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Beneath The Boughs | A Kiss Hello

↳ Namjoon x f.Reader ⤜ Robinhood Retelling, Strangers to Lovers/Soulmates, Ruined Arranged Marriage AU ⤜ Rating: MA🔞 ⤜ WC: 8,752 ⚠️ crass language, mentions of parental illness, melancholy feelings, crude innuendos, light descriptions of smut/v. sex

⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to story masterlist

Namjoon

“This is madness. A terrible idea. What’s wrong with you?”

Namjoon tunes out Hoseok’s constant string of uncertainty. No matter the risk or how reckless it might be, he can’t let this opportunity slip between his fingers.

“If you have a better one, let’s hear it,” Namjoon grumbles as he adjusts the strap of his bow across his back.

Hoseok sighs, glancing Jungkook’s way. “Why are you so silent on this? You can’t possibly think this is a good idea either.”

There is a moment of silence as the trio trudges through the thick underbrush of Sherwood Forest. Jungkook finally breaks the silence, saying, “I think this idea is better than not taking action at all. If what Friar Park provided to Namjoon is indeed true, then this is fate guiding us. Who are we to question that?”

“Never been much of one for trusting fate,” Hoseok huffs, dragging a thumb over the scar that angles along the side of his jaw and down his throat, courtesy of The Sheriff of Nottingham. Yoongi is the reason Hoseok disappeared into the Woods all those years ago, bloody and nearly frozen to death in nothing but his underthings. It was dead of winter, and he was lucky that Namjoon had found him before the wolves could.

The history between Hoseok and Yoongi is nearly as thick with tension as the one between Jungkook and Seokjin. Namjoon glances between his two closest friends, wondering not for the first time whether or not he’s leading them to their demise. They both escaped the crown’s wrath once; there is no guarantee of a second time.

Namjoon knows Hoseok is right; traveling to Nottingham in an effort to participate in the Royal Games is absolutely nonsensical. But on the chance that Namjoon might once again lay his eyes on the ones that tracked him with hawk-like grace nearly a week ago, it’s a risk he’s willing to take.

“You’re both welcome to stay behind,” he reminds them. “I can do this on my own. It’s my risk to take.”

“No,” comes Hoseok’s terse reply. Despite his woes, Namjoon knows there is no way Hoseok would abandon him to do this alone.

“As someone with experience in these Royal Games, I can say that you, in fact, could not do this on your own. They wouldn’t allow you to compete without at least a squire or attendant by your side. Even the low-born must bring a partner. It’s simply the rules,” Jungkook explains. His easy stride is so full of assurance that it is as if walking into the place he was exiled from is just a casual stroll through a meadow.

Namjoon just grunts his acknowledgement. Because, once again, one of his friends is right. He knows, without a doubt, he’d be lost without them both and is tremendously grateful for their company. He tells them as much before a comfortable, if anxious, silence befalls the group as the stone walls of the city come into view.

“Name?” the gruff guard asks before hawking a glob of phlegm into the dirt beside Namjoon’s leather-boot-clad feet.

“Haejoon of House Lee,” Namjoon says, pointedly ignoring the ill-manners of the guard. Best not to draw more attention than necessary by commenting.

“That a local house name?”

“No. We’ve traveled from—”

“Don’t care. How many?” The guard barrels over Namjoon’s carefully constructed story that he guesses is not actually needed.

Taking a shallow breath to keep his head, Namjoon answers, “Just one, with two escorts.”

“Specialty?”

“Archery.”

The word is barely out of Namjoon’s mouth when the guard jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Stable seven. Next!”

Jungkook grabs Namjoon’s elbow and hauls him forward around the guard before he can say anything further, the guard having already moved on to the next person in line.

“Best to move on,” Jungkook mutters. “We can provide names that aren’t our own, but our faces will always be the same.”

A pang of guilt twinges in Namjoon’s chest. It’s very likely that the gate guard worked under Jungkook before his knighthood was extinguished. There is still a sour bitterness that coats Namjoon’s tongue whenever he thinks about his friend’s topple from the highest ranks.

There is a dark underbelly to this city, controlled by a man who prefers slithering through shadows and dabbling in the darker arts. Jungkook’s future changed the moment he was discovered to have overheard the Prince’s mage, Taehyung, divulging his nefarious courtly plans to Seokjin. According to Jungkook, King Seokjoong is on crusades under completely false pretenses thanks to Taehyung’s dark magick and trickery.

Of course, no one in the city believed Jungkook thanks to those same dark methods. There was nothing he could do to prevent it. The only thing that kept Jungkook from the gallow ropes was his pristine reputation and the fact there would have certainly been a mutiny of the masses.

The story that circulated through the public after his exile was a web of lies concerning Jungkook’s moral compass and supposed salacious dealings. These were all falsities but better than the truth…which would have found the Prince and his mage at the mercy of the King. Well, better for them, at least. Indeed, if King Seokjoong knew what his brother and Taehyung were up to, he’d ride post-haste from the frontlines to reclaim his throne.

All of the stables are open, giving a grand view of the competition field beyond. A dozen other participants, all with bows of varying quality, dot the straw-covered space. Hushed conversation filters through the air, eyes on swivels casting cursory looks their way before sliding away once more.

Namjoon has never attended one of these competitions, much less participated. So, all he has to go on is the little Jungkook was able to impart to him as they journeyed through Sherwood Forest.

“Look there,” Hoseok whispers, nodding to somewhere off in the distance. “The dais.”

Even from so far away, you steal the breath from Namjoon’s lungs. He’s frozen, paralyzed in his admiration of the regal figure you cut against the crimson backdrop of the dais. The deep plum-colored gown hugging your body shows Namjoon all the places his hands itch to trace.

A throat clearing snaps Namjoon out of his reverie. “Can you feel it?” Jungkook mutters, catching Namjoon’s eye.

By it, Namjoon knows Jungkook refers to the pull described in Prophetia Somniorum. The book provided many details, some more vague than others, as the experience can vary from person to person. However, one thing was sure with each storied account: the subtle echo of another heartbeat alongside your own.

Namjoon can feel it now, that soft lub-dub that he knows is the match to his own heartbeat. It’s right there. He presses a gloved hand over where that rhythm thumps in his chest. “I can,” he finally replies, words low and full of awe. “With every glance, it grows stronger.”

Just to prove to himself he’s right about that, he chances another look in your direction. If it weren’t for the grip Hoseok has on his shoulder, Namjoon would be on his knees in the dusty stable. You’re looking right at him. Can you feel him? Do you know he’s here? He has to know—

“Whoa, hey, not so fast.” Jungkook and Hoseok both have a hold on him now, and Namjoon realizes he has taken a few steps forward. “All in due time, my friend. You can’t just go approaching the dais. You’ll earn a sword to the belly before you make it five feet before her. Best to do this the way we planned.”

“By winning,” Namjoon sighs, resigned.

His friends echo murmured agreements, “By winning.”

🍂🍂🍂

You can feel it. Him—he’s out there somewhere. Your best guess is between stables five and nine. It’s impossible to tell precisely, considering your view is obstructed by the hundreds of bodies packed into the staging stables. However, you can feel it all the same: the same sensation that carried you away on foreign currents that fateful night nearly a week gone. 

What you once thought was a soft hum in your chest, you can now tell is actually a heartbeat. Though it is separate from your own, it is a subtle echo that you know, without a doubt, belongs to the mysterious man from the road. How you know that, you’re not sure, but you know it is the truth nonetheless.

It started shortly after your first encounter, once the adrenaline had subsided and you had a moment to reflect. Each thready pulse is stronger than the last. You swear the longer you let your eyes drift between stables five and nine. The intensity increases until it almost seems like you have your ear pressed directly to a chest—one you’ve become intimately familiar with, if only in your dreams.

The hours tick by, filled with shouts from the jeering crowd and the scuffle of the first few games. You watch, bored and barely able to keep your seat without fidgeting, as faceless men are paraded before you. They all smile and bow, hats tipped off their heads and pressed to their chests as they scrape and beg favor. You do your best to smile and nod, maintaining a polite facade, all the while screaming in your head.

You almost miss him in the monotony of it all. The moment he strides across the field before the dais, your eyes slide right over him. It’s not until you feel your heart leap into a gallop in your chest that your eyes scramble backward and alight on his formidable figure. The heart knows, even if the eyes are unsure; something your mother once told you and that you can now attest to be true.

He cuts a regal form against the dark wood of the stable, his height putting him above many of the other participants, though he’s of a similar size to one of his attendants, the other slimmer and almost as familiar as the man himself. The brown rough-spun wool garb and worn leather boots from the road have been replaced with sleek riding leathers and shiny, new boots with brass buckles, though the dark green cloaks are the same.

Thick, inky hair peeks out from the hood, feathering across the man’s forehead as his eyes scan the crowd on the dais before landing on you. All the air in your lungs heaves out in a strangled gasp. Those dark depths beckon you, will you to come closer and fall into their endless beauty and intrigue.

You’re out of your seat before a vice-like grip on your arm tugs you back into your chair. “Are you well, My Lady?” Prince Seokjin’s pleasant, though terse, voice carries to you, drawing your focus away from the mystery man on the field and to the one sitting by your side.

Prince Seokjin’s focus is on the field, but you can tell by his rigid posture that he’s displeased by you. You clear your throat, settling back into your seat and carefully rolling your shoulder as a means to dislodge his grip on your upper arm.

“I’m well, Your Majesty. I was just trying to adjust my seat, that is all.”

“Do you desire more cushion?” Before you have a chance to respond, he barks, “Yoongi! More cushions for my beloved. Now.” As if Yoongi needs the emphasis, Seokjin snaps his fingers several times as he speaks.

By the time two more cushions have been added to your chair and you’re finally settled back down, the man is just a dot on the horizon. All of the archers are milling about in the distance, just specks against the steel-grey sky, and the dozen targets they’ll be aiming for are lined up right in front of the dais. You have a front-row seat to their marksmanship skill display.

Each participant is announced as they take aim and loose their arrows in an effort to impress. Many find their targets, while others fall short. But there is only one that genuinely draws awe from the crowd and the dais. A singular arrow that splits the wooden shaft of another arrow. A round of applause follows the feat, the game crier announcing the participant as a representative from House Lee.

“House Lee?” Duckie mutters softly beside you. “Must be from the east.”

Somehow, you know it’s him, but something tells you that’s not his proper name. Clearly, a highwayman—though you hate to think of him like that anymore—would not be able to enter into the Royal Games without providing some sort of alias. It makes you wonder about his attendants; who they are to him because surely they would have to have a fierce loyalty towards him to risk being here.

Though, that thought has a thrill all its own inching its way down your spine. You don’t want to be presumptive, but you can’t help thinking he’s here to see you, to be near you…that he’s here for you.

Your thoughts are spinning, your mind trying to devise a scenario where you can abscond away into your highwayman’s arms. Forget being a princess, forget the titles and the money…the power. You couldn’t care less about those things, not when what you truly want is right there…walking across the field—towards you!

“Haejoon of House Lee, Your Majesty, My Lady,” the game crier announces, addressing Seokjin and then you.

Prince Seokjin stands, flicking an impatient hand your way. You lurch to your feet, closing the distance from your seat to the railing guard of the dais. Everything narrows to a singular point of focus; the world could end, and you’d be none the wiser with as consumed as you are by that mahogany stare.

“Impressive shot, splitting another’s arrow. I believe that feat alone has earned you the fair maiden's favor,” Prince Seokjin announces as if he’s doing you both a service. “Please, come claim your prize, Haejoon of House Lee.” He adds a flourish with a begemmed hand in your direction.

Duckie tucks a square of embroidered cloth into your hand from behind. “For the competitor, My Lady,” she whispers.

You glance down at the handkerchief, noting the soft purple thread forming your initials on one corner and the white rose denoting your status as a maiden on another. Lace frills line the edges of the dainty fabric.

The railing digs into your belly, but you don’t care as you press forward and lean out over it. He’s so close, inching up on his toes, arm extended. You silently plead for a breeze to flutter through, your body craving just a small taste of his scent. If only to add another piece to the puzzle that is this mystery man of your dreams.

“I know you,” you whisper. “I’ve dreamt of you.”

The sound of his breath is audible as he exhales, a warm smile cutting across his handsome face. “I was worried you wouldn’t recognize me. There is so much I need to tell you. Where can—”

“Kim Namjoon!” Court Mage Taehyung’s hiss cuts off whatever it is he was about to say. “Guards, seize this criminal! Ah! A fool you are, Jeon Jungkook, to dare step foot back in this city! Guards, his attendants, too!”

“Wait, no!” you cry as a mass of red and gold figures descend on him—Namjoon. “Please!”

The handkerchief in your hand is snatched away, crumpled and lost in the fray of bodies. Chaos erupts around you as the two men who were standing as Namjoon’s attendants spring into action, producing blades from under their cloaks.

“Come away from the railing, My Lady!” Duckie tugs on your arm, but you refuse to be moved.

It’s a quick, fierce battle that somehow sees the two men escaping through the thick crowd. Part of you is angry at them for leaving Namjoon behind, but another part of you knows it would have been a futile attempt to disengage him from the guards surrounding him. Your heart aches, but you try to remain hopeful that perhaps they’ll return with help. Though, what kind of help would be needed to free him from Prince Seokjin’s clutches now…well, you’d rather not think about that now.

Maybe…just maybe, you can do something.

“Come on, Duckie,” you mutter, finally tearing your eyes away from the anguish shining back at you from Namjoon’s. Glancing at Seokjin, you want nothing more than to wipe the smug look off his face but instead ask, “Permission to retire, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, yes, as you will.” He barely pays you any mind, dismissing you in favor of barking orders at the guards to have Namjoon taken to the dungeon to await the gallows with the rising sun.

That gives you a timeline, one that your heart beats frantically against. You glance at the sky, judging how many more hours there are until nightfall. That’s when the real testament of time will begin. Under the guise of darkness, you must find a way to free Namjoon, lest he become a man only in your dreams.

🍂🍂🍂

Namjoon

The stench of hopelessness nearly overwhelms the stink of death and decay that Namjoon knows is soaked into the weathered stone of the dungeon cell he was tossed into.

There are half a dozen other limp bodies clumped into the small cell. It’s hard to tell if any of them are even breathing, but the occasional hacking cough and groan tells Namjoon that there is at least one other pitiful soul with him in the darkness.

“Ye ought be askin’ for a last words wi’the priest, ach,” a gravelly voice cuts through the dank air. Namjoon squints into the darkness, trying to find the source of the voice. “Tha’s right, I be talkin’ to ye.” Movement sounds from the far side of the cell. There are a few muttered curses, the shuffling of feet, and the rattle of chains, but slowly, a figure materializes out of the dark.

“Who are you?” Namjoon asks tentatively.

Namjoon barely makes out the wave of something—a hand, maybe—in the air before him. “It is not me ye should be worryin’ ‘bout, ach. It be yer head fittin’ for the gallows wit the sun. I ‘eard all about ye, the guards like ta talk. Ye best ask after a priest for yer forsaken soul…or wha’er else might be in tha skull o’yers.”

Believing he’s picking up on what the man is insinuating, Namjoon slowly nods. “Right. A priest. For my last words.” A plan begins to form in Namjoon’s mind almost instantly.

Shoving to his feet, he shuffles around the man, glimpsing a gnarled face and scraggly grey beard, until he’s close to the large, iron-clad wooden door. All it takes is a few pounding knocks on the door with his fists to draw the attention of the guard stationed outside the cell.

“Fuck off with that noise!” the guard snarls. His pock-marked face appears suddenly in the small barred window in the door. “Sit back down before I come in there after you!”

“A priest,” Namjoon says. “I’m owed my last words. I need a priest, as is my right. I must—I need to see a priest.” The guard’s eyes narrow. “For my soul,” Namjoon tacks on. “For absolution.”

Namjoon watches as the guard absently fingers the crude iron chain with an even cruder cross dangling from it around his neck. The guard tucks away the chain when he realizes what he’s doing, but not before giving Namjoon a gruff nod.

The guard turns away, taking a sliver of Namjoon’s hope with him. Just in case the guard disregards the request or decides better of it, Namjoon needs to come up with something else, another plan that might could see him released from this cell without the immediate meeting of the gallows.

Night set in a few hours ago. Even though he can’t see the outside world, Namjoon’s internal clock has always been reasonably accurate. If he had to wager, the moon would be approaching its apex sooner rather than later.

There is still no sign of a priest, not so much as a whisper from beyond the cell. That sliver of hope the guard took with him has festered into a gaping wound of anxiety at this point. Namjoon’s eyes grow heavy, and he’s fighting sleep when whispers carry to him from outside the cell door.

“Open the door at once.”

“Listen, Brother, we have rules—”

“I said open the door!” Friar Park’s voice echoes, rousing a few of the slumped bodies pressed in close to Namjoon.

He perks up, fatigue quickly washing away at hearing his dear friend's voice.

The guard grumbles, “Pompous arse.” But not a second later, the telltale sound of metal grating against metal screeches through the air before the door heaves open. Weak torchlight floods the space, illuminating countless dirty faces and even grimier bodies.

“Namjoon,” Jimin’s voice greets him. “Please, come kneel with me, and let us pray.”

The iron circling Namjoon’s wrists chafes, but the cool air in the hall outside the cell is a welcomed inhale into his lungs as he moves around the guard who is half-blocking the doorway.

“Make it quick, Brother. This one has a courtship set with the hangman. Just as soon as the sun kisses the sky, he’ll be kissing this life goodbye.”

The guard makes an obscene, wet smacking noise before falling into a fit of phlegmy laughter. He slams the cell door and turns his back on Namjoon and Jimin, returning to a small table set off to the side where a discarded, worn deck of playing cards sits half-shuffled.

There is a small alcove near the entrance to the dungeons, created for just this very thing. Namjoon kneels beside Jimin, barely registering how the rough stone digs into his knees.

“Friar Park, there is something that I need—”

“Bow your head. We’ll start with a prayer to—”

Namjoon knows he’s being uncouth in his approach, but there is only so much time left, and if Jimin agrees to this, he’ll need every minute that can be spared. “Jimin, please. I’m sorry, but this can’t wait. I swear to you that I’ll say as many prayers as you wish upon me once I get out of here…but only if I get out of here.”

Jimin’s frown vanishes, his eyes growing round. “Get out of here?” he mumbles as if the words are odd to him. “Right, of course,” he says a little more assuredly.

“Please. If you’ve ever considered yourself my friend…”

It’s there in Jimin’s eyes, the memories of their shared history on the streets and all the ways Namjoon sacrificed in order to see to it that Jimin never met the same fate as Namjoon.

Namjoon can see when Jimin makes up his mind, a small, private smile tipping up the corner of his mouth before he says, “Tell me what you need from me.”

🍂🍂🍂

It’s impossible to sleep. You’ve tossed and turned for hours now, all to no avail. Not that you want to sleep anyway, not when you know what the sun will bring with it in the early hours of the morning. Something you refuse to allow to happen, only haven’t figured out how to prevent from happening. All the ideas you’ve managed to come up with have been blunders, things that simply would only lead to disaster.

So, here you are, lying in your bed and wishing you were anywhere but. The pillows aren’t as soft, and the goosedown mattress might as well be lumped with stones with as much comfort as you find in it now. All you can think about is cold, damp stone floors and the greasy air from the fat-burning torches they use in the dungeons.

You’ve only been to the dungeons below the castle once. The stench of unwashed bodies and wet-moldy rot lingered long after Seokjin allowed you to escape back up the stairs. You know he’s down there…the man who has breathed life back into your existence despite being a total stranger.

Kim Namjoon.

His name tastes as sweet on your tongue as it feels saying it in your mind. You whisper it to the silk canopy hanging over your bed, “Kim Namjoon.”

“Did you say something, My Lady?” Duckie’s voice startles you. She peeks her head through the door that connects her small servant's room to your bedchamber. The bonnet on her head sits askew as if mused from sleep, the loose silver curls of her hair hanging around her robe-covered shoulders. “Trouble sleeping?”

“It’s been a dreadful day,” you inform her with a restless sigh.

You know she doesn’t understand your true meaning, so it doesn’t surprise you when she says, “Terrible criminals ruining the day, trying to steal a Lady’s favor.” Her slippered feet shuffle over the rugs covering your floor as she draws closer, the light from her candle sending long shadows dancing across the tapestry-covered walls. “I could send down for some warm milk. That used to help you sleep as a child.”

“No, Duckie, that’s quite alri—”

Knock, knock, knock.

The soft but succinct rap on your door cuts through your dismissal, drawing your and Duckie’s attention.

“Whoever could that be this late? Nonsense, a day full of nonsense dragging into the night,” she titters a string of comments as she swiftly approaches the door, clearly ready to throttle whoever is on the other side.

The one thing you were not expecting was to find a frazzled and out-of-breath Friar standing in the hall, a large green book clutched to his chest. 

“I beg your pardon, My Lady. May I come in?” He’s pushing past Duckie before you can even respond. “I have something very important to show you. This isn’t proper, I know, me showing up like this, but it could not possibly wait.”

The Brother bustles through your rooms, making a beeline for the small sitting area near the balcony doors. “Friar, what could possibly be so important you must burst in here like a madman? My Lady is in naught but her shift, at least give me a moment to see that she’s properly dressed!” Duckie squawks after him, flapping her hand, which is not holding the candle, as if she could shoo him from the room like she would a fly.

Bewildered eyes swing around the room and land on your maid, the Brother startling like he’s only just now realizing she’s also in the room. “What? No. This cannot wait, I’m sorry, Good Ma’am, but a man’s life is at stake.”

“A man’s life?” you ask eagerly. You tumble from your bed, quickly snatching up your overcoat and shrugging into it. You’re across the room by the time you’ve got the belt hastily tied around your waist. “You bring word of Namjoon?”

If the Friar is at all surprised that you know that name, he doesn’t show it. “Yes, that’s exactly right, My Lady. But we must hurry, there is much I need to tell you and our time is running quite short. Please, please, sit…sit and listen.”

It all makes so much sense now—the feelings, the heartbeat echoing in your chest—soulmates. Something you once believed could only be found in fairytales and fables. You can’t help but think back to how your mother reacted when you asked about the dreams you had, how wistful and lost in her thoughts she seemed, her whimsical words about always daring to dream.

Part of you wants to take a moment to write to her and tell her what Jimin just explained to you. Maybe even show her the book, Prophetia Somniorum, the prophecy of dreams. It explains the connection that goes beyond someone’s heart, right to their very soul.

“So, you see, it’s inevitable. He is to be your future,” Jimin reiterates, closing the thick tome with a whispered thump of finality. “If he falls with the rising sun…well, I’m afraid the repercussions would be devastating.”

