#it's like my inner secrets have been exposed

[xmalfoyweasleyx]

Jealousy, jealousy - Azriel x reader

Summary: The whole inner circle is tired of you and Azriel flirting with each other, without acting on it. So Rhys decided to help his sister and Azriel with that, by planning a special birthday party for her. Based on this request.

Warnings: Smut! 18+! Az is jealous (but it's fluff)

Azriel couldn’t stop watching you. Again.

You were sitting on the couch in front of him at the townhouse, silently watching your brother, Rhys, talk. Azriel loved watching you, your shy, yet clever eyes were always so observant. On top of that, you looked beautiful tonight. You wore a dress that looked like it was made of starlight and your pretty lips were painted in a color that made-

“You’re daydreaming again, Az,” Rhys interrupted his thoughts, making Az’s eyes quickly avert his gaze from y/n, to her brother sitting next to her.

“Probably dreaming about his undying love for Truth-Teller,” y/n smiled. The shy, yet flirty smile that always made Az go week in the knees.

Before he could even try to suppress it, a wave of warmth filled Az’s cheeks, exposing his adoration. You were the only person who could make him blush like that. It has been this way since the first day he’d met you, when you were teenagers, which is already centuries ago. Rhys only introduced his sister years after he’d met Azriel and Cassian. She was still young, but so was he. It wasn’t hard to fall in love with her. The way she was hiding behind her brother, shy, yet curious, peeking behind his shoulder at the two Illyrians standing in front of her. Suddenly a smile was on her curious face, and the first thing you’d said was: “Are those shadows yours? They’re very beautiful.”

Since that moment, Az was a goner. He never acted on it though. Too scared, too insecure and too worried he would ruin your friendship. It had been the same for years. The flirting, the teasing. But never more than that. 

Until a few months ago. When the bond snapped.

In that moment, Azriel couldn’t be any happier. It all made sense now. But then he realized, it didn’t snap for you. You didn’t seem to know. And it happened all over again, he was scared. What if you didn’t want him as your mate? What if it would freak you out? And what if Rhys would hate him for it?

“You’re still staring at me, Azzie” he heard y/n’s soft voice, yet again interrupting his thoughts. He looked confused for a moment, as if finally realizing where he was. “Oh yes, I'm sorry, you do look beautiful tonight y/n, you can’t blame me,” he smiled nonchalantly. It was always like this, the flirting and the compliments. It was normal.

“You look great too Az,” you returned the smile. Another wave of warmth heated his face. He quickly tried to hide the flushed cheeks, when fortunately, Cassian guided the attention to him. “So, what are we going to do for your birthday tomorrow y/n?” Cas asked. 

“Oh, I don’t know, I guess we could go out or something? Nothing special, just like we always do,” you answered.

Rhys clicked his tongue at that. “Nothing special? My dear sister, I think you don’t know me that well then. We have the perfect surprise for you.” That was something new. “Do we?” Az asked confused. “Well, now I’m curious,” Feyre smiled.

What Az didn’t know is that the whole inner circle knew about his “secret” feelings for you, only Az and y/n were oblivious. Honestly, his friends didn’t know how the observant shadowsinger didn’t notice how obvious it was. He always gets shy and smiled with y/n. It was a mystery how he didn’t realize the fact he had a lovesick look all over his face when he’s watching her. So Rhys, the good brother he is, decided to come up with a plan. The easy strategies didn’t work, so he decided to use the one thing Az couldn’t hide, jealousy.

*******

When it was finally the evening of your birthday, it turned out Rhys’ surprise, indeed, was special. Your brother had decided to take you all to some dance show’ but it wasn’t some normal dance show, you realized when you saw the poster hanging on the door of the club. It were only male dancers. Male dancers with not so many clothes, it seemed. “Now I’m really curious brother” you sighed. “You’ll love it.”

Your brother was right, it was so much fun. You ate and drank with the inner circle, watching the show from your shared table. They even got you a cake with fireworks. But that wasn’t the only surprise.

You were all cheering when one of the dancers came to you. He was muscled and had beautiful, curly blonde hair. Before you could process what was happening, he grabbed your hand and pulled you on the stage with him. The male put you on a chair in the middle of the stage and started moving around you, your face flushed immediately.

He smirked at you, showing off his impressive moves. You couldn’t help but smile at him. It was fun to let go for a moment and enjoy the silliness of it all. The whole inner circle was cheering for you.

Az on the other hand, didn’t like it that much. He balled his hands into fists, when he saw the way the male grabbed your hand and guided you to the stage. He gritted his teeth, the way you blushed, the way he was moving around you and even touched you… And then you smiled at that male.

Az had to muster every ounce of self-control. He did all he could to not just get up on that stage, and bring you back to their table. He wanted to be the one to touch you like that. He wanted to be the one to make you smile. 

Even after the show was over and you were brought back to your original spot, Az couldn’t shake off the jealous feeling. His whole body was still tense and he had a dark look on his face.

“Something the matter, Azriel?” Rhys smirked teasingly, grabbing his friend's shoulder, knowing damn well why he was acting like this. “No.” Azriel answered shortly, taking another big sip from his drink.

******

Y/n was so tired when she arrived at her bedroom. She sat on her bed, taking her shoes off with a relieved sigh, ready to go to sleep. But suddenly she heard someone knock on the door. It was Azriel.

“Hey Az, what are you doing here?” 

“Just wanted to say goodnight after such a… special… birthday evening,” he grinned.

“Yeah it was… something,” you giggle. You sat next to each other on the bed in silence for a moment.

“Did you think he was hot?” Az blurted out. “Who?” you asked confused. “That guy, the one who danced for you,” he grumbled. “Oh, I-I don’t know, he was fine,” you faltered. 

Az didn’t answer. “Are you okay Azzie? You seem tense.” You rubbed his shoulder gently, trying to comfort him.

“I didn’t like it” he stated. Y/n was confused. “W-were you… were you jealous?” Az only sighed, looking down.

“It was just, he was… he shouldn’t touch you like that” he tried to explain without making his jealousy too obvious. You were disappointed for a moment, he probably just didn’t like it because he saw you as his little sister, you thought. Because he wanted to protect you. “I’m sorry Az,” you silently said. “No, no, don’t apologize y/n, it’s my fault, I’m acting stupid.”

“I get that you feel like this, you see me as a... sister, you feel protective over me or something, I get it Az,” you sighed. Azriel looked up, his hazel eyes carefully watching you. He frowned, “Do you really think that’s how I feel about you?” It’s silent for a moment. “I was jealous y/n, very jealous” he finally confessed.

“Y-you were?” you stroked his cheek softly, fingertips tracing the freckles down his neck. Azriel nodded, you looked in each others eyes for a long moment. His pupils dilated, a hungry look on his face. Then the room suddenly filled with the smell of your arousal. “You want to… you want to show me what you look like without that shirt then?” you hesitated. “Yeah? You want that?” he smirked. “Yes” you answered breathlessly. 

Az slowly took his shirt off, your eyes tracing the lines of his muscles hungrily. “Much better than that male,” you sighed. “C’mere” he groaned, surprising you by grabbing your hips and lifting your body on top of him in one move. You were straddling him now, arms tightly wrapped around his neck.

And then his lips were on yours, hungrily moving against each other. He grabbed your ass, squeezing it gently. A gasp left your mouth, “Azzie, Az please.” You started moving against him, pressed so close to each other, yet it wasn’t enough. 

“What do you want, baby?” he whispered against your lips. “I want you.”

“And what exactly do you want from me? Tell me y/n,” he groaned.

“Your cock, I want to feel you in me, Azriel, please” you begged.

“So pretty when you beg like that, darling. But not so fast.” He wrapped his arms tightly around your back and turned you around. You’re back now against the bed, with Azriel’s body hovering above you. His wings were spread wide and his shadows were moving around you. Silently asking their master for permission to touch you too.

They helped him with getting you out of your birthday dress, the soft tendrils caressed your skin so deliciously. The shadows danced around your whole body, touching you almost everywhere. You felt a familiar heat growing in lower stomach.

The male above you spread your legs wider, placing soft kisses closer and closer to where you wanted him most.

You grabbed his dark locks in your hand, eagerly trying to guide him to your pussy. “Patience, baby, patience,” he calmly said.

His hands traveled up your body, gently grabbing your breasts, his palm stroking your nipple. “So pretty for me,” he cooed. 

And then he finally pressed his soft lips against your pussy, a load moan left your mouth. He started to lick like a starved male. His lips softly wrapping around your clit, sucking messily. He then wrapped your legs around his head, locking in his face in between them. He groaned into your cunt, “Azzie, yes, feels so good”.

Then you noticed that he was grinding against the mattress, trying to find some relief too. He was already so turned on, just from the taste of your pussy. “I want you to feel good too,” you whined. Azriel replaced his tongue with his fingers, the scarred skin softly rubbing your clit, “Oh I already feel amazing, baby, don't worry.”

You gasped when you felt his finger enter your pussy, stroking the soft walls. Your breathing grew louder. “Yeah, you like that?” He chuckled. 

It felt amazing, but you wanted him in you, you wanted him pussy drunk, feral for you. So you could only do one thing, touch his wings. 

You gently stroked the less sensitive part on the outside of his wing, testing the waters. He groaned, “Oh baby, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

You decided to stroke a more sensitive part, making him grab your thighs harshly. Az sat up. “Come here, you dirty little girl,” he said huskily. “Do you want me to fuck you y/n? Is that what you want, huh?”

“Yes, please, yes” you whined.

“How could I deny that pretty face? My beautiful little girl,” he cooed, leaning in closer to press his lips against yours again. You helped him pull his pants down, his impressive length sprang free. You gulped. He was long.

"Don’t worry, if you want to stop we’ll stop” he murmured into the crook of your neck, kissing the skin gently. “No, no! I can handle it,” you claimed, your hand wrapping around him, eager to feel the soft skin in your hands. He groaned into your ear, “Shit, you have no idea how turned on I am right now.” You giggled, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit, already soaking wet.

“Are you sure?” he whispered. “Yes, I’m sure Az, want to feel you” 

He slowly entered you, sucking your nipples as a distraction for the pain. But it was a good kind of pain, you wanted more. So you grabbed his ass, trying to push him deeper into you. "Don't... don't be scared, it feels good," you said in between heavy breaths.

“Needy little girl” he grinned. His rhythm picked up and his thrusts started to get harder. His hips slamming against yours

“You feel so good, this pussy is mine isn’t it? Only mine” he whimpered into your ear. “Yes, Az, my pussy is yours. I'm yours,” you moaned. Az started to fuck you harder, “Say it again” he demanded.

 “I’m yours, only yours Azriel” 

“That’s right, good girl,” he moaned, putting one of your legs over his shoulder. The new angle made you gasp. Your places your hands against his chest, your nails softly stroking down his abs.

Azriel was mesmerized, his eyes fixated on your swollen lips, the lips he couldn't believe he just kissed, and the way your tits bounced because of the force of his thrusts.

He looked so handsome like this. His messy hair falling over his face, his eyes half-lidded, the blush on his cheeks and the heavy breaths that left his mouth.

“I’m already so close Azzie,” you whined. "Already?” He teased. You nodded. “I want you to come with me,” you pleaded, one of your hands lifting up again to stroke the inside of his wing. Az moaned at the feeling, the arm that held him up collapsed beneath him, his body softly falling against yours.

His chest was now pressed against you, the position was so intimate. His thrusts started to get sloppy. “Baby, baby…” he whined softly in your ear. Both drunk on the feeling of each other.

His fingers circled your clit, making you moan his name like a prayer, over and over. The familiar feeling coiled in your lower belly, finally snapping when he nibbled on your earlobe. High-pitched moans filled the room, your orgasm washing over you like a big wave. Azriel moaned with you, his brows knitted together.

“Where do you want me? On your tits? On your pussy? In your pretty mouth?”

“In me, I want you in me Az, please,” you whined, craving to feel more of him, to be claimed by him. You wanted to be his the way no one ever was before. Az groaned in answer, heavy breaths tumbling out of his mouth. You felt him release inside your pussy, moaning your name against your cheek, riding out his high slowly. 

Azriel fell next to you with a loud sigh. His arms tightly wrapped around you. He placed a soft kiss against your neck and stroked your inner arm. “You don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming about this.” he confessed. “Me too” you answered. You should probably talk about this, but for now, you just wanted to sleep. Comfortably in Azriel’s warm arms.

********

The next morning, y/n was watching Azriel sleep next to her. Her hand stroked his naked chest while her other hand played with his soft dark hair. He looked like an angel, laying there, so peaceful. 

And suddenly, she felt a tug in her chest. A thread, a feeling like no other. Y/n gasped, making Az’s eyes open slowly. “Good morning” he whispered with a smile. Y/n only stared at him.

She couldn’t believe it. He was her mate. Her mate.

“Y-you’re my mate” she whispered. Az sat up immediately, grabbing her cheek gently. “It snapped? It finally snapped for you too?” He whispered, his eyes getting teary. “You knew?” 

“I’ve known for a few months now, but before last night, I didn’t think you’d want me” he murmured. “Oh Az, of course I want you, I’ve loved you since we were teenagers and met in Windhaven, I’ve loved you since I noticed the beautiful, smart and compassionate male hidden behind those shadows,” you smiled. “I love you” he smiled, kissing you softly.

An hour later you went downstairs together. The rest of the Inner Circle was already in the living room, doing each their own thing.

Rhys’ eyes immediately went to your intertwined hands, an unreadable look on his face. “Rhys, before you say something, I want you to know I would never hurt your sister and I am-“ Az quickly tried to explain. But Rhys interrupted him with a voluminous laugh.

“Finally!” He smiled, getting up to face you both. “I’ve been trying to get you together for the last year, but you both were so oblivious” he teasingly rolled his eyes and opened his arms, hugging you both. “Yeah honestly Az, it was about damn time” Cassian smirked.

[flowerbunnyboo]

PROSTATE PLAY | back

starring: oc (Adam) x male reader

summary: Adam is a urologist, a doctor that deals with penises and prostates. Little did he expect to have one of the best sex ever with a random patient on a random day

nsfw

a/n: this is a repost. I have written one with a kpop idol. Thought I should post this without a kpop idol for the non kpop fans because I love the sayuncle videos

It was a typical Wednesday morning at Dr. Adam’s urology clinic. Patients trickled in, each with their unique set of urinary issues. Adam, a tall and handsome man in his early thirties, greeted them with a warm smile as he efficiently diagnosed and treated various conditions - from kidney stones to prostatitis.

Just before lunch, a new patient arrived, introducing himself as Mn. He looked to be in his late twenties, with short dark hair and piercing eyes that seemed to hold a secret. As Mn settled onto the examination table, Adam couldn't help but notice the way his slender fingers drummed against his thigh, betraying a hint of nervousness.

“So, tell me Mr. Mn”,Adam began, leaning over the chart, “What seems to be the problem?”

Mn shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the sterile white room before finally meeting Adam’s gaze.

“Well, Doctor... I've been experiencing some discomfort down there,” he gestured vaguely towards his crotch, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It's like... my dick just feels off sometimes”

Adam raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “Off, how exactly? Painful? Tingly? Or perhaps... “. His voice trailed off suggestively as he allowed his gaze to linger on Mn's lap, where a noticeable bulge strained against the fabric of his jeans.

Mn's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and he quickly looked away, clearing his throat. “N-no pain, really. Just... sensitivity, I guess. And sometimes it gets hard without warning”

Adam nodded thoughtfully, making a note on the chart making another mark beside 'Premature Ejaculation'.

He glanced up at Mn through his lashes, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hmm, interesting. Well, let's take a closer look, shall we?”

Without waiting for a response, Adam reached for the stethoscope hanging from his neck and deftly unbuttoned Mn's pants.

The cool metal pressed against sensitive skin as he listened intently, his breath hot against Mn's inner thigh.

“Mmm, sounds healthy enough”, Adam murmured, his fingers trailing lightly along the waistband of Mn's boxers. “But I think we should rule out any potential prostate issues. Just a routine exam, don't worry”

Mn bit his lip, trying to ignore the thrill that shot through him at Adam’s touch. ‘Prostate exam?’ Was that normal for this kind of visit? He didn't think so, but the doctor's confident demeanor put him at ease.

Adam carefully peeled down Mn's boxers, exposing his erect cock to the cool air of the exam room. A low whistle escaped his lips. “My, you're quite the one, aren't you?”

Mn's face burned even hotter, but he couldn't help shying under the praise.

Adam’s hands were gentle as they wrapped around his shaft, giving it a slow squeeze. “Relax, this won't hurt a bit”, the doctor assured him, his thumb rubbing teasing circles over the sensitive head.

