a hospital gown on the edge of a hospital bed. Her eyes flickered around, German and Russian soldiers walking around with clipboards on the other side of a 3-inch pane of glass while Doctor Evez stood next to her with a long needle that could only be compared in size to an epidermic needle.

“One last injection, and you will be our greatest achievement.”

“No more after this?” She asked in a soft, timid voice.

“No more, 113.”

Aliah nodded, wincing as the probe went in. She stayed quiet as Doctor Evez conducted his procedure, him speaking aloud to the soldiers on the other side of the glass. Accent thick.

“Genesis Subject 00-113 has shown remarkable adherence to advancements. The donor genetics are exceptionally compatible.”

“This is the final procedure needed to stabilize the DNA. Since the donors are both enhanced, one genetically and the other post term, it is imperative that the two samples merge completely before they can begin to grow on their own. Since Subject 113 is 12.7 years post full-term, the cells will continue to regenerate until the subject has reached 21 years of age.”

A silver/blue liquid began to filter in the needle. It burned slightly.

“Subject 113 is the only full term success of these donors. Unfortunately any other samples of the donors were used in the previous test subjects. A perfect specimen for the Widow selection. Subject 00-113 is one of a kind.”

He turned towards Aliah with a sick smile on his face. “Aren’t you, 113?”

The burning stopped, her eyes and senses can tell she’s not in the facility anymore, but her feelings still exist.

Wanda took a step toward her, but the girl recoiled instantly, stumbling back into the doorframe with a clang.

Aliah shook her head and dropped to her knees.

The white energy surged around her in a wild pulse, sharp enough to make the light panels flicker.

Bruce immediately stepped back, hands up, his voice calm. "Okay. Okay."

Natasha moved subtly… placing herself between Aliah and the nearest sharp object, casual and non-threatening.

Wanda crouched down low, palms open, heart in her throat. “What do you need?"

Aliah’s breaths came in ragged, fast little gasps, her eyes wide and wild. Glowing.

Wanda didn’t dare reach for her. Not yet.

Instead she did the one thing she knew would calm her. She let her own magic show.

Red mist drifted lightly from her palms, swirling harmlessly into the air. Calm, controlled, gentle.

Not a weapon.

Not a trap.

A simple message. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Aliah stared at the mist.

Her trembling slowed, barely, but enough. Enough for Wanda to see her. Enough for Aliah to blink hard, trying to drag herself back from wherever she’d gone.

Wanda kept her voice soft. "What do you need, sweetheart?"

Aliah didn’t answer with words. She just glanced at the med bay again… At the too-bright lights, the clinical smell, and shook her head violently.

Wanda nodded. No hesitation.

"Okay." She said. "No hospitals."

She turned her head toward Bruce and Natasha.

“Do you want to come upstairs? I can show you some TV shows that I like to watch.”

Aliah nodded, her eyes slowly returning to her normal color. Her fingers didn't stop trembling but she followed close behind Wanda and Natasha.

The elevator ride was silent.

Not the comfortable kind.

The heavy, uncertain kind. The kind where every floor ding sounded too loud against the tension stretched thin between them.

Aliah stayed close to Wanda’s side, her hands still trembling but only slightly. White energy flickered faintly at her knuckles, but it didn’t lash out.

Not yet.

Natasha stood on the opposite side of the elevator, arms folded, watching the numbers light up one by one.

She wasn’t guarding. She was waiting.

Like she knew that Aliah could take care of herself, but that she wouldn't turn for help. Natasha saw herself in the young girl. She looked at the girl almost in remembrance. When Clint had first brought her to the tower, she felt like an outsider.

The doors slid open onto the residential floor Wanda and Natasha shared… simple, private, a little worn around the edges in the way real homes were.

The common area was dimly lit by a single standing lamp.  A soft throw blanket was crumpled on the couch. Fred the half-dead plant sagged sideways in his pot.

It smelled like cinnamon candle wax and whatever Natasha’s version of dinner had been the night before.

It didn’t smell like hospitals.

It didn’t hum with the weight of surveillance.

It felt... human.

Wanda stepped out first, glancing back to offer the smallest, most careful smile.

"You can stay here with me and Nat." She said quietly. "As long as you want."

Aliah hovered at the threshold for a second, like she wasn’t sure she was really being offered anything.

But then she crossed over.

Small, silent steps.

No explosions. No resistance.

Just a girl stepping into a place that didn’t expect her to be dangerous.

Wanda kicked off her boots by the door, peeling off her jacket and tossing it haphazardly onto the couch.

Natasha hung back by the window, flicking the blinds half shut without being asked. Dimming the outside world a little more.

Small acts of protection.

Not orders. Not commands.

Just... space.

"We can put something on, keep you distracted so Bruce can make sure everything is okay.” Natasha spoke smoothly.

Aliah didn’t answer. But she didn’t retreat either.

Wanda crouched and flipped through a few options, scrolling past news broadcasts, action movies, dark crime dramas.

Too loud.

Too violent.

Finally, she landed on something soft and ridiculous, her favorite. The Dick Van Dyke Show.

Gentle colors. Dumb jokes. A world with stakes small enough to laugh at.

Wanda hit play.

The TV glowed to life.

Aliah moved hesitantly toward the couch, still wrapped in the silver blanket like it might deflect betrayal.

She perched on the farthest corner, spine stiff, eyes locked onto the screen with the kind of sharp, terrified focus Wanda recognized too well.

Natasha sank into the armchair without a word, boots still on, one arm draped casually over the side.

Wanda took the middle seat… close enough for Aliah to feel, but not close enough to trap her.

She kept her hands visible. Kept her voice low. Her breathing is steady. And let the movie fill the space between them.

It wasn’t much.

It wasn’t a solution.

But it was a start.

And sometimes, survival wasn’t about running faster or fighting harder.

Sometimes it was just about finding a couch, and two strangers willing to sit still long enough for you to believe the world might not be trying to kill you after all.

Bruce stood there, wearing the same hoodie and sneakers, holding a small tablet tucked against his chest.

He didn't step inside.

Didn’t cross the threshold without permission.

"Just a quick visual check." He said gently, addressing Wanda, not Aliah. "Nothing invasive. Nothing scary."

Natasha glanced back at Aliah, watching, tense but silent. Wanda knelt beside the couch again, making herself smaller, less imposing.

"Would it be alright?" She asked Aliah directly. "Bruce just wants to make sure you're feeling okay. You can say no."

For a long moment, Aliah didn't move.

Then, very slowly, she gave one jerky nod.

Bruce entered carefully, staying several feet away.

No tools. No wires. Just a small light he kept pocketed.

He scanned Aliah visually… pupil reaction, breathing rhythm, minor tremors in her hands. He spoke softly as he worked.

"You’ve been through a lot." he said. "No one's expecting you to be okay overnight."

Aliah didn’t answer.

But she didn’t flinch away when he checked the old bruises on her wrists from whatever Hydra restraints had left behind.

Wanda stood closely, not hovering. “I know it’s hard right now, but if you remember anything, it would really help.”

Green eyes looked void of any emotion. Choosing carefully on what to say or think around the infamous Wanda Maximoff.

She’d heard whispers of her around Hydra. The runaway.

If she could get away, then that garnered some kind of trust.

Aliah opened her mind up softly to Wanda. “Subject 00-113. That’s what I was called.”

Wanda nodded softly and turned towards Natasha before speaking to Aliah again. “That’s good, sweetheart.”

“I can only remember that I had two donor samples and that they said I was almost 15 years post full term.”

“Is it okay if I share this with Nat?”

A soft nod.

The witch stood and pulled Natasha to the corner of the living room, keeping her eyes on the young girl whose focus was being pulled by the noise of the TV.

“She was given a number for her identification and I think she’s about 15 years old.”

Nat crossed her arms over her chest and spoke quietly, her mind trying to piece together the information. “Did she say anything else?”

“She remembers that she was made from only 2 donors.”

“Meaning only 2 samples of DNA.”

When Bruce finished, he nodded once, respectful, and stepped back immediately.

"All good." He said quietly. "No more check-ups unless you want them."

He turned to leave without lingering.

Natasha shut the door behind him with a soft click.

The show droned on in the background. Aliah perched on the far edge of the couch. Still braced for impact. But here.

Still here.

Wanda stayed cross legged on the floor, her back against the couch, close enough for Aliah to feel her presence but far enough not to crowd her.

Natasha had moved to the far corner of the room, pulling the window blinds lower with two fingers, cutting out the skyline’s last glimmer of sun from the afternoon.

Then she settled into the armchair, loose and casual, as if she'd just come back from a routine mission and this was just her ritual. Comfortable.

Her body language was perfect, lazy, indifferent… but Wanda didn’t miss the way Natasha’s eyes flicked toward every tiny noise Aliah made.

Protective.

Quiet about it.

But there.

Aliah hadn't said a word since Bruce had finished his careful check.

She still sat curled on the corner of the couch, a silver blanket clutched around her, eyes half lidded and distant.

Natasha could tell she was fighting sleep.

However long the girl must have been on edge, staying awake to assure her survival in an abandoned facility. Now again, in a foreign building with a bunch of people she doesn't know.

Aliah would drop at any second assuming for that time, she’d been awake.

50 hours. Since they received word of the facility. Then drafted a mission and rescue.

Around 50 hours, this girl had been awake. Ready to run at any moment.

But for now, she wasn’t running.

For now, she stayed.

Wanda let the quiet stretch.

It wasn’t uncomfortable.

It felt necessary.

Every second they didn’t demand something from Aliah was another second proving they weren’t here to chain her down.

A particularly ridiculous scene flickered across the screen and sharp noise escaped from Aliah's corner of the couch.

Not laughter.

Not quite.

Just a quick, startled huff of breath, immediately smothered like she hadn’t meant to make it.

Wanda pretended not to notice.

Natasha did too.

The movie kept playing.

The world stayed soft for one more minute.

Wanda let herself lean her head back against the couch, closing her eyes briefly.

She didn't sleep.

She wouldn’t, not yet.

There was too much weight still hanging in the air, too many unanswered questions.

Where Aliah had come from. What Hydra and the Red Room had done to her. Why did her powers felt so familiar.

But she intended to find out.

Somewhere across the room, Natasha shifted just enough to kick her boots off, letting them thunk quietly against the floor. She didn’t speak. She didn’t leave.

Neither did Wanda.

Neither did Aliah.

Natasha being the first to break the silence. “You can sleep. We won’t leave.”

Aliah just shook her head.

Without thinking it over anymore, Natasha grabbed the pillow from behind her on the chair, tossing it on the floor in front of the couch. Then she got down and slid into the space next to it. “If you can feel people like Wanda can, feel me here. I won’t leave your side while you sleep.”

Minutes go by, feeling like hours.

The widow returned her focus to the TV, allowing the girl to make her own decision. On her own time.

It was subtle, but it worked all the same. A small figure slid off the corner of the couch and laid her head down on the cushion.

For the first time in what must have been days, Aliah closed her eyes in a room that didn’t expect anything from her.

And the three of them stayed like that… Suspended in the slow hum of the TV, the warmth of shared breathing, the fragile peace of a night that hadn't shattered.

Not yet.

“How did you do that?” Wanda asked, just above a whisper.

Natasha let herself smile at the mess of hair next to her lap. Just close enough to feel the presence and warmth but not close enough to touch. “Beds and couches are too soft.”

“What?”

“When I first defected… I had to sleep with handcuffs on the bedpost.” She started. Speaking softly, monotone. “They made us sleep that way in the Red Room to make sure we wouldn’t leave or escape. It was a bad habit, but for the first few months here, it was the only thing that brought me comfort. The beds were too soft. It wasn’t what I was used to. I couldn’t sleep that way.”

“Nat…” Wanda’s voice cracked but Natasha just waved it off, having had time to process and accept her own past.

“If she was raised by Hydra, I’m assuming she never had a real bed. Maybe a cot. The couch is too soft. The floor isn’t.”

The witch just nodded. She blinked a few times to hide the wetness behind her eyes. So many emotions were flowing through her that she didn't know how to process.

She's been living with Natasha for years now, but she never knew this side of her.

Then the young girl who slept quietly on the floor, having never known a normal childhood.

What a mess this was.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @seventeen-x

[bronzieinthedas]

Thank you so much @seaglassmelody for the tag!

Ok soooo first of all hello everyone I am new to the DA:TV fandom (used to be on the Mass Effect side until a couple years ago), but thanks to Veilguard I am currently finding my creative writing spark again!

So... I haven't really found my place yet, but so far I am trying to ease back into it and stretch those not-so-supple-anymore writing muscles again (also damn writing long texts in English after a couple years is hard).

Currently working on a ficlet/vignette collection about the past of my Rook, Qatesh and her history as a Tevinter textile workshop slave.

I started posting them to AO3 last week:

All That Came Before

A swallow’s cry always sounded a bit melancholy to Qatesh, a haunted, long-drawn, almost forlorn sound that echoed her own confined world. How many times she wished she could spread wings out wide and soar on the breeze towards the ocean, and on to the homeland she had never visited? She’d been told of mages who could transform into birds, and ever since, she’d been unsure if she wanted to be a mage or not. On one hand, being a mage would have made it possible for her to escape Tevinter and go home, which sounded good. But on the other hand… Qunari hated mages, so she couldn’t do that. Was it any better to stay here? Probably not?

I am currently also working on three loosely connected oneshots with Qatesh and Taash that haven't been posted yet. They were supposed to be just short character studies but somehow turned out smutty so... *gestures vaguely* I'mma go with that. Just an excerpt from the beginning of the first, as to keep this minor-friendly:

Spinning, Qatesh mused, was similar to channeling magic. Only if body and mind aligned, if she got the correct tension on the bobbin, the right rhythm to her treadling, and the perfect amount of take-up, she was able to spin a fine, balanced, even thread worthy of being woven into fine cloth. And similarly, magic needed her to focus herself, open up inside, channel the power, and release just the right amount of focused energy for what she wanted to achieve.

Long time ago, when her magic manifested, all she’d been taught were the basics of healing, so she'd pose no danger to the workshop. She'd only ever been allowed to be useful. And useful, she had been. Most of her formative years had been spent learning how to spin. Sometimes for the Mistress’ family, but mostly to feed the world’s seemingly unending hunger for luxurious fabrics. Tevinter was renowned for its textile industry, exporting the plushest and softest woollen yarn and woven goods into other lands. It was an open secret that Tevinter’s reputation was built on the backs of generations of slaves.

I do spin wool as a hobby (yes I know, very niche, and I like giving my hobbies to my OCs). And I am thinking about doing a little carding series because I really really crave to see how the DA:TV companions could be interpreted as art batts/wool blends... could be an idea for the coming companion weeks..? Input always welcome :)

For Lace Harding Week I have planned to post a step-by-step recipe with pics for Älplermagronen (Swiss cheesy noodles with applesauce), because I'm sure she would love it!

Now, I don't know anyone in the fandom yet so I won't tag, but if anyone wants to join in, please feel free to do so :)

Shameless Self Promotion Saturday

Thank you for the tag @rookamell!! I'm so happy you posted your doodles again they are amazing and I love them so much

The idea: We make a post and show off, what cool stuff we created over the past week. Art, Screenshots, writing (anything from a questionnaire about your OC to the 100K epos...) anything we do is worth to be seen and to be promoted. And by tagging people, commenting, and reblogging, we share the love and boost ourselves, and other's confidence. No matter what form you choose, whether you reblog your initial post, or create a new one with teasers, you decide!

Got some stuff bubbling in the background right now, but I had a big week this week by posting my (finally finished) oneshot, A Pie for Lace Harding! Thank you to everyone who has read so far <3 And especially thank you for all the sweet comments you guys are amazing ;A;

(and if you're interested you could also check out my other fic, I'd Give Everything (And More), a oneshot focused on Neve and Rook's tough feelings on friendship!)