Yes. Something else the book provided grave details concerning. Because a soulmate's match is one of the soul, once the bond has begun to form, the life forces of all those involved are irrevocably tethered together. If something untoward happens to one, the other would be grievously depleted, even to the point of perishing.

This whole time, Duckie has paced behind your chair, an unusual quietness in her demeanor. So when she speaks, you’re unsure what you expect to hear. “And you believe this, Friar Park? A man of your faith…you’re certain?”

Jimin—Friar Park—picks at a loose woolen string snagged in the knee of his rough-spun brown robes. He’s quiet for a moment before finally looking up and catching the clinical gaze of your ladymaid. A beautiful smile graces his face as he says, “With all my heart, Verna. With all my heart.”

“It’s settled then,” Duckie announces. She sets her nearly burnt-out candle off on a side table and quickly disappears into your attached dressing chamber. “You’ll need to dress warmly,” she says, reappearing a moment later with a thick velvet and wool garment draped over her arm. “A few minutes, please, Friar Park. I’ll have her ready to flounce into the night in no time.”

“Really?” you laugh softly, bewildered by her proclamation.

“Don’t just sit there, My Lady!” Duckie pipes up, successfully shooing Jimin away this time. He disappears into the hall with a promise to wait while your maid hastily strips you of your nightwear and trusses you into a warm and, most importantly, practical dress.

You’re shoving wisps of your hair beneath a bonnet that’s tied under your chin as you slip from the room. The supple leather gloves on your hands are meant for riding, but they’re warm enough and not nearly as fumbly as the velvet ones Duckie tried to press on you as you laced up your boots.

“You’ve brought friends,” you note, taking in the two cloaked forms framing either side of Jimin.

Duckie stays behind just in case someone checks in on you during the night. It’s for the best, you think, as much as you will miss her motherly presence and charm. She refused to let her tears fall, but the emotion was there in her whispered words of luck and hope.

“A man must need to know when to ask for help. Tonight is very much one of those times, My Lady.”

One of the figures steps forward, the cowl of his hood slipping back as he brushes a gloved hand across his forehead, allowing you a small glimpse of his face. “Name’s Hoseok, My Lady. It’s a pleasure.”

“Pleasantries can wait. We need to move,” the other figure states gruffly. He’s larger than his counterpart. Even with his bulk covered in the dingy green of his cloak, it does little to hide the breadth of his shoulders. “We only have a few minutes at most before they blow the hole.”

“Blow the hole?” you question.

Hoseok gestures with one of his hands for you to follow after the other man, who is now striding down the dimly lit hall. Jimin falls into step behind you. “Don’t mind him, that’s Jeon Jungkook. He might seem prickly, but he’s harmless…mostly.” The name is familiar to you—everyone knows the exiled Jeon Knight. You’re just not certain many have realized that he is now part of the band of highwaymen that had been harrying the King's Road. Hoseok continues before you can give it much more thought than that, “But, to give you the short of it, My Lady, we need a distraction if we’re to get into the dungeon and get out with little issue. The eastern wall of the coffer holdings has a few minor weak spots, and we plan to exploit them.”

That explanation is vague but provides enough information that you can piece together some semblance of what might be coming. Mere seconds later, the stones beneath your feet shudder, and you catch the distant sound of thunder. Only, as the floor continues to quake and rumble, you’re certain that’s not thunder at all.

“Are they using dynamite?” Jimin sputters from behind you. “Those fools will bring down the whole city!”

That earns a chuckle from Hoseok, who shrugs before urging you to continue. “We had to use what we could on such short notice, Brother. Surely, even you can admire that.”

There is no reply from Jimin, not when Jungkook increases his pace, leaving your group solely focusing on breathing and putting one foot in front of the other. It’s not exactly pleasant running in the low-heeled boots you’re wearing, but they were the only somewhat sensible footwear you had with you here at the palace.

Not a single guard is in the hall as you careen around corners and shuffle down sets of stairs. It would seem that every man-at-arms in the palace has been called to whatever distraction is still rocking the far side of the palace.

“How many…holes…are they…blowing?” you huff out the words between puffing breaths that cloud in front of you. The farther down you go in the palace, the deeper the chill that’s hanging in the air.

“As many as it takes,” Hoseok offers, his words far less broken than yours. He lopes at your side with ease, the falls of his feet a mere whisper compared to your ground-pounding steps. It’s apparent these men are used to being light on their feet, all the better for being shadows in Sherwood Forest, you suppose.

The stairwell to the dungeon looms ahead like a gaping maw of darkness waiting to swallow you whole. You don’t give it a second thought, barreling down the stairs after Jungkook, hoping your feet find their way with each step. The last thing anyone needs right now is a tumble to the bottom.

You wind left and left and left some more, spiraling right into the belly of the palace. It’s a dizzying and disorienting experience, hurtling down the steps in the dark. But, eventually, you catch the faintest glow of guttering torchlight in the distance.

It draws you like a beacon, your feet moving impossibly faster. Your stride barely changes as you hit the bottom. Jungkook is sprinting ahead of you, his green cloak billowing wildly. You glance to your right at Hoseok, who still keeps pace beside you. There is a manic smile cutting across his handsome face, and you can’t help but smile, too.

That echoing thump in your chest has been growing, increasing with every step closer to its source. It’s like an erratic war drum now, beating so heavily you can feel every pulse all the way down to your fingertips and toes.

Another blast rocks through the palace, rumbling the ceiling over your head and causing a few loose rocks and dust to tumble from the weaker joist points. Shouts sound from up ahead, gnarled fingers jutting from between the bars in several doors.

“Help us!”

“Let us out!”

“The ceilin’ is comin’ down on ‘or heads!”

“Jungkook, is that you? Hoseok?”

The man in question abruptly skids to a stop in front of one of the cell doors. You nearly collide right into the solid muscle of his back, only stopping just short of him thanks to Hoseok hauling back on your arm.

“Namjoon!” Hoseok shouts. “Stand back, as far away from the door as you can.”

“Please don’t tell me you brought dynamite down here, too,” Jimin pants from behind you. “You’ll kill us all on top of bringing down the whole city.”

Hoseok laughs softly, moving to stand beside Jungkook. “Don’t be silly, Brother. We would never waste dynamite where simpler tools can be of use.” He pulls a slender, wrapped bundle from the small of his back.

Simple iron tools are displayed in a row as Hoseok unfurls the roll. Jungkook pulls several small implements from it and goes to work, setting pins against the hinges. With a few quick smacks of a rounded hammer, there are iron pins sticking out from all of the hinge joints.

“Door’s coming down, Namjoon! In three, two…” Jungkook and Hoseok both heave themselves against the solid wooden door. “One!”

The crash is so loud that you slap your hands over your ears. Dust hits your nose a second before the stench of unwashed bodies spills from the gaping doorway. Your heart thuds hard against your ribs as a tall figure lurches into the hallway, shackles hanging from his wrists clinking loudly. Several gnarled and frail bodies follow until the hallway is filled with wheezing and half-starved men.

“We don’t have time to open all the doors,” Hoseok mutters. “Hard to tell who belongs here and doesn’t.”

“Ach, this be the only door ye want open. The rests ‘er full o’murderers and scoundrels alike,” a gravely voice hacks into the silence, answering Hoseok’s question though you’re sure it was rhetorical.

“Shall we be on our way, then?” Jimin asks into the silence that follows.

As if to punctuate his query, the ceiling rumbles once more.

Jungkook swivels on his heel and presses through the gaggle of disoriented men. “Gladly. Those cuffs will have to wait. Let’s go.”

You get your first real glimpse of Namjoon as he steps through the crowd. His gaze immediately lands on you, and time seems to stop. He’s so close; all you have to do is reach out, and you can touch him. You are touching him. Your hands cradle the sides of his face, thumbs tracing over the smooth contours of his jaw.

One moment, you’re standing there, awestruck at having your hands on him, and the next, you’re using that grip to pull him to you. You push up onto your toes and slant your mouth over his. Your eyes slide shut, stars bursting behind your lids, lighting up like bursts of luminous effervescence. Namjoon’s lips are soft, pliable, and welcoming against yours.

A throat clearing draws you back, and you suck in a stilted breath, feeling light and giddy. 

“Hi,” you breathe, blinking up at his wide eyes. You’re far too full of bliss to be embarrassed.

“You’re so beautiful,” is his reply. “I can’t believe you’re here…you’re real. I thought I had dreamt you.”

“I am—”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but we really do need to get out of here. You love birds can sing to one another more later,” Hoseok says, breaking through your bubble.

Reality bounces back around you, and you’re instantly aware of dozens of pairs of eyes looking at you and Namjoon. Your cheeks heat now, and you drop your hands from his face. Only for him to slide one of his shackled hands into yours at your side.

Nothing further is said as you and Namjoon jog down the hallway back towards the spiraling staircase. Already, there are several of the escaped men scrambling their way up the steep steps.

You can’t help stealing glances at Namjoon every few steps. Even in the pitch black of the stairwell, you find yourself glancing over. His presence alone is reassuring, the ever-consistent warmth of his palm pressed tightly to yours.

There is a giddiness that’s bubbling inside of you, itching for a way to get out. Adrenaline is pumping, coursing through your veins, and you want nothing more than to throw your head back and laugh out loud in delight. You don’t, though. Not yet, at least.

Jungkook is a brown and green streak through the night. He seems intimately familiar with the grounds. As a former knight, you expect no less from him. It’s almost too easy how quickly he leads your small band out of the palace grounds. The dark, moss-colored leaves of Sherwood Forest are overhead before you realize it.

A few of the escapees follow behind, sharing low words amongst themselves, only to be hushed several times by Jimin. You’re surprised the Friar is still with you. Though, the fact he helped Namjoon—and you—to begin with, gives you an inkling of his connection to these men—this band of merry men, as you’d like to think of them now, highwaymen no longer.

“Wait, wait,” Namjoon urges, pulling you to a gentle stop. Everyone else continues on. Hoseok is the only one casting a curious look back, but Namjoon just waves for him to keep going.

“What is it?” you ask. You’re not sure, but you can’t imagine you’ve made it all that far into the forest. If you stay here, you could get caught. Undoubtedly, the guards are in pursuit by now. You glance around anxiously.

Namjoon loosens his grip from your hand to cup your face. The chain connecting his shackled wrists brushes against the column of your throat. “I couldn’t go another moment without doing this…again.”

The word is barely out of his mouth before he kisses you this time. It’s brief but no less fierce. Fire ignites deep in your belly, and the echoing heartbeat in your chest thunders into a pounding rhythm.

The whisper of your name on Namjoon’s lips is like the most beautiful sonnet. It breathes life into you. He says it again, fervently as he searches your face. “This is truly real, isn’t it?”

“It’s real,” you confirm with a smile.

“I’ll spend all of my days learning every beat of your heart,” Namjoon swears. “If you’ll have me.”

“You are mine, as I am yours. I’ll follow you wherever you go. Take me into your world.”

Sherwood Forest stills for a moment as if the entire wood is holding its breath and waiting. And as Namjoon nods, slipping his hand back into yours, and you disappear with him beneath the boughs, the forest exhales a sigh of relief, coming to life once more.

6 Months Later, Sherwood Forest in the Spring

Life in the little city suspended in the treetops of Sherwood Forest has been more than you could ever have imagined. At first, you were intimidated and anxious, traversing the wood and rope bridges between the platforms. But you grew in confidence and now are pretty sure you could walk from one end of the community to the other with your eyes closed. You’ve yet to test that, though, of course. You might have given up your station as a Lady, but you’ve still got your wits.

You’d be remiss in saying you haven’t had a single worry since stealing away into the night with Namjoon and his band of merry men. In the beginning, you entertained many worries. All of which have since been eased.

For weeks, you jumped at every little sound and brush of the breeze thinking it Yoongi and Taehyung come to steal you back to Seokjin. Jimin assured you after a month had gone by that your name had practically been erased from any and all stories. 

It’s like you never even existed, a runaway, lost to the world. When you asked him about your parents, he told you that they’ve gone through a mourning period, but there hasn’t been much else said about it. You love your parents dearly, but perhaps it’s for the best this way. Luckily, Duckie and all her motherly energy joined you shortly after you were whisked away. She insisted and pestered Jimin so much that he had no choice but to show her the way through the Sherwood Forest.

For a while there, you also weren’t sure how you would be welcomed among Namjoon’s community. Nor where your place would be exactly. Sure, you’d be by Namjoon’s side. But you wanted more in your life than just that; you needed purpose, some way to contribute.

So, you decided to offer your services and knowledge to help Namjoon. Now, you work closely with Jungkook and help secure the goods and services needed. You’ve been so successful in this endeavor that a small team of masons has even come in to begin excavating and renovating the stone ruins.

By this time next year, there should be enough rooms prepared so that some of the families can move down out of the treetops. It will especially be suitable for the elderly, who have had limited mobility so high up.

“Flower for your thoughts?” Namjoon asks. You blink away your drifting thoughts, focusing on the brilliant purple petals in front of your face. You nod, and with delicate fingers, Namjoon weaves the flower into your hair just above your ear.

“I was just thinking about my time here.”

Namjoon’s steps don’t falter as he continues to lead you through the stone ruins that spread out a short distance from his humble community in the treetops. The flowing cream-colored gown you’re wearing swishes around your feet with every step, the lacy train held tight in your hand to keep it from snagging. Your other hand is clasped steadfast in Namjoon’s.

You haven’t let go of his hand since Jimin tied them together with a length of velvety ribbon and pronounced you as one. It’s been a magical day so far. One that you’re sure will only grow more so if the grin on Namjoon’s face is any indication.

“A marvelous time it’s been. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me. I wonder how Seokjin fares,” Namjoon laughs with the last part, giving you a charming, coy smile.

There was one last thing you wanted to accomplish before genuinely giving your life over to your own wants and desires, which was to see Prince Seokjin and his cronies put into their proper places.

The courier you sent last month should have well and truly reached King Seokjoong by now. You were able to provide him with an extensive account of everything nefarious that Seokjin and Taehyung have orchestrated. Having once been a Lady has its perks.

“I’m sure there will be plenty of correspondence about it with our next bushel of goods from Jimin,” you trail off, frowning as Namjoon winds you further and further through the ruins. “Where are we going?” you ask.

Namjoon leads you through a few more turns, past half-constructed scaffolding and piles of building supplies. The masons have taken a few days off, the whole settlement in jovial celebration for this special day.

“We are….” Namjoon sing-songs the words, drawing them out as he pulls you around a corner. “Going right here.”

You blink slowly, momentarily struck with astonishment.

Before you is a romantic dreamscape with blossoming spring flowers and mounds of silky pillows. A tinkling spring cascades in a series of small waterfalls coming off a slick cliff face that forms one wall of the sprawling space. Ivy-covered stones make up the other walls, and the doorway you’re standing in is cut into one of them. The floor is polished marble, swept free of debris and litter. Alcove windows mark the two far walls, and clay pots of blossoming purple flowers cover the elegant sills.

In the center of the open space, there is a large platform bed covered in a mountain of pillows and downy blankets. A washing basin and pitcher sit on a small wooden table in the corner by the waterfall. Riverstones are stacked about three paces high, creating a small retaining wall that keeps the water from the falls contained and from flooding into the room.

“What is this place?” you ask in wonder, gazing up at the thick panels of stained glass overhead that allow in a cascade of colorful late-day sun rays.

“The histories I’ve managed to find indicate that this part of the ruins was where the royal family resided. They used the natural falls as a life source, drinking the crisp water to ensure their health and longevity. Now, it’s yours…if you want it.” Namjoon gives you a sheepish look. “I asked the masons to restore this area first. They’ve been working in secret for weeks to make sure it was safe.”

You move within the room, your fingers slipping from Namjoon’s as you make a slow turn to take in the whole space. “This is for me?” you ask, finally facing him once more. “Truly?”

He answers you with a kiss, closing the distance you created between the two of you and wrapping you up in his arms.

“Truly,” Namjoon murmurs against your lips before deepening the kiss until you’re breathless and your lips are swollen and wet.

The smart brown and green doublet Namjoon donned today slips easily from his shoulders under the insistence of your trembling fingers. The fashionable shoes, hose, and underthings Hoseok pressed upon him go next. You welcome the press of his body against yours, moaning into his kiss as his hands disrobe you with just as much ease.

The fragrance from the lavender plants in the pots and the running jasmine that mingles with the ivy is a heady attribute to the spicy cinnamon and clove scent of Namjoon. You like to tease him about the amount of spiced tea he consumes. But, when it makes his lips taste like fire and his skin smell like warmth and comfort, you bless the merchants who introduced the drink to him.

Namjoon follows you down onto the soft mound of pillows, his bulk fitting into the clasp of your thighs. The heft between his legs sits heavy against your belly, leaking wetness every time he presses his hips against yours. You writhe beneath him, digging your heels against the small of his back, silently begging him to give you what you both so desperately want.

“I love you,” you whisper, lips finally breaking from Namjoon’s.

Those dark-honeyed eyes with their endless depths bore into yours as Namjoon shifts over you, using one of his hands to ready himself against your entrance. “And I you, my love…my soulmate.”

Your lips part, a silted gasp-turned-moan escaping as he gently presses forward, sliding into your body. He’s gentle, staying his hips to let you adjust before pressing even deeper until he’s finally sheathed to the hilt, and you’re both gasping.

The light coming in through the stained glass overhead bathes Namjoon in a myriad of tones that shift and darken as the sun sinks lower in the sky. It feels like he touches your soul as his hands move over your body, his lips plucking and drawing out each and every pliant moan and shudder.

You are finite and yet infinite all at once. Every breath you take is spelled with triumph and disaster, a coalescing of the cosmos that you know could rip apart the universe with its power. Your body breaks against his over and over again like a tempest against a neverending shore. Only this shore is full of life and light, drowning out all your worries and leaving nothing but beauty and decadence in its place.

With one final, desperate cry, Namjoon gives himself over to you. His liquid heat floods your body, and you welcome it with a languid smile, luxuriating in the bliss you’re sharing. Namjoon cradles you to him, stroking the glistening beads of perspiration from your skin.

“Are you happy?” you ask him after some time. The sun has long since slunk beneath the horizon, its bright light and warmth replaced by the calm serenity of the moon. It hangs full and silvery overhead, creating its own beautiful tapestry of colors through the stained glass.

Namjoon turns over onto his back, draping an arm around your waist and pulling you close to his side. His hand absently brushes over the lush curve of your waist as he stares up at the night sky.

“Mm. How many stars do you think are up there?” he asks.

You cast a glance in the direction he’s looking, letting your eyes sweep over the endless number of sparkling facets spreading as far as you can see. “Too many to count.”

“Well, then, the amount of happiness I have right now rivals the amount of stars in the sky.”

He smiles, those eyes twinkling with the reflection of his joy. “Tell me about it,” you urge, your voice low and sultry as you push up and slide a knee over his hips. “Tell me of what your heart speaks.”

His words come whispered and fevered, full of truth and passion, punctuated by the sounds of your bodies coming together as one. It echoes through the forest, a proclamation to nature and the heavens above, a love sparked and forever kindled beneath the boughs.

⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to story masterlist

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[sailforvalinor]

I may never recover from this film actually

[july-19th-club]

i love when characters suck and are bad people like the thing about murphy is that i liked him before he was the incredible wife guy (which is also pretty great, dont get me wrong) but like. i thought he was cool when he was a horrible jackass that everyone hated . like he was interesting before he got morals; he was interesting as a guy who gets lynched in a frontier justice display of retaliation for a murder because he just seems like the kind of dude who would murder someone. and he is! just not that dead guy, specifically. whereas the actual killer is a twelve-year-old girl who the whole crew spends the episode trying to proctect from any kind of punishment, while murph runs around trying and failing to get anyone to admit out loud that the only reason there's a difference between punishing him and punishing her is because he has a bad personality . and also the murders but at that point in the show he hadn't killed anyone, he just seemed like he would

[anaalnathrakhs]

i WILL show up to the trial day for the preparatory class tomorrow no matter how much i dont want to and after that i guarantee NOTHING

[caramel-ribbons]

I just watched Avatar for the first time all the way through, and yeah, it’s great, but the one thing that surprised me was how different Katara was compared to the fandom interpretation I’d seen and internalized before watching.

Like, before you watch Avatar, you’ve seen all these memes about Katara and her mom, and based on those memes, you assume it’s one of those lines you have to get used to hearing at least once every episode. But then you watch the show and realize that she only talks about her mom maybe five or six times per season and you also realize she only brings her up when she’s trying to comfort someone or empathize with them because that’s how she processes her grief and that’s one way she connects with people.

Or you hear the infamous line, “then you didn’t love [our mother] the way I did” and you prepare yourself for one of the worst character assassinations ever only to see the scene after nearly three seasons worth of context and realize she was kinda right. She’s been the mother, the nurturer, the comforter. She’s been patient, gentle, and accommodating where everyone else has gotten to be insensible and reckless and childish, and the one moment where she allows herself to feel her grief, suddenly she’s this evil bitch and not, y’know, a 14 year old girl whose been thrusted into adulthood in a way no other character has. A 14 year old girl who should be allowed immaturity and raw emotion and anger instead of the patience and grace she’s been forced to extend to every character without even the smallest amount of gratitude or even consideration in return.

Or you see all of the clips where Katara puts Aang in the “friendzone” and you expect to have this wishy washy back and forth where Aang is putting his feelings out there only to have Katara neither commit nor express any clear reciprocation or rejection. Then you watch and realize that, as cute as the ship is initially, that there’s never a point where Aang returns any comfort or grace to Katara despite her always doing this for him to the point of coddling. That for as much as Aang says he loves her, he never seems to outgrow his perception of her so he can recognize her as someone who feels grief, anger, and pain as much as she expresses love, kindness, and maturity. And instead of having moments where he learns to see her beyond her strength or compassion, you’re instead given moments where Aang forces his feelings onto her, both romantic and non-romantic, and Katara is expected to just…shoulder those feelings the way she shoulders everyone else’s.

Katara is the most misunderstood character in the show. As much as people recognize the complexities of Zuko, Sokka, and Azula, they struggle to do the same for Katara because they see her struggles as somehow lesser, and therefore, less deserving of sympathy. They can handle her so long as she’s being endlessly patient and loving and kind, but the moment her endless love, patience, and kindness runs out, she’s suddenly this annoying bitch who can’t shut up about her mother or reciprocate Aang’s feelings. But Katara’s trauma does matter as much as anyone else’s. No, she wasn’t banished from her kingdom. No, she didn’t lose her entire community, and no, she isn’t the only one who lost her mother. But the difference between her and everyone else whose experienced loss because of the Fire Nation is that she’s never given time to process her trauma. Aang gets to lean on Katara constantly. Toph gets to express her feelings to Katara, and yeah, Sokka also lost their mother, but unlike Katara, he isn’t put in the position of being a substitute for everyone’s parent. He even admits that he sees his sister as a mother. The only characters who ever comfort Katara or allow her to vent is Zuko and her father and that’s, like, three scenes in a show where the other characters are consistently given opportunities to seek out Katara for unconditional support.