As Adam began to stroke Mn's length, the young man felt his resolve crumbling.

The pleasure was overwhelming, and Mn found himself arching into Adam’s touch, his hips instinctively rocking to meet those skilled fingers. “Oh god, that feels...amazing”, he panted, his eyes fluttering shut.

Adam smiled to himself, pleased by the reaction. He picked up the pace, pumping Mn's cock with increasing urgency. “You're doing great, just relax and enjoy it”, he cooed, leaning in close to murmur against Mn's ear.

The heat of Adam’s breath sent shivers down Mn's spine, and he could feel his balls drawing up tight, signaling his impending climax. But just as he teetered on the edge, Adam abruptly pulled away, leaving Mn aching and empty.

“Almost there, but not yet”

Adam said with a wink, his own erection straining visibly against his scrubs. “Now, let's see about that prostate of yours...”

Before Mn could protest, Adam had positioned himself between his thighs, one hand guiding Mn's leg up and over his hip. The other hand, slick with lube, pressed insistently against Mn's rear entrance.

“Oh!”, Mn gasped, surprised by the sudden intrusion. But instead of pain, a wave of intense pleasure washed over him as Adam’s finger breached his tight hole.

“That's it, just relax”, Adam soothed, slowly working his finger deeper. “You're doing fantastic”

Mn moaned, his head falling back as he surrendered to the sensation. Adam finger curled inside him, stroking that magical spot that made stars explode behind his eyelids.

”Doctor”, Mn whimpered, his voice trembling with need, “please... I need..”

He didn't even know what he needed anymore, only that the ache within him demanded to be filled.

Adam must have understood, because suddenly he was removing his finger and replacing it with the thick head of his own cock.

Mn cried out as he felt that first delicious stretch, his body Adam the invasion. Adam pushed in inch by glorious inch until he was buried to the tip, filling Mn completely.

For a moment, they simply stayed like that, caught in the haze of pleasure. Then Adam began to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside Mn before plunging back in with a deep, satisfying thrust.

“Yes, oh god yes”, Mn chanted, his hands fisting in the sheets as he met each powerful stroke.

The room echoed with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, punctuated by their ragged breathing and muffled groans. Adam set a relentless pace, driving into Mn with precision and passion, his hips snapping forward with each thrust.

Mn's world narrowed to the feeling of being so thoroughly claimed, so utterly owned by this handsome doctor. He'd never experienced anything like it, and the intensity threatened to consume him whole.

“Harder, please”, Mn begged, his voice hoarse with desire. “Fuck me harder!”

Adam obliged, picking up speed until the exam table shook beneath them. He leaned down to capture Mn's mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to tangle with Mn's.

The added stimulation sent Mn careening over the edge.

With a strangled cry, Mn came undone, his orgasm crashing over him like a wave. His cock jerked, painting the sheets below with streaks of cum as wave after wave of bliss pulsed through him.

Through it all, Adam continued to pound into him, chasing his own release. “Fuck, you feel incredible”, he growled against Mn's lips, his thrusts growing erratic as he neared the edge.

With a final, brutal plunge, Adam buried himself to the inside and still Mn could feel every throbbing inch as he erupted inside him. The warmth of his seed flooding Mn's insides triggered another aftershock, leaving them both shaking and spent.

As the aftermath settled, Adam collapsed onto Mn, his weight a comforting pressure against him.

They lay there for a long moment, catching their breath and savoring the intimate silence. Finally, Adam lifted his head to gaze at Mn with a soft, satisfied smile.

“Well, that was certainly an unconventional examination”, he teased, brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair from Mn's forehead. “But I think we can safely say your physical is complete”

Lets say Mn became a regular at the clinic

©️ flowerbunnyboo 2024. all rights reserved to me. please don't copy my work or reshare without my permission and credit

[azmageddon]

Silence (Part Two)

Pairing: Azriel x Cassian’s twin!healer! reader

Summary: It’s your turn to find the silence deafening.

Warnings: Short section of spiciness, but definitely not smutty. Also, you can pry the angst from my cold, dead, hands. Give me all the angst. Also painfully inaccurate to the original storyline.

A/n: Sorry it took so long! I’m obsessed with making everything perfect. Enjoy! Let me know what you think and what else you want to see.

“I have one for you too, Y/N.”

You looked up from where you were leaning against the wall at the back of Rhys’s office. Everyone’s eyes were on you and you could have sworn that Azriel, who was leaning against the wall next to you, had stopped breathing all together.

“Me?” you asked, confused.

Rhys only nodded, holding the invitation out further in his outstretched hand. You shuffled your way forward, Mor and Amren stepping aside to give you space. When you finally reached his desk and gripped the letter, you gave it a swift tug, but Rhys didnt let go. The two of you stood there for a moment, hands attached to the letter in a quiet tug-of-war over his desk. You caught eyes with the High Lord. They seemed to say be careful before he finally released the envelope.

Worry hummed across the bond, mixing with yours and sitting in the pit of your stomach. Turning back toward your spot in the back of the room, you risked a quick glance up to Azriel and saw concern plain on his face.

“Watch your face,” you reminded him in his mind and he quickly returned to his stoic, unreadable expression. “Wouldn’t want to blow our secret over a silly invitation, would you?” You tried to keep the conversation light and carefree, but it was difficult when dread had crept into your mind. If Azriel felt your nervousness, he didn't acknowledge it.

“You know,” he replied, “I’ve been rethinking keeping this a secret. Don’t you think it’s time they knew?”

“But it’s so much fun sneaking around.”

You could feel Azriel’s metaphorical eye roll through the bond and suppressed a chuckle while you took your place back against the wall. “I just thought it would be nice after keeping it a secret for nearly 400 years. But we can talk about this later. Open the letter so I can read it, too.”

You did as he asked, slipping your finger under the delicate fold of the envelope and pulling at the wax seal until it released with a pop. Slipping the invitation nestled inside, you turned it around so as to read the looped cursive sprawled in fluorescent gold ink across the page. You felt Azriel shuffle closer to get a better opportunity to read over your shoulder.

Y/N,

It is with great pleasure that we request your presence at the Masquerade Ball hosted by her majesty, Queen Amarantha of Under the Mountain. Please kindly reply within a fortnight. Punctuality is of the utmost importance.

“I don’t like the look of this,” came the voice of your mate in your head.

***

“How do I look?”

Azriel’s eyes snapped up from the book he was reading and instantly dragged themselves across your body. A groan from deep in his chest vibrated through the room and you were hit with a wave of arousal across the bond.

“Down boy,” you teased, stepping toward the vanity at the corner of the room to touch up your makeup. You felt Azriel’s eyes glued to you as you moved. Your dress, dark and revealing, was something Rhys insisted you wore to the party. You were used to outfits like this, the fabric accentuating your full hips and showing off your years and years of hard training. It reached up over the curve of your breasts and plummeted, reaching nearly low enough to expose your belly button. The Night Court demanded respect from those outside the bubble that was Velaris, and your High Lord chose to express the Inner Circle’s blind confidence through dress.

“Gods, if I knew you were going to wear that I would have argued with Rhys more to let me accompany you two.”

You sat at the vanity and reapplied your lipstick. From over your bare left shoulder came a lone tendril of Azriel’s shadows. It snaked along the curve of your collarbone and circled around your neck a few times before settling itself snuggly around your throat like the most priceless of necklaces.

A shiver went through you as the shadow gave a gentle squeeze. “Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t insist on you and Cassian to join us. You’d have thought he would use this opportunity to show off the strength of the Night Court to the other courts.”

Quiet as his shadows himself, Azriel’s large fingers slowly replaced the wisp of temporary jewelry. It dissipated at its master’s touch, and his hand gently, but firmly, tilted your head back so as to give him better access to the pulse point currently beating wildly at your neck. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear and you let out a soft moan.

“I’d like to see you out of that dress,” he whispered against your skin.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed hard at his words. A quick nip at your skin had you gasping out a response. “I can’t,” you managed. “Rhys will be here any second.”

Azriel trailed a rough calloused finger along the membrane of your wing and you felt a flush of desire and pleasure run through your body. The need for him flowed through your veins and it seeped deep into your bones. He could tell your willpower was faltering. Every emotion and neediness that you felt was pouring through the bond into his own soul.

“So tell him you’re not ready yet. I won’t take long.” Another nip at your skin, this time at the cleavage of your breast, had you nearly giving in. Your eyes fluttered closed and your chest heaved as he peppered kisses along your neck. But before you could utter another word, there was a knock at the door.

“Y/N?” came the voice of your High Lord. “Are you ready?”

Knowing neither of you could actually delay your departure, you sprung apart. Jumping up so quickly, you felt your chair tipping backward, only to be caught by one of Azriel’s shadows.

“One minute!” You called through the door and turned back to your mate.

“You have to go,” you whispered in a rush, quickly grabbing your bag from the bed and your shoes from their place beside the closet. “You’re not supposed to be in here!”

In your frantic dash across the room to retrieve your items, Azriel gripped your shoulders, halting you. His lips crashed into yours, passionate, hungry, and hurried. It left you breathless and you gasped for air as he pulled back, traces of your lipstick staining his own lips.

“Later, Shadowsinger,” you whispered as you reached up on tiptoe to place your lips against his again, more gently this time.

“I’ll meet you at the exit to say goodbye with the others,” he said into your mind and, stepping into a swirl of mist and shadow, he was gone.

***

“Az, the Autumn brothers are here.” Across the bond, you felt Azriel perk up. He must have been focused on something, perhaps reading a report or reviewing paperwork for his next mission. But at the sound of your voice in his head, you could feel his attention shifting to your gossip.

“Did they dress up?” he asked. “Please tell me Eris came as something ridiculous. Like a chicken or something.”

“Gods, no.” You suppressed a smile and glanced over at the heir to Autumn Court. The only costume he wore was his flaming red hair and permanent scowl on his face.

“Actually,” you continued across the bond, “It looks like Rhys and I aren’t the only ones who refused to dress up. In fact, the only ones who have costumes are the Spring Court.”

Amarantha was saying something, servants coming around to pass out wine in goblets that rivaled the finery of Rhy’s own private collection. You took one without thinking but hesitated before taking a sip. You recalled the words toast and finest wine coming from your hosts lips at some point. When your High Lord, who hadn’t left your side all night, didn’t drink from his yet, you followed his lead.

You barely paid attention all night, anyway. One arm constantly linked into your High Lord’s, you had to play the part of the mysterious, ruthless, second-in-command of the Night Court. Not many outside of Velaris knew much about you, except that you were an exceptional healer and twin the Night Court General. You played the role Rhys had expected you to, and Gods, did you play it well. Not a male in the room could take their eyes off of you, with your long flowing hair, curvy, yet muscular, body, and strong, unclipped Illyrian wings.

But frequently, you found your thoughts drifting back to your mate and the strong fingers you had wrapped around your throat a few hours ago. You hoped they would find their home there again upon your return to The House of Wind later tonight.

A wave of arousal hit you that wasn’t entirely your own and you realized Azriel must be having the same thoughts.

“Having fun without me, Shadowsinger?”

“Just remembering you in that dress,” came Azriel’s voice, low and sultry. “And all the ways I could take it off of you later.” You nearly choked on the breath you took. Rhys cast you a look out of the side of his eye, but you ignored it because Azriel was still speaking.

“Or maybe you can leave the dress on. It doesn’t offer much coverage, anyway.” His voice was growing darker, deeper, and more sensual with every word. “Or maybe the heels. Just the heels.”

You shook your head to clear it, attempting to focus on whatever Amarantha was saying in her toast. Wealth… happiness… friendship… blah blah blah. You ignored her sentences, picking up only on a few words. You did manage to make out her command to drink! before you caught eyes with Rhys. They portrayed something you couldn’t quite read. Sadness? Regret? You must have missed a part of her speech that was important.

Deciding to ask him about it later, you took a swig of your glass along with all the others in the chamber. The wine was sweet, thick like honey, and coated your throat on its way down. In fact, you felt it coating your entire body like a warm blanket. It worked its way into your bones and after a few moments of warmth, you felt the feeling turn to ice.

Icy tendrils shot through your limbs and you ruffled your wings to try and dispel the feeling. But it only became stronger and stronger until finally you felt a deep, soul crushing, emptiness. Quick as it began, the feeling was gone, and with it, the hum of the bond in your chest.

“Azriel?” you called to him. But no response came. Panic seized you and you clutched at your chest with your free hand, your other wrapping tighter around the arm of your High Lord. He was turning toward you now, saying something, but you ignored him. In fact, the entire chamber had erupted into chaos. Voices were all around you, angry and yelling. But the one voice you called for again and longed to hear was silent.

You didn’t know what it felt like to have a bond that was closed. You only knew that this was far, far worse.

“Y/N.” The sound of your name jolted you from your panicked soul searching. You looked up, catching eyes with the High Lord.

“Azriel,” you whispered out loud to him.

“What?” He asked, hands on either one of your shoulders, steadying you.

“Azriel,” you repeated to him. “He’s my mate.” The truth came tumbling out of you. The secret the two of you had kept for 400 years suddenly seemed foolish.

Rhys shook his head, not understanding your words. “Your mate?” He asked, confused. “For how long? Does he know?”

You nodded, tears suddenly filling your eyes. You pushed against the golden thread that tethered the two of you together, but it only ended in darkness. “We’ve been mates for nearly 400 years. We’ve kept it a secret for… oh Gods, Rhys, what has she done?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but quickly snapped it closed. He looked over your shoulder and you whirled, finding Amarantha standing there.

“Oh, my dears,” she began, her voice scraping across your ears like nails against stone. “The two of you are just lovely, aren’t you?”

[yumeka-sxf]

Japanese Linguistic Observations in Spy x Family - part 1

This is a post series I've been planning for a while and I've finally had the time to complete part 1! 😃 I may have mentioned here before that I got my B.A. in Japanese/East Asian Studies, and even though I'm not fluent, I know the linguistics of the language fairly well. So I thought it would be fun to examine the interesting aspects of the Japanese version of the SxF manga that aren't reflected in the English translation. It might also be an informative experience for those who don't know any Japanese to learn a bit about the language through SxF! I'll try not to get too technical with the linguistics and keep my explanations at a beginner's level.

-----

Part 1 - Twilight's "honne and tatemae"

One of the main themes in SxF is how many of the characters have secrets they want to hide, so they act a certain way in front of others in order to mask their true selves. Japanese has a word for this phenomena called 本音と建前 ("honne and tatemae").

I remember learning about the concept of "honne and tatemae" during my Japanese college studies – a quick google search will yield a lot of publications on the topic and its relation to Japanese culture in particular. While the idea of hiding one's true intentions behind a fake facade can exist anywhere and is not something unique to Japan, it is enough of an occurrence in Japanese culture that there are specific words for it. The Wiki article has a basic but good definition of honne and tatemae, to quote:

A person's honne may be contrary to what is expected by society or what is required according to one's position and circumstances, and they are often kept hidden, except with one's closest friends. Tatemae is what is expected by society and required according to one's position and circumstances, and these may or may not match one's honne. In many cases, tatemae leads to outright telling of lies in order to avoid exposing the true inward feelings.

Sounds very much like the characters in SxF, doesn't it? Twilight especially, because unlike other characters like Yor and Anya, who simply have secrets they need to keep but don't create fake personas for themselves, Twilight does – the cheerful, friendly Loid Forger is a different person from the cold, calculating Twilight after all. Also unlike Yor and Anya, who speak the same way consistently no matter who they're talking to, Twilight uses different speech levels depending on which persona he's using and who he's talking to.

There are many different levels of speech in Japanese, ranging from super formal to totally crude. These speech levels are distinguished mostly by the pronouns the speaker chooses to use for themselves and who they're speaking to, as well as how they choose to conjugate the words they use. For example, 座ってください (suwatte kudasai), 座って (suwatte,) and 座れ (suware) all mean "sit," as in, telling someone to sit down. But the tone being conveyed is different: the first one is polite, the second one is casual, and the last one could be seen as rude if you're not using it with a close friend/family member.

As Twilight, he uses casual speech with the masculine and less polite pronoun 俺 or オレ (ore). This is the speech he uses when talking to a fellow spy like Fiona, and for his own inner thoughts.

As Loid Forger, he uses the polite 敬語 (keigo) speech, which is basically comprised of using the -ます (-masu) conjugation for verbs and the "to be" verb です (desu). He also uses the pronoun ボク or 僕 (boku), which is the standard male pronoun and more polite than "ore." He uses keigo to address pretty much everyone who doesn't know his true identity. When talking to a higher-up like Sylvia, he'll still use "ore" but will use polite speech instead of casual speech.

Anya is an exception to this: with her, he uses his most casual speech, the same as he uses with Franky.