I also threw a couple little snippets into the mix with A Word With Friends (featuring love of my life Johanna Hezenkoss) and my last Bellara week post (which honestly I might slowly be converting to shipping Bellara and Davrin haha oops)

And finally! I posted this already but you will see it again! It's Sabi's moodboard (and a bonus Sabi from me experimenting with photo mode)!

Bellara Week was full of such great ideas and cool works! Can't wait for Davrin Week coming up soon :D

Tagging @thedissonantverses, @hedwigoprah, @lgvalenzuela, @davrinsleftpectoral, @antivan-sprig, @mythals-whore, @himluv, @woundedsoul12, aaand @bronzeagelove if you guys wanna share!! And anyone else who wants to, I want to see!!

[blatantprinterpropaganda]

??? MY GOLDEN SWEAT??

[doctorweebmd]

i'm going to say something so controversial and yet so brave

chuuya nakahara is one of the most incredibly interesting, engaging and well-written characters in bsd and the fandoms reduction of him as nothing more than dazai's love interest does him such a disservice

[boobearymuch]

A Rising Sun

Summary: Thirteen missed calls and twenty unread text messages. Not even Mephisto could track you. “You’re really starting to worry me here, kitten.” Sylus pressed the phone to his ear, eyes glued to Mephisto’s live feed as he soared through the N109 Zone’s darkest alleys, “If it was something I did, let me make it up to you.” Tags: Sylus/Reader, gender-neutral, slight angst, hurt/comfort, reader is mc, established relationship Word Count: 1.8k A/N: requested by @hrts4hanniehae read on ao3 | masterlist

Crystal clinked loudly against a mahogany table as Sylus put the empty glass down with a seething glare. He would’ve slammed it were it not for your sleeping form just several feet away, however. Your chest rose and fell under his satin sheets, and he counted each breath like a rosary bead; you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine. He unstopped a priceless bottle of whiskey and poured himself another drink, but the tremor in his hand sloshed amber liquid over the sides. Sylus huffed but didn’t bother wiping up the mess. Instead, he downed the whiskey in one go and squeezed his tired eyes shut. The burn was nothing compared to the chill down his spine when he found you. 

Thirteen missed calls and twenty unread text messages. Not even Mephisto could track you. “You’re really starting to worry me here, kitten.” Sylus pressed the phone to his ear, eyes glued to Mephisto’s live feed as he soared through the N109 Zone’s darkest alleys, “If it was something I did, let me make it up to you.” The begging in his voice grew more obvious as the voicemails went on, “—Please. Just let me know you’re okay.” Sylus drew closer to the hologram, helpless, as Mephisto investigated another possible location, “I can’t…” Another dead end. The mechanical crow cooed softly before swooping into another street, and Sylus heard his voice catch in his throat, “...I can’t feel you anymore.” 

Beep. The call ended, leaving a loaded silence in its wake. 

He considered leaving yet another voicemail when Mephisto turned a sharp corner and pointed his eyes at a dark figure slumped against a wall. No, no, no. His worst fears were realized when the crow perched himself on your knee and cawed loudly, as if scolding you for causing so much trouble. Then his lens panned over the blood. So much blood. Sylus couldn’t recall the ride there, which car he took, how fast he was going. Trivial details, to be frank. Your name was the only thought in his mind, the only language he understood—you, you, you. Sense returned to him when he clutched your limp body in his tight embrace, and you groaned weakly in his arms. “I’m here,” Sylus sighed against your ear, “Always here.” 

The sheets of his bed rustled as you shifted your weight, and Sylus shot you a look. “Sylus,” You called weakly, and winced as you sat up.

“Don’t lean on your arm.” Despite your discomfort, his narrowed gaze remained fixed on the empty glass in his hand. He made no move to approach you, “You’ll disturb the bandages.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched you take note of the gauze wrapped around your bicep. The bleeding stopped a while ago. “That wanderer missed your artery by a hair,” Sylus drawled, and your confused gaze met his cold look, “Your luck never ceases to amaze me.” Then he stood, your confusion morphing into panic, “Let Mephisto know if you need anything.”

“Sylus, wait—” You outstretched your hand, the bandaged one, and immediately hissed in pain. Sylus froze, but like before, remained where he stood, “How long have I been out?”

His lip twitched. “Three hours now,” A beat, then he was reaching into his pocket, “Here.” Your phone bounced against the mattress at your feet, and Sylus watched you pick up the shattered screen. Wincing, you turned it on, and he quietly studied your distress.

“I’m sorry,” You began softly, but Sylus forced his eyes to the floor. He couldn’t stand the guilt in your eyes, “I got so caught up I didn’t—”

His raised hand cut you short, “Don’t.” And he turned away sharply, “Just focus on resting.” The lump in his throat was difficult to swallow around, so he grabbed the leftover whiskey and rushed out.

Cooling down with some vinyl records had been his first instinct. Dusting them off, running his fingers over the plastic covers, then finally settling on just one. Fretting over their display was a nervous habit of his, his go-to when he needed a distraction. But it proved too difficult to position the needle correctly with trembling hands, and Sylus watched the needle stutter over the grooves with a grimace. Instrumentals kicked in over the stereo quietly, but it still wasn’t enough to drown out his swirling thoughts. He should be with you right now. Tending to your every need and shushing you gently to get some rest. Instead, he hid away with his records, inhaling and exhaling to relax the tight ball in his chest. You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.

He repeated this useless prayer to himself to prevent other thoughts—darker thoughts—from bubbling up. It didn’t work, though. “Sylus?” His eyes widened at the sound of your voice, before they suddenly narrowed in suspicion. As if on cue, Mephisto breezed to his perch in the corner of the room, and Sylus shot the crow a withering glare. So much for keeping you away from him, damn bird. Mephisto only pricked his feathers innocently in response. Your bare feet then padded across the room, but Sylus refused to turn around. You shouldn’t have to see him like this. “Sylus, would you please look at me?” You insisted again, stronger this time, “Are you angry?”

Usually, he craved your bluntness. Right now, he resented it. “I should have locked him in his cage.” Your steps drew closer, and Sylus concentrated on the spinning vinyl.

Your tired sigh gripped his heart. “I heard your voicemails,” You announced quietly, “It’s…It’s okay if you are. You have every right to be.” 

It’s just so like you to put his feelings first. As if he had been the one bleeding in an alley for hours. Sylus pinched the bridge of his nose, “And if I was?” He turned to face you, finally, and noted the half-step you took back. Sylus couldn’t help the scowl that tugged at his lips, “Why aren’t you?”

You frowned at him and rubbed your arm distractedly. “I…feel bad for making you worry. I’m sorry, and I totally understand where you’re coming from.” You then tugged nervously at your clothes, avoiding his sharp gaze, “I would be angry with me too, believe me. Especially after I said I’d be more—”

Sylus couldn’t help it, a humorless laugh erupted from his bitten lips. You only stared in bewilderment as he raised a hand to cover his mouth, “Angry at you…?” He shook his head as another wave of trepidation passed through him, “You misunderstand,” Then his voice fell ominously low, “I’m not angry at you.”

Surprise gripped your expression, “I don’t understand, then. Why are you angry?”

“Why?” It was Sylus’ turn to give you a bewildered look, “Why?” The answer was so obvious, he almost felt ridiculous spelling it out for you. Through gritted teeth, he tried anyway, “Because I failed to protect you, that’s why.” That lump in his throat returned, so he promptly shut up. His words clung to the air for several moments, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off you now. A flurry of emotions overwhelmed you; perhaps you were realizing that, yes, he did fail you tonight. That realization never quite reached your eyes, though. Instead, you slowly shook your head before falling back to get comfortable on his couch. 

“Come sit with me.” You patted the area next to you and watched him expectantly. Sylus stared. You always did find new ways to surprise him, somehow. He fought three wars in his head—before losing them all—and hesitantly took his place by your side. The big, bad Onychinus leader avoided your soft gaze. “What happened tonight, neither of us is to blame.” Your voice fell hush, and he didn’t need to look at you to know you saw right through him, “You can be angry, but please don’t hold a grudge.” You scooted yourself closer to take his hand in yours, and his eyes numbly flicked to your linked fingers. 

“If Mephisto hadn’t found you…I didn’t know what to think.” His voice trailed off, and he swallowed thickly, “Your aether core. I couldn’t feel it.” His thumb caressed yours gently, “Fear like that isn’t easy to forget.”

Guilt brimmed in your eyes again, and he wished he hadn’t said anything. “You found me,” You began fiercely, “And I’m okay now, thanks to you. Because of you. You could never fail me.” Your words only deepened his scowl. It should never have gotten to that point in the first place. You should never have been in that position—alone. Your interlocked hands tightened, “Sylus…” Your murmur, spoken like a wish, was accompanied by a sudden warmth between your palms. He inhaled sharply as he watched your hands glow, evols linking as you resonated with his. The feeling was difficult to explain. Resonating with you blanketed him in a warmth like no other, like he was morning dew glowing under the rising sun. Like it was the first and last time he’d ever feel sunlight. You were alive. You were well. And if you harbored any ill will toward him, then resonating wouldn’t have come so naturally to you. He’s glad it did. 

The resonance ended all too soon, however, and the light of your evols dimmed to nothing. Sylus’ record played softly in the silence. “Thank you,” He murmured at last, feeling calm for the first time that evening, “...And I’m sorry.” You made it difficult to stay upset. You had no idea how much power you held over him—over his mind and body alike—how easily you could mold him like putty in your precious hands. Right now, though, you guided those precious hands to his chin and looked him over properly. The dark circles, the disheveled hair, the cracked lips; you drank all of it in and let worry settle in the crease of your brow. He hid his embarrassment behind wisecracks, “Like what you see? A picture might last longer.”

You shot him a look, “You should take a shower, you’ll feel better.” Your expression then softened, and your thumb caressed the side of his smirking mouth, “But hurry, so you can join me in bed.”

He swore he felt traces of your evol smoldering within him, “Easy, kitten, you’re still recovering.”

Amusement sparkled in his ruby eyes when you abruptly pulled away, flustered, “You know what I meant!” Tsk, it was too easy sometimes. Sylus tried and failed to hide his smile before unexpectedly lifting you off the couch, “Sylus—”

“I’ve got you—yes, I do, now stop squirming,” Hanging on with your good arm, Sylus held you tighter than he’d ever done before. Letting you down would never be an option again. “Save the struggling for later, sweetie.” You merely huffed and settled into his secure embrace, but your free hand clutched his shirt just as tightly. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

Morning dew, meet rising sun.

[icarus-suraki]

I don't like wading into Ao3 debates, but I want to give my professional opinion on Ao3 with regard to archives vs. libraries.

I am a professional librarian (MSLS) and I have worked in both archives and public libraries and a lot of the confusion and concern I see surrounding Ao3 is a fundamental misunderstanding of How Archives Work.

An archive is a collection related to a subject. That subject is often a person but sometimes a field or concept or project. And the purpose of an archive is to keep everything. And I mean everything. I was going to say "short of biohazards" but since I know there's a sealed R. Crumb Devil Gal chocolate bar in the UNC Chapel Hill archives, we really do mean everything.

When a collection of materials--which are usually unique and original and can be photos, manuscripts, letters, recordings (audio and/or visual), notes and notebooks, objects, published books, whatever--on and/or from the subject arrive at the archive, they are examined, preserved for longevity, accessioned and cataloged (added to the archive's records), and added to the archive. You measure collections in linear feet. As in, once it's all preserved and boxed and secure, you note how many feet of shelf space it takes up. And some of y'all on Ao3 have a lot of linear feet to your name (and I'm proud of you).

This is an archive: it is designed to preserve the original materials related to a subject. That is its purpose. Archives are how we have the original scroll manuscript of On the Road, for example, or the Lomax recordings of American folksongs, or Tijuana Bibles, or James Joyce's loveletters to Nora.

Now you, a member of the public, can access some archives. Some are easier to access than others. The one I worked in was open to the public; good luck getting into the British Archives without a good reason.

So now apply this to Ao3--which is an archive both in name and in purpose. It is intended to preserve fan-created content long term. And this means everything, whether you personally like the materials or not. It is a repository for as much as possible.

And the "whether you personally like the materials or not" is important, hence why I mentioned Jim's loveletters and Tijuana Bibles in particular. (RIP Jim, you would have loved pegging.)

If it's made by fans and it exists, we should keep it to document the history and progression of fandom. That is the point. We have lost enough materials related to the subject of fans of media and we don't need to lose any more.

The fact of the matter is that Ao3 is only one facet of the OTW, which preserves other fan-related materials (convention booklets and zines, for example). Somehow Ao3, an archive on the subject of fanfiction, has been divorced from the rest of the project, mostly by way of "purity culture" and panic over "dangerous" fiction.

The fact that you can go through an archive and find interesting information is the other side of archives. No, they shouldn't be like the banker's box of old letters stuffed in my closet. Yes, they should be organized and as accessible as is appropriate for the state of the materials.

It's really, really cool to find stuff in an archive, I'm not even going to lie. I have done it before and I will do it again. And yet there are other items in an archive that I might not want or need or be interested in at all--but they're still there. That's the cataloging and accessioning: to keep up with what's there, to stay "on topic" with collecting, and to be able to find things in that archive. Bless the tag wranglers who are doing the cataloging at Ao3.

The pearl clutching seems to come from 1. the creation of "dangerous" fanworks and 2. public access to those "dangerous" fanworks. These are issues of "purity culture" and opinions on censorship and should not involve Ao3.

Ao3, under the umbrella of the OTW, is a documentation and preservation project first and foremost.

[xervn]

melatonin

two-shot | enemies to fuckers sevika x reader

pt. 2

ao3 link

summary: you're forced to go on a business trip with your least favorite coworker and share a room with her. now you can't sleep.

18+ MDNI | 4.1k words | tags; canon divergence, sevika is a little mean, sevika is nonchalant fr, reader is a brat, very light sub/dom, vaginal fingering, scissoring, begging kink, praise kink kinda, porn w/ plot-ish, no use of y/n

new record; took me 4 days to write. i don't know who possessed me. i love enemies to lovers so bad FUCKKKK!!!

“One room.” The motel owner, an old, short, and grotesque-looking woman with a thick accent, says. 

 “One room? Clear another one out then?” You insist, mildly threateningly. The woman’s eyes glaze over as she blinks. She’s not moved.

“There are two beds; who cares?” Sevika grumbles, clearly over your antics.

You shoot a glare in her direction, lip forming into a scowl. “I’m not sharing a room with you; you look like you snore.” 

She tells you something along the lines of go fuck or kill yourself (you weren’t really listening) before pushing past you and replacing the room keys on the counter with a stack of silver cogs. 

The owner collects the cogs with a grunt before adjusting her small reader glasses. Sevika strides off towards the rooms, and you quickly turn after her.

“Couldn’t you have tried to help?” You ask. Your eyes burn a hole through the side of her face.

She doesn’t spare you a glance. “You’re dramatic, and I don’t have the patience to deal with your bullshit right now.”

You hate her. You fucking hate her. You’ve been working alongside Sevika for two years now, yet you can’t shake the feeling. It started when you first met; Sevika was cold and critical, reprimanding you even though you were young and starting out. That’s not even what drove you to hate her, though; at least back then it felt like she was looking out for you, but you were painfully mistaken when you got promoted within the year. 

You don’t know what it was; jealousy, doubt, but her distaste for you only grew more apparent. There were fewer critiques and more insults about how you work or about your intelligence. Insufferable. She was insufferable.

There hasn’t been a day she’s been likable since then, so imagine your reaction when Silco tells you and her to go on a little business trip to Bilgewater. No matter how much the both of you wanted to protest, you didn’t. Instead you two argued amongst yourselves the whole trip there. 

Why would you want to spend even more unnecessary time around her?

The minute you guys enter your room, you don’t speak a single word to each other, let alone look each other’s way. You take turns using the restroom to get ready for bed, and then you find a place for your belongings, and Sevika ejects her bionic arm for the night. Although you two definitely don’t like each other, it doesn’t mean you don’t trust each other. You know she won’t rob you; she knows you won’t (can’t) take advantage and kill her. That’s the only semblance of peace you share.