The fandom interpretation of Katara has been so bastardized that even those who haven’t watched the show know her for this fanon version and not for who she is. She’s such an interesting character beyond her fandom limitations, though. She’s brave, hot-headed, and hopeful as well as gentle and caring. She wishes to learn waterbending, not only because she wants to fight in the war, but because she wants to continue her culture’s practices because, and people often forget this, she also lost an entire subculture within her already fractured tribe. And she wants to defeat the Fire Nation both because of her deep love and empathy for other people, but also because she wants to avenge her mother. But because some of the fans have reduced Katara to a bitch who constantly whines about her mother and friendzones Aang, you wouldn’t know any of this, and it sucks because she’s the only character whose been dumbed down to such an extent.

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Perfect Size

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: reader is described as short, name-calling, swearing, Daemon being a horny menace, soft!dom! Daemon, talk of impregnation, talk of pregnancy, pregnancy, smut

Summary: It was Daemon’s life mission to remind you of your size difference, in every aspect of your shared lives.

A/N: This is part of the wonderful @targaryen-dynasty 3K celebration, congrats by the way!!!! I had so much fun with this prompt. Enjoy everyone and enjoy the other wonderful and talented writers' fics. 3K Celebration Masterlist

My masterlist

The gods make humans in their image. They make them grow until they see them as perfect. Or so your Septa used to say whenever you were frustrated about your small stature. And it was no help that the greatest rake of the realm, Lord Flea Bottom, the Rouge Prince himself, made it his life’s mission to remind you of how small you were.

As children, you had been a bit taller than him. He had a problem with it. The need to be bigger than a stupid girl was great. His growth spurt came and he nearly towered over you, looking down at you with a smirk on his lips. “How is the weather down there?” He would often tease. “Just fine.” You would retort back. “I hope your small brain will get enough air up there. A shame if you lost more of it.” Was your sarcastic comeback.

The older the two of you got, the taller he would get and you would only grow a few inches if you even grew at all. First, he was slightly lanky. His muscles had yet to grow. He would remind you of a newborn horse whenever he would stumble over his two long feet as he trained with his sword. Often giggling to his dismay.

“I will cut your head off, and then you will be smaller!” He would shout in anger when he saw you snickering. Daemon’s temper seemed to grow with every inch he gained. You enjoyed it immensely when it would rise because of you.

As young adults, it was fairly certain that you would grow no more. If you stood behind one of the large dinner chairs you could easily hide behind them. Everything seemed to dwarf you.

Daemon prided himself in the knowledge that he was taller than you. Towering over you like the Hightower in Oldtown. And he never passed down the opportunity to remind you. “Shouldn’t you be with your nurse, little one? I think you got the wrong room. The nursery is that way.” Or other things.

You would glare at him. Often kicked his shin when no one was watching. He would yowl in pain. Jump around and hold his leg. “You little pest.” “Maybe you should get your head out of the clouds.” You teased back.

But there were the times he would call you more affectionate words associated with your small stature.

“Why the sour face, my little love?” He mumbled into your ear as he stepped out of the shadows. He had been hiding from his grandmother and her attempts to put boring and plain noblewoman under his nose.

A huff of annoyance escaped your throat. “Mother forced me to wear this ridiculous gown.” You seethed. Your teeth bared like a wolf snarling.

Daemon found your discomfort rather amusing. You looked like a pretty doll all dressed up. Your hair braided into the style of the land you came from. The gown so unmistakably the colours of your house, shining in the light of the candles.

"Oh, no - you're a lady and you have to wear pretty dresses and jewels and oh no, how horrible!" He teased you lightly. He leaned his head on top of yours. A habit he adopted quite recently. Loving the way you fit under him.

You snorted, very un-ladylike. But he was used to your characteristics. You were not one of those up-tied, boring wenches who tried to turn his head. He would rather gauge his eyes out before he gave them a second of his attention.

His attention was only worthy of one woman. And she was right literally under his nose.

He leaned down, just next to your ear. His hot breath fanned over the sensitive shell. “Do you think it would fit?” You could feel the smirk in his voice. You turned to him with a confused look on your pretty face.  It stayed that way until you felt something. You felt it, him. Hard as a rock, pocking you through the fabric of your wedding gown.

Your face grew hotter than the flames of Caraxes. Your body stiffened as you felt him softly rub against your buttocks. He only laughed lowly. His chest vibrates, sending chills up and down your spine. “You scoundrel!” You lowly scoffed. Your heart beating faster.

Not from his antics. Oh no, you were used to them by now. About the whole banquet finding out about Daemon’s little innuendo. “Oh, little love. I am your scoundrel now. It was ordered by the Queen herself.” He chuckled darkly.

She hit his shoulder lightly. “Stop it!” You tried to reprimand him. But your words fell on deaf ears. “Oh, my little love. How funny you will look with my seed growing inside you.” He began to whisper his lewd words. “You probably won’t be able to walk, so large your belly will grow.”

Your body grew hotter and hotter. It didn’t help that he had you pressed to his chest. His erection pressed against the cheeks of your perfect ass. His hands wander lazily over the front of your dress. Stopping over your belly before wandering further down.

“Oh my little love, will it even fit in your little tight hole? Or will I have to mould your little cunny so only my cock can fit inside?” Your breathing hitched at his dark, lustful words. Daemon’s predatory smile grew at your body's reaction to his scandalous words whispered so softly into your ear.

He often wondered if he was unfair to his wife. She was small, her body had nearly strained from the weight of the beautiful two children she had already given him.

He was right at their wedding feast. Her swollen stomach looked too large for her body. It hadn’t been long before the first signs of pregnancy made themselves known.

From the small bump only three moons after they conceived. He still can remember how his hands could cover it until she was seven moons pregnant. She had been ordered to rest. To not exhaust herself too much.

Daemon, looking at the image of her laying in their bed, their little one nestled in her belly. The sight did things to him. Things where his darkest desires seemed light in comparison. Oh, how he had spent his days behind her, driving himself into her tight cunt instead of sitting in a boring small council meeting. His wife and unborn child needed him, and he needed them.

“Another one?” You looked at him from where you stood. Children’s toys in your arms as you helped your daughters clean the room for the day.

Daemon just shrugged. “Why not? Add another one to our hoard. What about you girls? Do you want another sibling?” He crouched down so he was level with Alyssa and Visenya. Both girls looked away from their task to clean up the solar, screeching with joy as their father spoke to them.

“They are tots, Daemon.” You protested. Picking up more of the girls’ toys. “They will agree to anything if you say it with enough enthusiasm.” Daemon chuckled. “Oh, I think they know what I am saying, elillus (honey).” He smirks softly. His eyes roamed her body without shame.

“It has been so long.” “It has only been a few hours. You had me in the morrow.” You snapped back. Cleaning your daughters’ toys from the floor. Putting it into the chest designated for their toys. “I did not mean our coupling, prūmȳs ñuhus (my heart). I meant another child. The girls are six and four.” He mumbled gently.

She looked up at him sitting in the armchair at the edge of the carpet where the girls were playing moments ago. His violet eyes were dark as he watched her like the hunter his prey. “I don’t know, valzȳrys (husband). You heard the maester's words after Visenya’s birth.”

Daemon saw the change in demeanour. He nearly had you, only a small push. “It is your choice, ābrāzȳrys (wife). I do not want to force you.” He stood up, kissing your forehead before helping you with cleaning the toys up.

You were tossing and turning in bed. Nothing seemed right. Thoughts swirled through your head. So many voices at once.

You wanted to scream. But you would only wake up your family.

“Tell me what is keeping you from sleep, ābrāzȳrys (wife)” Daemon's gravel voice rang through the room. He sounded tired. His back turned to you.

“It’s nothing.” You whispered. “Bullshit!” Daemon groaned. Turning to face you. “It feels like I am sleeping next to a bloody sack of kittens. What is it.” He tiredly glared at her. Knowing full well what was going on.

“You’ve gotten into my head, you menace!” You growled out. Pouting at him. His usual smirk grew on his lips, a soft chuckle escaping. “Apologies for that, ābrāzȳrys (wife).“ „You are not sorry, Daemon.” His grin widened more. “You know me so well.”

A huff escaped your lips. “Why must you torment me so?” Daemon sat up on his forearm, looking down at you. Your hair was splayed out in a messy halo. A bright smile adorned his face as he saw the light, tired glare and the pout on your lips.

“Oh, little love, I vowed to be the bane of your existence since we played with the small dragon figurines our daughters’ play with now. And ever since it was announced you would be my dear lady wife I swore to torture you even more.” He softly nipped at your collarbone, his large hands coming to rest on your rips, just under your breasts.

“Let me help you with your decision-making. Let me enter your little cunny and stay there when I cum. Let my seed fill your womb once more.” His imposing frame loomed over you. Covering you like a blanket.

“What if the maester is right?” “The maesters are cunts who want to see me unhappy and you in doubt. They told you after Alyssa you could not carry another child. Two years later they said the same after Visenya.” He kissed your shoulder gently before his expressive violet eyes stared at you. “What is your body telling you?”

You bit your lip gently, A small rumble going through Daemon’s chest at your gesture. But he restrained himself. “I want another one.” You whispered gently.

A smile broke greater than before out on his lips, his dimples showing. “I will not let anything happen to you. The moment your body is resisting, I will get you moon tea or whatever is necessary.” You nodded gently.

His eyes darkened with lust. “Now before we can even discuss the pregnancy, we must make it happen.”

He lifted himself so his arms were on either side of your head. “Oh my sweet, I longed to fill up your little cunny. Seeing it overflow with my seed. Stuffing it back in.” He laughed gently as you shuddered.

With haste born of his pent-up desire, he ripped all of your clothes off your and his body. You gasped softly, scolding him for literally ripping your nightgown. “I never liked it anyway.” He mumbled against the skin between your breasts. Slowly moving down to your stomach.

He worshipped your body, caressing your thighs and hips. Squeezing the flesh around them, even gently nibbling on it.

He kissed each and every lightning-bold-like scar. Mumbling with every kiss a small thanks. These were the marks of his children. Evidence of your brave sacrifice.

He went further down. His lips ghosted over the soft locks, his eyes watching you heave out breaths of anticipation.

A loud scream ripped from your throat when you felt his tongue plunge deeply into your wet core. The eagerness of his lapping overwhelmed your senses. His nose ever so lightly brushed against your pearl. Teasing it to shoot lightning throughout your body.

You came undone. His tongue, nose and two of his digits working in tandem to torture you. And it worked. Your back arched off the bed. Loud cries of his name and pleas for him to stop accompanied your downward spiral into the abyss of your pleasure.

He stared down at you hungrily. His vibrant eyes were dark with lust. He looked every bit the dragon he ought to be. “Little rabbit.” He growled out. “Sweet, little rabbit. Trapped beneath the large dragon.”

He leaned down again. Like Caraxes would decent upon his pray, Daemon came down upon you. Devouring you once more.

He held your thighs wide open as he ploughed into you. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin rang through the room. His large hand wrapped around your delicate neck, softly pressing against it. Your breathing coming out in small pants.

“You should see yourself, little darling. My large hand is like a necklace on your throat. I can nearly wrap it around.” He chuckled darkly.

His words elicited shivers to run up and down your spine. This action causes your body to tense slightly. Daemon roared as he felt you squeeze his cock. “Seven fucking hells, woman! Do you want to kill me?!” He panted out. Driving his cock deeper inside you. The stretch is a familiar pain. But not too unpleasant. He had prepared you for him. And he would hate for you not to enjoy your coupling.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, sensual kiss. It was so different from the way his hips moved. So slow and loving. “I am not hurting you, am I, my little darling?” He whispered. You shook your head. “Nothing I am not used to from you.” He grinned, nipping at your lower lip, “That’s my good girl.” He whispered.

He picked up his pace. His hands on your thighs clawing into your skin. His knuckles are white. He groaned and grunted, looking down at you with an intense stare. Your own moans and cries mingle with his. Creating a symphony of pleasure.

He came with a roar of your name, his face buried into your neck. Panting heavily next to your ear. Your own climax is triggered by the feeling of being filled with his potent seed. Both your eyes closed in bliss.

He stayed inside you even as his member softened inside you. The grip on your thigh remains tight. Like he needed to be grounded by you.

Your arms wrapped tighter around his neck, softly caressing his head. He hummed gently, letting you know he loved what you were doing. “Do not dare to stop.” He mumbled gently into your neck. You continued with your caress. Softly petting him like he was a dog.

He fell asleep like this. His spent cock inside you, keeping his precious seed inside you. His body acted like a blanket. Your hand in his hair.

[goldfades]

SEX TAPE──BUECKERS⁵

─ summary | “what if we record it?”

─ pairing | paige bueckers x fem!reader

─ warnings | nsfw!!! oral (paige receiving), heavy praise, sex tape (obvs), um... pretty short but i wanna make another part, lmk if yall enjoyed it

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

The idea just came out of seemingly nowhere, it had caught you off guard.

Your breath hitched, and you blinked, pulling back slightly to meet Paige's gaze. Her lips were still swollen from kissing, her eyes dilated and you could see something more intense beneath them. You weren’t sure how to respond right away.

She's such a horny fuck.

“Wait, what?” you asked, voice a little shaky, heart thudding in your chest.

Paige smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, her touch lingering against your cheek. “You heard me,” she said softly, her voice low but playful. “It could be a lot of fun.”

A rush of heat spread through your body, and suddenly, you were caught between the thrill of the moment and the surprise of her bold suggestion. Your thoughts raced—was this really happening?

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as the weight of the situation settled over you. Paige’s fingers gently traced your jawline, sending shivers down your spine. The idea had shaken you, but it also stirred something deep within—a curiosity, an excitement that you hadn’t expected. There was no denying the heat between you, the electric charge that always seemed to spark whenever you were together. But this… this was different.

“Paige…” you whispered her name, almost as if saying it would help you make sense of what she’d just proposed. Your eyes searched hers, trying to gauge how serious she was, or if this was just a momentary whim.

She didn’t flinch. Her gaze held steady, playful but sincere. “What, baby?” she asked softly, leaning closer, her breath warm against your lips. “We don’t have to. But…” Her fingers curled against the back of your neck, pulling you gently toward her. “If we did, it would just be for us. No one else would ever know. You know how I get when I'm on away games...”

Again, such a horny fuck.

Her voice was a mixture of teasing and promise, and the way she looked at you—like you were the only person in the world that mattered—made it hard to think straight. The space between you was almost nonexistent now, your foreheads nearly touching as her lips hovered dangerously close to yours again. The temptation was overwhelming.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of anxiety and anticipation swirling together. “You… you’re serious?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you wanted her to confirm or dismiss the idea.

Paige’s lips curled into a half-smile, and she tilted her head slightly, eyes twinkling with that mischievous glint that always made your knees weak. “Why wouldn’t I be?” she said softly, brushing her lips against yours in a feather-light kiss that left you wanting more. “Think about it—something just for us. A secret just between us.”

A secret.

That word sent a ripple of excitement through you, despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. The idea of something that was just yours and hers, shared in the privacy of this moment, was undeniably thrilling. You’d never done anything like that before—never even considered it, really—but with Paige, everything felt different. She had a way of making you feel like you could step outside your comfort zone and still be completely safe with her.

Your fingers unconsciously tightened on her waist, pulling her closer, your body betraying the uncertainty still lingering in your mind. Paige noticed, her smile widening, and she took the opportunity to press her lips against yours again, deeper this time. Her kiss was demanding but patient, giving you time to melt into it, letting the hesitation slip away with each passing second.

When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours for any sign of doubt, but you were lost in her, your mind spinning with possibilities. “Got my phone right here,” she murmured, voice low and seductive, her hand sliding down to the pocket of her basketball shorts. She pulled it out slowly, holding it between you like a tempting offer.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at the device in her hand, your mind racing. It would be so easy to say yes, to give in to the moment, to let yourself be swept up in the rush of it all. Paige’s thumb hovered over the screen, her expression a perfect mix of teasing and serious.

But the gravity of what she was suggesting wasn’t lost on you. This wasn’t just a random suggestion—it was intimate and personal. Something you couldn’t take back once it was done. You thought about what it meant, how this moment would tie the two of you together in a way that went beyond anything else you’d shared.

“P,” you started again, your voice softer this time, more sure of yourself. “I… I don’t know. What if something happens? What if—”

“Nothing will happen,” she cut you off gently, her hand coming up to cradle your cheek, grounding you with the warmth of her touch. “I would never let anything bad happen. Not to you. Not to us.” Her eyes softened, the playful edge fading into something more serious, more real. “It’s just for us, I promise.”

You searched her face, feeling the sincerity behind her words. Paige had always been good at making you feel safe, like no matter what you did or how crazy things got, she’d always be there to catch you if you fell. And right now, looking into her eyes, you wanted to believe that more than anything.

Still, there was a part of you that hesitated. You weren’t sure if it was fear of the unknown or just the sheer intensity of the moment. “I trust you,” you whispered, leaning your forehead against hers, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath against your chest. “But this is… new.”

Paige’s lips pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, her voice tender when she spoke again. “It is new. But that’s what makes it fun, right?” She pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, her thumb brushing your bottom lip gently. “We can stop at any time. If you’re not comfortable, we won’t do it. I can always delete it.”

That’s what you needed to hear—the reassurance that she wasn’t pushing you, that this was completely your choice. And in that moment, with Paige so close, so open, so trusting, you felt the last bit of your doubt melt away.

“Okay,” you breathed, the word escaping before you could overthink it. Paige’s eyes lit up immediately, and you couldn’t help but smile at her excitement. “But only if—”

“Only if it’s just for us,” she finished for you, her lips crashing against yours again before you could say anything else. This kiss was deeper, more urgent, as if the floodgates had been opened, and all the tension between you was finally spilling over.

Her hands roamed your body, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the rapid beat of her heart against your chest, mirroring your own, as her phone clattered to the floor beside you, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

She pulled back slowly, analyzing your expression to see if there was any trace of hesitation left. When she was satisfied, she pulled away slightly and grabbed her phone. There was no going back now.

───

"Just like that, pretty girl," she mumbled as she let out a low moan, her hand gripping your hair as you glanced up her iPhone lens facing you. You hummed at the sight, your tongue poking out to taste more of her.

You were on your knees as Paige laid on the couch, her legs spread as you ate her out slowly, just how she liked. Her hands were on your head, controlling your every movement. Every time you glanced up at the camera, it was a new level of motivation—the idea of being recorded was exhilarating, and the thought of Paige rewatching the tape when she was alone...

God, the thought alone made your pussy wetter.

You moaned as you gazed up at the camera once again, a small smile on your lips as you leaned away. At that, Paige let out a chuckle. "Dirty fucking girl," she shook her head in mock displeasure.

Your chin was covered with her juices, you were glimmering under the camera's flash. Paige's free hand leaned in, wiping it all over your face before pushing your head in again.

You shut your eyes at the taste, humming once again. God, she tasted heavenly. You began moving your tongue quicker across her wetness, the sound echoing throughout the room as Paige let out another groan.

"Oh fuck, yeah. Keep going, just like that, just like that," she praised as her head fell back on to the couch in pleasure. Her grip on your hair tightened as she pushed you into her pussy, another groan leaving her lips.

Your tongue began flicking her clit rapidly, her moans and your sloppy sounds echoing throughout the empty apartment. A few seconds later, her body stilled as she came, the tape becoming shaky before her phone fell onto her stomach.

Paige leaned down to give you a sloppy kiss, humming at the taste of her on your tongue. "Was so good, baby," she mumbled against your lips before leaning away.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[reiderwriter]

🩺 Protect and Serve 🩺

Spencer Reid x stripper! Female Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge

Summary: Spencer makes a fool of himself in front of a very pretty nurse. Who turns out to not be a nurse at all, but a stripper.

Warnings: Erotic dance, pole dancing, uniforms, doctor play (?), semi-public sex, fingering, strip tease, nipple play, use of birth control - condoms, penetrative sex (PinV).

A/N: He's protecting, she's serving cunt. That's the pairing dynamic for this fic. I love writing Spencer as dumb because he does canonically lose it around hot people, and we, dear readers, are all hot people. I added the strip tease song below of you want to really get in the mood!

Masterlist || Bingo Board

“Okay, everyone, listen up,” Hotch called out to the masses, the three teams of officers, and his own team who were lined up and ready to receive orders. 

“We're going to do a simple canvass. Ask anyone you spot if they've seen our missing person and if they've seen any suspicious activity around the area in the last month. You have further lines of questioning laid out in your briefs. Also, we have no reason to believe the unsub will be hunting right now, so we're going to be canvassing individually.”

The crowd nodded in a wave of understanding, taking the information as it came before getting ready to receive their areas to work in. 

Spencer had devised the map himself, so he didn't have to wait in line, instead, walking to his corner of the block and getting himself ready for interactions. 

The clock struck 11, and he began, waiting for the usual shaky characters of the night to stroll out onto the streets. After a series of abductions from this area, and the general disrepair of all local CCTV cameras, the BAU knew exactly where their unsub was hunting from, but not the how, the why, or the who. 

In a last ditch effort, they'd turned to goodwill from the public. 

“Excuse me, sir, do you have a few minutes to answer some ques-” 

“Go fuck yourself.” 

“Okay, have a great evening.”

For the best part of the first hour, all of his interactions were the same repeat of hostility and general apathy. For long stretches of time, nobody walked by at all, and some were even growing frustrated by being accosted by multiple law enforcement officers within the hour.

He'd almost lost hope for a lead when the clock struck twelve, and you'd ran around the corner, nearly bowling him over as you raced to get to work. 

“Shit, oh, I'm sorry-” you said, realising you'd landed in a soft place, and not on the tarmac you knew from experience was a pain. He'd accidentally broken your fall and was all the more sorry for it. 

“No, it's okay… ah, um, it's not that bad.” 

You stood yourself up, removing yourself from the body of the stranger. The body of the man wearing an FBI jacket, who you now recognised as being with one of the dozen or so cops that had stopped you in your dash from your car (parked further downtown so it wouldn't get stolen) to your place of work. 

“Oh, god, I'm so sorry, officer. I didn't mean to- I'm sorry,” you mumbled again and again as you offered him a hand up. He took it hesitantly, grabbing his papers as he jumped on this opportunity to have a conversation with the first normal looking person he'd come across in an hour. 

If he'd been less eager, less tired, and in all honesty, less immediately attracted to you  he'd have realised that you had a destination in mind. One that, while being above board mostly, still made you weary of cops. 