I discussed a bit about this in part 24 of my Twiyor analysis posts, but this could be because Anya is a little kid, so he doesn't feel the need to put on any airs with her (same with Bond, whom he also uses casual speech with).

An interesting side note is that, as a child, Twilight used the pronoun "boku" but then changed to "ore" as soon as he became an adult/soldier.

Another aspect of keigo, besides using the more polite forms of pronouns and verb conjugations, is putting the honorific さん (san) after people's names. Twilight does this all the time with Yor, as she does with him. However, he switches to casual speech and drops the "san" part in her name when addressing her in front of people who (supposedly) believe they're a real married couple, such as Yuri and Fiona – because it would be weird for a real couple who have been married for a year to address each other in such a formal way, especially the husband. In the below panel when Fiona visits them, he's calling her "Yor" instead of "Yor-san" and using casual speech instead of keigo.

Oddly in these situations, while he uses just "Yor" when addressing her directly, he still calls her "Yor-san" when talking about her. During Yuri's first visit for example, he calls her "Yor-san" when telling Yuri how much Anya loves her (talking to someone about her) but then calls her just "Yor" a few moments later when telling her that he'll clean up the spill (talking to her directly). It's strange to me that he wouldn't just consistently use "Yor" whether he's talking to her or about her in these situations...I'm honestly not sure if he does this intentionally or if he just slips up since he's so used to using "Yor-san" in her presence.

*UPDATE* Thank you to @dentedintheworld-blog for enlightening me with the below reply about this!

"In Japanese, when speaking to your spouse's family about your spouse, you address her/him by attaching "san" her/his name out of respect for her/his family. This is also to show her/his family that you respect your spouse. That's why Loid calls Yor with san when he talks about how much he loves Yor to Yuri."

That definitely makes sense for why Twilight switches between "Yor" and "Yor-san" in these situations.

Regardless, this is why the scene in chapter 86 is so significant – when Yor isn't present, there's no reason for him to refer to her as "Yor-san," especially in front of a fellow spy like Fiona who knows he (supposedly) shouldn't have any feelings for her. Yet, even after he just called Yuri by his full name "Yuri Briar" a moment before, he doesn't do the same for Yor and continues to call her "Yor-san" here, much to Fiona's dismay.

In the same chapter, it's also significant that he uses "ore" when addressing Yor directly in his thoughts. Even though he's not speaking out loud, I believe this is the first time he's speaking directly "to" her as Twilight and/or his true self and not as Loid Forger.

But despite all this, I think that both Loid Forger and Twilight are tatemae…they're both masks to hide the person he truly is. The person who fondly talked about his mother to Yor on the park bench, the person who genuinely expressed gratitude for her sacrifice when leaving the resort island, the person who refused to kill Yuri in a life-or-death struggle because he knew it would hurt her…that's his actual honne. But of course, the ongoing conflict of the series is that he has yet to realize this. He won't even show his honne to his closest friend, Franky. Seems like it mostly comes out in dribs and drabs during his interactions with Yor...no surprise there, lol. The man is certainly a work in progress. When he finally starts letting his "honne" show, I'm curious what form of speech he'll adopt.

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Continue to Part 2 ->

[bangchansdirty-slut]

Can you please do the office meeting fucking "hyunjin x m'reader" please?? I'm begging you! :D

Boss's Request

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

Paring: Top!Boss!Hyunjin x Bttm!Assisant!Male Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: Hyunjin decides to spice up the meeting after being pent up and teased by you all day.

More: Masterlist

A/n: Requests are open

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

The fashion world was abuzz with anticipation as the new Hwang Hyunjin line was about to be unveiled. M/n, the boss's "personal" assistant, was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, making sure every last detail was perfect. Hyunjin himself was pacing the floor, his usually immaculate suit rumpled and his hair mussed. Something was clearly bothering him, but no one could quite put their finger on it. Everyone else was too focused on the new designs and the potential impact they could have on the industry.

Meanwhile, M/n caught a glimpse of Hyunjin stealing glances in his direction every now and then. It was almost as if the boss was… admiring him. M/n couldn't help but feel a blush creep up his neck. He'd been with Hyunjin for long enough to know that look, and it usually meant trouble.

As the final touches were being put on the collection, Hyunjin called M/n over to his office. Once the door was closed and they were alone, Hyunjin leaned against his desk, his eyes raking over M/n's body. "You've been busy lately," he purred. "I've barely seen you. I've missed…" He trailed off, biting his bottom lip. "I've missed my stress reliever."

M/n felt his heart skip a beat. He knew exactly what Hyunjin meant. Their relationship had been secret for months, but it was no secret that whenever M/n was around, Hyunjin seemed to forget about everything else. He was always so focused on M/n, and it drove him wild.

As the two went to the meeting and sat down, M/n could feel Hyunjin's eyes on him, even when he was speaking with the other designers. It was a mix of desire and possessiveness that made M/n's blood race. He tried to ignore it, but he couldn't help but feel turned on by the attention.

The meeting went on, with M/n doing his best to keep his mind on the task at hand. But every time Hyunjin shifted in his seat or let out a soft groan, M/n's focus would slip. It was obvious that Hyunjin was struggling to contain himself, and M/n couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he gave in to those urges.

Finally, midway through the presentation, M/n felt Hyunjin's hand snake its way up his inner thigh. He glanced over in surprise, only to find Hyunjin's dark eyes locked on him. The boss's expression was a mix of desire and possession that made M/n's heart race. Without another word, Hyunjin leaned over and whispered in his ear, "I can't take it anymore. Bend over the table."

Embarrassment washed over M/n as he complied, lowering his body and resting his elbows on the smooth surface. He felt Hyunjin's fingers trace the line of his boxers and pants before they were roughly yanked down, exposing him. The cool air from the air conditioner hit his sensitive skin, making him shiver.

But any hint of modesty was quickly forgotten as Hyunjin's hard length pressed against his entrance. There was no gentleness in the thrust, only a primal need that took control of the boss. M/n let out a gasp as Hyunjin pushed deeper, filling him completely.

Their moans filled the conference room full with employees, drowning out the sounds of the other designers as they presented their work. M/n could feel Hyunjin's hips slapping against his ass, driving himself deeper inside him with each thrust. He arched his back, unable to contain his own pleasure as his boss took control of him.

The other employees shifted uncomfortably in their seats, trying to pretend like they weren't watching the intimate scene unfolding before them. But Hyunjin didn't seem to care; he continued to fuck M/n, his gaze never leaving the other people in the room. He let out a husky laugh as he pulled out, only to thrust back in harder. "See, M/n? They're all looking away. They're afraid of what I'll do to them if they say anything about this. And you? You're mine. You have no reason to be embarrassed."

M/n gasped as Hyunjin's words sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't deny the thrill he felt, knowing that they were putting on a show for everyone. It was a power play, and Hyunjin was in control. He arched his back, meeting Hyunjin's thrusts with equal fervor. The boss's cock felt impossibly big inside him, stretching him in ways he hadn't thought possible.

"That's it, baby," he whispered in M/n's ear. "Make them jealous. Make them wish it was them up there, taking my cock." With each thrust, Hyunjin's hips slapped against M/n's ass, driving him deeper inside. The boss's hands gripped M/n's hips tightly, holding him in place as he took him roughly.

M/n could feel his orgasm building, the pleasure overwhelming him as he felt so completely owned by his boss. He moaned Hyunjin's name, the sound filling the room as he lost control. His muscles tensed, and he arched his back, meeting Hyunjin's thrusts with a ferocity that left them both gasping for breath.

As he came, M/n felt Hyunjin's own release, felt the hot liquid spill over his entrance as the boss found his own release inside him. Their bodies moved together in perfect sync, the rhythm of their movements mirroring the power struggle that had brought them to this moment.

When at last they came down from their shared high, Hyunjin pulled out and tucked himself back into his pants. He straightened his tie, adjusting his suit jacket before turning back to face the others in the room. His expression was cool and confident, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired.

M/n, on the other hand, felt a mixture of emotions as he tried to regain his composure. His heart raced, his body still trembling from the intense release. He looked around, feeling the weight of the other designers' gazes on him, knowing that they had all witnessed what had just happened. But he also felt a newfound sense of power, of being a part of something bigger than himself.

Hyunjin leaned back against the table, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. His eyes met M/n's, and there was a smug satisfaction in them that M/n couldn't quite place. "Well," he said, his voice still husky from their exertions, "I think that's enough for today. You all have your assignments. Get back to your desks and make me proud."

As the other designers began to file out of the room, murmuring amongst themselves, M/n lingered behind, still feeling the aftershocks of their encounter. Hyunjin placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the door. "Come on, M/n," he whispered in his ear, "let's go back to my office and discuss your performance today."

[ode2rin]

it has become an awful pattern of habit how much itoshi sae always shows up at your doorstep only when he wants to. 

“don’t go out with oliver.”

and here he was again, like a recurring relapse that happens every single time you thought you’re doing better. the kind that hits when you think you're finally making progress, that momentary flicker of doing better before it all crumbles.

and you were. you’re doing good, doing better, but god, does it hurt like hell when he pulls stunts like this.

it was a relentless tug-of-war, a game he played so unfairly, leaving you with no rules, no defenses. you were damn sick of it. 

“really?” the word escaped as a scoff, a blend of disbelief and irritation coating your voice. “you're showing up to my place at this hour just to say that?” 

a drawn-out exhale left sae's lips at your reaction, the scent of alcohol accompanying it—a scent foreign to the sae you'd known. was he drinking? itoshi sae doesn’t drink – or at least the sae you knew would never let a single drop of alcohol taint his flesh. 

“just don’t. he’ll hurt you.”

a bitter laugh escaped you, “you're one to talk about hurting people, aren't you?”

if you didn't know better, you'd mistake the look he shot you for something resembling an apology mixed with regret. but no, you knew that those eyes can never hold such, not for you, not for anyone.

“news flash, itoshi. you don’t have the right to decide who i can or cannot go out with.” 

“don’t i?” 

his challenge lingered in the air, a question not constrained by words but driven by conflicting wills, a daring meeting of gazes that had been evaded until now.

you're so fucking unfair, itoshi sae.

“leave,” you spat, your grip on the doorknob tightened, fingers almost digging into the cool metal. 

“don’t i, y/n? do i not have a right to you?”

“please, sae. just go,” you murmured, eyes squeezed shut, a trace of tears threatening to break free.

“— because you have all damn rights to me that it fucking terrifies me.” 

and there it was.

the vulnerability he so fiercely and stubbornly concealed, laid bare for you to witness. it slipped out like an admission, raw and unguarded.

sae's insides churned as your gaze bore into him, the intensity of it feeling like a searing heat that left him exposed, his thoughts laid bare. it was as if you were looking at him as if he had grown a second head, an incredulity mirrored in his own disbelief at what he had just blurted.

but it’s the truth, a truth etched not in alcohol-induced haze but in the sobering clarity that you, ever loving you, terrified him. 

“you– you terrify me," his words stumbled out, like he was admitting a secret he never meant to reveal. “you’re the first thought that comes to my mind, and the last one before i sleep. i feel you everywhere, your presence, your absence — it terrifies me, y/n.” 

he ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration that echoed the inner chaos he couldn't quite contain. the sting of alcohol just added to the jumble of thoughts, like mixing a cocktail of emotions he wasn't prepared to deal with. 

sae had never been great with handling drinks, and here he was, wearing his heart on his sleeve, a little more vulnerable than he’d intended. 

after all, a body so foreign to alcohol can only handle so much.

and it's ironic how that also applies to sae's acceptance of your love – like a liquor he's not used to, but still very much would like a taste.

he knew he had absolutely no right to show up here; he had no right to stop you from going out with another man; he had no right to claim a part of you, not after he shattered your heart because he was afraid of his own.

he knew that, but itoshi sae is selfish. he wanted you, terrifyingly so. he hoped — prayed, even—no one will ever have you the same way he does. 

and he meant that in the most selfish way possible. because, time and time again, itoshi sae was selfish, even more so when it came to loving you.

“it terrifies me,” he carried on, a touch firmer this time, his gaze unyielding as it held yours, “how much you consume me, and it frightens me even more how much i would let you.”

“then just let me, you stupid asshole.” 

the words burst out of you, a declaration that felt like a leap of faith. your arms instinctively reached out, embracing him as if to underscore your determination. you had caught his confession like a lifeline, and now it was your turn to throw your heart into the mix.

“and you have all the damn rights to me too,” you murmured against his lips.

the truth is, he doesn't deserve you, not in the slightest. but god, you want him to— so bad. and after hearing what he said, you knew he wanted the same thing too.

you wrap your arms tighter around him, and it's like fitting together two missing pieces. you missed this, missed him. no amount of trying will ever relieve the longing. because truth be told, hearts aren't great at playing hide and seek; that much can be seen from the way you’re both holding on to each other.

“i'll love you slowly, until it's not scary, until you get used to it,” you whispered, forehead pressed against his.

in the quiet space between your whispered words, sae felt the world shift beneath his feet. 

love with you wasn't meant to be frightening. love with you wasn't meant to be all-consuming.

love with you, he realized, only needed to be exactly like this— your fingers against his nape, a smile curving your lips, and the assurance in your gaze that promised better times ahead.

“i’ll get used to it.” maybe the words came off wobbly, but he couldn’t care any less now; it was a promise.

“you better.” you let out a chuckle, genuine this time, and it took just one chuckle for sae to realize that everything will be just fine. 

[extra]:

“sae?”

you pull his attention, sensing his wakefulness from the lingering kisses he peppers on your skin. the same man who laid bare his heart to you was sprawled within your sheets, his breathing gentle against your neck.

though his lips stay sealed, the comforting squeeze of your hand relays that he was listening.

“where did you hear that i’m going out with oliver?”

a brief pause, followed by a scoff. way to ruin a moment, sae’s inner voice grumbles at the timing of your question. why bring up another guy's name now, especially when he's shirtless and right above you? the nerve.

“doesn’t matter.” he dismisses your question. 

yet, there's something oddly satisfying about riling up the usually composed sae, it’s one of your life’s greatest pleasures. and so, you press on, unable to resist the urge to tease. 

“come on, now. i want to know what made my cold and grumpy sae to show up at my door at 2 am, professing that i terrify him,” you pushed, meeting his irritated glare with an arched brow. “— and don’t give me that look. those were your words, not mine!”

tch. he clicks his tongue, fully aware you won't let him live down his confession. “got it from shidou. he told me right before asking me to drink with him.”

as those words escape sae’s lips, you burst into laughter, leaving him to wonder if he broke you with last night's late-night affection.

“what’s so funny?” he raises an eyebrow at your sudden outburst.

“shidou tricked you into drinking with him, love. i turned down oliver without a second thought. we didn't even get close to going on a date,” you playfully reveal, your grin growing. “i kind of mentioned that to shidou. we share gossip occasionally, you know.”

sae froze at what you said, and he didn’t need no damn mirror to see that he was turning red from the embarrassment and realization that he had been lured to drink.

“i’ll kill him.”

“and i’ll thank him.” may shidou get all the dopamine he so cunningly desires. 

note. i also don't know what this is so don't look at me now :P i'm throwing tomatoes at myself

[perpetual-stories]

Eight Strategies for Improving Dialogue in Your Writing

Well, hi! Oh my… wow! It’s been a long time since I’ve posted! I’ve been very busy and I am genuinely sorry to all my followers, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about this account, but here is one final post for the year!

Hopefully next year I become consistent with it again!

Let’s begin!

One of the best ways to help a reader connect with your writing is by crafting excellent dialogue. Use these tips to learn how to write dialogue that showcases character development, defines your characters’ voices, and hooks readers.

Why Use Dialogue?

Good dialogue performs all sorts of functions in fiction writing. It defines your characters’ voices, establishes their speech patterns, exposes the inner emotions, and showcases their character development. Beyond mere characterization, effective dialogue can also establish the setting and time period of your story and reveal information in a way that doesn’t feel overly expository.

Authors use lines of dialogue to reveal a character’s personality and express their point of view. For instance, an archetypal football coach might speak in short, terse sentences peppered with exclamation points and quotations from famous war generals. By contrast, a nebbish lover with a broken heart might drone on endlessly to his therapist or best friend, speaking in run-on sentences that circle around his true motivations. When an author can reveal character traits through dialogue, it cuts down on exposition and makes a story flow briskly.

Eight Writing Tips for Improving Dialogue

The first time you write dialogue, you may find it quite difficult to replicate the patterns of normal speech. This can be compounded by the concurrent challenges of finding your own voice and telling a great story overall. Even bestselling authors can get stuck on how a particular character says a particular line of dialogue. With practice and hard work, however, lackluster dialogue can be elevated to great dialogue.