— 

A faint amber light soaks through your eyelids, and you blink them open to the popcorned ceiling. You toss and turn in your bed, rustling around, unable to find a good position, and it doesn’t help that the cheap mattress is, well, cheap. You can’t sleep. You’ve always had trouble sleeping, but it’s never been a real problem before; you’d just stay up. Yes, you have permanent eye bags because of it, but it’s not like you can choose otherwise. You‘re from Zaun; any aid for it is not exactly accessible. 

However, the meeting you have tomorrow is important, so it’s important that you find a way. You can’t afford to slack off or doze off during it; you’re the negotiator, and tomorrow makes or breaks a trade deal that will be most beneficial for Zaun’s income. 

You rustle in your bed sheets again, and Sevika immediately groans. “Can you stop? And turn the lamp off.”

You look at her and you’re about to apologize, but you hold your tongue when you remember who you’re talking to. “I can’t sleep.”

“Turn the lamp off and fucking figure it out.” She snaps, turning her back towards you.

“Can’t you hear?” You squirm around, making as much noise as possible to get your point across. “I’m trying.”

“Find a different way. Count poros. Turn the lamp off.”

You scoff, eyes back on the ceiling, “I’m not five; counting poros doesn’t work, and I’m not turning off the lamp.”

You can hear Sevika shifting in her bed. “I knew you should’ve stayed back,” she sighs, “and you’re scared of the dark? Grow up.”

“Wow, fuck you. If you had asked nicely, I would’ve turned it off, and what do you mean I ‘should’ve stayed’? You’re not my boss. I’m more valuable than you are.” You angrily rant. 

“Alright, you are talking way too much right now. Cut it out.” 

“…No.” You reply. It sounds unconvincing with your lack of words, but it was the best you could come up with.

“Do you need calming tea or something? What will get you to shut up, because I’m about to hold a pillow over your head and call it a night.” She growls.

“Nothing. I can only sleep if I get a concussion or if I drink my pants off.”

She says your name like a warning, “If you ruin this deal, I’ll make sure to see you off myself.”

You bite back, “Sevika, if I could sleep, I would be sleeping. I don’t want to ruin it either, but your scolding isn’t helping.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, then Sevika grunts stubbornly. It’s followed by sheets moving and a dull stomp on the floor. You turn to look, and you see Sevika sitting at the side of her bed. 

You glance at her muscular thighs in those gray shorts—you couldn’t help it—before staring back at the ceiling. “Are you going to make me tea?”

She pushes off the bed with her one arm. “No.”

“Switching rooms then?” You ask as your eyes follow her shadow’s movement on the walls. 

“No.”

“Then... What is it?“ You turn, flinching a bit when you find Sevika peering down at you. 

She looks hesitant, timid; the first time you’ve ever seen it. “I’ll help you.”

Your defenses go off, and you quickly sit up. “Wait. You’re not going to kill me, right?”

“Over sleep? Are you stupid?” She pushes you back down, and not with much force, obviously.

You lay there, defeated. “So?”

“I said, ‘I’ll help you.'” She restates.

You stare up at her with slight annoyance, “Well, you have to tell me how?”

She has an indecisive frown before exhaling, “If you come, you’ll shut up.” 

Your head shakes in confusion. “Come? Where are we going?” 

“You’re an actual idiot.” She groans.

You gasp in offense. “You’re the one being fucking cryptic—“

“I’ll fuck you to sleep.” 

“What?”

“I’ll fuck you to sleep.”

“I heard you; I’m just,” you laugh nervously, “are you serious?” Your ears must be playing tricks on you. 

“We’re not close enough to joke around with each other.” She says plainly.

Baffled, you reply, “We’re not close enough to fuck either?” 

“Do you really care about shit like that? Sex is sex.”

You think about it for a second. You’ve never been in a proper relationship, and you’ve only had a handful of hookups, but you’ve never slept with someone you dislike, and you definitely don’t like Sevika. Even if she is hot. “Well, I guess not—“

“—Then what’s the issue?” Her eyes bore into you.

You gulp at the sudden weight of her stare, but you don’t crumble. “The issue is that I don’t like you. At all.”

Sevika scoffs, “I’ve seen the way you stare at me. You’re not subtle. At all. I saw you do it a few minutes ago.”

How embarrassing. It’s true, between all your hate are moments of admiration. Sevika is “cool,” she’s respected, she’s feared. She’s also full of herself, naggy, and blunt. Both things can be true. But on top of that, she’s hot to the point it’s frustrating. 

One time, while she was sitting in her designated booth at The Last Drop playing poker, she locked eyes with you after a big win. There was that sexy, satisfied grin she always gets after every win, and she had the audacity to lock eyes with you. 

Your thighs pressed together. You beat yourself up over it for the rest of the night and the following day; you couldn’t even look her in the eye without getting unreasonably angry.

Your face is turning warm, but there’s no point in turning away—you have to fake it until you make it. “Okay? What’s your point?” You ask, even though her point was very clear. You’re running yourself into walls.

Sevika already deciphered that; her face reads, ‘Where the fuck are you right now?’ “Listen, I don’t like you either, but if you want to sleep, I’ll help you, and if you don’t, I’ll get another room.” She explains.

You can tell it’s her final offer. You chew your bottom lip until you remember Sevika is still looking at you. Hiding your face behind your hand, you can’t believe you’re considering it. Sex with Sevika. Sounds mad when you repeat it in your head. It’s just sex, though, right? You knew she loved Zaun, but you didn’t know she loved it this much. Sleeping with you, practically her arch nemesis, for the betterment of society. That sounds insane. This is insane.

Sevika kisses her teeth, “Forget it—“ 

“—Okay,” you interrupt, “help me.” You’re unable to look her in the eyes. 

She looks at you dubiously, and her lack of doing anything unnerves you, so you continue. “Please?” You slowly look up at her, and you swear her eyes darkened. 

“Please?” She mimics. “Didn’t take you for the submissive type.” 

“No idea what you’re talking about.” You reply, although it comes out like a whisper.

“Mhm,” she hums apathetically, pulling up the covers draped over you. Her knee makes a dip in the bed. “Make some space,” she asks. You sit up, and you have no idea what to do. Looking left and right, you'd think you were trying to cross the road. She stares blankly. “Just spread your legs.” She commands.

You immediately do as she says, and she chuckles to herself at how you continue to prove her right. You’re clearly not a fan of that, your frown prominent. “What’s funny?” 

Sevika kneels herself between your legs, using her arm to help balance her in place. “Man, you love to argue.” 

You shrug. “I’ll stop when you fuck me to sleep. If you can... Don’t you think you’re a little overconfident?” 

Sevika slowly blinks at you, unsure of whether she should be turned on or irritated. You take it as the latter, and now it’s your turn to chuckle to yourself. But your self-satisfied giggling stops when she leans over you, inches away from your face, “You’re about to find out.” 

You never took the time to process Sevika kneeling between your legs, and now you can feel each exhale from her on your face. Your body starts to process it too: your breathing gets heavier and your heartbeat gets faster. You don’t have a crush on her or anything, but this is an unusual, unsurprisingly hot experience. Your eyes flicker to her full, uneven lips before they squeeze shut.

Sevika flicks your forehead. “Wh—ow?!” You whine, rubbing your head with your hand to soothe it. 

“I’m not kissing you.” She clarifies.

Your face warms with embarrassment, fingers gripping at the fabric beneath you. “How was I supposed to know you wanted a staring contest?” You grumble.

Sevika rolls her eyes, barely shaking her head in disappointment. Her face moves on from yours, and her lips attack the exposed curvature of your neck, licking, biting, and rendering you speechless. She gives you no time to regulate your emotions, and you let out a soft groan you would’ve otherwise swallowed down. Just what she wanted: less talking, more moaning.

Letting her guide the tilt of your head, you awkwardly rest your hands on her shoulders. You’re unsure of whether you can or should touch her. She pauses. “Sor— I… uh…” You stammer and put your hands up. You decide to just stop speaking to save yourself.

“Relax.” She tells you, gazing at you through her loose, dark hair. It stirs something below you. 

You place your hands back on her shoulders, albeit reluctantly, and try to maintain eye contact so you look composed. 

Sevika doesn’t buy it. She glances at your hands, very tellingly. “…Relax.” She repeats, softer than she did before, and your heart skips a beat like you’re in a cliché. 

Hesitantly, you slide your arms around her shoulders, linking your hands together. It feels intimate, too intimate, and looking at her is getting harder by the second. Sevika chuckles in a way that borders on a scoff. “You wanted to do that; don’t be shy about it.”

You huff, “I didn’t know I was being teased to sleep…”

“Is it working? It’d save me time.”

“Fuck off...” 

“You’d hate that.” She replies, as if it’s undeniable. It is, but she’s way too cocky about it. You look like you’re about to curse her out, but you’re holding it back. 

Sevika grins smugly, and for a moment, she considers kissing you. Your arms are wrapped around her shoulders, your eyes are yelling, ‘Fuck me already,’ lips practically begging to meet hers.

This is intimate, too intimate. It’s fucking with her logical reasoning—not that this is logical to begin with. It sounds stupid, but it’s worked for her so far; she casually fucks on the regular, and she doesn’t kiss them ever. Never really felt like it. Yet, here you are, making her feel new things. She knows there’s no going back if she makes an exception with you, and quite frankly, you still piss her off. It’s conflicting.

You impatiently perk a brow at her. You had to stop yourself from flat-out asking her to continue; your ego can’t afford you coming off as begging.

For a millisecond she looks like she got caught, then a millisecond later, she’s on you again. 

She attentively kisses the skin below the curve of your jawline, her tongue making frequent warm appearances. It’s much more fervent, but rough in a way that makes you tremble. She always makes sure you feel her teeth gliding over when she moves to the next spot. Your legs move on their own, one leg curling up against her side. You’re already pooling where you’re seated, but now it’s getting uncomfortable to sit this damp. 

Experienced is how you can describe her right now. You heard rumors of her activity, but you never believed it. There was no way her ol’ grumpy ass was getting laid, no matter how incredibly sexy she was. Then again, you never got along, which makes this situation, this fucking feeling, even crazier. 

She was being extra careful not to bruise you at first, but she seems not to care anymore, only driven further when she hears your little gasps or feels your arms tightening around her. She’s getting carried away, but she’ll figure out how to play it off some other time.

 Sevika pulls back. She throbs at your dazed and confused expression.  “Come closer.” She ushers as she transitions to sitting rather than kneeling on the bed. 

With no hesitation, you don’t let go of Sevika as you push yourself forward on your hips, sitting your ass comfortably on the edge of Sevika’s lap. Her hand lands on your waist. She says, “Lay down for me.” 

You nod shyly, removing your arms from Sevika’s shoulders and descending onto the mattress. Sevika tries to ignore how the loss of your arms around her made her feel. Her hand travels to the waistband of your joggers. “You’re going to have to move these for me too.” She asks, shrugging her shoulder that’s missing an arm as a reminder. 

She doesn’t move; she waits. Your insides do a flip. She’s waiting for you to remove them how you are now: legs diverged around her, hips pointed towards her. You think about how vulnerable you’ll look and feel when you slide them off, showing her the sopping mess she unknowingly made between your legs. You know she’s going to see it eventually, but from you doing the honors? That’s tearing you apart. She notices a shift in your demeanor, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. “Hurry up.” 

“Can’t you move back…?”

Sevika rolls her eyes. “No.”

You whine in embarrassment, briefly shielding your face in your hands before hastily pulling at your waistband. You wish you had turned the lamp off.

Sevika’s hand clasps over yours. “Slowly.” She scolds. Scolds. You’re fucking flabbergasted. She’s doing this on purpose, you can tell. She’s barely holding back another signature, smug smile. 

“You’re such a dick.” You curse. A direct juxtaposition in your actions that don’t defy Sevika at all. Hell, it juxtaposes your body because of how you’re aching for her.

“Yeah, yeah. Off.” She pulls at the band of your pants, letting it slap down when she releases it. 

You mutter out a few more curses that she fully grins at before you silently begin to remove your joggers and underwear simultaneously. You lift your hips for mobility, and Sevika’s eyes are glued to the fabric making its way down your thighs, and you’re forced to watch how intently she’s watching you. You can try to insist this is humiliating and cruel, but you can’t stop throbbing just from this; her eyes anticipating your reveal, like you’re a self-opening present.

The clothing starts to bunch at the middle of your thighs, and your arousal is halfway there to being exposed to Sevika. The scent is what hits her first; it makes her want to yank your pants down and give you what you want, but watching you do it so much better.

Once it reaches above your knees, she partially moves out of the way so she can help you remove them properly. While she tosses it elsewhere, you debate pinning your legs shut. 

Sevika looks back at you—your legs, actually—and you do flinch them closed. She tsks. “Don’t be stubborn. Not now.” She didn’t sound like she was insulting you, even though a small part of you wanted to be offended. 

You let out a shaky sigh and avoid her gaze, slowly parting your legs. Thighs slicked with arousal, folds glistened with the same, you’re undeniably soaked. You prepare yourself to look at Sevika’s shit-eating grin, but when you do, it’s nothing of the sort. Her eyes are low, shaded, and memorializing, and her bottom lip fully disappeared between her teeth. 

Then she grins; she even laughs, just as you expected. You groan, not at her, but at how wet you got from it. “I didn’t even do anything yet.” She teases, her eyes still locked on the ego-stroking mess she made of you. 

“Such a di—“ You cut yourself off to moan sharply. 

Sevika’s thumb came in contact with your swollen clit, the rough pad of her thumb making perfect circles; the rest of her fingers positioned in the patch of hair crowning above it.

“How fast do you think you’ll come? I’m thinking,” she pretends to, only to press her thumb over your clit. Filthy words flutter from your lips, and you instinctively grind into her touch. “Three minutes?” 

You look pissed between your bouts of pleasure; it molds together attractively. Sevika can’t wait to make it break, make you cry, and fuck the attitude out of you. “What? You should see how wet you are; you’d think I already fucked you.” 

She feels the way you twitch at her words, and it makes the pressure between her legs unbearable. She should just strip and grind her cunt into you, but she knows she won’t be able to stop there. Fuck her stupid life; she’s losing the plot. 

Her thick forefinger collects your slick as she paths towards your entrance. You twitch as she slides it in, making you gasp. She chuckles as your walls clench around her finger, and she starts pushing it in and out, painstakingly slow. 

It’s not enough, yet you can’t bring yourself to beg her for more. It’s at the tip of your tongue, but Sevika was right; you are stubborn. She reads you like a book, and she can read you now. She angles her finger in a way that brushes against your g-spot, but at the same mind-numbingly slow pace. 

Your body doesn’t know what to do; you can’t find friction anywhere; you can squeeze against her finger, but it doesn’t change her speed; all you can do is writhe in place. “You look like you need something,” she says, almost like it’s a thought in her head, so condescending, so fucking hot. Your pussy tenses around her finger for the millionth time, and you almost, almost, cry. “You’re gonna cut my finger off at this rate.” You tense again. She chuckles. 

“Sev—Sevika,” you bite your lip to hold down a sharp inhale, but it fails miserably. “Sevika, you’re not helping.”

 “Should I stop?” She asks with the tilt of her head. Her finger does stop regardless of the answer. 

Your hands reach out for her wrist, weakly clawing at it. “No! No, pl...” You mildly cringe at yourself, turning away. 

Sevika’s brows lifted. “What was that? Pl...?” She begins her pace again, and you realize you didn’t appreciate it enough before. “You said it once already; come on.” 

Your lips tremble, “Plea—se—?” She barely lets you finish the word before slipping another finger into your drooling cunt. Her pace increases, and you let go of her wrist as you succumb to pleasure. 

 Your arousal coating her fingers makes the most obscene noises; she wonders if the entire motel can hear it. You try to suppress your moans with your hand, but you can never do it right, not with the way she’s fucking you. Sevika’s glad you can’t; having one arm would’ve been even more inconvenient otherwise. She needs to hear you sob out her name at least once. “Please what?” She leans over you as she slams her fingers into you, pressing them against your wet, ridged, gummy walls.