“It's Agent actually - Doctor, but- anyway, um, could I possibly have a few minutes of your time? We're looking into a recent string of abductions in the area, and we’re asking if you've seen anything out of the ordinary.” 

You stood trapped by his surprisingly wide frame, his height dwarfing you by a few inches and the path being just narrow enough that you either had to decline politely, or just push past him to keep going. 

Unfortunately, you, too found him slightly too attractive than you were willing to admit, attractive enough that you'd gladly miss out on a half hours worth of tips to answer questions you'd honestly already answered before now. You'd always been weak for a man in uniform.

“I-I guess so. This will only be a few minutes, right?” 

“Of course, I wouldn't want to keep you from your work,” he said, gesturing down at your outfit. If it weren't for his totally genuine tone, you'd have thought he was being cruel. 

Usually, you didn't show up for work in your performance clothes, trying not to draw any more attention to yourself on the streets at midnight, but you'd been forced to that day. 

It was Uniform Day at the strip club, and your boss was entirely too cheap to buy the Uniforms himself, and absolutely cruel enough to penalise anyone who showed up without some kind of costume. Your nurse outfit had been in transit and out for delivery since 10 am. that morning, arriving exactly 10 hours later. 

It wasn't exactly a realistic cosplay. Sure there was a cute pen clip, and you were technically wearing scrubs, but they were also skin tight, and you knew for a fact that your nipples were hard and visible through the thin material, because taking a glance down, even you could see them. 

“Do you usually work the night shift?” He asked, bringing his clipboard up to take notes of your answers. 

He absolutely did not know you were a stripper. 

“Yeah. We don't really get many people in during the day. Too embarrassing, not the time for it.”

He nodded and tried to pretend like he was writing something of merit down, but secretly, he was very much enjoying the curves Of your body as the tight material hung off your body. 

The “scrubs” were baby blue  but he had no doubt that if the heavens opened right, then they'd become as see-through as cling film. 

He, too, wanted to cling to you. 

“Have you noticed anyone suspicious in the area recently, anything new or out of the ordinary?” 

“I mean, I couldn't possibly say. You know how this neighbourhood is, it's… well, it's not exactly the safest.” 

He nodded again and acted out sympathy, unaware how the feeling should feel now that he was faced with a woman so perfect that he'd entirely lost the ability to process emotions. 

“Right, right…” 

You stood for another moment or two, waiting for his follow up question, but his eyes raked over you in a way you were entirely familiar with. Unlike your usual clientele though, he snapped himself out of it, and had the wherewithal to look bashful. 

“Ask about victim, no leading questions,” he read quickly, before looking up at you and stammering through a new question. 

“S-so. Are there usually a lot of women walking around this area alone at night?” 

You did your nest to hold off a smile, to stay serious as he made the best of the script he was given.  

“Yeah, a few of the places have staff on hand to protect the girls, but my place is mostly women. We stick together as best as we can, but a client or two gets too attached now and again,” he nodded. 

“Patients can often become infatuated with their care staff,” he said, and he was so earnest that you wanted to take everything back and let him go. You wanted to see how long it would take him to realise there was only one body part you and your colleagues cared for. 

“I did think the industry was becoming more gender inclusive. Are there no men on staff?” 

“Oh, yeah. We have men, too. They're mostly request only, though, so we don't see them every day.” 

“Fascinating! You know, believe it or not, anthropologically, humans are predisposed to view women as more caring and are 9 times out of 10 more likely to ask for women to care for them, the gender of the patient doesn't impact the data.”

“Oh, I can believe it.” 

You smiled at him, and he looked taken aback for a minute or two. He finished by smiling back, and you definitely found this conversation worth as much as you'd lost in tips in the last half hour. You were half tempted to invite him back to the club with you for the night, to thank him for providing you with motivation for the night ahead.  

“Um, so, if you do see anything in the future, you can call the police and here is my number,” he said, scrawling something down quickly on a piece of paper and handing it off to you. 

“Oh. Oh, um, right, number. Uh,” you said, rooting around in your purse for your own business card to hand off to him. Partly because you wanted to resolve his misunderstanding, and partly just because you wanted to see what this overly respectful man would do with it. 

“Candy Cayne,” he read, obviously looking past the body glitter that covered the cars and everything else you owned. 

“Well, my real name is Y/N, but you can't be too safe these days.” 

“Right,” he said, smiling again. 

If these were the FBI agents put on the case of making your city safer, maybe you'd invest in a good taser and some more pepper spray. 

Just in case. 

“Spencer, over here!” One of the other agents you'd already spoken to called out from a block down the street, and hastily, Spencer Reid excused himself and let you finally continue on your way to work. 

You had to convince yourself you weren't disappointed. 

Morgan’s brows were furrowed as Spencer reached him. 

“Why were you interviewing the stripper again, I already got her information when she came by me.”

“Stripper? What stripper?” 

“You gotta be kidding me.” 

Morgan looked at the younger man incredulously before turning him around with a hand on his shoulder and pointing in your direction. 

“That stripper, Spencer.” 

He couldn't help but let his eyes trail down to your ass as you quickly walled off, hips swaying perfectly, showing off your complete assets in the tight outfit. 

“She's a nurse,” he defended, even as the blood drained from his face. 

“Uh-huh, and what's her name?” 

“...Candy Cayne,” he paused for a second before turning back to Morgan with a stricken expression on his face. 

“Oh my god, she's a stripper.” 

Five hours into your shift, and about $800 richer, you found yourself swinging around the pole freely again as your regulars slowly trickled out. 

You kept on dancing, though, knowing that the morning crowd was about to get in, the night-shifters that had to wait the entire night to get off on your dancing delights. 

Truckers you expected, security guards and night watchmen, too. Even the occasional older gentleman who found it hard to sleep in the mornings, so bored by retirement, they dropped in a few times a day. 

What you weren't expecting was Spencer.

You heard the door open, the bell ringing out loudly as all the girls stopped to greet their new target. 

“Hello, baby,” one called, the others chorusing around her. 

“Oh it's free for you, sweetheart.”

“Wanna take a ride?” 

“Aren't you just the cutest.”

Spencer spotted you - and your uniform - very quickly. 

As predicted, with a little bit of water, your uniform had gone see through with the tiniest drop of water, the sweat from your ongoing workout and the body oil the matrons lathered you up in before showing off everything. 

Still, Spencer tried to keep his gaze polite as he stood awkwardly at the edge of the stage and tried to engage you in conversation. 

“Hi,” he said, shouting awkwardly over the music. 

You shot him a confused look as you ground against the bar, still enjoying the tips of the last few stragglers. You gave him a confused look as you wrapped yourself around the pole, lifting yourself up and gripping the bar between your legs, pushing your chest backwards as you tipped your head upside down. 

“Can we talk?” He asked, and you, slowly but surely, let go of the bar, ending on the floor with your legs spread wide as the few men enraptured by you wolf whistled and swore. 

Finally, Spencer's bashful gaze dropped from your face as he stared at your scantily clad cunt. 

The baby blue underwear - though you could barely call it underwear as you were barely wearing it - was most definitely not leaving enough to the imagination. Combined with the very clear view of your boobs, Spencer wasn't surprised when his IQ abandoned him, rushing to his second head to let it make mistakes. 

“I'm sorry, officer,” you said, winking at him as you crawled forward, collecting tips as you went. “If my boss sees me talking to you instead of working, I can get fired. Tell me you've got at least a twenty on you.”

He scrambled for his wallet, pulling out all the cash he had and holding out a few dollars to you as you watched him. 

He looked away again, just as you leaned down to take it, and you pouted again. 

“Come on, sir,” you said, wiggling your ass a little to keep the other men entertained while you wore down at his morals. “You have to stick it down my shirt or something. Make it believable.” 

His eyes snapped back to yours, and then immediately to your chest as you sat back on your knees and began playing with yourself, grabbing your tits and bouncing up and down as you showed off your special ‘skills.’ 

Hesitantly, he reached out a hand, and, hating how slow he was going, you met him halfway, pushing your chest into his open hand. 

Though he was apprehensive, his body seemed able to take advantage quickly, and upon depositing the cash, he let his hand trace down the curve of your breast, squeezing it a little. 

“I came to apologise-” he started, trying to remind himself to stick to the script he created for himself. 

You didn't want to stick to any script. 

“Boss, I've got a private dance!” you shouted out to the bar staff, getting a thumbs up from the manager there and a call back of a room number. 

You grabbed the rest of the cash from his hands and lifted a hand so he could help you down the stage stairs, leading him quickly to a private room and closing the door. 

“T-There’s been a mistake, I just came to apologise for my unnecessary comments earlier, and-” he paused, hands lifting up in surrender as you straddled him. 

“What are you doing?” 

“You can talk, but you paid for a dance. I thought this would be better for you, more private.”

“Oh, yes, thank you, that's very considerate.” 

You nodded and began raking your nails down the front of his shirt, loosening his tie a little as you rose on your knees and gyrated your hips. 

His gaze locked eyes with your chest, and for a moment, you worried he wasn't breathing anymore, his entire body having stilled. Then you rocked your hips down into his lap, and you realised he wasn't still but stiff. 

He was rock fucking hard. 

You grinned, and tried to pick the conversation back up with a casual tone. 

“So how is canvassing going?” 

“Hmm?” He said, unlearning. “Oh, uh. Good. We have a few leads we're going to investigate in the morning.” 

“It is the morning, officer.” 

He nodded and gulped, but his gaze had rested gently against your bare skin again. 

You decided to treat him. 

Standing back up, you grabbed the room control and queued up your favorite track to dance with. The private sances were usually boring, a constant reminding of ‘don't touch the dancers’ dropping from your lips as you half-heartedly rocked back and forth. 

Unsurprisingly, though, you actually wanted this man to touch you. 

Spencer willed his brain to quiet, though as it had taken up residence in his pants, he doubted it could hear any of his requests. 

The opening lines of "I Put a Spell on You" by Annie Lennox played on the quiet room speakers, and you watched his hands clench into his pants. 

You took a step forward, pushing your arms up as you swung your hips left and right. 

“You said something about an apology earlier, right?” 

I put a spell on you. Because you're mine.

“Yes,” he said, restrained to monosyllabic answers as your hands trailed down to your legs, catching the hem of your dress and pulling it up. 

You revelled in the way his eyes widened, the way the veins in his hands popped as he grasped himself harder, the hitch in his breathing. 

You pulled the offending garment up and danced it off your body until you were stood in just panties and stilettos. 

Without flashing him even a hint of your breasts, though, you turned and sat yourself on his lap. 

“W-We could've just talked here, right? You don't have to do this if you don't want to.”

“I know,” you said, grabbing his hands and covering your chest with them. 

“But you were so earnest earlier, I felt a bit bad too. Let's call this even.”

You didn't get an answer from him, but his hands did start touching you, and you couldn't help but feel as though you'd won anyway. 

You better stop the things that you do.

Taking your nipples between his fingers, he squeezed, and your ass pushed down into his cock, back arching as you began rubbing against his legs. You repositioned, letting your knees fall either some of his leg, leaning forward to balance yourself against his knee as you rocked your core into his leg. 

“So, what's your name, officer.”

“Spencer-” he sighed, voice warm in your ear as he leaned closer, trying to hook his head over your shoulder to watch the rest of your body writhe. 

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“Oh, how fancy, a Doctor. I've never had a doctor before,” you said, straightening and grabbing his hands again. 

“And what a naughty little nurse I've been,” you giggled. 

I tell you, I ain't lyin’.

“I'm not that kind of doctor,” he said, as your hands guided his to your cunt, giving him permission to enter your underwear. 

“And as we've established, I'm not that kind of nurse. But I don't mind.”

He muttered to himself for a second before beginning to pay sweet attention to your clit. As bashful, and shy, and overall clumsy he had seemed outside, he absolutely had the theory of pleasure down to a T. 

The pads of his fingers were rough against your clit, pushing your pleasure buttons roughly as you soaked his pants. 

“That's it, Doctor, that's where the ache was.”

He caught on quickly and kept up his ministrations as you moaned in his lap. 

“Ah, fuck. M-Maybe some medicine would help.me Doctor. A nice big injection.” 

You stood and almost threw a tantrum at the loss of contact, but you returned yourself to his lap quickly. 

He unbuttoned his pants as he stood, and his cock was released and waiting for you when you returned again. 

Before you could get to it, though, his face buried itself in your chest. 

You moaned at the contact, his tongue swirling around your already painfully sensitive nipples. You humped his leg wantonly, giving up the act and becoming the whore he likely thought you were. It was all too much for you, his hot stare, his surprisingly deft fingers. And then he gently bit your nipple, and your cunt clenched around nothing as you twitched and you came. 

“Fuck, cock. Now!” You demanded, as the after waves of your orgasm still rolled through you. You grabbed a condom from the complementary basket nearby and rolled it onto his tip expertly before sinking yourself down on him. 

“D-D you feel better now?” He asked, hands gripping the fat of your thighs as tightly as he'd gripped his pants earlier. 

“Yes, Doctor Reid!” you said, your bounces sloppy as you stretched yourself around his dick. 

He wasn't overly long or ridiculously thick. It was like you'd stumbled into the Goldilock fairy tale, because you'd found the cock that fit you just right. 

Your brain short-circuited after your all too fast orgasm, and you moaned pathetically, almost grumpily as you failed to keep up the stamina. 

You know better, Daddy. I can't stand it ‘cause you put me down.

As if noticing your distress, Spencer stood slightly, using a nearby table to balance out your additional weight, and finally lowered you onto it. You'd taken no notice of it in the past, but you now thanked the heaven that the table was sturdy and roughly cock height, as he began thrusting into you with just the right speed. 

The clock struck six as he licked his fingers again and played with your clit once again, and with a sharp jerk of your hips, your cunt tightened around him and began milking his cock. 

He came with a groan, though admittedly one quieter than your own. 

I put a spell on you.

With a wet pop, his cock exited you, and he quickly went to work discarding the used condom. You tried to sit up quickly, and were surprised you could manage even that much, as you shimmied back into your wet dress. 

“Apology accepted,” you said, as he turned back to you, put together once again. 

You turned to leave, but he caught your waist and spun you back around to him. His lips were on yours in a second. 

His tongue was hot and thick as it opened your mouth, exploring every inch as he forced you to submit once more. When you pulled back, his hand lightly grazed up the side of your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Yeah. You too. Your apology.”

You couldn't help but let out a giggle as he walked you back toward the door, almost pinning you there for a round two. 

“You really thought I was a nurse?”

“It was dark.”

You gave him another peck on the cheek and pulled away, gaining the respectable distance from your customer aa you re-emerged from the private room. 

“I get off at 7,” you whispered yo him finally, before making your way back to the bar. 

Your doctor sat himself down and waited for the clock to strike 7. 

[distantdarlings]

HAVE ME // t. nott

RATING: R / 4.8K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* When you are paired with Cormac McClaggen for a mid-semester project, he takes it as an opportunity to shoot his shot. However, despite your numerous rejections, he doesn't seem to want to let up. That is until Theo gets involved.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT, depictions of violence (a small fight, specifically), blood described very briefly, Cormac is hitting on reader and won't leave them alone, language, oral sex (perf. on reader), kissing, dom!Theo, fem reader, not proof-read

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Hotel - Montell Fish

---

The chatter around the classroom slowly dwindled as Professor Snape silently slipped through the door of his office. Everyone was waiting patiently for the results of his decision from yesterday. He mentioned that the mid-semester project would be partnered rather than solo. To you, that was bad news, but to others in the class, it was good. You worked best when you didn’t have to sort out the ideas getting bounced around aloud. But if you had to work with a partner, please let it be someone halfway decent.

“So,” Snape starts, “I have here the list of partners for the mid-semester project. As a reminder, you will be handling very toxic materials, so for the sake of all of our time, be careful with them.” His expression hinted at boredom, despite the unfortunate things he was referencing. Last year, someone nearly lost a hand with this project, and—to be quite honest—that was one of the reasons you were so excited about it. You liked the challenge and, even better, overcoming it. But you couldn’t do that with a shitty partner. Your fingers crossed beneath your open notebook.

“Malfoy with Weasley, Berkshire with Granger,” he began listing the names. Your hips shifted uncomfortably. He was pairing everyone with the opposite house. Surely he’d grant you some mercy with how well you’d been doing in this class?

“—Nott with Finnigan—” Your thoughts were briefly interrupted as Theodore’s name was called. That was an interesting pairing; however, you knew that Potions was one of Theo’s strong suits, and, granted they worked well together, the both of them would successfully keep their eyebrows intact. 

Your eyes found the older boy, tracing over every line on his face. You were friends, pretty good friends. His whole group of Slytherins were friendly with you, really. But there was something about him that had shocked you to your core from the first night you’d met him and started chatting at the Sorting ceremony when the both of you were eleven. He was quite literally one of the most attractive people you’d ever seen, and it seemed like he knew it too. The way he held himself down to the way he communicated with people, he just knew he was alarmingly alluring. 

He had a way of staring right into your eyes when you spoke to him, almost to the point it felt as if he was reading your mind. No matter what, he’d give you his full attention, even more so than his other friends, it seemed. Maybe you had always imagined it, but if you called his name, he was there. He would be waiting with his ear next to your lips, eager to hear what you had to say, no matter how you were feeling. Perhaps it was cliche, but you felt as though you could tell him anything, and you did. 

His eyes found yours suddenly. His lips parted into a crooked smile, his dazzling white teeth peeking through slightly. You returned the action, raising your eyebrows in an amused fashion at his partner for the project. He shrugged, the smile never leaving his face. He pointed at you and mouthed, ‘You’re coming up.’ You rolled your eyes and laughed silently as you brushed him off. You were laughing, but, in all seriousness, this wasn’t a comedic matter. Your Potions grade was potentially on the chopping block here, and you were getting nervous. Snape didn’t grade depending on who did what; he simply graded on the project's legitimacy. You could do this by yourself, but if whomever your partner ended up being fucks it up, you both were screwed. And, on top of it all, you would have to work with a Gryffindor, someone you likely barely knew. Perfect. 

Your name perked your ears as Snape paused for a moment, trying to decipher his own handwriting. Merlin, was he trying to tease you? You glanced around, wondering who hadn’t been selected yet. You hadn’t been paying attention. “Ah! With McClaggen.”

Your heart sank. You turned to glance over your shoulder at the showy Gryffindor sitting in the back corner of the classroom. He sent a wink and a small smirk your way, to which you replied by quickly turning back around. Did the universe hate you? It must. That was the only answer. Shit.

“Get to work,” he instructed, returning to his office and firmly shutting the door behind him. You weighed out the options in your head on how angry Snape would be if you asked to switch partners. You were sure he picked them for a reason…or maybe he didn’t? Merlin, help. Should you even bother with this? Maybe you could convince McClaggen to let you do all the work. He could sit patiently by and be quiet.

The classroom bustled gently as students were standing and finding their partners. Small groans echoed as everyone paired up. Apparently, you weren’t the only one that disliked your partner. Usually, you wouldn’t have expected Professor Snape to have paired Gryffindors with Slytherins. Who knew? Maybe he was trying something new.

You hid a wince and got to your feet. You collected your notebook and school bag and made your way over to the smirking boy. His hands were placed cockily behind his head, and one leg rested, crossed over the other. He maximalized every bit of space he took up, like a peacock. You repressed a groan and sat down in the seat next to him, neatly spreading your things out. 

“Well, hello,” he cooed. “I don’t think I’ve spoken with you before.”

“I don’t think so either,” you chuckled nervously, eyes finding the back of Theo’s head. He sat towards the front of the classroom, partnered with the clumsy Gryffindor. You wondered if he was having the same doubts you were. As if on beat, his head turned and made eye contact with you. He hid a smile at your current predicament and gave you a small wave with his fingers. You rolled your eyes and, with the hand farthest from McClaggen, pretended to choke yourself with it. Theo laughed aloud before turning back around when his partner tapped his shoulder.

“What’s so funny?” your partner asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Nothing,” you smiled, “how about we get started?”

Most of the class period was spent discussing the potion the two of you wanted to brew. The assignment was to pick one of the most difficult potions to brew and to make and document the experience successfully. All of the potions you were to choose from were in the very last chapter of your textbook, and the two of you flipped through the pages, unsure. 

Every so often, Cormac (you’d learned his first name was) would point at something on one of the pages and scoot ever so closer to you. He was so close now you could smell the peppermint candy he swished around his mouth. His arm rested alongside the back of your chair, and you were…immensely uncomfortable. Your back straightened so as not to come into contact with his arm. 

Throughout this whole experience, you’d glance Theo looking back at the two of you every so often and wonder if you could signal him to distract the boy. It wasn’t that you felt threatened; you just wish he’d back the hell up. If you had a personal bubble, it had long since combusted. His face was so close to yours, and no matter how far you leaned away, he’d get closer. Finally, you’d had enough.

“Cormac,” you laughed nervously. You placed one hand on his chest and slowly pushed him back toward his own seat. 

“What is it?” he asked. No matter what you did, that stupid smirk never failed.

“You are very close to me,” you explained, trying to remain as polite as possible. He shrugged and chuckled a bit, gaining on some of the space you’d placed between the two of you. 

��Well, that’s because I want to get closer to you,” he said. 

“Uh, no,” you tittered, “that’s okay. Let’s just do the project.” You tapped the textbook and pretended to immerse yourself back in the information, hoping he’d let it lie. He didn’t. His arm wrapped back around your chair, and your eyes slipped close in exasperation. 

“Cormac, please—”

“What? Don’t you want to get to know each other before we do a project together?” he asked, scooting closer yet again.

“No, I really don’t. I just want to get this done.” His face resumed its previous proximity to yours. He smirked at the closeness and you sighed, turning your face away from his, begging Theo to glance back again.

“Oh, I see…is he your boyfriend?” Cormac asked. Your face shot back to his.

“What? No! He’s just a friend,” you said.

“That was a very quick, rushed answer,” he laughed, “but if you say so, that’s even better for me—”

“Please, let’s just do the assignment,” you pleaded, “I’m really not interested.”

“Not even for a trip to Hogsmeade?”

“No, not really, you’re not my type.” You glanced back at Theo. He was finally looking back. Only this time, his eyes were locked on the boy beside you, with his face so close to yours. His eyes gleamed blood red, and his jaw clenched tightly. Your eyebrows furrowed, begging him to intervene somehow. If Cormac wasn’t too embarrassed to shoot his shot in the middle of class, surrounded by his peers, you were almost positive he’d continue to harass you outside of the classroom. Maybe even when the two of you were alone, and he might not let up at that point.

“What is your type?” he asked. “Brooding assholes in Slytherin?” He said this part a bit louder, making direct eye contact with Theo. You could feel the tension building slightly, and did your best to diffuse the situation. You partially blocked their gaze of each other.