Here are some strategies for improving the dialogue in your own work:

Mimic the voices of people in your own life. Perhaps you’ve created a physician character with the same vocal inflections as your mother. Perhaps your hero soldier talks just like your old volleyball coach. If you want to ensure that your dialogue sounds the way real people speak, there’s no better resource than the real life people in your everyday world.

Mix dialogue with narration. Long runs of dialogue can dislodge a reader from the action of a scene. As your characters talk, interpolate some descriptions of their physical postures or other activity taking place in the room. This mimics the real-world experience of listening to someone speaking while simultaneously taking in visual and olfactory stimuli.

Give your main character a secret. Sometimes a line of dialogue is most notable for what it withholds. Even if your audience doesn’t realize it, you can build dynamic three-dimensionality by having your character withhold a key bit of information from their speech. For instance, you may draft a scene in which a museum curator speaks to an artist about how she wants her work displayed—but what the curator isn’t saying out loud is that she’s in love with the artist. You can use that secret to embed layers of tension into the character’s spoken phrases.

Use a layperson character to clarify technical language. When you need dialogue to convey technical information in approachable terms, split the conversation between two people. Have one character be an expert and one character be uninformed. The expert character can speak at a technical level, and the uninformed one can stop them, asking questions for clarification. Your readers will appreciate it.

Use authentic shorthand. Does your character call a gun a “piece” or a “Glock”? Whatever it is, be authentic and consistent in how your characters speak. If they all sound the same, your dialogue needs another pass.

Look to great examples of dialogue for inspiration. If you're looking for a dialogue example in the realm of novels or short stories, consider reading the great books written by Mark Twain, Judy Blume, or Toni Morrison. Within the world of screenwriting, Aaron Sorkin is renowned for his use of dialogue.

Ensure that you’re punctuating your dialogue properly. Remember that question marks and exclamation points go inside quotation marks. Enclose dialogue in double quotation marks and use single quotation marks when a character quotes another character within their dialogue. Knowing how to punctuate dialogue properly can ensure that your reader stays immersed in the story.

Use dialogue tags that are evocative. Repeating the word “said” over and over can make for dull writing and miss out on opportunities for added expressiveness. Consider replacing the word “said” with a more descriptive verb.

[rieriel]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐄

「content」 1.6k+ wc, fem!reader, reader wears heels, established relationship, cunnilingus, edging, praise, fingering, pet names, just satoru putting your heels on 🎀

☆ in which: gojo satoru isn't above kneeling if it means getting to taste you

You should have known it was a bad idea to let Satoru stay in the same room while you got ready for your weekly date nights.

And you should have known that by now, the only thing you're getting ready for is to unravel beneath him.

The man in question is seated on your shared bed, legs invitingly apart, elbows resting on each knee. He watches every step you make, from applying glitters to your eyelids to finally putting on jewelry as the finishing touch. With all the years you’re together, Satoru isn’t particularly ashamed to admit how this is one of the many things he likes doing with you. Shockingly, it’s also one of the few things that could make him go quiet.

He just sits there and watches you, without uttering a single word. To anyone who knows him, that’s as bizarre as cows flying around.

You're ready to go, but the sudden presence of a warm body looming behind you suggests otherwise.

“Satoru,” you warn, feeling his large hands holding you by the hips, his long fingers tracing patterns across the fabric of your dress.

“You look so good in this dress,” he breathes into your ear, “Can we not go, baby, please? Want you all for m’self.”

“I'm all yours,” you affirm, a soft smile playing on your lips from a rather devious idea you thought of.

Earning a satisfied hum of response from the white-haired, you turn around to face him, halting his indulgence of littering featherlight kisses in your nape down to your exposed shoulders.

You place your hands on his neck, chest against his own, and murmured in his lips, “But after we go to this restaurant, please? I’ve been wanting to go there, baby.”

Ah, you used it against him—the pet name and the pleading eyes.

You know better than anyone that he can never say no to that. It's all it takes for your lover to do your bidding in a heartbeat, because it’s no secret how much he was a goner for you. He lets everyone know that as clear as day, anyway. 

“Fine,” he pouts.

Beaming, you plant a peck on his lips, and before Satoru can chase your lips with his own, you release him to turn once again to your vanity mirror.

“Oh, by the way, can you get my black heels for me?”

“The ones I like?” Even with your back turned, you can practically see the bashful smile playing on his lips from his chirped voice.

“Yup. That one, baby.”

Without a minute passing by, Satoru again appears behind you, holding a pair of black stilettos in one hand. You're just about to grab them from him when he raises them above your reach.

“We’re going to be late, Toru.”

“We won’t,” he assures, a boyish grin materializing on his lips. And god, he is so unbelievably handsome in his crisp suit— you're starting to regret insisting on going out now.

“Let me?” he asks, head slightly tilting to the side.

“The straps could be tricky…” you trail off. Satoru doesn’t respond, but he holds your gaze before slowly going down on both knees.

All while still not breaking eye contact with you.

You know what he’s trying, and Satoru knows perfectly well it’s working.

Satoru places the heels in front of your feet and holds your left calf to slide on the left pair. Your dress rises at the slight raise of your leg, making your breath hitch at the sensation of his warm breath grazing your exposed inner thigh.

The sound of your reaction is everything he needed to make the two of you late on that dinner reservation.

As he finishes putting both straps of the heels, you wait for him to stand– your intentions clear on staking claim on his lips as payback. But all expectations were replaced with arousal building up on your center as Satoru nuzzles his nose closer to your navel, sinking inch by inch in height to reach what’s down below.

“You smell so good, baby…” he mumbles, “Let me taste you, baby, please. It will be just a taste, I promise…” you could hardly make out what he’s saying from how muffled his voice is because of how close he’s pressing his face to your front, taking your scent and letting it consume him.

The strongest— on his knees, begging just for a taste. What a sight to behold, truly.

“T-Toru,” you stuttered, “Just a taste,” you gave in, echoing his needs.

All hell breaks loose for Satoru the moment those words escape your lips. He took one more glance from your pretty flushed face down to your feet, taking his time to marvel at you. He loves you in dresses like these— short and easy to access. Not to mention how divine it hugs your tits.

His left hand, once resting in your leg, started making its way to lift the hem of your dress— enough to expose your lace panties that weren't covering much to begin with.

Oh, heavens, pray heed of his greed because there was no getting enough of you. Knowing that you wore this intentionally just for him made his cock throb and his pants to tighten. 

You let out a gasp when your lover started drawing circles on your clothed pussy, going far beyond slowly sliding his index finger back and forth in between your legs, teasing you.

“Satoru,” you hiss, “Do not tease me.”

“But you’re so wet, princess…” he hums before sliding his long finger at your arousal, “All of it for me?”

“Yes —yes, all of it, ‘s for you, toru.”

“Damn right it’s for me. This pussy is f’ me— made just for me.” 

Familiar fingers looped around the waist of your panties, gently pulling it down your knees.

Even though you’re wearing a four-inch stiletto, his face was now perfectly leveled with your pussy. And just before you prepare yourself for what he intends to, Satoru leans in to plant a wet kiss before hungrily delving his tongue in your folds making knees buckle in pleasure.

“Oh, dear god— there, keep me there..” you whimpered. He put one hand behind your right knee for support. Fingers gently tapping against your knees, as if asking you to look at him as he sloppily eats you out. 

“S-Satoru—” 

“Satoru? Oh, I thought I was dear god, baby,” he teases, smirk evident in his voice.

Satoru looked up, tongue still deep in your clit, to gaze at you. He couldn’t help but swallow hard upon seeing how you were slightly gaping with your eyes shut, obviously blissed out. Fuck, you look so pretty.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he whispered, every breath of his words fanning against your flesh, making you shiver. “Watch how good I make you feel.”

He waits for you to look at him before flicking his tongue at your wetness— the action making you instinctively grip on his white mop of hair. Satoru felt your hands aimlessly guiding his head to lap more at your cunt. 

More, more, more— you need him badly. Needy, you grind your hips against his face, strong jaw touching the sides of your inner thighs. 

Satoru knows your body like the back of his hand, he knows you’re close— so he stops, licking his lips to clean your sweetness that’s almost dripping down his chin.

“Don’t stop, toru. I– I’m close, please. Please–”

“Shhh— I know, baby. I know,” he chuckles, “Would you be a good girl and do something f’me, baby? It’s for you, I promise.”

“Anything… anything! Just please…” you plead, almost tearing. So close, you’re so close. 

Satoru was on his knees, but it felt more like you were the one at his very mercy. Every touch, every sigh, pushed you closer to the edge, the brink of a pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable.

“Put your leg on my shoulder and stand firmer. Can my pretty girl do that for me, hm?”

“I can’t, toru– too weak for it..”

“You can and you will, baby,” he interrupts your whine. 

You did as he told, and lay one of your legs over his shoulder as your other stood firmer in heels. You felt one of Satoru’s hands snaking up to your ass, holding you in place.

“See? now, that’s a good girl,” he cooed at you. Deciding you deserve a treat for your obedience, he slides two fingers in your clit– pumping them in and out while his tongue does wonders circling your cunt.

A loud moan escaped your lips, involuntary, as desire pulsed through you. Dazed and breathless, you look down at your lover only to be met with his clear sky eyes looking up at you. His eyes, dilated with need and want— all at once, revealed a hunger you know you will be paying for to satisfy.

“Tell me, baby” he dared, “should I cancel our reservation?”

The only answer Satoru got from his pretty girlfriend was her loud mewls, heavy breaths, and the shivering of hips against his hold. Your cum dripping from your clit straight to his mouth.

That’s better than a yes, he chuckles in thought.

“Yeah. I thought so, too, pretty girl,” he licks his lips before carrying you to bed to continue where you left off.

『 ↳✧･ﾟ minimal proofread! :>

[theship-thewalrus]

Avoidance || Benedict Bridgerton

benedict bridgerton x reader

secrets are uncovered as you confront Benedict about avoiding you

word count: 848 words reading time: about 4 minutes warnings: none

It had been some time since you had seen or heard anything from Benedict. Considering you believed the pair of you were relatively close this sudden cold shoulder surprised you. What could cause this sudden change in demeanour? Had you done something? Said something? You could not stop the thousands of possibilities of what you might have done to flood your head.

You had given him space for some time, in the hopes whatever it was would pass and you both may return to normal. But it seemed time had not wavered the cold shoulder you received. Thus, in an attempt to find an answer to your burning question, you confronted the man. No longer would you wait for him to come to you.

"Benedict, wait."

Finding in the crowd of a ball you attempted to confront the man. You deserved an explanation for his actions. No longer being able to live in the dark. Yet, it seemed Benedict was not ready to talk to you. The man weaved through various people that danced or talked. In the word of people, you were determined not to lose him. Twisting through the small gaps between people you followed the man, keeping an eye on where he was walking.

It was not long until you followed him out into the night. The cool air nipped at your exposed skin, forming goose bumps on the skin. Though this cold air would not deter you from your mission. You had set your mind to this and you would not see yourself backing down.

"Benedict, please, just tell me what I can do to make this right."

Your voice was pleading as it carried in the wind as you remained a few paces behind him. Benedict simply strung you along to where ever he desired to go. It was deep in the gardens that Benedict finally decided to stop this little game of chase. Between large hedges, trees and flowers. The sound of the music inside was now fair behind you both, only the faint tune of the trumpet could be heard.

The large moon above you both was the only light that was provided for this meeting in the dark. For a moment you worried about what others would think if they were to stumble across you both. At night. Uncharpored. Alone. You would be ruined. There was so much on the line for you to simply try to get a few words from Benedict and it angered you.

"Tell me what I have done. Please. I can make this right, I swear it. Why have you been avoiding me?"

Your voice was louder than you expected. It shocked you when Benedict whipped around to face you, having half expected the man to simply pretend you were not here. He seemed conflicted. His eyes held an inner struggle. Reaching out like one would a wounded animal, you took Benedict's hand in your own. Carefully running your thumb over his knuckles.

"Speak to me, please" "You have done no wrong. It is I that has wronged you."

His response shocked you. To your knowledge, he had not done anything that could grant you to be upset with him. Was this truly all about something he believed he had done to upset you? It seemed so stupid.

"You have not done anything. I do not understand. Stop being foolish, I-" “Every time I see you, all I can think about is kissing you and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.”

The words that came from Benedict were rushed and strung together. It took a moment for your brain to process what he said as words and then another moment to truly understand those words. Kissing? You? His face was flushed, eyes not daring to meet yours. He has had many flings in the past, all of which he had the confidence of a King. But it was different with you. He did not hold lust in his heart like he did them, but he held love. A pure unfiltered love, that he only carried for you.

"I do not understand? That is why you have been avoiding me? Leaving my letters unanswered? Because you desire to kiss me?"

There was a beat of silence as Benedict struggled to form the words in his mind. You allowed him time to think, and your hand gave him a gentle squeeze.

"It is more than that... I... My.... My mind is completely entrapped by you. Every waking moment I spend thinking of you. Your smile. Your laugh. Your eyes. You have consumed utterly consumed me." "Oh, Benedict..."

Your voice trails up as you inch closer to him. A hand reached to caress his cheek as your soft lips connect with his. You felt his hand wrap around your waist, holding you as though you may slip away. He needed to know you were real and this was not all just a fantasy he had conjured up in his mind. But you were real, this was real, and he could not be more ecstatic.

[stqrgirlie0]

⋆✮theodore nott-pt 4✮⋆

part 1 / part 2 / part 3

you were running out of concealer, and it was showing. the purplish blue bruise less inconspicuous than the day before. theo had no chill when it came to hickeys- even though you guys weren’t official yet, he saw no problem in marking you his. one could say it just happens in the moment, and honestly why would anyone blame him- especially when he had you pressed up against the wall, head tilted back, mouth parted open, eyes closed and your neck and collarbone exposed. he just can't help himself.

it was becoming a daily routine, everyday right after last period you'd walk past the same empty classroom and everyday you'd hear someone whisper your name from behind the door. not very long after you'd be unbuttoning theo's shirt while he picked you up and sat you onto a desk. your fingers would tangle between theo's fluffy curls while his lips littered kisses and hickeys. soft pants from the both of you filled the air, and your were more than glad that theo did his little magic and muffled the room's noise to the outside. the sound of theo ripping your tights made you gasp out loud as you gave theo a light smack on his shoulder, while he muttered a 'i'll buy you new ones.’ soft kisses planted into your inner thighs and as soon as he was on his knees, he got down to business- ate you out like he didn't have breakfast in the morning. euphoric- that's how you felt every single time this man was on his knees, stars were starting to form in your vision. squeezing your eyes shut, fingers gripping his hair and the edge of the desk, you reached your climax and theo was all over you again, fervent kisses with teeth clashing and soft giggles in between.

obviously you guys hadn't been caught yet, but even if you did, i doubt that it would stop the two of you. this whole thing between you and theo hadn't been out in the open yet, so every moment between you two in front of the group was seen as an interaction between two "friends". it wasn't the best thing however it wasn't the worst. the thrill of getting caught and no one knowing egged on both of your antics, but not being able to grab theo and kiss him in front of the girls that cannot keep their eyes off of him, took a lot off self control. then again having this little secret meant that no one could have a problem with it- what they didn't know couldn't hurt them right?

unsettling thoughts would cross your mind so frequently, that you found yourself asking the question 'what are we?’. not dating but talking, talking but not progressing- what the hell was going on. you wanted it to work out you really did, so why didn't he just ask you out? and just like that your wish was granted- be careful what you wish for tho.. it was romantic you'll admit it- the candle, the flowers, the chocolates, the black lake glistening in the moonlight and the warm breezy air blowing your hair. it was literally a scene out of a romcom and you felt like you would literally MELT for the man right then and there. everything was perfect- so why was there still this iffy feeling? i'll tell you why- despite all of this lovey dovey, will-you-be-my-girlfriend stuff, our man Mr Theodore Nott asked to STILL keep it a secret. now why on gods green earth would he ask that? obviously you wouldn’t let this ruin you mood, you were on cloud nine girl!! but that bridge was fast approaching, and you were gon have to cross it at some point.

months pass by, and you've both still kept it a secret, but boy has it taken a toll on your side. keeping secrets, lying, it's never been your thing and you hate doing it to the people you love and care about. was it all worth it, was it worth the lack of energy and excitement? your secret link ups with theo got more frequent over time obviously- and maybe it was just because your friends just didn't hang out with you because you'd always run off, to him, for him. your lack of energy doesn't go unnoticed, and obviously it's brought up. just not in the nicest way. you're accused of not putting any effort into the relationship, and this sets you off-you see literal red.

‘i don’t know what you’re talking about theo.’ you sigh, standing up.