“You’re— fuck, you’re pushing it,” you groan, and just like that, she slows down. But you’re weak, and you crumble. “Wait, wait, wait—please. Please, fuck me... Fuck me to sleep.” You ramble loosely, back to scratching at her wrists again. There’s that smile you were thinking about earlier, the one she gets after a big win. She broke you, and she lost the plot ages ago. 

—

It’s been an hour, and you’re already on the brink of your third orgasm. Sevika folded and ended up, verbatim, stripping and grinding her cunt into yours. You should be asleep right now, but Sevika said you have enough time to catch up on it before the meeting. You hope that’s true, but you don’t care. You can’t get enough of her or her abs flexing with every desperate hump. 

So intent on getting her rocks off, practically using you for her own pleasure at this point—you already came twice now; any more is a bonus, just like the one building up right now. Your eyes are pressed shut, trying to envision your release so it comes quicker. “Just like that. Keep fucking me, please, Sev.” You beg through your teeth and quiet sniffles. Sevika’s fingers squeeze the meat of your thigh.

She murmurs, “You,” her movements get sloppier; you can tell she’s close, “feel so fucking good.” Now you’re close—no, you come at her praise. 

You’re shaking, grabbing at the sheets that have since slid off the mattress. You forgot how to breathe; all you can feel is your orgasm coursing through you. Your mind is turning fuzzy, and even fuzzier with Sevika still grinding into you. Your moans are pitchy and pornographic; you’re making sounds you didn’t even think happened in real life. “Sevika...” You sob out from overstimulation, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

She loves it. “Shit…” Sevika moans, followed by several more curses as she shudders out her orgasm. Her vision goes blurry for a second from how hard she came. She tries to control her labored breathing as she comes to, breathlessly calling your name. 

When she focuses in on you, you’re passed out, fucked out, and peaceful. Sevika’s pupils dilate at the markings she left on your neck, then to your lips, which she’s yet to have the chance to kiss. She lets the sleep weighing on her win and carefully collapses beside you. 

>

[rcvcgers]

Rotten Apples

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

part two , part three , part four , part five , part six , part seven , part eight , part nine , part ten

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: you've always hated her. you live your life free from her and caleb. a stranger helps save you from a date gone wrong.

word count: 5.1k words

warnings: extreme loathing, kinda funny, kinda sad, a good mix of everything! mentions of death. not proofread!

author's note: hi! this is my first lads fic! it's lowkey a mess and is all over the place, but that's okay! i hope you all enjoy! <33 please feel free to comment! i love any & all feedback! <33

edit: part 2 will be coming soon! thank you for all the love on this! i love & appreciate every single one of you!

You never thought yourself to be a hateful person, but whenever you saw Caleb with her, your heart boiled. His smile was always the brightest with her. He always handed her the first water bottle after a run around the neighborhood. His eyes were always on her and not you during study hall. They shared giggles with one another and you were the last to know the joke as you filled out blank homework pages. Whenever she walked into a room, he jumped to her side and aided her with whatever it is she needed.

And she always needed something.

Your friendship with Caleb and the girl you deemed a she-devil blossomed from a young age, having been next-door neighbors with Josephine. You are older than her yet still a few months younger than Caleb, which meant that the two of you had to look out for her.

She was naive in many ways. She always trusts people too easily and is quick to help, not knowing that the world is cruel and is out to hurt her. It’s something you and Caleb bonded over; taking care of her was something you had in common with him alongside planes, absolutely loving apple pie, and always wanting to be the last one tagged during recess.

However, those childhood days have long passed and you’ve settled into a draining routine where you played a background character in someone else’s life.

When you and Caleb reached freshman year of high school, you were sure that he was going to ask you to be his date to the homecoming dance. Instead, you were surprised with the revelation that he was going to stay home and have a movie night with her since she wasn’t in high school yet.

Despite his compliments about your dress, he snuck back inside his house when you asked him if he needed a ride to the dance. She was waving him back inside in the background and he couldn’t have been happier to watch My Little Pony or whatever bullshit she had lined up.

You basked in his frequent compliments when he met you outside your home, when she wasn’t around. Caleb always knew what to say when you had a saddened frown on your face.

“Did James turn you down? I thought he liked you! You’re a catch!” Caleb’s warm words reached your ears and made the butterflies in your stomach flutter. At least he knew then that you were worthwhile. If only he wasn’t so blind to what you had to offer to him.

At least you had a year of high school alone with him. You two even shared a few classes together and had planned study nights to prepare for final exams! Huddled at the desk in his room, you could smell the sweet apple scent of his shampoo and were able to hear through raspiness of his chuckle right next to your ear.

It was fun until she came inside his room, claiming that she wanted to help you two study. That plan lasted for about ten minutes before she whined and complained that she wanted to watch her and Caleb’s favorite show. That night ended up with her snuggled into his side while he stroked her hair. You held the chip bowl, not by choice, and watched as your crush on the boy next door began to deteriorate.

When she finally joined your and Caleb’s high school, you bit your tongue and held back the deplorable comments that shuffled through your mind about his so called beloved. You even held back comments to your new friends about his relationship with her. You knew that if you ever said anything bad about her, he’d come to her defense and shun you for what you’ve said.

It never mattered how you felt. It didn’t matter if you were having a bad day or had just embarrassed yourself in front of your entire gym class when Becky threw a ball right at your face. His attention will forever be owned by her. You’ll never get to know how it feels to always be under his cautious gaze nor will you ever be a recipient of his charming smile.

Truth is, you used to be friends with them. The perpetual third wheel to all of their escapades and adventures. You used to be close to them but as time moved on, they grew closer together and you, well, just didn’t fit into their equation anymore. The funny thing is that they have no clue of their wrongdoing towards you nor did they realize that you had left their group entirely after months of sitting in your room, filled with nothing but discontent as you scrolled through their posted selfies together.

You thought you set yourself free from them. It’s better to watch from afar instead of up close, no? It spares you more heartbreak and it, very selfishly, keeps you away from her.

You can stay away from her smiles. Her laughter. The way her dark hair falls into the perfect messy bun while yours just looks plain erratic. Not to mention the way her hands always lingered on him while you watched, helpless from the other side of the lunch table.

And you can finally break free from that stupid nickname he has for her.

“Hey!” You hear a friend’s voice from over your shoulder. You turn and smile at them, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Are you ready for the game against the Rams tonight? I heard you’re starting!”

Before you can reply, you hear a thud behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you notice that Caleb leans against the metal lockers. His arms are crossed over his chest and he wears that stupidly charming  grin on his face.

“You have a game tonight? Why didn’t you tell us?” He asks. Her smile falters.

Us. That damned word.

“It’s not a big deal,” you shrug, placing your leftover books inside the locker. “You two are usually busy anyways doing…whatever…so it wouldn’t have mattered if you knew or not.”

Okay, maybe there is some venom in your tone and malice in the way you throw your books into your locker. To be fair, you’re so fed up with them ghosting you and never showing up to your games that you can’t help but let some of your anger out.

“Woah!” Caleb pushes off the locker and holds his hands in the air. You roll your eyes and slam the locker shut, walking away. He quickly follows and matches your hellish pace. “What’s wrong? You’ve been so distant lately. Me and—”

“Don’t,” you bark. The two of you pause in the middle of the hallway, your eyes locked on his in a heated glare. “How long do you think it’s been since I’ve hung out with you two?”

A look of confusion flashes across his face. You have to stop yourself from looking at the way his face scrunches up, the way his tongue pokes about between his lips while he thinks.

“Hm…like a month?” Caleb’s words are genuine, you know that, but it shatters your heart to know that he doesn’t even realize it’s almost been a year since you two hung out, let alone were in a room together.

“A month?!” You scoff and look away. A laugh filled with disdain and shock escapes your lips. Your hands drop to your side, tightly balled into fists, as anger washes throughout your body. “Caleb, be real with me right now. Do you truly think it’s been a month?”

You want to give him a chance to redeem himself, for him to own up to the mistake he’s made. Everyone deserves a second chance, right?

“I do, yes…” he wearily says. Your nostrils flare, cheeks heating with irritation.

“Hey guys!” Her cheerful tone scratches the inside of your brain. You sharply inhale and close your eyes just to open them to the side of her attaching herself to his side. “Are you okay? You look angry,” she remarks and gently places her hand on your shoulder. You immediately slap it away. The tips of your fingers tingle from the smack.

“Hey! What was that for?” Caleb steps in front of her, pushing the teen girl behind him.

You cross your arms over your chest, eyes narrowing up at Caleb, who guards her from you.

“Just fuck off and leave me alone!” You snap, pushing past them, your shoulder bumping into Caleb’s bicep. 

“Wait!” Caleb’s voice rings in your ears. A flash of hope makes your heart flutter.

Is he going to chase after you? Will he finally ditch her and see how you’re feeling for a change? Will the old Caleb come back, the one that actually cared about you and your feelings?

Your feet hesitate, pace drastically slowly, still in earshot of the other two’s conversation. You can hear his footsteps coming after you, going from slow to quick, but they suddenly stop.

“She isn’t worth it, Caleb,” her voice shoots any semblance of hope you felt, ripping your heart into shreds. “She’s so mean…she doesn’t deserve your care.”

The hallway in front of you turns glossy. You use the back of your hand to wipe away the tears that brew in your eyes. Your once reluctant pace hastens and you disappear down the hallway, becoming just another face in the crowd.

The year passed and you graduated with a new group of friends; friends that welcomed and invited you with open arms. Your camera roll was no longer sad, filled with empty selfies with her and Caleb not paying attention in the background, shifting to group photos and friends completing the other side of your hand heart. It filled your heart with the joy and happiness that your previous friendships lacked.

And most importantly of all: you were completely over Caleb and didn’t have to spend any more time around her. It’s a relief for you, really, and you’re able to go to the college of your dreams and pursue the career you wanted. 

The saddened memories no longer pained you. They no longer dug into your skin. Instead, you planted them into the soil of your mind, using the special fertilizer (the special ingredient being resent), and grew from them.

So what if they wronged you? You were now free and didn’t owe either of them a damn thing! That is, until Caleb died.

The news nearly broke you. Your mother informed you of the news when you came home for a visit. You were on a much needed break from work and were looking for a chance to relax. Your time of relaxation was quickly turned inside out.

You became a shell of yourself, the last memory of Caleb haunting your mind as you holed up in bed, covers covering the entirety of your body with a small hole for clean and cool breathing air. Your cheeks became perpetually stained with tears, becoming sticky in your sleep before the cycle started all over again.

The day of his funeral was unnecessarily rough. Your mother had to drag you out of bed and help you into the shower, the hot water turning cold from the amount of time you stood there. Once you stepped out, body trembling from the cold air, you stared at the black dress that was laid out across your bed.

It was simple. It stopped mid-thigh and the sleeves ran long down your arms. You paired it nicely with tights from high school, a pair that Caleb complimented you on, and a pair of simple booties.

She was the center of attention, of course, there was no doubt about that. The ache in your chest left you feeling conflicted. She sat alone, head hung low, as people walked by, chuckling as if they weren’t at a funeral reception.

You almost felt bad for her and the way her mascara streaked down her cheeks. She clung to a piece of metal in her hand, occasionally bringing it up to her lips to kiss it.

The distance between the two of you felt like a game of cat and mouse. She took one step forward, you took one back. She entered the hallway you found recluse in, you made sure that there was room in the closet for you to hide in.

You thought that you were able to slip out unnoticed until she called out your name.

“Hi…” your voice falls off. Her fists are balled at her sides, knuckles white.

“What are you doing here?” Her words are sharp, effortlessly slicing into you. “I thought you hated him.”

“I could never hate him…” the words barely come out, just above a meek whisper. She doesn’t say anything else. All she does is stare at you with her heartbroken expression, eyes strained and red from the sobs she let out earlier.

A part of your heart broke for her. The other part remained emotionless, knowing how she tormented you in your younger years by dangling Caleb in front of your face. It tormented you to know that you could still hold a sliver of resentment in your heart for something that happened so long ago. You quietly left, leaving her alone in the hallway, disappearing behind a familiar turn.

A year passes. The hatred you held in your heart has dissipated. You’ve watered the flowers you planted in your mind and the petals read off messages of forgiveness and second chances, even though you made sure to never run into her ever again.

Some people can forgive and forget, but you’ll be sure to forgive and keep a distance.

Skyhaven isn’t too bad of a home. Sure, there’s barely any trace of organic life throughout the city, except for the token tree the mayor decided to add about two months ago, but it’s a nice place to live. You’ve made yourself comfortable. The nightlife is great and the rain is even better. You even made some friends at your job and have gone out on a date or two with a guy who is very attentive.

But none of them are Caleb.

You stare at yourself in the cafe mirror, shaking your head. You fix your disheveled hair, wondering how you managed to spend the last ten minutes digging up the past when you’re on a date with a very cute guy. You bite your lip and tweak the last details of your outfit, flattening out a wrinkle in your skirt.

Pushing the bathroom door open, you glide down the hallway, smiling at the other customers who pass by. You can finally go back to…what’s his name again?

Jared? Clyde? Marc, who always emphasizes that there’s a ‘C’ at the end of his name instead of a ‘K’?

You clap your hands together when the name comes back to you. He jumps in his seat, his eyes closing in on you when you sit down. His smile is a little too goofy, missing out on any kind of charm that he can capitalize on, and you can’t help but watch out of the lower half of your vision as he itches his crotch.

“Thanks for waiting for me, George,” a warm smile spreads across your lips. He matches it and leans forward, pushing a colorful mug in your direction. You watch it closely before drawing it closer to you. You don’t take a sip, though, instead letting the whipped cream on top of the coffee melt. You sigh.

You don’t even liked whipped cream on your coffee. You know who would have remembered that?

“It was no problem at all!” George proudly proclaims. His chair scraps across the wooden floor. He inches closer and closer towards you in an attempt to close the distance but you scoot away from him, keeping a pleased smile on your face.

“So, what were you saying you do for a job?” Your question goes straight to his head. Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you refrain from interrupting him about his long ramble about how he works as a “video game consultant” at a local game store.

The conversation is so painful to sit through. You glance between his beady gaze and the clock on the wall behind him. The ticking hands somehow move slower when he dives into his day to day routine. Maybe the whipped cream isn’t as bad as you previously thought.

An hour goes by and you have barely been able to get a word in. Mugs form into a half-circle in front of you. Your leg bounces up and down, hands jittery. Even your blinking is rapid as you solely stare at the clock.

“That’s enough about me. Tell me about yourself,” George grabs his glass. He ordered a cream soda at the beginning of the date but the cream separated from the colorful soda water, forming into chunky clouds.

“You know what,” you breathe out in a laugh, signaling over your shoulder to the door, “it’s getting late. I have an early start tomorrow so I should get going.” You stand from the chair and snatch your tiny purse from the seat beside you.

The cafe is practically empty now and the sun has set hours ago. You rush towards the exit, the route to the door feeling like it never ends as Greg — oh shit, George! — chases after you. 

The Skyhaven night is nice and crisp. The rain isn’t as hard tonight, just a mere sprinkle, and you rush out into the open, taking a deep breath. The chilled air fills your burning lungs and you’re able to breathe again, that is, until George grabs your hand. You gasp and snatch it back from him.

The raindrops lightly kiss your face but George’s sickening smile makes you want to hurl. He creeps towards you, the moon shining just bright enough for you to see the darkness form in his eyes.

“I have to get home, George!” You nervously chuckle, turning away. You rush towards the nearest bus stop, knowing that there will be other people there to take refuge with. George doesn’t let up though and his movements become more primal and animalistic as the seconds tick by.

“Come on, sweetheart,” George beckons from behind. You can hear his ragged breath from behind you grow close. You brace your body for impact…but nothing comes. Instead, you hear a struggle from behind. You swirl on your heels and stare at the scene behind you.