“Please don’t say that about him.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t your boyfriend. Why are you defending him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, but he is my friend, and I’d like you not to call him names,” you spoke sternly, eyes hardening on the boy. He was plucking the last strings of your patience. 

“Fine, I will—” you nodded at his promise “—if you let me take you to dinner.”

The bell signalling the end of class interrupted the conversation. Thank Merlin. You quickly gathered your things together and shoved them into your bag, praying he’d just drop the subject and let you move on with your day. You’d figure out a way to deal with him later. For right now, you just wanted to get your free period started as soon as possible. He stood right when you did. You ignored him and made for the exit, walking as quickly as looked natural.

You were the first out of the classroom and down the hall, trying your best to get away from him without completely abandoning Theo. A hand grabbed your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. It roughly spun you around, yanking a yelp from your throat. You stood before Cormac, who had a sinister look on his face. 

“You never answered me,” he said. “Let me take you to dinner…”

“No, Cormac, I don’t want to go,” you said, attempting to wrestle yourself out of his iron grip. What about your thousand answers was he not grasping? 

“Let go of me.” His hand did not release you, and it did not seem like he intended to, either. You slipped your hand between his and your shoulder, trying to edge it off. He made a sound of endearment before attempting to slide a hand around your hips. You squealed and squirmed away from him, trying to prevent him from wrapping his arms farther around you.

“Hey!” A voice shouted. The both of you began to turn, but before Cormac could get his head fully pivoted, a hand appeared on his shoulder and yanked him away from you. It was Theo, and he appeared to be fuming. His jaw was tightly clenched, and his eyes were wild.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, McClaggen?” he demanded. “She said no, you dick!”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business. She said you weren’t her boyfriend,” the younger laughed meanly, poking him roughly in the chest. You winced at the contact. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he hissed, pushing the boy back from him. Cormac stumbled a few steps before regaining his footing. It appeared he was as surprised as everyone else was at the sudden hostility. Cormac laughed cockily. 

He raised a hand and swung his fist at Theo as hard as he could, getting a good hit in. Theo’s head jerked to the side from the force of the punch, and you gasped sharply, hands shooting to cover your mouth in shock. Natural instincts told you to jump back, but you rushed toward Theo, who pushed you back gently behind him, squeezing your arm firmly. It didn’t hurt, but you knew it meant to stay put. 

“Come on, Slytherin!” Cormac shouted. “Show me what your reject house is made of!”

A crowd of other students had begun to gather around the two boys, curious to see what all of the commotion was. Adrenaline pumped through your veins like ice water as you watched Theo approach the other boy, cocking his arms and wringing any stiffness out of them. 

Before you could feel the exhalation of breath leave your body, Theo swung his arm at the boy, cracking him hard across the jaw. As if in slow motion, Cormac fell back and hit the ground with a hard thud. You imagined his tailbone would be quite bruised tomorrow morning. 

Theo fell down on top of the boy, legs resting on either side of his hips, and wailed on him. Fist after fist hit the boy’s face, pushing more and more blood out of him. You screamed in shock as you realized Theo had no intention of stopping. Around the same time you did, everyone else did too. They began throwing shouts of concern and pressing in on the two boys. Everybody loved a good fight now and then but nobody wanted to see someone get killed. 

Yet, nobody put their hands on Theo for fear of being in the same predicament as Cormac currently was. That was, until Enzo and Mattheo ran up behind the crowd. You heard them ask if that was Theo.

“Enzo!” you shouted his name, waving over the crowd. His eyes quickly found yours and in seeing the distress on your face, began weaving through the crowd. Mattheo quickly followed suit. 

When they breached the barrier of the crowd, their eyes widened, and they made for their friend. They grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away from the poor boy, his face a mangled mess. You looked away quickly, not wanting to see the damage that had been done in your favor.

Once pulled away, a gathering of students ran over to Cormac and covered him with a wall of their protection, trying to see if they could help him somehow. You turned to Theo, who was breathing heavily, a single dripping of blood pouring from his nose. You turned to the bottom of your uniform shirt, found the edge of the seam, and tore a small section of it. You could get a replacement sometime later.

You approached the boy with a murderous gaze and gently pressed the piece of shirt beneath his nose. He flinched slightly but never looked away from Cormac. Maybe that hadn’t been for you, and he’d just wanted to beat Cormac’s ass—which is understandable, but still. You weren’t totally sure why he did it.

“Theo?” you spoke gently. His glare didn’t waver. The fingers pressing the material against his bloodied nose tilted his face carefully to look at you. His eyes found yours, softening slightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his chest heaving. “I couldn’t stand him touching you like that.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured. He didn’t seem convinced. How he looked at you with such concern and worry made you wonder if he thought you were mad at him. You shook your head at the question running through your mind. Obviously, he didn’t know what you had been thinking, but you hoped he’d understand somehow. 

You helped Enzo and Mattheo pull him to his feet and escort him away from the crowd before any of the professors showed up. Speaking of which, they likely should have been out here by now. 

As you helped the boys guide Theo toward the Slytherin common room, you were careful to avoid any obvious eyes that raced past them to see what the aftermath of the commotion was. Hopefully, nobody would notice them and they could deal with the whole situation later. The group turned the corner and stopped before the entrance to the dorm room. Enzo announced the password, and the lot of you headed inside, pulling Theo up the stairs and into the boys’ dorm room. He pulled away from them suddenly and sat on his bed.

“Alright, alright, I’m okay!” he declared. “I just got a sock to the jaw; my legs weren’t broken.”

“They’re just trying to help, Teddy,” you whispered, trying to place the cloth back on his nose that had started up its intermittent spurting again. He sighed and gently grabbed your wrist, holding it away from his face. He was never rough with you, despite how angry he was.

“I’m fine, I’m just wound up, I don’t need any of you to—”

“Nonsense,” you interrupted him. “Mattheo, Enzo, would the two of you mind running down to the hospital wing and asking Madam Pomfrey if she has anything to stop the bleeding. It’s not excessive, but it’s messy.”

“Is there not a spell or something like that?” Mattheo asked, clearly concerned for his friend.

“Not one that I know off the top of my head. Would you just go ask her, please?” you repeated yourself. The two boys seemed to hesitate but eventually worked their way out of the room with their destination in mind. Once they were gone, your eyes turned back to Theo’s. An amused glint lay suspended in his eyes.

“‘Nothing that comes to mind?’” he smirks. “If a spell comes to my mind and not yours, the world must be upside down.” You conceal a laugh. You knew a spell. You knew multiple healing spells, but you wanted Mattheo and Enzo out of the room for a second. You just wanted to speak with Theo about what had happened. 

“I’m sorry I lied to your friends,” you said. “But I really wanted to talk with you privately, and I didn’t want to wait.” His eyes keep a tight hold on yours. You swallow thickly. 

“Okay, what is it?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Anxiety pools in your stomach as you realize you hadn’t really planned anything to say. You wanted to know why Theo had done what he did and if it was for or because of you. Cormac had been bothering you, yes, but it could have just been that Theo really disliked him and wanted to intervene. 

“Why did you do that?” you ask. Probably the worst way you could have asked that, but it was what came out. You might as well own it at this point. 

“Do what?” he mused.

“Why did you stop Cormac?”

“That feels like a dumb question. He was laying his hands on you without your permission.”

“Would you have done that for anyone, though?” you stuttered through your interrogation.

“I suppose not….why do you ask?” he asked, the smirk never leaving his face. Your eyes fell down to his lips suddenly, noticing that there was a small amount of dried blood stained across them. A small gasp left your lips as you reached your hand out. You didn’t think through any of the following movements; you just allowed your body to do as it pleased. Your fingers gently cradled his jaw, and your thumb swiped slowly over his lips, collecting the bit of staining as it crossed. Your eyes found him again, and you realized he was intently watching you. His eyes were softened by hunger. The way they traveled down to your lips, his lips parting as he found yours, his hands clenching by his side. It sent a chill down your spine. 

“Theo,” you breathed. You could not pull your eyes away from his swollen lips. You wanted so badly to learn their taste and memorize it for eternity. Just one kiss and you could be satisfied for the rest of your days. 

“I kicked Cormac’s ass because he was laying his hands on you, and I have been desperate to do that for years…,” he whispered. “The difference between him and I, though? I ask permission.” A glimpse of a chuckle spreads over his lips, and you feel your stomach blush with heat. As if he could feel it happen to you, his nose bumped softly against yours, igniting the heat and transforming it into a flame. 

“I want you so bad,” he whispered, the air skimming your lips. “Please let me have you.”

“Have me, Teddy.” Your response was final. His hands gripped each side of your face firmly and pressed your lips together. Heat and light and everything in between exploded into your stomach, sending shocks of love into your heart. You could have melted on the spot, and you nearly did, if it weren’t for Theo wrapping one arm tightly around your waist and holding you up.

His tongue slid over your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You granted him access to every part of you with no push-back. All you wanted was to feel him everywhere and never to lose that feeling ever again. 

The both of his hands pushed around the back of your thighs and pulled them to either side of his bent knees. He settled you neatly onto his lap, you straddling his thighs against the bed. The action sent a lightning bolt of pleasure directly to your core as the space between his thighs urged gently against you. You sighed against his mouth, entangling your fingers into his hair. 

Everything about him was overwhelming. His smell, his taste, and his touch had you gasping for air. You had never realized how much you truly wanted him until this very moment. Without so much as a breath, he cradled your back with one hand and stood from his bed, lifting the two of you into the air. You squeaked from the sudden movement but relaxed instantly when he settled you against his bed. 

His lips detached from yours and quickly made alliance with your jaw and then your neck. His head worked down the frame of your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every sliver of skin he could find. When he reached the waistline of your uniform skirt, he tapped his finger twice against the spot where your shirt was tucked in. You nodded so quickly, it was almost pathetic. He smirked and slipped his hands between the materials. He tugged your shirt out and began laying the same types of kisses over your bare stomach. You groaned at the feeling, noticing the ardor he placed into each press of his lips. You felt worshipped and it was addicting.

His eyes flicked up to find yours as he slowly pushed himself farther down, placing himself just in front of your core. Without question, your legs began to spread for him, allowing him access to anything he wanted. You just needed to feel him; you didn’t care what he did. 

Your eyes found his face once more and scanned over the entirety of it. A deep, sinister glance rested in his eyes, holstering a lust so dark, it almost frightened you. His lips were slightly parted in a teasing, smirking way, just waiting to place themselves against you once more. And his nose had…oh, it had begun to bleed again. You reached down and swiped your thumb beneath it, pushing the excess discharge away. A small twinge of guilt hit you again at the thought of Theo getting himself hurt for you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, frowning at the sight before you.

“You never have to apologize to me,” he breathed, “you are perfect.” And with that, he’d flipped the edge of your skirt over your legs and sunk his face between them. His tongue found your core before you could even get a word out. A breathless moan spilled from your lips as your spine arched off the bed. Your hands immediately pushed down to wrap themselves in his curls, savoring every single swipe of his tongue. 

“So fucking good,” he moaned against you, the vibrations sending messages up to your very brain. You quaked beneath the feeling, your thighs shaking against the boy’s hold on them. It was nearly becoming too much. You weren’t going to last much longer. If he wanted to do something, he’d better get to it.

“Theo, I’m…c—”

“Not yet, baby,” he whispered, pressing two chaste kisses to the inside of your thighs. You could feel the wetness spread across his lips and chin smear against your flesh. You shuddered at the sensation. It definitely should not have turned you on as much as it just did. “I want it on my tongue.”

He separates himself from you and slides his hands beneath the crook of your knees. With a firm grip, he yanks you to the edge of the bed, where your hips are lying just over the curve. His hands find your hips and flip you over onto your stomach, careful to avoid hurting you in any way. Ever so gentle.

You could hear him kneel down again behind you. Your thighs shook in anticipation just before he pressed his lips back to you. His tongue swirled across you in the most delicate of motions, drawing every sound possible from your lips. Your fingers gripped the sheets as each of his movements drew you closer to the edge. You might finish any second. 

“Hey-o!” Mattheo’s voice came from just outside the door. You jumped up and glanced back at Theo as the both of you separated as fast as possible. Theo came up to sit beside you on the bed and made quick work of wiping his mouth off on his sleeve. You pulled your skirt back over your legs and stood at attention, waiting for the two boys to enter. Damn it. You had been so close. 

The two boys walked in, clutching a small vial of liquid. Mattheo raised it to show the two of them, both of whom quickly nodded, smiling innocently. Surely, they wouldn’t suspect anything of the two of you. You’d never really expressed any feelings toward the other before now. At least not publicly.

“Where do you want this?” Mattheo asked.

“If you would just take it to the bathroom, we’re headed in there so they can help me clean up the rest of the way.” Both of the other boys nodded and headed back out the way they came, moving toward the group bathroom. 

Just as they left, Theo slipped his hand beneath your skirt and traced his fingers along you, allowing one to insert itself to its hilt. You gasped sharply, trying your best to mute the sound. His hand began to pump against you, slowly rising in speed as he hit that perfect spot each time with ease. The sounds spilling from your lips became less and less controlled as he pushed you towards the edge, keeping you standing tall and refusing to let you lay back down on the bed.

“Come like this, baby,” he whispered. “Quickly, before they get back.” His finger pressed deeply up into you one last time, bruising the soft spot and forcing a rushing finish down on you. Your lips parted in a shocked moan as the proof of your end slipped down around Theo’s fingers. He worked you through the entirety of it, never tiring and never halting. He could do this all day. 

The sound of his friends heading back toward the dorm room pushed the two of you apart once again. Only this time, Theo had a telling, lustful expression imprinted on his face, and the remains of your ecstasy were still painted across his fingers. You swiped a hand between your thighs in an attempt to clean yourself off and brushed any concerns from Mattheo or Enzo off. The ‘Are you okay?’ and the ‘You guys look weird’ had nothing on the steel resolve the both of you kept planted on your faces. If Theo could fight someone for you, you could fight the urge to tell his friends he’d just let you fuck his face while they were out running an errand. Oh well, such is life. You laughed to yourself. 

[wistfulnightingale]

The Night That Changed an Angel (or, why does Aziraphale still wear that shabby vest?)

Mini-Meta Musing (#4)

I've been brooding for a long time about, of all things, Aziraphale's worn velvet vest and the long cream jacket he's kept in "tip top condition for over 180 years now." I love the sweet familiarity, but this is the same angel who popped across the Channel and almost lost his fluffy-topped head in 1793 for dressing like an aristocrat.

"I have standards!"

He's the height of elegance, extravagance even. A dandy. We've seen the same at the Globe Theater 1601, Edinburgh 1827, and even as a Knight of the Round Table in 527 Essex, where he's wearing a glorious pelt across his shoulders! However, sometime after Edinburgh 1827, Aziraphale's stylish extravagance ends. He adopts the dress of distinguished but modest gentility. No seamstresses strain their eyes for days hand stitching ruffles and trims for him any longer. When we next see him in 1862, his clothing is refined, simple, and serviceable. It becomes his uniform, with only minor replacements. Why? What happened to change him?

Edinburgh 1827 happened. And his encounter with tragedy ran over his sensibilities like a locomotive.

Aziraphale had, we were told, saved his earnings over time and had bought land, invested wisely, and became quite well off. He used real money, not miracles, to build the bookshop, paying the builders well and taking care of bills honestly. He built himself up to a more than comfortable lifestyle, from nearly nothing. And his clothes are real, not miracled from nothingness like Crowley's. (source: original showrunner)

Aziraphale's wealth allows him to afford luxurious tailoring and fancy shoes and ruffles and trims. He'll certainly pay the cobblers and tailors and seamstresses well for their labors. It will be a substantial expense for the era. (The linked post gives a wonderful perspective on 1793 lifestyles and costs.)

https://agoodflyting.tumblr.com/post/753227014283083776/why-aziraphales-white-satin-pumps-are-ridiculous

The angel's Edinburgh multilayered and trimmed top coat, soft leather gloves, matching scarf, jacquard vest, silk cravat, etc., look entirely out of place in the back alleys where the poor huddle. Walking the clean, gas-lit avenues with Crowley and Elspeth, Aziraphale is oblivious to the privilege he has in this world.

As he strolls along in philosophical banter with Crowley about the "blessing" of poverty, the angel spouts trite pontifications created by the rich to justify poverty. He genuinely believes Elspeth has more opportunities for goodness.  After all, look at Wee Morag.  He respects her goodness tremendously.  It proves to him his “rightness.”  And so he sabotages Elspeth’s attempt to sell the body she dug up in her attempt to support Wee Morag.  Dalrymple gets no body, Elspeth gets no money, and Aziraphale believes he’s saving her soul.

It’s a poignant moment, though, when Aziraphale cradles the jar containing a tumor from a seven year old child who died because there wasn’t enough medical knowledge to save him.  Turning point number one.  It becomes Real, not a philosophical debate.  Selling stolen bodies puts good in the world.  He’s all for it now, and goes back to encourage Elspeth.  Good heavens, he’s even willing to help this time!

But, as we know, it all goes wrong.  Wee Morag is shot by a grave gun, and dies of her injuries.  Elspeth steals laudanum, and plans suicide.  Crowley drinks the laudanum, saves her in a compassionate Scottish frenzy, and is stolen away by hell because of his kindness.   And it is All. Aziriphale’s. Fault.

Turning point number two.  Another watershed moment where Aziraphale’s world changes again.

One of Crowley’s last earthly acts, before getting plunged into hell, is to have Aziraphale give Elspeth all of his pocket money.  What is pocket money to the angel is a fortune to her, one that can set her up for a better life.  I have no doubt that in the aftermath of the traumas of that night, missing and worrying about Crowley, Aziraphale thinks about all of this.  He considers all of the money he casually spends on fine clothing and expensive tailoring.  He wonders how many lives could change if that money was better spent on helping to relieve the poverty that surrounds him.  He wants to help, and to try to make amends for the harm he caused.  What would Crowley do, if he were free to be kind? And so Aziraphale changes.

I’d love to know the story of how it all played out.  Did he sell his fine clothing and donate the proceeds?  Did he become involved in charitable foundations?  Did he buy the clothing of a simple gentleman and decide to preserve it, however worn it became, as a reminder to himself of his past blindness and vanity?  We see in Season 1 how important it is to him to preserve that coat. (Sure, it's also a fantastic opportunity to flirt and flutter those angelic eyelashes... But, nonetheless!)

By Season 2, the angel who took too long justifying a life-saving miracle for Wee Morag, and who hesitated to give Elspeth his 90 Guineas, willingly and freely gave Maggie forgiveness for thousands of pounds of debt. I'd love to know what else he's done over the last 180+ years!

Whatever happened, it began that night in a graveyard.

[stllmnstr]

all the things I never said

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: childhood friends to lovers

word count: 7.3k

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, heeseung is so romantic I want to die a little, a kiss that gets quite heated, this is very much unedited

note: happy (almost) Heeseung day! I hope you enjoy this little romantic take on childhood friends to lovers ♡

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Lee Heeseung has a secret.

It’s scribbled on a forgotten note, tucked away in a bottom drawer, carved with a shaky hand into the aging wood of his childhood treehouse. 

Sometimes, on cloudless nights, he looks up at the stars and tells them what he’s been hiding for so long. In response, the midnight sky twinkles in a way that looks all too much like laughter. 

On afternoons in late autumn, Heeseung whispers the truth to the wind and watches as it’s carried away with an array of dead leaves. 

A million little gestures. A thousand tiny moments that are inconsequential on their own. But when pieced together, string a story so obvious he’s not sure if his heart could ever handle it. 

But he’s not sure what would happen, if he shouted at the top of his lungs instead of confiding the world around him in hushed whispers. 

He’s a firm believer in balance and is terribly afraid that letting words drip from his tongue would only spell disaster.

So for now, he lets Mother Nature serve as his only confidant and hopes that she’ll keep her vows of silence.

There was a time, not all too long ago, when his secret wasn’t, well, a secret. When he used to speak freely and honestly without a fear of the future, without anxiety of repercussions.

But all secrets have their reasons, and all stories have a beginning.

For Heeseung, both begin on a rather ordinary afternoon in early summer nearly twelve years ago. 

…

Heeseung’s right palm is annoyingly sweaty. So much so that the shaky grip on his pencil is in danger of being lost. 

Half of his attention is directed towards the front of the classroom, where his fourth grade teacher reiterates the guidelines for the upcoming solar system project.

The other half is trained directly on the small white note currently clutched between Mina’s fingers. 

Even at nine, Heeseung knows she’s a terrible gossip that can’t be trusted. Just earlier today, she spent all of morning recess hounding poor Jake about his supposed crush on her best friend. She was unrelenting, no matter how fervently Jake denied the accusation or how crimson his cheekbones turned.

Unfortunately for Heeseung, she also sits directly between you and him. A particular stroke of cruelty on Mrs. Kim’s part, in Heeseung’s opinion, but the desk arrangement of his fourth grade classroom is the least for his worries at this point.

He swallows. A bead of sweat forms at the edge of his hairline. Late May has tumbled into his hometown with an unseasonable warmth, but that’s not the reason for his perspiration this afternoon.  

With an audible swallow, he locates the paper in his peripheral vision. 

Still clutched between Mina’s fingers. 

Mrs. Kim has turned her back at least three times since he handed the note off with very clear directions about who to give it to. There’s no reason Mina should still be turning it over between her sticky fingers.

Unless…

No. Heeseung won’t assume the worst. Not when it took him nearly the entire school year to work up the courage. 

With one final repetition of the project due date, Mrs. Kim slides off of her chair at the front of the room and walks to her desk tucked away in the opposite corner.

Heeseung’s heart skips a beat.

It’s the perfect opportunity, a golden window.

He glances at Mina, half terrified, half excited.

This is it. The moment he’s been waiting for. The moment he’s been mustering up courage for over the past six months. 

He’s doing it. It’s happening. It’s really happening.

And then, all at once, his excitement starts to transform. Starts to turn into dread before it morphs into worry. 

“Uh, Mrs. Kim?” It’s Mina’s voice. And Heeseung knew she liked to spread rumors, but he didn’t think that would extend to their teacher. 

Heeseung is panicking, trying to figure out a way to save face, to avoid the detention that is sure to come with the classroom crime of passing notes. 

Mrs. Kim looks up from her desk. Heeseung thinks he might pass out.

But then Mina says, “I don’t think ___ feels too good.”

For a moment, Heeseung basks in the relief of not having his secrets spilled in the middle of silent work time. But then, the words register. Form meaning in his mind. 

The loud screech of metal against linoleum rings out like a gunshot in the otherwise quiet classroom. Heeseung stands up from his seat with a ridiculous speech. It’s a miracle he didn’t know anything off his desk. And he didn’t mean to, not really, but he couldn’t see you around Mina sitting down.