‘i’m talking about the 0 effort you put into our relationship,’ he says pacing across his dorm room and rubbing his temple. ‘every time we get time alone it’s like as if you can’t wait to fucking go back to your friends or some shit, what the fuck is going on.’

‘what’s going on? what’s going on?’ you seethe, walking right up to him. ‘i’ll tell you what’s going on. it’s that i can’t take this fucking secret thing further. there i said it, i CANT do it.‘ you wave your hands up in surrender.

‘so what, that’s it?’

‘i don’t know, do you want it like that? theo we can’t even talk until we’re behind closed doors, it’s like we’re trapped. you say i put no energy and effort into this, but maybe it’s because i use it all up lying and making excuses for us. it’s not working out..’

the argument only ended with tears and slammed doors. nights that you used to smoke with theo on, turned into nights you sat by yourself, leaning your head against the window, accompanied by only your thoughts. every day going to lessons and acting normal was truly a test, especially when theo would still catch you with his longing eyes across the room. it was so hard but you couldn’t give up, you owed yourself at least that much. your heart yearned for the boy, for the way he would brush your hair out of your face, for the way he would look at you- like you were the prettiest girl in the world, for the way he’d play with your hands every time you slept. it was getting harder and harder by the day, and theo wasn’t finding it any easier. he also longed for how your fingers would play with his hair, for how your nails would scratch down his back. so it wasn’t long before the both of you snapped, and there you guys were making out in the corner of the empty corridor. your top two buttons undone and theo’s hands firmly planted at the sides of your waist, lifting your shirt up a bit as his fingers pressed into your skin. you felt his lips slowly travelling to the middle of your neck, your head leaning back against the wall to allow him as much skin as you could. his lips trailed back up again, finding your jawline as he pressed kisses along. the scene caused the majority of the students walking by, to avert their eyes and fasten their pace down the corridor.

i think it’s pretty much official now.

#i think pt 4’s come to a natural ending.. right.. #id like to confirm that there will not be a pt 5 xoxo #because i genuinely would not know what to write, but hopefully you guys enjoyed the (very unplanned) series♡ #lots of love xoxo

taglist: @iamgayforyourmom1510 @lovelyygirl8

[flowerbunnyboo]

PLEASE DOCTOR, HELP ME! | back

starring: jungkook x male reader

summary: Jungkook is a urologist, a doctor that deals with penises and prostates. Little did he expect to have one of the best sex ever with a random patient on a random day

nsfw

a/n: hi ! This is inspired by the say uncle porn videos which I absolutely love

It was a typical Wednesday morning at Dr. Jungkook's urology clinic. Patients trickled in, each with their unique set of urinary issues. Jungkook, a tall and handsome man in his early thirties, greeted them with a warm smile as he efficiently diagnosed and treated various conditions - from kidney stones to prostatitis.

Just before lunch, a new patient arrived, introducing himself as Mn. He looked to be in his late twenties, with short dark hair and piercing eyes that seemed to hold a secret. As Mn settled onto the examination table, Jungkook couldn't help but notice the way his slender fingers drummed against his thigh, betraying a hint of nervousness.

“So, tell me Mr. Mn”,Jungkook began, leaning over the chart, “What seems to be the problem?”

Mn shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the sterile white room before finally meeting Jungkook's gaze.

“Well, Doctor... I've been experiencing some discomfort down there,” he gestured vaguely towards his crotch, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It's like... my dick just feels off sometimes”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “Off, how exactly? Painful? Tingly? Or perhaps... “. His voice trailed off suggestively as he allowed his gaze to linger on Mn's lap, where a noticeable bulge strained against the fabric of his jeans.

Mn's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and he quickly looked away, clearing his throat. “N-no pain, really. Just... sensitivity, I guess. And sometimes it gets hard without warning”

Jungkook nodded thoughtfully, making a note on the chart making another mark beside 'Premature Ejaculation'.

He glanced up at Mn through his lashes, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hmm, interesting. Well, let's take a closer look, shall we?”

Without waiting for a response, Jungkook reached for the stethoscope hanging from his neck and deftly unbuttoned Mn's pants.

The cool metal pressed against sensitive skin as he listened intently, his breath hot against Mn's inner thigh.

“Mmm, sounds healthy enough”, Jungkook murmured, his fingers trailing lightly along the waistband of Mn's boxers. “But I think we should rule out any potential prostate issues. Just a routine exam, don't worry”

Mn bit his lip, trying to ignore the thrill that shot through him at Jungkook's touch. ‘Prostate exam?’ Was that normal for this kind of visit? He didn't think so, but the doctor's confident demeanor put him at ease.

Jungkook carefully peeled down Mn's boxers, exposing his erect cock to the cool air of the exam room. A low whistle escaped his lips. “My, you're quite the one, aren't you?”

Mn's face burned even hotter, but he couldn't help shying under the praise.

Jungkook's hands were gentle as they wrapped around his shaft, giving it a slow squeeze. “Relax, this won't hurt a bit”, the doctor assured him, his thumb rubbing teasing circles over the sensitive head.

As Jungkook began to stroke Mn's length, the young man felt his resolve crumbling.

The pleasure was overwhelming, and Mn found himself arching into Jungkook's touch, his hips instinctively rocking to meet those skilled fingers. “Oh god, that feels...amazing”, he panted, his eyes fluttering shut.

Jungkook smiled to himself, pleased by the reaction. He picked up the pace, pumping Mn's cock with increasing urgency. “You're doing great, just relax and enjoy it”, he cooed, leaning in close to murmur against Mn's ear.

The heat of Jungkook's breath sent shivers down Mn's spine, and he could feel his balls drawing up tight, signaling his impending climax. But just as he teetered on the edge, Jungkook abruptly pulled away, leaving Mn aching and empty.

“Almost there, but not yet”

Jungkook said with a wink, his own erection straining visibly against his scrubs. “Now, let's see about that prostate of yours...”

Before Mn could protest, Jungkook had positioned himself between his thighs, one hand guiding Mn's leg up and over his hip. The other hand, slick with lube, pressed insistently against Mn's rear entrance.

“Oh!”, Mn gasped, surprised by the sudden intrusion. But instead of pain, a wave of intense pleasure washed over him as Jungkook's finger breached his tight hole.

“That's it, just relax”, Jungkook soothed, slowly working his finger deeper. “You're doing fantastic”

Mn moaned, his head falling back as he surrendered to the sensation. Jungkook's finger curled inside him, stroking that magical spot that made stars explode behind his eyelids.

”Doctor”, Mn whimpered, his voice trembling with need, “please... I need..”

He didn't even know what he needed anymore, only that the ache within him demanded to be filled.

Jungkook must have understood, because suddenly he was removing his finger and replacing it with the thick head of his own cock.

Mn cried out as he felt that first delicious stretch, his body welcoming the invasion. Jungkook pushed in inch by glorious inch until he was buried to the tip, filling Mn completely.

For a moment, they simply stayed like that, caught in the haze of pleasure. Then Jungkook began to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside Mn before plunging back in with a deep, satisfying thrust.

“Yes, oh god yes”, Mn chanted, his hands fisting in the sheets as he met each powerful stroke.

The room echoed with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, punctuated by their ragged breathing and muffled groans. Jungkook set a relentless pace, driving into Mn with precision and passion, his hips snapping forward with each thrust.

Mn's world narrowed to the feeling of being so thoroughly claimed, so utterly owned by this handsome doctor. He'd never experienced anything like it, and the intensity threatened to consume him whole.

“Harder, please”, Mn begged, his voice hoarse with desire. “Fuck me harder!”

Jungkook obliged, picking up speed until the exam table shook beneath them. He leaned down to capture Mn's mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to tangle with Mn's.

The added stimulation sent Mn careening over the edge.

With a strangled cry, Mn came undone, his orgasm crashing over him like a wave. His cock jerked, painting the sheets below with streaks of cum as wave after wave of bliss pulsed through him.

Through it all, Jungkook continued to pound into him, chasing his own release. “Fuck, you feel incredible”, he growled against Mn's lips, his thrusts growing erratic as he neared the edge.

With a final, brutal plunge, Jungkook buried himself to the insides and still Mn could feel every throbbing inch as he erupted inside him. The warmth of his seed flooding Mn's insides triggered another aftershock, leaving them both shaking and spent.

As the aftermath settled, Jungkook collapsed onto Mn, his weight a comforting pressure against him.

They lay there for a long moment, catching their breath and savoring the intimate silence. Finally, Jungkook lifted his head to gaze at Mn with a soft, satisfied smile.

“Well, that was certainly an unconventional examination”, he teased, brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair from Mn's forehead. “But I think we can safely say your physical is complete”

Mn chuckled weakly, still reeling from the intensity of their encounter. “I suppose that's one way to ensure a thorough check-up”, he agreed, his voice tinged with amusement and something warmer.

Jungkook's expression turned tender as he cupped Mn's cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of his jaw. “And I have to say, I'm rather glad our paths crossed today”, he murmured, his eyes searching Mn's face.

Mn's heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in Jungkook's words, and the gentle affection in his touch. He found himself wanting to lean into it, to bask in the afterglow of their passionate encounter and explore these new feelings blossoming between them.

“I am too”, Mn admitted softly, his hand coming up to cover Jungkook's where it rested on his cheek. “This was more than just a physical exam, wasn't it?”

Jungkook nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Definitely. And I think we both know this isn't the last time we'll be seeing each other”

Mn's pulse quickened at the implication, a thrill of excitement mixed with a dash of nervousness.

“So, what do you say?”, Jungkook asked, his voice low and inviting as he rolled off Mn and sat beside him on the exam table. “Want to grab some dinner together? Maybe get to know each other a little better outside of the doctor patient relation?”

Mn considered the offer, his mind already racing with possibilities. A date with Jungkook sounded incredibly appealing, but he also knew he should probably slow down and not rush into things.

Still, the memory of their intense coupling lingered, making it difficult to think clearly. “I'd like that, he finally replied, deciding to take a chance on this unexpected connection.

Jungkook's face lit up with a radiant smile, and he reached out to squeeze Mn's shoulder. “Great! I know a really nice Italian place not far from here. How about we meet there at 7 pm?”

Mn nodded, already looking forward to their evening plans. As he started to gather his clothes, Jungkook helped him tidy up the mess they'd made, their fingers occasionally brushing in a way that sent pleasant shivers down Mn's spine.

Once everything was in order, Jungkook walked Mn to the door, his arm casually slung around the smaller man's shoulders. “I'll see you tonight, then”, he said, pressing a lingering kiss to Mn's temple.

Mn felt his cheeks heat at the gesture, but he smiled contentedly, already anticipating the warm glow of their budding relationship. “Looking forward to it,” he replied, stepping out into the hallway and waving goodbye as Jungkook closed the door behind him.

©️ flowerbunnyboo 2024. all rights reserved to me. please don't copy my work or reshare without my permission and credit

[nico-di-genova]

6: “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

Or

46: “Tell me a secret.”

- or any of the ones that inspire lestappen pretty please 🤞😘🥰

6. "Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?" WARNINGS: NSFW, like in every sense of the word

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed,” Max asks nonchalantly as he’s kicking off his shoes, one hand balanced against the wall above the light switch, the other on his hip.

“Besides the obvious I mean.”

Behind him, Charles shifts against the sheets, rolls onto his back and props his elbows up behind him so he can sit up and cast Max an annoyed look.

“I cannot be romantic? I thought you liked my ass, non?”

Max shrugs, “Of course I do, just wondering why it’s out in my bed at three in the afternoon.”

Charles pouts, sticks his bottom lip out, like he is offended his ass is not being better received. Max laughs, leans down to kiss the petulant look off Charles’ face before pulling away and resuming stripping languidly, pulling his bomber jacket off his shoulders like he has all the time in the world.

Charles makes an affronted sound, “Our bed.”

Max feels something flutter in his stomach, smiles in acknowledgement, “Yes, okay. Our bed. That you are naked in at three in the afternoon – with the curtains open.”

Max’s apartment, their home, sits high above the street. A penthouse that costs him too much for how little time they spend in it. He’s not really worried about the neighbors. He just likes to see the way Charles’ annoyance deepens, the press of his lips into a thin line and eyes that flash with obvious irritation.

“I am surprising you.”

“I do not like surprises.”

“I think you will like this one.”

The flight from Milton Keynes to Nice had been exhausting, but Max wasn’t tired enough to miss the obvious teasing, the goading as Charles’ voice lilts heavy with want. He also wasn’t tired enough to deny himself the simple pleasure of his boyfriend’s cock in his mouth.

He drops to his knees at the foot of the bed, hands grabbing Charles thighs until he’s got enough grip to pull the man to him. Until he’s close enough that Max can press a chaste kiss to the side of his knee, his inner thigh where his thumbprint is still fading, working his way upward as Charles’ breath stutters in his throat, somehow obscenely loud in the quiet of the space.

“So is this how you want to spend all of summer break?” Max asks, pausing his exploration of Charles’ body, but not pulling away. His breath is warm against Charles’ skin, the promise of something more with enough edge to make Charles a little crazy with the thought of it.

Teasing him is so fun, maybe the best part of being able to have the man at all. Yeah, the sex is great, but the way he can take Charles apart simply by picking at the exposed parts of him, that’s orgasmic on its own. Charles sounds so pretty when he whines, Max thinks it is probably his favorite noise.

“Because I’m not against it, Charlie. Keeping you here, spread out for me.”

Charles keens.

Max knows if he looked now he’d see a blush spreading across the Monégasque’s cheeks. Instead, he presses his lips back to the soft flesh of Charles thigh, kisses him innocently, and then bites.

Charles jerks beneath him, a startled cry filling the empty space of the room. It is Max’s firm hands on his thighs that hold him down onto the mattress.

“You- you are a menace.”

Max laughs, “You started it.” He licks the spot where Charles’ skin is already turning an irritated red, like an apology.

One of Charles’ hands finds its way into Max’s hair, scratching lightly along the scalp. Max chases the feeling until he’s shifted upward, his attention pulled to Charles’ dick dripping precum against his stomach. His stomach that’s already wet with a significant amount of it.

Max chokes a little on his own spit.

“How long have you been like this, baby?”

He pictures Charles hard and leaking while Max had his final debrief with the team before the official start of break. Pictures Charles whining for him while Max was sipping ginger ale from first class. Not coming, or touching himself, because Max knows what the aftereffects of an orgasm looks like on Charles and none of the signs are there.

“Too long,” Charles whines.

Max glances up at him, finally takes in the flush of his cheeks and his bitten raw lips. The way his pupils are blown wide already, before Max has even touched him.

“Please,” Charles begs.

Max admires his resolve, because he nearly comes in his jeans just from hearing Charles plead. Instead, he takes Charles’ dick in his hand and licks precum from the tip like an apology, while Charles tenses and a cry of relief spills out of him.

It’s a cry that only grows in volume when Max sucks Charles into his mouth and swallows down to the root.

“Fuck.”

Charles’ hand in his hair pulls, instinctively, unthinkingly, until Max can feel the sting of follicle being threatened to be pulled from root. Charles’ fingernails are pinpricks against his scalp. Max presses his tongue to the underside of Charles’ cock, the vein there, just to make Charles pull harder.

“Fuck. Merde. Fuck.”

Max wonders if Italy knows he has their golden boy spewing profanities like water from a fountain. Wonders if the Tifosi realize he can take their predestined apart with just his tongue and a barely there touch of his teeth to Charles’ cock. The empty threat of pain that will never be fulfilled. He wonders if they are jealous, hopes they are.

“Max, Max.”

Max is not a religious man, but he does love to worship at the altar of Charles, so maybe he is not that different from the Italian men to begin with. Charles pants his name and Max thinks it is probably the closest he will get to heaven.

Through his lashes, he glances up at Charles, reverence and adoration written across his features. Charles’ hips stutter off the mattress, his own gaze heavy and hazy when he looks down at Max with open love. Max wants to drown in him. The taste of him, the scent of him, wants to choke himself on the length of Charles’ cock until there is nothing left.

“Unh, I’m-,” Charles cries, before the words get stuck in his throat and he’s gasping out another high whine. His head falls back to expose the long column of his neck. Max is going to leave marks there later, plot out a course to Charles’ mouth simply because he can.

He’s close.

Max pulls off just enough to lick spit and precum from Charles’ slit before sucking back down and letting Charles thrust up into the warmth of his mouth. There is familiarity to it, like Charles is used to making a space for himself in Max’s throat.

He keeps one hand on Charles’ waist, the other splayed across the solid expanse of his abdomen so he can feel when Charles tenses. Charles’ skin is warm, sun-kissed tan against his palm, hot with the built-up need to release.