A tall man pushes George away from you. The moonlight reflects off of the shine of his coat, the top of his hat deflecting the light raindrops. You stagger backward, heart racing inside your chest, as George crumbles to the ground, a blur of red, grey, and blue pushing down on the man.

“She said she’s going home,” the voice growls. It itches the back of your mind, calling to you like a faint memory. “Leave. Or I’ll crush you right here and now.”

The voice beckons to you from the back of your mind, putting it at ease. The voice calls out your name followed by a throaty chuckle. It asks you how you’re doing, if you need help with that week’s math homework. You can also hear his voice apologize to you for forgetting about your plans to go to the movies with your group of friends, making some excuse that she got locked in the attic and needed rescuing.

The moonlight turns dark, the floating rock covered by a cloud, as the figure slowly approaches you. The once soft droplets of rain evolve into hardened projectiles, the wind picking up from all around you. With the weather matching your quickly escalating mood, you march through the rain, the phantom chasing after you.

“Hey! You’re getting soaked!” His voice calls from behind. You pay no attention to it.

The voice sounds exactly like a dead man! A person who is resting in peace six feet under and couldn’t possibly be here in Skyhaven.

You reach the bus stop and hide under the small covering, the rain pounding against the top, rolling off the sides. You hold your arms to yourself and your teeth clatter on the inside of your mouth. You have to tell yourself to not look at the man beside you.

Stranger danger, after all.

“Why are you ignoring me?” The man asks. It’s just the two of you at the bus stop. The stop’s light flickers, adding to the already ominous feeling that forms deep inside your chest. You hug your arms to your body, providing the only warmth in this cold night. “Oh, I get it. You’re mad at me.”

“I don’t even know who you are!” You retort rather quickly, finally looking up at the man.

You gasp and stumble backward. He quickly reaches for you, his large, warm hands gripping your waist, stabilizing you.

He looks down at you with an irresistible and charming smile. His purple eyes seem to glow under the dim lighting. He wears a black and orange rain jacket, black baseball cap sitting on his head. He cocks his head to the side, gaze drifting to memorize your face.

Nausea sweeps over your body. You tear your gaze off of the phantom before you. The cold air pricks the inside of your lungs, rapidly moving in and out of your system.

This can’t be real, right? He cannot possibly be standing in front of you, alive and well, with that damn smile on his face. A single tear rolls down your cheek, your lips parted. Your breath flows out of your mouth in gentle plumes of steam.

“Caleb?” Your voice falters. He chuckles, smoothing down your frizzy hair.

“The one and only! C’mon, you can say it: you missed me!”

You reach out, grabbing his arms, squeezing him. His brows furrow, eyes training themselves on your hands as you poke and prod various parts of his body. You grab his cheeks, pulling on them before squishing his face. He gently takes your hands into his, moving your hands away from his face.

“You done yet?”

“You’re alive!”

“I am well aware of that, yes.” His laugh fills your ears and your heart swells.

Even after all these years of forgetting Caleb, you still end up swooning for him the moment he saves you from Landon.

Or was it David? Eh. It doesn’t really matter.

“How…what…” you stammer, unable to form a cohesive and coherent sentence. Caleb sighs and takes your hand. He flattens your palm against his chest.

How heartbeat is slow and steady…it’s there. You gasp, bottom lip trembling, legs slowly becoming jelly.

Tears freely flow down your face as the realization of his existence sets in.

He’s alive.

He’s here.

He’s breathing.

His last memory of you isn’t you ending your friendship and avoiding him for the rest of your senior year of high school.

You collapse to your knees, hand digging into your chest. A sharp pain slices into your chest as your fingernails dig into your skin in an attempt to grab your heart and to scream at it to calm down. The pounds from your heart makes your ears ring, drowning out the endless pitter patter of rain. Even your lungs feel as if they are on fire, unable to suck in and inhale the oxygen that you need to survive.

Your eyes open and Caleb’s face is right in front of yours. You can hear him speak but cannot make out a single word that he says. He gently helps you back to your feet.

“Take it easy,” his words seep through the sound of your heartbeat, “breathe.”

His hand slides to the back of your neck, warming your body, and his thumb gently grazes the side of your neck. You inhale through your nose, holding it for a few seconds before slowly exhaling until all of the air is out of your lungs.

“Does she know?” the question pops out of your mouth before you can stop it.

How could you even ask that at a time like this? You should be seeing if he’s okay! If he’s in any sort of trouble that you can help get him out of.

Did he fake his death? Has he been alive this whole time? When was he going to come see you?

Caleb sharply inhales through gritted teeth, pulling away from your face. You watch him closely, bottom lip trembling.

You know. You know the answer.

Of course she knew before you! She is his beloved, the one person he will spend the rest of his life with. It’s laughable to even think that you stood a chance against her.

“Actually,” you interrupt him, covering his mouth, “don’t answer that. I really don’t want to know.” Even though every fiber of your being screamed blood murder at you to figure it out.

Is he dating her? Has he ditched her for good? HAs Caleb finally come to the realization that she isn’t some angel that came down from the heavens.

His purple eyes blink at you, perplexed by your actions. Caleb speaks into your hand but his voice is a mere muffle. You sigh and look out at the pouring rain.

You need to get home.

You need to get home and get away from him.

You need to relieve yourself of any memory, item, or scent that can remind you of him because, well, he clearly isn’t yours to have.

If you stay any longer, you’re going to end up crying in the rain, unloading all of your emotions onto him. And Caleb, who has risen from dead, doesn’t deserve to hear any of it. He’s innocent in all of this and no matter how angry and resentful you can feel towards him, you’ll never be able to hold it against him.

“Get home safe, Caleb,” you breathe the words out, slowly releasing your hand from his mouth.

You push away from him and bare the thundering rain on your own, hugging your jacket to your body. You sprint across the street, desperately needing to get away from him.

Caleb watches you with wide eyes, captivated by the woman you’ve become.

You’ve lost all the baby fat in your cheeks. Your hair is longer and is styled to perfection.

You’re bolder. Funnier, even, whether it’s intentional or not. Caleb laughed at your jokes in the cafe, particularly the ones that George didn’t find funny.

Whatever. He’s an idiot.

He heard your laugh from inside the cafe and got drunk off of it. He found himself smiling wider than he has before in the past year.

You took his mind off of his stressful job, which he just came back from, and relaxed his body. He didn’t think about how ling he stayed in that damned tunnel nor did he think about his connections with Ever.

Your laugh turned off the fight or flight switch that perpetually stayed on inside his head. It did pain him, though, to know that you were out with other guys. This George fellow is not your match. He’s a Sul-indulgent prick who only talks about himself.

And what the fuck is a video game consultant anyways?

His job is nothing compared to being a Colonel in the Farspace Fleet. You’ll surely be impressed with that.

You did always say you loved a man in a uniform.

His purple eyes flicker with excitement. He steps out into the rain and follows in your exact footsteps. Once he’s across the street, he turns around and stares at the cafe you two once sat in.

She walks out with her friends, umbrellas covering their heads. They smile and laugh with one another, teasing as thunder booms in the background. He chuckles at their umbrellas but his smile quickly fades when he realizes that you didn’t have one.

Silly girl. Now he has to check in on you and make for sure that you don’t catch a cold.

His gaze drifts to her but the spark he once felt isn’t there anymore. She’s…boring now. Caleb tilts his head back and laughs.

How could he have been so blind?

His focus has been on her all along but you…you are something else.

Captivating. Intoxicating. Enchanting. Hilarious. Fascinating.

Your fruity perfume formed a tent in his pants. Have you always smelled like apples and cinnamon? You encapsulate an autumn evening. Suddenly, he loves it when the leaves change colors and fall from the trees. He’ll never let you fall ever again.

Caleb doesn’t know how he let you slip through his fingers so many times. You live in Skyhaven, too, right under his nose. He should have found you sooner.

He should have gone with you to the homecoming dance. He regrets not watching you during the countless games you’ve invited him to. He should have closed the door in her face when she petered you two when you needed to study for the math exam. It was never your best subject. Lucky, he excelled in it.

And he should have fucking gone after you when you told him to fuck off all those years ago.

But now?

Now Caleb’s going to take back the time he missed out on. Surely, you’d feel the same way when he comes back? After all, he does know where you live now.

Six floors up. The fourth room from the left. You have a stained glass butterfly hanging in your window. He’ll see it up close soon enough.

He stands outside your apartment building with a bright smile on his face, staring up at your bedroom. He can see you move throughout the living room, your shadow painted against the far wall. His eyes follow as you slip into your bedroom. You look out the window.

What are you looking at? I’m here. Show me anything. Give me the signal I need to come and save you.

You turn on a lamp. The light points up to the butterfly, illuminating the blue and orange colors from the glass.

You’re so thoughtful.

How did you know those are his favorite colors?

Caleb chuckles to himself, shaking his head. His feet carry him to the entrance of your apartment building, just barely sneaking in as a couple leaves. He thanks them and sneaks to an elevator, stepping inside as he presses the button to your floor.

Thank you for the signal, he thinks to himself, I’ll be there soon.

if you're interested in being a part of a taglist, please let me know here!

[wandanatsub]

At least once more, as always

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda finds a new spell in the Darkhold and wants to try it out.

Tags: Somnophilia, dub con (is reader there voluntarily? I don't know), magic (cock), stretching, overstimulation, breeding kink, pet names for reader (sweetheart, baby, angel), mommy kink, slight dacryphilia, no pronouns used for reader

Words: 3k

Find it on AO3 or others like it

I was thinking about how Wanda would wake you with morning sex and then my brain just did its thing at 2am. This took way longer to edit than I thought, but I'm happy with this for now so posting before it stays in my draft for another month..

The bed was warm when Wanda finally joined you, but sleep was the last thing on her mind.

She pulled the sheet off the bed and was rewarded with the sight of your naked body. Even asleep, Wanda knew you were always ready and waiting for her, whether you were aware of it or not.

She began with lightly brushing her fingers over your naked body, making sure you were still fast asleep. Then she pressed a bit harder, especially around your thighs and hips. Her hand snaked around your throat and massaged your pulse points. She teased your nipples and pulled on them.

Your breathing changed, but you were still sleeping. She checked, loving that her treatment was reflected in your dream.

After a while, she let her fingers drift down to your folds and pushed through them, feeling the wetness seep out of you. You were wet enough for her to put her plans into action.

And now for the second part of her plan. Wanda spoke another short incantation and started to slowly thrust into you. She wondered at what point you would wake and shiver of excitement ran down her back, making her thrusts a little deeper. Would the continued stretch of your hole would wake you up before her cock became thicker than her fist?

Before she pulled you close, she spoke the incantation and rubbed her clit. With the last word, a cock appeared between her legs. Her hand easily fit around it, as planned.

She turned you on your back. Your face was beautifully calm, a small smile on her lips if Wanda saw it correctly. Her fingers slid down to your thighs, grabbing hold at your knees and pulled them apart to slide closer towards you. She settled your legs over her hips, her cock right at your seeping entrance. She pushed in easily, groaning as she could feel her cock inside your warm and soft pussy.

Every passing second made her cock expand, slow enough to not be recognizable at the moment, but soon you'd notice the stretch. The slow process also gave her the chance to fuck you for a while before you'd wake up.

Wanda started with easy slow thrusts. You were so wet that she felt no resistance at all., though she could feel it starting to build. She fingered your clit to keep the abundance of wetness coming, not wanting to hurt you. Yet. She kept thrusting, checking in on your dream to find her dream-self lazily fucking into dream-you, your blissed-out face mirroring reality.

Wanda kept fucking into you. Once her cock had grown enough, the resistance was noticeable, your walls gripping onto her.  Gods, she loved the way you felt around her, the pressure gradually increasing, turning her on more every second.

She had to put more strength into her thrusts, holding onto your hips to push into you. Your dream-self had started to moan her name, slowly bleeding into reality, as she could hear you trying to form words. On a particular powerful thrust, going as deep as she could, your eyes suddenly popped open with you screaming out her name.

Wanda kept thrusting into you with all her power, relishing in the squeeze of her cock while pushing your hips into the mattress. Your hands came up to claw at her. To make her stop or will her to keep going, you weren’t sure.

Waking up to Wanda pushing into you with her thick cock had left you reeling, barely comprehending what was happening. But Wanda gave you no time to catch up. The squelching sound of Wanda forcing herself into your pussy filled the air.

"I've been fucking you for a while, but I’m glad you've finally decided to join the show."

"Yes, take me, pet."

She leaned down to pull your wrists above your head, brushing her nose up your throat to whisper in your ear.

"Gotta get you so wet for me, baby, more than ever before. I'm trying this little spell. Can you figure it out?"

Shivers ran through your whole body. Your hips tried to press up into the witch above you, desperately looking for more friction but Wanda slowed her thrusts, though only because she struggled to push into you all the way.

Her hand flew back to your clit, feeling your pussy give way to her. You squeezed your eyes shut, there were too many sensations. You needed to cum, because you needed this to be over. It was torture, lighting your body on fire, raw pleasure coursing through your veins.

And she kept thrusting into you, your brain nearly exploding while trying to make sense of her words and not pass out from the heavenly pressure between your legs.

You felt your orgasm creeping up on you. It hadn't been the first time Wanda had stretched you out, and it always felt great. But her waking you up already inside you felt intense. You wanted to cum so badly. Cum for her. Stretched around her cock.

"Please, more. I need-"

"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart, more is what this is all about. I'm gonna stretch you out until all you can do is cum on my cock."

You were glad Wanda had let you come so easily, not even making you ask for permission. Your hands let go of the headboard and found her hips, trying to push her off of you. The orgasm hat felt amazing but you needed a break.

The thought, paired with Wanda's hard thrusts, sent you over the edge easily, squeezing her cock like a vice. She moaned, her hips temporarily thrusting out of rhythm.

She slowed down until you stopped clenching around her, not wanting to cum until she had you at your breaking point. It helped you catch your breath. Though you could still feel the stretch, you felt relaxed, the pleasure-high fogging up your thoughts.

Wanda took hold of your wrists again and kept pushing into you.

“What makes you think I’m done with you, baby?” Her overly sweet voice made you realize you might be in trouble.

Wanda quickened her thrusts again, pleasure filled your body without your permission though you knew better than to fight it or her.  You would enjoy her treatment so much more when you gave into her fully. If Wanda’s thrusts kept coming, so would you. Might as well enjoy it.

Something felt different though. Like she had gotten bigger, stretching you more and-

Oh.

Now her words made sense.

A loud whine escaped your lips.

"Yes, more, please, more, Wanda. Please, please, make me stretch for you."

Wanda knew you had finally understood.

By now, she was almost as thick as her fist. Her thoughts drifted back to a week ago, when you had asked her to fist you. Wanda pushed the image and feeling of you squeezing her hand, only her wrist visible between your legs, covered in cum and lube to the elbow, into your thoughts.

The mental image and the pressure of her thick cock pushed you over the edge again. Your whole body went rigid, muscle tension pulling your body away from the mattress, pushing into the pleasure and overstimulation.

Wanda kept up her rhythm this time, pounding into you, holding onto your hips, pushing herself as deep as possible. You didn't know when your second orgasm turned into the third, but you wouldn’t care if you lost all feeling in your physical body as long as the fireworks of pure ecstasy kept exploding.

"One more, baby, give me one more." The words pushed through the haze in your mind. And you felt yourself nod. One more orgasm and you could rest.

Wanda blew hot air on your clit, not wanting to overstimulate you, but you writhed underneath her anyway.

Wanda had paused her thrusts, waiting for you to return to reality, but her cock had gotten thicker again.

Your orgasm had spread your wetness over your thighs, her thighs and the bedspread, but neither of you cared.

"More, Wan, please." Your words were slurred, but Wanda understood them anyway.

"I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. You are doing so well. Just give me one more. Can you do that for me, baby?"

You nodded again, moving your hips against hers, pushing yourself onto her thick cock.

Wanda was in awe. She had trained you so well.

"That's it, baby, keep going, fuck yourself on my cock. You can't get enough of it, can you? You're so wet and open for me, made to be stretched by my thick cock."