At first glance, her appraisal seems to be correct. You’re pale, terribly so, and shaking slightly where you sit in your seat. 

Heeseung doesn’t realize his mistake until Mrs. Kim turns to look at him with a raised eyebrow and most of the class does the same. 

In the back corner, Jake and Sunghoon share a meaningful glance.

“Uh,” Heeseung stammers, “Sorry.” Red faced, he takes his seat again. This time, he’s more covert as he turns his gaze back to you. 

Mrs. Kim approaches your desk quickly. “Hi, Sweetie,” she greets in that voice she has reserved for scraped knees and other ailments. “Are you feeling okay?”

You shake your head. It’s a minuscule movement that Heeseung tracks intensely. 

Mrs. Kim lays a gentle hand across your forehead. “You’re burning up.” She frowns. “Why don’t you head down to the nurse? I’ll let her know you’re on your way.”

Again, you say nothing. The only response you give is a small nod as you gather the materials sprawled across your desk.

Heeseung watches, a little pathetically, as you place them carefully in your cubby before leaving through the door.

You do turn to look at him, just before you exit. When you find his eyes already trained on you, you give him a small smile.

Heeseung’s heart clenches. Whether in fear or anxiety or the same funny feeling that made him spill his heart in the note, he’s not entirely sure.

And then you’re gone. Heeseung makes a mental note to check in with you later, ride his bike the short distance between your neighborhoods and knock on your front door. Your mother is no stranger to his appearances at this point, after all. He won’t bug you, not if you’re resting. But he’ll check in on you, maybe bring you some tea or soup or flowers or whatever else grown ups always say is supposed to make you feel better when you’re sick. 

He’s so caught up in his sudden afternoon plans that he almost forgets the paper, the note, still sitting between Mina’s fingers. 

Oh well.

He’ll have to try another day, he supposes. It’s not fair to put anything else on your plate when you’re not feeling well.

Heeseung shifts in his seat, turns to ask Mina to just give him the note back. To his horror, she’s already begun to undo his careful folding. The kind of edges only someone who spends long afternoons doing origami with his grandmother could manage. 

“What are you doing?” Heeseung hisses, trying to shout without breaking a whisper.

Mina pays him no mind, swats the air like he’s nothing more than a buzzing fly. 

“Stop,” Heeseung pleads, “That’s not for y–”

But Mina doesn’t care. Much to his horror, she unfolds the note entirely, leaves it tucked discreetly beneath her desk.

Sparing one final glance at Mrs. Kim, she confirms that her attention is elsewhere. And then she reads it.

It’s unmistakable, the way her eyes scan over words that were never meant for her.

Heeseung has half a mind to cause another scene, stand up out of his seat again and snatch the note from her, detention be damned.

But it’s too late. The damage is done.

Mina turns to face him fully, a quizzical look pulling her brow downwards. She stares at him, eyes narrowed, appraising, as if this is the first time she’s seen him. 

And then she folds the note back up, tucks it away underneath her notebook. 

A million awful scenarios flash through Heeseung’s mind. Mina making copies of the note and distributing them to the entire class. Mina taking the note to Mrs. Kim and ratting him out. Mina making sure the entire school is privy to Heeseung’s secret before the day is done.

But in the end, he doesn’t need to worry about any of that. After an agonizing stretch of silent work time where Heeseung gets absolutely nothing done, Mina finds him outside the classroom at the water fountain. 

Heeseung is in the middle of downing a near concerning amount of lukewarm fountain water when she walks up next to him.

Lifting his head, Heeseung wipes the spare drops from his mouth.

“Here,” Mina hands him the note. She tried to fold it back up, but it was clearly done with inexperienced hands. The lines are no longer crisp, the edges no longer sharp. His work has been tainted.

“I…” Heeseung starts. Should he thank her? Beg her not to tell anyone? Plead with her not to tell you? 

Ultimately, he doesn’t need to. Mina cuts him off before he can get another word out.

“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

Heeseung will believe it when he sees it, but maybe, just maybe, Mina will actually keep a secret to herself this time. 

Heeseung exhales a sigh of relief, tension draining from his shoulders. The victory is short lived.

“You shouldn’t give that to her, though.”

Heeseung balks, freezing for a moment. “What?”

“That note.” Mina nods towards the item in question, clutched between Heeseung’s white knuckles. “Don’t give it to ___.”

Heeseung’s brow furrows. He can’t decide whether he should be angry or confused. This was never meant to be something for Mina to pass judgment on. If he wanted her two cents, he would have asked. 

Still, he asks, “Why?”

Mina sighs, looks at him like he’s an orphaned panda in the local zoo. “Because she likes Jay, not you. Everyone knows about it. She gave him a Kit Kat on Valentine’s Day when everyone else just got a Hershey Kiss, and everyone knows that Kit Kats are better. Plus, she–”

Heeseung doesn’t hear the rest of it. It’s as if he’s suddenly been submerged in icy water. Frozen in his body as the world around him is muffled to a dull, indecipherable hum. His heart drops to his stomach; the world spins on its axis.

Jay. 

Jay?

Jay?

Heeseung likes Jay. He’s smart and kind and can play the guitar, which Heeseung can’t deny is incredibly cool. Too cool. So, painfully cool, and you must think so too. 

Heeseung wants to cry a little bit. Wants to scream. Wants to eat his feelings and his words and his incomplete confession until there’s nothing left of them and this whole terrible day is nothing but a faded, forgotten memory. 

Instead, he turns away from Mina mid-sentence and takes robotic steps back into the classroom. Slides down into his seat like he’s in a trance. Finished out the school day with his head in the clouds.

You don’t return to class. Heeseung assumes that you went home straight from the nurse’s office. 

And when Mrs. Kim catches him at the door and asks if he’d be willing to bring your backpack to you, all he can do is give a miserable, dejected nod. 

Mrs. Kim has the tact to not say anything, but she does notice. Especially since he’s usually jumping out of his seat at the opportunity to do anything remotely revolving you. 

She watches with a frown as he exits through the classroom door, head hung and shoulders slumped. Your backpack dangling uselessly between his fingers. 

The air outside is warm, uncharacteristically so for late May. But now it’s choking with something too. A humidity that clings to skin and feels foreboding, especially with the way clouds begin to gather overhead. 

Heeseung is halfway to your house when the rain begins. It’s thick, heavy, unforgiving in the way summer showers always are. 

When he dismounts his bike at the edge of your driveway, he’s in such a hurry to get your things to you before they’re soaked through that he doesn't notice the small, white paper that falls out of his pocket with the motion. 

Just as he predicted, your mother greets him at the door. She’s thankful for your school things and mildly horrified at the dripping wet child on her doorstep. She offers him a towel and a ride home in her car, both of which Heeseung declines politely. 

By the time he finishes the ride home, he is well and truly soaked. He’s grateful, at least, for the way rain disguised the singular tear track that stains his left cheek.

And later than night, dry and warm and alone, he lets one more tear fall. Laying against his pillow, it’s warm where it gathers in the corner of his eye, salty as it breaches the barrier of his top lip.

And then he makes a decision. Despair will do him no good, and it’s not like anything has changed, not really. 

It’s you that he values, your presence and your friendship and your smiles. He won’t lose those things, even if you save all your Kit Kats for Jay. Even if he has to banish the butterflies in his stomach and hope they don’t escape. Even if he has to pretend his heart doesn’t hurt a little every time he looks at you. 

But summer is coming soon and his year in fourth grade is nearly done. There are lots of things to look forward to, and you’ll still be just a short bike ride away. Even if your heart suddenly feels unreachable.

When Heeseung falls asleep that night, his sleep is dreamless and undisturbed.

And a handful of neighborhoods away, a small white piece of paper sinks to the bottom of a puddle. Soaked from the rain and worse for wear, the careful writing is nearly unintelligible. 

But if someone wanted to, if they really tried, they just might be able to make out the message. 

Dear ___, it reads.

I think you have the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen. I like the way your hair looks in the sun, and I’m glad we’re in the same class. I couldn’t decide how to tell you, so I think I’ll just write it here. I like you. I think you’re pretty and smart and nice and I like you a lot. Can I buy you ice cream at the shop at the end of your street? We can eat it together. :)

Sinceerly,

Sincerely,

Heeseung

…..

The early afternoon sun glints off the ocean in a way that’s almost blinding. Seated on a faded beach towel that’s more sand than fabric at this point, Heeseung readjusts his sunglasses. They sit on the bridge of his nose and do less to shield his wandering gaze than he thinks. 

He reaches for the tote bag a few feet away from him, hands in search of the extra strength sunscreen his mom packed two bottles of and reminded him no less than fifty times to reapply. Heeseung figures now’s as good a time as any to follow her instructions. He’s half afraid she’ll actually wring his neck if he comes back sunburnt with his first day of eighth grade just around the corner. 

Besides, the current object of his attention is down at the water’s edge. Heeseung thanks his lucky stars you’re too preoccupied with searching for seashells to watch as he slathers a ridiculously high SPF sunscreen all over his face.

Early August has been milder than late July, but the air is still heavy with a heat that’s almost oppressive. He has half a mind to join you in the water for a reprieve from the weather if nothing else. 

Despite himself, Heeseung’s eyes never stray far from you. Disaster of a fourth-grade confession aside, he likes to think he’s done a decent job of keeping his feelings close to his chest. Not that they’ve ever changed much, to be honest. 

He’s old enough now, far enough into the painfully awkward clutches of puberty to put more words to the way his heart always feels a little funny whenever you’re near. 

He has a crush. 

A high school, sweaty palm, awkward conversations at your locker between periods crush. 

But Heeseung is a master of disguise and this is no exception. For the last six years, he’s held up his side of your steady friendship with nothing outside the realm of platonic. 

Even if his gaze always tends to linger a little too long, even if he spends most of every middle school dance standing on the sidelines imaging you asking him to join you, even if he never has quite been able to look at Jay the same way, he’s happy to be your friend. Content in the comfortable routines between the two of you. The easy kind of closeness that comes with growing up with someone. 

For better or for worse, he knows you like the back of his hand. And you know him just as well. Besides the one secret he never can quite bring himself to divulge, that is. 

On a towel a few feet away, Sunghoon glances at Heeseung. Follows his gaze and is less than surprised to find that his lovesick puppy eyes are trained squarely on your shoulders. 

Sunghoon nudges Jake, wordlessly gesturing to Heeseung with a jerk of his chin. Jake follows the movement, traces the same line of sight Sunghoon noticed just moments ago. 

The two boys share a look and then an eye roll. 

It’s been the same old story since their shared days in Mrs. Kim’s fourth grade class, and Sunghoon is growing weary of witnessing this same old song and dance never reach any kind of conclusion. 

Sunghoon clears his throat. Heeseung doesn’t notice. 

A bit louder this time, Sunghoon says, “Hey, Heeseung.”

That finally gets his attention, even if it does take him a comically long time to take his eyes off of you. “Yeah?”

“You could, oh, I don’t know, just talk to her, you know.” 

“What?” Sunghoon can’t tell if his confusion is genuine or if he’s suddenly become a fantastic actor. “Who?”

“Is that a joke? ___. Who else?”

Heeseung’s brow furrows. “___?” He echoes. “I talk to her all the time. I invited her today.”

“Yeah, okay, but I mean really talk to her.”

“I don’t know how you think we communicate, but I did ‘really talk to her’ when I asked if she wanted to come to the beach t–”

Jake sighs. He’s not sure how much more of this he can take. “He’s saying you should tell her that you like her, idiot.” 

“What?” Heeseung splutters. “I don’t… I don’t like ____,” he insists in a way that is not at all convincing. 

“Right,” Sunghoon nods. “And I’m going to pass algebra with an A next semester.”

“We’re friends.” Despite himself, Heeseung glances at you again out of the corner of his eye. His stomach gives a very unfriendly flip, but the two boys next to him don’t need to know that. 

“I don’t get why you’re still so weird about it.” Sunghoon shakes his head. “You’ve literally been obsessed with her since, like, fourth grade.”

“Yeah,” Jake nods. “Remember that day she got sick in class and he nearly knocked his chair over because he stood up so fast—”

“I was worried about my friend,” Heeseung insists, desperate to change the topic. That day is a particularly sore memory for more than one reason. “I would have done the same for either of you.” 

“Uh, no thanks.” Sunghoon shakes his head. 

“I’ll pass too,” Jake agrees. “You can save all that lovesick shit for—” 

“Lovesick?” a voice interrupts. “Who’s lovesick?” 

Three sets of eyes turn to you, two colored in mild humor and one tinged with abject horror. 

Sunghoon reaches over with devious intent in his grin. Patting Heeseung on the shoulder, he responds, “Well, your friend Heeseung here—”

“Heard Jungwon talking about a new girl he met this summer.” Heeseung interjects desperately, pausing only to send his two friends a withering glare. “I guess he’s super into her.”

“Oh, really?” Oblivious to the sighs of frustration Sunghoon and Jake exchange, you slide down in the seat next to Heeseung. “Good for him. Between school and dance and taekwondo, I thought he’d always be too busy to meet someone.” 

Nudging the boy next to you, you add, “Kinda like someone else I know. I’m surprised you had time for the beach today with basketball starting so soon.”

In all honesty, he doesn’t. Heeseung should be at the court near his house right now, practicing layups. At the very least, he should be going for a run or getting some pre-season cardio in. 

But you’ve been mentioning wanting to go on one last trip to the beach before the school year starts for weeks now, and Heeseung has never been good at denying you much. Well, other than access to his real feelings, that is. 

Feigning a nonchalance he doesn’t feel, Heeseung shrugs. “I can take a day off every now and then.” 

“Oh, really?” You arch a brow. Because I heard that a certain someone asked you to the movies last week and you said you were too busy,”

For you. Heeseung should have clarified. I can take a day off for you.  

“What?” Sunghoon pipes up. “Who?”

“No one,” Heeseung grumbles. 

Rolling your eyes, you lean over him, angling your face towards Sunghoon conspiratorially. “Her name rhymes with Schmarina.”

“Dude!” This time, it’s Jake who slaps him on the shoulder. “Karina asked you out and you said no? Are you stupid?”

“No,” Heeseung protests. “She didn’t even ask me out. It wasn’t like that.”

“Mhmm.” Sarcasm drips from your voice. “That’s not what Mina said.”

That absolute gossip. “RIght, because you can always trust what Mina says.”

“Sunoo confirmed it too.”

“He’s just as bad!”

“Okay, okay.” You raise your hands in mock surrender. “I’ll drop it. But if she does ever ask you out, I think you should say yes.”

Heeseung forces his features into neutrality. Tries to conceal the fact that your words feel a little bit like a thousand knives stabbing him right in the heart. Ends up looking a little bit constipated. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you admonish. “She’s really sweet.”

Heeseung’s sure she is. He just doesn’t care. Karina could be the kindest, nicest, sweetest girl on planet earth and he would still find a reason to let her down gently. But he can’t exactly tell you that, not when it would only lead to more questions that he is not ready to answer. 

Instead, he just shrugs again. A non response. A hopeful end to the conversation. 

Luckily, you take his silence as a sign to divert, even if Jake and Sunghoon are still sitting flabbergasted right next to the two of you. 

“Speaking of basketball,” you redirect the subject. “I heard that East High’s team is supposed to be really strong this year.” They’re your high school’s biggest rival and the primary reason Heeseung spends so much of his free time on the court. They’re also the reason his coach is already giving speeches about the importance of winning this year’s opening game. 

“I figured you might need a little extra luck.”

Sunghoon chokes on a laugh. “C’mon, ____. Cut him some slack. He’s not that bad at basketball.”

“What?” You frown. “No, that’s not what I meant.” Turning back to Heeseung, you clarify. “I promise it’s not. I know you’re, like, insanely good. I just…” You trail off. Heeseung is too busy trying not to explode from the compliment to notice the way your cheeks go slightly pink. “I just saw this when I was down at the water.”

Hastily, you shove your outstretched palm beneath his nose. Encased in your hand is a fully intact, unblemished, perfectly round sand dollar. “It’s supposed to be good luck to find them unbroken,” you explain. “It made me think of you. Uh, I mean, of basketball,” you’re quick to amend. 

“Right,” Heeseung can barely hear you over the thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears. “For basketball.”

“For basketball,” you nod. 

But when his fingers accidentally brush the skin of your palm as he accepts your good luck charm, basketball is the last thing on his mind. 

And when he tucks the sand dollar into the bottom drawer of his dresser for safekeeping later that night, he finally lets the giant, unrestrained smile he’s been holding in all day take over his entire face. 

…..

Heeseung’s head is spinning. 

And maybe it’s the late summer heat or dregs of the too sweet wine cooler that are getting to him. But neither of those have the ability to fuck with him as much of the sight of you in a sundress does. 

A sundress. A real, proper, flowy, honest to god sundress. 

Heeseung doesn’t think he’s ever felt more insane in his life. 

It doesn’t help that this is the first time he’s seen you in months. Going from classmates to students at different universities has been a difficult transition to say the least. But your friendship has weathered a lot, and this is no exception. 

It doesn’t matter that the thoughts Heeseung is having right now are very much not friendly. He’s been dealing with those for the better part of a decade too. 

But it feels different tonight. 

You’re older. He’s older. The two of you have grown and changed and matured and the feelings he harbors have started to feel a little less like a crush. 

And a lot more like something with far more devastating consequences. 

You’ve always been pretty. The prettiest girl in the world in his eyes. 

But tonight, in the fading glow of another late sunset, looking at you is almost painful. 

Heeseung wishes for a lot of things. He wishes it was just the two of you here. Mostly because he can see Sunghoon and Jake making vulgar gestures in the background every time his gaze lingers on you a little too long. And that happens a lot. 

He wishes that he was a better friend. That he could give you the support and undivided attention and platonic love that you deserve. That he wasn’t always keeping it guarded behind his fear of revealing too much. Of ruining the best relationship he’s even built in his nineteen years of life. 

And sometimes, in his weaker moments, he wishes that he could go back to the fourth grade. He would tell Mina to give her opinion to someone that asked for it and give you that letter. He wonders if things would be different. How they would be different. 

In his favorite dreams, you returned his feelings, even back then. The two of you grew up skirting that line the way teenagers do. And then, when you were ready, it turned into something real. Something honest. Something he doesn’t have to hide. 

But in his moments of fear, Mina was right. Your attention was somewhere else and his note becomes nothing but an embarrassing memory. Something the two of you never overcome. Something that prevents you from forming friendship at all. 

That, Heeseung decides, no matter how much he might sometimes wish thing were different, will never be worth the risk. 

So he does what he always does. He keeps his feelings close to his chest and nurses another warm beer along with a wounded heart. 

Across the yard, Heeseung watches you laugh at something Jay says. It’s real laugh, the kind that makes your eyes twinkle and makes his head spin. 

Jay. He can’t help the way his grip tightens against the bottle in his hand. Who even invited him tonight? 

It’s not like anything ever came of Mina’s prediction. As far as he knows, you’ve never so much as given Jay another Kit Kat. But the sight of the two of you together still has an ugly green monster rearing its head. 

Eventually, the evening, as all evenings do, starts to draw to its inevitable end. 

You catch Heeseung’s eye across the yard just as everyone is bidding their farewells. Silently, you jerk your chin, motioning him over. 

Putty in your grip, Heeseung complies with no trace of resistance. 

When he finally reaches you, you don’t offer much of an explanation. Instead, you just motion for him to follow you again. 

“For old time’s sake,” is all you say. 

But it’s not much of a hint. After all, the two of you have memories scattered across this entire city. Tucked in alleys and street corners and shops. Safekept in all of your favorite childhood destinations. Forged in Heeseung’s memory. 

Finally, the two of you reach the edge of a small stretch of forest. A place the two of you used to visit whenever the rest of the world just felt like a little too much to bear. A place where you discovered the small treehouse you lead him to now. 

Wordlessly, you outstretch your hand, encasing his grip in your own. Heeseung has already begun to lose remnants of his boyhood. His features are losing their youthful roundess, are sharpening into a face that unmistakably belongs to a man. 

But with his hand in yours, he feels nine again. Nursing the unsteady heartbeat and sweaty palms that come with a first crush. 

When the two of you finally reach the top of the ladder, you ease your way through the opening first. 

You’ve nearly outgrown this place. The two of you have to hunch slightly to avoid hitting the roof with your heads. 

“Remember coming here that day my cat ran away?” You’re not looking at him, gaze wandering around the space, collecting memories like souvenirs. 

“Mr. Mittens,” Heeseung nods. “How could I forget?” 

“I still think he’s out there somewhere. He couldn’t forgive my dad when he stopped giving him table scraps.” Your tone is light, teasing. 

But the space is small and it leaves no choice but for the two of you to sit close. So close. Too close. Not nearly close enough. 

Still, Heeseung does his best to maintain his composure. “Mm,” he agrees. “I’m sure he’s very happy now. Probably eating leftovers as we speak.”

The conversation drifts into silence. It’s not uncomfortable, but it is charged. Fraught with something Heeseung’s been trying to ignore for the last ten years. 

“Heeseung?” Your voice is small. He feels it as much as he hears it. 

“Yeah?” He doesn’t mean to sound so breathless, but he can’t help it. Not here. Not now.

“I missed you.” 

For a moment, it’s all he can do to stare at you. He missed you too. So much it hurt. But it feels like he’s been missing you for years now. Missing something he’s never allowed himself to ask for. 

“I mean, I knew I would.” You drop your gaze now, toying with the hem of your dress. “And I know we still texted and called a lot, but there were so many times when I just wished you were there with me, you know?”

He does. He does. 

“Yeah,” Heeseung nods, jaw working. He swallows hard. His voice sounds scraped raw. “I felt the exact same.”

You meet his gaze again. Hold it for a moment. And then another. Heeseung watches as your lips part, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. 

For a second, he thinks you’re about to say something else. But then you shake your head. It’s a tiny movement, barely perceptible. But he sees it. He always does. 

Diverting the subject, you ease some of the tension. “Do you have anything sharp?”

“Sharp?” he echoes. “I don’t think so. Why?”

Instead of explaining, you reach for a rock next to your knee. Holding it up, you grin at him. “This should work.”

Scooting closer to the interior wall of the treehouse, you begin your handiwork. After a couple of minutes, you sit back on your heels, satisfied. 

“What do you think?” You turn over your shoulder to glance at him. 

Heeseung thinks a lot of things. He thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful than you do in this very moment, this exact second. He thinks his heart might actually be beating loud enough for it to be audible. He thinks he’s not going to survive another semester away from you. 

He thinks he might be in love. 

And when his eyes settle on the wall over your shoulder, he knows he is. 

Because there, in the respite of your childhood treehouse, you’ve carved both of your initials into the wood and framed them with a slightly lopsided heart. 