Max presses against his stomach, hollows out his cheeks, and makes a choked noise just so Charles will feel the hum of it. It sends him over the edge with a cry and Max’s name being gasped to the ceiling like a prayer. The hand in Max’s hair tightens to a fist, holds him down until the warm bitter taste of come stops hitting the back of his throat and Charles’ cock stops twitching in his mouth.

He does press his teeth there then, lightly, just to hear the hiss of oversensitivity from Charles’ lips.

When Charles falls back against the bed, he takes the sharp point of his nails against Max’s scalp with him. Max pulls off his softening dick and a bead of spit follows him. Charles watches through his lashes, until the string of saliva breaks, his lips already curling into a contented smile.

He reaches, lazy hand grabbing at the air, long fingers curling in the empty rays of dusty sunlight, and Max goes willingly.

“A nice surprise, then?” Charles mummers against his temple when they’re curled up together on the mattress. Charles is already running a teasing finger along the waistband of Max’s too tight jeans, dipping just below the denim with a promise.

Max hums, nods, swallows so he can taste Charles at the back of his throat.

“You should be naked in my bed more often, all the time maybe.”

Charles pinches the exposed skin at his hipbone and Max hisses.

“Our bed.”

Max turns his head, angles forward until he can kiss Charles with all the softness and vulnerability he can muster. He feels Charles smile against him.

“Our bed.”

[gothcsz]

oh god I just had a really horny thought, imagine coming to work without any underwear and teasing javi ugh like he just gets small glimpses of your pussy and it drives him up the WALL and then you end up spread open on his desk with his large hands on your inner thighs whilst he devours you 😩🫠

oh my god 😵‍💫 a horny thought INDEED holy shit... but what if you guys had some kind of argument the night before and that's why you've thought up of this little plan to fuck with him. i wanna say that maybe you two have been hooking up in secret for a while now and maybe you're ready to make it a real thing. he's very hesitant to do so because of his reputation and because he knows how women usually get treated once their office affairs are exposed.

so that talk just led to a petty fight that ended with him being an asshole to you and storming out of your place... you weren't going to let it go like you usually do— so you decide to get back at him in the only way you know is really going to get to him.

javier peña loves pussy—yours, to be exact— and he's a very possessive man when it comes to the things that are his. but if you're his, then why is he keeping you a secret? you really couldn't give less of a fuck about his reputation or about what others are going to say about you. it's not like you were breaking any rules (okay maybe you have hooked up around the office but what they don't know won't hurt them!)

and since he's not staking his claim on you, then you're free to do whatever. right? this particular skirt you've picked today shows your panty lines and you just can't have that (so unprofessional 😉) so you forego the undergarment all together.

if you just so happen to bend over a little to much and accidentally give his work rival a glimpse of heaven (as javi has so kindly put it) then.... oh well.

if the skirt rides up high enough to show the tops of your thighs while you're taking a call, thighs spreading to get comfortable... then so be it.

you find it so exhilarating and you haven't even revealed this little secret to him yet. coming in like you always do, making mindless small talk with your co-workers. it's not until lunch time that you stop by his private office, where he just gives you a once over and seemingly dismisses you that you drop the bomb on him.

handing over a file before strutting out, you feel his gaze on your swaying hips— on your ass, and you bite back a smirk.

he's too easy.

you close the door behind you and it's not until you're rounding the corner that he opens the folder and sees the flimsy, lacy fabric of your panties stuffed in there and he shoots up from his chair like someone's lit a fire under his ass; following behind you with his jaw clenched so tight, he might dislocate it.

then he sees you perched up on the other guy's desk, legs crossed while you lean closer to him and zendaya laugh at one of his unfunny jokes. it has him seeing red (or green, i guess) but he can't go over there and yank you off the surface without causing a scene. that'd draw attention and:

"We just can't have that, cariño." as he had so nicely told you the night before.

when you lean over enough, your ass rises off the desk and he gets just the quickest peek of your cunt.

he grits your name out through clenched teeth and you look over your shoulder at him, narrowing your gaze ever so slightly.

"i'm busy right now. we're going out for lunch." but your arch your back ever so slightly and he swears he's half tempted to draw the gun from his lower back and shoot that motherfucker between the eyes, then drag you over to his office and put you in your place.

but again— he can't do a damn thing. it'd just expose your relationship and, well....

"We just can't have that, cariño."

the entire time you're out for lunch, he's pacing his office, losing his mind knowing you're out with another man while your pussy is just out. what if he got handsy and rested his hand on your thigh? slid it up under the hem of your skirt? to where your leg and pelvis meet? what if you spread your legs a little further and let him run his fingers up your wet slit? and you'd be wet, javier knows this. knows how easy it is for him to get you dripping.

would this man have the same effect on you?

he's watching the clock like a fucking hawk, assaulting the poor plastic hands with his gaze until they hit the hour and he hears your bubbly laugh floating down the hallway.

it's kind of pathetic the way he rushes out of his office, biting down on his tongue. his usual golden eyes darken once you're in his line of sight. your breath catches in your throat at his stance, you're able to read him like a fucking book.

you smirk at him. he's played right into your little game and that is what sets him off.

he calls your name, demanding you to meet him in his office and you have to keep yourself from squealing at his tone, blowing off the insufferable guy you just wasted your lunch break on just to piss javier off.

you saunter into his office, skin on fire, and he's waiting for you, leaning against the edge of the desk.

"shut the door."

your tongue pokes against the inside of your cheek as you turn slowly, doing as you're told before facing him again.

"what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

you feign innocence, "what do you mean?"

"don't— don't fucking do that."

you shrug, leaning back against the door, letting his angry stare undress you.

"i just went out to lunch with a co-worker, javier. is that a crime or am i not allowed to let anyone know about that either?"

his jaw twitches and your thighs tense together.

"come here."

you could drag this out, be more of a brat about it, but you won't— because this entire time; you've been hot and fucking ready for one man and one man only.

you slowly walk to him and his impatience at your pace takes over, his large hands reach out to grab you by your waist to drag you to him. you almost trip over your work heels.

"you're a piece of work, you know that?" it all happens so fast, how he moves your body like you weigh nothing and perches you up on his desk, standing between your spread thighs.

"doin' all this and for what? 'cause i don't want to parade you around here like some fuckin' trophy?" he leans in, kissing and nipping at your jaw, your mind clouded with lust as his thick fingers dig into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

you whimper, not being able to find the words from the practiced argument you had in your head all night and morning, head canting back as his lips move down your body.

"all this for attention?" he huffs, sinking to his knees, "like i don't fucking give it to you all the damn time. is that not enough?"

javier groans loudly at the sight of your bare pussy, glistening, beckoning him in. he knows the second those pretty folds are spread and he sees your throbbing clit and fluttering hole; he's going to have no choice but to succumb to you completely.

"no, it's not." you stand your ground, struggling to keep your hips from bucking forward to get his mouth on you. you feel his warm breath fan over your core, sweat gathering at the base of your spine.

he bites and licks all around the area you need him most, and you hear him muttering to himself but you don't understand a goddamn word he's saying, blood rushing in your ears, heart beating so loud.

and then he's devouring your cunt like a man starved, lips, tongue, nose touching you in all the right places. you have to bite down on your lower lip to keep the lewd moans from escaping you, knuckles flushed against the edge of his desk to keep you stable while his possessive mouth reminds you that you're his and his only.

[runariya]

My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 3

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn fic rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: attempted murd€r, foul language, detachment, inner conflicts bordering on schizophrenia, fluff, slow burn, please lmk if I forgot something word count: ~ 5.1K

a/n: okay, so here's the deal...I've successfully and irreversibly deleted 2k words of this chapter while editing *yey* And I'm not capable of writing it again, so this chapter's a little shorter than intended. Hope you're enjoying it despite its short length...here goes nothing...🥲

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to med school are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

prologue • 01 • 02 • masterlist • 04

The night around you feels charged as you move along the shadowed path, the whispers of Suyeomggang River just below the ridge line of trees. The moon hangs heavy and swollen in the sky, a pale sentinel casting a sickly cold light over the riverbank, water lapping against the railings with an almost lazy indifference, a black mirror that reflects the stars in shattered fragments. You can feel the cool breeze off the river, taste its dampness in the air, hear its calling darkness from its depth.

You’ve been preparing for this for years, it’s like tonight everything falls into place, as if everything is perfect, the night wrapping around you like an invisible cloak, the silence so deep it feels like a part of you, an extension of your being grasping in every direction. The training, the planning, the sleepless nights spent perfecting every detail—all of it has led you to this exact moment. You slip through the darkness underneath the canopy of overhanging trees, the leaves whispering above you as if they know what’s about to happen and are trying to keep the secret within themselves. Every step precise, measured, the ground beneath your feet making not a single sound as you follow the trail of Kim Sangwook, the first name on your kill list.

It had to be him. You chose him with the precision of a surgeon’s blade, the first man who laid his filthy, despicable hands on your mother. His crime, as well as Park Dojin’s and Kim Chulsoo’s, wasn’t just physical; it was spiritual, an affront to the very blood that runs through your veins, poisoning it to its DNA. 

For months, you’ve watched Sangwook, studied his habits, learning the cadence of his days not to avoid him, but to calculate his weaknesses. He’s arrogant, unafraid, too comfortable in his routines to second guess himself and his safety. You know exactly where he’ll be most vulnerable, and it’s here—this river trail, this desolate stretch of night where no one comes after the sun has set, where only the distant sound of the city and nature bears witness to what will transpire. 

You have been patient. You are always patient. And tonight will be no different. 

You’re dressed in black, a second skin tailored to your body, slim-fitting and functional, with hidden pockets for your shurikens and whip coiled at your side. You considered a face mask but knew better—too easy to lose in a fight. Instead, you’ve sewn yourself a sleek, fitted mask that covers only your cheeks and brow, leaving your mouth and nose exposed to breathe freely, knowing better than to weaken yourself. 

Ahead of you, Sangwook walks, oblivious. He’s whistling—a tuneless, off-key noise that grates against your nerves, but you force yourself to block it out. His pace is lazy, his stride confident. He doesn’t look behind him, doesn’t even suspect that he’s being watched. You follow him like a shadow, each of his steps mirrored by yours but cloaked in silence. The trail curves ahead, leading to a darker stretch where the trees thicken and the river slips out of view. You know this spot—it’s where he’ll be most isolated, most vulnerable.

The darkness inside you twists and writhes, a beast of malice that groans and growls, aching for the taste of blood, its hunger a throbbing force that drowns out any shred of gentleness that lives inside you, pushing it so far down that it might as well have never been there at all. There is nothing left within you now but cruelty, sharp and ruthless, devouring the softer parts of your soul, leaving behind only the savage desire to destroy, to break, to consume without mercy.

You crouch slightly, bending your knees as you brace yourself to pounce. Every muscle in your body is taut, ready to explode into motion with your command. You’re so close now, your fingers twitching with the anticipation of wrapping your whip around his throat, of pulling him into the shadows where he belongs and never will escape from. The moment stretches out before you, the world narrowing to just you and him, to this moment, to this beautiful, beautiful moment. 

But then—hands, strong and cold, seize you from behind, and your breath stutters. Your instincts scream danger, but you’re too late. Your body is wrenched backwards, your planned attack on Sangwook slipping through your fingers like air, as he continues his walk, unaware, disappearing into the black abyss of the night, saved by sheer dumb luck.

A grunt of frustration escapes your lips, but you push the sound away as you focus on the here and now. The arms around you are like steel bars, locking your movements, restricting you, but not for long. You twist your body violently, your elbow driving backwards into your captor's ribs with full force. The impact reverberates through your bones, but the man barely falters, tightening his grip even further. Your breath comes in short, sharp bursts as you struggle, thrashing against the strength that holds you, your heart racing by pure survival instinct. 

With a quick shift of your weight, you slam the heel of your combat boot down hard against his instep, and finally, you feel him flinch. It’s just enough. His grip loosens, and you slip free, stumbling forward but catching yourself before you fall to the ground. You whip around, panting silently, every muscle ready for the next strike.

Before you stands a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in black from head to toe, a black face mask covering the lower half of his face, his eyes squinting at you with angry intensity beneath the brim of a equally black cap. His chest heaves slightly from your brief struggle, but you can tell by his stance that he’s no amateur, even though his face mask tells a different story.

“Who the fuck are you?” you snap, your voice cutting through the night, sharp and impatient after your plan so gracefully failed. 

The man scoffs, clearly unimpressed by your question. "I’m Pulse," he replies, his voice low and gravelly, laced with arrogance. "And with whom do I have the pleasure?"

The name rings a bell, and your mind clicks—Pulse. You’ve heard of him before, the so-called ‘hero’ who stalks the streets of Busan, swooping in like some self-righteous crusader to save the day. A ridiculous figure, some holier-than-thou idiot who thinks he can make a difference in a world that’s long past saving. You can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes your lips, suppressing a role of your eyes. He’s nothing more than a man playing dress-up, chasing glory under the guise of justice.

“Stasis,” you say through a mocking smile full of teeth, your tone dripping with derision. The name you gave yourself and the one you call him are a joke, a reflection of the absurdity of this whole pointless situation and himself. “Nice to meet you, Dulls.”

His eyes narrow further above his mask, gaze burning into you with his wounded ego. He clearly wasn’t expecting to run into someone like you tonight, and so he takes a step closer, his voice steady but laced with warning you can’t seem to take serious at the slightest. "This isn't how you make the world better. You shouldn’t be hurting people."

You can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes your lips, can’t help but to keep mocking him. "You don’t say."

Silence falls between you as your words reach him, as if he’s weighing his next words carefully, shifting through his thoughts, unsure of what to say next. Meanwhile, the beast inside you bares its teeth, gnashing against the cage of your control, howling for blood, demanding that you kill him right here and now. But you force it down, force yourself to remember that there’s a time and place for slaughter, that not every impulse of it deserves to be fed, not every throat needs to be torn open—only those who’ve earned it. 

Pulse’s anger seems to dissolve into the night, slipping away like smoke, as if he’s sensed the monster stirring within you, as if he’s frying to soothe it with patience and understanding.

"I won’t hurt you."

Despite better judgement, you straighten at that, as Pulse’s voice carries a promise that you know better than to believe. It drips with false reassurance, and you’ve long since learned that such words are nothing but bait. You don’t trust him, won’t allow yourself to be lulled into a sense of security that clearly isn’t there. Instead, you begin to circle him to gain back the control he tried ripping out of your hands, testing the resolve behind his words, scanning him for weaknesses, pushing at the edges of his composure. 

He stands rooted to the ground, immovable, like a tree whose roots have burrowed deep beneath the earth while the silent dance of power shifting back and forth continues. His cap shadows over his eyes, but you can still feel the burn of his gaze, still feel him asserting you. He watches you with an intensity that you don’t need to see to know; it lingers on your skin, prickling violently in the danger that he is to you.

„What are you doing?“ he finally says, his voice as soft as the night wind.

There it is. That kindness. That unbearable warmth that radiates off him like heat from a furnace, the same warmth that makes you want to recoil. His question is laced with the assumption that you can be saved. He speaks to you as though you're redeemable, as if you're nothing more than a misunderstood soul. As if the rivers of blood on your hands could be washed away by words alone.

„What does it look like I’m doing?“ you let the question hang in the air, more for your own amusement than any real attempt at conversation.

As you keep circling him, you take in every detail. He’s fit, his posture straight and sure, radiating confidence without arrogance. He seems young—perhaps the same age as you, or a little older, but it’s hard to pin down. His body speaks of strength, of long-honed discipline, but what bothers you is the life in his eyes, the youthfulness that disgusts you. There’s something unbearably naive in the way they looked at you before he hid them behind his cap, something untouched by the darkness you’ve come to know so well. Innocence like that has no place in your world. It’s a weakness, a flaw, and yet… he wears it as if it’s armour, shielding him from the filth around him.

You search for cracks in that armour, scrutinising his stance, looking for even the slightest imbalance—a weight leaning to one side, a twitch of muscle, any tell that would betray a vulnerability. But there’s nothing. His body remains steady, a fortress devoid of weakness. He doesn’t flinch as you move, doesn’t tense, not even when you brush close enough to feel the heat radiating off his back’s skin. His breathing is even, his pulse—steady.

Your eyes land on the faint rise and fall of his carotid artery, barely visible beneath the skin of his neck. It beats in a slow, calm rhythm, betraying no sign of fear or anticipation. It unsettles you. Every instinct you have is honed to control, to find the weak points in others, to bend them to your will with a word or a glance. But with him, nothing breaks. Nothing shifts. He stands as though the world could crumble around him and he’d remain unscathed.