You whined, not able to push yourself all the way onto Wanda's cock anymore, resulting in quick, shallow frustrating thrusts. You were stretched beyond anything you had ever experienced. You wanted more, needed more. Needed Wanda, her help, needed her to push deeper into you. All thoughts had left your head. All you could think about was Wanda. The witch liked it that way.

"Aww, my pretty baby can't do it without my help? Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll show you how to fuck a precious little angel like you."

You winced at the first deep thrust. Wanda's thumb found your clit and swept over it again and again. The stretch became easier to handle but it couldn't quench the frustrated arousal sweeping through your whole body. With all your strength, you wrapped your legs around Wanda's back and pulled her as close as you could.

"Harder. Please, Wan. Please, mommy, fuck me."

Hearing that title from your lips nearly pushed Wanda over the edge.

Nails dug into your hips, making you cry out. Wanda pushed into you as hard as she could, slamming her pelvis into yours with every thrust, but you didn't care. The pleasure exploded in your body, reaching every tiny nerve ending.

"Come for me, baby. Come on mommy’s cock."

Your orgasm ripped through you, only increasing once you felt Wanda's cock erupt in thick spurts of cum, stretching you even more. Your breathing stopped while your body tried to contain all the pleasure. All your nerve endings were fired up, sending ecstasy back to your center, the sensations concentrated on the stretch of your walls around Wanda's cock, pulling you into another orgasm.

It took a while to free yourself from the haze in your brain. You barely registered Wanda speaking words in another language, then the continued stretch stopped.

Wanda waited until your eyes fluttered open again, finding hers.

"Good morning, baby. Sleep well?"

Her lips pulled into a grin. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, if at all possible. But as soon as your brain found words, her thumb swiped over your clit, circling it, shooting pleasure through your abused nerves. You whined, your hands shooting out to grip her wrist. Wanda was still inside you, stretching your pussy to its limits.

"Ah ah ah, baby, hands to yourself. I just want to make this easier for you."

Your grip on her wrist didn't lessen, but you didn't have the strength to stop her anyway. Wanda brushed quick little circles over your clit, making your eyes roll back. Your hips lifted of their own volition, still chasing her touch, but she chose that moment to slowly pull out of you.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. Stretching you out had been ecstatic, but this feeling was agonizing. Her thumb pressed over your clit, your walls releasing her cock, bit by bit. Using magic could’ve definitely make this process easier for you, but Wanda wasn’t really looking to make it easier for you.

She pulled out slowly, slower really than she had to, but she loved seeing your walls all stretched around her, your clit fluttering under her thumb.

"You're doing so well for me, sweetheart. Be good, and don't fight it, baby."

Your body couldn’t decide between whines, cries and moans, letting it all out. Wanda basked in the display of pleasure and pain. She loved how your body writhed underneath her, constantly switching between pulling her closer and pushing her away.

Wanda was in total control of your body, just the way she liked it. Her fingers slid up your stomach to your breast and started to toy with your nipples, squeezing and pulling on them. All the painful sensations combined into a pleasure wave, slowly drifting over you.

She paused the movement of her hips for a few seconds, cruelly tracing your thin walls around her cock. Your whines turned into sobs, your body practically vibrating with all the sensations, until she finally took pity on you. Her thumb returned to your clit, the other hand held onto your squirming hips. Her lips found your ear, praising you in hushed tones as she finally pulled out of you.

A final small orgasm pulled out of you, relief flooding your whole body.

Without her cock inside you, your combined cum started flooding out of you, soaking the sheets underneath you.

Wanda's finger swirled through it and pushed some of it back into your stretched entrance. You whined and tried to pull away from her.

"Stay still, baby. I can't have all of this sweetness go to waste. Have to plug you up next time, to make sure to keep all of my cum inside."

Your struggle quickly faded. Your body was overwhelmed, unable, and unwilling to fight Wanda. After all, she knew what was best for you.

Four wet fingers easily pushed the cum back into you, her thumb finding your clit, overstimulation sending you into another quick orgasm, squeezing weakly around her fingers.

"Good job, baby, let me fill you up."

Wanda pulled you closer by your hips, propping your ass up onto her thighs. Your legs fell open, exposing your wide entrance to Wanda's hungry gaze. Your body felt heavy, too heavy to really move, but you knew Wanda would handle your body into any position she wanted it. You didn’t have to think about moving or anything besides breathing, though your body mostly managed that on its own.

"You're perfect like this, sweetheart, all open and ready for me."

Even though you were still incredibly overstimulated, Wanda's praise could easily push you into compliance.

"Wanna be good for you, mommy." Your whispers were barely loud enough to be heard, but Wanda would've caught them over the sounds of bombs raining from the sky.

"Then just lay still and let me fill you up, baby. Gotta make sure my seed takes root."

Your eyes fluttered, and it became difficult to keep them open. You caught glimpses of Wanda stroking her cock eagerly, staring at your freshly fucked pussy.

"Fill me up, mommy, want you to breed me."

Wanda loved you. She really did. Especially when you were fucked-out exhausted but still so incredibly horny. She was glad she hadn't managed to fuck that out of you yet.

She stroked herself while slowly circling your clit, delighted to see your pussy quivering, trying and failing to squeeze around anything. You couldn’t move a muscle even if you wanted to. Wanda would fuck you for as long as she wanted to, so there was no reason for you to move anyway.

The sight in front of her and the thought of breeding you finally pushed her into her second orgasm of the morning. The first ropes of cum landed over your stomach and hips. She kept fisting her cock and aimed at your still gaping entrance, the rest of her cum dripped into you.

Her thumb brushed your clit, making you squeeze around her cum.

Another short but intense orgasm made sure her cum stayed where it should and brought silent tears to your eyes.

"So good for me baby, you did so well. I love how hungry your pussy is for my cum. Love to see my little angel clench around nothing but my cum."

A smile bloomed on your face, and Wanda brushed away the tears from your cheek, mixing with the cum still on her thumb.

"Such a pretty angel. Cry for me, baby."

Crying after an intense orgasm wasn't new for you. And this had been the most intense experience of your life, so Wanda wasn't surprised by your reaction. The fact that it turned her on even more was also a benefit. The tears kept falling, and Wanda kept brushing them away, smiling down at you.

"Getting my thumb all wet, baby, and wet fingers are only good for one thing."

Her featherlight touch had barely left your face when you felt it once again on your clit. You stiffened. You couldn't. Not again. It was too much.

"Can you give me one more, angel? Just one more, and then you can sleep, I promise. Just have to make sure that you take mommy's cum as deep as you can."

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were sure this wasn't necessary to get you pregnant, whether she had cum inside you, tip pushed against your cervix, or masturbating over your gaping hole.

Your body fought against overstimulation. You wanted to be good for Wanda. To give her what she wanted. She was relentless, brushing over your clit. Quietly praising you. Telling you about all the other ways she wanted to breed you until you were finally pregnant and maybe even after that.

Your body slowly came alive again, pleasure reaching out its fingertips.

"Look at me, baby."

Wanda waited until your eyes fluttered open and anchored onto her own. She smiled at you, then looked down at your abused pussy and let her spit drip onto your clit. Your eyes rolled back, and your body quivered under her presence.

With the last vestiges of her sanity intact, Wanda pulled up your hips until her tongue could reach your clit. It barely took a few licks to catapult you into one last orgasm, long and intense, Wanda sucking on your clit throughout until you finally lost all strength in your body.

She carefully lowered you, pulled a pillow under your hips to keep them inclined, and finally laid down next to you, pulling you into her arms.

"Sleep, baby. You did so well for mommy, I’m so proud of you."

You barely registered the praise before you lost consciousness and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

[sunshineyuyu]

stereo hearts (s. mg)

★ summary: mingi’s had a crush on you since his freshman year. you’re a year older than him, infinitely cooler, and you share a love for music. one night, you end up making out in the storage closet of the campus radio station you both work at, and you end up getting closer. ★ pairing: mingi x f!reader ★ genre: smut (mdni!!), college ★ word count: 5.6k ★ tags/warnings: radio station dj!mingi and reader, reader is a year older than mingi, mingi is a computer science major LOL, reader is described as shorter than mingi, alcohol consumption, weed consumption, mentions of nicotine vape, frat party, american college setting, kinda sub-y mingi, kinda dom-y reader, slight dumbification?, reader is just a little mean to mingi, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, penetrative piv sex (with a condom!), minor super background seongjoong ★ notes: this one was written as a gift for @starhwas-bunny huhu, my bestie beta <3 ftr i have never dj-ed for a university radio station so hopefully this isn’t a super inaccurate representation of that experience. ★ masterlist | read on ao3

in the three years since mingi started volunteering as a dj at the university radio station, the little room they broadcast out of has become something like a second home to him.

three out of four of the walls are covered floor to ceiling with shelves that sag from the amount of vinyls, cassette tapes, and cds crammed onto them. tucked into one corner is a mini fridge that was found abandoned after move-out day years ago, and sitting on top is a weak little keurig gifted by the previous faculty sponsor. there’s a musty old leather couch shoved against the singular non-shelved wall, and in the middle of the whole room is the desk, overloaded with several monitors, a keyboard, and the sound board. the whole room smells faintly like sour coffee and old grandpa, but mingi has learned to love it all the same.

tonight, though, mingi would rather be anywhere else than here. grumpily, he blinks at the red numbers of the digital clock on the corner of the desk. 02:13 AM, it reads. he wishes he could go back in time and take a different shift, but the mingi from a month ago never could’ve anticipated all the developments that have happened over the last few weeks.

first, his compilers assignment is kicking his ass. he’s been working tirelessly on it for three weeks now, but his results are still a little off and the due date is fast approaching at the end of the week. he doesn’t even have any classmates to fall back on for help, since he’s taking the course a semester ahead of his other friends, and he hasn’t had enough time to make new ones yet.

second, his best-friend-roommate yunho just got a new girlfriend, which means he’s been spending less time hanging out with mingi. mingi likes to think that he’s not too clingy or needy, but he misses the routine of waking up to the smell of yunho burning breakfast and then getting in a game of valorant together before going to bed. instead, he’s had to play nice with yunho’s new girlfriend whenever she invades their apartment with her neverending peppiness, and sleep with noise-canceling earbuds because he and yunho share a wall.

he’s sleep-deprived and stressed and lonely and really wants a goddamn hug from literally anyone.

but he’s forced to toil away in the tiny campus radio station studio, where the playlist he’d painstakingly arranged last week to blend seamlessly between songs does nothing to soothe his anxieties.

⋆⋆⋆

there’s still half an hour left of mingi’s shift, but he’s already queued up all the music and timed out the ads, so he’s mostly just focused on chipping away at his assignment. the adrenaline from the celsius he crushed when he first arrived is already started to fade, and mingi is seriously thinking about digging out the elfbar from the bottom of his backpack (that he promised yunho he’d throw away) to extend the last fumes of his focus.

this train of thought is thankfully interrupted by the door of the studio being thrown open unceremoniously.

“shit!”

even on a good day, mingi is a jumpy person, and having the blinding light of the hallway enter the dark studio with no warning makes his heart skip several beats. his knee jerks up on instinct, and it whacks painfully against the bottom of the desk.

“ah, oops. sorry!”

standing in the doorway, haloed in fluorescent light, and appearing practically angelic, is none other than you. you have enough wherewithal to at least look apologetic, but mingi doesn’t care either way because it’s you.

you’re a senior—one year above mingi—and the one who trained him to be a dj when he was a freshman. back then, he’d been starstruck by how outgoing you are, the way you’d tease him with the familiarity of a close friend even though you were practically strangers. you have this eclectic but broad taste in music, and he likes that you challenge him to listen to new artists and genres.

and of course—you’re fucking hot. you’ve always been beautiful, with shining eyes and a big wide smile. but over the years, you’ve changed your hair style, dyed the ends, gotten a couple of piercings and tattoos, and it’s been game over for mingi ever since. 

so yeah, he’s had a crippling crush on you that’s only gotten worse with time.

“hi,” mingi says dumbly, massaging his knee where the pain has already mysteriously disappeared.

“hey!” you say breezily, beaming because it’s clear now that he won’t yell at you for scaring him.

“do you have the next shift?” mingi asks, using all his brainpower to compose a coherent sentence. he’s usually able to act relatively normal around you, but he’s all out of sorts right now, and it’s nearly 2:30 fucking am.

“oh, no,” you say. “i just really needed a caffeine fix, and this is the only place i could think of that’s still open on campus for me to get some.”

you both glance over at the sad excuse of a coffee station the studio has, and mingi lets out an undignified snort.

“it is what it is,” you sigh.

while mingi tries to think of a conversation starter, he turns back to his laptop so he’s not just staring at you like some lovesick puppy. 

your normally styled hair is thrown into an afterthought of a bun, but mingi likes that he can see the elegant line of your neck and the line of silver hoops stacked along your ears. you’re also wearing those rimless bayonetta glasses that he loves, and he always gets distracted by the little sparkle charm you added that dangles from the hinge.

“aw man,” you say. “there aren’t any pods left.”

mingi glances up briefly from his laptop to see you pouting down at the little box where they usually keep the coffee pods. 

cute, he thinks.

“hongjoong ordered more last week,” mingi says, waving towards the storage closet behind him. “but he hid them so people don’t try to steal them in bulk.”

at his words, you perk up and scamper towards the closet after dumping your backpack onto the couch.

with you out of sight, some of the nervous tension in mingi’s muscles finally bleeds out. mingi throws his glasses down onto the table and rubs at his weary eyes until he sees fireworks against the backs of his eyelids. he wishes he had even an ounce of the charisma that yunho has, but he’s so fucking tired right now that he can’t think of anything even remotely charming to talk to you about. eventually, he slams his forehead down onto the table and entertains the thought of knocking himself out. before he can let his imagination run too wild, he hears the sound of something heavy falling and a whispered “fuck!”

concerned, mingi straightens and rolls his chair closer to the threshold of the storage closet.

“you good?” he asks.

he forgot to put his glasses back on, so you’re really more of a blurry blob of a person, but somehow your sheepish smile still manages to come through.

“i found the pods!” you say brightly, pointing at a large cardboard box on the top shelf. “but, i can’t reach them.”

mingi huffs out a laugh and stands up. finally, it feels like something is going right for him tonight. you are short and need help, and mingi is tall and can help you.

he’s so hyper-focused on his task that he doesn’t think twice about crowding up behind you. doesn’t think twice about bracing one hand against your back to keep himself steady as he reaches with his other hand for the box. doesn’t think twice about leaning around your smaller frame to present you with the thing. 

“here,” he says, except it comes out breathy and rough because he’s just stretched his body for the first time in what feels like ages.

he doesn’t realize how close your faces are until you utter a soft thank you, and the words ghost along his cheekbone. he shudders at the sensation, and all at once the rest of his brain and body come online to recognize the position you’re arranged in.

it’s cramped in the closet, and mingi’s a big guy. his entire front is pressed up against your back, and the hand he’d used to balance himself has somehow slipped down to your waist, and you’ve turned your head slightly so that you can look up at him.

mingi stares down at you, and you’re seriously so close that he doesn’t need his glasses to see the way your lips part, the way your eyebrows furrow. 

“um,” he says intelligently.

oh-so-slowly, you push your glasses up onto your head and turn around to fully face him. like always, that stupid sparkle charm entrances mingi.

and then suddenly, he’s pulled down by the front of his shirt, and you surge up to meet him. your lips collide together with so much force that your teeth clack, but mingi doesn’t care because jesus fucking christ. he shoves the pods onto the nearest shelf to get his other hand onto your waist too. god, it’s been a while since the last time he’s made out with someone like this. while his mouth works furiously to remember how to kiss well, he fumbles his palms over the curves of your body. meanwhile, your fingers dance confidently along his chest and collarbones, finally curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. when you tug lightly, mingi actually whimpers.

he pulls back, embarrassed, but you look delighted.

“oh,” you breathe, grinning. “oh, fuck—make that noise again.”

mingi stares at you, uncomprehending and breathing like he’s just run a race. you tug again. mingi keens.