It’s messy. It’s imperfect. It’s his favorite thing he’s ever seen. Well, he amends as his gaze slides back to you, it’s his second favorite, maybe. 

“It’s perfect,” he tells you. 

A handful of minutes later, when you find yourself approaching his doorstep, Heeseung notices the way you suppress a shiver against the slight chill of the gentle night time breeze. For him, it’s the most natural thing in the world to offer you a sweatshirt. Something to keep you warm while he walks you home. 

You’re no stranger to the inside of his bedroom, but Heeseung’s heart still jumps regardless. It’s so intimate, the way you navigate his space like it’s your own. The way you sit down on the edge of his bed without thinking anything of it. 

“Bottom drawer,” Heeseung nods towards his dresser. He rearranged while packing for his dorm. “I have a few sweatshirts in there. You can take any of them.”

Nodding, you stand from his bed, quiet footsteps tracing a path over to the dresser. But when you open the bottom drawer a moment later, it’s not a sweatshirt you hold in your hands. 

“You still have this?” There’s a bit of wonder in your voice. A soft edge that Heeseung would read more into if he wasn’t suddenly panicking. 

It’s the sand dollar, he realizes. The one you gave him all those years ago. A good luck charm. Stupid, how could he be so stupid to forget that he left it in that drawer too? 

It’s not damning evidence of anything, not really. But it’s late and he’s tired and you’re still in that fucking dress. Logic was never going to be anything but a losing game. 

“Of course,” Heeseung admits. “We won every game that season.” 

You know. You were there to watch all of them. 

“Heeseung?” Something in your tone has all of his attention zeroing in on you. Maybe it’s the strange stroke of timidness. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve always commanded his focus, even when you’re not trying. 

“Yeah?” That breathlessness is back. Heeseung can’t find it in himself to curse it. 

You’re still standing across the room from him. The sand dollar enclosed in your gentle grip. When you finally tear your gaze away from it, it’s to look Heeseung in the eye. 

“Can I…?” You’re unsure. Shy. Heeseung has seen a whole lot of you, but he has no idea what to do with this. 

“Can I try something?” Your teeth are worrying at your bottom lip like the words taste bitter. Like you can’t decide whether you regret them or not. 

Heeseung would give you the world if you asked for it, but he knows better. 

He’ll play his cards the same way he always has. 

“Try what?”

You don’t answer him. Not with words, at least. 

Instead, you begin to trace a steady path towards him. The sand dollar is still in your hand. Heeseung’s heart is still in his throat. The hem of your dress brushes gently against the bare expanse of your thigh, just about your knee. 

You’re standing right in front of him now. There’s less than a foot of emptiness between you. Heeseung has no idea what to do with that liminal space. He can’t decide whether he should close it or widen it until his brain starts to function again. 

“Is this weird?” you whisper. 

It is. It is. 

“No.”

“Okay,” you nod. You avert your gaze, buying time. “Good.”

He watches your chest rise with an unsteady inhale. Fall with a shaky exhale. 

You bend to set the sand dollar down on the floor to the left of you. 

And then your hand is on his shoulder. Gripping lightly, like you need the support. 

Close. You’re so fucking close. 

And with every passing heartbeat, you’re only getting closer. 

Without meaning to, Heeseung is screwing his eyes shut. 

Later, he’ll regret it. Not committing every possible detail to memory. 

But right now, any semblance of logic is lost with the shreds of sanity he’s been dropping at your feet for the past ten years. 

With the sureness of a steady thing, you ruin them all in one fell swoop.

And then your lips are on his. 

It’s a gentle pressure. Light. No expectations, no demands. No promises or secrets or vows. But the hand on his shoulder is gripping harder now. 

And the second Heeseung regains control of his limbs, he mirrors your action. One hand finds the notch at the bottom of your spine and the other pushes hair away from your temple. 

You’re gentle, unsure. You’re afraid you’re crossing a foolish boundary, ruining a friendship you cherish. 

But Heeseung has been warring with every thought that’s crossed his mind for years, and he can’t find it in himself to be patient now. There’s no hesitation when he pulls you closer. No semblance of restraint when he presses his mouth against yours more firmly, when he swallows the shallow gasp you give him and then begs for more. 

Restraint is all he’s ever known but there’s nothing left of it now. 

When he feels your lips part against his own, he takes it as an invitation. An opening. An offering he’s only ever been afforded in his favorite dreams. 

But this is different. It’s better. You’re real. So fucking tangible and his hands can’t decide where to go next. 

They make quick work of tracing your spine, your neck, your collarbone. But he’s greedy and he’s desperate and he wants his hands as full of you as his mind is. 

It’s not long before fingers are slipping under the flimsy strap of your dress, forging a path that he follows with his lips. 

He hears you sigh, feels the whisper of breath against his hair. And then he hears you whimper. 

A long, drawn out plea that sounds all too much like “Heeseung.”

He shudders, all the way down to his toes. And then he’s pulling you backwards, flipping your positioning so that your spine is pressed against the wall of his bedroom. 

One hand rests above your shoulder, the other beside your head. He sets his forehead against your own, eyes still screwed shut. His heartbeat races in time with the shallow breath in his chest. 

“You have to tell me to stop.” His voice is raw, ragged. “You have to tell me to stop before I fucking lose it.”

“What if I want you to?”

He’s dead. He has to be. Caught in a purgatory of his own making, stuck between a heaven and hell perfectly curated for his ruination.  

“We can’t—” You could, and that’s what makes it so impossible. 

But for Heeseung, this is the culmination of a decade of repressed feelings. Of fleeting touches and lingering gazes and first crushes and the realization that he’s been carrying love with him before he knew what to call it. 

He has no idea what this is for you. 

“I have to know what you’re thinking.” It’s barely a whisper. His voice nearly cracks on the last syllable. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more scared in his life. 

Quietly, your hand finds the base of his neck. Your fingertips trace his skin, a soothing rhythm that does little to quiet the war in his mind. But it does tether him to the moment, anchors him in the present. 

You whisper, and he feels your breath against his swollen lips. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“You won’t,” he shakes his head. It’s a lie. He’s terrified. 

“But what if—”

“I’m in love with you.” It was always going to be him that confessed first. It had to be. “I’ve been in love with you since we were nine years old.” It’s like a weight has been lifted off his chest, as if the world around him is a little lighter now. “You won’t scare me.”

You break the contact of your foreheads, and Heeseung misses your touch the second it’s gone. He’s grateful for the hand that still traces gentle circles on the skin of his nape. 

You use the distance you’ve created to look him in the eye. Searching for any trace of dishonesty, you find nothing but a long held secret, a well-guarded truth. 

“You love me?” You don’t even have to ask. You can see it in his eyes. 

“More than you know.”

“Good,” you whisper, an echo from before. “Because I love you.”

When he kisses you this time, it’s softer. Gentler. The urgency in his gut is still there, but it’s been quieted a bit. Replaced with a distinct sort of fondness he does his best to communicate with touch. 

Love. He spells it with every breath that spills against your own. 

Love. He imbes it into every touch against bare skin. 

Love. He whispers it in your ear and shudders when you do the same. 

Because that sand dollar isn’t stuck in his bottom drawer anymore, hidden away from the light. It’s here, in the openness of his childhood bedroom. A truth between the two of you. 

And when he picks it up again later, he sets it on top of the dresser. Where he and you and anyone else that might pass by can see it. 

…..

Lee Heeseung has a secret. 

It’s whispered in practice runs with Jake and Sunghoon, imagined on the nights he pulls you closer to him as he drifts off to sleep, hidden away in a small, nondescript black box in the back of his closet. 

But Heeseung isn’t nine anymore. He’s not fifteen or nineteen.

He’s twenty-six, and he’s learned a thing or two about secrets. 

So this time, he only holds this one for a month, only carries it with him for a handful of weeks before he divulges. 

And when he does finally get you right where he wants you, back in that same too small treehouse, his secret spills easily. 

Even though his voice is shaky, even though his hands tremble with overflowing nerves. 

He can’t drop to one knee, not exactly. And he nearly drops the little black box when he pulls it from his coat pocket. 

But the ring slides onto your left hand without a hint of resistance. And the stone flickers in dying daylight like it was meant just for you. 

This time, he doesn’t hide behind a note or a sand dollar or even a kiss. 

Instead, he looks you in the eye when he tells you loves you. 

He smiles, a hopeful thing, when he asks you to marry him. 

All the things he never said, every word he never told you, are all here, now. 

Every second of torment, every moment of agony suddenly feel brand new. 

But when you tell him yes, your eyes shining with unshed tears that match his own, he thinks that they just might have all been worth it. 

And when you tell him, for the thousandth time, that you love him, he knows that they were. 

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! I am still working on sacred monsters, but I wanted to put out something cute for Heeseung's birthday and I had a big chunk of this already sitting in my drafts. I mentioned at the beginning, but this is unedited, so please forgive any little mistakes you saw.

all the love ♡

[exhaslo]

Over-Time

CEO!Miguel x Shy/Clumsy!Reader!

Warning: MINORS DNI, eventual smut, slow-burn, mentions of sex, bullying, cussing

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"Dear, (Y/N), you have been selected to join us for a group interview at Alchemax. Please arrive at appointed date and time below. Read and follow all instructions to ensure your interview. We can't wait to meet you."

Unable to fathom what you had just read, a loud gasp escaped your lips instead. All you really read was interview. Everything else blurred out since you were so excited to finally have a chance to leave your current job.

"Oh my gosh! Do I even have the proper clothes for an interview there?! I can't believe it!" You whispered, resisting a squeal.

This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Alcehmax was one of the biggest companies in Nueva York. Everyone in their right mind wanted to get even a chance to work there. Hell, some people were happy just being a janitor there.

It was all anyone wanted to gloat about. Getting an interview was nearly impossible and yet, your clumsy ass managed to get it. You had prayed to every God you could think of. The questionnaire was a nightmare and where people failed the most.

"Okay, okay! I have to prepare...I have to practice..." You told yourself.

Interviews were hard for you. You were nervous around new people and freaked out when asked hard questions. Glancing at yourself in the mirror, you just smiled. You got this far. You had an interview to take and succeed in.

---------

"Lyla, have we found anyone decent enough within the last two group interviews?" Miguel asked with a grumble.

Lyla, Miguel's private assistant, just laughed. She took off her designer glasses and placed them on Miguel's desk. Miguel was the CEO of Alchemax. One of the richest men in all of Nueva York, and a man with a quick temper.

"We have some potential candidates for the open slot in Marketing, but no one to replace me for when I go on my vacaaaation~" Lyla sang happily. Miguel felt his eye twitch,

"Yes, I know. You haven't stopped bragging about your damn vacation all week. Would have been nice if you mentioned it sooner-"

"Oh, don't give me that, Migs. I had it pop up on your calendar every week for the past three months reminding you! It isn't my fault you don't look."

"I am a busy man. You know that because you make my schedule," Miguel hissed lowly then pinched the bridge of his nose, "Just-Ugh, I just find me someone who won't try and suck my dick within the first week."

Lyla just snickered as she typed on her tablet, "You need to find someone. Maybe it will make you less of a grump." She mocked.

Miguel exhaled loudly, glaring towards his assistant. It was a good thing that Miguel could tolerate that woman. Lyla was a close friend of his and knew how to push his buttons.

Leaning back in his seat, Miguel closed his eyes as he took the moment to rest. Lyla was going to be gone for a few months. She sure knew how to utilize her vacation time. Hell, Lyla had a tough job dealing with him. She deserved it.

"I just need someone....quiet."

---------

How could a building give off such an intimidating presence? It was as if all those powerful inside were warding off the weak and frail. The start of a challenging, yet welcoming part of your life. If you managed to do good in the interview.

Inhaling deeply, you gripped onto your folder and finally had the courage to make your way inside. You heard the stories, but Alchemax sure was a force to be reckon with. The inside of the reception floor felt like another world.

You had arrived super early. You were scared of being late and well, knowing yourself, you were probably going to get lost. Hopefully, your clumsiness won't get in the way of your interview.

"Ah-"

Magic words. Just thinking of it alone caused you to goof up. You had accidently bumped into someone while admiring the inside of the building.

"I-I'm s-so sorry!" You stuttered, panicked that you were fucking up already, "I wasn't looking! I'm sorry!"

"It's alright. Are you okay?" The man spoke as you picked up your paperwork that fell.

Tears were starting to form as you thought of running away. Glancing up at the stranger you bumped into, you sniffed and tried to compose yourself. The man before you had bend down and helped with your paperwork.

"No need to be afraid, I won't bite." The man said with a warming smile. You gulped, finding him very attrative,

"I'm sorry again."

"Oh? An interview?"

"Ah, yes. I'm a little early, but since I've never been here I wanted to make sure...I wouldn't get lost," You admited as he handed your paperwork, "Thank you. My name is (Y/N)."

"Miguel,"

You stood up, staring at the towering man before you. That name sounded familiar, but you were so focused on your goof up to remember. Everyone was probably staring at you, laughing and knowing that you were probably going to flunk the interview now.

"Come, I'll take you to the floor you're going to be at. There are drinks in the lobby once you arrive. Help yourself."

"Ah, thank you."

You were just lucky to have bumped into someone as nice as Miguel. If it were anyone else, they would have probably made you feel worse than you already do now.

---------

Miguel stayed quiet as he led you to the elevator. He won't lie that it was slightly amusing to find someone who didn't immediately recognized him. That and quite refreshing. Miguel wondered what you would think if you found out that he was the CEO.

Glancing ever so slightly in your direction, Miguel couldn't help but smile. It was like you were in your own little world. You were fumbling with your fingers while you had a slight look of panic on your face. Honestly, that was how people should look for an interview.

Alchemax was not a place to enter with confidence.

"What position are you applying for?" Miguel asked, wanting to ease your nerves.

"Oh!" You gasped lowly, "Marketing."

"Hm. How good are you with planning and scheduling?" He asked casually. Your shoulders raised slightly,

"I, um, I like to...It's easier for me when I have everything in an itinerary. Makes for unnecessary distractions and delays. I find myself at ease with a schedule," You admitted with such a carefree smile.

"And organization?"

"If I'm not overwhelmed I'm great with organizing things." You chirped, "Oh, um, will I get a lot of people talking and asking me questions if I do get hired here? I...I'm just a little shy and if I get overwhelmed I do tend to be clumsy."

Miguel resisted a chuckle, finding you quite entertaining. After another second of silence, Miguel watched as you gasped and covered your face with your folder.

How cute.

---------

How embarrassing!

Just because he was a handsome face and kind to you, doesn't mean you could get comfortable! It took you hours to practice talking to yourself in the mirror to prepare for an interview and now you were blabbing away nonsense to a stranger!

Feeling the elevator come to a stop. You gasped lowly, admiring the lobby before you.

"Here is your stop." Miguel spoke.

"Thank you," You bowed your head slightly, still embarrassed from rambling off.

As you stepped off the elevator, you gulped. Nerves started to kick in as you took your first step to a better future.

"Oh, and (Y/N)," Miguel called out, causing you to turn, "Best of luck."

"T-Thank you!"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Chapter

@timidquindim @decentsoupperson

[monster-disaster]

[monsters] Neighbors

Thoughts about living with monsters- You live in an apartment with monsters all around.

An orc family lives above you, and they’re the sweetest neighbors you’ve ever had. The wife loves inviting you over for coffee and a bit of gossip. Her stories fill the air with warmth as she pours your cup and chats about the neighborhood or shares a delicious new pastry she’s baked. Her husband? He’s a gentle giant, always ready to roll up his sleeves and help out around your small flat. Whether it’s fixing a leaky faucet or carrying heavy groceries up the stairs, he’s there before you even ask.

And then, there are the babies; two adorably chubby little ones with soft, green cheeks and big, curious eyes. You’ve become their go-to babysitter, which means plenty of afternoons filled with giggles and messy faces.

But when night falls, it’s a different story.

The ceiling might as well be paper-thin, with their gravelly voices and laughter rolling through the floorboards. Sometimes, those conversations turn into... well, more intimate moments and the babies aren’t just cute, they’ve got lungs that could rival any set of bagpipes. Their cries often jolt you awake in the middle of the night, heart racing.

Even with the sleepless nights, you never find it in yourself to complain, though. There’s a warmth to their noise, a liveliness that fills your small flat with a sense of family, even if it comes with a few sleep-deprived mornings.

Beneath you on the first floor lives a goblin who’s practically made it his life’s mission to comment on every noise you make. You do your best to avoid him, but it’s only a matter of time before you bump into him, leaning against his doorframe with arms crossed and an unimpressed scowl etched on his face.

He never misses an opportunity to complain.

“Your steps are like thunder up there. Ever heard of walking lightly?” he grumbles, or “How many times do I have to tell you? Lift the chairs, don’t drag them! Sounds like a damn avalanche down here!” And that’s not even the worst of it. The day he leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing as he muttered, “And for god’s sake, put a pillow over your face next time you play with your vibrating friend,” your face burned hotter than a forge. You were sure the ground might split open beneath you right then and there.

Since that conversation, you’ve found yourself tiptoeing around your flat, trying to keep your footsteps as light as possible, but even with your efforts, you know the next run-in with him is just around the corner, along with another list of grievances he’s been stewing over.

To your right lives a wolf-shifter, and for the most part, things between you are easygoing. He’s a quiet neighbor, the type who nods at you in the hallway and even offers a polite smile now and then. But his love life? That’s where the peace ends. His one-night stands, in particular, are the worst. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve had to comfort his partners the morning after, wiping away their tears when they realize that "just one night" really means just that. They always seem to hope for more, for something lasting, and it’s always you who ends up playing the sympathetic neighbor, nodding along as they pour out their hearts. Of course, it's your fault too. You should learn how to mind your own business instead of feeling sorry for crying women. And men.

And then there’s his rut. The first time you realized what was going on, you nearly dropped your coffee cup. The howls, the desperate growls, and the unmistakable... fervor of it all carried straight through the walls. After those nights, it’s impossible to even think about making eye contact with him. Weeks go by before you feel like you can look at him without your mind immediately replaying all the sounds you heard. And he, of course, acts like nothing happened.

To your left lives a succubus, and teasing you seems to be her favorite pastime. She’s always around when you come or go, somehow knowing exactly when to time her appearances. She leans casually against her doorframe, dressed in barely-there lingerie or a robe that hangs loose enough to leave little to the imagination, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she catches your eye. It’s impossible not to feel your cheeks heat up under her gaze, especially when she purrs a playful remark. Her eyes linger just a moment too long. And those paper-thin walls? They do nothing to block the sultry sounds she makes late into the night, sounds you’re sure are meant just for you.

You tell yourself you are holding your ground, that you won’t give in, but every sly comment she throws your way and every time she catches you with a flustered look makes you worry that it’s only a matter of time before you find yourself at her door, falling right into her trap.

Across the hall lives an elderly minotaur who, bless her heart, has made it her personal mission to match you up with one of her grandkids. No matter how busy you are, she has a sixth sense for catching you at the worst possible times. If you are running late for an appointment, she is suddenly in the hallway, eager to chat about her "really successful and recently divorced" grandson. Or maybe you’re lugging bags of groceries, arms aching under their weight, and just as you are almost to your door, she appears, excited to tell you that another one of her grandsons, who just came back from abroad, is finally ready to settle down. You try to smile and listen, nodding along as she goes on about their good jobs, kind hearts, and how they need someone like you in their lives. And of course, you don’t have the heart to cut her off, even when you’re in a rush or your arms feel like they might fall off from holding the bags. So, more often than not, you find yourself standing there, smiling politely and listening for far longer than you’d planned, as she talks on and on about her grandkids’ achievements while her eyes twinkle with hope.

“Y/N!” The goblin’s voice rings out just as you step into the elevator. Your name rolling off his tongue is already dripping with complaints. "I'm sorry!" You almost shout when you catch a glimpse of his frown while frantically jabbing the button for your floor. "Y/N!" As the elevator finally slips shut, cutting off his grumbling, the tension drains from your shoulders, but your relief is short-lived when you hear the familiar ding and the doors open. "Hey," the wolf-shifter greets you casually before taking your place in the metal box. You manage a stiff nod and a quiet "hey" while drifting your gaze to the floor, unable to hold his gaze for more than a second. When he disappears behind the thick doors, you let out a sigh and shift the bags in your arms as you fumble for your keys. Just as you manage to find them, the door in front of you swings open, and you force a smile as the elderly minotaur across the hall greets you warmly. “Hello, dear!” she beams. “Would you like to come in? My grandson, you know, the one I told you about, is visiting, and I thought you two should finally meet!” Your mouth opens, and your brain scrambles for a polite excuse, but before you can get a word out, her grandson appears behind her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Maybe next time, Nan,” he says with a smile, steering her back into the apartment. You share a moment of mutual understanding before the door clicks shut. Just as you breathe a sigh of relief, again, another door swings open, again, and you freeze, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. The succubus leans against her door, draped in dark purple lingerie that hugs her curves like a second skin. The bralette barely manages to contain her generous figure, and her sultry smile only deepens as she takes in your flustered expression. “Hello, Y/N,” she purrs. Your cheeks flare up, and you barely stammer out a weak “Not today!” as you nearly stumble into your apartment. You can hear her laughter echoing behind you, but your attention is quickly snatched by the buzzing of your phone. Your bags hit the floor with a heavy thud, and you cringe, fully aware the goblin will have a field day with this. You glance at your screen, catching a new message from your friend upstairs: The kids are with their dad. Fancy a coffee? How about you come down? you quickly reply, no way willing to risk leaving your apartment again today. Sure, comes the reply almost instantly. Did you hear about the party that harpy threw on the fourth floor? She drives me mad! No, you think, but leave the message unanswered. Of course, you didn’t hear about the party. How could you, with the orc babies wailing through most of the night?

[ifnotlovepersevering]

Trapped (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: in an attempt to get revenge on Agatha, you end up walking right into her trap

Warnings: NSFW, blurry consent, magic play, pet names, light d/s dynamics, oral sex (both receiving), fingering (R receiving), mentions of spit play, face-sitting (A receiving), overstimulation, mentions of violence, lovers to enemies to lovers again?!, minors DNI

A/N: breaking my hiatus by pulling together this horny filth from god knows what part of my brain 🖤 enjoy!

NSFW Tag List: @academiagaymess @musicalmemesandstuff @shinkomiii @vintagegoddess12 @agnessharknes @jesterofrohan @agathaharknessslut @nickalpatel @junaika21

As soon as you’d caught wind that the great Agatha Harkness had lost her powers, you were planning your route to Westview.

You’d been waiting ages for this opportunity - revenge for her betrayal. Agatha had drawn you in close before draining nearly every last bit of power from you, thankfully leaving just enough for you to survive. Though, that was likely an oversight rather than a show of mercy.