„You don’t have to do this. You can stop, Stasis. There’s still time to change.“

Your frustration grows, curling like cigarette smoke in your chest. You’ve played this game before, unraveling the minds of those who thought they could stand against you. It’s a dance you know well—watching them falter, unravel, as the fear begins to claw at their insides, instincts kicking in. But with him… it’s as if you’re circling a stone, lifeless and unaffected by the tempest you try to stir.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t break. 

You tilt your head slightly, studying him as he turns his eyes to follow your figure for the first time. And you see, that he’s truly like this—believing in the good in people, believing that change is as simple as a choice, as though it’s something that can be made over tea, some crackers and kind words. You almost admire his naivety. Almost.

"Change?" you repeat, a thin smile curling at the corner of your lips. "You speak of change as though it’s some inevitable truth. Some law of nature." You stop a few feet before him, being wiser than to drain your energy by pacing around him. "But nature is indifferent, Dulls. Things end. People die. No amount of hope can alter that."

He looks at you with those eyes again—those damnable eyes filled with that persistent, maddening compassion. It's almost enough to make you laugh out loud again.

„That’s not true.“

You tilt your head, a smirk tugging at your lips. "You know that it’s only your god complex speaking out of you, right?"

"God complex?" he echoes, brows furrowed, disappearing behind his cap.

You ignore his question entirely, the words meaningless to you now after everything’s unraveled so spectacularly, your plans detonating in your face like fireworks that left nothing but failure in their wake. Without a second glance, you turn on your heel, your patience worn dangerously thin, dismissing him as you throw over your shoulder, “Don’t waste your time, buddy.”  

But he doesn’t let it go. “I know you’re not like this. I know there’s good in you, Stasis. You don’t have to be this person.”

You pause, something in his voice forcing you to stop, and with a soft, humourless laugh, you turn your head just enough to catch him in your peripheral, a shadow of a smile playing at your lips. “You still don’t get it, do you?” you murmur, the words laced with barely concealed disdain, with the cold, hard truth. “Some people are beyond saving.”

For a moment, he looks like he might argue. Like he might push harder, fight against the walls you’ve built around yourself. But then he stops. The tension in his shoulders eases, and he sighs, long and deep, as if the weight of the world presses down on him.

Without another word, you step back into the shadows, your figure melting into the darkness where it belongs. The moonlight barely touches you now, your body nothing more than a fleeting spectre in the night. You hear Pulse behind you, his footsteps hesitant, as if he’s debating whether or not to follow.

But he won’t.

You know he won’t.

Sitting at the small dining table in your shared dorm with Taehyung, the morning feels sluggish, lethargic in its stillness of early hours, sun barely peeking over the horizon just yet. Both of you and Taehyung eat breakfast—just some half-hearted cereal from the bottom of the box which expiration date you rather not learn, the crunch of each spoonful drowning out the low noise of a morning show called ‚Good Morning Busan‘ playing in the background. Taehyung, barely awake, eyes half-lidded and tired, mindlessly munches his way through his bowl while you absently stir your spoon through yours, your mind still circling the failure of the night before like you did to Pulse.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung grumbles through a mouthful of cereal, voice still thick with sleep, his curiosity nudging through the haze. “You came back pretty quick last night. Weren’t you successful?”

“No,” you reply with a dramatic sigh, your tone flat, biting back the frustration that’s been bubbling under your skin like boiling water since your plan failed miserably. “Got interrupted.”

He pauses mid-chew, eyes opening just a little more as he frowns. “By whom?”

“Pulse.” The name alone is enough to make your eyelid twitch with irritation. “That wannabe hero.”

A sleepy chuckle escapes him, the sound half-amused, half-groggy. “Wannabe hero?” Taehyung repeats, raising an eyebrow. “You sound pissed.”

“Of course I am,” you snap, the frustration rising to the surface again, until it spills over. “I’ve been planning this for months, Tae, and he just… ruins everything. Doesn’t he have anything better to do than patrol around to feed his ego?”

Taehyung snorts at that, choosing not to poke at the simmering frustration in your voice, knowing it’s better to let you vent than to fuel the fire. He knows you well enough by now to understand that there’s no point in trying to reason with you when you're like this, so he just lets you stew, quietly eating the rest of his cereal. 

The silence deepens once more after your short outburst, as you finish eating as well. With an irritated huff, you stand and shove your bowls into the dishwasher before grabbing your bag and shoes, preparing to head to class. Taehyung follows, equally silent, slipping on his shoes as you grab the remote to turn off the TV. But just as your finger hovers over the power button, something on the screen catches your attention, halting your finger mid-press.

It’s him. It’s Pulse. His face, or rather his eyes, open and earnest, fill the screen as he speaks to a reporter, full of the kind of naive kindness that makes your skin crawl. “It’s not about honour,” he says, voice calm and oh so friendly. “It’s just doing what I can to help the mayor and police and keep the city safe. Protect its people.”

His words grate against something inside you, that calm righteousness sparking your anger all over again. You want to scream, to throw the remote straight into the TV and smash his sanctimonious face, but all you can do is stand there, teeth grating violently against each other, and turn the TV off with an aggressive jab of the button, yeeting the remote right after somewhere onto the depths of the couch. Without a word, you push through the door, Taehyung trailing lazily behind you with his loafers worn like slippers, as you both step out into the cold morning air. The chill brushes against your face in an instant, cooling your burning blood, and helping to dull the force of your fury.

After a few moments of quiet, Taehyung breaks the silence with a low chuckle, fully awake now from the brisk air. “I take it back,” he smirks. “Didn’t realise Pulse was so chummy with the devil.”

“I told you,” you mutter darkly, still fuming faintly, “he’s just another egotistical nitwit who doesn’t even understand what he’s protecting. Doesn’t understand that he’s part of the problem.”

Taehyung hums in agreement, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “So, what are you gonna do about him?”

You sigh, the weight of the question sinking into you. For a moment, you think about just ignoring him, writing him off as a nuisance who managed to catch you off guard this once but won’t be an issue again. “I don’t know,” you say with a scoff, the frustration still clinging to your voice. “Maybe I’ll just ignore him. He caught me by luck, anyway. It’s not like I’ll see him again… either way, I need to focus on taking down Sangwook and the others.”

Taehyung only hums at that, but you can’t seem to slow down just yet.

You scoff again, shaking your head in disbelief. “Pulse.*What kind of a name is that? He should call himself Blip. Stupid moron.”

Taehyung bursts out laughing, the sound echoing through the empty street, probably waking everyone in the neighbourhood, and the absurdity of it all finally cracks a smile on your face, too. “You know, I called him ‘Dulls’ last night. Didn’t go over well.”

Your laughter rises to match his, tears collecting at the edges of your eyes as you share the only moment of triumph, your tension slowly easing away with every breath.

Just then, Jungkook jogs up to join you, his soft hair bouncing with each step, and he grins at the two of you as though he’s been part of the joke all along. His presence is like a fresh breeze cutting through the remnants of your irritation, lightening your mood even more.

“What’s up?” he asks, his voice bright and curious. “What’s so funny?”

“She’s bashing Pulse,” Taehyung responds, barely holding back his laughter.

Jungkook’s smile falters, his brow furrowing as his gaze shifts into mild disapproval. “Why?”

You shrug, your mood already too high from the shared humour. “I don’t like do-gooders who have no idea what they’re doing,” you explain simply, dismissively, hoping to steer the conversation away from the topic before it stirs more irritation.

But you catch the slight tick in Jungkook’s jaw out of the corner of your eye, that tiny tightening that tells you he doesn’t see things the way you do. He’s too kind, too gentle, to understand the cynicism you’ve earned through scars on your mind and body. He probably sees Pulse as some noble protector, someone fighting for justice, unaware of how useless that brand of idealism is in the face of real, disguised evil. Sensing the shift in his mood, you deftly change the subject, not wanting to get into an argument so early in the day. “So, do you think med ethics will be any less torturous this semester?”

Taehyung sighs dramatically, rubbing his face with a groan. “I’m just trying to get through it. If I can pass and collect my attendance points, that’ll be enough.”

Jungkook chuckles softly. „True,“ though there’s still a trace of unease in his eyes, his smile not quite reaching them. You all fall into a quiet rhythm as you walk, the campus and some students coming into view as the conversation shifts to lighter things. And when you finally reach the lecture hall, you immediately spot Yoongi and Hoseok seated in an empty row, deep in conversation. They acknowledge your arrival with a brief glance, uninterested in breaking their rhythm as the three of you head towards them. Taehyung leads the way, his eyes scanning the tables before stopping just short of sitting down, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Wait, where’s the coffee? Whose turn was it?”

Hoseok glances up, barely holding back a grin. “Jennie’s, but I think she’s late again.”

Just as you’re about to step into the row as well, hurried footsteps echo from behind. You glance over your shoulder just in time to see Jennie dashing around the professor, a tray of coffee in hand, nearly tripping over herself in her haste. Before you can fully process it, she’s yanking Jungkook back by his shirt, latter letting out a short yelp while she squeezes past the narrow gap between him and the tables, bulldozing her way through without much care. She brushes by you too, nearly crushing your thighs against the hard edges of the chairs, mumbling a half-hearted “sorry” that you know she doesn’t mean, before plopping herself down beside Taehyung with a satisfied grin. 

You exchange a bewildered look with Jungkook, his expression mirroring your own disbelief, while Taehyung, completely unfazed, is already deep in hushed conversation with Jennie, grinning like he’d been waiting for her all along. Yoongi and Hoseok lean over Taehyung to grab their coffees, neither of them paying any mind to personal space.

“Alright, if everyone could please sit down, we’ll begin,” the professor calls through the room, and you quickly slip into the seat beside Jennie, Jungkook sitting down right next to you still fixing his shirt’s collar. Both of you pull out your laptops in near-perfect synchronisation, and after handing Jungkook a coffee, you quietly sip your own as the lecture begins. 

It doesn’t take long into the lecture, when Jungkook nudges you softly with his elbow, a small, warm pressure that disrupts the stillness in your thoughts and concentration. You nudge him back, acknowledging his presence, though your gaze remains forward, fixed on the professor, though you're not really seeing him now.

Jungkook leans in slightly, his voice so low it barely reaches your ears. “You know, I’ve been thinking about yesterday… and I just wanted to let you know, it’s okay if you don’t want to date me or anything. Don’t feel pressured or anything like that…” His voice trails off into uncertainty.

For a moment, you're stunned, not having expected this. Your thoughts reel back to yesterday, to that quiet moment shared over coffee. It was one of the few times you’d felt at ease, like you belonged somewhere, even for a little while. Jungkook had made you feel… seen. Appreciated, even. There was something about the way you looked at each other, listened to each other, that made you feel like you weren’t just playing a part in someone else’s story, but actually living in your own. 

You realise then, that you long for such a connection. Long for a connection with him. You’ve denied it for so long, convinced yourself you didn’t need it, didn’t deserve it. How could you, after everything you’ve done and everything that you plan to do? Building something with Jungkook on a foundation of lies feels reckless, not fair even. How could you let him get closer, knowing he doesn't know the real you? No, not the real you, but a part of you. A part, that feels like poisoned soil where he tries to plant a garden. 

Yet, there's another voice inside you, quieter but insistent: Why should your dark side dictate your life, your future? Why shouldn’t you let yourself have this light, this chance to be happy? You aren’t made of shadow entirely, you never were, and something in you yearns for Jungkook like a flower aches for sunlight. What if—just even for a while—it doesn’t have to matter?

“I would love to go on a date with you,” you whisper softly, your voice barely louder than his, wanting to take the chance for once. You feel warmth blooming in your chest and cheeks, a rush of blood that you haven’t felt in so long, and you fight to keep a smile from overtaking your lips.

And despite the mutation that shields you from physical pain, the storm of emotions coursing through you is undeniable proof of you still being alive—an inescapable, aching force reminding you that you are not the hollow shell you sometimes wish to be, but simply a feeling human. Every emotion—fear, joy, longing—rattles through your bones like a sized twelve earthquake, shaking you down to the foundation. You realise, that with your agreement, the gates to the warmth has been pulled open completely, flooding your veins without mercy, though the warmth is something different, something brighter. It spreads slowly, like the glow of the sun rising after a long, brutal night. 

Love and hope, fragile and intoxicating, winds its way into the dark crevices of your being, a sensation you’ve craved for so long that its presence is almost overwhelming. It’s everything you lost, everything that was ripped from you when your childhood was robbed from you, leaving only jagged fragments of yourself behind. And now, against all odds, it’s here again—this feeling of belonging, of connection—and it fills the void that has festered within you for years. It is what you’ve longed for since the day your innocence was stolen, and though it terrifies you, it also makes you feel more alive than you have in years.

A disbelieving, but happy puff of air escapes Jungkook’s lips. “You mean that?” His words carry a hopeful surprise, as if he hadn’t truly expected you to say yes.

For a brief moment, evil, dark doubt creeps back in, whispering that you should push him away, that your darkness will only hurt him in the end. But then, another thought pushes through the shadows: maybe this is your chance to follow the light, to give yourself permission to feel something real, something good. And for once, you let that thought win. “Yes,” you murmur softly, surrendering to the happiness with a silent sigh.

Without a word, Jungkook’s hand finds yours where it rests on your thigh, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. The warmth of his touch settles you, like a calm wave washing over a restless shore. He draws your connected hands over to his thigh, letting them rest there, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring circles across the back of your hand. “We’ve got classes all day,” he murmurs, his voice light with excitement, “but do you want to go out tomorrow night?”

“That would be great,” you whisper, glancing at him briefly. The smile you’ve been fighting finally breaks free, curving your lips as a soft tenderness spreads through you.

Jungkook beams, his own smile bright and unguarded as he strokes your hand with his thumb. “Cool. Tomorrow it is,” he nods, his voice light with pure, innocent joy. “I’ll pick you up.”

And in that moment, you feel truly happy, in a way you haven’t allowed yourself to feel for years. It’s a strange feeling, both exhilarating and terrifying to its core, like standing on the edge of a cliff with your toes hanging over, unsure if the fall will break you or set you free. But it feels good. It feels right. It feels as though there might be a future for you after all—one not swallowed whole by despair and darkness. 

Yet even as you savour the warmth spreading through and around you, a small whisper of uncertainty lingers. You don’t know if you’ll regret this, if letting Jungkook into your life will end up being the worst mistake you’ve ever made. But for now, for this fleeting moment in your short life, as your fingers remain intertwined with his, you let it wrap around you, and allow yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there’s still some light left worth saving in you after all.

prologue • 01 • 02 • masterlist • 04

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

All Rights Reserved © @/runariya 2024

taglist: @darkeneddiary, @dumbheadblog, @jksusawife, @jayhoneybeecomb, @kookienooki, @hagridshaircare 

[pinkkittysaw]

EVERYTHING IS ROMANTIC

*title inspired by charli xcx’s EVERYTHING IS ROMANTIC

summary: you’re craving mac and cheese

pairing: art donaldson x afab! reader (no pronouns used)

word count: 1,035

content: (i block minors + ageless blogs), fluff, established relationship, mentions of menstrual period, one suggestive comment, mentions of art’s (and presumed yours) in canon daughter, lily. reader is shorter than art

a/n: “in a place that can make you change, fall in love again and again, fall in love again and again.” back at it again with the period fluff and self indulgent fics. they just don’t make pathetic, loser, girldad, husband material like art donaldson anymore 😔 he’s soo interesting to me. i wish i could put him under a microscope and study him

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself, the familiar ache beginning to pool in your lower abdomen. The word is barely registered in your mind before you've cursed at yourself again, though this time silently, hoping that your six-year-old daughter hasn't heard you from a few doors down.

Art's eyes dart over to where you’re sitting beside him on the couch as he takes a calculated sip from his water bottle. He leans forward to place it on the wooden coffee table in front of you, picking up the remote to pause the recording of his most recent tennis match that's been playing in the background.

He doesn’t need to ask any questions; he knows when something’s bothering you. He stills for a beat, waiting to see if you'll permit him into the inner workings of your mind. 

“I got my period,” you groan. It’s amazing that even after all this time, it still manages to sneak up on you.

Art scoots a bit closer to you, wrapping one arm around your waist, his left hand fitting snuggly at your lower back, his fingertips smoothing over the sliver of exposed skin in gentle circles, while his right hand scales up your leg.

A part of you recoils at how much you relish in his affection during your cycle, wishing you could forever hide behind the wall of indifference you've managed to build in the years of your marriage, but he knows as well as you do that you'll both bask yourselves in the saccharine tenderness for as long as you can.

A lopsided grin graces his features. “You can tell that sort of thing without having to check?” He asks in a low whisper, as if the two of you are sharing an intimate secret. His nose is so close to yours that you can almost feel his breath.