“cute,” you murmur. “c’mere.”

you don’t give mingi the chance to second-guess anything as you pull him back down. your chapstick tastes like peaches, and your tongue is doing things that mingi’s never felt before. you touch him everywhere—run your hands along his chest, his stomach, his back, his arms. mingi is putty in your arms, and he stops trying to hold back the sounds that you tease out of him.

you make out sloppily for what seems like hours. it’s so nice and mindless that mingi doesn’t even realize that he’s half-hard in his jeans until you finally take a step back. 

like the fucking touch-starved idiot he is, he unconsciously leans forward to chase after you. in response, you grin and press a single finger against his chest to hold him off.

“it’s almost the next shift,” you say quietly. “we should probably get out of here.”

“oh,” mingi croaks, as reality settles back in. “oh. yeah.”

you peck the underside of his jaw, and then leave the storage closet.

mingi stays for a second longer, collecting himself. finally, he grabs the box of coffee pods and follows you back into the studio.

he can’t get a read on you as you wordlessly retrieve your backpack. he mirrors your movement, albeit more lethargically. he feels like he’s drunk or high or both, body moving sluggishly, and he’s so so confused.

jongho, who’s taking the 3 am shift, shows up in the middle of your silence as a much needed buffer. it takes mingi five minutes to hand over control, and when he’s done, he’s disappointed to see that you aren’t in the room anymore. dejected, he says goodbye to jongho and leaves the studio, only to find you waiting in the hallway.

you look up when he stops in front of you and smile at him.

“walk me to my car?” you say.

mingi smiles shyly back at you. “yeah. okay.”

you start down the hallway, but mingi halts abruptly. “didn’t you- um- your coffee?” mingi stutters. jesus, he really needs to pull himself together.

you quirk your head to one side and then takes a step into mingi’s space. your gaze darkens, and your smile stretches into a smirk.

“nah,” you whisper, reaching to drag your thumb along his bottom lip. “i got my fix.” 

oh, mingi thinks giddily. she means me!

“c’mon,” you say, your face softening and your hand finding mingi’s. “it’s late.”

“yeah,” mingi says dreamily, trailing after you.

⋆⋆⋆

in the days following, mingi doesn’t see you at all.

this isn’t uncommon—you’re different years and majors, after all. but mingi is still bummed about it. he has your number, but he’s never texted you besides to talk about campus radio logistics. sometimes, you’ll send each other a new song or artist to nerd out over, but mingi feels like it’s a little too transparent if he texts you now when the last time you exchanged messages was weeks ago.

every night, though, mingi replays what happened in his head over and over again. how you had been the one to initiate, to guide and control the entire encounter—how that had turned him on in ways he’d never imagined. he tries vainly not to think about you when he jerks off, but right as he’s about to cum, his thoughts always stray to the way you’d tugged at his hair and cooed at his embarrassing noises.

in the aftermath, he’ll try to think instead of the way you held his hand while they walked to your car. the walk had been short but sweet. you’d been the one to intertwine your fingers, and mingi hadn’t been able to hide the stupid smile on his face as your hands swung between the two of you.

you’d given him one last kiss on the cheek before saying good night.

the rest of the night was a haze: walking to his car, driving home, falling asleep the moment his head hit his pillow without even changing out of his clothes.

⋆⋆⋆

it’s friday night, and mingi has managed to finish his godforsaken compilers assignment, so he’s planning on getting wasted.

mingi is still largely undecided on how he feels about yunho’s new girlfriend, but the one thing going in her favor is the fact that she’s the delta gamma social chair and—because of some bylaw somewhere—has automatic entry to every relevant frat party. she can even bring other people with her, as long as it’s not an egregious amount.

and that’s how mingi finds himself in the middle of an SAE party, just the right side of tipsy. he’s nursing a sweating can of beer and watching yunho and wooyoung absolutely destroy a couple of pledges at beer pong. when they win, mingi pounces on them, but ends up empty-handed as they’re each pulled into congratulatory embraces by their respective significant others.

suddenly, despite being surrounded by people, mingi feels incredibly lonely. it’s like he’s been doused in ice water, the way his head clears and his heart sinks. he knows it’s a passing feeling, knows that in two seconds his friends will turn their attention back to him, but the shots and beers from earlier tonight no longer sit right in his bloodstream.

under the guise of getting another drink, mingi ducks away from his friends and looks for someplace with a little more space and air. he wanders towards the yard, where there’s far fewer people. all of the lawn chairs available are already occupied, so mingi leans up against the wall and pulls out his phone. he’s two scrolls into his instagram feed when something collides into his side hard enough to make him let out a soft oof.

he thinks it must be some random drunk, but instead it’s—

you.

“mingi!” you shriek.

your arms wrap around his middle, and you gaze up at him with glazed over eyes. you’re wearing this tight black shirt with a big square neckline, and you’re all squished up against him so mingi gets an eyeful of your cleavage.

he swallows painfully.

“y/n!” he says, trying to match your energy without being as loud.

you peer around him, almost like you’re looking for someone else. “are you here by yourself?” you ask.

“no,” mingi says. “my friends are inside. i just wanted to get some air.”

“ah.” you nod sagely. “do you smoke? like—get high?”

mingi shrugs, and you bounce with glee. you drag him by the wrist over to a small cluster of people sitting around one of the few lawn tables available.

“sit sit sit!” you say, pushing him into the one empty chair before unceremoniously plopping yourself down in his lap. dumbstruck, mingi just sits there with his hands lying limply against the armrests as you shuffle around in his fucking lap to find a comfortable position. every ounce of his energy is going towards not popping a boner right now.

instead, he focuses on trying to recognize the people sitting around the table. there’s kim hongjoong, the president of your campus radio org, and his boyfriend park seonghwa. beside them is chaewon, your best friend, also sitting in the lap of some guy who mingi assumes is her boyfriend.

shit—what are these people assuming about him, then? 

“here,” you say, thrusting a small object like a usb towards his lips. “take a hit of penelope.”

“penelope?” mingi’s like, still reeling from everything that’s happened in the last five minutes.

you giggle. “my pen. here.”

obediently, mingi leans towards and fits his lips around the tiny weed pen. it’s been a while since he last got high—yunho and wooyoung both run cross-country and don’t like messing around with drugs while they’re in season. he tries to take a shallow hit, but doesn’t end up getting anything, so he throws all caution to the wind and inhales deeply. the tangy sour smoke hits the back of his throat harder than the smooth mintyness of his elfbar, so of course—

he ends up coughing.

little puffs of smoke leave his mouth and nose as he splutters. thankfully, everyone barely laughs at him. in fact, hongjoong hands him a bottle of water which he chugs gratefully.

“sorry, been a while,” mingi rasps, when he finally manages to take a normal breath.

you hum and brush some of mingi’s hair behind his ear. “cute.”

this nearly sends mingi into another coughing fit, but he manages to just laugh breathlessly instead. clutching the water bottle to him like a lifeline, he sinks back into his chair so that maybe he can be less in the spotlight.

“—anyway,” chaewon says, and mingi lets out a sigh of relief at the turn of attention, “sannie, tell them about all the shit they made you do when you were a pledge.”

san—the one guy mingi didn’t know—sighs and pinches chaewon’s thigh.

“babe, you can’t just make me tell this story to everyone. trade secrets, and whatever.”

hongjoong snorts. “so they got you pretty good, huh?”

“goddamnit,” san is like.

so san regails them with the harrowing tale of him pledging SAE, and mingi finally lets himself relax. san has this soft, earnest voice, and it’s nice to listen to. at some point, you press penelope into his hand, and even later, mingi works up the courage to take another hit. this one is much more successful than the last, and gradually, mingi works up a nice buzz. it spurs him to tug you deeper into his lap, fit his hands around your waist—jesus, have you always been this small compared to him?

mingi has no idea how long he spends there, vibing with you and your friends. he’s halfway to asleep when suddenly he feels something trail along his jawline. he feels the telltale graze of lips against his skin, and his pulse jumps.

suddenly, he is incredibly awake.

you nose at his neck, leave the lightest of kisses. mingi becomes hyper aware of his surroundings, and finally realizes that conversation’s been dead for a while. chaewon is fully straddling san in his chair, and hongjoong and seonghwa have disappeared.

“you wanna get out of here?” you murmur.

“yeah. yeah.”

⋆⋆⋆

mingi is aware enough to shoot a text off to his group chat with yunho and wooyoung letting them know that he’s going home with someone. he feels an odd rush of validation from the subsequent onslaught of vulgar texts and emojis he gets in response.

your place isn’t far from greek row, so you walk there. once again, you have threaded your fingers together, and mingi is noticing for the first time just how small your hand is compared to his. with your other hand, you scroll through your spotify playlists, trying to find one that “fits the ambiance” of the walk before settling for one titled vaporwave vibes.

mingi is just happy to be involved.

you’re a giggly mess as you stumble-walk-run into your apartment.

“roommate—?” mingi asks, as two of you toe off your shoes, and you turn up the volume of your music.

“chaewon’s shacking up at the SAE house tonight,” you say, grinning. you lean in close to mingi and poke his nose. “so you can be as loud as you wanna be, baby.”

baby?!

you lead mingi to your bedroom, where you spare a few seconds to turn on a lamp that casts the room into a soft pink hue and plug your phone into a speaker. you choose a different playlist—one with soft r&b and lofi.

then, you crawl onto your bed, swaying your hips as you do. mingi just stares at you, suddenly very out of his depth. this feels infinitely different from making out in a storage closet. this is your apartment, your room, your bed.

you’re leaned back against your pillows now, head cocked and eyes half-lidded.

you spread you legs and beckon mingi to come closer.

“c’mon, baby. let’s have some fun, hm?”

like a man possessed, mingi steps forward until he hits the edge of the mattress, and then he falls onto his knees, shuffling forward until he’s hovering between your thighs.

“cute.”

mingi waits for you to make the first move, because that’s what he’s used to, and you do. you hook your hands around his neck and pull him down, presses your lips together chastely. mingi’s eyes flutter close, and he lets instinct take over.

you must be wearing something like lipgloss tonight, because your lips are tackier than last time, and they taste like cherry. mingi’s intoxicated by it. he deepens the kiss, adds some tongue. his hands run along your thighs, your hips, your waist.

you do that thing with his hair again, and he whimpers. he feels you smile. you move his hands over your chest, inviting him to really touch, and he moans involuntarily when he realizes that you’re not wearing a bra under your shirt. 

“take it off,” you breathe, and mingi obeys immediately.

“fuckk,” he whines when he sees your tits. “fuck—you’re so—”

he surges forward and fits his mouth over one of your nipples and sucks. this time, it’s you who moans, and the sense of triumph rushes straight to mingi’s dick. after only a few minutes of worshipping your tits, mingi is already so hard he could cut through glass.

“you, too,” you say, trying to pull off mingi’s shirt. “take this off—take it all off.”

so he strips. first his shirt, then his jeans. he curses as he struggles with the button and the zip—when choosing his outfit earlier, he’d only been thinking about how this pair are a little tight so they make his ass look good. now, he’s straining to get them off without looking like an idiot.

finally, he manages to tug the jeans down to mid-thigh, which means you get a better view of the outline of his cock in his briefs. at least he wore dark underwear so you can’t see the frankly embarrassing wet patch that mingi knows is there. he’s always leaked like a faucet.

"god, i knew you'd be big," you sigh as mingi finishes shucking off his pants ungracefully.

he freezes, feeling a little exposed but also a little bold.

"you- have you thought about me- this before?" he asks.

"of course," you smirk. "big shy boy like you? that's my favorite."

you sit up onto your elbows and reach forward with one hand to cup his bulge. you squeeze, and mingi keens. it takes every drop of mingi's self-control to not cum on the spot. instead he falls onto his forearms and buries his face into your neck.

“fuck,” he squeaks.

you continue to work his dick through his briefs, but with such a light, teasing touch that mingi starts rutting helplessly into your hand to get more friction. it’s been a while since someone else has gotten him off, and the weed is making him so so sensitive.

"wanna- wanna make you feel good," he pants, but he can’t stop grinding down against you like some stupid fucking dog. 

"yeah?” you goad. “you wanna fuck me with your big dumb cock? do you even know how to use that thing?"

mingi whimpers. “yes, yes—please. let me- let me show you. please.”

“okay, big boy,” you whisper into his ear, finally letting him go. “show me.”

mingi doesn’t waste any time after that. he pulls off your pants and your underwear in one go. he’s practically drooling at the sight of your cunt and can’t help himself from running a finger reverently through your folds.

you’re wet.

because of him.

he drops down in front of your pussy and licks a line from your entrance to your clit. you fucking moan. 

“yeah?” you say, all dominant like always but a little breathless. “you gonna prep me first? gonna prep me for your huge dick?”

in response, mingi attaches his mouth to your clit and buries a finger into your hole.

“ah—fuck!”

one finger turns into two into three quickly, as mingi works you open, all while lapping at your clit. he has limited experience with this so he’s not super confident in his ability, but you’re making these high-pitched noises that must mean he’s doing something right. and then you tug at his hair, forcing his head back.

“thought you were gonna fuck me?” you say.

“yes, yeah, sorry.”

mingi has enough wherewithal to ask about condoms and lube, and while he tugs off his underwear, you retrieve the stuff from your nightstand. he’s so keyed up that he fumbles the condom, can’t get a good grip to tear it open, and finally resorts to biting one corner with his teeth to rip off an edge. it works, and he spits out the little piece of foil somewhere onto the bed beside them.

“oh, fuck.” he hears, and it’s the first semblance of a whine from you.

with renewed vigor, mingi rolls the condom onto his dick, hissing at finally getting some stimulation after being hard and untouched for so long.

“c’mon, c’mon,” you say, throwing the lube at him. “hurry up.”

he squeezes some of the lube onto his hand—there’s a light red sheen to it and a faint scent of cherry. feverishly, he thinks the smell of cherries is going to be ruined for him forever as he spreads the lube over the condom.

and then he presses just the tip into your entrance, and already he knows he’s not going to last long. you’re just too warm, too wet, too tight.

“jesus,” he whimpers, as he presses deeper into your cunt. “you’re fucking perfect.”

“fuck,” you groan. “you’re so fucking big.”

“gonna- gonna make you feel good,” mingi promises. “gonna fuck you so good.”

when he’s finally bottomed out, he takes a second. he hopes it looks like he’s just being considerate of his size, but really it’s mostly for himself, to make sure he’s not a one thrust wonder. and then you clench around him.

“fuck!”

it startles him into moving—with a strong grip on your thighs, he thrusts into you with so much force that the bed frame groans. 

“ah- yeah, baby. just like that. fuck, so good. so good, so big—so full. fuck!”

you babble nonsense into his ear, but every syllable fuels mingi’s determination. he snaps his hips against yours until his thighs burn, and then some more. but even in spite of his sheer will, mingi is just a guy finally fucking the girl of his dreams, and so his orgasm sneaks up on him entirely too fast.

“oh, fuck. oh, fuck. i’m sorry, i’m sorry—i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna—”

he collapses onto you as he spills into the condom, his entire body twitching with pleasure from the sensation. seconds later, shame and guilt wash over him. he pulls out and crawls down your body to shove his face into your cunt.

he fingers you while he eats you out again, this time quirking his fingers for your g-spot. he’s delirious and desperate—needs to prove that he’s not just some guy who cums without getting off his partner. needs you to enjoy this as much as he is—needs you to want more.

“yeah, yeah, that’s a good boy,” you praise as he laps at your cunt like it’s his job. “so good, baby boy. so good. yeah, just like that—gonna cum. gonna—”

mingi can’t help himself. he pulls back when you climax so that he can watch. he finger-fucks you through it, but his focus is on the way your face scrunches up with euphoria, the way your back arches off the bed in pleasure.

finally, you shove his hand away.

“‘s too much,” you mumble, burying your face into your pillows.

mingi collapses down beside you, completely spent.

he comes to a few minutes later, when he feels the bed shift as you sit up. he must make some kind of noise, because you duck down close, brush the sweaty hair off of his forehead and kiss his temple.