But you’d never forgotten. Over the years you slowly, painstakingly, built your powers back up to what they had been, and then even more. You were stewing, waiting for the chance to get the witch back for what she’d done.

Now you stood in her basement at the home she occupied in Westview, after transporting yourself inside. You crept up the stairs, staying as silent as possible. The dagger in your hand glistened as you eased through the door to the main floor.

You quietly stalked your way over to what seemed to be her office. But before you could step inside, Agatha’s voice rang out from behind you. “I was wondering when you’d get here.”

You spun around, seeing her standing in the living area. “Agatha,” you grinned.

The older witch eyed the dagger you clutched in your palm. “Hey doll,” she said nervously. “Whatcha got there?”

You began walking towards her as she stepped backwards. “Oh Aggs,” you smirked, using your old nickname for her. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?”

“Let me guess,” she let out a shaky laugh. “Since I juiced you?”

You clenched your jaw. “You bitch. I trusted you. It took me ages to grow my power back to what it was.”

Agatha scoffed. “Oh please. You were pathetic. A baby. You hardly knew how to handle all of that, I did you a favour.”

That’s it. You lunged forward, tackling the other witch to the ground. You straddled her abdomen, her arms by her side, keeping her pinned down. Digging your elbow into her chest, you brought the dagger to her neck. “Last words?” You smirked.

“I missed this view.” Agatha’s blue eyes bore into yours as her expression morphed from fear into a smile.

Her smugness was grating, and you pushed the dagger into her skin to silence her. But it wasn’t working. The flesh that should’ve been tearing under the blade remained smooth and undisturbed, no crimson emerging.

What?

“Oh Y/N,” she grinned at you, not at all worried about the dagger pressed up against her throat. “You’re almost as naive as the day I met you.”

You felt your body suddenly freeze up. “What the hell?” You exclaimed, trying to move your limbs. Agatha began laughing as the distance between the two of you increased. You were floating now, immobilized, and she was standing up in front of you grinning.

“You’re kidding me.” You groaned. You couldn’t move anything below your neck, let alone try and get your magic flowing. Fuck.

“No, no I’m not.” Agatha circled you, unashamedly basking in the glee of having you trapped like this.

You closed your eyes, thinking of what idiotic decisions led you here. “You were supposed to be…”

“Powerless?” Agatha smirked, standing in front of you now. “Come on, Y/N. Are you hearing yourself? Agatha Harkness, powerless?”

You cursed yourself internally. This was stupid. You’d been stupid, and cocky, coming here with no preparation but a stupid dagger and your stupid vendetta.

“Aww,” Agatha pouted at your expression, taking your chin into her hand, forcing you to look her in the eye. “Don’t make that face, bunny.”

You felt a small spark inside of you at her using her favourite pet name. Agatha was leaning in close now, and heat rushed to your cheeks under her intense gaze and the proximity. Yes, you hated her for what she did. But she also knew exactly how to push your buttons. The older witch made you feel things beyond just hatred and try as you might, that was something you couldn’t ignore.

“You know how witches are,” Agatha spoke softly, her eyes drifting from your eyes to your mouth. “Start a rumour, it spreads. And somehow I knew that little Y/N would come running once she heard the news.”

Her arrogance irked you. “I’m not the same person you used to know.” You spat.

“Oh?” Agatha arched a brow, a wicked smile on her face. “I beg to differ.”

She stepped back and began circling you again. The familiar hum of her magic suddenly began caressing you again. You looked down at your hovering form and now saw purple swirls of her magic climbing up your legs.

“The Y/N I used to know,” Agatha was behind you now, her mouth by your ear sending shivers down your spine. “Would make the prettiest sounds for me.”

The end of her sentence was punctuated by a purple tendril slipping under your top and caressing your nipple. Another joined right after, on your other breast, pulses of magic squeezing both your nipples perfectly.

You couldn’t even try and stop the moan that escaped you.

“Just like that.” You could tell Agatha was smiling even though she was behind you, her voice clearly conveying her excitement.

You felt another rope of magic snake its way up your thigh and into the waistband of your pants. You cried out as it surround your clit and begin pulsing teasingly. You squirmed, the sensation sending tingles of pleasure through you.

Agatha settled herself into the armchair across from you and waved her hand in a quick motion. You gasped at the feeling of cold air on your now-bare skin. “Mm,” her voice was low, her eyes raking over your exposed form. “That’s better.”

You could feel how wet you were getting between your legs, her purple magic still pleasuring you. “You know,” you started, getting breathless now. “That I came here to kil- ah!”

Your sentence was interrupted by what you could only assume was another extension of her magic teasing your wet entrance before pushing in. Heat rushed through you as your walls stretched and adjusted to the feeling.

“Oh I know hon,” Agatha smirked from her chair, watching you turn into a mess before her. Her blue eyes were tracing your form and you could see that her cheeks were flushed. “But keeping you to play with again is a much better option.”

The tendril of magic inside you began pumping in and out, pulsing gently against your walls. “Fuck,” you groaned, the pleasure in you building at a rapid pace now. Your eyes were half-closed, jaw slack, as Agatha fucked you with her magic.

“Though if you’d like me to stop,” Agatha’s voice made you open your eyes. “I can do that too.”

Another flick of her hand and all the magic pulsing in and around you stopped, causing the pleasure building in you to fizzle. “No!” You whined. “Please, fuck, please, Aggs.”

It was humiliating. You had come here to kill her, and instead you were naked and at her mercy, begging for her to keep fucking you.

Agatha seemed thrilled to see your resolve break. “There she is,” she chuckled darkly. “My sweet bunny.”

You moaned, a mixture of relief and pleasure, when her magic began again. You were approaching your orgasm quickly, filthy moans and profanities spilling from your lips as you reached the edge. But before the waves of pleasure you were aching so badly for could crash over you, the magic stopped again.

You whined in protest, at the brink of tears, as Agatha stood up and came over to you. “Oh I know, baby.” She pouted.

To your surprise, Agatha lowered you down so that you were standing in front of her now. Your legs were unsteady and she gripped your hip, pressing you close to her. “I just couldn’t let you come without tasting you first.”

Any thoughts about what you’d originally came here for were far gone, and you hungrily brought your mouth to hers. Your hands now free, it was your turn to magic Agatha’s clothes off, making her gasp against your lips in surprise. You traced your hands up her figure and began pinching and teasing her nipples. Both of you moaned as your tongues explored each other’s mouths. You nipped at her lower lip, sucking it into your mouth, making her groan approvingly.

Agatha’s fingers buried themselves in your hair and she pulled, drawing your head back so she could move her mouth to your neck. Her fingers teased your nipples as you felt her teeth bite down, gently, but hard enough that you were sure she was leaving a trail of marks on your skin.

“Lie down,” she breathed against your skin. You complied, settling on the carpet as she made the fireplace roar to life.

Agatha wasted no time lowering herself between your legs. She held your gaze as she spread your folds with her fingers before bringing her mouth to your center. Despite the time apart, Agatha clearly remembered how to turn you into a shaking mess. She picked up a pattern of circling and flicking your clit with her tongue, and she quickly had you writhing on the floor. “Agatha,” you groaned.

She switched to sucking on your clit as she slipped a finger, then another into you. The lewd sounds of your wetness filled the room as Agatha pumped her fingers into you, curling them up inside before drawing them out. “Fuck, fuck!” You cried out, spurring her on. Agatha moaned as she sucked your clit into her mouth, hard, making you arch your back off the floor as you came.

She didn’t stop there. She withdrew her fingers but her tongue continued its ministrations on your overstimulated clit despite your squirming. Agatha kept her eyes on you as she doubled down on her pace, her arms wrapping around your thighs to stop you from squeezing them together.

Her efforts brought you to the edge again, your body shaking with the waves of pleasure coursing through you. Finally, Agatha came up from between your legs, her grinning mouth smeared with your juices. You revelled in the feeling of her bare skin against yours as she slid back up to you.

“I’d almost forgotten how good you taste.” She said, before bringing her mouth down to yours. You moaned at the taste, her lips moving against yours sloppily. Agatha pulled back slightly to let a trail of saliva fall onto your tongue before wrapping her lips around it and sucking, moaning as she did. Fuck.

You could already feel yourself aching for more but you needed to taste her first. “Sit on my face.” You breathed in between kisses to Agatha, who was more than happy to comply,

She giggled as you helped her maneuver herself over your face. Lowering herself onto you, both of you groaned as your tongue made contact with her folds. Her taste was intoxicating, and you began lapping up her juices before flicking her clit repeatedly with your tongue.

You watched Agatha as she moaned from above you. “That’s it baby.”

You continued with your ministrations, splitting your attention between her clit and her opening which continued leaking her juices into your mouth. Wanting to taste more, you plunged your tongue into her hole, swirling before withdrawing, then entering again.

“Yes,” she groaned, throwing her head back. “Fuck me with your tongue bunny, come on.”

You could feel her getting closer, her hips were beginning to buck more wildly. Stealing a page from her book, you used your magic to send vibrations to her nipples while you moved your tongue back to her clit.

“Oh fuck,” Agatha grunted, her legs clamping around your head nearly suffocating you as she gripped the armchair near her for support. “Don’t you dare fucking stop, Y/N.” Rocking her hips against you, she cried out as first one, then another wave of pleasure tore through her.

Agatha dismounted, thighs trembling, before laying down next to you. You smiled at the older witch, panting with her eyes closed and forehead damp with sweat. Her mouth formed a lazy grin, “That was-”

Before she could finish her sentence, a loud bang could be heard from the basement, making both of you jump. You could hear clattering, as if something was fumbling around down there in the darkness.

Agatha laughed at the confused look on your face. “What, did you think you were the only one waiting to get revenge?”

You rolled your eyes, of course, as Agatha leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “None of them are you though, bunny.” She stood up quickly and waved her clothes back on.

“You’re not seriously going to-”

“I’ll just be a minute, doll.” Agatha smiled down at you. Her lips were swollen and her hair messy, but with her hands glowing purple, she looked every bit the formidable witch everyone knew her to be.

“Sit pretty,” she called over her shoulder as she made her way to the basement door. “We’re not done yet.”

You couldn’t help but laugh when you heard Agatha blast whatever poor creature had made its way into her basement.

[porcalinecunt]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆!

🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩 dating two vigilante’s is already a mouthful, so much so, you’re not too shocked when you and jason give dick a little treat during his patrol ~♡

⋆˚࿔ FEATURING . . 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ JASON TODD & DICK GRAYSON X MALE! READER

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . cw — ftm!reader, open relationship [dick grayson], cuckholding, phone sex, facetime, masterbation, some degradation, cumshot, jason is a hoe and dick is a shameless cuck.

[・:。author’s note ! 「 ✉️ 」・𓂃 ࣪˖ went off the rails with this one ngl, was kicking my feet the whole time too (*ﾉωﾉ) if willing, i’ll make a pt 2 for yall <3

still nothing yet.

dick grayson sat on the edge of the Wayne Industries building, gazing upon Gothem from an eagle’s eye. seemed like the criminals he usually decends upon decided to take it easy tonight, barely making a peep besides the typical bar fights and runaway children rebelling against their parents.

but it didn’t bother him much, after all, his patrol was nearly over with bruce and cass already out ‘n about the streets. dick will finally go home, to you and his stubborn brother jason fuckin’ todd.

none of you had any clue how the things went so off the rails, starting when you suggested to your boyfriend that you wanted to try and open the relationship. dick, while hesitant at first, decided to give it a go. surprisingly, it went pretty smooth. dick went off seeing other people just like you were, yet always coming home to each other just like before.

until, someone decided to take his golden opportunity.

it wasn’t a secret that jason had the hots for you, always taking the chances to talk to you while dick couldn’t grab his attention for shit as the vigilante was too lost in his conversation with you. “dick’s a lucky one alright..” he’d say so shamelessly.

so lucky, jason hops on your ass the moment he got a hint of your open relationship. you didn’t even stop the man and niether did dick, as things quickly escalated between you and the red hood. tonight being no exception.

rinnggg! rinnggg! dick’s phone jingles to you calling to facetime him, he picks up expecting to see your pretty face greeting him. and he did!

“hey prin!—“ “oh..oh fuck!”

there you were, on your back with cum already splattered all over your stomach, you’re whole body rocking up whatever soft surface you laid on from the unseen stranger’s cock pistoning in and out of your soaked cunt.

“sorry big bro, couldn’t wait another—shit!—second for ya..”

jason’s voice rasped into the speaker, drowning out your moans. dick stared, jaw agape and pants tighter then he remembered. despite listening to your hookups, he never actually watched you get your back blown out by another man. a high pitched whine snapped him back into reality, now you’re staring right at the camara with teary eyes and swollen, wet lips.

“nghh..dick..p-pwease come home! need you to..”

another harsh snap of jason’s hips knocked a moan out of you, as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced your face back towards the camara. towards dick. “need him to what? c’mon [name], sing it for dickie!”

he mocked as dick already shuffled his way into the staircase, frantically fishing his leaking cock out as you clenched around jay’s girth.

“fuckkk..jason you son of a—“ dick hissed, fucking his fist to the sight of your squirming in orgasm. your knees threatening to snap together, your face flushed in embarrassment yet arousal and those syrupy, pathetic eyes staring back at his. a sight straight out of some fucked up porn for a guy with a cucking fetish.

“woah there! look at that dick..i think you’re little boyfriend’s into this, right? you brazen little minx?!”

jason’s breathy laugh of amusement harmonized with your hiccups and sobs as you creamed all over the red hood’s cock, his girth wet and coated in white as he slowed his thrusts down. dick, turned on yet aggravated that another man made you cum, threw his head back against the wall as he reached his own orgasm.

“[name], baby..look at me, please, look at me while i cum..! shit!”

dick let out a broken groan as ropes of white landed on his phone screen and onto the floor, yet he still was hard as a fucking rock. what didn’t help was that when he looked back at the facetime, you were already on all fours, ass up with your leaking pussy ready to be fucked once again.

“you might wanna hurry up, or i’ll fuck him raw again.”

jason chuckled as dick sprinted through the dark sky, already around the corner to get some well deserved payback. see who’s laughing still once you’re stuffed full of your man’s cock with the paramour watching.

© porcalinecunt 🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩ྀི do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.

[jhdyuiee]

After Hours

★ pairing: model!jaehyun x fem!reader

★ tags/warnings: smut!, fluff (at the end :p), semi-public sex, car sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, making out/kissing, oral (m receiving), tit job, fingering, cum eating, jae is a honkey dog (:3)

★ w.c: 1.6k

★ a.n: hi! it’s been a chaotic last couple of weeks but i’ve returned!!! this might be a short one but after all the jaehyun angst i’ve been releasing, i think we need a good little hehe ;) . enjoy this one, i love yall & don’t forget to take care & stay safe! jiji out 🤍

***

“open your mouth a bit more, love.”

“w-wait j-jae,” you muttered before his lips came crashing into yours. you almost lost yourself in the moment, in jaehyun’s lips before you were brought back to reality.

the party, after party.

you gently push him off you, he groans. you guys were tucked away in a dimly lit hallway, away from the eyes of the attendees.

it was your boyfriend’s big day; he walked first on the runway for a top designer brand. he brought you along, and you couldn’t help but proudly admire your boyfriend on his big day. he shunned the brightest, perhaps you were a little biased.

and now you two attended the after party, but it seems the drinks got to jaehyun. you should’ve known when he started to subtly touch you, leaving a burning blaze along your body. and it wasn’t until he whisked you two into some hallway that you knew it was serious, you could feel it in his already hardened member that was pressed against your stomach.

jaehyun kissed you with such possessiveness and want, while holding your face so warmly. you eventually became too lost in the pleasure, feeling yourself melting into him by the second. your arms intertwined around his neck, pulling him closer to your body. his warmth seeped through your beautifully made dress, nearly melting the thing off your body.

his tongue delving into your mouth, teasing your own. this wasn’t even a kiss no more, it was something else, something deeper. you couldn’t even breathe anymore.

“wa-wait, le-let’s go-go some-somewhere el-else,” you said breathlessly. you didn’t want to part away from him but if you didn’t, you would’ve collapsed.

jaehyun doesn’t say anything. he goes silent, noting his unreadable expression. he just comes back to your lips, using his teeth to tug your bottom lip before licking it.

grabbing your wrist, jaehyun drags you out of the dimly lit hallway. it was almost like you two were being chased, trying to get through herds of people.

once you two were outside the venue, cameras clicked, snapping shots of you two; the loving couple.

thankfully the limousine arrived soon. jaehyun lets you go first before hopping in next. the driver shuts the door, and jaehyun takes the opportunity to shut the tinted window separating you two from the driver.

“get on your knees love,” jaehyun says as he begins to free his strained cock from his pants.

you were on your knees in no time, staring right at his aching cock. already leaking with his pre, you tried inching forward but he stopped you.

“let me see your tits first, please,” he says, practically begging.

sliding the straps off, your tits are freed. jaehyun groans, bringing his hands to fondle them. you moaned his name when he let go of them with a pinch.

“come a bit closer now, love.”

and you do, practically a centimeter or two away from his cock. jaehyun’s hands came back to your tits, holding them together before sliding his cock in between them. you both whimpered, equally enjoying this.

jaehyun lost himself in the way you began to spit on his tip, giving him easier access to slide between your tits. the way you used your mouth to bring whatever you could into your mouth, left him weak. he felt himself getting closer, he felt it in the way he started twitching. fucking your tits faster until he finally came in your mouth.

feeling his hot seeds in your mouth, you swallowed them all, leaving not a single drop to waste. “fuck, you’re too perfect,” he grunts, grabbing onto your jaw before colliding his lips onto yours again. he could taste himself on you. it was almost animalistic, the way you two were lost in your own erotic world.

you climbed on his lap, his arms traveling underneath your dress to cup your ass. he played with the flesh of skin as his tongue continued its exploration inside your mouth. when the two of you departed you could see the saliva that connected you two.

moving a hand to your panties, he could feel as your juices soaked it through. “fuck, so wet. you’re a dirty girl aren’t you?”

he has a way with words, a way that gets you weak in the knees. he toys with your cunt, rubbing your clit teasingly. you could’ve cum from just this foreplay if it weren’t for the way he stopped.

“come on, ride me love,” jaehyun asked as he slid your panties to the side.

sinking onto his cock, slowly, you feel it stretching your gummy walls. his cock never fails to satisfy your every need. you grabbed onto his shoulders for some leverage, your eyes watching as he watched where you two connected. jaehyun decides to take matters into his own hands, grabbing your hips to shove you down on the extra inch that was left.

“j-jaehyun!” you moaned, long forgetting you two were still in the limousine.

“you’re beautiful,” he grunts, admiring how you look on top of him. his girl.

he helps guide your hips to bounce on his cock, eventually stopping when you get the hang of it. you pick up on your pace later on, letting his cock deliciously stretch you out.

jaehyun watched as you got lost in your own world, in his cock. sliding his hands to your ass again, gripping it until he roughly slaps each cheek. he watches your face twist in both confusion and pleasure. he continues the action until he’s sure you won’t be able to sit on your ass the next day.

he stops, using his hands to guide you back onto his cock. jaehyun helps you by thrusting his hips into your wet cunt.

it got rough and intense, your walls pulsing around his cock the deeper he reached you. you neared your end, nearly seeing the stars as you felt your tummy knot.

jaehyun grabs your hand, pressing it to your tummy. “feel my cock? fuck- so deep, yeah?” you don’t respond, blabbering nonsense. feeling him as he fucked you ignited something within you. the way he hit your womb, if only he could…

“fuck, i’m close love, should i let it out inside, breed you? fuck my seed into you until you’re pregnant with our child?”

shit, jaehyun really does have a way with words. he was gonna be the death of you.

“y-yes! gi-give me yo-your ba-baby!” you moaned, feeling yourself also close to coming.

“fuck, don’t worry baby, i’ll give you my child,” he grunts. you could feel him twitch inside you before giving you a thrust that got you seeing stars.

you came all over his lap, coating him in your juices; his delicacy. not long after jaehyun came too, now coating your sweet pussy with his cum.

you collapsed on his shoulder, still feeling as the car continued to move. however jaehyun didn’t care, he didn’t even let you rest before he had his fingers inside you.

one digit, two, then three inside your leaking pussy, trying to fuck his cum back into you. “i’m serious about the child, love. i’m not gonna stop until i’m sure you’re pregnant,” he whispers into your ear.

you were still quite sensitive from your previous orgasm that you came almost instantly, mini orgasms coming afterwards. jaehyun didn’t stop fucking his fingers until a while afterwards, orgams afterwards. you even passed out before you could even feel when you two arrived, when he carried you back into your hotel room.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

the next morning.

you tried opening your eyes, but the morning sun was too bright as it seeped through the room. yet once you regained your eyes you saw your boyfriend, jaehyun plopped on his elbow.

“good morning love,” he says as he leans down to peck your cheek.

it was almost as if the small kiss triggered something because the recollection of last night replayed in your mind. you felt your face get hot. you quickly prayed the driver didn’t hear your piercing moans.

“what’re you getting all shy about?” jaehyun asks, almost sounding teasingly.

“don’t act dumb,” you grumbled. jaehyun chuckles, leaning back down to capture your lips. a completely opposite kiss from last night’s.

“i’m sorry, but not sorry about that. i mean how could i resist you when you looked so gorgeous last night,” he admits. your face feels even more hot. you were going to die from embarrassment, not his words.

“you’re just too cute,” jaehyun chuckled, pecking your lips before getting up. he walked towards the bathroom before stopping.

“oh, and love, i’m serious about the baby. if you want we can-“ jaehyun started saying before you threw a pillow at him.

unfortunately you missed, jaehyun erupts in a fit of laughter. he holds his stomach, your reaction is just too funny. “stop laughing before i go over there myself,” you threatened the man you love.

he holds his hands up in defeat. “alright, alright i’ll stop. how about instead we stop by milan for a nice stroll and get some ice cream?”

your eyes instantly lit up. “yes!” you shout, too excited.

jaehyun smiles, “and then we’ll come back to the hotel for some baby-making,” he says before making his way to the bathroom.

you’re rendered speechless, he just won’t give up. well, lucky for you, you won’t either. the thought of forming a family with jaehyun is all too beautiful, too perfect.

getting up, slightly struggling, you knock on the bathroom door. “i’ll look forward to the ice cream,” you paused. “… and the… baby-making.”

you didn’t have time to go back to the bed before jaehyun dragged you into the bathroom. you gigled, and so learned he wouldn’t be able to uphold his promise to have sex after the ice cream date.

***

© jhdyuiee

2024. 10. 06

final a.n: the end! tune in next week for 2 new stories (maybe even 3) hehe!!! thank you for 300 followers as well (i’m a bit late :/) but nonetheless thank you for the support, thank you for being my motivation!!!! i love you all so much, take care! <3