You indulge him just for a moment. A quick brush of skin against skin. His nose was always one of your favorite features.

“After this many years, you start to pick up on the signs," you murmur, a smirk of your own coming through.

You remove yourself from his hold, and although he doesn't outwardly protest, you catch the pout on his face in your peripheral vision.

“Do we have any mac and cheese?”

He gives a slightly perplexed look, tilting his head before answering. “We should have a box or two; I could always order in the fancy stuff.”

You shake your head in opposition before starting to move toward the kitchen when another cramp makes you grimace, unable to hide your discomfort. Art’s quickly by your side, his fingers brushing up and down your arm.

“You go freshen up and get comfortable. I’ll take care of the cooking." His eyebrows raise as he says this, like he's posing a question instead of making a statement. Requesting permission to access the vulnerability that’s always hidden away behind lock and key.

You nod softly, though somewhat reluctantly, and he presses a kiss on your forehead before shooing you off to the bathroom.

A short while later, after you’re freshly clean and moisturized, you pad down to the kitchen, dressed in your coziest pajamas.

All the lights are dimmed, and you notice that the living room has been set up with a heating pad, a fluffy blanket, your favorite movie, and a selection of special snacks that you set aside specifically for when you're having cravings. The sight tugs at your heart strings.

The sinking pit in your stomach doesn’t fully manifest until you reach the kitchen and see Art standing in the low light over the stove, stirring the macaroni noodles every so often. He’s wearing his pajamas now, too, having snuck up to the bedroom to change while you were still washing up. You make a mental note to compliment him later on how well his ass fills out the pale blue cotton.

An erray of seasonings line the countertop, ones that he knows you love to incorporate in almost every meal you make.

A wave of overwhelming heartache washes over you as you amble over to where he stands near the stove, slinking your arms around his slim waist, your cheek pressed against the softness of his t-shirt. He always smells like clean laundry, and this time is no different.

He skims the skin of your arm affectionately with the back of his knuckles. His wedding band is cold against you, giving you a slight shiver.

“Feeling better?” He asks.

“Mmm, a little,” you mumble against him.

He chuckles through his words. “I can get you some Tylenol if you need it. I already put Lily down for bed. After I’m done here, we can snuggle up and watch movies on the couch.”

Art moves to strain the noodles, and you move with him, waddling in time with his steps, which earns a slight giggle from him, not wanting to be separated for even a moment. He’s careful to angle the pot so none of the boiling water splashes back onto you.

You could try to rationalize your feelings, shrug them off, and blame your hormones for the uptick in the neediness you feel and the desire for his affection. But the truth is, you love him. You really love him. Which, duh! After all, you married him, but sometimes it's easier to act nonchalant than it is to allow yourself to be fully exposed to someone else.

As the two of you move back over to the stove again, with him adding the finishing touches to the mac and cheese, he beats you to the punch.

“I love you.”

Your face is still stuck to his back, hoping he doesn’t notice that by pressing yourself so far into the fabric of his shirt, you’re attempting to stop any tears from falling.

“I know." You smile against his skin, letting him in on the joke.

He snorts in response, shaking his head playfully as he gives a final stir to the noodles. You pull your face from his back, the cotton clinging to him from where your tears have inevitably soaked through. You rest your forehead against him before releasing a breathy, "I love you too."

[aemonds-sapphire]

Knowledge

Summary: You arrive at King’s Landing and Prince Aemond Targaryen shows you that some knowledge doesn’t come from books.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW. Bickering. Aegon being a cockblock.

A/N: I like to imagine that Aemond would feel this natural pull towards someone who takes an interest in books, so this is my attempt at exploring that. Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: The books mentioned are actual existing works in the universe GRRM has created: The Fires of the Freehold and A Caution for Young Girls.

Word count: 1.5k

The first thought that crossed your mind once your stepped foot inside the Red Keep was that illustrations and vague descriptions from visitors didn’t do it justice. It was most definitely a place fit for kings and queens, no doubt.

You had come with your mother and father as guests to King Viserys, but it had been Queen Alicent who greeted you upon arrival.

Aegon Targaryen was introduced first, promptly taking your hand in his with a dashing smile and planting a soft kiss to it, vaguely mumbling he was at your service should you require anything, earning a glare from his mother.

Next was Helaena Targaryen whose kind smile warmed your heart, but whose words took you by surprised when she asked if you had many spiders back home, earning a compassionate smile from her mother.

Last, but not least, was Aemond Targaryen who was ever observant and not quite inclined to introducing himself until his mother asked him to. Twice. Even then, it he uttered not a single word and merely bowed his head at you. His eyeptach was neatly kept in place over the eye he had once lost.

Queen Alicent had a fourth child who was away in Oldtown with the rest of the Hightowers, Daeron.

But as excited as your parents were, you yerned to wander the long corridors that held so many secrets and richness.

So by the time you exited the throne room, you told your parents you were out for a walk.

It wasn’t a lie.

You needed to see it.

Your inner child beamed in anticipation as you strode along the vast halls that led to your destination. Fortunately, your maester had provided you with the exact location.

Heart drumming fast, you halted before a closed door before taking a deep shaky breath.

You gripped the handle and pushed inside with ease.

And there it was.

Sitting atop a vast stone surface, that was framed by countless burning candles, lay the skull of Balerion.

Your eyes took in the overwhelming sight of such an imposing piece of history.

Reaching the edge of the stone slate, you felt the dense warmth that radiated from the candles, wax sliding down and hardening across the surface, creating beautiful and irregular sculptures.

Balerion’s skull was enormous. His teeth stood upright as sharp knives and you wondered how many had met their demise impaled on them.

“What are you doing here?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, immediately whipping around to see Aemond Targaryen standing a few feet away to your left, arms laced behind his back. “Prince Aemond,” you gasped, stepping away from Balerion’s skull. “I apologise… I… lost my way while trying to find my bedchambers.”

His face was hard to read and silent fell for a brief moment before he narrowed his exposed eye. “It is not wise to roam the castle halls by yourself.”

You nodded, bowing curtly. “Of course, my prince.”

Aemond gave you a long, penetrating look that made you feel extremely bare. “There are seveal trapdoors. You wouldn’t want to end up somewhere… unpleasant,” he drawled out that last word in a low tone.

“I apologise.”

“You do not have to,” he said. “You are our guest.”

His reassurance eased frantic beating of your heart and you felt your chest heave, as you allowed yourself to breathe freely once more.

Aemond Targaryen was undoubtedly intense. You reckoned he would have no trouble having men cower before him with little to no effort.

Tense moments rolled by and as neither of you were inclined to further the conversation, you shifted to face the dragon skull.

Just when you thought the two of you had settled for a comfortable silence, his soft voice was heard, “Balerion.”

“The black dread,” you added with a nod. “It is said that whenever he took flight his wings would swallow entire cities in shadow as he passed overhead,” you paused briefly to see Aemond sliding a hooded look at you. “His fire was as black as his scales and wings, burning so hot it’d turn sand to glass.”

Your passion for dragons and Old Valyria suddenly took over you like a tidal wave. There weren’t many people who’d share the same enthusiasm in discussing such topics, but you figured a Targaryen prince might.

Especially one who had claimed Vhagar. The word had spread like wildfire back then. Even in your young years, you could tell it was a great deed. Prince Aemond Targaryen had bonded with the largest dragon alive. The dragon who had fought alonside the very dragon whose very skull lay in front of you.

But Aemond didn’t look impressed.

In fact, he seemed positively uninterested… bored even.

Feeling overwhelmed by the weight of his unmoving glare and deafening silence, you reached out to touch some of the scalding wax that had pooled around one flickering candle.

“Zaldrīzes iā kraj.”

A powerful dragon.

That caught his attention and his eyebrow arched lightly with newfound interest. “You speak High Valyrian?”

You let out a low chuckle, breaking eye contact with him. “I am not knowledgeable enough to speak it fluently save for a few words I picked here and there.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Aemond take slow steps in your direction. “And how did you come across such words?” the curiosity in his voice was palpable.

You cleared your throat. “Merchants from the east would share them with my maester,” you replied. “And books.”

It was barely noticeable, but you watched as his eye widened every so slightly at the latter.

You were so entranced with the sudden proximity, you’d allowed droplets of wax to scorch your thumb, causing you to wince in both pain and surprise.

Aemond extended his own hand to toy with the molten wax that ran down in rivers of yellowish white. Unlike you, he was perfectly able to endure the heat as it was expected from Targaryens.

“What books?”

You brought the pad of your thumb to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss in an attempt to ease the burning sensation. “The Fires of the Freehold.”

His eye followed your motion. “You read history books?”

“Why so surprised?”

A side-smile curled his lips. “Have you read the entire book?”

Oh. He was testing you.

“That would be impossible,” you said, inwardly grinning as his eye widened yet again. “Many scrolls are missing, but I have had the opportunity to visit Oldtown and read the ones available.”

“Hmm,” he said, his smile dropping slightly. “My younger brother has provided me with some copies of the scrolls.”

“Daeron, is it? He’s in Oldtown, correct?”

A glimmer of impatience crossed his eye. “What do you make of that book?” he asked instead.

Was he testing you again?

“Well, it is always interesting to take a look at the past and try to understand what might have led to certain events.”

Aemond cracked the hardened wax on the tip of his fingers and nodded. “Indeed. Books feed the mind and provide unmatched knowledge.”

“What books do you read?”

“Mainly history and philosophy.”

Aemond seemed deeply invested in the conversation now and that did wonders to your ego. History holds Targaryens in high regards and whether it’s through fear, respect, or both, the people of Westeros would bend their knee to them.

So having this young prince, whose reputation preceded him, indulge in your interests was surely unexpected, but welcomed.

“It is my understanding that theoretical knowledge must be balanced out with a practical approach,” he said in a low voice.. “If you’re to read a book and not apply that knowledge, then it just stays stagnant in your head, rendering it useless. Would you agree?”

“To an extent,” you said, enjoying how the low flames flickered and were casting orange and yellow streaks along the side of his face. “But I believe certain books are more prone to such approach than others. You cannot take a history book and approach it as you approach a tactical one. Would you agree?”

Aemond snapped a surprised look on you, as if you had uttered a complete string of nonsense. His visible eye never left your face and you kept on glaring at him, wishing you were able to know his thoughts.

“Did I say something wrong?” you asked carefully.

“Not at all,” he said, clearing his throat, and to your relied he sounded amused. “And have you read such a book?”

You shook your head. “There is one I’d very much like to get my hands on.”

His eyebrows shot up as he waited for you to carry on.

“A Caution for Young Girls.”

You spotted a very notorious disapproving look twist his handsome features, which didn’t surprise you. After all, erotic books did get a bad reputation across the realm and would often be banished.

“You’ve heard of it,” you concluded.

“Of course, but I would not indulge in reading such depravity,” he said as a matter of fact.

“It is a book written by a woman,” you said, unable to hide the amusement in your voice. “How depraved can it be?”

“Depraved enough to have lords burning copies across the Seven Kingdoms,” Aemond replied readily.

You shrugged. “Then Lady Coryanne Wylde must have done something right when she wrote that book,” you then turned to him. “If her tales warrant such reaction from men, then it makes it all the more interesting.”

Aemond made a sound that was halfway between a chuckle and a cough. “Surely, you don’t think there is any valuable knowledge to take from that book.”

“I disagree. The practical approach you speak of would definitely benefit from the theoretical one provided in its pages.”

“And what knowledge might that be, my lady?”

“I have only heard rumours, of course,” you said, shrugging once again. “But matters of the body — specifically a woman’s body — are worth diving into.”

Aemond seemed slightly taken aback by your bluntness and you vaguely wondered if you had maybe overstepped the line.

“As much as I agree,” he began, tilting his head a fraction. “I highly doubt a young lady such as yourself would find any use in it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “How can you be so sure? You told me yourself you haven’t read it.”

Aemond stared down at your face. “I haven’t, but my elder brother has definitely flicked through a few pages,” he said with a hint of disdain. “If he finds it entertaining, then I’m certain of the level of perversion.”

“For someone who indulges in the knowledge books can offer, you sound awfully judgmental, prince Aemond,” the words left your mouth faster than your brain could process.

“Not all knowledge comes from books.”

“I disagree.”

He tilted his head and gave you a measured look. “Do you, now?”

“I believe there is always something to be learned,” you said with a nod. “Unless you believe yourself above such knowledge…”

Oh.

Maybe you had done it this time.

But your worry soon vanished as Aemond gave you a curt smile. “Do you think I’d need to read that book if I were to court you, my lady?”

You immediately stiffened and felt a lump form in your throat.

“Do you think you would need to read that book if you were to accept my advances?”

Oh…

The conversation had taken an unexpected turn to say the least and your mouth just hung open.

Aemond had the nerve to chuckle, visibly amused. “What’s the matter, my lady?” his voice was low, but the teasing spoke volumes. “Should I find you a book from our library, so you can seek knowledge to formulate your answers?” he finished with a curt smile as his eye dropped to your lips.

He was standing close. Too close. From that distance, you were able to make out the intricate details of the dragon brooches that lined the length of his leather coat.

Collecting yourself, you gazed up at him and returned a smile. “And what advances would those be?”

He had probably hoped his mocking words were enough to silence you, but two could play this game and Aemond Targaryen would soon get a taste of his own venom.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would,” you said, tilting your chin up to face him dead on. “Unless you’re all talk and no action, my prince.”

Aemond pinched his eyebrows together, creating two deep furrows between them as he kept his gaze on your lips.

You rode on instict and decided to press him further. “What is it, my prince? Should I fetch you a book so I may have a reply from you?”

He closed the gap between you two in a heartbeat, and then you felt him press his body lightly into yours.

But something else caught your attention through the delicate fabric of your dress.

Oh.

“Prince Aemond?”

You weren’t imagining things.

Oh.

Aemond Targaryen was hard.

You could barely feel it through your dress, but it was definitely there.

“I can see that this conversation is pleasing you,” you said, empowered by the sudden revelation.

Aemond shifted lightly, his head lowering to meet yours, hot breath fanning your skin. “I find it most invigorating, indeed.”

“Are you courting me?” your voice was but a whisper and your chest heaved, pressing into his own.

“Do you need a book to be able to tell that?” Aemond mocked before grazing his lips along your cheek. “Do you reckon that book would inform you how a Targaryen prince courts?”

Your hand snagged his left arm seeking urgent support, eyes fluttering shut as you suddenly felt scared to just breathe.

His lips never fully touched your skin and it was torturous to hold back from the urge to taste him.

“Would it tell you how to get a Targaryen prince hard?” he whispered in your ear, making a point by pressing his lower half further into you.

You truly wanted to succumb to his velvety teases, but suspected he wasn’t yerning for that.

“I got you hard with just words, prince Aemond?”

He said nothing. He only brought one hand to cup your chin, thumb brushing across your lips. There was allure in his silent ministrations, the only sounds you could hear being your thumping heart and his heavy breathing.

The throbbing between your legs was nearly unbearable, specially when you could feel him so willing for you.

“I’m not interrupting something, am I?” an amused voice rang out.

Even though Aemond remained perfectly calm, you sharply turned your head to spot prince Aegon standing across the room, looking positively entertained by what he had just run into.

As if scalded by fire, you tore yourself away from Aemond, straightening the fabric of your dress before bowing. “Prince Aegon.”

When you straightened back, you watched as his eyes roamed the length of your body before shifting to Aemond.

“Oh, brother,” Aegon said, not even trying to hold back his laughter. “Seems like our guest is giving you a hard time.”

Your eyes widened as your mouth dropped open in disbelief, embarrassment gripping you hard.

“Careful, brother,” Aemond said, adjusting his eyepatch. “I will not entertain your idiocy.”

But Aegon’s attention had long since left his younger brother and his gaze was fixed on you, an ear-to-ear smile crossing his face.

“Was it the other way around, my lady?” he asked, still keeping his distance. “Was my brother giving you a hard time?”

Before you could bring yourself to reply, you watched Aemond shift beside you, sending his dagger streaking off in Aegon’s direction in one smooth motion.

The dagger lodged in the wooden wall with a clunk only mere inches away from where Aegon stood.

“You missed,” he gloated with a grin, far too amused for someone who just had a blade flung at them.

Was he… drunk?

“Deliberately,” he said with a wry smile, shifting his weight onto his other leg. “You know I never miss.”

“You can try to deflect as hard as you wish, little brother,” Aegon chuckled, slowly but surely taking a few steps towards the door. “But it still won’t be as hard as your cock is right now,” he finished before slipping through the entrance at lightning bolt speed.

Aemond bolted from your side, chasing after his brother.

In the back of your head you vaguely wondered what historians would make of this and what books they might write on these two Targaryen siblings.