“shh,” you soothe. “it’s okay. you can rest, baby. i’ll clean us up.”

“wait—let me help,” he slurs, starting to sit up.

“no no,” you coo, pushing him back down. “don’t worry, baby. i got it.”

mingi hums, too tired and spent anyway to argue. it’s nice, for once, to be the one being taken care of. he snuggles contently deeper into the bed.

it smells like sex and sweat, but also something kinda sweet. oh, right—cherries.

he drifts off to sleep soon after.

⋆⋆⋆

the next morning, mingi wakes up disoriented, pleasantly sore, but incredibly well-rested. the weed helped offset the alcohol, and the only grossness he feels is from not showering or brushing his teeth before falling asleep.

the bed is unfortunately empty, but the smell of fresh coffee in the air keeps mingi from spiraling too much about it. he lopes around the room, searching for his clothes. he locates those godforsaken tight jeans (which take him far too much effort to stuff himself back into), but doesn’t manage to find his shirt, so he sheepishly wanders into the kitchen shirtless like a moron.

the mystery of his shirt is solved immediately when he sees that you are wearing it. the hem falls right below your ass, and when you move a certain way, mingi can see the bottoms of your cheeks and the hint of black panties.

jesus, even after having the orgasm of his life last night, he’s still so easy.

“morning!” you chirp, when you notice his presence.

“morning,” mingi rasps. “can i- uh- can i help with anything?”

you pause to shoot him a big smile. “no, don’t worry, baby. just sit down. there’s coffee in that mug over there. milk in the fridge.”

mildly stunned at the revelation that your pet names aren’t exclusive to sexy time, mingi follows your instructions. he retrieves a carton of oat milk from the fridge and adds it to his coffee before hopping on a barstool at the kitchen island. he positively inhales the coffee, which must be some kind of special blend because it’s especially fragrant, and watches you bustle around the kitchen with efficiency.

the two of you settle into a comfortable silence, and it’s strangely intimate—domestic—but mingi doesn’t let that part of his imagination run too wild. for his own sanity, it’s probably best if he just takes whatever this is with you one day at a time.

soon, you slide a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and buttered toast in front of him. you prance into the barstool beside him, nudging it closer so that your knees touch under the countertop.

it smells heavenly, reminds him of weekend breakfasts with his own family, and before he can stop himself, he says,

“thanks, mommy.”

it’s the kind of shithead joke he pulls with yunho and wooyoung often, but with you, it drips with subtext. over the rim of your coffee cup, you raise an eyebrow at him, and he feels his entire face heat up with embarrassment.

“i mean- um—”

“didn’t know you were into that kinda stuff,” you coo. “guess i’ll have to remember that for next time.”

mingi digs into his eggs so that he doesn’t have to look you in the eye while he processes that. next time?!

the rest of breakfast passes uneventfully. you take the reins of the conversation, yapping about your thoughts on chaewon’s frat bro boyfriend. mingi gives all the appropriate reactions at the appropriate times and just basks in the joy of eating a home-cooked breakfast the morning after having sex with his long-time crush.

later, mingi will rinse off your dishes and load them into the dishwasher, and you will return his shirt to him before sending him off with another chaste kiss to the cheek. mingi decides to walk back to his own apartment even though it’s nearly a mile away. but the sun is shining and the birds are chirping and his phone—barely hanging on with 10% battery—buzzes in his pocket with a single text:

y/n l/n has invited you to collaborate on a playlist: mommy issues ;)

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 6: Dry Hump- James Potter

Summary: James Potter was your best friend, and he was unequivocally in love with Lily Evans. However, he has one secret he trusts only with you: he’s never kissed anyone.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, inexperienced James & experienced Reader, friends with benefits vibes, kissing/making out, dry humping, cumming in pants, teasing, nearly caught

Part 2 // Part 3

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

James Potter was your best friend. He had many best friends, including the other Marauders and fellow Gryffindors, but he was YOUR best friend and had been since the first year at Hogwarts. James was the one person you always ran to and shared all happy memories with; if you needed cheering up, he’d be the only one who could pull a smile to your lips. It had always been just the two of you until he became infatuated with Lily Evans.

It had been years of hearing about how wonderful Lily was, which you knew anyway as she was your friend. Finally, you convinced her to say yes to one date with James, even though she did wait until everyone was finishing their time at Hogwarts and about to graduate. He’d waited long enough, and you were thrilled to see him getting his dream date.

This was until he casually announced one day, “I’ve never kissed anyone”.

He’d mumbled it to himself under his breath. James had gone from pure exhilarated joy to fear and doubt at the weight he’d put on his shoulders for having to be the perfect date for Lily. You’d taken him to the Shrieking Shack to try and get away from everyone else so that James could blow off some steam, but all he’d done so far was sulk in his armchair and stare into the fire whilst waiting for Sirius and Remus to join after their lesson.

Then, out of the blue, he admitted his secret that he had yet to kiss anyone. A frown dawns on you as you turn away from the book in your hand to inspect the messy-haired Marauder next to you visually. “What?” you asked with a hint of uncertainty as if he was telling the truth, “How have you never kissed anyone before?” Your mind raced to all of the parties in the Gryffindor tower where most people, including yourself, had made out with others, but now that you thought about it, you’d never seen James lip-locked with anyone else.

It was James’ turn to frown as he looked at you blankly, “When would I have had time? I’ve just wanted to be with Lily, and she’s always said no when I’ve asked before. Anyway, I don’t see why you’re saying it in that tone; it’s not like you’ve been kissing loads of people”. You give James a tight-lipped smile to show that he was, in fact, very wrong with that statement. His eyes widen as he realises the truth, “Wait, you have? Since when?”

“James, how can you be shocked? I’ve kissed plenty of people before, especially during those parties with the fire whiskey that Sirius always steals for us. You wander off with the Marauders or fawn over Lily, and what am I supposed to do? Stand on my own? Absolutely not, I go and find some fun”.

Your best friend’s mouth drops open in shock. Still, he quickly covers it up by looking away grumpily, “Great, so I’m the only person in our year who hasn’t kissed anyone, and now, I’m going to take Lily out, and she’s going to refuse to see me again because I don’t know what I’m doing, we’re going to finish school, and I’ll never see her again, and I’ll die alone!”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his over-the-top rant, shutting the book with a loud snap and facing him completely whilst still in your chair. “James, you need to chill out a bit; I’m sure it’ll be fine. Do you really think Lily’s been going around snogging loads of boys? I’m sure she’s just as inexperienced as you”.

James’ shoulders dropped in relief as he turned back towards you with hope in his hazel eyes, “Do you think so?”

Your face immediately gave it away that you’d been lying as you sighed, “Ok, I might have seen her making out with a Ravenclaw a year ago, but still, I wouldn’t worry about it! You’ll be excellent! You’re James Potter, the Gryffindor King, a founding Marauder and Gryffindor Seeker. You can sure as hell make out with Lily Evans correctly”.

The pretty Marauder smiled thankfully at your dramatic declaration, “That’s true, thanks, Sweetheart”. Relaxing back into your seat, the book returned to your hand, assuming the conversation was officially over. However, only a moment later, James is whining pathetically, “But what if I’m not good? What if I hurt her or lick her wrong or-”.

“Lick? Why are you licking her, James? I thought we were on about kissing?”

“We are! But you know, people use tongues and-”

“James, I don’t know what you want me to say; if you’re that petrified with kissing, why don’t we practice a little so you can stop freaking out”. It took you a couple of long seconds before the offer you’d just given him genuinely dawned on you. You weren’t sure why you had said it, expecting him to say no but wishing for him to calm down and thinking this was the only option.

James’ head snapped towards you, giving his full attention as he asked, “Wait, you’d do that?” He pushed himself up off the chair's arms, and his eyes were wide and hopeful again.

Lowering the book, you spoke slowly, “Yeah, sure. I mean, it’s just a kiss, and at least we’re friends, so no feelings have to be involved”.

“Yeah, that's a good point! Okay, right, so, um, how do we do this? Do I come over to you, or do we stand?”

Sighing at James, you stood abruptly, dropping the book and strutting to him with arms swinging. The marauder sits up suddenly, taking his feet off the stool he had been resting on as he stares up at you with wide eyes that you can see the whites of his eyes beneath his glasses. “What are you doing?” He questions uncertainly as you straddle his lap without a word, your knees resting on either side of his toned thighs, your fingers slipping around his neck and interlocking at the base of his skull.

“I’m going to kiss you, James. Is that alright with you?” You didn’t mean to sound sassy as you asked with a single raised questioning eyebrow, but you also needed to make sure that he was happy for this to continue.

Those two wide hazel eyes stared at your lips, licking his own to moisten as he slowly nodded, “Uh yeah, just tell me what to do.” A pang of sympathy rushed through your chest at seeing James becoming nervous, which was not usually a sight that you had to see as he was usually such a confident, happy person. You would have spent some time to explain that it was normal to be nervous during your first kiss, but you didn’t want to allow any more time for him to freak out, so loosening your intern locked fingers, you moved them to cup each of her freshly shaved cheeks and pressed your lips delicately against his. You wanted it to be quick enough that he didn’t even have time to tense, even though he did proceed to lock up as you moved back to assess his reaction.

“See, it’s not so scary. You’re supposed to enjoy this, James”. Thankfully, as your face lowered once more, he forced himself to take a steadying breath and relax the tension in his muscles as your lips caressed his.

They were softer than you’d anticipated, plump and smooth like a pillow and instantly, your eyes and his close. However, James surprised you by moving his first. His hand lifted and rested on your hip so gently that you hardly felt it until he gave your body a little squeeze to test the waters of how much he could get into the moment. So you rewarded him by pressing your face harder against his, lips beginning to move and rubbing against each other on instinct.

James even amazed himself with how naturally and quickly he could make out with you. Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss, nose pressing into his cheek so that you could smell his skin that had remnants of his aftershave, which was always spicy and woodsy. As the air became necessary, you pulled back enough to take deep, greedy breaths, now noticing he was doing the same thing but looking up at you with half-lidded eyes.

“So what did you think-”

James didn’t allow your sentence to finish as his other hand cupped along your jaw, pulling your face closer again until the two of you kissed with much more heat with the movements. His mouth opened wider to match how yours was moving against his; your heartbeat quickened as you leaned further into his tall, warm body, melting into his touch and kiss.

Then you wanted to take a risk and licked his bottom lip, which you were ultimately greeted with a praising deep groan of satisfaction that vibrated James’ entire chest and sent tingles straight to your core.

Ok, wow, you thought as James attempted and succeeded with his own lick back against your tongue; you were definitely getting turned on by this. As if he was reading your mind, James pressed harder on your hips, willing you to move down, which you did, your skirt pushing up on your thighs so that when you sat on his crotch, your panty-covered pussy was flush against the material of his trousers.

As one, the two of you pulled away from each other. Mainly because you were now sitting on his very hard erection and also because he knew you could feel his evidence of being aroused. You both stare at each other with wide, unblinking eyes, lips slightly swollen and the taste of his spit still on your tongue.

However, you didn’t want to stop and awkwardly sit back in your seat, and he wasn’t rushing to push you off, either. You were horny, and so was he. Yes, James Potter was your best friend, but that didn’t have to matter; you just wanted him to enjoy the moment and show that it wasn’t as scary as he thought.

Enough time passed, and if he didn’t want to continue, he would have said something by now, so you took the opportunity to lean back in, your thumb attempting to soothe him, stroking across his cheek in timid circles. As your mouths reconnected, your hips ground down on his crotch. You were hoping that he knew enough about anatomy to tell that the warmth from your pussy was a sign of arousal, wanting him to know you were just as turned on as he was.

You do it a few more times, rubbing back and forth with increasing pressure until James makes a pained noise that has you stopping altogether and checking in on him.

He’s looking everywhere but at you, as he apologises, “Sorry, it’s just these trousers are tight and rubbing me painfully”.

“You could just take them off”, you say once again, not thinking before you speak. James looks at you with dramatically wide eyes as he, too, realised what you’d just said. Quickly, you clarified, “I’m not saying that to have sex or anything; I just mean, we could kinda carry on doing what we are doing, but if your trousers are hurting, then just in your boxers”.

You’re surprised by his automatic response of a nod, yes, his arousal blocking all thoughts of Lily as he begins to undo his belt easily. Rising onto your knees to give him room, he pushed the offending material until his thighs were bare and his plaid boxers were on display, barely containing his length. Not wanting him to feel exposed, you lowered yourself once more, and both groaned at the contact, yours at a higher pitch as you could feel the entire outline of his cock against your cunt.

James was bigger than you’d thought and was currently pointing down his left thigh, so you angled your hips in this direction. Tilting your hips forward slightly, your clit grazed along his shaft, causing a hitch in your breath as it caused pleasure to pool in your abdomen, moisture slickening your hole with each movement.

You’re breathing just as heavily as he is, lips still moving against each other, exploring, tasting, needing more. You were kind of proud of him when he moved his face down your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses and causing more pleasure to pulse through you. You were half tempted to rise onto your knees again to show him the evidence of your arousal that had soaked through your panties and onto his boxers, but you didn’t want it to stop.

As your fingers delved into his messy black hair to hold his face closer, he thrust his hips up against yours to add to his stimulation. He was still apprehensive, so he didn’t push too hard, but he rocked back and forth until his tip was pressed against your clothed folds. The muscular thighs beneath yours tensed with each thrust, the muscles defined from all his years of playing quidditch.

His hands remained in place, one on the opposite side of your jaw to where his mouth still kissed, and the other hand helped to move your hips back and forth in time with his own ruts. You’d never actually gotten off like this with anyone before. Usually, underwear would be removed at this point, and more direct contact could occur, but it was still exciting to have some barriers between you. The lace of your underwear was quite rough against your most sensitive area, especially your engorged throbbing clit. You were sure to be sore afterwards, especially with the amount of pressure you were rubbing against each other; with each passing second, the need to find completion made you both desperate.

As his lips found yours again, his tongue began to delve and explore the hollow of your mouth, along your palate and even over your teeth; your pussy began to clench, fire blooming in your core with the impending release.

Pulling back, your fingers moved to rest on his shoulders to hold on tighter as you quickly moaned, “Please don’t stop; I’m going to cum”.

James moaned huskily, out of breath, but both of his hands were now on your hips, moving both his hips and yours faster to find his orgasm. Resting your forehead on his, you both shared the same area, still tasting the other in your mouths, sweat beginning to coat your faces. You were sure you could feel his own wet patch against your arse cheek from where precum was dribbling from his tip and staining his underwear. 

“Ah, fuck- James!” your head tilts back as you finally orgasm, thighs shaking and pussy fluttering around nothing. However, just as you were beginning to come down from your pleasurable high, James suddenly grabbed you painfully, both arms wrapping around your waist as he sat up further on the chair, nearly knocking you off of him if it wasn't for his grip around your midsection. Reassuringly your arms wrapped around his shoulders as his face nuzzled into your chest, his body shivering as thick spurts of cum soaked his boxers.

His moans were like music to your ears and sounded slightly pathetic, making you cling to him more, attempting to run your fingers through his hair to calm the crazy style, but to no avail. Your pussy felt like it was on fire due to the rough stimulation and the untouched orgasm, but it felt so good you savoured the sensation for a few minutes whilst trying to catch your breath.

“There you go, Potter. Not only have you kissed a girl for the first time, but you’ve also made her cum”.

James laughs, loosening his grip slightly to look up at you, but then you both hear the worst noise imaginable: voices from a few floors below, especially those of Sirius and Remus. You scrambled to your feet, straightening your clothes and sitting back in your chair, picking up the book and opening it to a random page as James pulled up his trousers, both of you ignoring the bodily juices completely.

James just about had his feet back on the footstool before Sirius and Remus walked in, but both immediately halted and looked between you and James. It was Sirius who spoke first, eyes squinting in accusation, “Why do you both look so guilty right now? What did you do?”